Contents ( 84)
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
‘It was self-defence. They were here to kill you.’
‘In a hit sanctioned by the head of your department and by the president of the United States himself. You think we’re the ones the Feds will be listening to?’
‘President Knowles . . .’
Grace stopped herself before she could finish her sentence. Dempsey noticed, just as he had seen her hesitate the first time Knowles was mentioned. But there was no time to press her.
Right now, he had to keep them alive.
‘Agent Grace, we don’t have time for this discussion. This place will be crawling with cops in no time. I can’t allow myself to be taken. So I’m leaving. You can come with me or you can stay. It’s your choice.’
Grace said nothing.
‘You’ve got about two minutes.’
Dempsey walked away, past the post room and back towards the lobby. He was headed to the building’s staff area. The place he had sent Freddie Garcia a few minutes earlier.
He reached the back room and banged on the door.
‘Freddie. It’s Joe Dempsey. You can open up now.’
The noise from inside the room was instant. And telling. Freddie Garcia was not alone. The mixed voices of at least six members of staff seemed to be discussing whether the door should be opened.
From the outside it sounded as if it was becoming an argument. An argument he couldn’t wait around for. He took a single step back and launched a powerful kick, aimed just below the door-handle.
Dempsey stepped inside as the door crashed open, its upper hinge ripped from the frame. The faces that met him were all terrified. The last reaction Dempsey had wanted to cause. But there was no time for delays.
‘Everyone, you’re all safe.’ Dempsey held up his hands as he spoke, his palms facing outwards. ‘It’s over. It’s done.’
‘What . . . what was it? What happened?’
Dempsey turned to Garcia.
‘I can’t answer that, Freddie. And I need to get out of here.’
‘But—’
‘No “buts”,’ Dempsey interrupted. ‘Is there a medical kit in this place?’
‘I . . . I . . . erm, what?’ Garcia was still shaken.
‘A medical kit. Bandages. Stitches. That sort of thing.’
Garcia gave a nervous shrug. Dempsey looked around the room but no one else looked up. This was already taking too long, but he couldn’t afford to ignore his shoulder wound.
He turned back to Garcia.
‘I need pliers. Do you have some?’
‘In the maintenance box. Behind you.’
‘Get them.’
Dempsey ripped off his shirt as he spoke, pulling it out from under his holster as Garcia returned with the tool.
‘Thanks.’
He took a G19 magazine from his waist, took out a single 9mm cartridge and replaced the clip. He then took the pliers from Garcia, gripped the flat end of the cartridge and slowly pulled the primer from the rest of the metal, careful to avoid a spark.
With the primer separated, he placed it down – still in the grip of the pliers – and slowly poured a thin covering of the cartridge’s now exposed gunpowder onto the two wounds, sitting one above the other on the front and the top of his shoulder.