The Assassin's Wife Page 19

  Dillinger looked away, and Meg could see tears in his eyes. “I—I…” He shook his head.

  “Who are you to play with someone else’s life? Who are you to decide what they should and shouldn’t know?”

  Dillinger slammed his hand down on a fence post. “I held nothing back. I tried to—”

  “You should have succeeded.”

  “Don’t you think my heart hasn’t been ripped into pieces? I am tormented by my loss and my mistakes.”

  “You did this to your own son. I thought my father was a terrible man. I didn’t know what evil really was.”

  He shook his head in denial. “Meg, Eric loved you more than you can know, and I’ve loved you for years from afar. Like my own daughter. I hope you know that, and someday I hope you will understand and forgive us both. I am sorry for what we’ve put you through, but you have a lot more to learn about survival. Communication is dangerous when the president is your enemy. The president has unlimited resources and power to have her enemies tracked and destroyed, and she is after you. Unfortunately, our time is up, Meg. You need to leave now, or neither one of us will survive much longer.”

  Dillinger turned around and signed something to Russell. “He will show you how to get the president off your back. Go with him. I know that you will succeed.”

  The Basque caretaker led Meg to the boat. Wagner started the engine, and John held back the canvas as Meg stepped aboard.

  CHAPTER 62

  As the boat idled away from the dock, Meg felt wetness in her eyes as she stared at Dillinger. Did he say the president? Then it was true. The leader of the free world would not stop until Meg was dead. She held Dillinger’s gaze and studied his facial features, comparing them with her memories of Eric. She hated them both.

  When the boat hit rapids, Wagner pushed the engine even though they were going downstream. Meg was sitting up front and saw the engines straining at over three-thousand RPMs. The boat rocked and rumbled and the vibrations shook right through her body. For over an hour they raced over the whitewater, making great time. But during a stretch where the river ran wide and smooth, Meg saw the temperature gauge rising fast. She figured they had a problem when Wagner slowed down and slid the boat onto a sandbar along the eastern bank.

  “Russell,” Wagner said, waving to get his attention and throwing him the shoreline. Wagner made a whirling motion with his hand, and Russell tied the rope around a rock along the shore.

  The repair work went on all afternoon.

  The heat was suffocating Meg. Hot, dry wind rushed through the deep canyon cracking her already chapped lips.

  Wagner kept working on the engine even as the sun sank in the sky and finally disappeared behind the high cliffs. After awhile, he put down his tools.

  Meg looked up at the big three-quarter moon that was peaking over the lowest line of the canyon rim. It cast shadows that transformed into eerie shapes all around them as the moon rode the ridge along the top, lighting up the deepest canyon in North America.

  “What now?” she said.

  Wagner started to put away his tools. “We’ll camp out here tonight.”

  “Then what?”

  “Somebody’s gonna have to hike out tomorrow and get parts,” he said.

  “Let’s get some sleep then,” Lomax said. “I’ll keep watch for now.”

  CHAPTER 63

  Meg heard rustling and sat up. She looked over at John and saw him peering through a rifle scope. Meg turned to see what his target was. It was a boat coming slowly up the river. Suddenly, a search light flashed on and played over their boat. Meg glanced back at the river. “Oh, my God.”

  “Wagner,” Lomax said.

  “What?” Wagner turned over in his sleeping bag.

  “Somebody’s coming. Get over here and tell me who it is.”

  “There are only a couple of people experienced enough to run the river at night. Don’t worry about it. We’re all friends.”

  Lomax looked over at Meg. “Just in case, you better hide.” He walked over to Russell and pantomimed as best he could that Russell should take Meg out of sight.

  Meg and Russell snuck thirty yards upstream and ducked down behind a rocky outcropping. Meg watched as the river boat approached and ran lightly up on the sand next to Wagner’s craft. Two men jumped out, and from what Meg could tell, neither of them carried rifles. She smiled. They were friends of Wagner. She started to get up, but Russell pushed her back down and motioned for silence. She obeyed. She noticed Wagner get out of his sleeping bag and head toward the men.

