“Dana, come on, don’t be like that.”
“Go to hell,” she said and slammed the door in his face.
Burke stood on the front step, a bitter wind tugging at his lapels, wondering how he had managed to destroy, not one, but two relationships. There was only himself to blame. He had waited too long to figure out he still loved his wife. Now Dana was through with him and Maddie would never forgive him for the affair. Burke stepped down off the porch and shivered at the cold.
Chapter Sixty-One
Gwen Witwicky left Langley just after six. She was behind the wheel of an electric green VW Beetle, crossing the Francis Scott Key bridge toward Georgetown. The tires hummed on a layer of slush. An icy drizzle had left a layer of cold and wet on the roadway. Overhead, the sky was as an iron-gray dome shot with darkly ominous hues that reflected Gwen’s mood exactly. The excitement she felt at getting reassigned had evaporated in a confusing tangle of impending doom.
The Company didn’t exactly have a squeaky-clean history. What clandestine intelligence agency does? But Coughlin’s story about deleting operation files as an exercise in cyber security had all the consistency of soggy cardboard. The more Gwen turned it over in her mind, the more holes she poked in the narrative.
No paperwork. No computer logs. No written confirmation of reassignment. No official word from the Wizard or anyone higher up the chain. Just a verbal directive from Coughlin. Worse, no way to prove Coughlin had given the order.
Had she and Ezra been duped? They had broken into the CIA database, one of the most secure networks in the world, and erased classified information. It was a federal offence and there was no way to prove they had acted under orders. The thought left a noxious feeling in Gwen’s gut and a sheen of sweat formed on her forehead. She dialed back the heater.
You have a copy of the files, Gwen reminded herself. Or, at the very least, a copy of the files existed. She couldn’t leave the building with a flash drive and she didn’t dare leave it on her desk. So she had hidden it. She was in the women’s restroom, sitting on the toilet with the thumb drive in her pocket, when she got the idea. Using a hairpin to jimmy the lock on the toilet paper dispenser, Gwen had secreted the USB drive at the back of the metal housing. She could only hope the cleaning crew didn’t replace the toilet paper roll between now and tomorrow morning.
And then?
Her phone was held by a plastic clip suction-cupped to her windshield. Gwen tried to unlock the mobile with her thumbprint, but a strong crosswind on the bridge kept buffeting the car and fouling up the connection. She let out an annoyed sigh, snatched the phone out of the holder, and finally managed to unlock it. With one eye on the road, she scrolled through her contacts until she found Ezra. She was halfway across the bridge, with a clear lane of traffic ahead, when she pressed call.
There was a small bump and the crunch of plastic bumpers kissing. Gwen’s eyes flashed to the rearview mirror where she glimpsed a dark sedan. By that time her car was already out of control. The front end of the Beetle weaved back and forth over the slippery blacktop. She dropped the phone. It landed in the floorboard and she could hear Ezra’s voice. “Gwen? Gwen? You there?”
Gwen gripped the steering wheel in both hands. Her foot stamped down on the brake. The tires locked and the car went into a slide. Rubber howled over wet asphalt.
Behind her, the dark sedan sped up. The engine revved and the bumpers met again. Hit a car on the back bumper, right behind the driver’s side, and it will force the vehicle into a sideways skid. That’s exactly what happened to Gwen. She realized what the driver of the dark sedan was doing as her little Beetle started to drift.
“Gwen!” Ezra’s voice came from the floorboards. “Gwen, what’s going on?”
She remembered her training moments too late. She should have been driving with one foot on the gas and the other on the brake so she could transition faster. She should have steered into the skid instead of trying to force the vehicle back true. Now she had lost control of the car and was along for the ride. A terrified scream filled her ears and Gwen realized it was coming from her.
