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WASHINGTON, D.C. (Saturday, Dec. 15, 2012 8 a.m.) — Mac walked into the outer office of Parker’s suite in Foggy Bottom. He’d had to call around to find Parker on a Saturday morning; he wasn’t surprised that the man was in his office. Parker’s aide looked up when he walked in, then paled and swallowed nervously when Troy and Kristy followed.
Mac had protested against Kristy’s involvement and lost. She’d cooked breakfast and told him to sit down and eat it. “I like doing for you,” she declared, hands on her hips. “Get used to it.”
Mac looked at the aide, noted his nervousness and the Macintosh on his desk. Well that explains the mysterious source, Mac thought. He had nothing but pity for the poor bastard clerking for this man.
“Parker in?” Mac said, jerking his head toward the inner office. The aide gulped and nodded. Mac headed toward the door. “You might want to call the cops,” he said over his shoulder.
Parker looked up from a document he was reading when Mac opened the door. He reached for the desk drawer.
Mac moved swiftly toward him, slammed the drawer on his hand, and shoved Parker’s face onto the desk. “Give me a reason and I’ll make you eat that gun,” Mac growled. Parker said nothing.
“Slowly pull your hand out. It had better be empty.”
Parker did as he was told. He glared at Mac, no fear, only anger. Mac slammed the drawer shut with his knee. “I wanted to make sure you saw the Examiner this morning,” Mac said. He went to Parker’s computer, opened a browser window and typed in the address. Parker swiveled in his chair to look.
Mac watched Parker’s face pale as the story loaded onto his screen. “Read it,” Mac ordered. Mac moved out of his way, back to the other side of Parker’s desk.
Parker needed no prompting. He hit the page down button, scrolling rapidly through the story. Followed it to the second page and to the linked sidebar. He sat back in his chair.
“I suppose you think that means something,” Parker said.
Mac nodded in appreciation. No whining. A cold bastard indeed.
“It means you’re done in this town, Parker,” Mac said levelly. It was odd, this was the first time they’d been face to face. Mac leaned on his desk and spelled it out for him. “No one will touch you now. Your power base is over. Your career is done. You will probably serve jail time. Rodriguez has a got a lowlife singing a story about being hired to kill a cop, and Rodriguez is pissed. Even if somehow you don’t serve time, you’d better be prepared to spend the rest of your life choking on mundane hobbies. Maybe you can take up knitting.”
“You been practicing that speech?” Parker asked. He forced an amused smile. “You really think your puny story is going to get any attention at all?”
Mac gestured to the phone. “Call a connection of yours, Parker. See who’s taking your calls. Go ahead. Maybe the Senator who’s carrying your nomination. Call him.”
Parker shook his head. “Get out,” he ordered. “Get out of my office before I call the cops.”
Mac backed towards the door, not taking his eyes off Parker, never forgetting the gun in the desk drawer.
“I’m rather disappointed,” Parker drawled. “I expected you to settle this man to man. To try and kill me before I killed you. You’re getting over-civilized.”
Mac grinned. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that said.” He opened the door, backed through and shut it.
“You kill him?” a familiar voice asked from behind him.
Mac whirled to face Stan Warren, then moved toward the center of the room to give himself more space. He glanced at Parker’s aide. “I said the cops,” Mac said mildly.
“I was already on my way here,” Warren said. “I have an arrest warrant.”
“For whom?”
Warren laughed. “We arrested Bill James this morning. He’s got a bullet hole in his right shoulder. Says you put it there.”
Mac shrugged. “Possibly, but if so, he was shooting at me at the time. I’m surprised, actually. Didn’t see who it was, but I didn’t think he would do his own dirty work.”
“Bill’s not afraid of doing his own dirty work, as you say. Besides, the man he hired was posted out the front door waiting for you there.”
“Oh?”
“We’ve detained a number of agents for questioning. Can’t find a few, like Steve Addison. You shoot him too?”
Mac shook his head. “Heard he took his wife on vacation.”
Warren laughed. “Saw your story this morning, by the way. Congratulations. Ought to win you some awards.”
“Cut the bullshit, Agent Warren,” Mac said. “Why are you here?”
“He’s here because he needs to finish the job he started,” Parker’s cold voice said from the doorway of his office.
Both turned to look at him. He stood in the doorway, his eyes burning, but the revolver held steady in his right hand. “Just got a call from the White House,” he said. “They’re pulling my nomination.”
Mac said softly, “Troy, get the civilians out of here.” He could hear Troy urging Kristy and Parker’s aide out the door.
“What did you expect?” Mac asked. He moved slightly in Parker’s direction. Parker glared at him, then focused on Stan Warren.
“And you, you pussy, you’re the real reason for all of this. If you had killed the bastard when I told you to, I’d be Secretary of Homeland Security. But you ball-less wonder, you couldn’t do it.”
Warren slowly pulled his hand out from inside his jacket and trained a service revolver on Mac.
“Day late and a dollar short,” Parker said with disgust. “You sure you are your father’s son? Now there was a man who knew how to follow orders.”
“And he died for it,” Warren said somberly.
“Better to die a soldier than live a traitor,” Parker said flatly.
