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She cried out, “You told me you were their friend. That you helped my father when he was arrested for murder and that John Bruno had destroyed his career.” She looked at King. “He brought me all these news clippings. He said he knew my parents and helped them, long before I was born. They never mentioned him to me, though. But he said he was at the Fairmount that day and that you didn’t have to shoot my father; that he was putting his gun down when you fired. He said you were really a murderer.” She looked back at Morse. “It was all lies.”
Morse shook his head. “Of course, it was. It was part of the play.”
“It’s a dangerous thing to believe a madman, Kate,” said King.
“Not a madman, Agent King. A visionary. But I’ll grant you, there’s a fine line between the two. And now,” said Morse with a dramatic sweep of his hand, “comes the third and final act. The tragic death of Kate Ramsey as, aided and abetted by the poor, demented former Secret Service agent Bob Scott, she avenges her beloved father, taking with her John Bruno and Sean King—with, of cou
rse, all supporting evidence being found later courtesy of me. When you think about it, the symmetry really is breathtaking: father and daughter, the assassins of two presidential candidates perishing on the exact same spot. It’s really one of the best pieces I’ve ever written.”
“And you really are insane,” said King.
“The mediocre always throw stones at the brilliant,” Morse said smugly. “And now the last member of the Ramsey family—the sweet, loving Ramsey family—will finally disappear from this earth. I’m sure you’ll die beautifully, Kate. And then I can go on with my life. My artistic power has been completely restored now. Another new identity and Europe beckons. The possibilities are limitless, even without your mother.” He pointed his pistol at Kate.
King raised his gun too. “Actually, Sid, I’ve pared down your options to one.”
“It only fires blanks,” said Morse. “You found that out a few minutes ago.”
“Which is why I knocked Kate’s gun out of her hand and picked it up when the lights went out.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Am I? My gun’s on the floor. But if you try and check, I’ll shoot you. Sort of like the trick you used with the elevator. And the two guns look exactly the same anyway. It’ll be impossible to tell. But go on and take a peek. Then when my bullet slams into your head, you’ll know you were wrong. You screwed up, Sid. On a set you never lose track of the gun props. A brilliant director like you should know that.”
Morse suddenly didn’t look as confident.
King pressed his advantage. “What’s the matter, Sid? A little nervous? It doesn’t take courage to shoot an unarmed man or drown old ladies in bathtubs. But now we can see how brave you really are because you’re not safely behind the scenes anymore. You’re the star of the show, front and center, and your audience is waiting.”
“You’re a lousy actor. Your bravado is hardly convincing,” replied Morse, but there was tension in his voice.
“You’re right, I’m no actor, but I don’t have to be, because this isn’t make-believe. The bullets are real, and at least one of us is going to die, and we won’t be getting back up for an encore. I tell you what, duels make for great theater, so let’s have one, Sid. Just you and me.” King put his finger on the trigger. “On the count of three.”
His gaze bored into Morse, who was now pale, his breathing accelerated.
“Come on now, don’t freak out on me. I’m just an ex–Secret Service agent. Sure, I’ve gunned down guys who were shooting at me, but how good can I really be? Like you said, I can’t possibly be in your league.” King paused and then started to count. “One…”
Morse’s hand started to tremble and he took a step back.
King squeezed the pistol grip tightly. “I haven’t fired a gun in eight years. You remember the last time I did, right? I’m so rusty. In this light even at this close range, I can probably only hit your torso. But it’ll still kill you.”
Morse’s breathing accelerated even more and he took another step back.
“Two.” King’s gaze never left Morse’s face. “Make sure you hit your marks, Sid, and don’t forget to take a bow as you’re falling to the floor with a big hole in your chest. Don’t worry, though, death will be instantaneous.”
As King started to count “Three,” Morse screamed. The lights went out, and King ducked down as the shot sailed over his head. He breathed a sigh of relief. His ruse had worked.
A minute later the woman who’d shot Michelle moved through the darkness past mounted figures on her way toward King. As soon as the lights had gone out, Tasha slipped on a pair of night-vision goggles and could see things clearly, whereas King could see nothing. She passed the fallen Michelle, then ducked in between two of the wooden frames. King had retreated with Kate to a corner, but from here Tasha had a clean shot. The orders she had just been given were clear. Regardless of what else happened, Sean King and Kate Ramsey had to die.
Tasha took aim, smiling as she did so. Killing people, that’s what she did. And now she was about to add two more to her hit list.
The slight noise behind her caused her to whirl around. The beam of light from the flashlight hit her right in the eyes, blinding her, and a far harder object followed. As the bullet slammed into Tasha’s head, her homicidal career came to an abrupt end.
Michelle rose on shaky legs. She rubbed her chest where the bullet had ripped into the body armor she’d taken off Simmons. The impact had actually knocked her out. It stung like hell but she was alive. Luckily she’d come to just in time.
Using her flashlight, she found King and Kate. “Sorry, I had a little problem, or I would’ve been backing you up sooner. Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Did you see Sidney Morse?”
“Sidney, he’s behind this?” King nodded. She looked puzzled. “I thought it was Peter Morse.”
