Kill Shot (23 page)

He glanced once at the woman. She was out
cold, her hair matted with blood and tangled around her swollen
face. He’d tied her hands and feet and tossed her in the corner. It
would be a while yet until she woke up.

Kimball had accepted the job to help William
Sloane recreate The Passover Project because the money had been too
good to pass up. But he wasn’t an idiot. He’d been around Sloane
too long not to realize that he had every intention of getting rid
of anyone who had ties to this particular job.

But sometimes it wasn’t the money. He had
enough money to last ten lifetimes. Sometimes the past just had to
be dealt with. And this was one of those times. He didn’t have any
particular loyalty to Kamir Tussad. Hell, he didn’t have loyalty to
anyone but himself. But when Gabe Brennan was working undercover
with Tussad, he’d screwed up three major arms deals Kimball had
been brokering, the US confiscating the weapons and killing several
of his business associates.

At the time, Tussad had been merely
inconvenienced. He had enough power and enough contacts to sweep
the mistakes under the rug and offer new deals. There was certainly
not a shortage of men and women in the world who wanted to hold all
the power during the next war—because there was always another war.
It was the way the world worked.

No, it hadn’t been Tussad who’d suffered.
Kimball had been the broker for all the bad deals, and it was him
who’d been stripped and beaten. He was the one who’d taken
well-placed knife wounds—wounds that wouldn’t kill, only give
excruciating pain. Tussad had eventually come to his aid because he
had another job he needed Kimball to facilitate, but his usefulness
was the only reason he’d interfered. Kimball would be dead
otherwise.

The CIA had thought he was still doing his
job for them at the time. It hadn’t been hard to feed them lies and
give them the occasional victory. So when he’d told them someone on
the inside was betraying them, the agency had been in such disarray
trying to find the culprit that it hadn’t been difficult to break
into classified files and see what agents were working undercover
in Tussad’s organization. He’d been handed Derrick Kyle and Gabe
Brennan on a silver platter.

He’d heard whispers of Gabe before, of
course. Everyone had heard whispers. But no one really believed he
existed. Men like that didn’t really exist. But Gabe Brennan did
exist, and Kimball had seen it as a personal challenge to make the
legend nothing more than a pathetic memory.

Once Kimball had found out about Gabe, he’d
known immediately he would have to betray him to Tussad to get the
exact outcome he wanted. They’d had to work quickly because Gabe
was trained to be aware when things were about to turn to shit.
They’d managed to find out as much about Gabe Brennan as anyone
knew in less than twenty-four hours. As soon as they’d discovered
he had a wife and daughter, it was clear what their course of
action should be. And when they dug a little deeper into Grace’s
background, it was decided that she’d be left alive. Her kinds of
talents might be of use in the future.

He laughed despite his throbbing face. She
was about to become very useful. And William Sloane was about to
get a rude awakening. The Passover Project was about to go on the
open market to the highest bidder. And Gabe Brennan was going to
help him do it.

He picked up the dead pilot’s phone and
pressed the button to dial back his last call.

“What’s going on, Simon?” Gabe said on the
other end of the line.

“Simon isn’t available at the moment. He’d
have to pick up all of his intestines off the floor first.”

There was a slight pause on the other end of
the line, but Gabe didn’t disappoint him. His voice was cold and
unemotional.

“And who would this be?” he asked.

“Someone who has a deal to offer.”

“Ahh, this must be the infamous Shawn
Kimball. You’ve got a lot of varied interests. I found your file
interesting.”

“Did you?” Shawn asked. “I found yours
interesting as well. Of course, I read it before it was wiped from
the system. But I remember you well.”

“I had a feeling we might have crossed paths
before. But I don’t think you’re the man in charge of this
particular operation. Have you decided to take matters into your
own hands?”

“You could say that.” Shawn appreciated the
fact that he didn’t have to spell things out for his adversary. It
put them on a much more level playing ground. “I’ve decided my
employer isn’t the man to handle The Passover Project. I’m even
willing to give you his name once we get down to business.”

“And do we have business, Kimball?”

