Page 152 of Enemy Within
Madigan rolled behind his snowmobile, ducking low.
Jack’s rifle clicked. Empty. He cursed.
“Jack!” Madigan shouted. “We seem to have similar problems!”
“Come out, Madigan!” He kept his rifle up, as if he could still fire. “I’ll put a bullet in your ass.”
“Jack, Jack… so unpresidential.” Slowly, Madigan stood. He turned toward Jack, holding his arms wide. He tossed his own weapon to the side. It slid on the ice, disappearing in a puff of loose snow. “What would the American people say if they saw you now?”
“They’d ask me why you’re still breathing.”
“Then shoot me, Jack. Why haven’t you?” Madigan’s eyes gleamed, taunting him.
Jack flung his empty rifle sideways and charged. Madigan braced himself, dropping low as he threw his hands up.
They crashed into each other, falling and sliding along the ice. Madigan wrapped his legs around Jack, wrestling him down, pinning him on his back. Fists rained down on Jack’s face, Madigan’s days as a brawler in the military roaring to life.
Jack thrashed beneath him. His thoughts coalesced, falling back to days he’d spent with Ethan, training at Rowley, wrestling in the White House gym. Ethan, pinning him down, and him, wanting to kiss his way out of it. Ethan, snapping at him to pay attention, to try harder.
Jack scissored his legs, sweeping Madigan off-balance. They scrambled to their feet, circling each other, fists raised.
“I can’t believe I sat at the same table as you,” Jack spat. “You were in my Situation Room! On my National Security Council!”
“You were a joke president no one believed in. A pretty boy candidate who turned out to only be after his own self-interests in the end.” Madigan grinned. “Just like every other politician. Looking for a piece of ass and a power fuck. Can you really blame me? Blame us? You weresuchan easy target.”
“You murdered thousands of people.” Nairobi and the nuclear blast. The criminals he’d released, and the havoc they’d wrought. Secret Service agents at the White House. Military personnel. Civilians in Russia during the coup. His wife, all those years ago, on a mission Madigan had sanctioned and had planned. “You killed Leslie!”
Madigan’s grin grew wicked. “But I brought her back to you, Jack.”
Roaring, Jack charged, throwing himself at Madigan. They met in a grapple, hands grasping each other’s shoulders. He kicked, slamming his boot into Madigan’s knee.
Madigan buckled, crying out, but kept his feet. He hobbled sideways and grabbed Jack’s throat.
Jack gripped Madigan’s thin gray hair with one hand and made a fist with the other. He hauled Madigan close, dragging him in, and then pummeled him, pummeling his fist into Madigan’s chest, his ribs.This is for Ethan. Over and over, until his hand burned, until his knuckles were slick. Until pain shot through his fist each time he buried another punch in Madigan’s stomach.
Spinning free, Madigan released Jack and stumbled backward, gasping. He doubled over but glared at Jack, murder in his eyes. “I always hated you,” he hissed. “I picked your presidency because I hated you. I wanted to watch you die.”
Jack spat. Blood stained the ice. “You disappointed me while you were on my staff, Madigan. I always knew you could never accomplish anything.” He grinned, holding his fists high. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
Roaring, Madigan charged. As he moved, he reached behind him, into his waistband. He sprang at Jack, a wild haymaker flying for his head. Jack ducked, but when he came up, Madigan spun behind him.
Madigan wrapped a rope around Jack’s neck, pulling tight. He twisted the ends around his hands and crossed his arms behind Jack’s head, heaving.
Jack's hands flew to his neck as he gasped for air that wasn’t there. He tried to pry his fingers between his skin and the rope, tried to wedge something, anything in there to relieve the pressure. Madigan jerked, grunting behind him, and squeezed his arms, tightening the rope.
“I always win in the end, Jack,” he snarled, right in Jack’s ear. “Why do you think I was on your staff to begin with? This world? The one you think is yours? It’s mine!” Roaring, Madigan heaved Jack into the air, throwing his strength into a final crush of his arms. “I made this world!”
The world dimmed around Jack’s gaze.Ethan. His eyes fluttered.Ethan, what do I do? What do I do now?
Sunny days, dusty days, afternoons spent beneath a shade tree at Rowley. Sparring with Ethan, and then with Scott, round after round. Scott always went easy on him. Ethan, when Jack had pushed him, pushed back.
He came down from Madigan’s heave and found his feet. Kicking back, he looped one ankle around Madigan’s leg and swept forward, knocking the older man down. He went down with Madigan, throwing his body weight backward onto Madigan’s chest.
The rope slackened. He dragged in a breath, and then another as he rolled on top of Madigan, pinning him to the ice.
Madigan’s hands grasped at his jacket, tearing at his throat, his face.
Jack grabbed one of his hands and Madigan’s elbow and twisted, snapping Madigan’s joint. A crack split the air. Madigan shrieked and tried to draw his hand back, but his arm flopped toward the ice, useless and bent backward.