“You know, all the time I was growing up, I heard about how Dad’s CO had come through for us, forced the Marine Corps to pay his pension, saw to it that I got a good education. And I never knew who it was. Mom can be a bit vague about details sometimes,” Warren said reflectively. Mac moved closer to Parker. No one seemed to notice.
“Then Mom called,” Warren continued. Parker nodded, a satisfied half-smile on his face. “Told me who the CO was, who I owed. And you collected your favors.”
Parker nodded. “I was dumfounded myself when I realized who was in charge of background checks,” he said. “I’d watched your career. You did your father proud.”
“He wouldn’t be proud if I killed a man on your say-so,” Warren said, and he shifted his stance so that his weapon was trained on Parker. “You’re under arrest, Parker. I have a warrant in my pocket.”
“Why you son of a bitch!” Parker snarled. Mac seized the moment and moved for Parker’s gun. Parker saw his movement, fired. Mac winced as the bullet burned past his arm, but he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Parker’s forearm, brought it down as his knee came up. He felt the bones in Parker’s arm break. Parker’s grip loosened on the gun, Mac took it away from him, slashing the weapon across his face, then brought it down on his head.
Parker grunted, doubled over. Mac smashed the butt of the gun into his nose, feeling the satisfaction of blood spurting. Parker curled into a ball, protecting himself. Mac kicked him in the balls.
“Mac!” Warren said loudly, keeping his distance from the brutal beating. “Mac, for God’s sake, don’t kill him. We’ll be doing paperwork for a week.”
Mac stopped, the gun still in his hand. He was breathing hard as if he he’d been running. His shoulders were hunched.
“Come on, man,” Warren said again. “We don’t want the hassle of filing the paperwork on the bastard.”
Mac looked at the gun in his hand and at the man laying at his feet. He could put a bullet in the man’s head. He wanted to. Wanted it badly. He could claim it happened in the fight to get the gun away from him; Warren might back it up.
Might not. Kill him too? Mac took another deep breath, slowly turned around. Warren had his gun pointed down a bit, but Mac had no doubt he’d be hard to take. He was watching Mac carefully.
“Let it go, Mac,” Warren said. Mac’s eyes bothered him; they were full of rage. He wasn’t entirely sane, Warren thought. Well, he’d known that. Now he would face it full on. “Right now, you’re a hero, saving an FBI agent from a madman with a gun.”
Mac looked at him, looked at the gun in his hand. “You got some cuffs or something?” Mac said through clenched teeth. “Tie this bastard up, will you?”
“His shot hit you?” Warren said, coming forward with restraints. Useless, Parker wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted Mac to give up his gun. Was afraid to ask for it.
“Just a bullet-burn,” Mac said. “Fucking hurts!”
“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Warren said. “I’d have shot him. Resisting arrest.”
Warren bent over Parker, tried to find some undamaged body part to put the restraints on. Gave it up. He straightened, put the restraints in his back pocket. Held out his hand.
Mac gave Warren the gun, pushed up his sleeve to look at his arm. More of a bloody scrape really, about three inches long. Hurt like hell. He looked up at Warren.
Warren was looking at Parker’s gun in his hand as if he didn’t know quite what to do with it.
“I liked your Mom,” Mac said lightly. “Couldn’t have your Mom mad at you, like that.”
Warren snorted. “When did you decide you trusted me?” he said.
Two U.S. marshals were busting the door down. Mac whirled, tensing at the sound of wood shattering. Warren made calming motions with his hands, careful not to touch Mac.
“It’s under control,” Stan Warren said loudly. “We’ll need a stretcher.” People crowded in the hallway, peering in, drawn by the sound of gunfire.
“I told you I don’t do trust,” Mac said. “But the best way to take someone out is to get in close.” He shrugged. “Figured it would become clear eventually which side you were on.”
Mac looked for something to stop the blood from his arm wound. Warren handed him a handkerchief.
“Actually, I thought maybe you’d set me up from the beginning,” Mac admitted, dabbing at the blood. The adrenaline rush was fading, leaving him tired. “I figured there had to be two people organizing the events the night I got tossed into the Sound and Donnelly got shot. It didn’t work otherwise. Couldn’t figure out which role you might have played.”
Kristy fussed over Mac’s arm. He started to shake her off, and then with a grin, let her continue. Warren snorted.
“I figured you for the Machiavellian type, the sort who likes to be behind the scenes pulling the strings,” Mac continued. “But I couldn’t tell what you were aiming to accomplish.”
Warren half-laughed. “I guess you pegged that about right,” he admitted. “I was trying to get you off the dime and having the dickens of a time doing it. If I’d thought of tossing you in the Sound to make you mad, I might have done it.”
The U.S. marshals stood looking at Parker, still curled in a ball on the floor. They glanced warily at Mac. Warren handed them the warrant. “Post an armed guard around his hospital bed,” he said wearily. “If he regains consciousness, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Warren looked at Mac. “So you decided the pen is mightier than the sword? I half-expected Parker to be dead when I got here.”
Mac shook his head, watching as the marshals entered the elevator behind EMTs carrying Parker on a stretcher. “The pen might be mightier,” he muttered, “but at least with the sword you know when it’s over.”
Warren laughed. “Yeah, you do.”
“Shit,” Mac said suddenly, looking for a phone. “Speaking of words, my boss will kill me if I get beat on this story now. Where’s the freaking phone?”