Jason pushed Judith against the doors of the building. “Watch my back.”
Then he stepped toward the two men with knives. He could see clearly now that his guess had been correct. A basic Spetsnaz tactic was for one or more men to try to finish the intended victim off with the silence of knives under cover of comrades with guns. Should the blade-wielding soldiers fail, the target could be handled with more effective, if less secretive, gunfire.
Bending slightly forward, arms extended from his body, Jason circled the two assailants. The quad was well lit enough for him to see the grins on their faces. Two experienced knife fighters against an unarmed man backed up by a frightened woman with a single pistol …
Well, they seemed to be saying, this isn’t even sporting.
Jason waited patiently, knowing what to expect. The Bowie knife–like shape of the Russian blades dictated the method of attack, an attack that was not long in coming.
The man on Jason’s left feigned a move to his own left, then swiped at arm’s length, slashing a blur of steel from his right.
Jason thought he heard a cry from Judith as he easily danced away. The thrust had not been intended to be successful but to distract Jason from what would come next, a similar but more deadly move by his partner.
It came exactly as expected. Instead of stepping out of the arc of the slicing blade, Jason stepped into it, into it far enough that the knife was behind him. At the same instant, Jason’s right arm went forward with a motion similar to a baseball pitcher releasing a fastball. The momentum flung the customized killing blade that had been strapped to his arm from its scabbard and into his hand.
Had he the time, Jason would have to thank whatever deity had reminded him to return to his room before going out and to strap the weapon on.
Before his immediate assailant could recover from his own strike, Jason was below his arm, thrusting upward. The finely honed steel entered just at the armpit, journeying upward until deflected by a shoulder bone. The man shrieked in pain as he reflexively spun away, dropping his own weapon. The move allowed Jason’s narrow blade to slide free. Not a fatal wound but one that would keep the man out of any further activity tonight.
Jason’s other opponent, anticipating the second or two Jason would need to work the knife free, charged. The look of surprise on his face when he realized his mistake would have been comic had its consequences not been fatal. Dropping to one knee, Jason simply held up his knife, letting his enemy’s inertia impale him upon it. The blade entered under the rib cage and upward to the heart.
The man went down without a sound, dead before he hit the ground.
But Jason didn’t see him fall. Instead, his attention was snatched away by the sound of a single shot.
Judith, Glock in both hands and in a shooter’s stance, was watching one of the two who presumably were carrying firearms as he slowly collapsed on the steps of the law school not twenty feet from where Jason stood.
“He was going to shoot you,” she said unsteadily. “Shoot you in the back.”
Jason had not noticed the weapon on the ground at the man’s feet.
That left one… . There he was, slipping silently toward Judith among the shrubbery that concealed him. Since he hadn’t shot her, Jason had to guess he had it in mind to take a hostage. But he might change his mind in a hurry if Jason warned her.
Jason stooped, reaching inside the loose jacket of the dead man. His fingers closed around what he was searching for.
By the time Jason was on his feet, the man was within a few feet of Judith. Time for a single try.
Something made Judith’s would-be assailant turn toward Jason at the last instant. He raised his weapon. Too late. The metal was arcing through the air, a comet in the quad’s light. He grunted as the Spetsnaz fling knife ended its flight, piercing his throat, severing his left carotid artery, and effectively nailing him to the door. His gun clattered to the cement of the porch as a fountain of blood painted the stone a dark black in the artificial light.
Judith saw him for the first time and gave a mousy squeak of horror. “He’s pinned to the door!”
“The eight a.m. tort class is in for a surprise. C’mon, time to go.”
She reached out, feeling the throat. “He’s still alive. I might be able to help.”
“Why would you?”
“Hippocratic Oath.”
“Nobody tried to kill Hippocrates.”
He took the Glock still in her hand, returning it to the holster in the small of his back. “We need to leave before we wind up explaining this mess to the cops.”
“We haven’t done anything wrong. We were just defending ourselves.”
For the first time, Jason noted the sole survivor, the man he had wounded, had disappeared. “Not only ‘defended,’ but defended well. You’re a better shot than I could have hoped.”
He had her hand now, leading her away.
“I killed a man,” she murmured. “I’ve never done that before.”
Jason started to say she would never completely recover from it, that the act was a chasm between civilization and barbarity that could not be re-crossed. But that would provoke a lot of questions he would prefer not to answer.
Hours later, he rolled over in Judith’s bed. Lovemaking had been furious, urgent. It almost always was after a violent death. Perhaps he and Judith, or anyone who had witnessed bloodshed, felt a need to go through the motions of procreation to replace the life snuffed out. All Jason knew was that with Judith, as with Maria, he enjoyed the clamant need and the magnified release.
Maria.
He was staring at the ceiling, where shadows cast by the streetlights outside created abstract patterns.
What the hell would he tell Maria?
Are you nuts? The inner voice asked. You’ll tell Maria nothing. By the time she comes back from whatever she’s doing in Iceland with whatshisname …
Sevensen.
Yeah, him. By the time she gets back to wherever you choose to live next, this Major Ferris, J., MD won’t even remember your name.
Whaddaya mean, won’t remember my name? After—
After what? After you nearly got her killed? Well, she may remember you for that. But a one-night stand? Get real!
In one way, Jason suspected the voice might be right. He certainly didn’t have room for two women in his life. But not remember his name?