The Export J.K. Kelly (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

Texan was close to the family, even closer to Sarah, Matt suspected. Seeing her in Matt’s arms sent him into a rage. Then he saw what he could of Ray lying on the floor. And the blood spatters. And the gun. His gaze shifted to the ambassador looking dazed, sitting on the couch, his face buried in his hands.

“Get your hands off her,” Terry rasped as he drew her away and into his arms.

“I want to see him,” Sarah moaned. “I need to see him.”

Matt looked at Terry. If it were up to Matt, he’d carry her from the room and then drag the ambassador to that bridge and throw him into the Moscow River. But the Marines were in charge now. He was just a witness to this horror show.

“You do what you have to, but you shouldn’t,” Matt said softly.

Sarah straightened up and spread her arms to free herself from Terry’s embrace. She looked to her husband, but he had turned away from Ray and from his wife, lost in his own thoughts and emotions. She took a deep breath and walked to the side of the desk.

Matt watched as she slowly shook her head in sorrow and then knelt down by her son. She touched the boy’s hand but didn’t make a sound. Matt looked at Terry and the other Marines in the room. No one moved. Not a word was spoken as a mother said goodbye to her only child. At last, she stood up and turned to the nearest guard. “Please find something so I can cover my son,” she asked. She glared at her husband, and if looks could have killed, they’d have needed a second blanket.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Sarah Wilkerson was as tough as they came. She could be soft and sweet as the morning dew, or ruthless and vindictive in defense of her family or if she felt she had been wronged. The few staffers that had been granted access to the ambassador’s office were visibly shaken. They debated in a whisper whether to call for an ambulance, the Moscow Police, or Washington for guidance.

Matt stepped forward, gesturing for Hadden to join him, and then suggested that they call no one until he had the chance to inform his contact in D.C. Looking at Sarah, and then the despondent ambassador, Hadden agreed and asked everyone to move down the hallway to the reception area, where they would be able to speak more freely and give the family privacy.

Out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw Sarah stand up from the chair someone had found for her and coaxed her into sitting down. She steadied herself for a moment but then made a sudden move toward her husband on the far side of the room. Before he or any of the Marines could react, she had swept the ambassador’s gun from the floor and pressed it against the side of his head.

“You did this, you bastard!” she shouted. “You killed my son!”

Wilkerson turned his head slowly and stared up at her, the gun now pressed against his forehead. Hadden and three other armed Marines pulled their sidearms and aimed them directly at the threat.

Terry left his weapon holstered. He took a step toward Sarah. “Don’t do this, Sarah. Please. Lay the gun on the floor.” He took another step forward.

She thumbed back the hammer on the .45 and pressed it harder against her husband’s head.

Matt was trained and had real-world experience with hostage situations. But he could see Sarah’s eyes. She was a stick of dynamite, and the fuse had already been lit. Something had to happen. But his instincts told him that this could only end very badly.

Russell Wilkerson just stared past the gun, at his wife. Tears had filled his eyes after the first shot was fired and his son lay dead at his feet. But now that he was at risk, the expression on his face changed from shock to anger. Matt flashed a look at Hadden and Terry. Neither had taken their eyes off the gun.

“Mrs. Wilkerson,” Matt said in as soft a tone as he could muster, “Sarah, this won’t solve anything. Please put the gun down before this goes any further. We can get you out of this safely right now. But with your finger on that trigger, you are a threat that these men are going to have to address.”

She didn’t react. Her eyes had glazed over. He wasn’t even sure that she’d heard him.

“Sarah, I know you know guns,” he continued. “The pull on that trigger is really light. The simplest mistake and you’ll spend the rest of your life rotting in a damp, dark Russian jail with hairy, unkempt women who don’t speak English and will pick on you because you come from America and from money.”

Wilkerson didn’t move his head, but his eyes found Matt.

“Okay, Mr. Fix-It,” he growled. “I’m beginning to get tired of this gun stuck against my head. Do something about it now!”

Sarah turned away from her husband and looked at Matt. She must have wondered if he was going to make a grab for the gun because she raised her free hand toward him, gesturing for him to stay put.

One of the Marines must have seen this distraction as the time to react. He jumped to slap the gun away from the ambassador’s head, but it went off once and then a second time, both bullets crashing through Wilkerson’s face.

The staffers screamed, the Marines opened fire, and Sarah Wilkerson dropped to the office floor within a few feet of her son and husband. In the span of five minutes, the Wilkerson bloodline had come to an end.

Matt was able to step back from the bureaucratic mess that ensued. He had discovered he had enemies in Moscow the first night he arrived. The last thing he needed was to be involved in this mess.

It was clear the minute the smoke cleared from the ambassador’s home