Echoes (13 page)

The cane cracked across the top of his skull, making a sickening sound like a watermelon being dropped. His unconscious body crumpled down, landing in a bizarre sitting position, revealing Sammy standing behind him. She held the cane in both hands the same way a logger holds an axe.

I'd never been so happy and terrified to see someone in my entire life.

"Sammy, no! You have to get out of here!"

"I was going to, but I just couldn't let you do this alone." Her eyes fell on my bloody shoulder. "Oh my God, are you shot?"

"Sammy, run!"

Not fair. You shouldn't have people helping you. Let's relieve her of duty.

Her body stiffened.

I'll be making sure she knows exactly what's happening to her. That's a privilege I usually save for those I truly hate, but I'll make an exception for you.

With a harsh kick, she knocked the body of the cop forward onto his face. Bending down, she picked up the shotgun and cocked a shell out of it.

I tried to push myself up, but my body couldn't do it. I'd taken too much damage to be able to stand, let alone wrestle the gun away from her.

Lowering the butt, Sammy placed the end of the barrel under her chin. Her index finger rested against the trigger. A tear, forming in the corner of her glistening eye, spilled down her cheek.

Murdock, stop! Smith is here!

The wounded and deceased were the only civilians who still remained in the field surrounding the monument. Most of the president's guard detail were dead. The remaining few stood in a circle around President Thomas, their guns pointed at him to prevent his escape.

Wailing cries of pain permeated the air.

Dozens of bodies in blue police uniforms were scattered across the lawn. It looked like an entire department had been wiped out. About seventy-five yards from the stage stood a man, all alone, wearing a brown sweatshirt and baseball cap. He didn't appear to have moved the entire time. I knew right away he was Murdock.

More cops arrived every second, encircling the entire area. They stopped trying to get closer to the president, because every one that did ended up shooting himself or turning on the other officers. Now they hid behind the open doors of their patrol cars, shouting at us over loud speakers, their confusion apparent in their voices.

Sammy stood in front of me, as motionless as a statue.

You're lying.

He's here. You didn't escape the cemetery: he let you leave. Smith's been tracking you ever since, waiting for you to do exactly what you're doing now. The moment you assassinate the president he's going to take you out.

The man in the sweatshirt turned around, looking in every direction.

Where?

Let her go and I'll tell you.

Murdock started walking to where we were. Behind him I could see the four remaining Secret Service agents grab one of Thomas' limbs each and carry him to us. He struggled against them, yelling their names in an attempt to get through Murdock's control. It didn't work.

Tell me now or I kill poor little Samantha. Then I'll start on the coward Thomas.

He stopped about fifteen feet from us, the entourage behind him arriving a few moments later. They threw the president on the ground between us and them. The look of absolute horror on his face told me all I needed to know about his courage. He was a chicken hawk after all.

"Help me!"

His fear made him irrational. Anyone with two eyes could see that I was out of this fight. All I could do at this point was bleed on the grass.

"What do you want me to do, use harsh language?"

"Shut up," Murdock said as he kicked President Thomas in the face. The whimpering that followed would have made me feel sorry for him, if I didn't know what type of man he was.

"Tell me where Smith is."

I rolled onto my back and looked in the opposite direction of the monument, toward the White House. On the far side of Constitution Avenue, between us and the police blockade, sat a black SUV with tinted windows. When I scanned Chuck's mind at the hotel, that vehicle had been his rendezvous point after eliminating Sammy and Nami.

Smith didn't divulge his entire plan to his bodyguards, but Chuck did know that they were to capture Murdock after he killed the president. They were going to tranquilize him with the same drugs they used on me, and then drag him off somewhere. Chuck wasn't privy to what would happen after that, but I'm guessing Murdock's future wouldn't be enjoyable.

My only play was to try and get either Smith or Murdock to kill the other. If they became distracted with each other, maybe one of the Secret Service agents could do something.

The sound of an approaching helicopter added to the clatter of sirens and loudspeakers.

Murdock squinted at the SUV, as if concentrating on it. The distance from us to it appeared to be over three hundred yards, which was supposedly the maximum range for his abilities. Smith knew to stay at least that far away. After several seconds Murdock relaxed his body and smiled.

"I'm here, Smithy, come and get me!" he yelled, raising his arms in a beckoning gesture.

A large dart impacted on the side of his shoulder, twisting his torso. He reached up and pulled it out, looking to his left for the shooter. Smith's other tough guy, the Jackie Chan lookalike, stood at the tree line along the edge of the Constitution Gardens.  He had a tranquilizer rifle tucked against his shoulder.

In front of me I could see Sammy's muscles loosen a little. The drug was already taking its toll on Murdock. The agents standing over the president were also gaining their mobility back as they started turning away from Thomas.

