Part 47 (1/2)
”Didn't you realize who you were up against?” Boyle shouted at Rogo. ”You should've called the cops days ago.”
”We did! We thought we did!” Rogo replied. ”Micah and O'Shea said they were-”
One . . . !” the guard shouted.
”Or at least called in some favors,” Boyle added, turning to Dreidel.
Turning away, Dreidel was silent.
Rogo raised an eyebrow.
”Two . . . !” the guard continued.
Boyle watched them both carefully, then rolled his tongue, more annoyed than ever. He'd worked in the White House for nearly four years. He'd seen that look before.
”You did, didn't you?” Boyle challenged.
”And you did anything different?” Dreidel shot back. ”Spare me the judgment.”
”Wait . . . what? what?” Rogo asked. ”You went for help without telling us?”
Before Dreidel could answer, the guard pulled back the hammer on his gun.
Still locked on Dreidel, Boyle ignored the threat. ”Who'd you run to first? NSA? FBI? Or'd you go to Bendis at-?”
”The Marshals,” Dreidel blurted. ”I went to the Marshals Service.”
Hearing the words, the guard turned toward Dreidel. And took his eyes off Boyle.
That was the end.
Leaping forward, Boyle slammed the guard from behind, wrapping his left arm around the guard's neck and gripping his stringy brown hair with his right.
”Are you-? Get the h.e.l.l off!” the guard screamed. He reached back to grab Boyle-which was exactly what Boyle was hoping for.
Seizing the momentum, Boyle threw himself backward, taking the guard with him as they plunged toward the floor. It wasn't until they were in mid-fall that the guard realized what he was in for.
”Boyle, don't-!”
Pivoting at the last second, Boyle spun to the left, twisting around so that instead of falling backward, the guard was falling forward. Straight toward the salmon-colored marble floor. At the last second, with a sharp tug of brown hair to steer the s.h.i.+p, Boyle turned the guard's head to the side, so his right ear was facing down.
”Get off me, you lunati-!”
Like a cupped hand slapping water, the guard's ear smacked the ground with a loud hollow pop, followed half a second later by a louder pop as his gun backfired from the impact. Boyle, Rogo, and Dreidel all jumped back as the bullet zinged from his gun, piercing the base of the welcome desk and lodging in the marble wall. Before they'd even realized what happened, the guard's head slumped unconscious against the floor, blood trickling out from his burst eardrum.
”What're you, on drugs on drugs!?” Dreidel demanded as Boyle climbed to his feet.
Without answering, Boyle motioned to the door. ”We should go. He's got backup coming.”
Still in shock, Rogo just stood there, his eyes hopping from Boyle and Dreidel to the limp figures of O'Shea and the guard. ”I don't . . . I'm not-”
”Dreidel, you don't live down here, do you?” Boyle asked.
”No, but I can-”
”I need you to show me the fastest route to the cemetery,” Boyle said as he turned to Rogo.
Rogo nodded, first slowly, then faster, his eyes eventually settling on Dreidel, who quickly approached to make peace.
”Rogo, before you say anything . . .”
”You made a deal, didn't you?” Rogo challenged.
”Just listen-”
”What'd the Marshals offer you?”
”Rogo . . .”
”What'd they offer you, you cancerous little parasite!?” Rogo shouted. Rogo shouted.
Dreidel shook his head as his jaw s.h.i.+fted off-center. ”Full immunity.”
”I knew knew it!” Rogo said. it!” Rogo said.
”But it's not-”
”And what was the trade? That you'd spy on us-help them catch The Three-as a way to prove your own innocence?”
”I am am innocent!” Dreidel snapped. innocent!” Dreidel snapped.
”So is Wes! So am I I! But you don't see us running to the authorities, making private deals, and then tattling on our friends without telling them without telling them!”
”Rogo-both of you-we need to go,” Boyle insisted.
Enraged but well aware of Wes's current situation, Rogo spun back to the main entrance, followed Boyle through the sliding doors, and burst into the parking lot with Dreidel right behind him.
As flicks of rain bombarded from above, Dreidel quickly caught up so they were running side by side, heading for Boyle's van. ”I didn't tattle on you,” Dreidel said.
”So you never told them what we were up to?” Rogo shot back.
”I didn't have a choice, Rogo. Once Wes came to my hotel room that first day . . . I needed the help. They said if I kept my eyes on you and Wes-kept them informed on where you were-they'd do their best to keep us protected as well as keeping our names out of the papers.”
”And that's not spying on your friends?”
”Listen, don't be mad at me for being the only one smart enough to realize that in an emergency, you're supposed to break the gla.s.s and call for help. C'mon, Rogo, think for a second. I can't afford-” As they approached the white van, he explained, ”I'm running for State Senate.”
Rus.h.i.+ng around to the pa.s.senger side of the van, Rogo felt his fingers tighten into a fist. He almost bit through his own lip as he fought to contain his rage. ”Let's go-open the door,” he called out to Boyle.