Jake Harrison monitored the display on Mixell’s table, watching the president and his entourage board Air Force One. Once the last person was aboard, the cabin door closed and the boarding stairs were pulled away.
Mixell climbed into the missile launcher control booth and energized its radar and fire control systems, watching intently as diagnostic start-up tests were run. When they completed satisfactorily, Mixell gave Harrison a thumbs-up.
As Harrison searched for a way to prevent Mixell from shooting down Air Force One, he realized the scenario in the warehouse had slightly improved. Kendall still had her gun pointed at him, but Mixell was no longer a factor; he was preoccupied with the missile launcher. The odds were still against him, since Kendall had him in her sights while he didn’t even have a weapon; Mixell had kicked his pistol twenty feet away.
“Don’t even think about it,” Kendall said. She must have caught him eyeing his firearm on the floor.
Mixell entered a command into the missile control panel, and the twelve-canister launcher swiveled toward the garage door opening.
“Lonnie,” Kendall called out, her eyes still on Harrison. “I don’t see the point in keeping Harrison alive. We’re not going to have much time after the missile launch.”
Mixell glanced at the display monitoring Joint Base Andrews. Air Force One had begun taxiing for takeoff. He turned to Harrison.
“I was hoping to draw things out, Jake, cutting you into shreds and letting you bleed out. But as much as I like plan B, it has its drawbacks. The missiles will be tracked back to their launch point, and Trish and I need to be on our way before then. That means I won’t be able to hang around after the launch to provide you with a fitting farewell. Quick and easy will have to do.”
He turned to Kendall. “He’s all yours.”
Kendall smiled. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Jake.”
As Kendall prepared to pull the trigger, the few options at Harrison’s disposal flashed through his mind. He could try to dodge Kendall’s aim and retrieve his firearm, but it was twenty feet away and she had a full magazine in her pistol; he wouldn’t make it. His only option was to close on Kendall, somehow avoiding a bullet to his head—he could survive most body shots, at least temporarily—and wrest the firearm from her.
There was no more time to debate the matter.
Harrison lunged toward Kendall as a shot echoed through the warehouse.
He had expected his world to turn black with headshot, or at least feel the bullet tearing into his body.
Instead, Kendall lurched sideways, blood splattering from her right shoulder, her pistol falling to the floor as she struggled to stay on her feet.
Harrison missed Kendall with his lunge, rolling on the ground into a kneeling position not far away, and looked in the direction of the shot. Khalila was standing beside the garage door opening, shifting her aim toward Mixell, who was pulling his pistol from his shoulder harness.
Khalila squeezed off three rounds, forcing Mixell to duck below the launcher control panel, then kept firing at one-second intervals to prevent Mixell from shooting back at herself or Harrison.
Kendall had regained her balance and her eyes went to her pistol a few feet away, but Harrison dove for it first. Unfortunately, despite Khalila’s efforts to keep Mixell occupied, he had a clear view of Harrison out the side of the missile launcher control booth, and took a shot. Harrison heard a crack and felt searing pain spider through his right shoulder; his shoulder blade had been shattered.
He fought through the pain, grabbing Kendall’s pistol with his left hand as he rolled into a firing position. He could still move his right arm, but the effort sent shards of white-hot pain slicing through his body. He aimed at Mixell with his left hand, but Mixell fired first, putting a round into Harrison’s chest.
As Harrison recoiled from the bullet, he had one succinct thought.
This wasn’t going to end well.
Mixell was fairly well protected in the missile launcher control booth, while Harrison was out in the open in the middle of the warehouse, with two bullets in him already. Additionally, Kendall was sprinting toward Harrison’s gun, lying on the warehouse floor not far away.
Khalila must have come to the same conclusion. She shifted her aim and put a bullet into Kendall’s back, dropping her to the floor, then swapped out magazines and rapid-fired at Mixell as she worked her way toward a clear shot at him through the side of the launcher control booth.
It was a bold but risky move. Khalila had left the partial cover she’d had by the edge of the garage door and moved into the open, firing to keep Mixell pinned down while she repositioned for a clear shot.
However, the former SEAL was ready, squeezing off a three-round burst when Khalila slid into view. Two of the bullets hit their mark, one in Khalila’s chest and another in her abdomen, and she collapsed to the floor. She landed face-first, her pistol clattering onto the concrete floor.
Harrison had scant time to worry about Khalila’s fate, but her aggressive attack had been fruitful. She had forced Mixell to focus on her for a few seconds, giving Harrison the time he needed. Kneeling with the gun in his left hand, he steadied his aim and squeezed the trigger, putting a bullet into Mixell’s chest.
Mixell pulled back from view, into the missile launcher control booth, giving Harrison a chance to assess things. Khalila lay motionless on the floor while Kendall was pushing herself to her feet, not far from his pistol. Harrison got to it first, kicking it farther across the floor, taking aim at Kendall as she regained her feet.
Over Kendall’s shoulder, Harrison spotted Mixell emerge from the missile launcher. Blood was spreading slowly across his left chest, but he had his pistol in hand and a laser-sharp focus in his eyes.
Harrison was in no condition for a shoot-out. He’d be firing with his left hand instead of right, while Mixell seemed unaffected, raising his pistol to the firing position.
Harrison moved behind Kendall, placing the pistol against her head, buying time to devise a plan. Kendall froze, as did Mixell, as all three evaluated the situation.
After a short silence, Mixell spoke first, “Isn’t that chivalrous of you, Jake. Shielding yourself with a woman.”
“Drop your weapon, Lonnie, or say good-bye to your soul mate.”
“Not gonna happen, Jake. You’re the one in the untenable position. Kill Trish and you’re dead. Let her go and you’re dead. The only question is whether you’re taking Trish with you, and you’re not that type of guy.”
