Total Control, Page 55

  Rowe didn't answer. Tears spilled down onto the laptop.

  "Quentin?"

  "I gave it to him. I did it!" Rowe exploded out of his chair, staggered for a moment and then collapsed back into the chair. In a painful voice, he continued. "When Steven told me he had tested positive, I couldn't believe it. I had always been faithful to him and he swore the same to me. We thought it might have been Lieberman.

  We got a copy of his medical records; he was clean. That's when I took an examination." His lips started to quiver. "And that's when I was told I was HIV-positive. The only thing I could think of was a damn blood transfusion I'd had when I was in a serious car accident.

  I checked with the hospital and discovered that several other surgery patients had contracted the virus during the same time period.

  I told Steven everything. ! cared for him so much. I never felt so much guilt in all my life. I thought he would understand." Rowe took a deep breath. "Only he didn't."

  "He threatened to expose you?" Sidney asked.

  "We had come too far, worked too damn hard. Steven wasn't thinking clearly, he..." Rowe shook his head in complete despondence.

  "He came to my apartment one night; he had been drinking very heavily. He told me what he was going to do. He was going to tell everything about Lieberman, the blackmail scheme. We'd all go to prison. I told him he had to do what he thought was right." Rowe paused, his voice breaking. "I often gave him his daily dosages of insulin, kept a supply at my place. He was always forgetful about it."

  Rowe looked down at the teardrops dropping onto his hands.

  "Steven passed out on the couch. While he was asleep, I gave him an overdose of insulin, woke him up, and put him in a cab for home."

  Rowe added quietly, "And he died. We kept our relationship since college a secret. The police never even questioned me."

  He looked at Sidney. "You understand, don't you? I had to do it.

  My dreams, my vision for the future." His voice was almost pleading.

  Sidney didn't answer. Finally Rowe stood up and wiped the tears away. "CyberCom was the last piece I needed. But it all came with a price. With all the secrets between us, Gamble and I were wedded for life." Rowe grimaced, then suddenly smiled as he looked at Gamble. "Fortunately, I will outlive him."

  "You double-crossing bastard!" Gamble tried his best to get to Rowe, but Lucas held him back.

  "But Jason found out everything when he was going through the records at the warehouse, didn't he?" Sidney said.

  Rowe exploded again and directed his tirade at Gamble. "You idiot! You've never respected technology, and it was your undoing.

  You never realized that the secret e-mails you sent Lieberman could be captured on tape backup even if you later deleted them. You were so damn anal about money, kept your own set of books documenting the profits trading on Lieberman's actions. And your enemy's losses. It was all buried in the warehouse. You idiot!" Rowe exclaimed again, and looked over at Sidney. "I never wanted any of this to happen, please believe me."

  "Quentin, if you cooperate with the police--" Sidney began.

  Rowe erupted in laughter and Sidney's hopes faded completely.

  He went over to the laptop and popped out the disk. "I'm now the head of Triton Global. I just acquired the one asset that will enable me to accomplish a better future for us all. I don't intend to pursue that dream from a prison cell."

  "Quentin..." She froze as he turned to Kenneth Scales.

  "Make it quick. She is not to suffer. I mean it." He nodded in Gamble's direction. "The bodies go into the ocean, as far out as you can. A mysterious disappearance. In six months' time no one will even remember you," he said to Gamble. Rowe's eyes shone with that thought.

  Gamble was slowly led away, struggling mightily and cursing.

  "Quentin!" Sidney screamed as Scales came closer. Quentin Rowe didn't turn around.

  "Quentin, please!" Finally he looked at her. "Sidney, I'm sorry. I really am." Holding the disk, he started to leave the room. As he passed by, he kindly patted her on the shoulder.

  Her body and mind numb, Sidney's head dropped on her breast.

  When she looked back up, the cold, blue eyes were floating toward her, the face completely blank of emotion. She looked around.