“I’ve been impressed with how quickly you’ve
tracked us down. Killing Standridge certainly put a wrench in
things, but you didn’t destroy all of his research. I’ve already
found another scientist willing to take up the good doctor’s
work.”

Kimball knew he had Gabe’s attention now. “I
know you’ll have the second part of the formula once you steal the
painting.”

“You still need the third part of the
formula from the second painting. And even then it will only work
if your scientist can recreate the first part that was
destroyed.”

“It’s awfully nice of you to warn me of
these obstacles. But don’t worry. I’ve had the missing part of the
formula all along. My employer was kind enough to already have it
in his possession. It seems he’s somehow related to the original
scientist who created the formula. Genetics are damned interesting.
Haven’t you ever wondered where you come from?”

“I don’t have the time to have the
birds-and-the-bees talk with you, Kimball. You’ve yet to tell me
how we have business. In the next few hours, I’m going to be in
possession of the last part of the formula you need. It’ll be a
cold day in hell before I give it to you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You’ll
give the painting to me and walk away.”

“Will I? Why would I do something like
that?”

“Because I have something I believe you’ll
want back.” Kimball looked at Grace once more, wishing he could
slit her throat and send him the pictures. But the time for her to
die would come soon. “She’s not dead yet. Your wife put up a hell
of a fight. Of course, she’s still a woman. It wasn’t hard to take
her down.”

He appreciated the fact that Gabe didn’t
even pause to think as he lied.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,
Kimball.”

“I think you do. We’ll make an even trade.
You’ll give me the painting, and I’ll give you back your wife. If
you manage to do it within the next sixteen hours, I’ll make sure I
don’t give her back to you in pieces.”

“Give me the name of the man who hired you
as an act of good faith.”

Kimball leaned back in his chair and
adjusted his ice pack. Damned if Gabe Brennan wasn’t
entertaining.

“Sure,” Kimball said with a shrug. “If you
kill him, it’ll save me the trouble. It was going to be a real pain
in the ass anyway. I’m working against the clock as it is. You’ve
probably heard of him. His name is William Sloane.”

The silence on the end of the phone was very
telling. “As in the Speaker of the House, William Sloane?”

“That’s the one.”

“Interesting,” Gabe said.

“Mr. Sloane is under the impression that he
would make an excellent dictator. That power can only go the person
who controls The Passover Project.”

“And what if I refuse to meet your
demands?”

“Then I’ll keep your woman alive.” His voice
rang with the promise of truth. “She’ll be begging for death by the
time I’m through with her. And while I’m at it, I hope you’re not
too attached to the boy wonder you’ve got stashed away in that
fortress of yours. My men have been busy in your absence. He’s only
got a few minutes left before he’s just another part of the rubble.
It’s a shame, really. I’ve heard he’s quite brilliant.”

For the first time he heard the urgency in
Gabe’s voice, and he smiled.

“When do we make the exchange?”

“Oxford Park Station at noon. Platform
seven.”

“I’ll be there.”

The line went dead, and Kimball wished he’d
be able to see Gabe’s face when he realized he was too late to save
his wife.

Iran

“Ethan,” Gabe said into their com link.
“Evacuate now. Sound the alarm so the guards will know, and use the
emergency exit. Don’t argue. Start running.”

He mouthed the word
bomb
to Jack and
Logan, and they stared back at him with identical looks of gravity
on their faces. They’d been in situations like this before, and
sometimes there was nothing you could do but wait and listen.

Gabe listened to Ethan’s muttered curses
just before the line went dead. He tossed his phone on the table
and willed it to ring. He knew it would take Ethan a few minutes to
work his way through the underground tunnels that ran beneath the
building and get to the safe house he’d designated for any agents
who might be in trouble.

The phones wouldn’t work in the tunnels
since they were made of reinforced steel, but ten minutes
passed—and then fifteen—and he still hadn’t gotten the all clear
from Ethan.

“Fuck,” Jack whispered. “Who was on the
phone, Gabe, and what the hell was that conversation about?
Listening to your end wasn’t reassuring.”

“Shawn Kimball,” Gabe said. “And he has
Grace. He wants the painting.”