They must have given Murdock a hefty dose because he started staggering sideways within seconds. The agents pounced on him after he crashed to the grass. Though he lost his ability to control people, our odd connection remained the same.

Sammy collapsed to her knees, sobbing. I would have consoled her, but I was busy bleeding all over myself.

A door opened on the black SUV and Smith stepped out. An officer ordered him to halt, but he kept going as he flashed a badge in their direction.

"President Thomas, don't believe anything he's about to tell you. They wanted you to be assassinated," I said.

One of the agents started attending to his injured foot, causing him to wince in pain.

"Who? Smith?" he asked.

"No. Snow White and Seven Dwarves."

The bewilderment on his face made me feel sorry for the state of American politics. At least I could say I didn't vote for him.

"Yes, Smith," I said, raising my voice over the sound of the helicopter. "He wants you out of the way so he can keep operating his program."

The chopper had come from the direction of the White House and appeared to be Marine One, the president's Marine Corps transport. It circled overhead, waiting for a signal to land.

The hundreds of cops that surrounded us began to close in, slowly at first but picking up the pace when no one shot themselves. They did their best to get reporters’ cameras out of the way. The press, as usual, had positioned themselves at terrible angles. Some of them stood in the line of fire, oblivious to the guns pointed at their backs.

Smith and Jackie jogged over to us, arriving at the same time. Smith tried to cover the stunned look on his face when he saw me lying there, but it slipped through for a split second.

"Mr. Benson, your presence is quite a surprise. The police are going to be very pleased to see you."

"You know this man?" Thomas asked him.

"Enforcer is ready for pick up," one of the agents said into his radio. Enforcer must have been the Secret Service call sign for the president, which I found laughable. By the looks of him, he couldn't enforce his own bladder.

The circling aircraft started its descent, intending to land in the field beside us.

"Mr. Benson has been working with Murdock in an attempt—" the lying bastard started to say. I couldn't make out anything else over the roar of the helicopter's rotors.

Everyone around me tensed up at the same time. The helo, which was about to land, began climbing into the air. The agent who had his knee driven into Murdock's back stepped away and stood at attention. Murdock pushed himself off the ground and turned to face us, his body convulsing with laughter.

The helicopter climbed a few hundred feet and then banked to its right at an incredible angle, its speed increasing.

Debris from the rotor spiraled away as Marine One crashed into the Washington Monument.

The body of the chopper plummeted to the earth with fire and smoking trailing it. Its tail, severed during the impact, landed on the public address system used for the president's speech. Sparks showered the surrounding area as the equipment shorted out. Above the tumbling wreckage, the charring spot of the collision burned from spilled fuel. Thousands of blinding flashes encompassed the field as photographers snapped what would become iconic pictures of the Washington Monument burning.

The photo frenzy following the crash was short-lived as police officers began executing each other.

Many of them were within a hundred feet of us – they were the first ones to open fire on other lawmen. When one of the shooters was incapacitated, Murdock would release his control of him and move on to the next. His influence jumped from cop to cop, creating a wave of violence that started behind me and moved around us counterclockwise.

"Enough! Everyone you're after is right here, not out there!" I had trouble hearing my own voice over the rattle of gunfire.

The shots halted. Those who weren't wounded began running back to the safety of the buildings and trees, dragging their injured comrades with them.

"You're right. Sometimes I get a little overzealous. It happens when you love what you do."

He walked over to where Smith stood, rooted to the ground with his eyes watching Murdock's every move.

"You're so predictable. I knew you were using me from the moment I escaped at the funeral. You wanted me alive and that meant you would try and hit me with that wonderful little drug of yours. That's why I dosed myself with naloxone, since it nullifies the effects of opiates. You were out of my range when you sat in the SUV over there, so I had to play along to get you a little closer."

I should have known something was wrong when our mental connection hadn't broken. Lieutenant Columbo I am not.

Jackie walked over, stopping in Smith's field of vision.

"It's a hopeless feeling, isn't it? Knowing you're about to die and there's nothing you can do about."

Jackie, his eyes locked on Smith's, pulled a pistol out of his shoulder holster and held it to his temple.

"Say goodbye to your flunky."

Fragments of Jackie's skull and brain matter landed on the front of Smith's suit.

Murdock turned and looked at President Thomas. "Don't worry, you haven't slipped my mind. Your buffoonery has led to your death. I might not have escaped that horrid country if you hadn't sent an assassin to kill me. He provided all the distraction I needed to break out."

"You're a coward," I said.

"A coward?" he said, spinning toward me, hysteria in his voice. "I gave this country everything! My entire life! So many missions, so many lies, so many times I wondered if I would ever make it home! And what do I get in return? Torture! They left me in the hands of an Iranian torturer! After everything I've done, they threw me away like a piece of garbage!"