as he stepped from the main corridor, the Beretta held steady in both hands. He aimed it at the two fugitives, who looked up. While Mercer Haldane had been speaking to the stunned crowds, Jon had watched Victor Tremont slip away. Caught in the mass of bodies, Jon had been unable to work his way as swiftly as he had wanted. But in the end, it had not mattered. He had found Tremont.
Nadal al-Hassan never hesitated. A thin smile spread across his narrow face. He swung his Clock and fired before the echo of Jon's voice ceased.
The bullet missed Smith's throat by the thickness of a hair.
Jon did not hesitate or miss. All the horrors of the past two weeks swept over him in an unforgettable second. He pulled the trigger, and al-Hassan fell forward without a sound. He lay spread-eagled, his blood pooling on the gray concrete floor at the side of his head.
Victor Tremont's bullet did not miss either. It stabbed like searing ice through the upper part of Jon's left leg. It hurled him against the wall, which caused Tremont's second and third shots to fly past and ricochet, whining away along the main corridor.
Propped against the wall, Jon fought to stay conscious. He fired again. His bullet hit Tremont's right arm, knocking him back against the half-open door and sending his pistol flying with a metallic clatter to the floor. It bounced and skidded, and the sound reverberated away along the secret corridors like a dying cry.
Dragging his bloody leg, Jon advanced on the mass murderer.
Tremont did not cringe. He lifted his chin, his eyes glowing with the certainty that any man had his price. "I'll give you a million dollars! Five million!"
"You don't have a million dollars. Not anymore. You're dead. They'll electrocute you."
"They won't find me." He jerked his head behind him toward the half opened door. "I destroyed the plans. No one knows an exit is here. I had it built by foreigners. The money's already transferred where no one can find it."
"I thought you'd have some plan."
"I'm not a fool, Smith. Thev'll never find me."
"Not a fool," Jon agreed. "Just a ghoul. A murderer of millions. But that's statistics. The world will have to deal with you for that. But you killed Sophia, and that's personal. I get to decide what to do. You ended her life with a wave of your hand: Eliminate her. Now it's my turn."
"Half! I'll give you half.! A billion dollars. More!" Tremont shrank back against the massive steel door, his long body cowering.
Jon limped forward, the Beretta steady in both hands. "I loved her, Tremont. She loved me. Now---"
It was Randi's voice behind him. "No, Jon. Don't. He's not worth it."
"What do you know? I loved her, dammit!" His finger tightened on the trigger.
"He's finished, Jon. The FBI is here. The secret service. They've got them all. The serum's on its way to stop the dying, and they've confiscated all the antibiotics. Let them deal with him. Let the world deal with him."
Smith's face was fierce. His eyes glowed like coals. His chin jutted. He took another step closer, the Beretta steady, inches from Tremont's trembling face. The arrogant executive tried to speak again, to say something, but his mouth and lips and tongue were too dry. All that came out was a whimper.
"Jon?" Randi's voice was suddenly soft, close.
He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Sophia. It was her lovely face, her large, intelligent eyes and sweet smile. He blinked. No, it was Randi. Sophia. Randi. He shook his head to clear it. He knew what Randi wanted, and what Sophia would have wanted.
He made himself take another deep breath. He glared once more at the shaking Tremont. Then he lowered the gun and stumbled away, his wounded leg dragging. He brushed past Randi and pushed through the ranks of FBI and secret service. Some of the agents reached out to stop him.
"Let him go," Randi said gently. "He'll be all right. Just let him go now."
Jon heard her behind him, but a rush of tears was blinding his eyes. He could not stop the tears. Did not want to. They poured silently down. He turned into the main corridor and hobbled on toward the distant stairs.
EPILOGUE
Six weeks later, early December
Santa Barbara, California
Santa Barbara.... Land of palms and magenta sunsets. Of diving seagulls and glossy yachts with white sails afurl on the turquoise channel. Of lovely young women and handsome young men in the