A Heartbeat Away - Michael Palmer [120]
From his hiding place, Griff listened to the man’s footsteps as they scraped unevenly across the barn’s wooden floor, drawing closer. He forced his breathing to slow as he visualized his adversary’s position.
It was time.
Griff peered over the edge as the giant cautiously approached. He could see now what devastating damage the stampeding bison had done to him. His parka was nearly torn off, exposing a fractured forearm, where jagged white bone jutted through his skin. It seemed quite possible that his leg was broken as well. The dramatic wounds would make him slow to react—or at least slower.
Griff gripped the pitchfork and shifted his weight, preparing to climb over the top of the hay bales and slide down the other side.
Ready … and … now!
He pushed off the highest bale, screaming as loudly as he could.
The man whirled and raised the submachine gun, ripping off a wild burst that totally missed the dark shadow flying down at him.
The pitchfork, with all Griff’s weight behind it, struck home across the center of the man’s chest, its lethal tines penetrating through skin, muscle, heart, and bone, before exiting through the back. The force drove him backward onto the straw-covered floor and pinned him there. Blood erupted from his mouth. He tried to say something, but succeeded only in spewing up more blood.
Seconds later, he was dead, the long handle of the pitchfork still pointing at the ceiling, quivering.
Griff took the knife and the submachine gun, which he fired successfully into a hay bale just to prove to himself that he could. Then he checked the professional killer for the ID he knew would not be there, and spent a few moments gazing down at his lifeless, battered and broken corpse.
“I only wish it had lasted longer,” he said viciously.
CHAPTER 54
DAY 6
6:00 P.M. (EST)
Vice President Henry Tilden shifted from one foot to the other. He was standing in the middle of an orderly food line that snaked along two walls of the House Chamber. Ellis watched the man from halfway across the hall.… Watched and waited.
More people than ever were coughing now, she noted. Some coughed just a little bit, as if they were trying to clear a bothersome tickle from their throats. Others, including the president’s wife and daughter, were suffering from a more persistent, wet hacking.
Ellis made eye contact with Gladstone, who was some fifty people in line behind Tilden. A slight nod from her and Gladstone abandoned his place. He walked past Tilden, and without offering an apology or explanation, cut in front of Supreme Court Justice Alfred Bauer. In the past, and at times during the current crisis, Ellis had witnessed the crusty Bauer lose his temper, usually without much provocation. Minor offenses such as loud talking, or even snoring, had been triggers enough to set off the already agitated, elderly judge. Ellis was counting on Bauer losing his cool one more time.
“You can’t cut the line, young man,” Ellis heard him say to Gladstone.
Gladstone, in response, turned to Bauer, and just as they had rehearsed said, “You can’t make me leave. You’re not the all-powerful justice, here.”
Gladstone then turned away from the man and resumed his waiting.
“I don’t tolerate that sort of disrespect, young man,” Bauer snapped.
“I frankly don’t care what you tolerate or don’t tolerate.”
Bauer took the bait and pushed Gladstone in the small of his back. Ellis’s aide stumbled forward. He waved his arms wildly in the air, pretending to lose his balance, and crashed into the man standing in front of him. Then he executed a quick side step to his right, and the man into whom he had fallen responded with an angry shove into Bauer’s chest. The justice countered with a wild, errant punch that missed his target, but grazed across a congresswoman’s jaw.
The ensuing melee exploded like a match on gasoline-soaked rags.
Having predicted every moment of the scenario, Ellis listened to the escalating shouting and startling profanities