by Declan Finn
“What?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
“I liked killing that son of a bitch.”
“Did you talk to a shrink about it?” he calmly inquired after a beat.
“No,” she replied. “He was going to kill me. I got there first, and I enjoyed it. why would you think I have a psychological problem?”
“Me? No way. I figured someone else would’ve brought it up.”
“The answer’s still no. It’s not my problem—it’s the other guy’s. I tried to forget about it, all of it. Not that I believed it meant I was sick, but that it didn’t have anything to do with my future. Then, one day as I studied for my finals, it occurred to me that there were entire countries being run by murderers and muggers. I decided that, somehow, I could stop at least one of them while in the army. My ROTC grades were perfect, and I made my way through the Ranger challenge as though it wasn’t even there. I never finished college Olympiad, but I graduated with the rank of Lieutenant because I had a degree. The Company found me soon after.”
Wayne just nodded. I’m almost sorry I asked.
Catherine watched Wayne’s face as he absorbed the information, and then returned to her usual solution: Don’t dwell on it. Move on. “My turn again,” she said.
Wayne had to pause to let his mind change gears. “Go ahead.”
“Now, you must understand that our files are rather extensive. They include all sorts of various pieces of information.”
“Someone’s biography, for instance.”
“Close enough. I truly don’t want to pry”—She’s worrying about prying now? After that? Williams thought—“but there was this one section in your file left blank. Since they usually write something in, I just wondered what happened to it.”
“Okay. What was the section under?”
“Sex.”
Wayne looked at her as though he peered over eyeglasses he didn’t wear. “Unless something’s been left out of my medical records, I can reassure you that I’m totally male.”
She laughed joyously, a striking contrast to seconds before. “Not that kind of sex. Like I said, we’re very thorough, and—”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “Ah, okay, I get it. You know, I wondered what that shrink was talking about. When I went in for the Company’s psychological screening, I just thought he was deeply Freudian and I answered like I was a politician facing a sexual harassment lawsuit. I guess I confused him better than I thought.”
“And what’s the not-meant-to-drive-someone-crazy answer?”
“Let’s put it this way: There are some genealogists who think that we’re related to Roger Williams, the neo-Puritan who founded Rhode Island, so I may have picked up on some of it, even though I’m Catholic. Unlike the Massachusetts branch of the faith, I’m not into the ‘Eat, drink, and be merry’ hedonists like the Kennedys.”
“The short answer would be?”
“No. Nothing. Trust me, if I had, I’d be married by now.”
“Come on, you have to be kidding me. You were in the Marines for years, followed by six years in the ‘Big Easy,’ where most of the population is likewise easy. You never once in high school had a girlfriend?”
He gave an infuriatingly amused smile. “Discount the time in New Orleans since I’m not a fan of social diseases, and if you’re thinking about the almost peer pressure–like drive to get laid…” He chuckled. “Let’s say that when I was a first-year cadet, I didn’t get hazed but once, and that once put four guys in the hospital, none of which were me. Say goodbye to any external factors in sexual motivation.”
“Did you take a course in psychology?”
He shrugged. “I had to take something for my college courses.”
“College courses?”
He grinned. “So they left that out of my folder, did they? A college degree is required to be in the Secret Service. While I was under the protection of my special position in Ops, I could get away with the college courses I had taken in high school and what I could fit in during my training. After I was disappeared to New Orleans, I ‘hobbied’ in classes at Loyola. I took classes in…all sorts of things, really. They said I had to have four years of college with good grades, didn’t say I had to graduate with any particular major.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I see… Okay, your turn.”
He patted her shoulder, still smiling. “I think we have a long day ahead of us, and that we should both get some sleep.”
Chapter 27
In Richmond, Virginia, it was four o’clock in the afternoon. The sun would set within an hour, and Jennifer didn’t like the prospect of someone following them after dusk, where it would be impossible to spot a dark car with its headlights off. Luckily, they were almost at their destination.
Blaine had been awfully quiet after they left the hospital, which was strange. He’d always be one to talk of either his future in IBMicrosoft, or even a new program he’d designed. She halfway expected him to start bragging about the security systems on his computer.
Jennifer’s foot depressed the brake gently as they approached the guard station of the gated community. The wrought-iron fence was thirty feet tall with imposing sharp tips at the end. A sign in front read, with red-on-white letters, “TURN OFF YOUR ENGINE WHEN YOU COME TO GATE. YOU WILL NOT BE ADMITTED BEFORE THEN.”
“Why does the guard post look like it’s brand-new stainless steel?” Blaine asked at last.
Lane looked over at him. “It’s kind of brand new. The community is about ten years old, and the post is something like three or four. I’m told that the last one had been shot to shreds.”
His eyebrows raised a bit. “What? Who’d want to shoot up a fucking guard post? And what’s with the sign?”
“I’m not sure. It happened before I met him.”
“Met who?”
Jen smiled as she killed the engine. “You don’t know what branch of the Bureau I was in before NetForce?”
