Page 125 of Shadow of Doubt

Dropping his shoulders in resignation, he slowly moved out of the kitchen and stopped at the threshold of the living room. He was surrendering.

Brunelle and Gibert were finally able to let their guard down too. It had taken a tremendous amount of work to get to this point, and it was all but over. They could finally breathe a collective sigh of relief.

That was when Powell ran.

“Son of a bitch!” Gibert exclaimed as he scrambled for his radio.

Leaping off the couch, ignoring her colleague’s shouts to wait, Brunelle pulled her pistol and gave chase.

For someone fifteen years–plus her senior, he was fast as hell. She yelled repeatedly for him to stop, but Powell ignored her.

As she ran, she was driven by the anger she had felt over the evidence MoMo had sent her. Using the AI software, he had been able to ascertain that Powell had been involved in both the theft of the Peugeot used in Jadot’s killing, as well as the Renaults in the Bois de Boulogne shoot-out. The fact that he was attempting to flee only confirmed his guilt in her mind.

When he neared the stairs at the end of the hall, she realized she wasn’t going to catch him. So, raising her weapon, she attempted to control her breathing, took careful aim, and fired.

The shot was dead-on, shattering a large, ornamental cap atop a newelpost just in front of him, showering the CIA man with splintered pieces of wood.

He might have been able to outrun her, but outrunning her well-placed bullets was not going to happen. Coming to a full stop, he held his hands out at his sides where she could see them.

“I want them in the air,” she demanded. “Over your head. Way up!”

The station chief complied.

Moving forward, she holstered her weapon, took out her handcuffs, and reached for Powell’s right hand. But just as she did, he swung his left elbow behind him and hit her in the face so hard, she felt sure he had knocked a couple of her teeth out.

The pain radiated across her skull and for a second she thought she was going to black out. Refusing to lose consciousness, she shook it off and fought back.

She grappled with the station chief, trying to maneuver him into a joint lock or some other pain compliance technique, to subdue him and bring him under control.

Attempting an aikido wrist reversal, she lost her grip as Powell wrenched his arm free and violently pivoted to get away from her. But as he did, he lost his balance.

Brunelle lunged to catch him, but only caught the hem of his shirt, which tore from her grasp as he went over the railing and plunged six stories to the lobby below.

He landed with a sickening thud. Brunelle, too stunned to speak, peered over the railing at Powell, his arms and legs akimbo, as a crimson pool of blood began to spread out like a halo around his cracked head.

Looking from the corpse to the upper floor from which he had fallen were several of Gibert’s officers who had been waiting outside but had rushed in when he had hailed them over the radio.

Her face ashen, she continued to stare down at the body. As she did, Gibert, who had just arrived at the railing, placed his hand on top of hers.

“I saw everything,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She appreciated his words, but for several moments couldn’t speak. When she finally recaptured her ability, she said, “He was a huge break in our case. Now he’s dead.”

“You got the list. That’s the most important thing.”

“I know, but I also want answers.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not always the way this business goes,” he responded. “Sometimes you get nothing and your case doesn’t even get solved. But you got something. Be grateful for it.”

She knew he was right and was about to say as much when her phone vibrated. It was a text from Director General de Vasselot. With President Mercier’s cooperation, everyone they had identified on Jadot’s list as being on Russia’s payroll had been assembled at the Élysée Palace. They had each been told that an international incident was brewing and that their specific expertise was required. As they arrived, they were all kept separate from each other.

De Vasselot was ready to spring the trap. She wanted Brunelle there when it happened.

CHAPTER 73

OSLO

The safehouse being used by Colonel Ivan Kapralov and his unit 29155 members was a secluded cabin, deep in the woods, forty-five minutes north of Oslo.

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