Chapter 66

  Shawn enjoyed the solitude of his balcony overlooking the vastness of the sea, and it always gave him great comfort. But not tonight; he was restless. He hadn’t heard from Kim for quite a while. He had tried her cell phone repeatedly without success, and he was getting very nervous. Overhead, the stars filled the sky, but he could see lightning flashing from a fast-approaching thunderstorm on the western horizon. He hoped the storm would pass, although he wasn’t counting on it. The night was warm and perfect, yet he wasn’t enjoying it. He knew the men that killed Addison were still out there hunting for him. He felt like a fool for starting this whole affair.

  How naive could he be? What really would it change anyway? The powers that be could always spin a story to make a lie look like the truth and the truth to look like a lie. And the mainstream media in the U.S. would loyally embrace the lie if it coincided with their beliefs, regardless of the facts. Now, it all came down to this. He was not only endangering his own life but the lives of those he loved…and for what…Justice, truth, honor, good versus evil? The world scoffed at these virtues and would rather believe a lie than believe the truth. Maybe it was his mother who taught him to do the right thing, or perhaps it was the army that instilled in him honor and duty. But whatever it was, and despite his many shortcomings, Shawn believed in all these things.

  Being a bastard himself, he didn’t want to have any children. Besides, he knew he wouldn’t exactly be the perfect role model for any child. Kim and Kasem were his only family, and he would do anything to protect them. He decided he needed some company to take his mind off his problems, so he got up and joined Kasem and Tim in the living room to do something that he rarely did. Watch television.

  *****

  They were only a half mile from Shawn’s house now, but it was through painstakingly slow traffic, and Jesse could only watch the drama unfolding before his eyes. At one point, he contemplated calling the police. Nevertheless, he felt that his team would have a better chance at keeping the people inside the home alive, let alone answering some very awkward questions that the police would surely have. As he contemplated this, he wondered if he had made the right decision.

  *****

  Ivan stayed close to Smith while his Russian companion climbed to the second-floor balcony on the west end of the home. As his head peered over the balcony deck, he could see three men sitting inside through a large unobstructed window, and he immediately informed Mr. Smith that the target had been acquired. Communicating by radio using lip mics and earphones, Mr. Smith’s men were all in position when he gave the order to enter the home. The two Thai men had climbed onto two of the bedroom balconies. The interior doors leading to the deck were closed and locked, and they immediately started working on them with picklock tools.

  *****

  After meeting with Jesse, Clayson looked up Sydney’s CIA file. He read its entire content and came away with the feeling that it had been scrubbed clean. It was too perfect. Robert Townsend stepped into Clayson’s office and shut the door. Townsend was a longtime friend and former classmate at the farm whom Clayson trusted emphatically. Because of the nature of the investigation, Clayson wanted to play it close to the vest and involve as few people as possible. After their greeting and small talk ended, Clayson finally got down to business.

  Clayson wanted Townsend to travel to Florida and interview two men. Clayson handed him the official report from 1975 on the death of a CIA analyst named Peter Jensen, who the two investigators determined was killed by an NVA infiltrator. He wanted Townsend to confirm their story. If they stuck to it, he wanted to know why Sydney Perotti’s name was never mentioned in their report. Townsend was never to disclose why he was asking about the current president. Nor were the two men he interviewed to discuss their meeting with Townsend with anyone.

  Townsend returned to his office and read the report on Peter Jensen’s death. When he finished, he could see nothing sinister in the it. It appeared to be straightforward. He also read the sanitized file versions of both investigators. He found them to be as opposite as night and day. From the beginning, Christopher Page was a problem child, and every supervisor assigned to him had nothing good to say about the man. Townsend wasn’t surprised that Page was finally let go in 1985, although the details weren’t in his file. On the other hand, William Brown was praised by everyone he worked with. Brown had a long, stellar career with the agency and finally retired after thirty years of service and took up charter fishing.