The Beetle humped up on two wheels like a dog taking a leak. Gwen’s world tilted precariously and seemed to hang there. The dark sedan never stopped, never slowed. The engine revved and forced the Beetle over onto its roof. Gwen slammed into the driver side door. Glass shattered. Door panels crumpled. The airbag burst from the steering wheel, flinging Gwen’s arms aside and rocking her head back with the force of a heavyweight boxer delivering a knockout punch. She clung to consciousness through sheer willpower. The horrific shriek of metal on asphalt filled her ears. The earth tipped upside down and Gwen was thrown into the safety belt with bone rattling force. All the loose change and lost French fries that had fallen into the floorboards over the years now came flying up to the roof. The car continued to slide, filling Gwen’s ears with that awful shrieking sound. It seemed to go on forever. Then, finally, stopped.
Gwen hung upside down. She could still hear Ezra calling her name. Her hands dangled on the crumpled roof of the car and darkness closed in on her.
Chapter Sixty-Two
The town of Neuchâtel dates back to medieval Europe. The old-world village of half-timber houses is in northern Switzerland, nestled on the banks of a crystal-clear lake of the same name. Residents speak a smattering of French, German, Italian, and Swiss. Europe’s rich culinary diversity joins together in Neuchâtel to form an epicurean’s dream.
Noble wedged their stolen vehicle into a parallel spot on a quiet street lined with cars, opened the driver’s side door, got out and arched his back. His breath steamed up in front of him. A crisp, white layer of snow blanketed the cobblestone boulevards and the warm scent of baked goods spilled from the open door of a bakery across the street.
“Smells good,” Sam said. She blew into cupped hands and rubbed her palms together.
Noble twisted his shoulders to one side, then the other. Vertebra made loud popping sounds.
Sam sneered. “Getting old.”
“It’s not the years,” Noble told her. “It’s the mileage.”
Sam cocked her head to one side. “Is that from Die Hard?”
“Close,” said Noble. “Indiana Jones.”
“Does all your wisdom come eighties action movies?”
“Most of it. Yeah.”
Duval climbed out of the backseat and took in their surroundings. “Why are we stopping here?”
“Because one of us has been driving all night and needs a break,” Noble told him. “We also need food and a clean set of wheels.”
“You two change cars like most people change underwear,” Duval said. “We could be in Italy before sundown. Why not keep going?”
“Relax,” Noble said. “They’ll spend hours sifting through the rubble. By the time they realize we didn’t burn up in the fire, we can be cruising down the Baltic coast. We bought ourselves a little breathing room.”
“All the more reason to go now,” Duval said and then fell silent at the sound of feet crunching in the snow.
An old couple, walking arm in arm and bundled in parkas, offered a cheery “Guten tag.”
Sam smiled at them as they passed. “Guten tag.”
“Salute,” Noble said in French.
Duval tucked his chin and turned his face away.
Sam waited until the couple was out of ear shot, then said, “Way to look suspicious.”
“I’m scared.” Duval lowered his voice. “You would be too if your face was all over the news.”
“My face is all over the news,” Sam said.
“Let’s stretch our legs,” Noble told them.
He grabbed Duc’s messenger bag from the backseat and tossed the keys to the stolen car in a trash bin on his way past. They strolled along the twisting lanes, just a couple of tourists, until they spied a restaurant busy with a breakfast crowd.
Walking inside was like stepping back in time. The dining room had a low ceiling with exposed beams and
a cheery fire crackled in the hearth. There was no annoying sound system blasting pop music and the customers didn’t have to yell to be heard. The atmosphere was subdued but festive. The three fugitives gathered around a table near the fire and ordered breakfast. Noble waited until the waiter came back with their food and Duval had something in his belly before saying, “We need to decide our next move.”
Duval put his fork down, swallowed, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “How do you mean?”
“You have to make a choice,” Noble said. “You can go to Montenegro, but you can’t hide forever.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You were safe in the embassy,” Noble told him. “Coughlin couldn’t touch you as long as you stayed put. A guy like Coughlin doesn’t care about non-extradition countries. He knew the next Cypher Punk release was going to expose him and he needed to get you out in the open.”
