He was barely a hundred feet inside the mall when Bemis slowed his steps. Seamus could tell by his shoulders he was about to turn around, so he ducked behind the nearest escalator.

Now he couldn’t see Bemis. How could he know how long he needed to stay out of sight? This was impossible. He counted slowly to ten, then inched back into the open.

Bemis was gone. Damn. Had Seamus waited too long? Or worse, had the man suspected he was being followed and intentionally turned in an effort to ditch him?

He walked toward the fountain in the middle of the common area. It was on a raised platform and gave him a better view of the surroundings. Attempting to remain as casual as possible, he cast his eyes around the interior.

Where was Bemis? How could he have disappeared so quickly? Was there some secret hideaway in here somewhere? Maybe he’d ducked into a tailor’s shop and entered the secret terrorist lair…

Shades of Man from U.N.C.L.E. He was really going to have to stop letting his imagination carry him away.

Seamus spotted him. Somehow Bemis had gotten to the upper level. He was entering the food court.

Seamus raced to the bottom of the escalator and bolted up the steps. He didn’t want to attract attention, but he knew that if he moved fast enough, he could get to the court before Bemis had a chance to-

A gunshot whizzed by his ear, so close it felt as if it had sizzled itself into his tympanic membrane. A second shattered the glass panel just a few inches from his leg.

Seamus flattened himself against the moving metal steps. The sharp edges cut into his chin-but that was the least of his worries. Another bullet hummed its way just above his head.

He heard several cries of alarm, both from above and below him. Whatever few people might be shopping that day, they’d heard the shots, too. The next sound Seamus detected was of rapidly moving feet. That was good. Given what had just happened at the Jefferson Memorial, they didn’t need any urging to take this seriously, and that was all for the better. He couldn’t help them right now, but he didn’t want any collateral damage.

He reached for his gun-but what would he do with it? He didn’t know where the shooter was. He would nail Seamus long before Seamus spotted him. He was pinned down-trapped on this escalator. And even if the sniper was the worst shot in the entire terrorist cell, he’d hit his target before Seamus reached the top.

Only one chance if he wanted to live. It was a long way down-but it wasn’t getting any nearer.

Seamus pressed both hands on the moving black handrail and side-jumped off the escalator.

He plummeted at least twenty feet down to the tile floor, just a few yards from the fountain. The impact hurt. How many times had he fallen too far in the last few hours? Too many. His right ankle stung. He had probably sprained it, but given the distance, he was lucky it wasn’t broken. Didn’t matter. He had no time to think about it now. He shook it off and kept moving.

Gunfire rang out again, but it came from farther away this time. As long as Seamus kept moving, he could stay ahead of his assassin. A moving target was much more challenging to catch.

It wasn’t Bemis firing. He was certain about that. The shots came from the wrong direction, plus Bemis just didn’t seem the assassin type. Quisling and technical advisor, sure. Sharpshooter, no. In a situation such as this, Beamis would be useless.

Seamus raced down a branch of the mall. Even if the shooter was following him from above, he would have a hard time getting a bead on him over here. Seamus ducked into the nearby Macy’s.

He hated the smell of the perfume counter that greeted him at the door. It was nothing against their selection; he just had yet to encounter a perfume that didn’t make him wish women would simply let themselves smell the way they smelled. But he would have to tough it out. If that killer wanted a piece of him, he would have to leave his safe perch and come out into the open.

Seamus found a safe place behind the jewelry counter and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.

Two minutes later the sniper entered the store.

No doubt Seamus’s many years of experience were helpful when it came to spotting gunmen. It also helped that there were so few people in the mall. But he felt confident that he would know this clown was trouble anytime, anyplace, even if he had met him during a game of blindman’s buff. Some people just smelled like trouble, and that was a smell Seamus received loud and clear, even when he was inundated with artificial musk and clove and a thousand other laboratory-concocted aromas.

The killer wore a black Adidas warm-up suit with black-and-white sneakers. It was the pimps, then the gang members, who had first adopted this form of casual wear for their everyday enterprises. Now it had apparently infiltrated the terrorist world. He looked scruffy and nervous. Seamus didn’t need a close-up of that bulge under his zip-up jacket to know that it wasn’t a potbelly.

His first instinct was to jump out into the middle of the walkway and start shooting, but his experience told him that wasn’t the right play. The guy might still get the drop on him, if he was quick enough, and there were still employees manning the counters who might be hurt in any cross fire. If possible, Seamus needed to take this man down without an exchange of bullets. Slowly he stepped back and waited patiently for the shooter to come to him.

As soon as the man had passed him, Seamus swiveled back into the walkway behind him. He brought the butt of his gun down hard on the back of the man’s head. The gunman hurtled forward and crashed into a glass jewelry display counter.

Glass shattered, flying in all directions. Seamus heard several cries behind him.

“Get out of here!” he shouted. “And stay down!”

He hoped the sales personnel would listen and obey. He didn’t have time to check. The assailant was already scrambling to his feet, trying to crawl out of the debris. Reaching inside his warm-up jacket, he pulled out a gun with a long nose. Seamus recognized the compressed-air silencer. The high-speed ammo it fired would do a hell of a job on his stomach.

He wasn’t about to give the punk the chance. Running forward, he kicked the gun out of the man’s hand before he could fire. Then Seamus brought his shoe down hard on the man’s gut, like he was stomping a particularly virulent spider. The man cried out, his face reddened, and his head crashed back on the floor amid the shattered glass and blood.

Seamus bent over him, but the man suddenly lurched forward, a shard of glass clutched in his hand. Seamus scooted backward. The jagged blade missed him by less than an inch.

That dirty son of a bitch. Well, fine. If that’s the way he wants to play it…

Seamus picked up a nearby glass bottle of perfume and hurled it at lightning speed. It shattered against the assassin’s forehead.

Blood erupted. Head wounds were the worst. On top of that, the pungent alcohol-based mix dripped into the wound and the man’s eyes. He screamed and clutched at his face, desperate to remove what could not be removed.

Seamus crouched down and grabbed him by the collar. He slapped his hands away. “Maybe now you’re ready for a little chat?”

The man whimpered, babbling incoherently. Temporarily blinded, he was undoubtedly wondering if he would ever see again.

“If you tell me what I want to know, the pain might not get any worse. Though I’m not promising anything.”

The man spoke through sobs and clenched teeth. “I want… immunity…”

“You’ve been watching too many cop shows on TV. Immunity is not a option. I don’t have that power and I don’t have time to get it. Your choices are pain or no pain. And you have five seconds to decide.”

There was no immediate response, which really pissed Seamus off. He realized he had a short fuse, but given what he had been through today, who could blame him?