Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent (42 page)

“As a matter of fact, I took the keys.” Bishop patted his pants pocket. “I’ve got both sets, right here.”

“Well, at least you’re honest. I’ll need those keys, of course.”

“Friend, I’ll be happy to hand over both sets. I’ll even open the door for you and load up your bags. Please just let Terri go, and I’ll escort you to your ride.”

Bishop detected more movement over the man’s shoulder. He couldn’t be positive, but he thought it was Agent Powell glancing around the doorframe.

Without warning, a new voice sounded out from the hallway, “Wayne? Wayne, what are you doing?”

Moreland pushed his way between his Secret Service escorts and out into the open floor of the garage. “Lord in
Heaven Wayne, what are you doing? Put that gun down. I don’t know what’s happened, but we can fix this.”

Bishop noticed Powell holding back the two startled agents, both of whom wanted desperately to retrieve their charge.

Wayne spun to face the new presence, pulling Terri with him, maintaining her as his shield. He began backing away, head snapping back and forth. Bishop thought the guy was going to panic at any minute, his erratic body language indicating he was spiraling out of control.

“Senator,” Wayne said, “I’m sorry, sir, but this has gone beyond anything you can fix. Leave, sir. Get out of here. Let me do my duty.”

Taking another step forward with his arms spread wide, Moreland spoke with a calming voice. “Wayne, I’ll be sworn in as
president in the next few days. There’s very little I can’t fix after that. Now tell me what’s going on, my old friend. Let’s work this out together, without any bloodshed.”

“No, Senator, you’re not going to be sworn in as
president. I’ve found evidence you ordered the assassination . . . that you ordered the Independents to kill the president so you could take over. Senator, you should fly back to West Virginia and rally the council. You should take your rightful place and lead the Independents to victory.”

Moreland was clearly puzzled by the babbling of his assistant. “Wayne, what are you talking about? You know I didn’t order any such action. Why are you saying this?”

Subconsciously, Moreland took a step toward Wayne and his captive. Bishop saw the pistol move from Terri’s temple, the barrel making a slow arch toward the advancing politician.

“This young woman will set the record straight!” spouted Wayne. “Tell them
. . . tell them what you told me.”

Terri took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The emotional elevator ride from certain death to rescue and now back to believing she was going die had an impact
on her thinking. She looked Moreland in the eye and said, “The president told me the Independents didn’t have anything to do with the attempt on his life.”

“No! That’s not what we agreed!” Wayne shouted, and spun Terri around. Bishop saw the pistol being pulled back like Wayne was going to use it as a club.

He rushed at Wayne.

The three steps to the man threatening his wife’s life seemed like a mile. The fractions of measured time didn’t register in Bishop’s mind. There was no sound,
as if a stifling cloud of noise-muffling air had descended on the scene.

Simultaneous with the first step toward his target, Bishop’s hand reached for the knife on his vest. As his foot pushed with every sinew and muscle in his body, the blade began to clear its scabbard. Terri was being pushed away as Bishop’s boot landed, the
muzzle of the pistol reversing course and seeking the new threat. As Bishop leaped into the air, the black hole at the end of the weapon aligned. To Bishop’s eye, the business end of the barrel looked large enough to swallow a man. Gravity ceased to be a factor and time slowed—his body seemingly suspended in mid-air. 

As Bishop slammed into the pistol, his right arm thrust with every ounce of power his body could muster. He felt little initial resistance from the collision, the impact resulting in a brief slowing of his momentum and then a sensation of falling. An enormous blast filled his ears, immediately followed by a crushing, hammer-like blow to his chest. A sensation of burning fire spread across his ribs as he landed on top of his target, the impact so violent Bishop bounced off the body beneath him, finally rolling to a stop on the hard concrete floor.

A brief moment passed while Bishop gathered his wits. He rolled to his left and immediately saw his knife sticking out of the gunman’s chest, the pistol lying harmlessly a few feet away. His next thought was for Terri. His vision was becoming milky around the edges, but he managed to find his wife crouching nearby—a look of horror on her face. Bishop smiled and tried to rise up onto his elbow, but his arm wouldn’t cooperate. Puzzled, he looked down at his numb limb, surprised by the sight of a growing pool of red liquid spreading across the cold, gray concrete background.

Bishop was suddenly very tired. He didn’t have the energy to sit up or
speak; even breathing seemed to be an exhausting effort. Letting his body relax and resting on his back, Bishop thought he’d never felt such a lack of strength or energy.
I should be happy
, he thought.
Terri is safe, but I’m too weak to even smile at her.

His wife’s beautiful face appeared in his vision, an angelic glow surrounding her eyes that remi
nded him of the warmth of her love. Bishop didn’t see her stringy hair or bruised face. In his mind, Terri was an image of perfection, her presence projecting a sense of harmony and tranquility that filled his mind. Terri’s lips were moving, but Bishop couldn’t hear any words. He wanted to reassure her, to let her know what he was feeling. “I love you,” he managed, but the words sounded distant and weak. Bishop saw the light around Terri’s face change colors. It was a curious effect, almost dreamy and perfect for such a beautiful woman. He felt sad when Terri’s image became smaller. More emptiness, as her loving face finally faded to a pinpoint of bright light. And then there was total blackness.

