71

“What are you doing here?” McCormack demanded. The director’s worried eyes flashed back and forth between Finney and Kareem.

Finney raised his hands and took a couple of steps forward. He finished coughing and tried to stay as calm as possible. “What’s going on, Bryce?” he asked. “Was Gus trying to harm Kareem?” Finney knew it was a long shot, but he wanted to see if McCormack might try to turn on his partner.

“Nice try,” Gus said, his voice all business. “Hands on your head, Judge. Get over here next to your buddy.”

Finney laced his fingers behind his head but appealed to McCormack with his eyes. He saw the flash from Gus’s gun out of his peripheral vision, ducked instinctively, and heard the bullet ping off the wall behind him. He rose cautiously back to his full height. His heart felt like it would pound out of his chest.

“Hurry up!” Gus commanded. “Next time we don’t miss.”

Finney locked his fingers behind his head again and walked deliberately to the prayer mat, eyeing Gus warily. Two captors with guns. Kareem in wrist shackles. Victoria in the shadows. Finney didn’t like his chances.

He knelt slowly next to Kareem, keeping one eye on Gus, the other on McCormack. He tried to read the dark eyes of a man blinded by a six-year quest for revenge. He had no trouble interpreting the ruthless eyes of Gus. The man played cards without emotion; he apparently killed that way too.

Finney quickly calculated the angles, the odds, the risks.

McCormack still had his gun leveled at Kareem, but he appeared anxious, almost hyperventilating. Events were spinning out of control. Finney was still breathing hard himself, but otherwise he felt surprisingly calm. It was time to exploit the dissension between Gus and McCormack. “He’s going to kill you, too,” Finney said to McCormack.

“Shut up,” Gus hissed. He pistol-whipped Finney across the forehead, opening a gash that spewed blood. Finney fell facedown on the mat but managed to get back to his knees, the blood dripping over one eye and down his face. He glanced up at Gus, standing a few feet away from his right shoulder. He saw McCormack take a step away from the men, backing closer to the wall.

“What about Victoria?” Finney asked Gus. “You going to kill her, too? She’s already heading back to the resort.”

Gus pressed the barrel of his gun against Finney’s temple. “One more word, Judge Finney. One more word.”

“Finney’s right,” McCormack said, his voice showing the initial signs of panic. “What do we do about Victoria?” He took another step back as if distancing himself from the escalating situation. Victoria crouched in the shadows behind him. Fifteen feet, maybe twenty. Finney’s head throbbed with pain so great he wondered whether he would stay conscious.

Gus spoke in a monotone. “First we execute these two. Then we chase her down.”

McCormack nodded, his breathing still uneven. He took aim at Kareem, holding the gun with two hands, both trembling. Maybe Finney’s unexpected appearance had temporarily caused McCormack to lose his lust for revenge. McCormack had never shot a man before, Finney realized. They would need only a moment’s hesitation.

But then the eyes narrowed, and McCormack seemed to refocus on Kareem. His face grew determined. Six years of hatred. Six years of thinking about his daughter’s death. His own life had lost meaning, except for the purpose of exacting revenge. And Finney knew instinctively that he was out of time.

In the next fraction of a second, quicker than Finney could think rationally, he caught Kareem’s eye and gave his friend the signal. Finney the code maker, the cryptologist, the man who prided himself on creating and solving the most complex puzzles and codes. With his life on the line, in that briefest period of eye contact, he resorted to a code that had never failed him before.

Oliver Finney winked.

Kareem ducked down and to his left. Finney spun hard toward Gus, knocking the gun away from his own temple as it discharged. Finney then grabbed Gus’s wrist and lunged at the killer with every ounce of strength his tired legs could muster, yelling “Go!” at the same time. As he pounced, he heard the pop of McCormack’s gun and felt the bullet graze his shoulder, causing a brief streak of pain that shot up his neck and across his brain. Finney slammed into Gus like a linebacker and, aided by the element of surprise, drove him backward and onto the floor, jarring the gun loose as Gus’s skull bounced on the unforgiving limestone.

Behind him, Finney heard a dull thud and loud grunt as Victoria Kline drove her rock into the back of Bryce McCormack’s head.

Finney’s tackle and the blow to the head stunned Gus for a split second, but Finney had underestimated the sinewy man’s strength and agility. When Finney scrambled for the gun, Gus drove a powerful fist into Finney’s face, shattering the cheekbone and knocking Finney to his side, the gun just out of reach. Gus quickly grabbed the gun and staggered to his feet, while Finney found just enough strength to rise to one knee, a hand on the floor to steady himself as the cave spun, bright stars popping before his eyes. Out of his blurry peripheral vision, Finney saw Victoria grab McCormack’s pistol.

Next to Finney, Gus regained his footing just as the second member of the contestant tag team delivered his blow. As Gus was struggling to his feet, Kareem had charged, hurling himself like a battering ram into the Assassin. The Muslim’s head landed squarely on Gus’s chin, blood spurting from the Assassin’s mouth while he staggered back, tripped, and caught himself as he fell, less than an arm’s length from Finney. Gus whirled around, his body in a crab-walk position, left arm braced against the floor as he swung his pistol in one smooth, quick motion up toward Kareem. Impulsively, Finney dove at Gus, throwing himself into the pistol just as the gun discharged—his torso absorbing the point-blank impact from the .22 caliber slug.

Above him, Finney thought he saw another flash, heard a slug hit bone, and saw the side of Gus’s face explode, inches from Finney’s own. Then there was silence, as if somebody had freeze-framed the entire scene.

When things started moving again, they seemed to go in slow motion, and the voices sounded like echoes from the end of a long tunnel. Through the fog, Finney felt Victoria rolling him onto his back, away from Gus, and shouting directions at Kareem. He heard the whoosh of his heartbeat in his ears, and the words of his friends faded further into the distance, though he could still feel their touch.

His stomach felt as if someone had disemboweled him. The pain only increased as Kareem pressed his shackled hands onto the wound to stanch the bleeding. Finney still had knifelike pain in his shoulder from the first gunshot wound, exacerbated by the pressure on his body being exerted by Kareem.

Victoria knelt over him and tried desperately to resuscitate him. She pinched his nose and pumped breaths into his mouth, forcefully, methodically, as if she could will him back to life with the precious air from her own lungs.

“Don’t leave us, Judge. You’re going to make it,” she gasped between breaths, her voice nearly hysterical. “Don’t you dare die.”

He wanted to fight; the flesh wanted to obey. But he could feel the blood seeping from his body and he heard another voice—softer yet infinitely stronger. He saw a brilliant white light.

“Stay with me, Oliver,” Victoria pleaded. Another breath. A tear dropped on his cheek. “We’ve got to stop his bleeding, Kareem.” She stripped off her shirt and handed it to Kareem. He stuffed it into the wound.

“Keep fighting, Oliver.” Another breath. The tears falling faster. “C’mon, buddy.”

“Oliver,” the second voice whispered. The light grew stronger and the pain started to fade. “It’s time.”

In response, Finney tried to whisper the name of his Savior. He thought briefly about the ones he would leave behind—Victoria, Kareem, Hadji, even Nikki—they would all understand. Maybe one day they would follow. He floated toward the light, the voice, the outstretched hands. Nail scarred.

“No,” Victoria said. She cupped his head in her hands. Placed her cheek against his battered face to feel for breath. “Don’t leave.”

But the other voice grew stronger, the image clearer. “Well done, good and faithful servant; you were faithful over a few things. I will make you judge over many.”

The pain was gone. He ran to the light. Arms embraced him. And Oliver Gradison Finney knew that he was home.