  In the deathly hush of the canyon, she could hear every word said as clearly as if she was by the fire with Lomax. The two strangers were both young and fit, probably in their mid-twenties. One of them had slicked-back hair, and the other had barbed-wire tattoos around thick biceps. From what Meg could tell, three more men stayed on the boat.

  “How’s it going?” the one with thick biceps said.

  “Not bad,” Wagner said. “Where you boys headed?”

  “Upriver.” He looked at Lomax. “You look familiar to me.”

  “Don’t know why that would be,” Lomax said. “Guess I just have one of those faces.”

  “That could be,” the man with tattoos said. “It’s possible.” He exchanged glances with his partner then looked around the campsite.

  Meg tensed. Would they recognize her?

  “Where are your passengers?” the man with slick hair said to Wagner.

  “Dropped them off upriver to camp. I’ll pick them up in three days. Had some engine troubles.”

  “That right?” the barbed-wire tattooed one said.

  Meg watched the greasy-headed guy closely because she could see that while his friend did the talking, he was scanning the whole area as if he was looking for something—or somebody. Then he drew a handgun and pointed it at Lomax.

  “Like I said, you look real familiar.” He pulled a photo out of his pocket and showed it to Lomax. “If that ain’t you, it’s your damn twin brother. Now where is she?”

  “Who?”

  “Meg Coles. We’re not stupid, so don’t tempt me to use this.”

  “We left her upstream while we went for supplies,” Wagner said.

  Russell raised his combat shotgun and gestured for Meg to cover her ears. He took aim.

  “That don’t seem very likely,” the man with the slick hair said as he looked back over his shoulder at his boat. “Boys, you better come out here and search the area.”

  Russell fired three shots. The greasy-haired dude was probably dead before he hit the sand. The tattooed guy twisted as he fell, firing once into the sky, but he was not up for any shooting after that.

  Lomax and Wagner ran into the darkness. Two gunmen leapt out of the boat while another worked the spotlight.

  Russell calmly squeezed off two more shots. Meg saw the dark outline of the man onboard drop out of sight. A moment later, the spotlight switched off.

  When the shots were answered, Meg ducked down low behind the rocky outcropping and noticed that Russell did the same.

  Two gunmen were now on the loose, and Meg had no idea where Lomax and Wagner were. After the shooting stopped, it took a few minutes of silence for the ringing in her ears to fade. Meg drew her own weapon and felt foolish that she’d taken so long to do so.

  She got an idea, but quickly dismissed it as too risky. Then she decided that she had no other choice. She used gestures to communicate her idea to Russell. He shook his head negatively, and when Meg tried to crawl away, he grabbed her by the shirt.

  Meg argued her case by pointing her pistol in Russell’s face. A look of resignation settled in his eyes as he let go of her. At the river’s edge, Meg held her pistol above her shoulder and crawled into the water. Russell suddenly opened fire on the enemy, and Meg realized he was diverting attention away from her although she figured it was dark enough to veil her from their sight.

  Even though it was summer, the water was cold, but Meg pushed herself out into t
he river and let the current carry her downstream. Just as she was floating past the stern of the visiting riverboat, she grabbed hold of the aluminum ladder rungs that were welded to the stern. Flurries of shots continued to make noise, and several shots broke out the windshield of the boat, which meant Lomax and Wagner were shooting in her direction.

  Meg climbed the ladder in slow motion, remembering the killers who had murdered her husband and tried to gun her down on her own doorstep in Boise. She took at least two minutes just to rise out of the water because if the man onboard felt the boat rock, he would promptly kill her, she had no doubt. Meg climbed the ladder a centimeter at a time. The stab wound on her leg pulsed with pain. Finally, she drew her gun and looked up over the stern rail. The man was crouched down, and the faint green light from an electronic instrument cast an outline over his black, crouching form.

  As Meg aimed her pistol, she tensed her leg muscles. Her bad leg slipped off the bottom rung and splashed in the water. She recovered quickly, but the man heard her, spun around and fired in her direction. Meg fired several shots in return as she ducked her head.