The color drained from Duval’s face. He glanced over his shoulder like there might be an assassin at the next table. “You think he set it all up? Made me believe they were going to kidnap me in order to get me out of the embassy?”
Noble nodded. “That would be my guess. When you left the embassy, you played right into his hands. If he didn’t catch you when you crossed the channel, he could send Grey and his team of thugs to pick you up in Montenegro. He needs you out in the open so he can find out the name of your failsafe.”
Duval buried his face in his hands. “How could I be so stupid?”
Sam reached across and patted his back.
“Remember who you’re dealing with.” Noble cradled his coffee cup in both hands, enjoying the warmth. “Coughlin has been running counter-intelligence ops for decades. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book—force your enemy to go left by convincing him you want him to go right.”
Duval asked, “What can I do?”
“Fight back,” Noble told him.
“What are you suggesting?”
“We turn around,” Noble said. “Drive back to Paris. Lure Grey and his team into the open. We use their own plan against them. Get them to incriminate themselves.”
Duval made a skeptical face. “You’re joking.”
Noble laid out his plan for them.
Sam thought it over. “It could work. It would need cracker jack timing.”
“No way.” Duval shook his head. “We barely escaped France with our lives. Now you want me to go back?”
“It’s the last thing Coughlin would expect,” Sam told him.
A pathetic little laugh escaped Duval’s lips, like he was hearing a joke that wasn’t particularly funny. “Easy for you to say. You both know how to fight. You’ve been trained. I’m a reporter.”
“Like I said, you’ve got a choice to make.” Noble crossed his arms and propped his elbows on the table. “You either spend the rest of your life on the run, or you take down Coughlin. Those are your only two options.”
Duval let out a breath. His breakfast sat unfinished. He looked like a cornered animal. “I can’t,” he said. “Don’t you understand? I’m not like you.”
“You don’t have to be a Green Beret,” Noble said. “Sam and I will do all the heavy lifting. All you have to do is follow my lead. My plan will put Coughlin and his accomplices behind bars. You’ll never have to worry about any of them ever again.”
Duval stared at the tabletop and his face clouded over.
“Do it for Sam if not for yourself,” Noble said. “She risked her life to save you. Help her clear her name.”
His eyes went to Sam. She caught his gaze and her lips pressed together in a tight smile. Duval looked away and shook his head. “I’m sorry. You both helped me and I’m grateful for that, but I’m not sticking my neck out. I’ll take my chances and run. If you won’t help me get to Montenegro, then I’ll go alone. But I’m not going up against Coughlin and his gang of hired killers.”
Noble picked up his fork and speared his crepes. He spoke around a mouthful of food. “At least take a minute and think it over.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Ezra stood in the dim fluorescent light of a hospital room, staring down at the bruised and battered form of Gwen, feeling like the contents of his stomach would come rushing up. He was scared and angry and he felt very small. He groped behind him for a chair and lowered himself into it. The harsh smell of industrial disinfectant invaded his nostrils and his shoes squeaked on linoleum.
An oxygen tube was stuck up Gwen’s nose. Clean white gauze covered her head. She looked tiny and broken. Angry welts covered her lips and the skin around her eyes. Her nose was swollen and rimmed with dried blood. Her heart rate monitor spiked and dipped like clockwork. That was a good sign.
Tears welled up in Ezra’s eyes. What had they gotten themselves into?
One of her hands was laying on the coverlet. Ezra reached out and covered it with his own. He gave a little squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Gwen.”
“How is she?”
Ezra started at the voice and twisted in his chair. Coughlin stood in the doorway. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his long beige overcoat and his hair was slicked back. A concerned frown turned his mouth down at the corners and his left eye jerked. Ezra had never noticed the sinister quality behind Coughlin’s eyes before. He had always been distracted by the twitch. After all, who wants to think bad of a guy with a nervous tick? But Ezra saw it now. He saw the cold, calculating stare behind those dark eyes and it made him shiver.
