The Sixth Man (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 5)

“You mean not for this country?”

“That would be problematic.”

“I’m not a traitor,” said Roy.

“You’d be alive,” replied Harkes. “Your choice.”

“You probably won’t even let us out of here alive, even if we do give him up,” said Paul.

“I give you my word that that won’t be the case.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t blame you. I don’t trust you either.”

“I hope they’re paying you enough to commit treason.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“When did you sell out, Harkes? Do you even remember?”

Harkes’s features hardened for barely a second. “I’m going to raise my hand unless Edgar Roy gets out of the wheelchair and walks over here with Mr. Bunting. Right now. Do you want the kid to be able to finish his hot chocolate?”

Sean and Michelle eyed the little boy. Michelle tensed her body to leap.

Roy rose from his chair.

His sister said, “Eddie! No!”

“Enough people have died because of me, Kel. No more. Nobody else. Especially not a little boy.”

“They told me you had a big brain, Roy,” said Harkes. “Just right over here, please. Bunting, you too.”

They watched as Bunting and Roy stepped forward. On a nod from Harkes the men released Megan, who stumbled toward Sean and Michelle.

Sean’s gaze had not stopped moving. He had gone grid by grid, reaching far away with his gaze and then pulling it back in, step-by-step, like casting a fishing line and slowly reeling it in, looking for threats. It was like he had never been away from the Secret Service. He had pulled post on the Mall many times while with the Service. What to look for and how had been drilled into his mind until there was no difference between conscious thought and instinct.

As soon as Megan joined them Sean saw it. A man who was paying them a little too much attention while trying very hard not to seem to be. His hand went to his pocket. An optics flare followed as he took aim.

Sean leaped, his body parallel to the ground.

The shot was fired.

The round hit Sean squarely in the chest. He grunted once, hit the grass hard, and slid.

“Sean!” screamed Michelle.

The men who had been on either side of Riley suddenly went down fast, before they could pull their guns, their bodies writhing in pain. Men swarmed them, held them down, the glint of gunmetal flashed in the sunlight.

“Where’s the shooter?” one of them screamed.

In the face of the shot, the crowds on the Mall acted like a wave gathering strength. This stampede built speed and mass, and soon the wave was beyond control.

James Harkes was on the move. He dropped two men with his weapon. They fell to the grass out of the fight. Harkes kept going, his gaze darting in all directions. He didn’t know who had fired the shot, but it had severely messed up his plans. His carefully arranged tactical positions were now being swept away.

But all he could do was keep going, keep striking.

Michelle knelt next to Sean.