The Fury and the Terror Read online

  "You can have this back." Eden Waring's voice, the rest of her nowhere to be seen in the electric blue.

  A stream of brass issued from the MP5 machine gun as the assassin sowed the air and the deck all around him with lethal lead. He stopped after four seconds, caught his breath. Then he fired a few more rounds into the other marine locker, the one where there had been a coil of rope on the lid.

  The implication of the missing rope didn't occur to him until he felt it around his neck, digging in savagely as he was yanked off his feet and dragged backward toward the ladder.

  Geoff was staring into Riley's pain-clouded eyes when they heard the gunfire. "He's killing Eden!" Riley screamed. Then his eyes disappeared into his head as the color of his face faded from red to ghastly gray and he slumped, head down and half off the sofa with the sunflower cushions. Geoff helpless, horrified. Riley was inert. Not so much as a last wrenching breath. Over that fast. Heart.

  Geoff's heartbeats were a series of explosions. He squirmed against the hog-tie job, going nowhere. Found himself up against Betts. She was lying on her back. Breathing. One ear was swollen and red and there was a mouse on the cheekbone where Haman had gun-butted her. The rest of her color was not so good. He bumped against Betts frantically, trying to bring her around. Make it to the kitchen on hands and knees if she had to. Bring a knife to cut him free.

  Betts opened her eyes partway, blinked, looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  "Go away."

  Geoff made frantic noises in his throat.

  Betts moaned softly, closed her eyes.

  "I don't feel good. Numb. Hands are numb."

  Voiceless, trying to make her understand.

  Betts, love of God he's comin' back for sure. Not much time. Get me loose.

  "I feel sick. My head hurts."

  Get up get up get up.

  "Hands numb. Can't feel my hands. Stop it."

  Talking to her with his eyes. Pleading.

  Comin' back. Kill us all. Get up.

  Betts rolled away from him and vomited instead.

  The front door was opened.

  From where Geoff was lying on the floor he couldn't see the door. Only a swift morning shadow on a paneled wall. Unidentifiable except for the jut of breasts. All he could think of was Haman made up to resemble Rona Harvester. Wearing that ridiculous stuffed bra. Haman was here. Geoff felt crushed, defeated.

  One hand free. If he just had one hand—

  He saw bare feet coming toward him. Long athletic legs, tanned. Jogging shorts, hockey jersey covering her to her hips. He saw two 'small holes in the jersey at the level of her collarbones. Sunlight was adding flame to her hair this morning. Her eye had turned in, as it was apt to do when Eden was stressed. But it was her right eye.

  She glanced at Geoff but went to Betts first, helping her to sit up, cleaned vomit from inside her mouth with a finger so she wouldn't aspirate it. Betts was breathing okay, not laboring, but her eyes were unfocused. The girl put her down again with a pillow beneath her head. Then, on hands and knees, she lifted Riley's head, placed two fingers against the carotid artery in his neck. After a dozen seconds had passed she sighed and moved his body so it was lying face up on the sofa.

  Then she came to Geoff, tugged at the tape across his mouth with fingers that reeked of Betts's vomit, and removed his gag. Geoff coughed violently, his own gorge rising. She stepped back out of the way, looking coolly at him.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yes. Can't believe. Eden, he shot you. Saw it. How bad?"

  She shrugged. "It's nothing."

  "Where is he?"

  She turned and walked to the kitchen. With her back to him he counted three more round holes in the Mighty Ducks jersey. Only holes. There was no blood.

  "Down at the dock. Tied up. I threw his gun in the lake."

  "How did you—? Should have shot him, he's too dangerous!"

  "Can't do that. I can't kill a human being."

  "He shot you."

  "I told you, it's no big deal."

  She opened drawers in the kitchen, came up with a pair of scissors, and walked back to him.

  "What do you mean, 'no big deal'?"

  "I'm not hurt. Okay?"

  "I'm looking at holes in that shirt. Bullet holes."

  "You're getting a little shrill. Why don't you just shut up, big guy. Everything's under control. Too bad about Riley, though."

