The only advantage he felt certain of was that the man with the slow, measured speech couldn't know Blackthorn had no intention of allowing them both to enter the room. Before he engaged the key, the psychologist stiffened his body. Then, as he felt the muzzle of the gun move slightly away from his side, he spun, swinging his overnight bag in a sharp, vicious arc against where he knew the gunman's hand and wrist had to be. The gun clattered against the wall, and Blackthorn sensed the man diving for it.

In one movement, Blackthorn jammed the key down into the lock, opened the door, and pulled it closed behind him. Two bullets snapped through the wood next to the door handle, but the bolt held.

"Hey, what's going on?" a man's voice called out from down the hallway. "Barbara, the guy's got a fucking gun! Get back inside and call the desk!"

Blackthorn crawled from the doorway into the bathroom and locked that door. If the killer blasted his way into the room, it might take a few more seconds for him to get into the bathroom. Otherwise there wasn't going to be much he could do.

But there were no more gunshots.

Blackthorn stayed where he was. A minute passed, then another. Finally, he heard a pounding on his door, and voices. He had just opened the bathroom door when two security men, both with guns drawn, burst in.

"You all right?"

"I'm fine. What about my briefcase?"

"Jesus, he's blind."

"My briefcase and my glasses," Blackthorn snapped.

"Your glasses are right here," one of the guards said, setting them against Blackthorn's hand, "but there's no briefcase."

"Damn."

"The police are on their way."

"What's he ever gonna be able to tell them?" the other asked. "He can't see a thing."

CHAPTER 31

Five ten, maybe five eleven. Deep southern accent. I'd bet Alabama or Mississippi. It would seem that he followed us when we drove from the White House to the hotel."

Stunned, Gabe listened to Kyle Blackthorn's account of the assault in his hotel.

"A professional killer? How could he have known about you?"

"Somehow, I don't think that White House of yours is a bastion of safe secrets."

"I'm just glad you weren't hurt. And I'm sorry about your briefcase."

"They're not going to get much useful information from it. Besides, my memory is a lot better than my eyesight. I'll get back to you very soon with my conclusions, although you can start with what we spoke about."

"I'm really sorry, Kyle. Do you want to stay here tonight?"

"They've put me up in their VIP suite. And since the guy missed, it seems like a fair trade to me. I'll tell you, though, he's the coldest human being I've ever encountered who wasn't on a slab in the morgue. If you're up against him, you've got problems. Not me, though. First thing tomorrow, I'm off for Cheyenne."