“I’d always assumed you came directly into the ITF.”
“No.” The guard approached the door with caution. “It’s a long story, I’ll have to tell you later.” She turned toward the young guard with the black buzz cut and eyed him suspiciously. He looked like he came fresh out of ROTC. He held his right hand inconspicuously on his holster, restraint off. “Jennifer Lane. I’m expected.”
The guard relaxed and smiled. “I knew your features seemed familiar. I’ll let Daniel know you’re coming.”
“Daniel?” Lansing asked once the guard was back in the post, programming the doors to open.
“My friend. Former boss, in fact.”
“In the FBI? He must be a real high up in order to merit these accommodations.”
“He’s a teacher at Quantico,” she replied. The gates slid open. “His wife makes the real money.”
“I guess she’s a doctor?”
“Of sorts.” She turned on the engine and pulled past the entrance. “Speech therapist. You can’t imagine the cash that brings in. It’s not quite a computer whiz’s salary—”
“—But it’ll do,” Blaine finished. “This is incredible. This guy commutes?”
“Every day. He supposedly jogs half the way to work each morning.”
“That’s lunacy. He must be extremely fit, but he’s still nuts.”
“No comment.”
Once they were out of sight of the guard station, she pushed the engine about thirty miles over the twenty MPH speed limit.
A few minutes later, they were in front of a huge, well-decorated house. The door, for some reason, seemed to be newer than the rest of the house.
Done by the same person who wreaked irreparable damage upon the guard post? Blaine wondered as they got out of the car and walked along a path with lights built into the pavement beneath them. Maybe I should’ve considered taking speech therapy. The price is certainly right.
Jennifer rapped sharply on the door.
“Are you sure he’ll remember you?”
“Don’t worry. He neve
r forgets anyone. Besides, I was only his second computer expert. He might still be on his third. People have a strict loyalty to him, and he to them.”
What sounded like the unbolting of a dozen locks came through the door right before it snapped open, revealing a man with bright blue eyes and black hair who bore a striking resemblance to Pierce Brosnan, just before the gray went beyond the temples. He wore a set of light brown khakis with a red sweatshirt and a broad smile. In front of him he held a baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
“Jennifer, come in. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. How’ve you been?”
“I’m fine, Daniel. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Blaine Lansing. Blaine, meet Daniel Clark.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Clark replied. “I’d shake your hand—”
“But your hands are full at the moment.” Blaine smiled, nodding understandingly.
“Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” Blaine let Jennifer walk in ahead of him while he took in the surroundings. He stepped through the enclosed porch into a plush living room with a couch and armchairs on either side, all positioned facing the doorway and a coffee table in the middle. He wouldn’t have been surprised if this was brand new too. “Nice house. The door looks good…as does that window behind the couch.”
“Long story,” Clark replied. He even sounded a bit like Brosnan. Once the two sat on the couch, he took up residence in the armchair. The baby was obviously asleep; he was too quiet to be otherwise. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”
An hour later, when they finished explaining, Clark just sat, stunned.
“So much for a regular day at the office,” he said at last. “You remember nothing more after you were shot?”
“No,” Lansing replied. “Not like there’s anything more to tell. I know I cracked through a firewall, and I know who this Michael DeValera guy is.”
“Great!” Jennifer said. “Who is he?”
“Um…I don’t remember.”
* * * *
Moniak stood outside the Williams house, thinking. He spent a good deal of his time watching the stars. The lights were still on in Strongbow’s room. He wondered what she and Wayne were doing. He smiled, wondering if there would be another agent to train.
He turned his attention to the opposite side of the street as he heard the sound of a car coming to a halt. Moniak beamed now. He glanced at his watch. Eleven o’clock. They had arrived right on time. Moniak moved back into the shadows. He’d be needed soon.
It was time for the attack on the Williams household.
* * * *
Catherine lay wide-awake on one side of the double-wide bed, staring out the window, damning herself for her honesty. Why did she tell him the whole truth? Why had she dragged up everything? In fact, why had she told him anything true? He had no right to ask her about her life, her motivations.
So why in God’s name did I tell him?
The white lace curtains flowed in the gentle night breeze. Strongbow felt restless, ready to toss and turn in bed: something she hadn’t done in over ten years. It was simply infuriating to be unable to suppress her emotions this late in the game. She couldn’t feel pain until off hours, until the job was done.
Catherine pulled the sheets tighter around her. The window was open less than a millimeter, but she was still a tad frigid. Williams was probably asleep by now.
Damn him! Of all the people she figured to be as concerned for her well-being as he seemed to be, she never considered it would be someone trained to deal with people like her: a defender showing concern for the killer.
“I’m sorry I lied to you, Catherine.”
Strongbow rolled over. Wayne was still awake. His marble-blue eyes stood out in the dark. “What?”
“It was a lie of omission. You asked if I had a girlfriend, and I never answered you.”
