AMIRA by Matthew Betley (feel good books to read .TXT) 📕

still holding their pistols.  Trevor turned right and fled down the curved sidewalk that ran along the west side of the ballroom to the river.  Samuel turned left and ran away from them towards the shopping and dining district.

“You had to open your mouth, didn’t you?” Amira said.

“My bad.  Which one’s yours?” John said.

“I’ve got the one running towards the river.  That’s Trevor Emerson, the man who recruited me into the agency and my one-time mentor.”

“Roger.  I’ll take the other guy.  Good luck, and be careful, babe.”  He leaned in, kissed her on the lips, and said, “Happy hunting.”  He turned and fled down the sidewalk, and she spared two seconds to watch him leave.  God, I love that man.

A moment later, she broke into a sprint down the left sidewalk that ran to the water, her eyes on Trevor, who’d reached the river view sidewalk.  It stretched along the Potomac to the left away from the Gaylord and to the right all the way down to the shops, restaurants, pier, and beyond.  He turned left and ran.  He’s fast for his age, Amira thought, relieved he hadn’t seen her in pursuit of him.

Bystanders who’d been standing still listening to the gunfire from the Riverview Ballroom and unsure how to react stepped out of his way the moment they saw his gun.

Amira wondered what his destination was, as the river walk ended several hundred yards away before turning back up from the Potomac.  The only thing there is…  And then she knew what his plan was, and she ran harder, trying to close the gap between them.

She reached the river walk moments later and dashed around the corner, barely slowing like a NASCAR driver coming out of a straight-away into a turn.  There were still several people between them, but he’d already cleared the last of them and ran harder along the gradual curve to the right where the land jutted out into the Potomac a few hundred yards ahead.

He’s going to get there before you.  Run FASTER, she heard her father scream inside her head.  His voice was a constant in her stream of consciousness since he’d died in her arms, a personification of her moral compass that propelled her.  She ran on and focused on her breathing and footing as she pursued the man who’d caused her so much pain.

Trevor had reached a wide, concrete turn-off several hundred feet ahead of her, and he ran up it away from the river.

Just as I predicted, Amira thought, when the sounds of a helicopter reached her ears, an ominous foreboding of things to come.  Bastard always has a plan for every contingency.  You know that.  But you can still stop him. 

As she gained ground with no more civilians in her way, Trevor reached a chain link fence, pushed open one of the wide fence gates, and ran up the hill.  A blue and white civilian helicopter appeared on the horizon and descended towards the area that was Trevor’s objective – the full-size Boeing 747 that had been transformed into the Air Force One Experience, a sixty-minute self-guided tour through a replica of the President’s official airplane.

This is going to be close, she thought, as she reached the wide concrete turn-off and ran up the hill.

Chapter 23

John ran through the crowd that had formed on the sidewalk outside the Riverview Ballroom as attendees milled about once the gun battle had ended.  People parted for him when they saw the Colt 1911 in his right hand, some shouting in fear that he was one of the shooters fleeing the scene.  No time for explanations.  Sorry. 

The man Amira had called Samuel was less than a hundred feet away, and he’d reached Waterfront Street, which ran along the side of the Gaylord and its parking lot lobby entrance and sloped down a hill and curved right into the heart of the restaurants and shops.

John ran harder, using his lean form as efficiently as possible, his eyes locked on Samuel.  You’ll catch him in ten seconds or less at this pace. 

The man dashed into the street and dodged a red SUV coming up the curve.  The driver slammed on the brakes and blew the horn, and John wished he’d struck Samuel and ended the chase. No such luck. 

Seconds later, a Prince Georges County Police Department blue and silver SUV skidded to a halt in the left lane at the bottom of the hill forty feet in front of the fleeing terrorist.  A tall African American officer stepped out, his weapon drawn and tracking Samuel, who kept running.

Samuel never broke stride and veered off towards the door of a restaurant on the right side of the corner.  He switched the Glock in his right hand to his left and opened fire blindly to pin the officer down.  A stray, lucky round caught the officer flush in the right side of his face, killing him instantly.  Samuel never even saw the officer fall, as he burst through the door to Grace’s Mandarin Chinese restaurant.

Motherfucker, John thought as he sprinted to where the fallen officer lay, blood trickling from his cheek, his eyes vacant.  A chill ran up his spine as he recalled the attack on Amira’s father, which included two Calvert County deputies ambushed with non-life-threatening gunshot wounds.  I’m getting tired of law enforcement getting caught in the crossfire of our battles, he thought disgustedly as he yanked the officer’s push-to-talk microphone off his left shoulder.  “Officer down outside Grace’s Mandarin restaurant at National Harbor.  I say again, ‘Officer down on Waterfront Street outside Grace’s Mandarin.  This is John Quick.  I’m with the FBI and in pursuit of the subject, a tall, skinny African American dressed in a light grey suit, white shirt, armed.  Send additional units immediately.  Out.”

He dropped the microphone and dashed across the street, ignoring the pedestrians