Close your eyes. Put it together.

No, don't close your eyes. Not this time.

"I don't see Santini and Brockman," Sienna said. "But there's Lynch at the end of the runway." She gestured with her Colt Python. "You go help him, and I'll cover you from here."

Kendra didn't move.

"Hurry," Sienna said impatiently. "Someone could pick Lynch off from that jet. We don't know how many of his men Schuyler has on that plane with him."

"We?" Kendra repeated softly. "I don't know, but I'd be surprised if you didn't, Sienna. And if I went running out to Lynch, we'd both be easy targets for you, wouldn't we?"

Sienna went still, then swung around to face Kendra. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"You're dirty, Sienna. So dirty it makes me sick. And so clever. You almost got away with it."

Sienna stared at Kendra as if she had begun speaking an undecipherable language. "You're not making sense."

"Santini didn't shoot Laird. You did. I heard the gunshots. Three bullets, straight to his chest. But not from Santini's gun."

Sienna's brows rose. "And the exceptional Kendra Michaels knows exactly what every gun sounds like?"

"This time it's about what I didn't hear." Kendra leveled her gun at her. "Santini never carries anything except an automatic. His spent sh.e.l.l casings would have been pinging on this concrete floor like bell chimes." Kendra gestured to the floor without looking down. "No bell chimes, no sh.e.l.l casings. Which would be the case if he was shot with a revolver, like the one you're holding. It's not even FBI-issue, is it? No, of course not, you'd want a gun that couldn't be traced."

Sienna did not reply.

"And Santini and Brockman aren't even here yet, are they? There hasn't been time since Griffin sent them from the office in San Diego. Lynch and I have driven it, and the time factor is off. It should have taken another twenty minutes. Yet here you are with guns blazing. Because you had a head start. You left Briggs's body at the medical examiner's lab and took off before Griffin even called you. Did Schuyler promise you a seat on his plane? Or are you here just to clean up his loose ends, like Laird?"

"Guesswork. This means nothing."

"Doesn't it? You've just given me a prism through which a lot of things are looking pretty d.a.m.n clear. Jeff believed there was someone working inside the FBI, which was why he was so secretive in those last days. You pa.s.sed yourself off as the star agent, but everything you did or observed was something someone else would have told us anyway. But I'm sure you did everything you could to hide the fact that those murder victims were unknowing test subjects. If their reactions had been allowed to progress, someone eventually would have recognized the symptoms, and that would have ended Schuyler's big payday real quick, wouldn't it?"

"I had nothing to do with this."

"Sure you did. I'm quite sure you visited Lesley Dunn alone in the hospital sometime during the day she died, with access to her IV line. We can look it up. And trust me, we'll find out what you swabbed in Tommy Briggs's cheeks before he died this afternoon. You swabbed his mouth twice. One swab gave you the results you needed, and I a.s.sumed the other was for another test. But there was no other test, was there? The other swab was for you to poison him. Quick enough to keep him from making an official statement, but slow enough to avoid suspicion. What was the poison?"

Sienna slowly shook her head.

"We'll find out. It's just my nature to be curious. I can never tell when I might need to know something. By the way, I need you to drop your gun now."

Sienna's grip on her gun tightened. "You think you know all the answers."

"Not all of them. I don't know how long you've worked for Schuyler, or how long you were helping him pave the way for his Pegasus Project. But I'm sure you were much more valuable to him when Jeff Stedler got on his trail."

Sienna looked away for a long moment, and she suddenly smiled faintly. "You know, Kendra, I felt a kinship with you from the moment we met. All those muy macho agents looked down on me, too. We were both smarter than they were, and they resented it." Her smile deepened. "I was wondering how long it would take you to work your way to me. I almost made it, didn't I?"

"Because I liked you," Kendra said. "I wanted to believe in you. Drop the gun."

"Even though I knew you were going to cause me trouble, I really hoped we wouldn't have to kill you."

Kendra was startled by the frank admission. "Just tell me one thing ... Did you know what they were doing to Jeff in this warehouse?"

"He was a fool. He wouldn't talk." Her words were icy cold. Completely without conscience or compa.s.sion.

"And you're the one who told them he was getting close, and they had to take him out?"

She shrugged. "But, Kendra, that's what they paid me for."

Kendra drew a deep, harsh breath. Sienna was trying to rattle her, get under her skin, and make her lose focus. "d.a.m.n you to h.e.l.l."

"Not nice. I won't wish the same for you." Sienna whirled with a lightning movement and dropped to the floor of the loading dock as she lifted her gun. "Though I'll be the one to send you there."

A bullet plowed into the door next to Kendra as she dodged to the left behind a post.

Remember what Jeff taught you. Make every movement, every bullet count.

But Sienna was moving, rolling, and it was almost impossible to get a bead on her. She was a trained agent and had the advantage.

