Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(108)

Becker growled, his face mashed in the dirt while he struggled to level a punch that never could’ve connected.

“You’re done,” Gabe spat. “The bomb blows, you go with it. Now talk. Where’s Fallon? What have you guys done to the Vice President? You kill him already? Is that why you’re going after the President?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Becker ground out, his face still in the wet grass. “You’ve got to trust me. We’ve got five minutes left to diffuse the bomb. Maybe less.”

“We what? Diffuse?” Gabe loosened his hold a little, not ready to trust. Both Ember and Shelby had their pistols drawn. That alone ramped up Gabe’s adrenaline even farther. Shelby really had no business with a loaded weapon.

“You heard me. We for Christ’s sake, Cartwright. We. Let me up so I can do my job. You’re wasting time.”

Gabe eased back and let Becker go.

The FBI sniper scrambled to his feet. “Shit. I’m not here to kill the President. Not unless I screw up and can’t diffuse it.”

“The dirty bomb? You’re on our side?” Shelby asked, holstering her weapon as if she already trusted this guy.

Gabe glanced over his shoulder at his sole companion. Ember must have gone off to find her husband, and Gabe couldn’t blame her. He’d want to be with the one he loved at the end of the world, too.

Becker sprinted toward the van. Gabe grabbed Shelby’s hand and followed. At the rear gate of the vehicle, Becker put a finger to his mouth for silence, then jerked both doors open simultaneously.

And ‘Holy shit!’ didn’t come close to describing what Chaos Now had brought to D.C.

In place of the rear bench seats, bricks of orange SEMTEX and off-white C4 had been carefully arranged. The plastic explosives nearly filled the van to capacity, along with an array of blasting caps, fuse igniters, and detonators. A large silver canister stood in the center of the plastic explosives like a buried missile silo.

Gabe clutched Shelby’s fingers tighter. “That’s the isotope,” he muttered, his throat thirty-grit kinds of dry.

“Welcome to the twisted world of Chaos Now.” Becker fingered the multi-colored bundle of wires leading from the bricks of explosives to the detonator. He pulled a pair of wire cutters from his pocket, handing them to Gabe. “Sure hope you’re calm under pressure, Cartwright. Fallon set this up with two hot wires. One for the SEMTEX. One for the C-4. You’ll need to make your cut at the precise same moment that I make mine. Understood?”

Gabe accepted the pliers, every last drop of saliva gone from his mouth and throat. Shit.

Becker pointed to the wire in question with the tip of another pair of pliers he’d pulled out of his shirt pocket. “You ready?”

Gabe would’ve replied, but the earth bucked beneath their feet. People over at the World War II Memorial screamed. Something f*cking big had just blown up. A blinding white light illuminated the northern sky. Gut-wrenching panic stopped his heart. God. What have I done?

He grabbed Becker’s shirt collar, damned well not going to be an accessory to anymore lying shit! He had a weapon in his hand. He could stab Becker right there and put an end to this dastardly plan to end the United States. “Was that another one of your dirty bombs? Answer me! I won’t betray my country, you *!”

Becker blew out a breath between pursed lips, his eyes dark and so damned serious. He glanced at the hand fisted in his shirt before he leveled his gaze on Gabe. The grayest eyes met Gabe’s head on. The man didn’t even blink. Not once. “To be honest, I’m not sure what that explosion was, but this is the only dirty bomb in D.C.”

“But there are two other vans and a helicopter out there somewhere,” Gabe spat, his hands shaking.

“You’re right, but only one bomb. Shit, Cartwright. I’ll explain everything later, but right now, help me save the city. Maybe the world. Trust me, Gabe. We’re running out of time.”

Icy cold tiptoed up Gabe’s spine, coming to rest in a death grip at the back of his neck. Panic loomed, but God. Everything rested on him? A one-footed hot-rodder who’d shot a kid to save his own life? Me? How can I be sure?

“I don’t know you,” he ground out, caught at the edge of nowhere with nothing but trust to rely on. Shoot too late. Shoot too early. Cut the right wire at the right time. Die anyway?

How does a man know for sure? How does he trust with so little factual information to base a nation-altering decision like this on? He wavered, his throat parched. How could he trust the man who might have assassinated Alex and who had personally put Kelsey through a living hell?


Shelby pressed into Gabe’s side, carefully not bumping him. Her arm slid around his waist, her slender fingers dipping under his belt like a teenage girl might have done with a boy she liked. Maybe loved.

Becker gritted his teeth. “Damn it, Gabe. Either you’re the man of honor I thought you were, or give me the pliers and I’ll do it myself. Decide. Now!”

He’d just voiced Alex’s sentiments exactly. Lead. Follow. Or get the f*ck out of my way.

Somehow that helped.

“I’m here. I’ll do it.”

Becker acknowledged the impossible decision Gabe had made with a curt nod. “Good. On three.”

Gabe lifted his pliers to the designated wire.