Chapter Twenty

They were inside. Cam thanked Uncle Sam for putting everyone in a uniform to look the same, because the three of them hadn’t even been questioned at the school. The officials there had assumed they were part of General McNamara’s entourage. No one saw them as anything more than another uniform to salute.

Zack’s dress uniform was loose-fitting. He’d lost weight since his service. Cam had brought his in the bag he and Audrey had packed. He didn’t go anywhere without his uniform or credentials. Audrey’s had been pieced together from Zack’s old BDUs, and she rocked that baggy camo. Nothing could hide her curves. Even that demure bun she’d twisted her hair into was sexy as hell. But sorting his feelings out would have to come second to this mission.

The school was downtown, and they’d had to maneuver along Van Ness Avenue, which moved at a snail’s pace. Zack’s black Range Rover did a good job of clearing a path, so they got to the school before the general was set to speak. The buildings were old, built like a fortress, made of white-washed brick with tiled roofs. Monterey pines shaded the campus with their twisty branches reaching for milky sunshine.

It looked like any other high school or community college, only plopped right in the middle of a busy metropolis. He remembered driving himself to high school up in Tacoma. He sure as hell didn’t have to make his way up hills and around buses and trollies like Zack had to now. It was a brave new world.

But now they were inside. Without phones or ear buds and mics to communicate, their plan had to be precise. Zack would be on the field in the audience, looking for CWO Linder or anyone suspicious. He would also provide crowd control if shit went sideways. At least being outside, people could run in any direction. Audrey was going to locate the target, talk him into postponing or canceling his speech. Cam wanted to take Linder down. It was personal.

His stomach churned whenever he remembered the cold-blooded execution of Brett. How could his mentor, his friend, be a traitor? An assassin? What was it about Cam, where everyone he befriended became evil? It was something to be examined, but not now.

The three of them stood in the shadows of one of the arches in the colonnade bordering the outdoor theater. Students filed into the area, grouped by classes, all clad in the same smart blue uniforms with shiny brass buttons that glinted in the pale sunlight.

Cam’s gaze strayed to Audrey again. Damn, but she looked seriously cute with that cover pulled down over her eyes, dark strands of hair escaping that sexy-as-hell bun. Making love to a fellow soldier never sounded so good, but dammit, because of Brett and Linder, he had to reel in his libido and concentrate on saving someone’s life and capturing a killer. Serious shit that deserved all his focus.

Zack had provided extra fire power for them in the form of two Glocks. The guy was definitely on the survivalist spectrum. Though the arsenal reassured Cam, his stomach tightened at the thought of having to fire around all these fresh young people who had their whole lives in front of them. Damn Brett. Damn Linder, for putting them at risk.

That was the problem with any sort of terrorist attack. The innocent ones suffered, when it shouldn’t be that way. This time he, Audrey, and Zack were here to make sure of a good outcome. There was no alternative. Failure was not an option.

With an imperceptible nod to them, Zack slipped into the crowd. Cam shot a sidelong glance at Audrey. She met it, dipped her chin, touched his hand, and then glided down the hallway toward where she’d made the educated guess that the general was waiting to speak. He wanted to call her back but had to be satisfied with the touch, the look. It was how the soldier rolled.

He returned his gaze to the gathering crowd, let it cruise over the surrounding buildings. None of them were too high. Maybe four floors at most.

“Where would you hide, you bastard?” he whispered under his breath, calculating the best angle from which to snipe. It would be difficult to do so, since there were only two buildings tall enough to get a good angle. And they wouldn’t be empty of people during school hours. Hard to set up a sniper tripod if you couldn’t be alone. Linder could have a high-powered rifle with a kickass scope and be a block away. If that was the case, they were shit-out-of-luck.

He still couldn’t fathom that his CWO was a terrorist. Not the bomb-wearing jihadist type, but a terrorist nonetheless. Was their history together, especially Linder’s part in Cam’s new career, all a subterfuge, a way to put Cam where he wanted him? Was everything Cam had accomplished based on a lie? There were a lot of questions, and the biggest of all was: Who could they trust?

The outdoor theater looked about full. They’d be starting soon. He hoped like hell Audrey had talked McNamara out of giving his speech. Any minute now the school principal should be coming out to tell them the speech was postponed. Any minute now.

He flexed his fingers, concentrated on easing the different muscle groups in his back and shoulders. God, he hated this waiting. He hadn’t liked it in the Sandbox, and he didn’t like it any better here.

He used to come back from rounds aching, standing under the shower until someone bitched that he was taking all the water, and even then, he would come out tense. He’d taken to sleeping with a night guard in his mouth because he clenched his teeth so hard he was afraid he’d crack his teeth. He was doing that now.

He shifted his jaw. Didn’t help. A man’s life depended on how alert he was. It didn’t get more pressurized than that. Searching each archway along the perimeter of the building to his left, he contemplated his future, only to decide he had no future if the Army was being infiltrated by terrorist sleeper cells.

Who would believe him if he told them? Shit, he couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept, and he’d seen CWO Hal Linder blow away another rogue soldier right before his eyes. Hell, only Dan Brown could think up something that far-fetched and make it sound real. Yet now it was.

“Have a seat, folks. Let’s do this in a time-sensitive manner.” The woman at the podium, smartly uniformed and about forty-five years of age, watched the remaining students file in and take their seats. Cam studied the crowd again, then returned his gaze to the stage. No general. Good. Audrey must have gotten to him.