  Everyone in the room was intently watching Scales's methodical advance, waiting to see how he would kill her. Sidney gritted her teeth and backed away until she was flat against a wall. She closed her eyes and did her best to hold the image of her daughter rigidly in her mind. Amy was safe. Her parents were safe. Under the circumstances, that was the absolute best she could do. Good-bye, baby.

  Mommy loves you. The tears spilled down her face. Please don't forget me, Amy. Please.

  Scales lifted up his knife and a smile crept across his face as he looked down at the glistening blade. Light reflecting off it turned the metal a harsh reddish color, a color it had been many times in the past. Scales's smile receded as he looked down at the source of this colored light and saw the tiny red laser dot on his chest, and the barely visible, pencil-thin beam that emanated outward from the dot.

  Scales backed away, his shocked eyes fixed on Lee Sawyer, who was pointing his assault rifle with attached laser scope directly at him.

  Bewildered, the mercenaries looked at the weaponry pointed at them by Sawyer, Jackson, the HRT and a contingent of the Maine State Police. "Guns down, gentleman, or start looking for your brains on the floor," Sawyer bellowed, tightening his grip on the rifle. "Guns down! Now." Sawyer took a few more steps into the room, his finger closing on the trigger. The men started to put down their weapons. Out of the corner of his eye, Sawyer spotted Quentin Rowe trying to discreetly disappear. Sawyer swiveled his gun in the computer man's direction. "Don't think so, Mr. Rowe. Sit down!"

  A thoroughly frightened Quentin Rowe sat down in a chair, the disk gripped against his chest. Sawyer looked at Ray Jackson. "Let's get to it." Sawyer started toward Sidney. At that instant a shot rang out and one of the FBI agents went down. Gunfire erupted as Rowe's men used the opportunity to seize their weapons and open fire. The lawmen quickly dove for cover and returned the fire. Muzzle flashes popped up all over the room as instant death spewed forth from over a dozen locations. It took only seconds for every light in the room to be shot out by gunmen on both sides, plunging the room into total darkness.

  Caught in the cross fire, Sidney threw herself to the floor, her hands over her ears as bullets whizzed overhead.

  Sawyer dropped to his knees and scrambled toward Sidney. From the other direction, Scales, his knife between his teeth, slid on his belly along the floor toward her. Sawyer reached her first and took her by the hand to lead her to safety. Sidney screamed as she saw Scales's blade flash through the air. Sawyer swung his arm out and took the brunt of the blow, the knife cutting through his thick jacket and slicing his forearm. Grunting in pain, he kicked at Scales, losing his balance and toppling over on his back. Scales pounced on the FBI agent and struck at his chest twice. The blade, however, met the advanced-stage Teflon mesh in Sawyer's body armor head-on and lost decisively. Scales paid for that defeat with a mouthful of one of Sawyer's massive fists and one of Sidney's elbows slamming into the back of his neck. The man howled in pain as his already battered mouth and broken nose received an additional litany of injuries.

  Furious, Scales violently threw Sidney off and she slid across the floor and crashed into a wall. Scales's fist repeatedly slammed into Sawyer's face and then he raised the knife, the center of the FBI agent's broad forehead his target. Sawyer clamped his hand around Scales's wrist and slowly but surely heaved himself up. Scales felt the amazing strength in Sawyer's bulk, raw strength the much smaller man could not hope to match. Used to his victims being dead before they ever had a chance to fight back, Scales abruptly discovered he had hooked a very much alive Great White Shark. Sawyer smashed Scales's hand against the floor until the knife went flying into the darkness. Then Sawyer hauled back and unleashed a haymaker that
landed flush on Scales's face and Scales went backward across the room, screaming in agony, his nose now lying fiat against his left cheek.

  Ray Jackson was in one corner of the room exchanging fire with two of the mercenaries. Three of the HRT members had made their way to one of the balconies. With this tactical advantage they were quickly winning the shoot-out. Two of the mercenaries were dead already.

  Another was about to expire with a bullet wound in his leg that had severed the femoral artery. Two of the state troopers had been shot, one seriously. Two of the HRT members had taken hits but were still participating in the gun battle.

