Free Act of Treason by Vince Flynn Page B

parking lot and stopped. This was his first chance to turn around and take in the destruction. The size of the crater surprised even him. It crossed both lanes of traffic and looked to be at least six feet deep. It was as if a meteor had come in at a shallow angle, slamming into the middle of Georgetown. It was hard to tell, due to the smoke and fire, but it looked like the apartment buildings across the street were no longer there. Most importantly, Gazich counted only one limousine. It was turned over on its back like some helpless turtle. Gazich guessed that the other limo had been close to incinerated.
    As the crowd of onlookers grew, Gazich fell farther and farther back. With each move he was careful to shake more dust from his clothes. Emergency vehicles began to arrive within minutes and they just added to the chaos. When the pandemonium reached its peak, he simply crossed Wisconsin Avenue and walked four blocks to his parked car on T Street. Twenty minutes later he was merging onto Interstate 95 and on his way north.
    He changed out of his clothes as he drove, not daring to pull into a rest stop. Too many cops patrolled those places. With the windows down and the cruise control set at the legal limit, he shook the dust from his hair and put on a new T-shirt and a pair of jeans. When he crossed the state line into Delaware, he finally relaxed a bit. The reports on the radio kept repeating the same information over and over, so he turned off the radio and drove in silence. A couple of hours later he ditched the car in Newark and took the train into Manhattan. He’d already booked a room at the Sheraton Hotel and Towers near Times Square—1,750 rooms, lots of tourists, and near complete anonymity. He’d arranged for two tickets to a show that night and he picked them up from the concierge before he headed up to his room. He didn’t want to go to the show. He would much rather go to one of the high end strip clubs and blow through a wad of cash, but he reasoned that if he was playing himself off as a tourist he should act like one.
    When he got up to his room, he turned on the TV and any thought of going to the show, a strip club, or anywhere else for that fact, completely vanished. He could barely believe how quickly everything had gone from perfect to disastrous. He’d missed the target. The candidates were alive, and the wife and a whole lot of other people were dead. Gazich knew it had not been his fault. The man on the phone had told him they would be in the second limo. The limo that he incinerated. Would the person who hired him believe it when he told him he’d hit the car he’d been told to hit? Would they want him to try again? Gazich already knew what the answer to that would be. You only got one shot at something like this. Anything after that was a death wish.
    Gazich barely slept that night, despite the fact that he’d put a serious dent in the minibar. As soon as the stores were open he found a T-Mobile kiosk and purchased a PDA with web browsing capabilities. He’d been paid a million dollars in advance and promised a million more upon completion of the assignment. In Gazich’s mind, the second million was still his. His employer had assured him that they had an impeccable source. Everything on his end had been done to perfection. This screwup was the source’s fault, and he was not about to take the blame for it.
    Gazich logged onto the e-mail account using the password he’d been given and opened the draft menu where a message was waiting for him. It was pretty much what he had expected. They were blaming him for screwing up. As quick as his two hands could type, the assassin punched in his terse reply, placing the blame where it belonged. He finished by demanding the rest of his fee and then logged off. Over the next forty-eight hours they went back and forth, with things getting worse before they got remotely better. Both sides made threats and both were presumably in a position to follow