Page 82 of Enemy of My Enemy
Adam and Coleman ducked and whirled, but the shot slammed into Coleman’s phone, shattering the device out of his hand. Wright opened fire, shots into the darkness.
A light flicked, and then a whoosh of flame rose, igniting on a soaked rag hanging from a glass bottle.
“Molotov!” Adam roared. He grabbed Coleman and ran for the hallway, Wright on their heels. They dove to the ground as the Molotov flew. Glass shattered and flames roared as the bottle crashed into the map and photo-strewn wall.
“We’ve got to get the intel!” Adam scrambled back toward the door, trying to crawl inside.
Gunshots chewed through the floorboards in front of his hands.
“Shit!”
Flames licked up the walls, spreading over the ceiling. Pictures curled and fell, and the map crashed to the ground, scattering to burning pieces. The mattress ignited, flames bursting to life. Heavy smoke clung to the air.
“L-T, we have to go!” Coleman coughed and kept low. Fire licked the ceiling above their heads and snaked out of the open apartment.
Wright had his eyes on the flames. His gaze darted to the end of the hallway and the stairs they’d climbed. “We’ve got to go, now!”
“We have to get him,” Adam growled. He threw himself down, lying on his back in the open door, and fired toward the dark corner of the apartment. “We have to get something, damn it!”
A man cursed, and then Noah Williams rushed out of the darkness, heading for the grime-covered window. He covered his head with his arms and barreled through the glass, tumbling from three stories high. Adam hesitated when Noah ran. His shots missed. The bullets slammed into burning walls.
“L-T! We have to go!” Coleman shoved Adam toward Wright, already heading down the flame-engulfed hallway as he scrambled to his feet. Behind them, a section of the ceiling collapsed. Screams started, shouts in French above their heads.
Adam cursed and followed, thundering down the cramped stairs and exploding out onto the back alley behind the building. Above, black smoke billowed out of Noah’s destroyed flat. Flames curled through the building, bursting out of open windows above and below Noah’s flat.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
“Where the fuck is he?” Adam spun, searching the alley. There was no one down there. No body. No tracks. “Where did he go?”
“Dunno, but we have to move.” Coleman shoved his pistol into his belt and pulled his jacket down, covering the grip. “The fire department will be here any minute. We have to go! Now!”
Wright was already at the corner of the building, keeping watch. He jerked his head back to them, signaling the way was clear. For now.
Adam glared at the smoking flat but followed Coleman as he sprinted to Wright. Together, they slipped out of the alley, just before the Parisian authorities screamed in.
* * *
Chapter 29
White House
Pete was overjoyedwhen Jack came to his office, asking for a word in private and revealing that he and Ethan wanted to be more open about themselves and their lives. He clapped his hands together and shouted at the ceiling, calling, “hallelujah.”
He also had someone, he said, that Jack needed to talk to. Someone who could help rehabilitate Jack’s sagging approval numbers, revitalize his presidency in the eyes of the nation. Jack had been suspicious at first and dismissed the suggestion, but Pete pressed the issue, and Jack agreed to one meeting.
Later that week, Jack and Ethan headed to a private, off-the-record meeting in the Roosevelt Room with Pete’s guy. Pete and Brandt joined in.
Gus Miramontes was late, but he came bursting into the room in a flurry of sound and movement, unwrapping his scarf and looping it around his arms, carrying his trench coat, and cursing up a storm. “It’s the fucking weather, I swear. I can’t stand this shit. I can’t fucking stand spring. The Goddamn pollen—”
Pete gestured to the head of the table, and to Jack, trying to smother his smile.
“Fuck. Mr. President.” Gus dropped his jacket, scarf, and briefcase on the chair closest to him and paraded to the end of the table, his hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. President. Sorry. I hate the damn weather right now. Do you like spring?”
Jack stood and shook Gus’s hand. When he stood, he saw how short Gus truly was; he only came to Jack’s shoulder. “I’m not a fan of DC spring,” Jack said, grinning.
“Good man.” Gus winked and then pulled out a chair across from Ethan, next to Jack.
Brandt and Ethan shared wide-eyed looks.
