100

Alcatraz

Clancy Johnson’s heart was beating hard enough to shred his wrists.

He was backup, the third man. With any luck, he should have been able to walk away from this. Since when does the third stringer get in the game?

Christ on a cracker. He ran shaking hands through his hair. The smell of gunpowder coated his nostrils. One ear was ringing from the shots.

Hayes was supposed to drink the poison. She takes the tea, she drinks it, she feels like shit, she’s dead in a week.

Done.

Except Jason never came out with the tea. In fact, the opposite had happened. The Secret Service went into the tent. Not the best way for this to go down, but they still had the number-two guy. Cue Geppetto, whose job was to shoot Hayes between the eyes if, for any reason, she appeared as though she was not going to give her speech.

Mess but effective. In fact, one of the most popular methods of assassination.

Isabel Odegaard jumping in front of Geppetto’s bullet was not part of the plan.

Clancy’d watched her body swallow the hot metal, and goddamn, just like that, he was called in. The goddamned Super Bowl of assassination and they’d called in the third string.

He took aim at Hayes, but it was too late. Odegaard’s sacrifice had cost him a clear shot.

He could still take out Geppetto, as ordered. He was surprised how many bullets it took to get the man to lie still.

The Hermitage would not like this.

Ever a practical man, Clancy began to plan how to spin this clusterfuck so he could walk away.

He didn’t care anymore about being rich. He just wanted another day above ground.