Final Vector (30 page)

BOOK: Final Vector

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Agent Cunningham finally noticed Nick after a moment and muted the TV with a remote. "Can I help you?"

He smiled in amusement. "You already did. You saved my life yesterday, Agent Cunningham. It would be pretty hard to top that--don't you think?"

Recognition dawned in her eyes, and she grinned sheepishly. Nick thought she looked beautiful, even with the two puffy black eyes she would be sporting for a while and her grossly misshapen nose. "Sorry about that; I should have recognized you. And please cal me Kristin."

She shrugged and shook her head. "It must be al these drugs they're pumping into me; they've made me a little groggy."

"No problem, Kristin. I'm not exactly at my best right now, either." He placed the flowers on a small table next to the bed and extended his hand, grimacing as the motion pulled at the bandages wrapped tightly around his shoulder.

Kristin watched him and winced. "Are you all right? They told me you got shot but that you really
nailed
that Andretti character."

She smiled widely.

"I'm fine," he answered. "It's just a flesh wound. Isn't that what all those Hollywood hero types are supposed to say?"

This time she giggled. It sounded nasally thanks to the cotton wadding stuffed into her rebuilt nose.

"Anyway, I'm not really sure what the protocol is for dealing with getting shot in the shoulder by a fanatical terrorist. In my line of work, people don't generally come after me with guns. Actually,"

he whispered conspiratorially, "it hurts like hell. Some hero, huh?"

"You
are
a hero. You saved my life just as much as I saved yours. The doctors tell me I wouldn't have lasted much longer inside that conference room, considering how much blood I had lost.

If you hadn't acted when you did, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, so I would say you deserve some flowers, too."

She looked ruefully at her leg. "I guess I'll have to owe you."

Changing the subject, she said, "They caught the two guys who were camped out by the airport waiting to shoot down the president's plane. They were parked in a marsh, and when it became clear that something had gone wrong, they tried to escape, but they got into a gun battle with a local cop. He was wounded but managed to shoot out one of their tires. The idiots escaped on foot but were apprehended before they made it two miles. I hear the cop they shot is doing well and is expected to recover fully."

She examined her fingernails. "They killed someone in another car that stumbled on to them. He was just a kid."

"I heard. It seems they killed a lot of people."

"I'm sorry about your coworkers."

"Thank you."

An awkward silence descended over the room, and Nick mumbled, "Well, I guess I should be going. The doctors said you need your rest and that I could only have a couple of minutes.

Thanks again--"

"Your wife was a hero too, you know."

Nick stared at the floor. "I can't help but wonder what would have happened if she had reported what she discovered sooner.

Even just a day or two earlier, instead of holding on to it. Maybe if she had acted a little more decisively, the whole mess could have been avoided before it ever got started."

Kristin shook her head emphatically. "You can't look at it like that. She didn't realize the significance of what she discovered. You better believe that if she'd had any idea how serious it was, she would have taken action immediately rather than waiting. Either way, it's not her fault she didn't live long enough to tell anyone about it."

Nick sighed. "Yeah, I know. But thanks anyway for saying so.

I really appreciate it. That means a lot."

"Hey," Kristin said, "when I get out of this prison and can get around again, maybe we could do dinner and fill each other in on what exactly happened in that building. It's one thing to get a de-briefing from the officious administrative types; it's another thing entirely to go over it with the one person who was heavily involved.

Plus, I make a mean pot roast. Are you game?"

Nick smiled at her and said, "Sounds great. I haven't had a real meal since . . . well . . . you know." He scuffed his shoe absently on 258

the institutional grey tile. "Anyway, I'll be back to check on you in a couple of days. Maybe even bring some more flowers."

He lifted the bouquet off the table and placed it in her arms, then turned once again to go. It was time to get back to work. The airplanes were waiting.

Allan Leverone
attended the University of Notre Dame, graduating in 1981 with a business degree, which he promptly put aside and forgot about, choosing instead to gain employment in the world of aviation. He is a three-time Derringer Award finalist for excellence in short mystery fiction whose work has been published in multiple print and online magazines. He resides in Lon-donderry, New Hampshire.

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