Part 28 (1/2)

Robert looked over at Thorne. ”This a.s.shole's not the negotiating type.”

”My thoughts exactly. How do you want to play it?” Robert heard a loud crash. Fiona screamed. He looked inside. The Bear kicked in the inner-office door and rushed inside.

Robert erupted and tore inside with Thorne right on his heels, both pointing their weapons. Robert saw Fiona duck down behind her desk.

”She's in the line of fire, Thorne!”

They hesitated. The Bear fired. They rolled inside her office on opposite sides of the room.

”Stay down, Fiona,” Robert screamed.

He rushed Andre, staying low. The Russian fired, missed, and Robert body slammed him to the ground. Both lost their weapons as they hit the floor.

Robert gave Andre a head b.u.t.t in the mouth. Thorne screamed for him to move. He did. She pulled the trigger. Empty.

Andre caught Robert in the jaw, knocking him backwards. Thorne dove on top, but he flipped her over and sent her cras.h.i.+ng into a table.

He jumped up screaming in Russian, crazed, frothing at the mouth, a long silver knife in his hand. Fiona ran to the back of the office and stood against the wall.

Robert and Thorne scrambled to their feet and circled.

Andre continued to rant in his native tongue. Robert didn't understand what he said, but understood he wanted to kill Fiona. He wanted to see her dead.

Robert charged. Andre sliced his arm. Thorne came up from behind, bear-hugged him, and reverse slammed the Russian to the floor.

The Bear scrambled to his feet, still gripping the knife. Thorne tried to take him. He stabbed and slashed, holding her at bay.

Andre looked at Fiona, mouth frothing, eyes red. He screamed and rushed toward her. Fiona raised her hand, which held Robert's gun, and fired, hitting him in the shoulder.

Andre stopped and admired the wound, smiled, and rushed again.

Robert dove for him and missed. Shots exploded, then stopped.

Robert rushed to his feet and looked down. Andre Perchenkov, the Bear, lay on his back, blood oozing from his chest. Thorne knelt down and checked his pulse. ”He's dead.”

Robert looked at Fiona. ”It's over honey, it's...” Fiona stood against the wall shaking. The Russian's knife in her chest. ”Robert.” She collapsed.

Robert rushed over. The SWAT team rushed inside.

”Get an ambulance! She's hurt! Get an ambulance!” He examined the wound. Half the blade made it inside her chest, and blood oozed, soaking her blouse. Fiona tried to raise herself up.

”Don't move,” said Robert, bracing himself behind her. ”They're on their way.” He looked down at her through watery eyes. She smiled.

”I missed you,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks.

”I missed you too,” he said.

”Where's that ambulance?” Thorne screamed.

”Jessica,” Fiona whispered. ”Where's Jessica?”

”Don't try to speak. Rest. Jessica's just fine. You're going to be fine.”

”Is he dead?” Fiona asked.

”Yes, he's gone.”

Fiona closed her eyes and her breathing fell shallow. Robert gave her mouth to mouth. She didn't respond. Paramedics rushed inside and went to work. One called hospital emergency to report her condition, while the other pressed gauze on the wound. Robert heard them say they couldn't detect a pulse. He could barely swallow.

They carefully loaded her body on a gurney, tubes in her nose and arm. He followed them outside, Thorne at his side. The ambulance sped off. Robert's stomach cramped.

”I should have been here,” he whispered, lowering his head. ”I never should have left her side.”

”You did the right thing,” Thorne told him. ”How could you know the b.a.s.t.a.r.d would be inside the building?”

”I should've put her first.”

”You put the country first. We did the right thing.” FBI agents made their way over. They'd be questioned all night, but Robert didn't care. The woman he loved died and at the moment, the world didn't matter.

40.

A cold wind pounded hard against the windows, shaking them violently.

Thorne and Barbara sat at the table playing chess, both concentrating hard, Robert's mother holding the upper hand.

Fiona's servants milled around, heads low, faces miserable. Robert, couched in front of the television, shut his eyes, but couldn't sleep.

”What time is he going to speak?” asked his mother.

”In about ten minutes,” answered Robert, changing the channel to CNN.

President Claymore would address the nation that night in an attempt to make sense of the past week's turmoil.

A search of Andre's locker uncovered a note ranting and raving about the death of his brother and the usual ”hatred of the U.S.” diatribe. The note said Fiona's death was his final message, a warning that America was not all-powerful, and that he was the beginning of many to follow after him.

Thanks to a profile on America's Most Wanted, the police found and searched the Russian's apartment, where they found information linking Andre to Agent Sams, and the body of his neighbor, Gloria Parsons, an apparent moth too close to the flame.

Robert poured himself a drink, Jack Daniels on the rocks. He thought about the evidence, which he knew they'd never find. He and Thorne went back to Parklawn and searched, but couldn't find a clue.