Critical Error (31 page)

“We’ll just have to knock and hope for the best,” offered Rebecca.

“Yep. Ready?”

Rebecca raised the Walter PPS and stood ready behind Sam.

“Go!”

As Sam raised his hand to knock, Rebecca suddenly remembered the keycard taken from the concierge. She grabbed Sam’s arm and inserted the card, the light turned green, it was a master keycard.

Sam opened the door silently and moved into the vast lounge area. The two guards sat with their backs to the door as they sat in front of the TV. From the position of their heads hanging limply, they were obviously sound asleep. Sam crept towards them, waving Rebecca to follow. It seemed these guys were even larger than the two at the door. Sam motioned for Rebecca to slide in behind the guy to the left, while he went behind the guard to the right. He mimed what he wanted to do. Rebecca shook her head. There was no way she’d manage if the guard woke up. But Sam insisted. She shrugged her shoulders and would give it a try. Unlike Sam, she kept the Walter PPS in her hand. If he moved, she would shoot, despite Sam’s protestations about not killing unless required.

Sam went first. His right arm slipped round the massive neck, locked with his left arm on the other side and he placed his left hand on the guard’s head for leverage. As the guard struggled to comprehend what was happening, Sam squeezed and pulled the guard’s head down. Between the slumber and the strength of Sam’s hold, the guard drifted into an unconscious slumber.

Rebecca, having about half the strength of Sam, was absolutely correct in her assumption that it was a ridiculous plan for her. As her arms took grasp, the guard woke up and easily dislodged her grip. Watching his colleague collapse, the guard spun towards Sam in a vain attempt to assist. Almost certain of her failure, Rebecca was ready, she grabbed the pillow and placing it in front of her pistol fired, the bullet caught the diving guard in the one part of his body she could see above the back of the sofa, his ass, the pillow muffling the noise. He screamed as he crashed into his unconscious colleague but despite the wound, he clambered up. This time, Rebecca aimed and heeding Sam’s words, shot the guard in the kneecap, eliciting an even greater scream but stopping him in his tracks.

An irate Lawson crashed through the bedroom doors to chastise his guards only to find Sam kicking the screaming guard in the head and Rebecca pointing the small pistol at him, with a finger instructing his silence which she obtained instantly.

As Sam’s kick knocked the fourth and final guard unconscious, he turned and admired the sight of Lawson as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. Sam left Rebecca to watch the three as he returned to the hallway and dragged the other two guards into the suite. Curtain-tie backs made excellent ropes and before long, the four guards were trussed up so well it was going to take Houdini to undo the knots. Meanwhile, not one word had been uttered and a rather panic-stricken Lawson awaited his fate, still blissfully unaware of who had just dispatched his very capable and expensive security. Finally, as he pulled on the final knot and elicited a satisfactory “humph” from his captives, Sam turned to Lawson.

“Mr Lawson, James Lawson?”

Lawson nodded his head. There was no point denying the obvious.

“I met an employee of yours recently,” said Sam menacingly. “He wasn’t very nice. In fact, he wanted to kill my brother!”

Lawson looked in horror as he realized he was staring at Charles Baker’s brother.

Lawson remained silent and Sam continued. “Obviously, I don’t take kindly to people trying to kill my family.”

Lawson, still silent, now looked at the wall rather than Sam.

“He’s dead. That’s how unkindly I take to people trying to kill my family.”

“Fortunately for him, he had nothing to do with the death of my wife and son!”

Lawson remained impassive.

“So his death was quick, relatively painless.”

Lawson twitched nervously. He knew exactly what Sam meant.

“Now, before you think all is lost, I will give you a promise. I won’t kill you if you tell me everybody who’s involved in trying to kill my brother.”

Lawson laughed as the futility of Sam’s quest hit him. He was still trying to save his brother.

Sam looked at Rebecca. Rebecca suddenly realized why Lawson was laughing. She had, because of everything that happened, forgotten to tell Sam about the bombing.

“You poor fuck, you’ve come all this way to save a brother who’s already dead!” laughed Lawson.

The words hit Sam like a sledgehammer and he slumped onto the sofa. He looked at Rebecca who, avoiding his gaze, moved towards him and embraced him.

“Sam it’s OK,” she offered and smiled at Lawson, picking up the phone on the nearby table and making a call. After a second, she handed the phone to Sam.

“Hello?”

Sam instantly recognized the voice, it was his sister-in-law.

“Hi, how are you?” he asked solemnly.

“Fine, is everything OK? You sound awful.”

“God, I’m so sorry, I’ve just heard the news.”

“What news?” she asked, suddenly realizing. “Oh yes, such a shame, massive heart attack they think.”

Sam was stunned at how well she was taking it and the news that he had died naturally was just as shocking. Charles was a very healthy guy.

Rebecca watched, worried as Sam’s mood failed to lift.

“When did it happen?” he asked.

“Hmm, not quite sure, hold on a sec…” she shouted “Charles!”

Sam hardly heard the question about when the President had died. All he heard was that his brother was alive and well.

Senator Charles Baker took the phone and spoke at length to his brother, assuring him he was fine. They had received a call on the cell phone his wife’s friend had given her when she was hiding in her friend’s lodge. The lodge she had been originally hiding in was highly secure and the call they had received was of course meant for Beth’s friend. Nonetheless the call from Alarm Company that there were intruders in the grounds of the other lodge had spooked them all the same.

Sam talked for a few more minutes before replacing the handset and turning to a far more subdued Lawson, who having heard the whole conversation, knew Charles Baker was very much alive and well.