  Townsend cleared his schedule for the next few days and made arrangements to fly to Miami, Florida. After setting up his appointments with Christopher Page and Billy Brown, he drove the short distance to West Palm Beach for the interview with Page first. From his short phone conversation with the man, Townsend knew Page would be trouble. But he had no idea what he was in for.

  Page lived in a rundown brick rambler in a modest neighborhood of West Palm Beach. They say that first impressions are often times correct. And from the looks of the home and unkempt yard, Joseph braced himself for the worst. He wasn’t disappointed. Page greeted Townsend at the door and asked to see his creds. After confirming his identity and flicking his cigarette into the yard, which contained more weeds than grass, he reluctantly let Townsend enter his home. Townsend entered the hovel and was hit by a wave of disgusting odors that almost floored him. The smell was horrific, and he fought the impulse to gag, but he somehow kept his composure. He looked around, and the only thing worth anything of value was a large flat-screen TV, which looked fairly new. The rest of the place was a dump. It was littered with trash, rotting food containers, and assorted empty booze bottles. The man was bent over and gaunt, and Townsend guessed that he hadn’t bathed in months. The man reeked of horrific body odor, alcohol, and tobacco smoke. He shuffled his way to a threadbare recliner and fell into it, leaving Townsend to find a place to sit by himself. After removing some debris from a hardwood chair, Townsend sat and took out a recording device from his jacket pocket.

  Townsend scrutinized the man and could see that he wasn’t long for this life. His hair was long, gray, greasy, and his dark eyes were sunken and completely bloodshot. His face was yellow, spotted, and covered with a straggly beard that matched his unkept hair. His hand shook as he reached for a dirty glass half filled with a clear liquid that Townsend suspected wasn’t water and drank half of its contents. Townsend watched as he lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply.

  Page looked at the CIA agent with disgust and spoke first.

  “Doc gave me a mouth to live…that was over a year ago. I know I’m going to pay the devil a visit when I die, but he can’t have me just yet. You know, the funny thing is, I felt that old bastard pulling at my soul a few times, and I just told him to go fuck himself. Now how in the hell can I possibly help the C, I fucking A, Mr. Townsend?”

  Townsend had met some interesting people in his life, although none quite like this piece of work. He explained the reason for his visit, and Page listened without interrupting him. When he was finished, the disgusting man started to laugh.

  “Man, you boys sure are a little slow on the uptake. That happened more than twenty fucking years ago.”

  He finished the glass of clear liquid and pulled a bottle of cheap vodka out from under his chair. He unscrewed the cap and filled his glass to the top.

  “Shit… more than that.” The crude man started to laugh again. “Well, you know…I never was too good at math.”

  He took a long drink, set his glass down, and started again.

  “So just what the hell are you boys digging up this shit for anyway? That poor fuckin kid died just like I said he did in my report, and that’s all I got to say. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some light housekeeping to attend to. My fuckin maid hasn’t showed up for a couple of days now. I’m sure you can find your own way out.”

  Townsend didn’t get up to leave. He continued to go over the man’s report, looking for any holes. Ten minutes later, and with no new answers, Townsend asked his final question.

  “Did you interview Sydney Perotti as part of your investigation?”

  Townsend was watching Page closely, and he noticed the sudden change in his expression, but he quickly composed himself despite all the alcohol in his system.

  Page slowly shook his head, “No… I never interviewed anyone by that name. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to take a shit, and I may be at it for quite some time, so feel free to let yourself out.”

  Townsend didn’t move.

  “I just have one more question for you, if you don’t mind.” Without waiting for a reply, he said, “Did you purposely falsify your report to protect someone?”

  Page just chuckled at his question before his laughter then turned to rage.

  “Get the fuck out of my house… right fucking now.”

