South of Eugene, Oregon
March 29
Peter spun to face the voice, one he knew too well. The muzzle of the shotgun moved with his eyes, and now Ming was staring into the gapping maw. Danya’s hands were bound behind her back,
“Drop your weapons,” Ming ordered.
“Nope. Not gonna happen,” Peter replied.
“Do it, or I will kill her.”
Peter starred back in defiance. “She means nothing to me.”
“Oh, I think she does. Why else would she risk her life to save yours?”
“She’s an assassin, probably here to kill me and collect your bounty.”
“If that is true, then shoot her yourself. You’ll have a clear shot at me, too.”
Several tense seconds passed. Ming had called Peter’s bluff. But he wasn’t going to drop his weapon either.
“It’s a standoff, Ming. I can stay here all day. I’ve got nowhere to go.”
Ming shrugged. “Me too. Besides, in a few minutes, my drone will be over the Hayden Bridge water intake and it will dispense the virus. We can celebrate together.”
“Your flight team is under my custody. They won’t be able to activate the release command.”
“I see your point. Call your dog off.”
“And why would I want to do that?” Diesel was still focused on the pilot and co-pilot lying face down on the floor.
“I see your dog is very obedient. Undoubtedly your partner. Am I correct?” It was a rhetorical question, and Ming didn’t wait for a reply. “I have read that the bond between man and dog can be very strong. Maybe I will shoot the animal first and then the woman.”
“The last person who shot my dog is dead,” Peter replied.
“I could aim for his head. But no, that would be too quick. The bullet proof vest is clever, makes it difficult to find a vulnerability. Oh, I will aim for the dog’s unprotected rear quarters. The bullet will do severe damage to muscle and bone, I’d imagine destroy the intestines too. Death will be slow and very painful.”
Peter’s mind was spinning. He had too many points of vulnerability to cover them all. None of his options were acceptable—he could shoot Ming, and likely kill Danya in the process; he could allow the flight team to resume their job, but that would result in the virus being released over the water supply; he could continue to have Diesel hold Abresch and the co-pilot, but Ming could inflict a horrible and fatal gunshot wound to his best friend.
There was no good answer. It was the Devil’s dilemma—being forced to select from three options, knowing that whichever he chose would result in harm to innocents.
“What will it be, Mr. Savage? Or shall I choose for you?”
As seconds ticked by, Peter’s pulse pounded in his head. Finally, he relented.
“Diesel,” Peter said. “Come. Sit.” The canine followed his master’s order and sat by his feet.
“Excellent choice,” Ming gloated. “Abresch! You two return to your station.”
“Don’t do it, Abresch,” Peter said, but his weapon remained aimed at Ming.
“Seems you have another quandary, Mr. Savage. If you turn your gun to the flight team, you will be open to my aim.” He chuckled, like he was sharing an inside joke. “I should warn you, I am a very good shot.”
Peter’s eyes shifted toward the flight control console. One monitor displayed a track progressively closing on a circle that he presumed was the municipal water supply. The timer read 1:39.
The two-man flight team hadn’t moved, frozen in indecision. Ming shouted, “Abresch! Return to your post and complete your mission.” The pilot and co-pilot snapped to their feet and occupied their stations.
“Shoot him,” Danya said. Ming pressed the pistol barrel tighter into her head. “Don’t worry about me. Just kill this bastard.”
“She has a point. You could shoot through her into me. Take us both out. If she really is just an assassin, like you claim, then you would be well advised to kill us both. Go on, what are you waiting for?”
Ming read the indecision in Peter’s eyes. “Or maybe you were bluffing, and this woman does mean something to you.”
Peter’s grip on the shotgun tightened, but he knew the illusion of the standoff was merely that. He couldn’t kill Danya in order to stop Ming.
“You see,” Ming said. “I know you well. As I said, I did my homework. You are a man of honor, and as such you will not sacrifice an innocent to kill me. That is your weakness.”
Peter recognized the truth in Ming’s words. With no other rational choice, he lay the shotgun down.
“Now the pistols.”
He drew each slowly and tossed it aside.
Ming’s chuckle grew into full laughter, mocking Peter. He was defeated, at Simon Ming’s mercy. But he didn’t expect mercy—he expected a bullet. Death didn’t concern him; he didn’t fear dying. He’d faced death before, and somehow luck had always intervened on his behalf. But now, he felt sadness and regret.
Sad that he could not save Danya, who had risked so much to save his life. Sad that Diesel would also likely be killed. Two friends who had come through on his behalf, asking nothing in return–and yet they were going to pay with their lives.
Regret that their sacrifices would be in vain. Both his friends would surely be shot dead moments after Ming put a bullet in Peter’s head. And no good would have come from their loss; nothing would have changed. The outcome would still be a poisoned water supply, the psychopath’s plan still in motion.
“You win, Ming. Let her go. You have me.”
“Yes, I do have you. And her, and your dog. And I—”
Danya rammed her head back into Ming’s face, bloodying his nose and launching a bolt of pain that caused him to release his grip on her and lower the pistol. His hand reflexively rose to his broken nose.
She turned and dropped onto her back. Demonstrating the flexibility of an Olympic gymnast, she bent at the waist until her knees were almost touching her nose, stifling a cry as the thigh muscles around the bullet wound were stretched. Refusing to yield to the pain, she swiftly worked her cuffed hands around her legs.
Ming’s eyes were watering profusely, blurring his vision, but he’d recovered from the blow and was raising his weapon, searching for a target.
“Danya!” Peter shouted as he whipped the tomahawk from his belt behind his back and tossed it to her. She grabbed it with both hands and swung. The steel spike pierced Ming’s shoulder.
He screamed in pain, but Danya wasn’t done. She yanked the metal away and rotated the handle so that the cutting blade was facing her enemy.
His eyes were filled with loathing and pain-fueled rage. Hatred drove him on despite his wounds. His gun hand swung toward Danya.
She drove the blade forward, slashing through his sternum. The steel sliced into his heart. A new wave of burning pain wracked his body, seizing his chest. The intensity was unlike anything he’d ever felt. All his muscles cramped. He couldn’t even breathe.
Danya rotated the handle like it was a lever, tearing Ming’s heart open and splitting his chest. His eyes, wide and filled with shock and disbelief, locked onto hers. She extracted the tomahawk and allowed his dead body to fall backwards with a satisfying thump.