SIXTY-SIX

He’d never make it in time.

Monk’s leg ached with the pressure of his foot on the gas pedal, but the Ford just wasn’t fast enough to make up for the head start Bethany had. And he didn’t even know how big a head start that was. Best case, she’d managed to get out of Franklin’s farm only a few minutes before the explosion. Worst case, she’d been gone half an hour before he even got there.

And it wasn’t like he knew for certain where she was going, either. His best guess was just that, a guess. If he was wrong …

Monk told himself to shut up and drive.

He stared through the windshield as he raced south on State 15, thinking about the best way to get to Frederick, Maryland. There were no metropolitan areas between here and the airstrip, just this side of Frederick. At a hundred miles an hour he’d be there in twenty minutes. He thought about calling ahead, but the airstrip was not controlled, or it hadn’t been the dozen or so times he’d been there with William and Bethany. There was no tower. Most likely there wouldn’t be anyone around at all except the people who ran the gas pumps.

She couldn’t get there without a red light and siren.

It had taken Lisa ten minutes to go to the gun vault on the third floor at WFO, grab a shotgun and a box of rifled slugs, and get down to the basement to her car.

Ten precious minutes.

In the garage, behind the wheel of her Grand Prix, she reached under the front seat and pulled out the magnetic red emergency light, then hopped out of the car and attached it with a heavy “chunk” to the roof. She fed the coiled black cord back through the window and plugged it into the cigarette lighter. She backed out of her parking space and raced to the exit. She pounded on the steering wheel as she waited for the gate to rise, before she zipped up the ramp and out into the street.

Lisa reached to a toggle switch under the dashboard and flipped the siren on, then did the best she could on the surface streets, darting from one lane to another, slipping in and out of traffic. Even so, she was rigid with frustration by the time she managed to get on the Interstate and head north toward Maryland.

He’d made a mistake, Monk realized.

Bethany wasn’t coming here.

She wasn’t going to use her airplane after all.

Parked at the edge of the airstrip property, hidden by a stand of oaks from the view of anyone near the gray metal hangers, he could see both the hangers and the tarmac taxiway that led out to the runway. There was no sign of her. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. No matter how slowly Bethany had driven, she had to be here by now. Maybe she was using a safe house instead. Maybe she was going to stay in Washington until she could be spirited away.

Monk’s stomach began to hurt.

She wouldn’t need much hiding, he admitted. She was a chameleon. In a matter of hours she’d be another person, a completely different woman. No one would even know where to start looking for her.

He reached for the cell phone to call Lisa. There was no longer any point in her breaking her neck to get here. But he hadn’t punched in her number before he saw a gray Lincoln sedan pull up to one of the hangers, and a moment later Bethany get out of the car. There was no mistaking her long red hair and the way she walked. His muscles tightened. Despite the fact that he was unarmed, it took all his strength to keep from going after her. He finished dialing. Again Lisa answered after the first ring.

“She’s here,” Monk told her. “I need you … I need you right now.”

“Ten minutes. Traffic’s awful.”

“Too long. She’ll be gone by then.”

“Get off the phone and let me drive.”

He hung up and watched.

A few minutes later the big hanger doors swung open, and Monk could see the same blue and white Beechcraft Baron that Bethany used to fly. He saw her come out of the hanger carrying a long metal tool. She attached the tool to the nose of the plane and began to pull. The Baron rolled out of the hangar and when it was completely out on the taxiway, she detached the pulling tool and took it back into the hangar. When she came out, she went directly to the plane, stepped up on the wing, opened the door, and got into the cockpit. She had no luggage, no briefcase, nothing in her hands, as she closed the door behind her.

Monk looked around, hoping somehow that Lisa had been wrong about how long it would take her to get here. That she might show up early. But she didn’t. Damn it. He was going to have to ram the plane to keep it on the ground.

Then he shook his head.

Ramming her with his car wouldn’t work.

The Baron wouldn’t be able to fly, but his Ford might very well be disabled as well. Bethany would climb down and shoot him dead. Then she’d use the Lincoln to escape.

Maybe he should call the cops. He could report her tail number. The police would put out a call to anywhere she might land. But again he shook his head. There was just no point. By the time he got the cops to understand what he was telling them, made them believe what he was telling them, she’d be three hundred miles away. Landing at any one of a hundred dinky private airstrips like this one. Before he could get anybody organized to go after her, she’d be on the ground again, this time in another state and on her way to Canada. She’d have resources across the border. Bethany Randall would cease to exist, but that didn’t mean the woman herself would. Sooner or later she’d surface again. A world leader would die, then another, and another.

Monk thought about William’s investigation, about what he’d called the ipyanghan.

There could be another American-born assassin in Washington already, another sleeper standing by for orders once Sung Kim set up shop elsewhere.

Suddenly he heard the sound of ignition from the Baron and saw the propellers of the starboard engine begin to turn, to spin faster and faster until they were a blurring roar. Then the port engine fired up. Monk’s legs began to twitch. The engines would be warm in another minute. Bethany would taxi out to the runway. Monk reached for the phone to call Lisa again, but realized there was no point. She was already coming as fast as she could. The Baron began to taxi toward the head of the runway. Monk started the Ford.

He would have to ram the plane after all.