  *****

  Billy Brown was a breath of fresh air. He was quite the opposite of Page. He was charming, cordial, and witty. Brown ran a charter fishing boat out of Key West and had a long list of repeat customers. He told Townsend that during their investigation into Jensen's death, Page was the lead investigator, and Brown was a rookie. After arriving in Xuan Lok, it soon became apparent to Brown that he would be totally left out of the investigation. Page didn't care about finding the truth. He was drunk most of the time and spent way too much time with Sydney Perotti at the local watering holes. He suspected that Page was trying to get into her pants, but she didn't want anything to do with that prick. But he also believed that she led him on, and in the end, the only thing he got from her was a payoff. Brown told Townsend that the investigation was a farce, and he did not believe a word in Pages' report. When Brown returned to Saigon, he complained about Page and never worked with him again. When the interview was over, Townsend was offered a fishing trip at a much-reduced rate, but he kindly turned his offer down. He was too busy but stated that he would like to at another date when he had more free time.

  Townsend liked the man.

  *****

  Shawn looked over at the two men sitting on his sofa. Kasem had his head back and was clearly sleeping while Tim was watching a movie. He was about to get up and make himself something to eat when the security lights overlooking the deck came on. He glanced out the living room window and instantly knew they were in trouble. He saw a man dressed entirely in black running toward the open kitchen door. What concerned him more than anything was the automatic weapon that was in his hands.

  As the man neared the door, all Shawn said was, “Shit.” He had placed his loaded pistol on the kitchen countertop, and there was no way he could get to it before the gunman got there first. Then he heard glass breaking from the lower level of the home. Apparently, he hadn’t come alone.

  Shawn reached over, grabbed Kasem by the arm, and pulled him off the sofa. At the same time, he yelled at Tim.

  “Get up, we have company.”

  Tim seemed to be totally surprised by Shawn’s command, but he instinctively knew something was wrong and immediately got up to follow him. As he did, he saw the man on the deck coming fast.

  *****

  The gunman entered the thirty-foot-long living room and could see the men escaping at the opposite end of the room. He could have easily killed at least two of the fleeing men, but he had been given strict instructions not to kill Harris before Smith had a chance to question him. The gunman raised his suppressed H&K 416 assault rifle and fired a burst of 5.56×45mm NATO rounds into the ceiling above their heads, hoping to stop them in their tracks. The gunman watched as the men disappeared through a doorway as dust from the ruined drywall slowly drifted to the floor. His ploy didn’t work. He yelled into his lip mic that he had failed to stop them and that they were heading deeper into the home. In reply, Mr. Smith ordered him to follow the fleeing men, but under no circumstances was he to fire at them again. The gunman acknowledged and cautiously continued his pursuit.

  *****

  The home was designed with an open central staircase and open hallways that overlooked the main atrium from every level. When the trio reached the hallway, Shawn stopped and spun around. He had only seconds to make a decision before the gunman was on them, and the game was over. Shawn knew that one 9mm automatic was no match against assault rifles. He would have to even up the odds if they had any chance. He kept two gun safes in his home; one in the lower level just off his exercise room and another in his bedroom on the next floor up. Both contained an assortment of assault rifles, shotguns, and handguns.

  The kitchen had another entrance through the large dining room that connected to the main hallway. Shawn was confident that Choi could handle himself, but his main concern was Kasem’s safety. He told Choi to take Kasem and double back around to the kitchen, grab his handgun, slip out over the deck, and try to escape. Without arguing, Tim nodded, and the two men quietly slipped into the dining room. After the door closed behind them, Shawn had no time to second-guess his decision. It was time to move. He had to make an offensive counterattack if they were to survive.

  *****

  Shawn had no idea how many men he was up against, although he was pretty sure it was at least the same number that attacked Choi at his office. He calculated that most of the men would be on the main level, and he had to assume that at least one would come in through one of the upper bedrooms of the balconies. He sprinted down the hallway and, without hesitation, crossed the open area of the foyer that led to the staircase. He was almost to the stairs when the gunman rounded the corner from the living room. As his right foot hit the first tread, he looked across the semi-darkened foyer and spotted three figures silhouetted against the light marble floor 20 feet from the stairs.