  She heard a groan. Looking over the rail again, she fired a last shot to ensure that the gunman was not pretending to be unconscious and waiting to surprise her. Suddenly, another wave of bullets from shore crashed across the river boat. During a brief lull, Meg climbed on board and took the gunman’s pistol. She checked for a pulse and verified that he was indeed harmless.

  Crouching, she found the switch for the spotlight and turned it on. She played it across the shore, shining it on where the two other gunmen were lying behind an old driftwood log.

  At first, not realizing who was in command of the boat, they gestured for their friend to turn it off. Then the one closest panicked. He darted for a second log to get out of the light. Several shots thundered as he dove for cover. He landed on the log and lay drooped over it like dirty laundry.

  Meg had an open shot at the second gunman. Recalling that a character in a play she once directed had said that procrastination was the thief of opportunity, she opened fire on the hired killer. She watched with professional detachment how he reacted to the deadly onslaught. There was no overacting, as was so common with amateur players in the theatre who were striving too hard for dramatic effect. The man tried to get up onto his hands and knees to crawl, but he collapsed. After that he was still. There was no pitiful wailing and no dramatic monologue. The man would have been a natural in the theatre, but his last performance had just ended.

  Killing a man was easy. This thought came with such clarity and lucidity. It was as though a whole new world of wisdom had just opened up to her. In the next moment, however, she felt disgusted at the thought and rejected it.

  “Meg…Meg.”

  She stood up and looked at Lomax, who was now standing by the boat.

  “Why weren’t you answering me? I’ve been yelling at you. I thought you were dead.”

  She shook her head.

  “We need to get out of here,” Lomax said. “There could be more.”

  Meg nodded.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 64

  Out on the sandbar, Meg and Lomax searched the dead men while Russell stood back and held the flashlight.

  “No identification,” Meg said. She picked up two guns. The three-quarter moon illuminated their shiny black forms. “AK 47’s. They certainly weren’t up here to hunt quail.” She tossed the weapons onto a towel that she’d spread out on the sand. The next gun she picked up was different.

  “Looks like a Micro UZI,” Meg said.

  “These guys really knew what’s important in life,” Lomax added.

  Wagner was sitting in the sand a few feet away, looking out over the river. “We’re not leaving my boat here. I’m towing it behind.”

  “Sorry, can’t do that,” Meg said as she continued with the search. The towel’s contents grew and included four fragmentation grenades, two smoke grenades, extra magazines, and combat knives.

  “Remember, on the river, you play by my rules,” Wagner replied.

  Meg ignored his comment.

  “I’m not sure these guys subscribed to the golden rule,” Lomax said as he carefully placed two flat box-shaped things on the towel.

  “Claymore mines?” Meg asked.

  A brief search of the boat turned up twelve more Claymores, a sniper’s rifle, ammo, an M16 with an M203 grenade launcher, first-aid kit, duct tape and mace.

  Lomax shook his head. “This is not looking good.” He wiped the sweat off of his neck with the back of his hand.

  “I have an idea,” Meg said. She told Lomax what she had in mind and he smiled.

  Wagner glared at Meg from the sand pile he was sitting in. “I’m not leaving my boat behind.”

  “Fine,” Meg replied. “We’ll tow it behind, but now you do what I say. I’m in charge.”

  CHAPTER 65

  Jose entered the RV and found Marcel at the table, dialing his sat phone.

  “What have you got?” Jose said.

  Marcel hung up the phone and shook his head. “Still no response from boat crew seven.”

  “You always work like this? Sitting around on your ass, trying to figure out where you screwed up.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You’re just another incompetent government worker from what I can tell.”

  “I’ll send you to hell with a bullet in your back.”

  “You would like that, wouldn’t you? You hate my guts because I’m going to succeed where you failed.”

  Marcel stood up and headed to the door of the RV. “You haven’t done a thing yet.”

  “Won’t be long. Just wait. The president’s going to be paying me that $3 million dollars once I show her how incompetent you are.”