  "What is this? What's goin' on?" Geoff looked around, eyes flashing fear. "I'm dreamin' this. He's dead, and you go, 'Too bad about Riley.' What? What? That's not the Eden Waring I know! Eden would be grief-stricken. Loved her daddy. Okay, then this ain't real. You can't be Eden, so, fuck, I don't know. I must be trippin'. How? Haven't had a controlled substance since I was sixteen. Wish I was stoned. Otherwise means I lost it. Breakin' point. All I wanted was to be a SEAL but couldn't handle the cold, wet all the time, they didn't let you sleep, I just cracked. Washed out. My old man could've spit on me. I must've washed out ,again when the front door opened. Just wait till he hears the news. Ha ha HAH! Geoff bought the whole fuckin' nut farm this time."

  "You're not so bad. Stop breathing that hard, you'll hyperventilate." She knelt beside him and snipped away at the duct tape with the scissors. Geoff sat up rubbing his wrists. He put a finger into one of the holes in the hockey jersey. Firm flesh underneath. No trace of a wound. She didn't flinch, just smiled in a humoring way.

  "Satisfied?"

  He withdrew his finger. He was trembling, electrified, as if he'd stuck the finger into a light socket.

  She slowly raised the jersey, gathering it above her bare breasts. She took a deep breath, expanding her chest until her rosy nipples peaked.

  "Any of this look familiar? Ought to."

  Geoff got to his feet, staring down at her. He was wobbly. He put a hand against the back of a wicker chair, stumbled into a table, and knocked a lamp to the floor. Made it to the front door and outside.

  She had the feeling he might pass out and hurt himself. Probably could have handled this a little better. She sighed again and followed Geoff.

  CHAPTER 30

  WASHINGTON, D.C./QUANTICO, VA. • MAY 29 • 11:24 A.M. EDT

  Rona Harvester and Pard, the family's Border collie, left the Marine helicopter that had returned her to the White House and were met by Rona's communications director.

  "How was the President this morning?" Melissa asked.

  "Robust. That's the word I'd like for you to use in all future releases."

  "Wonderful. Such good news."

  "He's still having a few difficulties with the King's English. But he's dying to come home."

  "To the White House?"

  "Yes. For a few days. Not too strenuous a schedule. But I want him to be seen in familiar surroundings. The world has been wondering and waiting. Clint's return should be a real tonic for the stock market. I'll talk to Rumsill and Pearce, have them load up on futures for the blind trust."

  "Wouldn't that be a violation of—"

  Rona scowled. "Melissa, there's a wide gulf between opportunism and fraud."

  "I didn't mean—"

  "Buy some S and P June calls for your own account. The offshore ac count, of course. Next. Alert Clint's staff, I'll meet with them at two this afternoon. Some strict guidelines must and will be observed. We don't want Clint to feel pressured. Next. I want TV time tonight. Eight o'clock, all the networks. Tell them Rona needs ten minutes."

  "That may be—"

  "Giving me all kinds of shit this morning! I ask you to do something, I get this face. Are you having cramps? Your boyfriend losing erections again? Is your moon square my sun in a bad sign? Rona Harvester is going to address the nation at eight o'clock. Who's going to object? I need Couric or Walters to boost my ratings? I'm hot. Right now I'm walking up to the South Portico and there are twenty cameras trained on me. My well-wishers are legion. Calls of love and support are coming in from everywhere. I'm the most talked-about woman on the fucking planet. It requi
res no explanation. Next. Effective immediately, we are moving our entire operation from our space to the southwest corner of the west wing."

  "The Oval Office?!"

  "Yes, Melissa. Now get that incredulous grin off your face while I take a bow," Rona concluded, turning for a last fists-in-the-air flourish to acknowledge distant cheers before disappearing inside the White House.

  Bob Hyde was halfway through a three-mile run along a back road of the FBI's turf on the Quantico Marine Reservation, where he had a weekend house. A member of Hyde's security detail, jogging a dozen feet behind him, took a cell phone call. After a few words he stepped up his pace to move abreast of the Director. Hyde glanced at the bodyguard and at the phone in his hand, looking annoyed. It was a warm morning and he had drunk too much the night before, while with the President pro tem and after, when he had entertained the loan-out mistress of a New York Congressman. Hyde never had had much of a sex drive, but as he got older he developed a perversion that occasionally he was driven to indulge. Otherwise he became morose to the point of depression. The act both thrilled and disgusted him. But his curiosity had been rewarded. The Congressman was right. For a mere slip of a girl, she owned an incredible bladder.