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  One of the men in the foyer yelled out for him to stop, but Shawn wasn’t about to comply. Rakov instinctively raised his weapon and opened up on Shawn, to the total dismay of Mr. Smith. He slammed his hand down on Rakov’s weapon, sending the slugs ricocheting off the floor.

  “I told you that I want him alive, you fucking idiot,” Smith yelled into Rakov’s face.

  Ivan was furious. He wanted to turn his weapon on Smith, yet somehow, he managed to control himself.

  *****

  Choi and Kasem were almost to the kitchen when they heard shouts and muffled gunshots. Kasem wanted to go back, but Choi pulled him forward. They entered the kitchen, and Choi found the gun on the countertop and peered out onto the deck. It was void of life. Choi had no intention of just leaving his old friend to fend for himself. He looked around the corner of the kitchen and into the living room. The gunman wasn’t there. He quickly helped Kasem over the edge of the deck railing and instructed him to go for help while he returned to help Shawn. Kasem agreed and started down as Choi disappeared into the kitchen. Only a third of the way down, Kamen’s hand slipped, and he fell on the uneven ground below, severely twisting his ankle in the process. Undaunted, he tried to stand, but the pain was too great, and he fell to the ground again. Unable to stand, he crawled to find something he could use as a crutch. His car was in the driveway but didn’t have his keys. They were on the kitchen counter, and he should have remembered them. He cursed himself for this oversight, then thought about the Range Rover in the garage; the same problem: Shawn never left his keys in the ignition. He finally decided that he had to make it on foot. Nothing was going to stop him except maybe a bullet.

  *****

  Choi ran silently through the living room until he came to the spot just outside the hallway where the plaster littered the floor. He eased his head around the corner leading to the hallway and saw the gunman slowly moving down the hall with his back toward him. Tim checked the safety and started to raise the gun to take aim. Just as he was about to acquire his target, the gunman looked back over his shoulder and saw him.

  *****

  The stair treads at Shawn’s feet seemed to come alive like a mass of swarming bees. He felt a sudden sting on his thigh but kept on going. He reached the top of the stairs and ran for his bedroom, not bothering to check his injured leg. Just as he reached his door, he could feel a presence behind him in the darkened hallway, and he whipped around just as another intruder stepped out of his guest bedroom. This man was much smaller than the first attacker, yet no less of a threat. The two men locked eyes for just an instant before Shawn dropped his shoulders and charged. The man had his assault rifle pointed in the opposite direction, and Shawn covered the short distance before the man had a chance to react and lift his weapon. He hit the man like an attacking linebacker bearing down on an opposing quarterback and drove him into the door jamb with all the force of his two hundred pounds behind it.

  The man took the hit with a groan, and his assault rifle was knocked out on his hands and fell to the floor. Shawn followed the bull rush with a succession of right and left hooks into the man’s midsection and a knee to the groin. The man seemed to stagger from the damage done to his internal organs. Shawn knew that he had to end this fight quickly and decided to take him out with one rabbit punch to the throat. As his right fist was coming forward, his feet were cut out from underneath him, and he found himself flat on his back. The much younger man recovered very quickly and was all over Shawn in an instant. He hit Shawn with a barrage of jabs, knee and elbow thrusts, and punches, but he was able to block or absorb almost all of them effectively. Realizing that he was getting nowhere, the man tried to pull his rifle out from under Shawn’s legs and end the fight. It was a monumental mistake. As he moved back to retrieve his weapon, Shawn cocked his leg and sent his foot into the side of the man’s face. The powerful blow drove his head against the door jamb, and then continued forward, snapping his head sideways. The man then slumped to the floor. His neck was broken.

  The entire fight was over in a matter of seconds. Shawn pushed the dead man off of his legs and grabbed the man’s rifle. He got to his knees and was about to get up when several slugs splintered the door casing just inches from his head. He dropped to the floor and looked for the shooter. The man was tucked into a doorway at the far end of the hallway. He must have come through the balcony from one of the other bedrooms. Shawn ducked into the guest bedroom and returned fire. He was checking the weapons magazine when he heard a man’s voice call out his name.