  Stopping to reload, Jackson looked across the room and saw Scales get to his feet, knife raised, and sprint toward the very broad back of Lee Sawyer as the FBI agent again tried to pull Sidney to safety.

  There was no time for Jackson to reload his rifle, his 9mm was empty and he was out of clips. If he tried to yell, Sawyer would be unable to hear him over the barrage of gunfire. Jackson jumped to his feet. As a star member of the University of Michigan Wolverines football team, he had rushed for thousands of hard-fought yards on the gridiron. Now he was about to make the run of his life. His thick legs exploded under him, and with bullets splattering all around Jackson reached maximum speed three steps into his sprint.

  Scales was solid bone and muscle, but he carried about fifty fewer pounds on his frame than did the two-hundred-pound battering ram of an FBI agent. And despite being a very dangerous individual, Kenneth Scales had never experienced the brutally violent world of Big Ten football.

  Scales's blade was barely a foot from Sawyer's back when Jackson's iron shoulder collided with his breastbone. The resulting crack as Scales's chest collapsed could almost be heard over the gunfire.

  Scales's body was lifted cleanly off the ground and it didn't stop moving until it slammed against the solid oak wall almost four feet away. The second crack, while not as loud as the first, heralded Kenneth Scales's exit from the living as his neck snapped neatly in half.

  As he slumped to the floor and came to rest on his back, it was finally Scales's turn to stare blankly upward with a pair of dead eyes.

  By any yardstick, it was a long-overdue event.

  Jackson paid a price for his heroics as he took a slug in his arm and another in his leg before Sawyer was able to ward off the shooter with multiple bursts from his 10mm. Sawyer grabbed Sidney's arm and hauled her to a corner behind a heavy table he had flipped on its side. He then raced over to Jackson, who was slumped against a wall breathing hard, and proceeded to drag him toward safety. A shot thudded against the wall within an inch of Sawyer's head. Then another hit him squarely in the rib cage. His pistol flew from his hand and slid across the floor as he slumped back against the wall, coughing up blood. The vest had done its job again, but he had heard the crack of some ribs upon impact. He started to pull himself up, but now he was very much a sitting duck.

  Suddenly a string of shots erupted from near the overturned table.

  An abrupt scream from the direction of the shot that had hit Sawyer followed the lead barrage. Sawyer looked over at the table and his eyes widened in amazement as he saw Sidney Archer jam the still smoking 10mm pistol in her waistband. She raced out from behind the protective cover, and together she and Sawyer pulled Jackson safely behind the table.

  They sat Jackson up against the wall.

  "Damn, Ray, you shouldn't have done that, man." Sawyer's eyes quickly examined his partner, confirming that there were two wounds and no more.

  "Right, and let you give me hell from the grave for the rest of my life? No way, Lee." Jackson bit his lip hard as Sawyer ripped off his tie and, using Scales's stiletto blade, made a crude tourniquet above the wound on Jackson's leg.

  "Keep your hand right there, Ray." Sawyer guided his hand to the handle of the knife, pressing his fingers tightly against it.

  He next tore his coat off, balled it up and stanched the bleeding on Jackson's arm wound. "Slug went right through, Ray. You're gonna be okay."

  "I know, I could feel it exit." The sweat poured off Jackson's forehead.

  "You took a round, didn't you?"

  "Nah, vest caught it, I'm okay." As he slumped back, Sawyer's savaged forearm started to pour blood again.

  "Oh, God, Lee," Sidney stared at the crimson flow. "Your arm."

  Sidney took off her scarf and wound it around Sawyer's wounded limb.

  Sawyer eyed her kindly. "Thanks. And I'm not talking about the scarf."

  Sidney slumped against the wall. "Thank God we were able ro fill in each other's blanks when you called. I regaled Gamble with my brilliant deductions to buy you some time. Even so, I didn't think it was going to be enough."

  He sat down next to her. "For a couple of minutes, we lost the signal from the cell phone. Thank God we picked it back up again." He abruptly sat up, making the cracked rib even worse. He looked at her battered face. "You're okay, aren't you? Jesus, I didn't even think to ask."

