little hump sat up. The boy rubbed his eyes, yawned, opened his eyes, and stared directly at Robie standing there, his pistol pointed at the boy’s mother.
“Shoot,” the voice said. “Shoot her!”
Robie did not fire.
“Mommy,” said the boy in a fearful tone, never once taking his gaze off Robie.
“Shoot,” said the voice. “Now.”
The man sounded hysterical. Robie couldn’t put a face with the voice because he had never met his handler in person. Standard agency procedure. No one could ID anyone.
“Mommy?” The little boy started to cry.
“Shoot the kid too,” said the handler. “Now.”
Robie could fire and be gone. Taps to the chests. One big, one small. One dum-dum fired into the child would destroy his insides. He would have no chance.
“Shoot now,” said the voice.
Robie did not shoot.
The woman began to stir.
“Mommy?” Her son poked her with his fingers but kept staring at Robie. Tears slid down his thin cheeks. He started to shake.
She slowly woke. “Yes, baby?” she said in a sleepy voice. “You’re safe, baby, just a nightmare. You’re safe with Mommy. Nothing to be scared of.”
“Mommy?”
He tugged on her gown.
“Okay, baby, okay. Mommy’s awake.”
She saw Robie. And froze, but only for an instant. Then she pulled her child behind her.
She screamed.
Robie put a finger to his lips.
She screamed again.
“Shoot them,” the handler said frantically.
Robie said to her, “Be quiet or I shoot.”
She didn’t stop screaming.
He fired a round into the pillow next to her. The stuffing flew out, and the round deflected off the mattress springs and drilled into the floor underneath the bed.
She stopped screaming.
“Kill her,” the handler roared in Robie’s ear.
“Stay quiet,” said Robie to the woman.
She sobbed, hugged her son. “Please, mister, please, don’t hurt us.”
“Just stay quiet,” said Robie. The handler was still screaming in his ear. If the man had been in the room Robie would have shot the asshole just to shut him up.
“Take what you want,” mumbled the woman. “But please don’t hurt us. Don’t hurt my baby.”
She turned, hugged her son. Lifted him up so they were face-to-face. He stopped crying, touched his mother’s face.
Robie realized something and his gut tightened.
The handler was no longer screaming. His earwig held nothing except silence.
He should have picked up on that before.
Robie lunged forward.
The woman, thinking he was about to attack them, screamed again.
The window glass shattered.
Robie watched as the rifle round passed through the boy’s head and then drove through his mother’s, killing them both. It was an enviable shot made by a marksman of enviable skill. But Robie was not thinking of that.
The woman’s eyes were on Robie when her life ended. She looked surprised. Mother and son fell sideways, together. She was still holding him. If anything her arms, in death, appeared to have tightened around her lifeless child.
Robie stood there, gun down. He looked out the window.
The fail-safe was out there somewhere with a fine sight line, obviously.
Then his instincts took over and Robie ducked down and rolled away from the window. On the floor he saw something else he had never expected to see tonight.
On the floor next to the bed was a baby carrier. In the carrier sound asleep was a second kid.
“Shit,” Robie muttered.
He crawled forward on his belly.
His earwig came alive. “Get out of the apartment,” his handler ordered him. “By the fire escape.”
“Go to hell,” Robie said. He ripped the pinhole and earwig off, powered them down, and stuffed them in his pocket.
He snagged the carrier, slid it toward him. He was waiting for a second shot. But he did not intend to give the shooter a viable target. And the man on the other end of the kill shot wouldn’t fire without that, Robie knew. He had sometimes been the one holding the rifle out there in the darkness.
He moved clear of the
“Shoot,” the voice said. “Shoot her!”
Robie did not fire.
“Mommy,” said the boy in a fearful tone, never once taking his gaze off Robie.
“Shoot,” said the voice. “Now.”
The man sounded hysterical. Robie couldn’t put a face with the voice because he had never met his handler in person. Standard agency procedure. No one could ID anyone.
“Mommy?” The little boy started to cry.
“Shoot the kid too,” said the handler. “Now.”
Robie could fire and be gone. Taps to the chests. One big, one small. One dum-dum fired into the child would destroy his insides. He would have no chance.
“Shoot now,” said the voice.
Robie did not shoot.
The woman began to stir.
“Mommy?” Her son poked her with his fingers but kept staring at Robie. Tears slid down his thin cheeks. He started to shake.
She slowly woke. “Yes, baby?” she said in a sleepy voice. “You’re safe, baby, just a nightmare. You’re safe with Mommy. Nothing to be scared of.”
“Mommy?”
He tugged on her gown.
“Okay, baby, okay. Mommy’s awake.”
She saw Robie. And froze, but only for an instant. Then she pulled her child behind her.
She screamed.
Robie put a finger to his lips.
She screamed again.
“Shoot them,” the handler said frantically.
Robie said to her, “Be quiet or I shoot.”
She didn’t stop screaming.
He fired a round into the pillow next to her. The stuffing flew out, and the round deflected off the mattress springs and drilled into the floor underneath the bed.
She stopped screaming.
“Kill her,” the handler roared in Robie’s ear.
“Stay quiet,” said Robie to the woman.
She sobbed, hugged her son. “Please, mister, please, don’t hurt us.”
“Just stay quiet,” said Robie. The handler was still screaming in his ear. If the man had been in the room Robie would have shot the asshole just to shut him up.
“Take what you want,” mumbled the woman. “But please don’t hurt us. Don’t hurt my baby.”
She turned, hugged her son. Lifted him up so they were face-to-face. He stopped crying, touched his mother’s face.
Robie realized something and his gut tightened.
The handler was no longer screaming. His earwig held nothing except silence.
He should have picked up on that before.
Robie lunged forward.
The woman, thinking he was about to attack them, screamed again.
The window glass shattered.
Robie watched as the rifle round passed through the boy’s head and then drove through his mother’s, killing them both. It was an enviable shot made by a marksman of enviable skill. But Robie was not thinking of that.
The woman’s eyes were on Robie when her life ended. She looked surprised. Mother and son fell sideways, together. She was still holding him. If anything her arms, in death, appeared to have tightened around her lifeless child.
Robie stood there, gun down. He looked out the window.
The fail-safe was out there somewhere with a fine sight line, obviously.
Then his instincts took over and Robie ducked down and rolled away from the window. On the floor he saw something else he had never expected to see tonight.
On the floor next to the bed was a baby carrier. In the carrier sound asleep was a second kid.
“Shit,” Robie muttered.
He crawled forward on his belly.
His earwig came alive. “Get out of the apartment,” his handler ordered him. “By the fire escape.”
“Go to hell,” Robie said. He ripped the pinhole and earwig off, powered them down, and stuffed them in his pocket.
He snagged the carrier, slid it toward him. He was waiting for a second shot. But he did not intend to give the shooter a viable target. And the man on the other end of the kill shot wouldn’t fire without that, Robie knew. He had sometimes been the one holding the rifle out there in the darkness.
He moved clear of the
Similar Books
