The Bin Laden Plot

He turned to Christine, still seated at the table. The pistol was beyond her reach, but she could get to it if she rose from her chair and lunged for it. “If you so much as move,” Mixell said, “I’ll slice Angie’s throat.”

“You sick bastard,” Christine replied. “You accuse Harrison of being a coward, yet you stand behind his wife with a knife to her throat. Why don’t you show some courage and settle the score directly with Jake? See which one of you is the better man.”

“Nice try, Chris,” Mixell replied, “but you’re not going to talk me out of this. Tonight will end only one way. The unanswered question is whether Jake stands there like a coward or tries to save his beloved wife.”

Harrison glanced at the pistol. It was much closer to Mixell. He could slice Angie’s neck and still reach the pistol first. He was baiting him.

If he went for the gun and Mixell stabbed Angie as a result, it’d be Harrison’s fault she was dead. If he did nothing, with Mixell’s pistol only a few feet away, and Angie died, he’d forever blame himself for her death. Regardless of his decision, he would live with guilt for the rest of his life. Exactly what Mixell wanted.

As Harrison struggled to find the words to respond, the silence was broken by thunder as the skies opened up. The raindrops hammered against the windows as tears flowed down Angie’s cheeks.

“It’s okay, Angie,” he managed to choke out. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“That’s quite delusional,” Mixell replied, “considering the circumstances. But let’s continue our conversation. Was it worth it? Was the satisfaction of thwarting my plan against the United States worth Angie’s life? If you could go back in time and let me win and Angie live, would you do it?”

As Mixell waited for a response, Harrison couldn’t focus on anything besides the look of sheer terror and desperation on Angie’s face.

Mixell seemed disappointed he couldn’t coax the words from his former best friend. “Let’s try something different,” he said. “Do you remember the first time you saw Angie? Or perhaps the moment you realized you were in love with her?”

An image appeared in Harrison’s mind: Angie curled up beside him in a hammock, the warmth of her body as she nestled in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his chest.

“That’s it,” Mixell said, adding a malevolent smile. “Now hold that thought… and watch.”

With a single thrust, he pushed the entire blade into Angie’s neck.

Her eyes went wide as the knife slid in and the tip of the blade emerged from the other side of her neck. Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. An anguished scream Harrison barely recognized as his own escaped his throat as he broke across the room toward Mixell.

As he closed the distance, Mixell pulled the knife from Angie’s neck, going for the pistol on the table with his other hand. Angie’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor as Mixell grabbed the gun. Harrison launched himself toward Mixell, but not before Mixell got off two shots, hitting him in the chest twice.

Harrison slammed into Mixell, knocking him to the floor beneath him. He grabbed Mixell’s wrists, keeping the gun and knife away. As they struggled, Harrison was aware of several things: the sharp pain in his chest and the slick warmth spreading from his wounds; his breathing becoming labored as he tried to break Mixell’s grip on the pistol and knife; Angie on the floor only a few feet away, her hands clamped around her neck, blood oozing between her fingers and from her mouth; Christine moving toward Angie.

* * *

Christine knelt beside Angie, pulling her away from the two men. Angie was kicking frantically, trying to get air through the blood choking her throat. Christine turned her head to the side to drain the blood from her mouth, but it kept coming. Blood was flowing into her throat, clogging her airway.

Angie focused on the woman above her as she tried to breathe, and it was a look Christine would never forget. Angie’s eyes were filled with the terror that accompanied the certainty of death; she knew she’d been mortally wounded. Christine remained by her side, searching for a way to help, but could think of nothing that would save Angie’s life.

Beside them, the two men were still struggling on the floor. Harrison was on top of Mixell, his legs intertwined beneath him in a wrestling move that kept Mixell from throwing him off. Harrison had his hands clamped around his opponent’s wrists, trying to keep Mixell’s knife and pistol from doing more damage. Blood from Harrison’s gunshot wounds was coating both men, and he was weakening. Mixell was forcing the gun toward him.

There was another pistol, Christine realized — the one Harrison had kicked across the floor. She was about to retrieve it from the other side of the room, but Mixell’s gun was only an inch away from a clear shot at Jake’s head.