Catherine’s perplexed look told him to continue.
“Not even Dad knows this happened; but…a friend of mine…she was attacked the night I left for Marine basic. I can’t even remember how I kept this a secret from everyone, but that night, before I got on the plane, I had asked her to marry me. Then, later, I called her parents. She had been mugged after I’d left her. Someone cut off the engagement ring I’d given her, and…to make a long story short, she was dead by the end of the night. I fell into the training, and it was a long time before I resurfaced again, Catherine. It was a very long time before I realized I couldn’t have stopped anything from happening unless I knew ahead of time, and I couldn’t have known about her.” His hand found its way on her upper arm and held on reassuringly. “Like you couldn’t about him.”
Catherine’s mind reeled for a second. She turned away, wondering what had hit so close to her. Wayne’s hand just hovered in mid-air before he drew it back.
Brilliant move, moron, Williams told himself. Just when you had a partner, you lost her. Try the psychobabble on someone who isn’t trained to kill guys like you.
The curtains fluttered in the breeze. “You cold?” Catherine asked, not turning around.
“A little.”
Catherine tossed aside the blankets and crossed the room, looking out into the cold London night. She brushed the curtains aside and reached for the top of the window before it exploded.
Chapter 28
“What do you mean you can’t remember who DeValera is!” Jennifer snarled at Blaine Lansing. “You were shot because you were looking for him. You told me in that email that you found him before you were shot—”
“I know I found him,” Blaine replied. “I found out who he was, but I can’t remember anything I read about him before I was hit. I sent you the email and then wound up with the police at my door. I had to play possum before they noticed that I was alive, unharmed, and walking about.”
“In which case, we’re in sort of a jam,” Clark said to Jennifer. “You and your friend are being hunted because of what he knows, only he doesn’t know anything—my guess is shock and trauma. If he had been shot a few minutes later, we might still have something. But since he wasn’t, I hate to say this, but I don’t think this is cause for anything short of pure alarm.”
“You’re telling me?” Lane replied.
“If you want, I could try talking to a friend of mine at the Central Intelligence Agency. I’m sure they’d be able to find something on this DeValera character.”
“No!” Blaine barked. “If these guys can bug Scofield, the CIA isn’t any safer. In fact, the bad guys are more international than they are local, if they can actually get and deliver ten nuclear bombs. The last thing we need right now is to be found here with you, your wife, and your kid. And if you call the CIA, we will be found.”
Clark smiled now. “Don’t worry, I won’t call directly. I won’t even call any phone registered to him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s a long story, Agent Lansing. Let me put Peter in his crib and I’ll give you a piece of it.”
* * * *
Richard Coffey looked through the digital sight of his Sabre rifle. His men did the same. He didn’t know how many of them had targeted the woman who walked to the window, but he figured that this was the perfect shot, and leaned out the car window for a better angle.
The gun barrel caught the light of the street lamps. Catherine leapt back and tackled Wayne a second before the window became a shower of glass. They landed on the floor in time for the sound to follow the bullets.
“I thought it was my turn to save you,” Wayne said.
“So you owe me two instead of one,” Catherine answered on top of him. “We can discuss the score later. Right now—”
Wayne shoved her under the couch and followed a moment later, when the sounds of small explosions filled the room, followed by more gunshots.
“They have access to exploding bullets, remember?” Williams explained. “They must’ve set them for a longer time delay then they needed.”
“So we’re back to you
owing me one,” she joked. “I can live with that.”
“So can I.” More explosions.
They rolled out of different sides of the bed and headed for the door. Catherine grabbed her canvas bag on the way. Wayne threw himself against the oak door and knocked it off its hinges, rolling out into the hallway. The assassin leapt over him, landing on both feet.
“A perfect landing,” Wayne said as he sprung to his.
Strongbow tossed the bag away, her gun already in hand. “What room are your parents in?”
Wayne’s mother pulled her door open and sprang out into the hallway with a .45 automatic in her hand.
“Am I the only one in this house without a gun?” Wayne muttered. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s still downstairs.”
The windows of the guest room crashed inward. They turned. Two men in black combat gear were inside, the rappelling ropes still attached to their belts. Wayne dropped as the two women blasted away, knocking down one of them. The second man ducked behind the doorway.
Phoenix grabbed a vase filled with lilies and hurled it as the gunman poked his weapon out to fire. Wayne dashed for the rifle as it shot up the wall. He grabbed the barrel, jerked forward, then slammed the gun back into his face. The hooded head fell back. The Secret Service agent swung the Alliant Sabre into his hands.
“This is better,” he said as he hefted the weapon. Out of the vertex of his eye, he caught movement outside the windows. He fired absentmindedly, cutting their ropes. Both of the rappellers fell to the street below.
Wayne strode back into the hallway, Sabre in hand. “Mom, I want you to stay here and watch these men. Strip the vests and remember to go for a head shot to anyone else who shows up.”
“I know the drill, dear, I’ve done this longer than you have.