The End Game

by Catherine Coulter

  Matthew turned away from her and methodically poured gasoline all over the apartment, but he didn’t pour any on her. He said her name aloud, one last time, “Vanessa,” and tossed the gasoline can in the corner. He threw a lighted match in the hall beside the stairs, listened to it whoosh as it caught the carpet on fire. He ran down the stairs. He never looked back.

  21

  BISHOP TO G5

  Brooklyn

  Vanessa floated.

  Had she heard Matthew’s voice? She wasn’t sure, but her brain knew enough to keep her still and silent. There was always danger when you spent half your life undercover, and tonight she’d stepped right in it.

  Being awake opened the floodgates and she was suddenly swamped in pain. She smelled her own blood, knew the pain would get worse and worse and she could die.

  Matthew had shot her, after he’d shot Ian. Ian had tried to save her, despite the fact that he had to know it was her phone and she wasn’t really one of them. No, she couldn’t think about that now.

  There was something else—she smelled smoke. Matthew had set the apartment on fire.

  She didn’t want to, but she touched her chest, felt all the hot sticky blood, her blood. It was bad, really bad. She managed to raise her head. She didn’t see any flames, but she heard them in the hallway, whooshing along the threadbare carpet toward the living room. Smoke was creeping in; soon the room would be gray and she wouldn’t be able to breathe.

  If you don’t get out of here now you will die. Tie up your chest and go.

  Pain ripped through her when she sat up. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to move. She could barely breathe. She figured her lung had collapsed and her chest was filling with blood. The smoke was getting heavier now, the sound of the fire getting closer. She realized it was blocking the hallway to the stairs. No hope for it. She dragged herself to her feet, holding on to a chair for support. She looked down at Ian, then quickly away; there was nothing she could do for him.

  She had to get to the hidden access to the roof, the only way out. It was their bolthole, one of the reasons Matthew had chosen this apartment.

  The ladder to the roof was inside the closet in the master bedroom. She would make it, she had to, she had no choice. She dragged herself down the hallway, using the wall for support, to the bedroom, then into the small closet, with the ladder at the back.

  She imagined she heard her dead father’s voice loud and clear as she climbed that ladder, each step so hard, nearly impossible, but there he was, saying over and over, Be glad of the pain, it means you’re still alive. Now get out of there, Nessa, do you hear me? And it comforted.

  His words became a mantra her mind whispered again and again as she began her climb up the ladder in the closet. When she finally crawled out onto the pebbled roof, she collapsed to the ground, coughing. Blood spattered out of her mouth and she sucked in air, but never enough. Smoke was billowing up all around her.

  She crawled to the fire escape, her only chance, since the building itself was now burning.

  Her father’s voice kept at her, yelling now over the pain, pushing her, pushing her. She crawled to the ledge. The ground looked a mile away, but she knew it was only three stories down. I can’t make it, Dad, I can’t make it.

  And again his frantic urging: Don’t you let that crazy bastard win, do you hear me, Nessa? You move, and you move now! Vanessa felt a bolt of fury and swung her legs onto the metal tread of the fire escape.

  She heard sirens. She had to get away before they got here. She couldn’t be captured, it wasn’t an option.

  She clutched the quickly heating side bars. Down, down, get moving.

  Something tore inside her. The pain crashed over her, a tsunami. She felt blood running down her arms. The sweater she’d bound around herself was soaked with her blood. Her father’s voice died in her mind.

  She was nearly down when she fainted and fell, boneless, to the hard asphalt.

  22

  KNIGHT TO A4

  Upper East Side

  Manhattan

  Nicholas wasn’t surprised to find Nigel in the kitchen, reading a book, a lead crystal lowball of Talisker Storm, neat, sitting by his elbow.

  “Waiting up for me?”

  His butler raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down, and sighed. “I see you’ve ruined yet another pair of pants, that lovely Spanish leather jacket your father gave you for your birthday, not to mention the bespoke shirt from Gieves and Hawkes. And the shoes? My, Mr. Gunderson would weep to see them.” Another sigh, a shake of the head. “They go in the trash bin as well. Barneys rejoices. And Barneys’ children, since we’ll be paying their college tuition for years to come.”

