Only one rule now, baby: shoot this guy dead and get the hell out of Dodge before anybody can do a goddamn thing about it.

The pilot had the coordinates of the targeted window and, sure enough, two men in dark suits were standing there, looking down on the street action—the diversion built into the plan. Captain Williams knew what her target looked like, and by the time he saw her rifle—only a hundred feet away—he'd be dead and she'd be on her way out of there.

One of the men behind the window appeared to shout a warning and tried to push the other one away. Quite the hero.

No matter—Williams pulled the trigger. Easy does it.

Then, escape!

The helicopter pilot used the same flying technique for exfil and headed directly to the drop zone in Virginia. It took just three and a half minutes from the FBI building all the way out to the drop area. Nikki Williams was still buzzing from the shot and kill, not to mention the big fee she'd be getting. Double-fee money, and God knows, she was worth every penny.

The helicopter set down easily, and she jumped down off the skid. She flipped a salute to the pilot, and he reached out his right arm toward her—and shot her twice, once in the throat, once in the forehead. The pilot didn't like it, but he did it. Those were his orders, and he knew enough to obey them. The female sniper had apparently told someone else about her mission. The pilot knew nothing more than that.

Just his piece of the big picture.

Chapter 33

This much we knew.

The two men captured down in the courtyard had been hustled inside the FBI building and were now being held on the second floor. But who the hell were they?

The serious rumor circulating was that Ron Burns had been shot, that my boss and friend was dead.

Sources had it that a successful sniper attack had been made and that Burns's office was the target. I couldn't help thinking of the assassination of Stacy Pollack earlier that year. The Wolf had never actually taken responsibility for the murder of the head of the SIOC, but we knew he was the one who ordered it. Burns vowed revenge, though none had been taken. Not to my knowledge, anyway.

About half an hour after the sniper attack, I got a call to go down to the second floor. That was good: I needed to do something, or go crazy in my office.

"Anything on the shooting upstairs?" I asked the ACAS who called me.

"Nothing I know of. We've heard the rumors, too. No one will deny or confirm anything. I spoke to Tony Woods in the director's office, and he won't say anything. Nobody's talking, Alex. Sorry, man."

"Something happened, though? Somebody got shot?"

"Yeah. Somebody got shot up there."

Feeling sick about everything that had happened in the past few days, I hurried down to the second floor and was led by a guard to a row of holding cells I hadn't known even existed. The agent who met me explained that he wanted me to conduct the interview without a briefing, to get my take on the prisoners.