  *****

  Choi ducked back into the living room and looked for a place to hide. The room was fairly dark except for the changing light that was coming off the flat-screen TV. The man would be on him fast, and Choi had to make a quick decision. Not finding a suitable hiding place, he was left with no option. He had to engage the gunman or try and make it back to the kitchen. After looking at the distance, he knew he wouldn’t make it in time, so he hit the floor, moved to the darkest spot behind a large, overstuffed chair, and prepared to fire when the man came around the corner. He didn’t have long to wait. The man was very cautious. The man did a quick check of the room and slipped his head back around the corner in the blink of an eye. He knew the man he saw was hiding somewhere in the room, but he had no idea if he was armed. He got a good enough look at him to know that it was the private detective and Mr. Smith didn’t care about him. His only orders were not to kill Harris.

  The Russian called out, “Come out now, and I promise that I won’t kill you.”

  Choi kept silent.

  “We don’t want to hurt you. We only want to talk with Mr. Harris,” he said in English with a heavy Russian accent.

  He got no response.

  “So you want to do this the hard way,” the Russian snarled.

  He stuck his weapon around the corner and opened up without aiming. He sprayed the room from side to side, moving his pattern from knee level to the floor. When his mag was empty, he pulled it out and reloaded. He did another quick check and only found destroyed furniture and a few sparks and smoke coming off the ruined TV set. The man then eased into the room with his weapon at his shoulder, ready to fire.

  The Russian spotted Choi on the floor, although it was a bit too late. The slug hit the Russian hard. Tim was sure that he had killed the man, but to his surprise, it had little to no effect. It was as if he had just slapped an eight-hundred-pound gorilla, and it just pissed him off. In the blink of an eye, the Russian recovered and aimed the barrel of his assault rifle down to the dark figure on the floor.

  *****

  “I don’t wish to harm you, Shawn. I only want to talk with you.”

  As soon as the words were out of Smith’s mouth, Shawn heard the sounds of a sound-suppressed automatic weapon being fired somewhere in his home.

  “Oh yeah, well, what the hell was that?”

  Smith shook his head and was about to answer when he heard the loud report of a 9mm handgun. He turned his head toward the hallway entrance just as another shot rang out, followed by a loud thud that vibrated through the floor. Smith motioned for Rakov to investigate and turned his attention back to Shawn.

  “You have something that my employer wants. If you give it to me, we will leave you in peace. If not, I will kill you and everyone in this house and burn it to the ground.”

  “And just who the hell is your employer…that fucking bitch?”

  The last three words puzzled Smith, and he wondered who he was talking about. Maybe there was something the Ali hadn’t told him.

  “And what fucking bitch are you referring to, Shawn?

  “Don’t play games with me asshole. You know who I’m talking about.” But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he thought maybe the asshole didn’t. He was just hired to do a job.

  Now Smith was curious and wondered what he was missing, “I’m afraid that I don’t know. Please enlighten me, Shawn.”

  “Fuck you, asshole,” Shawn responded as he reached out and dragged the lifeless body of the assailant into the room. He found a fresh mag on the dead man's belt and inserted it into the rifle. He did a quick check of the hallway, then stuck the rifle into the hall and pulled the trigger, giving him just enough fire cover to move to his bedroom a few feet away.

  Usually, Shawn always kept his gun safes locked, but ever since the attack at Tim’s office, he kept them open, knowing that this day could possibly come. He grabbed a Remington 870 12 gauge shotgun off the rack preloaded with double ought buckshot. He pumped the handle and jacked a shell into the chamber. Working fast, he picked up his H&K P2000 9mm handgun, inserted a fresh mag into the pistol grip, and racked the slide, chambering a round in the barrel. He threw the gun hoister over his shoulder and secured the Velcro strap against his chest. He then pulled out his cell phone and looked for a signal. Nothing. Undaunted, he inserted the handgun into the holster, filled his pockets with extra shotgun shells and two additional mags for the P2000, and then moved to the edge of the door, not bothering to look at his bleeding leg. It was only a flesh wound.

