down with a grunt but popped right back up when he saw the guy go for his pistol. Being seconds from death gave Lee's body resiliency he could never summon in less dangerous times. He hit the guy low and hard, linebacker to running back in a textbook impact, and they both went over the edge of the steps, bouncing painfully down each pressure-treated plank and landing in a pile of twisted arms, legs and torsos in the sand and then eating mouthfuls of salty water as they rolled into the water, the rising tide being almost up to the steps.
Lee had seen the pistol tumble away during the fall, so he kicked himself free and stood in ankle-deep water. The guy rose too, but not as swiftly. Lee, however, was tightly on guard. The guy knew karate;
Lee had felt it in the kick at the top of the stairs; he was seeing it in the defensive posture the man now assumed, making himself into a little ball, leaving no angles, nothing of much width to hit. His brain working faster than conscious thought, Lee figured he had about four inches and fifty pounds on the guy, but if the man nailed him with a lethal foot to the head, Lee would go down. And then he and Faith and Buchanan were all dead. But if he didn't finish the guy within the next minute, Faith and Buchanan would be dead anyway.
The man aimed a crushing side kick to Lee's torso; however, his having to slosh through water to deliver the kick gave Lee the little extra time he needed. Lee had to get in close, grab what he could and not give Chuck Norris Jr. enough space to do his martial arts magic. Lee was a boxer; in-close fighting, where whipping legs couldn't do much damage, was where he could be absolutely devastating. Lee braced himself and absorbed the rib-rattling leg shot to the body but then held on to the limb with his bloodied arm, clinching it to his side in a viselike grip. With his free hand, he landed a cartilage-shattering blow to the guy's knee, driving it backward to a degree knees were not designed to go. The man screamed. Then Lee delivered a crunching straight jab to the guy's face, feeling the nose flatten under the impact. Finally, in a flash of almost choreographed movement, Lee dropped the leg, curled low and then erupted out of that position with a cannonball left hook that carried all two hundred and twenty pounds of his bulk plus whatever multiplying factor pure fury brought to the battle. When his fist hit facial bone, which promptly yielded under the terrible impact, Lee knew he had won. Nobody short of a professional heavyweight had a jaw that hard.
The man went down as though shot through the head. Lee instantly flipped him on his stomach and pushed his head under the water. He didn't have time to actually drown the guy, so he brought his elbow down with all his might dead center on the back of the man's neck. The resulting sound was unmistakable, even with the water lapping all over them, as though God wanted Lee to damn well know what he'd done, and didn't want him to ever forget it.
The body went limp and Lee rose over the dead man. Lee had been in more than his share of fights both in and out of the boxing ring, but he had never killed anyone before. As he looked down at the body, he knew it was nothing to be proud of. Lee was just grateful it wasn't him lying dead.
Sick to his stomach and suddenly feeling the full force of the pain in his wounded arm, Lee looked up the steps leading to the beach houses.
He had only two other beasts to conquer and then he could call it a day. And it was clear they weren't the Feds. FBI agents didn't run around trying to kill people with fancy knives and karate kicks; they pulled their shields and guns and told you to stop right in your tracks. And if you were smart, you did.
No, they were the other guys. The CIA robokillers. He raced up the steps, found his pistol and hustled as fast as he could to the beach house, hoping with every labored breath that he was not too late.
CHAPTER 52
FAITH HAD CHANGED INTO JEANS AND A SWEATSHIRT and now sat on her bed staring at her bare feet. The sounds of the motorcycle had disappeared as though into an enormous vacuum. As she looked around the room, it was as though Lee Adams had never even been here, had never been real.
She had spent so much time and energy trying to lose the man, and now that he was gone, all of her spirit seemed to have been swept into the void Lee had left behind.
At first she thought the sound she heard in the stillness of the house was Buchanan stirring. Then she thought it might actually be Lee returning. It had sounded like the back door. As she rose from the bed, it suddenly occurred to her that it couldn't be Lee because she hadn't heard the motorcycle pull into the carport; as this thought hit, her heart started thudding uncontrollably.
Had she locked the door? She couldn't remember. She knew she hadn't set the alarm. Could it be just Danny stumbling around? For some reason Faith knew it wasn't.
She eased over to the doorway and peered out, her ears straining to hear any sound. She knew she hadn't imagined the noise. Someone had come in the house, she was sure of it. Someone was in the house right now. She looked down the hallway. There was another alarm control panel in the bedroom Lee had used. Could she reach it, activate the system, the motion detector? She dropped to her knees and crawled out into the hallway.
* * *
Connie and Reynolds had gone in the side door and made their way down the lower-floor hallway. Connie had his gun pointed ahead. Reynolds was behind him, feeling naked and useless without her own pistol. They eased open each door on the lower level and found each room empty.
"They must be upstairs," Reynolds whispered into Connie's ear.
"I hope there's somebody here," he whispered back, his voice carrying an ominous tone.
They both froze when a sound came from somewhere within the house.
Connie motioned upstairs with his finger and Reynolds nodded in agreement. They approached the stairs and headed up. Fortunately, the stairs were carpeted and absorbed the sounds of their footsteps. They reached the first landing and paused, listening intently. Silence.
They moved forward again.
The family area was empty, as far as they could see. They moved along one wall, their heads swiveling in near-synchronized motion.
