47. Checkmate
47
CHECKMATE
Ronan felt the first explosion before he heard it—a deep vibration that rippled through his bones. The fever that had been simmering all day peaked suddenly, making the room tilt. He locked his knees, refusing to go down.
No way. Not now.
Another explosion above. Then another. The sprinkler system activated. The sudden cold water made him shiver. Emergency lights began to strobe, transforming the lobby into a fractured nightmare of red and white pulses. Each flash sent daggers through his skull.
Through fevered eyes, he saw Richardson’s face twist into something triumphant and horrible. Maya moved—a blur of purpose through his wavering vision—but Richardson was faster than any of them expected. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Maya, spinning her around and pressing a gun to her temple.
“Nobody moves!” Richardson’s voice carried over the chaos of the panicking crowd. “I’ll kill her. You know I will.”
Ronan’s muscles screamed to launch forward, to do something, anything—but the fever had other plans. The room spun. He caught himself against a marble column. Water ran into his eyes, and he couldn’t tell if it was sweat or from the sprinklers.
“Let her go, Buck.” The admiral’s voice cut through the chaos, steady and commanding despite everything. “There’s nowhere left to run.”
Richardson’s laugh was hollow. “There’s always a way out, John. You taught me that.” He started backing toward the service corridor, dragging Maya with him. “Anyone follows, she dies.”
Maya’s eyes met Ronan’s across the lobby. There was no fear in them—only calculation. He recognized that look. She was planning something.
Don’t, he wanted to shout. Too dangerous. But the fever had stolen his voice.
Richardson reached the corridor entrance. In that moment, Maya moved—dropping her weight suddenly, twisting inside Richardson’s grip. Her elbow shot up, catching him under the chin. The gun flew from his grip.
She rolled clear as Richardson stumbled backward.
“No!” Richardson’s hand went to his jacket pocket, emerging with something small and metallic. A pill case.
The admiral was moving before anyone else could react. His shoulder caught Richardson in the midsection, driving him back into the wall. The pill case skittered across the floor, out of reach. Before Richardson could recover, the admiral’s fist connected with his jaw in a punch that seemed to carry thirty years of betrayal behind it.
Richardson went down hard.
“I taught you a lot of things,” the admiral said quietly, standing over his former friend. “But you never did learn not to underestimate the people around you.”
The world spun again, and this time Ronan couldn’t fight it. As his knees buckled, all he could think was: I failed. Should have been me saving her. Should have ...
The last thing he heard before consciousness fled was Maya’s voice: “Ronan! Stay with us!”
Yeah. About that.
He had so much to say to her. So much.
Don’t leave. It was all he could do to lift the words up to the Almighty. Please. Lord, don’t let her leave.