  “Ha bloody ha.”

  “You and Agent Caine were at the Bayway Refinery, weren’t you?”

  Nicholas nodded.

  “And that means, then, that you two plunged into the flames and rescued workers? That explains the missing sleeves, the black face.”

  Nicholas saw the carnage again in his mind and nodded again, numbly.

  Nigel paused for a moment, saw what a tight rein Nicholas had on himself. He lightly laid his hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “You did well. Now, what can I do?”

  Nicholas snapped to. “There’s really nothing, but thank you. Please go to bed, Nigel. I’m fine. I think a drink might be a good idea, though.” He poured himself at least three fingers of Talisker and drained it in a single gulp. The liquor shuddered through his body, warmed him to his ruined shoes.

  “Did that help?”

  “Yes, yes, it did.” Nicholas eased into a chair, watched Nigel pour him another.

  “Would you like to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Your mother called. The news of the refinery explosion already made it to England. I told her I believed you were at Lincoln Center, watching a play.”

  “That was well done of you, Nigel, thank you.”

  “I don’t think she believed me for an instant, but bless her, she didn’t push it. You can expect a call from your father and grandfather tomorrow. Early.”

  “Everything is all right back home?”

  “Yes, everything is fine.” Nigel studied Nicholas’s face for a moment longer, then said, “You should soak up the Talisker before you go to bed. There’s cold chicken and orzo in the Sub-Zero.”

  “No, I think I’d like to keep the bad away a while longer,” Nicholas said, and he nodded at the bottle of Talisker. “This will do nicely.”

  Nigel didn’t move.

  “What is it, Nigel? Is there really something going on at home I should know about? And you’re protecting me like you tried to protect my mother?”

  “I’ve known you all our lives, Nicholas. I’ve seen you angry and frustrated, but not as much as you are now. I’ve seen you even dirtier than you are now, more banged up, seen you inches away from losing that infamous Drummond temper. But you want to know something?”

  Nicholas’s eyebrow shot up. “Yes?”

  “You’re enjoying yourself.”

  The Talisker spurted out of Nicholas’s mouth.

  “No, no, Nigel, you’re wrong. All the bonkers crap that’s going on? No, no, I am not enjoying myself.”

  Nigel merely shook his head. “I’d say you’re downright giddy. I was worried about all the change, but I’m glad to say the move to New York suits you very well. Your grandfather will be pleased to hear it.”

  “You’re dead wrong about the giddy part—well, I hope you are—and you’re quite right: New York and the FBI suit me very well. It’s only a pity they don’t give agents clothing allowances. And stop talking to my grandfather behind my back.”

  Nigel grinned. “I haven’t spoken to the baron. I’ve only spoken with my father. Oh, yes, he sends his very best. He said the family misses you and wonders when you might be
home for a visit.”

  Horne, Nigel’s father, was the Drummond family’s butler at their home in Farrow-on-Grey, and had been a part of Nicholas’s entire life just as Nigel had. A wave of homesickness hit him, or maybe it was the Talisker. He realized he missed the weekly breakfasts with his family. He missed the lime trees bordering the long drive, and the labyrinth gardens. He even missed Cook Crumbe’s awful porridge.

  Nigel said as he came back from the kitchen, “I’m very sorry about the tragedy tonight. But now it’s time for you to get some sleep, Nicholas. Even for you, it’s occasionally necessary. Good night,” and Nicholas heard Nigel humming as he walked away.

  Was Nigel right? Was he giddy? No, not that word, it was more that he knew he was completely and utterly involved, every single fiber in his body was sharply alive, turned on high. He’d accepted long ago that he was a predator, remembered his mother had told him he had the push-it-to-the-edge danger gene, and surely that was a good thing for the FBI. And this ridiculous COE group was still running free. But not for long. No, not for long.

