Simple Genius (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 3)

He looked around the room and handed her a heavy paperweight lying on her nightstand. “It’s not much of a weapon, but it’s the best I can do right now.”

There were more noises from outside. He said, “Alicia, just take the main road past Hut Number Three and the pool and then out to the front courtyard.” He gripped her shoulders. “You can do this. You can!”

She finally nodded, drew a deep, calming breath and followed him downstairs.

A minute later everything was going fine. Two guards passed by, but didn’t stop her. She had just reached the pool when disaster struck. A team of armored men came rushing toward her. The lead man had his hand up for her to stop.

“Shit!” Sean muttered from his hiding place. He looked around for anything he could use to get them out of this jam. And then he saw it. He reached in his bag and pulled out the grenade he’d taken from the guard at Camp Peary, slipped out the pin and tossed it over the fence surrounding Hut Number Two. It clanged against the metal silo and dropped to the ground. Sean had already raced away and climbed into the low branches of a tree.

Five seconds later, the explosion ripped a large hole in the base of the silo and tons of water came pouring out. It swept in all directions like a river flooding its banks. Sean heard screams and looked out from his perch in time to see Alicia and the men in armor get hit with the rushing water, knocking them off their feet.

Alicia was carried alongside the deck and into some chairs at the other end of the pool. The three armored men were knocked unconscious when they collided with the stone fireplace.

As soon as the silo emptied out Sean sloughed through the knee-high but rapidly receding water toward Alicia. “Sorry about the tsunami,” he called out. “It was the only thing I could think of.” As he drew closer he realized something was wrong.

Alicia was clutching at her prosthetic, writhing in pain.

He ran forward and knelt down next to her. “Alicia, what is it?”

She moaned, “Something happened when the water hit me. It feels like a piece of steel is wedged in the top of my thigh. I can’t walk.”

“Oh damn!” Sean examined the leg. The next thing, he was tumbling headfirst into the pool water. His skull felt like it had been cracked. He settled down on the bottom of the shallow end and then propelled himself back to the surface. As soon as he did something settled around his neck and was pulled tight. He instinctively grabbed for whatever it was, but it was imbedded so tightly in his neck already that his fingers couldn’t reach it. He looked behind him.

Alicia had a garrote around his neck. She was strangling him.

He couldn’t breathe; his eyes were bulging out of his head. He tried to throw her off, but she wrapped her good leg around his middle and pulled on the cord with all her might. In a panic, he swung his fists behind him, trying to hit her, but missed. He aimed a punch at the leg wrapped around him, but she kicked him in the back with her other leg knocking the wind out of him. He toppled forward into the water, carrying her on his back. Yet unlike him Alicia was able to draw a deep breath. His brain was about to burst and the damn cord kept tightening. He had to take a breath. He felt himself failing. His body was shutting down.

Help me, Michelle. Help me, I’m dying. But Michelle wasn’t here.

And then like a miracle the pressure was gone from around his neck. And then so was the weight of Alicia. In a second he erupted out of the pool, taking huge breaths and retching in the water.

“Come on!”

His bursting brain could barely understand the words. Yes, it was Michelle; she’d gotten here in time to rescue him. She was safe. Safe!

“Now!” The hand grabbed him roughly.

He looked up into the face. Ian Whitfield stared back at him. Lying unconscious on the concrete pool surround was Alicia.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” the head of Camp Peary urged as he hauled up Sean.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sean managed to say, coughing up water and rubbing at his torn-up neck.

“No time to talk. Just move. This place is crawling with people.”

“Yeah, your people, you son of a bitch.”

“Not tonight they’re not. They’re two squads of paramilitary from the camp and they don’t report to me. Come on!”

Whitfield fast-limped toward the gap between Hut Number Three and the main garage.

Sean hesitated for an instant. He looked down at Alicia. The paperweight she’d slugged him with was lying beside her. She’d tried to kill him. But why? The next second he heard cries coming from behind him. He ran off and joined Whitfield, who was crouched down next to a tree.

“You going to tell me what’s going on?” Sean demanded in a weak, scratchy voice.

“Not now,” Whitfield snapped. He pulled a pistol from his belt and handed it to Sean while he picked up an MP5 he’d obviously hidden behind the bush earlier. “If you have to use it, make it a head shot. The body armor they’re wearing will stop any pistol ammo.”

“Where are we trying to get to?”