  "What is it, Stahlnut?"

  "Urgent call, sir."

  "I don't care how urgent. When I'm running."

  "Says he's your son."

  After a few moments the Director broke stride and stood panting in the shade of a hickory tree by a winding brook. In the distance a squad of Bureau recruits was hoorawing through an obstacle course.

  "This is Hyde."

  "Dad."

  "Geoff. Wondering when I'd hear from you."

  "I know this isn't a secure line."

  "Save it, then."

  "Can't, sir. I have to tell you. I can't do it. Carry out my assignment. I've already done too much to hurt her. She'll never f-forgive me. Riley's dead. Huh-huh-heart attack. She'll never, in her life, ever. But I have to protect her! Can't let you do this. I'm s-sorry. I love her, sir."

  "Are you crying? What's going on? Have you lost your—"

  "No, no! I know what I'm doing. I almost lost it, but I understand now. She explained. How there can be t-two of them. I can deal with it. This isn't like when I washed out of the SEALs, Dad! I'm not having a breakdown. I'm in, in, I've got 'plete control of myself, sir."

  "Where are you, Geoff?"

  "Place called Greenwood Lake. Northern California. People named Hassler own this house. You see, what happened was—"

  "Is she there? Is the subj—the Waring girl's with you right now?"

  "Well uh yes. But that's the hard part to expl—"

  "Geoff. Listen to me, son. Stay right where you are. You need my help, I can tell."

  "Complete control. I'm not messed up!"

  "Wasn't implying you were. You've been under a lot of strain, I appreciate that. I'm going to help you. Are you listening? Now there's someone else, from Impact Sector—"

  "Shit, I know about him! Crazy son of a bitch. He was gonna whack me too." There was a silence. Hyde mopped his brow. Geoff's voice changed. "Wasn't your idea, was it?"

  "Geoff, no, of course not!"

  Geoff's voice growing colder. "So that wasn't your plan all along? Because, because you hated me for washing out of SEALs?"

  "I've never hated—"

  "Never loved me either. God damn you! And all I ever wanted, you bastard, wanted. How could you do this to me! Put me in this position? Well you'll never find me, I promise. Me or Eden. I'm protectin' her now. You won't get your hands on her. I'm firmly resolved. God is my witness and I will kill you first!"

  "Don't say that. You're overwrought. Exhausted, from the sound of your voice. What happened to the covert from Impact?"

  "Neutralized. He failed. Like you think I failed, but I haven't because Eden is the only one who matters to me anymore. Now this is what I want you to do."

  "You want—yes, all right. Talk to me."

  "Get a medevac chopper up here, right now. Betts needs medical attention. And Riley, poor Riley! I never wanted anything like this. But I'll make amends. I swear."

  "I'm coming out there. Stay where you are. That's not an order. I'm asking as a concerned male parent."

  "Fat chance," Geoff said, choking out the words. "I never ... want to see you again."

  "Don't you understand? Has she warped your mind? This girl can be extremely dangerous—hello?"

  Hyde lowered the phone, looked down, looked up, a face full of storm signals. He pitched the cell phone to the nearest bodyguard.

  "Stahlnut. Chopper on the ball field over there, secure communications, I'll be waiting."

  "Sir!"

  "Then notify TAC at headquarters. I want Mach two transportation to Innisfall, California. On the line and smoking, forty minutes. National Security Directive authorization, X-Ray Niner Six Six Delta Rover. McDurfee, have my valet pack an overnighter. Tell him not to forget my military-issue Glock and two extra thirteen-round mags. Then alert Impact Sector to an incoming Code Red. Raise some dust, son."

  CHAPTER 31

  GREENWOOD LAKE • MAY 29 • 9:05 A.M. PDT

  Geoff McTyer rubbed his face carefully, as if he were afraid it had begun to soften and was about to assume a strange shape in the sun. "You can take me to Eden, can't you?"

  "Not the way I got here," the dpg said. They were sitting on the dock.

  She had removed her sandals and was splashing her feet idly in the water.

  "How did you get here?"

  "Visualization travel. Easy for me, impossible for youse."

  "What?" Geoff said. He bent over, scooped some water in one hand, and dashed it across his face.