Moreland knelt beside Wayne, both men’s faces ashen.
Wayne’s eyes were open, but unfocused, his chest rising and falling with uneven cycles, struggling to supply his body with oxygen. Moreland was in shock as well, still unable to comprehend the violence he’d just witnessed.

Taking the dying man’s hand, Moreland’s gentle grip caused Wayne to turn slightly and smile at his old friend. “I’m sorry
, Senator . . . I didn’t have any choice.”

“Why, Wayne? Please tell me
. . . why?”

Wayne’s eye
s scanned the area, apparently checking for someone within earshot. In a low voice he responded, “Senator, I pledged to a cause I believe in . . . the Independents. I gave my word of honor. I couldn’t let you become the enemy—the president of the United States. There is no hope for the existing hierarchy, sir. There was only one way I could stop you—to make the world believe you had ordered the assassination. That would have forced you to continue the cause of the Independents, more motivated than ever.”

An
Army medic knelt beside Wayne and began to cut away at his shirt. The man was a veteran of two recent wars and knew immediately there was no hope. Looking up at Moreland, the corpsman simply shook his head and mouthed the words, “I’m sorry, sir.”

Bishop was also receiving medical attention
, and the prognosis wasn’t much better. Nick pulled Terri away, comforting her in his arms while the sobs racked her body. Terri kept peering around Nick’s shoulder, trying to watch what was being done to her husband. She really couldn’t see Bishop’s face anymore, his mouth and nose covered with an Ambu bag. Another man was working on Bishop’s chest, and Terri cringed when she heard the man comment that the bullet had “hit his shoulder right above the armor.” Bishop had always told Terri body armor left exposed areas – that it wasn’t the perfect shield.

Two men appeared with stretchers right as Moreland reached up and gently closed Wayne’s lifeless eyes. As Bishop was being lifted, Terri moved to go with her husband. A man wearing the rank of sergeant stepped in front of her, but
Agent Powell overrode the gatekeeper, and Terri was escorted to the helicopter.

Little of the trip back registered with Terri. The medics had hooked an IV into Bishop’s arm while another man took his vitals. “It’s up to God and the surgeons at Bliss,” one of the medics had said.

“He’s strong, but that’s a nasty hit,” commented the other.

Terri sat in silence on the floor of the helicopter and held Bishop’s hand.
Don’t leave me, Bishop. God, please don’t take him from me. Fight Bishop! You fight harder than you’ve ever battled anything before.

The men from Darkwater moved off into the desert, but couldn’t go far in any direction without running into either the Army or Nick’s posse. Deke didn’t want an encounter with either side.

His men formed up the ATVs and checked on their wounded comrade. Moving an injured man always held the possibility of reopening a wound and the
increased risk of hemorrhaging.

“Where are we going to go?” asked one of the team.

Deke responded, aware that everyone was intent on his answer. “We’ll hang out here until things clear out back at that building and then move back in. It ain’t the Four Seasons, but it will keep the sun off our head until we can arrange transport.”

“And who is going to arrange transport? We all flew out here on the client’s private jet.”

Deke reached into his pocket and produced the modified cell phone. “I can call the home office on this. Mr. King will figure out a way to get us home. He’s managed to pull our asses out of worse situations.”

Grim spoke up from his stretcher, “That may take a while. It’s not
as if he can charter a plane or rent a chopper to come get us. I hope we’ve got plenty of supplies.”

“We’re counting on you to shoot wild game, Grim. You’re going to be responsible for feeding us,” remarked one of the men.

Moses noticed movement and called Deke over. The big dude who had disabled their sentry was walking toward the gathering. “What the fuck does he want?” someone asked.

“I don’t know,” responded Deke, “but it can’t be good.”

Nick approached within 50 feet of the contractors and stopped. His rifle was slung across his back, barrel down.

“I got no issue with any of you
except the man who shot my son in Alpha. I’ve got a score to settle with him.”

The challenge caused several members of the team to chuckle and a few whispered comments about how outnumbered this crazy guy was. Deke started to respond when Moses motioned he’d take care of it.

Moses walked a few steps closer to Nick and said, “Now don’t you just have the biggest pair of nads on the block? Just casually strolling up to nine guys and calling somebody out. I think you’ve seen too many movies, big man.”

Nick smiled at the response. “Do you have any children, operator?”

The question took Moses by surprise. He couldn’t think of any clever answer, so he simply told the truth. “Yeah, I’ve got two daughters. I ain’t seen them in a while though.”

Nick’s smile disappeared. “And what would your reaction be if someone put a 5.56 NATO round into
one of their chests?”

Moses didn’t
hesitate. “I’d kill the fucker . . . slow like . . . he wouldn’t die well.”

Nick nodded, “Well, I think one of you esteemed gentlemen put a round into my 15
-year-old son’s chest, and I want justice . . . right fucking now.”