The young audience members quieted down. They were a better behaved lot than Cam’s high school crowd. He searched the upper buildings again. No glint off a scope or weapon. Was Linder even here? Had they misjudged his target? Cam’s hands began to sweat. He wiped them on his thighs.

Any minute now the principal would tell them their speaker had canceled. Any minute n—

“I’m pleased to present to you one of the most esteemed speakers of all time. He has a long and illustrious career…”

…

She’d missed him. Damn it to hell and back, she’d been too late to catch him backstage. It had taken precious seconds to find her way through the back corridors behind the stage, costing her that moment alone with the general.

She could see the top of his cover as he strode toward the stage, flanked by his staff, which consisted of a young woman and an equally young man, neither of whom looked seasoned enough to protect him.

“General McNamara,” she called, causing a few stagehands’ heads to turn. She studied them momentarily. Could one of them be a terrorist recruit? Could there be more than one assassin? They all looked like students. But wasn’t that the target age group of recruits?

She couldn’t let herself get sucked into doubts. Whether they were or not, she needed to stop the general from climbing the stage stairs. Only if she was successful in that would she be able to terminate the assassination attempt.

Just as she gained the steps rising to the stage, the general’s two adjutants stepped in front of her, barring her way. Up on stage she heard the school’s principal announce, “I’m pleased to present to you one of the most esteemed speakers of all time here at SFMA. He has a long and illustrious career…”

“You have to let me up there,” she ordered the younger soldiers, pushing on their crossed arms. “I have an urgent message for the general.”

“Can’t you see he’s busy?” The young woman pushed back on Audrey. At another time she’d admire that strength of character, but right now it was keeping her from her objective.

“I have reason to believe the general is the target of an assassination plot. We’ve been following a lead that points to General McNamara. You have to let me stop him.”

The two soldiers-in-training shared a glance, and Audrey took advantage of their momentary lapse of attention and shoved between them, climbing the stairs in double-time. She heard them cry out but didn’t slow down a bit.

She’d reached the top of the stairs. The general strode across the stage. There was a commotion in the audience amidst desultory applause. Heads began to swivel, looking for the interruption. Audrey scanned the crowd at the back of the outdoor theater. At the same time, her trained ears heard the distinct pop of a silencer.

Her gaze slew to the general, who jolted backward before beginning a slow-motion topple to the stage. The crowd gasped. Many started running toward the tree-lined exits and shadowed corridors. Shouts and screams drowned out the commands of equally frightened teachers. Pandemonium ensued.

Audrey reached the last step and lunged across the stage, catching the commander before he hit the floor. She dropped to her knees, cradling McNamara in her arms. His adjutants dithered around her as she tried to shield his body from more shots.

“Block his view,” she barked at the young soldiers, while tearing at his uniform jacket. As soon as she pulled it aside, she could see the wound with its widening bloodstain. The shot was high in the general’s left shoulder. Linder had been off his mark. Something had startled him. Someone shoved their jacket at Audrey, and she folded it to press on the bullet wound. McNamara’s face was graying, but his eyes fluttered open. His blue gaze penetrated hers.

“Who the hell would shoot me?” he rasped out, closing his eyes as a blood stain spread across his decorated Army uniform.

“I’ll find out for you, sir. Just hang on. You seem like a tough old bird.”

He tried to laugh at her audacity but grimaced and closed his eyes against the pain he must surely be feeling. She stared at his chest, willed it to rise and fall, prayed that this patriotic and dedicated leader would survive. When she saw him take a labored breath, she let out a sigh, snapped to no one in particular, “Call an ambulance!”

There were no more shots. She hoped like hell that Cam had caught the bastard. She needed to get out there, help him. She raised her head and saw Zack shoving administrators aside as he strode across the stage.

“Thank God you’re here,” she breathed. He knelt beside her and took the older man into his arms. Their gazes met as they heard the squeal of sirens in the distance. She had to get moving.

“Go ahead, get out of here. I can handle this. I saw Cam take off toward the bell tower,” Zack said with a jerk of his head in that direction, and she gave a short nod before rising.

“Thanks, Addison. We’ll catch him.” She spun on her heel and took the stage stairs two at a time. People milled everywhere, some running, some standing in shock. Disjointed conversations reached her ears. She pushed past them, heading in the direction Zack had indicated, hoping to God she wouldn’t be too late to help Cam.

The corridors were empty. She looked toward the bell tower. More sirens screamed in the distance. They had to locate the traitor; otherwise, he’d bullshit himself free with the help of his uniform and commanding presence.

There! She spied furtive movement between a row of pines twenty yards away along another corridor. She took off at a lope, Glock held comfortably in her right hand. She spied a bit of uniform, prayed she wasn’t chasing a shell-shocked teenager.

She slowed as she approached the hedge, raising her gun. A man stood on the other side, possibly hiding. She moved around the bushes so she could see who hid there, and ordered, “Raise your hands.”

The man spun around. In that nanosecond before she pulled the trigger, she realized it was Cam. She dropped her arm, finger off the trigger, her chest heaving, heart in her throat. She’d almost shot him. Probably would have killed him, because she had deadly aim. She sucked in air, then let it out through her nose as she stared into Cam’s wide-eyed face.

He didn’t speak. He’d been bringing his weapon up as well, and now it pointed at the ground. They’d come so close to shooting each other. She couldn’t stand the silence and, as usual, blurted her first thought.

“Dammit, Cam. I almost shot you!”

“That would have saved me the trouble.” CWO Linder stepped out of the shrubs and pressed the barrel of his Sig Sauer against Cam’s head.