  And he had Michaela, and wasn’t that a bit of miraculous luck? He couldn’t imagine his life here without her. Like him, she was fairly bursting with life, ready to tackle anything, always straight ahead, that was Michaela. Did she have the danger gene, too? Yes, very probably.

  As he washed out his glass, he admitted to himself that he was indeed doing well here in New York. And, evidently, Barneys was doing well, too.

  He took a hot shower, pulled out his first-aid kit and smeared some burn cream on his palms, then climbed into bed, his mobile next to his head.

  But he couldn’t sleep, too many unknown faces tracking through his mind, too many codes he had yet to untangle.

  • • •

  Mike was in her ancient bathrobe, eating a cold slice of pepperoni pizza, when her cell rang. She was tempted not to answer it, but of course that wasn’t an option.

  Nicholas. No surprise he was still working. She wished she could give him all the freedom he wanted and fewer rules, but alas, she wouldn’t be that high on the FBI food chain for many years to come. And how high would Nicholas be by the time they hit forty?

  Mike sat down at her small work desk, stared at the mess of papers—bills, mostly. Maybe she should dust. Or not. She swung her feet up onto the cluttered surface, put the phone on speaker. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  She laughed. “I’m eating. Cold pizza.”

  “Booze is better. Mike, I’m as sure as can be there’s a new player in COE.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “Remember Paris? When we chatted with a young gentleman about his future?”

  He was speaking, of course, of Adam Pearce, a brilliant young hacker who’d been invaluable in stopping that madman Manfred Havelock. After an obligatory three months in jail, they’d gotten him out, and now he worked for the FBI. She understood why Nicholas hadn’t used his name on an open line—the FBI were also responsible for keeping him safe until Adam’s antics against foreign governments were smoothed over.

  “What about our young friend?”

  “I want to use him. He’d be great bait.”

  “So soon? He’s so young and he’s been through a lot. This is a major case. It may be too much too soon.”

  But Nicholas understood Adam Pearce, recently turned twenty years old. “He’s tough, talented, and I think he’d be perfect for the role. We have to get inside the organization. Their previous help was murdered. They’ll need someone new to continue the attacks. What with the cyber-attack and Bayway, I’ll bet another young hacker with a grudge against the world can’t wait to join the fun.”

  He was right.

  “Will you make the call?”

  She heard typing.

  “Done. I’ve sent word. As soon as I hear something, I’ll let you know.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No. Doesn’t matter. What I have in mind he can do from anywhere.”

  “Will you be able to sleep now?”

  He laughed. “Yes, I do believe I will. Sweet dreams to you, Agent Caine. Thanks for the ear, and the agreement.”

  Fancy that, Nicholas had acted like a real partner, called her to get her opinion before acting. She smiled as she climbed into bed. Sweet dreams? You bet. But short ones, given it was four something o’clock in the morning.

  23

  QUEEN TO A3

  Chicago

  Adam Pearce was staring at the brightly lit Chicago skyline when his phone beeped that an encrypted e-mail had arrived. It wasn’t his personal phone, but the special cell the FBI had provided.

  It was the middle of the night. Why had they chosen now to make contact? He hadn’t heard from them in weeks, not since he’d been placed in this apartment and told to lie low. He was bored. He needed to work, to stretch his brain, to do something.

  The e-mail was simple.

  We have a job for you. Call in.

  At last! His brain lit up like Christmas, his blood roared. Even though Adam still chafed at the idea of working for the government, it was better than rotting in a federal prison or being extradited to one of the many countries he’d worked against. His call sign was no longer Eternal Patrol. Now his call sign was Dark Leaf. He’d spent the last few weeks skimming around the darknet, spying on his brethren. Carefully. If the rest of the hacker world knew he was working for the government, there’d be a contract on him by morning. There were still a lot of very powerful people in the world who would like to bury him deep.

  He built in a second layer of encryption so his voice would be garbled to anyone who might be listening in and dialed the number. Paranoia had always been his watchword.