He tried to keep his emotions locked away.
Grace needed him, but he couldn’t slow his frantic heartbeat, and
he couldn’t help but imagine what Kimball was putting her through.
His fist tightened at the thought, and he struggled to ignore the
pounding in his skull. He couldn’t lose her again. He wasn’t strong
enough to deal with it. And for the first time he could remember,
he was about to say to hell with the mission and put something else
as his priority. Something he should have done a long time ago.

His phone buzzed on the table, and Gabe let
out a slow breath when he saw the number. He hit speakerphone and
waited to see who he’d be talking to.

“Son of a bitch,” Ethan said, his voice
higher pitched than usual. “That was a hell of a bomb. For a minute
there I didn’t think I was going to make it. I thought the tunnels
were going to cave in on me.”

“Where are you?”

“A coffee shop for now,” Ethan said.
“They’ve closed off all the streets in a half-mile radius around
the detonation site, and it’ll be a while before I’ll be able to
make it to the safe house. The city is going crazy with panic.”

“A coffee shop is fine. Just stay put.”

“I’ve got my laptop, but I don’t know how I
can help you with all these people around.”

“Logan will have to do it from inside the
hotel room. You need to stay hidden. Put the computers away and
just act normal for a change until you can get to the safe
house.”

Jack interrupted them, his voice harsh. Gabe
knew they were in for a hell of a night. Sometimes friendship only
went so far.

“Get back to Kimball wanting to trade the
painting for Grace. Do you want to elaborate on that?” he
asked.

“Kimball has taken over The Passover Project
from his employer. I was informed during our conversation that he
already had a new scientist working on recreating the first part of
the formula. And he also mentioned that his employer had the other
painting with the hidden formula right from the beginning.”

“Which means that we can’t under any
circumstances let him complete the formula,” Jack said with
warning.

“We’ll have time,” Gabe said. He was only
speaking to Jack now. He had to make Jack understand. “If Kimball
follows his MO, he’ll auction the weapon and sell it to the highest
bidding terrorist. I know from experience it takes a couple of
weeks to set up an auction like this. Not to mention the added time
it will take for Kimball’s scientist to complete the formula. We
have time,” he said again.

“You’re speaking in code, Gabe,” Logan said.
“And skirting the issue. What are you not saying?”

“You heard me mention William Sloane,” Gabe
said. “It turns out he’s the one who initiated the recreation of
the weapon. Kimball said he’s a descendent of the original
scientist, and we all know that he’s very powerful in Washington.
He’s not afraid to throw his weight around to get what he wants,
but no one has the balls to come up against him. He’ll be President
after the next election.”

“So you’re saying we’re going to what? Kill
him?” Ethan asked. “What about Kimball?”

“Jesus, Ethan,” Jack said. “You’re in a
public place. We’ve talked about this before. Keep your mouth shut
and just listen.”

“I locked myself in the bathroom. I’m all
alone.”

“This is perfect,” Jack said, dropping into
a chair and running his hands across his scalp. “So we get to take
out the Speaker of the House, whose security is as good as, if not
better than, the President’s, inciting a national panic and getting
our asses in a whole hell of a lot of trouble.”

“One problem at a time,” Gabe said.
“Kimball’s the bigger threat now.”

“Why?” Ethan asked. “He doesn’t have an
auction if he doesn’t have a weapon. Seems pretty simple to
me.”

“I don’t think Gabe’s idea of saving the
world and ours are the same any more,” Logan said.

He’d been the quietest up until now,
listening and processing in his silent way, but his eyes spoke
volumes. Logan was pissed. And he had every right to be.

“Kimball wants to trade Grace for the
painting, and Gabe wants to accommodate him. It’s what he meant
when he told Jack there was plenty of time. He wants to give him
the weapon and then try to stop him once the auction location is
determined.”

“Weren’t you the one who lectured me on the
importance of the whole as opposed to the individual?” Ethan asked,
the anger in his voice evident. “SOP says we have to leave her
behind. We can’t turn over a portion of a weapon that could wipe
out civilization for her.”