  Well-armed now, Shawn felt more confident about his eventual survival. He was concerned about the gunfire that he had heard. He suspected that the loud report was his 9mm and that Choi must have disobeyed his orders. Shawn smiled when he thought about it because he would have done the same thing. He knew Choi could handle himself but had no time to think of the outcome. He was about to look into the hallway when he saw a red laser pass slowly across the doorjamb and onto the back of the bedroom wall.

  Now, he had to make a decision and do it quickly. He could either confront the man in the hallway or go out of his balcony and come back in again through another level with the element of surprise on his side. He decided to do both. He moved to the edge of the doorway and peered around the corner. He could see the silhouette of a man kneeling close to the staircase landing, just thirty feet away. He was sure that it was the same man who had fired at him from the far end of the hallway. He ducked his head back behind the security of the wall and, at the same time, checked to make sure the shotgun’s safety was off. He took a deep breath, and in one swift move, he raised the shotgun to his shoulder and brought the end of the barrel around the corner. As his head cleared the door jamb, a red dot crossed his forehead. The gunman’s reaction to what his eyes saw and the time it took for his brain to register and process it was too late. He fired, but his gun barrel had already passed its target, and the slugs slammed into a chest of drawers at the far end of the bedroom. An instant later, Shawn fired his shotgun, sending the 12-gage buckshot down the hall. The single shotgun blast took the man down instantly, with five of the eight large pellets hitting the man in the neck and face. Shawn pumped another shell into the chamber and searched for another target. There was none.

  *****

  Choi didn’t panic; his years of martial arts training had taught him discipline and self-control. He reacquired his enemy, but this time, he aimed for the center of the Russian’s large head instead of his body. And as fate would have it, he fired the same time as the Russian.

  ****

  Ivan moved slowly down the hallway with his weapon on his shoulder, searching for any sign of trouble. He checked every room as he passed until he came to the living room entrance. The room was dark, but he could see a big man lying on the floor with a pool of blood surrounding his head. He took one look at the hole in his friend’s forehead and started to curse in Russian. Ivan entered the room and saw a much smaller man also on the floor in a pool of blood around his head. He bent down and looked at his face.

  “You didn’t slip your way out of this one, old man.”

  Fifteen seconds later, he was back at Mr. Smith’s side with the news. Smith called out in his lip mic to his other team members and was dismayed when he got no response. Without hesitation, Smith whispered something into Rakov’s ear, and he left the room. Smith smiled at Kim, then yelled out to Shawn to buy some time for Rakov to get into position.

  *****

  Shawn was about to exit his bedroom and enter his balcony when he heard his name being called out again, a name that he hadn’t used since he left the U.S. decades ago.

  “Mr. Harris, I salute you. I assume that you have killed my two Thi friends. You are a far more capable man than I anticipated. I’m not going to beat around the bush. You have something that I want, and I’m prepared to make a trade for it. We will leave once I have what I came for, and no harm will come to anyone in this home. You have my word,” Smith yelled up the staircase.

  Shawn froze in his tracks, and fear gripped his soul. Did this man have Kasem, or perhaps both Choi and Kasem? He didn’t want to banter with the man and lose his advantage, but he needed to find out what he had to trade because he already knew what he wanted. He stepped to the edge of the doorway and answered Smith.

  “You’ll leave us just like you did Tim Choi’s assistant?” Shawn yelled down the hallway.

  “That was an unintended mistake…but unfortunately, sometimes there is collateral damage. I promise you that if you give me what I want, no one will be harmed,” Mr. Smith replied, trying to sound sincere.

  “Right…you know…I was born at night, but not last night. So what do you want, and what do you have to trade for it?”

  “I believe you have in your possession an encrypted file that doesn’t belong to you…a file that dates back to your days in Vietnam. Once I have this file and your assurance that there are no copies, this whole affair will come to an end. Now, as for the thing I have to trade, I believe you know a woman by the name of Kim Lee.”

