The Target(6)
And he was exploiting it right now.
The president nodded. “Yes, yes, I can see that.”
Tucker’s face remained impassive, but inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief.
The president leaned forward. “I respect Robie and Reel. But again, there is no margin for error here, Evan. So you vet the hell out of them and make damn sure they are absolutely ready for this. Or you use the B Team. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” said Tucker.
Chapter
3
WILL ROBIE, UNABLE TO SLEEP, stared at the ceiling of his bedroom while the rain pounded away outside. His head was pounding even more, and it would not stop when the rain did. He finally rose, dressed, put on a long slicker with a hood, and set out from his apartment in Dupont Circle in Washington, D.C.
He walked for nearly an hour through the darkness. There were few people about at this hour of the morning. Unlike other major cities, D.C. did sleep. At least the part you could see. The government side, the one that existed underground and behind concrete bunkers and in innocuous-looking low-rise buildings, never slumbered. Those people were going as hard right now as they would during the daylight hours.
Three men in their early twenties approached from the other side of the street. Robie had already seen them, sized them up, and knew what they would demand of him. There were no cops around. No witnesses. He did not have time for this. He did not have the desire for this. He turned and walked directly at them.
“If I give you some money, will you leave?” he asked the tallest of the three. This one was his size, a six-footer packing about one hundred and eighty street-hardened pounds.
The man drew back his Windbreaker, revealing a black Sig nine-mil in the waistband that hung low over his hips.
“Depends on how much.”
“A hundred?”
The man looked at his two comrades. “Make it a deuce and you’re on your way, dude.”
“I don’t have a deuce.”
“So you say. Then you gonna get jacked right here.”
He went to draw the gun, but Robie had already taken it from his waistband and pulled down his pants at the same time. The man tripped over his fallen trousers.
The man on the right pulled a knife and then watched in amazement as Robie first disarmed him and then laid him out with three quick punches, two to the right kidney, one to the jaw. Robie added a kick to the head after the man smacked the pavement.
The third man did not move.
The tall man exclaimed, “Shit, you a ninja?”
Robie glanced down at the Sig he held. “It’s not balanced properly and it’s rusted. You need to take care of your weapons better or they won’t perform when you want them to.” He flicked the weapon toward them. “How many more guns?”
The third man’s hand went to his pocket.
“Drop the jacket,” ordered Robie.
“It’s raining and cold,” the man protested.
Robie put the Sig’s muzzle directly against his forehead. “Not asking again.”
The jacket came off and fell into a puddle. Robie picked it up, found the Glock.
“I see the throwaways at your ankles,” he said. “Out.”
The throwaways were handed over. Robie balled them all up in the jacket.
He eyed the tall man. “See where greed gets you? Should have taken the Benny.”
“We need our guns!”
“I need them more.” Robie kicked some water from the puddle into the unconscious man’s face and he awoke with a start, then rose on shaky legs. He did not seem to know what was going on, and probably had a concussion.
Robie flicked the gun again. “Down that way. All of you. Turn right into the alley.”
The tall man suddenly looked nervous. “Hey, dude, look, we’re sorry, okay? But this is our turf here. We patrol it. It’s our livelihood.”
“You want a livelihood? Get a real job that doesn’t involve putting a gun in people’s faces and taking what doesn’t belong to you. Now walk. Not asking again.”
They turned and marched down the street. When one of the men turned to look back, Robie clipped him in the head with the butt of the Sig. “Eyes straight. Turn around again you get a third one to look through in the back of your head.”
Robie could hear the men’s breathing accelerate. Their legs were jelly. They believed they were walking to their execution.
“Walk faster,” barked Robie.
They picked up their pace.
“Faster. But don’t run.”
The three men looked idiotic trying to go faster while still walking.
“Now run!”
The three men broke into a sprint. They turned left at the next intersection and were gone.
Robie turned and headed in the opposite direction. He ducked down an alley, found a Dumpster, and heaved the jacket and guns into it after clearing out all of the ammo. He dropped the bullets down a sewer grate.