Ezra licked his lips and fought to keep his hands from shaking. “Doctor says she’s in a coma. Might not wake up.”
Coughlin came over and stood beside the bed, hands still in his pockets. He looked down at Gwen and the truth hit Ezra like a sledge hammer. Coughlin had put Gwen in this hospital bed and he’d done it himself. He hadn’t hired anybody. He had seen to it personally.
“I came as soon as I heard,” Coughlin was saying. “Terrible thing when one of our own ends up hurt. Did they say what happened?”
“Traffic accident,” Ezra heard himself say. “Her car flipped over.”
The whole scene felt dislocated and surreal. Ezra was sitting here talking to the very man who had tried to kill Gwen and might try to kill him next. He kept expecting Coughlin to pull out a silenced pistol and shoot him between the eyes. Part of his brain was telling him to get up and run for the door, call the nearest cop. But he couldn’t leave. Coughlin may have come to finish the job. Besides, even if there was a cop in the hall, what would Ezra say? He had no proof. All he had was a thumb drive, and Gwen had hidden that in the women’s restroom back at Langley.
“Times like these always remind me how fleeting life is,” Coughlin said. “You never know what’s going to happen. One day you’re out for a morning jog when a truck jumps the curb and the next thing you know, it’s lights out. Could happen to anybody. Any time. Makes you want to hang on to every second, am I right?”
Ezra sat motionless in the chair. He felt like a deer staring into the eyes of a hungry bear. His bladder threatened to let go and sweat rolled down the undersides of his arms. He managed to nod.
Coughlin smiled. It was lifeless motion that pulled his lips up into an ugly grimace. “I just came by to see how she was doing. I’ll let you two be alone. I’m sure you have a lot to think about.”
He came around the bed and laid a hand on Ezra’s shoulder. It was everything Ezra could do to sit there and not jump up out of his seat. He wanted to scream and howl. He wanted to hit and kick and gnash his teeth. But fear kept him pinned to the cheap plastic chair. He hated himself for being a coward and hated Coughlin more.
“Stay safe,” Coughlin said. “I wouldn’t want anything like this to happen to you too. After all, I’ve got more work for you.”
Ezra managed another nod. It was a slow up-and-down movement, a silent admission of his own inferiority and inability to do anything but obey. Coughlin gave his shoulder a squeeze and walked out the door. Alone with Gwen once more, tears welled up in Ezra
’s eyes. He put his head down on the bed, gripped her cold hand, and wept.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Large slabs of ice floated on the surface of Lake Neuchâtel, edges grinding together with deep groaning voices that echoed across the wintery landscape. Tree limbs sagged under heavy loads of snow. The air was perfectly still and a pale-yellow sun was climbing in the east. Sam and Noble strolled along the edge of the lake, their hands stuffed in their pockets and their collars turned up against the chill. Their feet crunched in the snow and their shoulders occasionally brushed together. Neither seemed to mind. Sam decided to test it by giving a gentle nudge. Noble swayed, came back, and gave as good as he got. One side of his mouth turned up in a grin. They shared a laugh. Sam threaded her arm through his and hooked her hand back in her pocket.
Not far away, Duval sat on a bench, gazing out over the lake. It had taken another hour of coaxing, but he had finally relented, promising to consider their plan if only they would let him finish his breakfast. Now they were giving him enough room to think without letting him out of their sight. He was huddled in his overcoat with a thoughtful frown on his face. Further along the sidewalk, a knot of spectators gathered to watch a group of old men in Speedos, flabby bodies covered in goosebumps, as they prepared to plunge into the icy waters.
Noble stopped and leaned on a concrete balustrade, letting his eyes roam the blue jigsaw puzzle of the lake. Behind them a group of children screeched in laughter as they launched snowballs back and forth.
Sam propped her elbows on the barricade. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” said Noble.
“This will put you in bad with the Company.”
He chuckled. “I wasn’t exactly high on their friends list.”
“What about your mother?” Sam asked.
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