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“You’ll be under my personal protection.”
“Even with the death of Chang Wanquan? And the two guards at the gate?”
Han shrugs. “The guards … collateral damage, as we all know. As for Mr. Chang, he worked for me, an arrogant prick who was going to get himself killed, either by the Party or somebody else. Again, Mr. Smith, do consider my offer.”
Liam says, “It’s attractive, but there’s one problem. I made a promise to Chin Lin that she would be protected by me, and not sent home.”
The cheerful grandfather in front of him suddenly disappears and is replaced by a hard intelligence officer who no doubt has blood on his hands, up to his elbows.
“You fool, don’t you understand what I’m saying? A week from now there will be no China, no America. None of us are ever goinghome, ever again. I have offered you and Benjamin safety during the upcoming chaos. And you would protect some … slut you barely know, to turn down such an offer?”
“Guess so,” Liam says.
“Fine,” Han says, looking at his watch once more. “In fifteen minutes, we are coming in, one way or another.”
Liam says, “You’d better come in heavy or with your hands up. Either way, we’ll be ready.”
CHAPTER 129
CARLTON POPE CANNOT believe his luck, for the stupid bitch sitting just feet away from him is agreeing to get out of her armored Suburban, right out in the open. Five seconds after that, his contract shooter will remove that arrogant head from her shoulders.
That will cause one hell of a news headline and chaos, but at this time tomorrow, it will all be forgotten.
“Wonderful, Madam Director, just step out and—”
“Hold on, I want to show you something,” and her hand comes out, holding a sheet of paper.
Up hidden on the roof of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building—formerly known as the Old Executive Office Building—the assassin called Turner is comfortably holding a .300 Winchester Magnum bolt-action rifle with a Schmidt & Bender telescopic sight, clearly seeing Carlton Pope talking to someone sitting in the rear of the black Chevy Suburban.
No doubt it’s the CIA director, his target. If her vehicle was standard, he might have gambled and let loose two rounds right now, trusting the full metal jacket bullets to cut her down after passing through the thin metal.
But that’s a gamble. Turner hasn’t earned his record through gambling.
He waits.
His vision is such that he has a clear view of Carlton and the Suburban’s left rear window, and—
Okay.
Movement.
His finger is on the trigger, just needing a steady squeeze to kill Hannah Abrams.
He sees her hand.
It’s holding a piece of paper.
Step out, step out,he thinks.Just give me two seconds and I’ll get the job done.
The hand goes back into the Suburban, a blur of action and—
Carlton Pope is slammed against the side of the Suburban.
Handcuffed.
Turner’s not sure what’s going on, only certain that his sweet job with Pope has just been terminated, and it’s time to get moving.
He quickly unloads the rifle and starts breaking it down.