  Nicholas Drummond answered the call, said immediately in his posh British accent, “Did I wake you?”

  “No.”

  Nicholas laughed. “Ever the hacker, keeping night hours. I don’t sleep much myself. How are things? You’ve been comfortably relocated, I trust?”

  “Yeah, yeah, things are fine, but Nicholas, I’m so bored I’m tempted to hack Director Comey’s computer and tell him to give me something to do. Please tell me that’s why you called.”

  “It is, my friend. You’re aware of a group called COE?”

  “Celebrants of Earth? Of course. Dorky name. They’ve been doing bad things, making you guys look like monkeys. Wow, I guess I’m now looking like a monkey, too, since I’m officially one of you. Are they behind the attack on the oil companies tonight?”

  “You’ve heard about it?”

  “Sure. The whole Net is buzzing. A Shamoon attack, was it?”

  “No comment. Have you ever come across Gunther Ansell?”

  Adam whistled. “The Blue Whale? Sure, everyone has. He does superior work, for an old guy. He’s what, thirty?”

  “Yes, nearly ready for the glue factory. Adam, he’s dead, murdered.”

  There was a long moment of dead silence, then, “All right, you’d better tell me all about it.”

  Nicholas did. “I’ve got a request in for everything he was working on, maybe something’s there to nail COE. But I really don’t need it, I know COE. And I know they’ll need someone new to keep up the cyber-attacks.” He paused, waited. “Adam, you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. I’m trying to get my brain around this. Gunther, gone, it’s crazy, dude. So, Nicholas, you want me to offer my services to COE?”

  “You’ll need to show them you’re better than their people, ah, and that you share their values and goals, which, at this moment, we’re no longer sure we know. They’d been so focused, and now they’ve switched gears, and I’m simply not sure if their fanatical hate is at the core of it now.”

  “I do share some of their values, Nicholas.”

  “Yes, I assume they hate the government, too, whi
ch makes you perfect for the job. Get in, Adam, and do it quickly. We need to stop them before more people are killed. We didn’t know until tonight with the cyber-attacks on the oil companies that they even had a hacker on board.”

  “You said Gunther was killed three days ago. That means they’ve got to have someone already on the inside with enough smarts and know-how to implement his plan. I assume Gunther was killed because someone was afraid he’d talk?”

  “Probably. Adam, you’re fresh and clean in cyberspace now. We’ve helped you establish a whole new identity. You can get into their organization from afar.”

  There was a moment of silence, then Adam said, his voice formal, “I owe you my life, Agent Drummond. I’ll report in when I have news.”

  Nicholas said, “Good, we all appreciate it. You know I can’t do it, I’d be outed immediately, and besides, I simply couldn’t give it enough time at this point. Adam, be sure to cover your tracks at every turn. Create a false trail, leave as much disruption behind as you can, and bread crumbs galore, so when we’re done, we can blow them out of the water. I’ve been working a backstop to verify the information—they will come searching for your credentials, and I promise you they will be watertight. And Adam? Hurry. We’re running out of time.”

  “I hear you. I’ll be in touch.”

  Adam hung up the phone and the e-mail dinged again—the legend Drummond created for him had arrived. It was distinctly criminal, with a number of outstanding hacks to the identity’s credit. Adam memorized everything, then started sending out feelers to COE. With luck, he’d find a way in tonight. A pity Nicholas couldn’t join him; it would be fun, the two of them fighting it out with the bad guys in cyberspace.

  He quickly saw that every hacker with a keyboard was out and about, speculating about how COE had gotten past the oil companies’ firewalls. Adam didn’t see Gunther’s name once, which meant Drummond had been inside the hack himself, looking for the golden thread, shutting down any ties to the Blue Whale. He was impressed; Nicholas was nearly as good a hacker as he was. Well, perhaps he was better, since he was nearly old enough for Social Security himself, at least as old as Gunther had been. Adam would miss Gunther, a great talent, but he’d been sloppy and Nicholas had caught his signature.