  She rubbed her swollen jaw gingerly. "Nothing that time and makeup won't help." She touched his swollen cheek. "How about you?"

  Sawyer had another jolt. "Omigod! Amy? Your mother?"

  She quickly explained about the voice recording.

  "Those sonofabitches," he growled.

  She looked at him wistfully. 'Tm not sure what would have happened if I hadn't answered your page."

  "Point is, you did. I'm just glad I had one of your business cards."

  "Maybe this high-tech crap has its uses. In tiny doses."

  In another corner of the room Quentin Rowe huddled behind the desk. His eyes were closed and his hands were over his ears as he tried to shield out the sounds exploding all around him. He did not notice the man come up behind him until the last instant. His ponytail was jerked violently backward, forcing his chin up farther and farther. The hands then twisted his head around, and just before he heard the snap of his spine, he was staring into the vicious, grinning countenance of Nathan Gamble. The Triton chief let the limp body go and Rowe dropped to the floor, dead. He had experienced his last vision. Gamble snatched the laptop off the desk and smashed it so hard over Rowe's body that it cracked in half.

  Gamble hovered over Rowe's body for a moment longer, then turned to make his escape. The bullets hit him square in the chest.

  He looked, wide-eyed, at his killer, disbelief and then anger racing across his features. Gamble managed to grip the man's sleeve for an instant before toppling to the floor.

  The killer took the disk from where it had fallen next to Quentin Rowe and made his way out.

  Rowe had fallen on his side and his body had come to rest on its back, his head turned toward Gamble. Ironically, he and Gamble were bare inches from each other, far closer than the two men ever had been in life.

  Sawyer inched his head above the table and surveyed the room.

  The remaining mercenaries had dropped their weapons and were coming out of hiding, their hands high. The HRT members moved in, and in a moment the men were down on the floor in handcuffs.

  Sawyer noticed the limp bodies of Rowe and Gamble. But then, outside the French doors he heard running feet. Sawyer turned to Sidney.

  "Take care of Ray. Show's not over yet." He hustled out.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  The wind, snow and ocean spray assaulted Lee Sawyer on every front as he ran along the sand. His face was bloody and swollen, his injured arm and ribs throbbed like hell and his breath came in thudding fits and starts. He took a minute to strip off the heavy body armor, then he plunged on, pressing a hand firmly against his cracked ribs to hold them in place. His feet twisted and turned in the loose surface, slowing him down. He stumbled and fell twice.

  But he figured the person he was hunting was having the same problem.

  Sawyer had a flashlight, but he didn't want to use it, at least not yet. Twice he ran through frigid water as he strayed too close to the border of the pounding Atlantic. He kept his eyes straight down as he followed the set o
f deep footprints in the sand.

  Then Sawyer was confronted with a massive outcropping of rock.

  It was a common enough formation along the Maine coast. For a moment he debated how to navigate the obstacle until he saw a rough path that cut through the middle of the miniature mountain.

  He headed up, pulling his gun out as he did so. Sawyer was hit with a wall of ocean spray as the waters beat relentlessly against the ancient stone. His clothes clung to his body like plastic. Still he pushed on; his breathing came in huge bursts as he struggled up the path, which was becoming more and more vertical. He looked out to the ocean for a moment. Black and endless. Sawyer rounded a slight bend in the path and then stopped. He shone his light ahead, out to the very edge of the cliff before it disappeared straight down into the Atlantic far below.

  The light illuminated the man fully. He squinted back and he put up a hand to shield his eyes from the unexpected burst of light.

  Sawyer sucked in air. The other man was doing the same after the long chase. Sawyer put one hand on his knee to steady himself as he half bent over, his gut heaving.

  "What are you doing up here?" Sawyer's voice was wheezy but clear.

  Frank Hardy stared back at him, his breath also coming in deep gusts from weary lungs. Like Sawyer's, his clothes were drenched and dirty and his hair was a wind-ravaged mess.

  "Lee? That you?" Hardy said.