Right above them, in the upstairs hallway, Faith was flat on her stomach on the floor. She peered over the edge and relaxed slightly as she saw that it was Agent Reynolds. When she saw the two other men moving up the stairs from the lower level, her fear instantly returned.
"Look out," Faith yelled.
Connie and Reynolds turned back to look at her and saw where she was pointing. Connie swung his gun' in the direction of the two men, who also had their guns out, pointed directly at the two agents.
"FBI," Reynolds barked out to the men in black. "Drop your weapons.
Usually when she said that, she felt fairly confident of the response.
Now, with two guns against one, she was not nearly as confident.
The two men didn't drop their weapons. They moved forward as Connie swung his gun back and forth between the two.
One of the men looked up at Faith. "Come down here, Ms. Lockhart."
"Stay up there, Faith," Reynolds called out, her gaze finding Faith's and holding on it. "Go to your room and lock the door."
"Faith?" Buchanan appeared in the hallway, his white hair disheveled, his eyes blinking.
"You too, Buchanan. Now," the same man commanded. "Down here."
"No!" Reynolds said, moving forward. "Listen up, an HRT unit is on its way here right now. We're looking at an ETA of about two minutes.
If you won't put your weapons down, then I suggest you run like hell unless you want to go up against those guys."
The man looked at her and smiled. "There's no HRT unit coming, Agent Reynolds."
Reynolds could not hide her astonishment. That astonishment immeasurably increased with the man's next words.
"Agent Constantinople," the man said, looking over at Connie, "you can leave now. We have it under control, but we appreciate your assistance."
Slowly, Reynolds turned and looked at her partner, her mouth open in absolute shock.
Connie stared back at her, a distinct look of resignation on his features
.
"Connie?" Reynolds took a quick breath. "It can't be, Connie. Please tell me it's not."
Connie fingered his pistol and he shrugged. Gradually his taut posture relaxed. "My plan was to get you out of this alive and get your suspension lifted." He looked over at the two men. One of them shook his head decisively.
"You're the leak?" Reynolds said. "Not Ken?"
"Ken was no leak," Connie said.
"But the money in the safe-deposit box?"
"That came from his card and coin trading. He operated all in cash. I actually did some shows with him. I knew. He was cheating the tax guys. So who the hell cared? More power to him. Most of it was going to college funds for his kids anyway."
"You let me think he was the leak."
"Well, I didn't want you to think it was me. Obviously, that would not have been good."
One of the men ran upstairs and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. A minute later he emerged carrying Buchanan's briefcase. He escorted Faith and Buchanan down the stairs. The man popped open the briefcase and took out the cassette. He played a little of the tape to confirm what was on it. Then he cracked open the cassette, pulled out the tape and threw the long strands into the gas fireplace and hit the remote switch. They all watched in silence as the tape was quickly reduced to a gooey mess.
As Reynolds watched the tape disappear, she couldn't help but think she was being shown the next few minutes of her life. The last few minutes of her life.
Reynolds looked at the two men and then at Connie. "So they just tailed us all the way down? I didn't see anybody," she said bitterly.
Connie shook his head. "There was a transmitter in my car. They've been listening in. They let us find the right house and then followed."
"Why, Connie? Why turn traitor?"
Connie's tone was reflective. "I put in twenty-five years at the Bureau. Twenty-five damn good years, and I'm still at square one, still a grunt in the field. I got a dozen years on you and you're my boss. Because I wouldn't play the political game south of the border.
Because I wouldn't lie and just go along, they tanked my career." He shook his head and looked down. When he stared back up at her, he looked apologetic. "Understand, I got nothing against you, Brooke.
Nothing. You're a damn fine agent. I didn't want it to end like this.
The plan was for us to stay outside and let these guys do their thing.
When I got the all-clear, we'd go in and find the bodies. Your name would be cleared, everything would work out fine. Adams taking off like that blew our plan apart." Connie stared with unfriendly eyes at the man in black who had identified him by name. "But if this guy hadn't said anything, maybe I still could have figured out a way for you to walk away with me."
The man shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't know that was important to you. But you'd better get going. It's getting light outside. Give us half an hour. Then you can call the cops. Make up any cover story you want."
Reynolds never took her eyes off Connie. "Let me make up a cover story for you, Connie. It goes like this: We found the house. I go in the front while you cover the rear. I don't come out. You hear shots, you go in. Find us all dead." Reynolds's voice broke as she thought of her children, of never seeing them again. "You see someone leaving, empty your pistol at him. But you miss, give chase, are almost killed, but luckily barely survive. You call the cops. They get here. You call HQ, fill them in. They send people down. You get bitched at a little for coming down here with me, but you were just standing by your boss. Loyalty. Who could really blame you? They investigate and never reach a satisfactory answer. Probably think I'm the leak for sure, came down for a payoff. You can tell them it was my idea to come here, that I knew exactly where to go. I go in the house, get popped.
And you, a poor innocent dupe, almost lose your life too. Case closed.
How's that sound, Agent Constantinople?" She almost spat this last part out.
One of Thornhill's men looked over at Connie and smiled. "Sounds good to me."
Connie never took his eyes off Reynolds. "I'm sorry, Brooke, I really am."
Reynolds's eyes filled with tears and her voice cracked again when she spoke. "Tell Anne Newman that. Tell my kids that, you bastard!"
His eyes downcast, Connie moved past them and started to head down the stairs.
"We'll do them here, one by one," the first man said.