  Marcel grabbed the handle and opened the door. “I want a helicopter right away.” He stepped down and looked back at Jose. “Take care of it.”

  Marcel slammed the door on the way out. He walked a long way down the still forest road, the three-quarter moon lighting his way. He was going to have to get his hands dirty again, just like when he was back at the coal mine.

  CHAPTER 66

  3:45 a.m.

  For over an hour, Meg absorbed the shock of their new boat pounding through the rapids. Nobody talked much. Lomax asked her if she was alright every so often, but not much else. Meg clung to the railing and wondered what their chances were of getting out of the canyon alive.

  “We’ve got three boats coming at us,” Wagner said.

  Meg stood up and saw the running lights.

  “Steady,” Lomax said. “Might be some ranchers.”

  Up ahead, one of the boats flashed its lights.

  Meg said, “Speed up, Wagner.”

  Lomax looked at her. “He can’t. Not while we’re towing his rig.”

  Meg turned to Wagner. “We’re going to have to cut your boat loose.”

  Wagner shot Meg a hard glance. “No. It could be local ranchers on a hunting trip.”

  “Right,” Meg said. “Three boats traveling together in the middle of the night. I thought you said only you and a few others run the river at night.”

  The lead boat flashed its light again.

  “Is that how you greet each other?”

  Even with the grumble of the engine, the sound of Russell pumping his shotgun made them all look back at him.

  Russell nodded confidently.

  Lomax cleared his throat. “Russell doesn’t seem to think these boys are going to try and recruit us to sheer sheep.”

  “It ain’t his boat,” Wagner said.

  “We’re cutting it loose,” Meg said.

  Wagner glared at her. “You calm your ass, lady. You don’t know jack about boats.”

  “Don’t worry,” Meg said. “I’ll buy you a new one when we get out of here. I didn’t rig those claymore mines for nothing.”

  “She’s right,” Lomax
said. “I’m ready.” He held up a cell phone.

  The lead boat was within fifty yards now. Meg glanced at the cliff along the bank to gauge their speed. The current was picking up. She looked ahead as the lead boat flashed its light again.

  “Keep going,” Meg said. “We need any momentum we can get.”

  Wagner grumbled something and spit out the side window. He glanced back at his boat and slammed his hand against the console.

  Lomax took hold of the spotlight handle. As the lead boat came within thirty yards of them, Lomax flicked the spotlight switch and lit up the passing boat. The captain threw his arm up to shelter his eyes from the brightness.

  Three other men were sitting on the benches, and Meg saw that one man was holding an assault rifle.

  “They’re hot,” she said. “Gun it.”

  Wagner slammed the gas lever forward, and the boat lurched ahead and picked up speed.

  Meg picked up a Buck knife that would be sufficient for filleting a fourteen-foot fish.

  “Put that blade down.” Wagner jabbed at the air trying to grab the handle of the knife while still driving their boat.

  Meg backed away. “I told you I would buy you a new one.” Looking back, she watched the hunting boats. The second boat sped up alongside of the lead boat, and still heading upriver, they drove side-by-side for a several moments. Then they broke away and circled back downstream.

  “They’re coming,” Meg said.

  Lomax frowned and switched his M-16 over to semi-auto. “Looks like you were right about them being hunters. Meg, get down.”

  Russell aimed his shotgun out the back of the jet boat.

  The rumble of the engines deepened and shook through the deck from the strain of towing Wagner’s boat. Even with all the engine noise, Meg was able to hear a burst of gunfire. She ducked down and tightened her grip on the knife.

  “Cut it loose,” Lomax yelled. “Do it now. What are you waiting for?”

  Meg handed the knife to Russell, and with one swipe, the big man severed the tow rope. The release of drag caused their boat to lurch forward, and the engines whined a shrill scream as their burden fell away. Lomax dialed a number on the cell phone and watched the three boats that were now giving them chase. As the first two river runners approached Wagner’s boat, Lomax hit the send button. Wagner’s boat exploded in a fireball that enveloped one of the boats.