Another bullet splintered the wooden dock only inches from Kendra's face.

Help me, Jeff.

What had he told her?

Don't think about what's happening now. Think about what's happening next.

Sienna was rolling to the left. Aim at the spot where she'd be in another second.

Now!

The bullet tore through the air and blasted into Sienna's neck as she rolled into the shot.

Sienna screamed. She dropped her gun and clutched her throat. Blood was gushing, pouring, through her fingers.

Kendra got to her feet and walked over to where Sienna lay.

Sienna was gasping, gurgling, her gaze fixed desperately, pleadingly, on Kendra.

Pleading for what? Mercy? Life? After what she'd done?

Kendra stared down at her, feeling nothing but cold antipathy. "It seems you were wrong about sending me to the nether regions. You'd know better than I do, but I believe my bullet blasted your jugular. You probably have a minute or two before you bleed out. But you're not worth my staying around to bid you farewell." She picked up Sienna's gun and shoved it in her pocket. "You'll have to find your way to h.e.l.l alone."

She turned and ran down the ramp and out on the tarmac.

The next minute, she was running across the runway toward Lynch.

CHAPTER.

17.

THE AIR WAS SUDDENLY HEAVY with a low rumble, accompanied by the high-pitched whine of a jet engine.

Lynch's head lifted at the sound.

The hangar's tall doors were opening, and the Gulfstream 550 jet rolled toward the airstrip.

Schuyler.

Another few seconds, and the man and his deadly Pegasus cargo would be gone. Minutes after that, his plane would be over the airs.p.a.ce of a foreign country and out of reach of U.S authorities.

No way, Lynch thought.

He'd be d.a.m.ned if he was just going to stand on the runway openmouthed as the plane disappeared into the sky.

He looked around and a.s.sessed his options. Not many. And certainly nothing that would do the job of the shoulder-mounted missile launcher he needed. Nothing there but a few cars, a pair of tumbleweeds, and- His eyes narrowed as he saw a group of large canisters toward the end of the runway. There, on a flatbed loading cart, were twenty black-and-gold fifty-five-gallon drums.

Water? Or could it be ...

Lynch sprinted toward the runway.

SCHUYLER MOVED THROUGH THE jet's narrow single aisle and thrust his head into the c.o.c.kpit. "What's taking so long?"

The pilot didn't look up from the instrument panel. "In case you hadn't noticed, those were real bullets back there. I didn't bargain for this."

"Sure you did. You quoted me four times your normal rate. You knew you were taking a risk."

"Risking my license, maybe. Not my life."

"Stop whining and get us in the air."

"I want double."

"We'll discuss it later."

"Now. Or I stop this plane and tell anyone who inquires that I didn't know what the h.e.l.l was going on. I want double our agreed-upon amount."

Schuyler cursed, but he knew this was no time for a negotiation. He-or more likely, his new friends-would take care of this opportunist later. "Fine! Just get us out of here."

The pilot flipped an illuminated switch on the panel above him. "Buckle yourself in. Next stop, Tehran."

JP-8 JET FUEL 220 LITERS.

It was exactly what Lynch had hoped to see stenciled on each of the twenty drums stacked on the tarmac, probably readied for transport to an oil rig or to a remote ranch. He pulled out his pocketknife and cut the nylon cargo straps on several of the drums.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" Kendra was running toward him.

Lynch glanced at the jet turning onto the runway and turning its nose toward him. "I'm asking myself the same question. I'm hoping this will be an answer." He handed Kendra the knife. "Cut the rest of these straps."

She sawed at a nylon strap as he swiveled one of the drums onto its side and kicked it onto the runway.

Then another. Then another.

The jet drew closer and picked up speed.

Kendra hacked through another strap.

Lynch hurled the remaining barrels into the runway, grabbed Kendra's hand, and pulled her back toward the warehouses.

He kneeled, pulled out his gun, and took aim at the barrels as the plane approached them.

BLAM!.

BLAM!.

BLAM!.

Nothing.

"You missed?" Kendra was incredulous.

"No way. Either those barrels are impenetrable, or that fuel isn't as combustible as I thought it was." He fired again.

BLAM!.

BLAM!.

Lynch cursed. He had been aiming for the drums' midsections, but maybe if he tried the ends ... He kicked more barrels toward the runway.

The plane picked up even more speed as it took off. It struck the barrels and scattered them as if they were no more than Wiffle b.a.l.l.s in the path of a Mack truck.

Kendra stiffened and pointed to the plane as it lifted into the sky. "Look!"

One of the cargo straps, still attached to a barrel by a holding clasp, had caught the jet's landing gear. The barrel dangled below the plane, knocking against its underside.

"Yes." Lynch raised his gun, bracing his wrist over his left forearm. This time he aimed for the barrel's top rim. "Make it count," he whispered to himself. "Don't blow it. For G.o.d's sake, don't blow it."