Capitol Betrayal by William Bernhardt

just a few feet beyond that, his parked Dodge.
    Of course, if the sniper had any sense—or had a partner—they’d surely be watching that. His only chance was to move fast.
    “Ever been parachuting, kid?”
    “Are you crazy? No!”
    “That’s okay. Just follow my lead.” He fired a few rounds out the front, just to throw them off guard. Then he wrapped himself around Arlo and hurled the both of them out the window.
    They crashed down onto the fire escape amid a clatter of iron and shattered glass. The gunfire paused for a moment as the sniper tried to figure out what was happening. Seamus didn’t wait. Still holding on to the kid, he rolled sideways, right off the fire escape. By the time the bullets reached the fire escape, they were gone.
    They free-fell for five feet, then slammed down onto the hood of his Dodge. He rolled so that the impact hit him on the back, the place he was best able to absorb it, protecting the boy. All the air was sucked out of Seamus’s lungs and he wasn’t entirely sure the weight of the kid hadn’t broken one of his ribs. Didn’t matter. He didn’t have time to think about it.
    He rolled off the hood of the car and tumbled to the side—the side facing away from the shooter. Gunfire soon followed, but just as before, it was a nanosecond too late.
    “What the hell was that?” Arlo screeched.
    “I was saving your punk-ass life,” Seamus grunted. He pulled out his gun and fired a few shots over the car, then ducked back down for cover.
    “You saved my life? How? All we’ve done is move from dead behind my desk to dead behind your car!”
    “Yeah. But my car moves. Come on.”
    Seamus opened the driver’s-side door and, careful to keep down, pushed Arlo across the seats. Seamus scrambled in behind him. Bullets pounded against the side of the car, but nothing came through. These Company cars might not be flashy, but they were well reinforced. Not exactly Cadillac One, but close.
    Seamus kept his head well below seat level and shoved the key into the ignition. The car started immediately.
    “Thank God,” Arlo wheezed. “Get us out of here!”
    “That’s what he’ll expect us to do,” Seamus muttered. He shoved the car into reverse, then yanked the wheel and floored it.
    The car practically exploded backward and rolled onto the yard. A second later, he spotted the shooter.
    “Stay down, kid.”
    He threw the car into drive and plowed across the grass. The man with the gun—who actually did look kind of preppy, or perhaps like an aging preppy who hadn’t gotten the memo that the eighties were over—panicked as he saw the Dodge’s grille bearing down on him. A moment later he recovered and brought his submachine gun around. It was a moment too late.
    The car hit him square on. He was flipped up and flung sideways. He hit the lowest branch of a dogwood tree, then fell to the ground with a thump.
    “Ow.” Arlo winced. “That’s got to hurt.”
    Seamus didn’t doubt it, but his attention was focused in front of him, as always, securing the playing field. There was a second shooter, as he had suspected. And he had an equally nasty-looking Uzi.
    He floored it toward the second shooter. The creep managed to get off a few rounds, shattering the windshield. Seamus closed his eyes. Arlo ducked into the footwell beneath the glove compartment. Seamus couldn’t see anymore, but he didn’t let that slow him down. He targeted where he knew the man had to be and kept barreling across the lawn.
    A few seconds later he felt the impact, perhaps the most satisfying thud he had experienced in a good long time. Two seconds after that, the flying body thumped onto the trunk of the car.
    “I hope these thugs carry insurance,” Seamus grunted as he stopped the car and crawled out.
    He started with the first shooter he had downed. The one who hit the tree. His neck was snapped cleanly. Seamus didn’t even bother checking for a pulse. He was dead and gone.
    He moved quickly to the other