  "Just poking a little fun at your accent. You don't look good."

  "Visual what?"

  "It's a doppelganger thing. But you've had enough input already for one day. Sensory overload. Frazzles your dendrites."

  "I want to know everything," Geoff said gamely. "You're sayin' I can't handle it? You won't freak me out. I've already been there and back."

  "It's just that you keep throwing up. Your eyes are rolling around in your head. Sensory overload. Give yourself a rain check. Lie down in the shade for a while."

  "I'll sleep later. Time to go. I'll drive. Tell me where."

  "What about Betts?"

  "Help is on the way. I don't want to be here when."

  "Frankly I'm in no hurry to get back," Eden's doppelganger said. "Why not?"

  "What happens if I pull off this jersey and drop my shorts?"

  "Oh, Jesus! Don't do that again."

  "It was a little cold turkey. For you. Well, one disappearing picture is worth, and so on. Reason why I did it. Anyway, we go back and I resume my inferior status, I mean, I'm purely a doppelganger again. Until and if Eden needs me. Pardon me if I'm enjoying what little freedom I'm allowed, okay? And I have to say I enjoy hanging out with you, Geoff. I think you need me more than you need Eden right now. So there it is."

  "I'm responsible. You don't know what could happen to Eden!"

  "Eden's a cautious soul, since all of the commotion began. That's why, when Betts didn't sign off her E-mail with the usual 'Cheerio, dear one,' Eden decided I should put in an appearance instead. Get the full skinny and report back to her."

  "She'll be waitin', then. Let's move. Hit the road."

  "Eden won't be worried. She knows I can't get into trouble on her behalf. Very much trouble. I've proved to her I'm the dependable sort. Any luck, and I'll make corporal this year."

  Geoff shuddered and closed his eyes.

  "Coming down with something?"

  He shuddered again. "I'm in control. Once in a while, talking to ... you, it's like a cold slap in the face."

  "I resent that. Nothing frigid about me. I have body heat. Go ahead, verify that again. Put your hand on my breast. Or anywhere else you want to, I'm not shy. I can have sex. Eden's asleep now, she wouldn't know. The way it works, there's no direct communication be
tween us when I'm traveling, unless it's an emergency. I'm saying—if I need to be more explicit—while we're doing it my homebody probably would enjoy a lovely wet dream." She smiled, a sunny flattering come-on. "Takes a real man to satisfy two women at once."

  "I've never felt less like havin' sex."

  "Oh," the dpg said. She looked down, then kicked one foot to scatter her reflection on the water. "I thought men always wanted to have sex."

  "I haven't slept. My nerves are shot. Doesn't have a thing to do with you."

  "Or what I am?" She kicked water in his direction, frowning.

  Geoff shrugged uneasily.

  "We need to get out of here. I talked to my old man, dropped the fat in the fire, how long ago?" He looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes we've been sittin' here? It's not safe to hang around. Wheels are in motion. Events are turning. Where's Eden?"

  "Spoil sport."

  "Do you have to do what I tell you?"

  "No. You don't get three wishes either. Jeez."

  "Then what can I do for you, is there somethin', I mean besides have sex, which I guarantee I cannot manage right now?"

  "Well ... no point in talking about it. Humans don't keep their bargains. And you're a lying rat."

  "A man can change. What do you mean, 'bargain'? So there is some-thin'."

  "Could be." She stood up suddenly, wet legs gleaming in the sunlight, and stretched, her navel popping into view. She reached down and gave his earlobe a playful tweak. "We can discuss it on the way to Moby Bay. By the way, Geoff, what do you want to do with that stale twinkie we have tied up?" She raised her eyes to the deck above them, then looked meaningfully at the compact Glock automatic he'd stuffed inside his belt.

  Geoff looked uncertain.

  "Do I get a vote?" the dpg asked. "I say kill him. You'll be doing him a favor. Another hour and his makeup will melt in the sun. Then you won't be able to tell if you're looking at his face or his ass."

  Geoff went up the ladder with Eden's dpg following.

  The assassin was hog-tied and silenced, his baroque evil undiminished in bonds of gray tape. The Rona Harvester wig was askew. The hatred in his eyes, when he looked at Geoff, was as indestructible as brimstone.