Rebecca pulled Sam from the room and apologized. She had forgotten to tell him about the explosion. She had had to phone in their location but gave the house where they picked his wife up, not their new location. It seemed there were very few people they could trust. However, it seemed they thought the Senator was dead which was a bonus, she said with a smile. Sam was too elated to be angry. He walked back into the lounge and looked at his watch. It was 3.20 am, 9.20pm in the US.

“OK, Lawson, you’ve got approximately ten seconds to start talking or I’m going to end your life in so much pain that you’ll be begging me to kill you for the next 12 hours.”

Lawson was a man who told people what to do and he scoffed at Sam’s threat.

Three second later, his little finger snapped like a dead twig and he began to talk. It was probably the first time in his life he had ever felt pain, thought Sam. Even he was surprised at how quickly he talked.

Sam listened as Rebecca noted down a total of six names, four names they had never heard before, one name they both instantly recognized, one that she had been ordered to protect and one other that Sam had known from the very start had to be involved, Allan Johnson.

Sam noticed a laptop lying nearby and opened it up. A videoconferencing page was the last one to be used and it gave Sam a wonderful idea. He booted up the system and selected the names that had been given from a drop down menu. Unfortunately, only four names were available. He clicked ‘conference call’ and waited as the system contacted the others.

“What are you doing?” asked Rebecca, as she watched him play with the laptop.

Sam disabled the camera and watched the screen as it offered a ‘waiting for attendees’ note in the middle of the screen. It took about five minutes before the four faces stared back at him, obviously waiting for Lawson’s face. After all, he had called them.

Sam did not disappoint them and moved the laptop in front of Lawson and enabled the camera, revealing to the other four attendees his rather disheveled and pained expression.

“James, are you OK?” asked Walter Koch.

“James!” asked John Mellon.

Lawrence Harkness moved closer to the camera, obviously having noted there was something wrong with James and taking a closer look.

“James, what’s happened?” asked William Hathaway.

Sam switched on the mike and let Lawson speak.

“Sam Baker’s here, his brother isn’t dead!” he announced. Sam stepped into view and waved at his audience.

The four men stared back in horror.

“I just wanted to say hi and let you know that I’ll be paying each and every one of you a visit very soon.” Before they had a chance to respond, he raised the pistol and shot James Lawson in the stomach. A shot that he figured would not only ensure his death but would take at least a couple of hours of total and complete agony.

Sam stepped out of the camera’s view and beckoned for Rebecca to follow him as he exited the suite.

“Why did you do that? We just lost the element of surprise!” she said, as they closed the door on Lawson’s cries of pain.

Sam shrugged. The look on their faces and the panic they would now be experiencing was well worth it.

“Mr President, it’s Walter Koch again,” said Honey. “He’s not going to give up, Sir.”

“OK, put him through.” Russell had avoided him all day but he had called incessantly for the last thirty minutes.

“For God’s sake, Walter, it’s 10pm. Will you please call me in the morning?” demanded the President.

“Before you say another word, look at the link I just mailed you,” insisted Walter breathlessly.

Having never, in the twenty years he had known Walter, heard him in such a state, Russell obliged and clicked the link.

The live feed of the dying James Lawson shocked Russell to the core.

“Jesus?!” He hit the disconnect button on the computer.

“Sam Baker,” offered Walter, by way of explanation.

“But I thought we got him with his brother?”

“We didn’t because we didn’t get his brother!” exclaimed Walter exasperated and panicking.

“Sorry?”

“You missed him, you idiot. And now he knows who we are and it seems pretty clear he’s coming for us next.”

“Shit!” Russell thought back to Johnson’s warning and how if he wanted to kill the President, Sam was the man he’d get to do it.

“Exactly, we’re obviously hoping you’ll offer us some assistance!”

“Of course,” he said quickly. “I’ll get some men to you straight away, will you let Lawrence and William know?”

Walter suddenly realized there was a problem. John Mellon was also on the hit list but not on the President’s radar. They’d have to cover John some other way. It was not time to admit to the plan about John Mellon becoming VP.

“Fantastic, thank you, Mr President.”

“They’ll be there within the hour,” promised the President.

Walter realized he had not mentioned one thing. “Sorry, they’re in Paris, Mr President, so the next few hours will be OK.” He’d rather wait and get the best than the first few men that came to hand.

“What, James is sitting dying in Paris as we speak?”

“Yes!”

“Have you not called an ambulance or a doctor?”

“We don’t know where he is, we just know he’s in Paris!”

“Dear God!” Although the more he thought about it, the more he thought it couldn’t happen to nicer guy. James Lawson was a particularly unpleasant man.

As President, he could probably pass the videoconference link onto the NSA and they’d track him down but he also didn’t want to tie himself to Lawson’s death in any way. He closed his laptop and began to worry about himself, not some old cantankerous prick that was beyond saving in any event.

He called Johnson. He had missed again and as a result, he would need to get the men to cover the remaining Horsemen. He then called the Secret Service and requested his own security be doubled. Thinking better of the request, he trebled it.

Sam and Rebecca arrived at Charles de Gaulle in plenty of time to catch the first transatlantic flight of the day, the 8.20 Air France to New York. While Rebecca went to buy two tickets, Sam wondered what had happened. The airport had taken on the look of a refugee camp. Sleeping bodies were strewn everywhere and queues seemed to stretch off in every direction. He checked his watch. It was 5.30 am. Rebecca returned and Sam could see she was sporting a quizzical look similar to his own.

“There’s not a plane available for a week!”

“Sorry?” Sam was certain he had misheard her.

“Every single transatlantic flight is full for the next forty eight hours.”