Mixell was right. There was no point in killing Kendall. Besides, keeping her alive offered the only hope of a favorable outcome.
Harrison debated whether to press the matter to a conclusion tonight—attempt to kill Mixell while firing with his left hand—or as the saying goes, live to fight another day.
“Here’s the plan, Lonnie. We’re going to call it a draw today. Kendall and I are going to walk toward the front door while you stay put, then I’ll be on my way, leaving her with you. Deal?”
“I can’t let you do that. You’re not leaving this warehouse alive.” He glanced at the computer display. Air Force One had reached the designated runway and was lining up for takeoff.
“I’m running out of time,” Mixell said, “and patience!”
Harrison spoke to Kendall. “We’re going to head slowly toward the front door. If you make a sudden move, you’re dead.”
“I can’t walk,” Kendall said, the pain evident in her voice. “I’m hurt too bad.”
Harrison moved closer to her. “Then you’re of no use to me. I’ll have to take my chances with Lonnie, with you out of the way.”
“On second thought,” Kendall replied. “I can make it to the door.”
Harrison raised his right hand slowly, fighting through the pain, until it rested on the back of Kendall’s shoulder. He transferred the pistol to his right hand, aimed at the base of her skull, then wrapped his good arm tightly around her waist.
“One step at a time,” Harrison said, “toward the door.”
Kendall complied and they began their journey. Harrison kept her body between him and Mixell, with only half of his face visible behind Kendall’s head.
Mixell moved toward them. “Jake! Don’t make me do this!”
“You don’t have to do anything, Lonnie. Just stay right there!”
Mixell gripped his pistol with both hands. “Let her go and settle this like a man!”
He kept approaching, and Harrison got the feeling his plan wasn’t going to work. Mixell was an excellent marksman, and he was also cocky.
He was going to take the shot.
As Harrison continued toward the door with Kendall, he focused on Mixell’s eyes, looking for the telltale signs he was about to pull the trigger. Mixell squinted as he adjusted his aim. As he exhaled slowly, which helped steady a shooter’s aim before firing, Harrison jerked Kendall sideways a few inches, directly in front of him.
A shot rang out in the warehouse as Kendall’s head snapped back, then her body went limp.
Harrison released Kendall and swapped the pistol back to his good hand, then aimed at Mixell, who stood frozen in shock as Kendall crumpled to the warehouse floor.
The glaze cleared from Mixell’s eyes just before Harrison fired, Mixell lunging sideways to avoid the bullet. It hit him in his right arm and he lost the grip on his pistol. The force of the bullet, combined with Mixell’s sudden move, sent the gun spinning across the floor, coming to rest beneath the missile launcher.
Harrison now had the advantage, a gun in his hand while Mixell had none, with the nearest firearm near Khalila.
The garage door was closer, and Mixell sprinted for the opening, changing direction along the way, hoping Harrison’s aim with his left hand was poor. He was right. Harrison fired three bullets, missing Mixell each time, before Mixell sprinted through the opening, headed toward the shoreline, faintly illuminated by a nearby streetlight at the end of Oronoco Street.
Harrison followed him to the garage door, stopping as Mixell reached a speedboat tied up along the wharf. He leaned against the door opening and raised his left arm, taking aim as Mixell cast off the last line and gunned the throttle.
He squeezed the trigger and Mixell lurched sideways, collapsing onto the side of the boat, then his body slid into the river, disappearing under the water as the speedboat plowed on, captainless, vanishing into the darkness.
Harrison leaned against the warehouse wall and let the tension ease from his body. He had taken two bullets, but neither appeared to have hit a critical organ.
He heard a moan behind him, and turned to find Khalila on her back. He knelt beside her and assessed her condition. Her skin was pale and she had her hands pressed against her wounds, one in her abdomen and one in her chest, as blood oozed between her fingers.
He slipped his jacket off and gingerly removed his shirt—his right arm was almost useless—then ripped it in half with his good arm and a knee. He placed the linen over the wounds and applied pressure to one while Khalila placed both hands over the other.
“Did you kill him?” she asked. Her words were weak, but understandable.
“I think so. I put three rounds in him and he fell into the river. Hopefully, we’ll recover his body to confirm.”
In the background, Harrison heard the faint sound of approaching sirens.
“I called for backup before I entered,” she said.
“How did you know I was here?”
“I’ve been following Kendall, hoping she’d eventually lead me to Mixell.”
“Why?”
“I was working on the stripper lead, and I tracked down one of her friends from the club. She had an old picture of the two of them. The stripper was blond and younger, but it was Kendall.”
Khalila turned her head slowly, glancing at Kendall’s body on the floor, then returned her gaze to Harrison.
“I told you she was dirty.”
Across the Potomac River, bright plumes of fire streaked upward. Harrison watched as a quartet of anti-air missiles rose skyward, curving southwest toward a small pinprick of red light speeding toward the District. The four missiles descended toward the target, with one of them scoring a hit, breaking the incoming missile into several pieces that spiraled to the ground.
One of Kazan’s missiles had been shot down.
Harrison waited tensely for more Kalibr missiles to arrive, but none appeared.
The steadily increasing sound of sirens, followed by lights flashing through the warehouse windows, indicated help had arrived.
As they waited for assistance to enter the warehouse, Khalila searched Harrison’s eyes for a moment, then said, “It’s Fatima.”
“What’s Fatima?”
“When we were in Damascus, you asked me what my real first name was.”
“And your real last name?”
Khalila’s body spasmed and she coughed, spraying Harrison’s face with flecks of blood. After the pain subsided, she answered. “One day I might tell you.” Then she smiled weakly and added, “If I don’t kill you first.”