he roared.
Scofield dragged the guard's body across the room, concealing it behind Guiderone's desk. He raced over to the dead Shepherd Boy, and for the briefest of moments, just stared at the arrogant face. If it were possible to kill beyond killing, Bray would do so now. He pulled Guiderone to the far comer, throwing his body in a crumpled heap. He then stopped at Winthrop's corpse, wishing there was time to somehow say goodbye.
He grabbed the guard's submachine gun off the floor and ran over to the drapes. He pulled them open and looked at his watch. Fifty seconds to go until the explosions would begin. He checked the weapon in his hands; all clips were full. He looked through the window into the conference room, seeing what he had not seen before because the man had not been there before.
The Senator had arrived. All eyes were now on him, the magnetic presence mesmerizing the entire room; the easy grace, the wom, still-handsome face giving each man his attention, if only for an instant-telling that man he was special. And each man was seduced by the raw power of power; this was the next President of the United States and he was one of them.
For the first time in all the years Scofield had seen that face, he saw what a destroyed, alcoholic mother saw: it was a mask. A brilliantly conceived, ingeniously programmed mask... and mind.
Twelve seconds.
There was a burst of static from a speaker on the desk. A voice erupted.
"Mr. Guiderone, we must interruptl We've had calls from the Boston and Brookline policel There are reports of an armed attack on Appleton Hall.
Men calling themselves the Third World Army of Liberation and Justice. We have no such organization on any list, sir. Our patrols are alerted. The police want everyone to stay.
Two seconds.
The news had been relayed to the conference room. Men leaped up from chairs, gathering papers. Their own particular panic was breaking out: how would the presence of such men be explained? Who would explain it?
One second.
Bray heard the first explosion beyond the walls of Appleton Hall. It was in the distance, far down the hill, but unmistakable. The sound of rapid-fire weapons followed; men were shooting at the source of the first explosions.
Inside the conference room, the panic mounted. The consiglieri of the Matarese were rushing around, a single guard at the archway exit poised with his submachine gun leveled through the arch. Suddenly Scofield realized what the powerful men were doing: they were throwing papers and pads and maps into the fire at the end of the room.
It was his moment; the guard would be first, but merely the first.
Bray smashed the window with the barrel of his automatic weapon and opened fire. The guard spun as the bullets caught him. His submachine gun was on rapid-repeat; the death-pressure of his trigger finger caused the gun to erupt wildly, the spray of.30 caliber shells flying out of the ejector, walls and chandeliers and men bursting, exploding, collapsing under their impacts. Screams of death and shrieks of horror filled the room.
Scofield knew his targets, his eye rehearsed over a lifetime of violence.
He smashed the jagged fragments of glass and raised the weapon to his shoulder. He squeezed the trigger in rapidly defined, reasonably aimed sequences. One step-one death-at a time.
The bursts of gunfire exploded through the window frame. The general fell, the pointer in his hand lacerating his face as he collapsed. The Secretary of State cowered at the side of the table; Scofield blew his head off. The director of the Central Intelligence Agency raced his counterpart from the National Security Council toward the arch, leaping over bodies in their hysteria. Bray caught them both. The director's throat was a mass of blood; the NSC chairman raised his hands to a forehead that was no longer there.
Where was he? He of all men had to be foundl There he was!
The Senator was crouched below the conference table in front of the roaring fire. Scofield took the aim of his life and squeezed the trigger. The spray of bullets exploded the wood, some had to penetrate.
They did! The Senator fell back, then rose to his feet. Bray fired another burst; the Senator spun into the fireplace, then sprang back out, fire and blood covering his body. He raced blindly forward, then to his left, grabbing the tapestry on the wall as he fell.
The tapestry caught fire; the Senator in his collapse of death pulled