  Shawn’s heart was pierced when he heard Kim’s name, not by any bullet or knife, but by a stabbing pain of emotion that was just as effective. He was at a loss for words and remained silent, thinking of all the ramifications of this new information. The advantage had just swung in this man’s favor by mentioning a name. Did he have her with him now, or was she being held someplace else? He had to find out.

  “How do I know that you have her?”

  Mr. Smith was pleased with these few words. Despite his losses, he knew he held the upper hand.

  “She’s right here at my side. Do you wish to speak with her?” Smith said smugly.

  “Kim, talk to me, baby,” Shawn said with an obvious groaning in his voice.

  Smith removed her gag, and Kim yelled out, “Don’t worry about me; just kill these bastards. There are two upstairs and ----.”

  Smith instantly grabbed Kim’s hair by the back of her head with one hand and slapped her hard across the face. He then shoved the gag back into her mouth and tied it tight behind her head.

  “That’s not what I told you to say, Miss Lee.”

  He got right in her face and clenched his teeth. When Kim remained defiant, he pulled her to the floor by her hair.

  At the sound of the slap and of Kim’s crying out in pain, Shawn slumped to the floor, and tears started to form in his eyes. He was angry with himself for putting the people he loved in harm’s way and for not telling Kim about the letter and the possible consequences that it might bring. For one of the few times in his life, Shawn didn’t know what to do.

  He finally yelled out, “Don’t you hurt her, or I will kill you…and that’s a promise, asshole.”

  Mr. Smith’s anger rose, and he yelled, “Then give me what I want and your promise to end this matter, and I won’t have to hurt her anymore.”

  Shawn had to find out what happened to Choi. If he escaped, there might be a chance that the police were on their way. He decided to find out.

  “Do you have Choi, my housekeeper, and my man at the gate?”

  Mr. Smith didn’t want to tell the man that Choi and the Russians had killed each other, so he lied and took a chance.

  “Yes, I have all three of them. Do you want to speak with them also?” Mr. Smith was relieved with his answer.

  “Okay...I’ll give you what you want…but first, you have to let all of them go. Just send them up the staircase, and I’ll give you its location. I promise there are no other copies, and I won’t pursue this further.”

  Shawn knew this man wouldn’t buy it, but it would give him time to switch guns. If he had to make a headshot, he needed an accurate rifle instead of a scattergun.

  “I think we both know that’s not going to happen, Shawn…but I’ll tell you what is. If you don’t come down the stairs with your hands in the air in the next minute, I’m going to shoot your friend Mr. Choi in the head. And a minute after that, I’m going to shoot your housekeeper, and of course, after that….well, you get the idea. Now it’s up to you if they live or die, so what will it be, Shawn?”

  Because of their silence, Shawn assumed that they were all gagged. He was absolutely sure that as soon as these men got what they wanted, they would all be killed. On the other hand, if he sat back and did nothing, all the people he cared about would be killed one by one, and he was powerless to stop it. The clock was ticking, and he decided to see if he could get a head shot on one of the men. Shawn moved down the hallway, and as he passed the guest bedroom, he quickly checked inside.

  “You have just half a minute left, Mr. Harris.”

  Shawn finally reached the top floor landing. He crouched down next to the other dead man while trying to avoid the pool of blood that was forming around his head. Very cautiously, he then peered down on the main entry foyer. It was drenched in darkness except for a small amount of defused light coming through the opaque glass panels on either side of the main door from the outside entry lights. He looked down both hallways, searching for any threats, and found none. Shawn had no targets anywhere, and his inward clock told him that his time was about to expire.

  “Times up, Shawn.”

  Moments later, another single gunshot broke the silence.

  Shawn hung his head, and agony gripped his heart. Then his agony turned to rage. He stood and fully intended to charge the enemy because they were all dead anyway. But his plan was cut short before it even began. He looked over his shoulder and saw a large, dark figure pointing something straight at him from only eight feet away.