Chapter 63

Ran’s blade struck quickly, entering Lee McKeon’s neck below his ear, nicking his spinal cord and rendering him unable to move—or speak above a choked whisper. The eyes that he’d used so often to entrance her flew open, twitching as if he wanted desperately to close them but could not. She’d missed any major arteries and only a thin trickle of blood wept down the side of his neck, soaking into the white collar of his shirt.

“Whaaaa?” A hoarse croak escaped his gaping mouth.

“I am sorry, my love,” Ran said, withdrawing the blade and wiping it on the leg of his slacks. “You always imagined you would die in a glorious jihad, but instead you were killed by your Japanese whore.” Her voice grew tense and she fought back a tear. “I was incredibly foolish, letting you under my skin like the black ink of my tattoo. You will not feel this,” she said, drawing a long, whip-like blade from the belt of her dress. “I wish it were otherwise, but paralysis is the only way I could be certain you would not cry out.” She gave a flick of her hand so the blade clipped his aorta, just below the stomach. She kept the wound small, containing everything, including the copious amounts of blood that now flooded his gut. “As you are so fond of saying, things will work out as they must.”

Ran said good-bye to the dead man as she opened the door, going so far as to throw him a flirtatious wink the Secret Service had come to expect. She nodded to the two agents posted near the front of the armored limo. Neither of them noticed the small droplets of blood on the dark blue dress she’d worn for that very reason. She’d have plenty of time to disappear into the crowd before they even knew their traitorous boss was dead. By then, they would never find her.

 

 

Flat on her belly, Emiko Miyagi watched as agents rushed to encircle a black limousine parked at the base of Fisher Pavilion. She was perfectly hidden on top of the Cornish Playhouse adjacent to McCaw Hall, watching events unfold five stories beneath her.

“Something’s happening,” she whispered into her earpiece.

“You see him?” Quinn said.

“No,” Miyagi said. “I believe it is something to do with the Vice President.” She worked her way around an air-conditioning unit, giving her an unobstructed view of the pavilion, but exposing herself to anyone who happened to be scanning the rooftop.

“I’m heading your way,” Thibodaux said. “In the meantime, I respectfully suggest you get your ass out of there.”