The governor swiveled on smoothly oiled joints and fired the Glock at Kincaid, hitting him square in the shoulder, sending him reeling toward the balcony where he smacked into the railing and flipped over backward. A moment later I heard the splash as he landed in the river six stories below. A series of screams echoed through the courtyard from the delegates who saw what happened.
“I should have done that thirty years ago,” said the governor, gazing toward the balcony.
While he was momentarily distracted I scrambled over, grabbed my gun, rolled across the carpet.
“That, Dr. Bowers,” said Sebastian Taylor from somewhere behind me, “is how you handle a shark.”
I positioned myself behind the couch. Flattened my back against it.
“Sebastian,” I yelled. “Put down the gun.” I peered around the edge of the couch and then ducked back. He was scanning the room looking for me, trying to conserve bullets now that the balcony doors were open and the room was no longer soundproof. He’d need to choose his shot wisely; security would be here any moment. “You ate the hors d’oeuvres,” I called. “You’re infected. We need to treat you.”
“Wasn’t me, I’m afraid,” he said. “I gave those to Anita before sending her to her room. I suppose I’ll have to find a new personal assistant. Ah well, she was getting a little old for me anyhow.”
I couldn’t see him; he was on the other side of the room. “Governor,” I said. “It’s over. I recorded everything you said. I’m wired.” I touched the mic patch to make sure it was still in place beneath my ear. I’d put it on after grabbing it from my desk before leaving the federal building. No one was monitoring the other end at the moment, but everything the governor had said was automatically recorded.
Every word.
Despite the interruptions.
That is how you handle a shark.
Brent Tucker… Brent Tucker… Tessa had overheard Patrick talking to him on the phone earlier this morning. What had Patrick said again? Something about him helping with the case, being a good man.
So he was a friend of Patrick’s. He could help. She punched the number. Waited while it rang. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
She heard the catch of the lock as the cop who liked to smoke opened the front door of the house.
I heard the door bang open and ventured a glance. Governor Taylor had fled.
Shouts and screams rose from the courtyard. I ran to the balcony.
Kincaid had landed in the foaming water near the base of the waterfall. It must have cushioned his landing enough for him to survive the fall. He was hobbling to his feet. “It’s a cruel world,” he was shouting. “But our love will unite us forever!” And one by one, his people, the caterers for today’s luncheon, were taking capsules out of their pockets and popping them into their mouths.
Endgame.
Tessa couldn’t believe that the killer didn’t open the door in front of her, the last door in the hall. Instead, she heard him run back toward the center of the house.
Officer Stilton, no! He was going to kill him too.
The cell phone in her hand was ringing, still ringing.
Answer, Agent Tucker. Answer!
Aaron Jeffrey Kincaid looked around the courtyard. The world was spinning. People screaming.
He was standing in water. Swirling water. Blood weeping from his shoulder.
Blood and water. Curling together.
The river.
The whirlpool.
Jessica and the days of true love.
“His vision, our vision!” he yelled. “His future, our future!”
I watched as the hotel security guards raced into the lobby and then fumbled around trying to figure out what to do: arrest the people who were killing themselves or try to calm down the panicking guests who were paying $1,200 a night?
“Arrest them!” I shouted. The room was erupting in confusion. People were trying to leave, stampeding everywhere. “Stop them,” I yelled. “It’s a suicide mission! We need them alive to identify the virus!”
You have to get down there.
I knew the elevators would be jammed with people, so I ran to the stairs, descended to the main floor, and bolted into the courtyard of hanging gardens and pools.
All around me, chaos.
Tessa held her breath, waiting for the gunshot she was sure would come, waiting for the killer to shoot Officer Stilton too.
No shot came, and when the phone in her hand vibrated, she almost screamed.
“Hello? Pat?” a voice said.
“No, it’s me,” she cried. “It’s Tessa!”
“Tessa?”
“I’m his daughter.” By then she was crying.
“Are you OK? Where are you?”
“I need your help. I’m at the house. She’s dead. Someone’s dead. Hurry.”
“OK, calm down. I’ll be right there. I’m close by.”