by Tom Clancy
He leaned out, saw that Cox was still in the car, and ducked back behind the tree. He pressed the two buttons that sent the signal.
Cox turned to look at Eduard, and saw him leave the road. If the hubcap had rolled off the pavement, then it wasn’t a danger, why was he bothering?
When Eduard ducked behind a big tree, a terrible premonition seized Cox. No! Oh, no—!
He reached for the door handle, jerked on it, screamed, “Eduard, don’t—!”
The sound of Cox yelling his name was blotted out by the explosion, terribly loud in the sunny afternoon. A beat later, car shrapnel sleeted against the tree trunk, hitting hard enough to embed itself into the bark. The bulk of the explosive had been placed in front of the front passenger seat, in the air bag compartment, with another charge under the seat, and a third in the passenger door. The three together were sufficient to blast the car apart, and there was little chance that anybody inside would survive.
Natadze hurried to his hidden SUV, unlocked it, got in, cranked the engine, and pulled out onto the road. He pulled up next to the Cadillac, which was smoking, but not on fire, the vehicle wrenched and twisted as if attacked by an enraged giant. There was no need to get out and check — the man who had been Samuel Cox was certainly dead. One look at the smashed body confirmed that.
Cars were approaching from both directions, and Natadze accelerated and left the scene. It was time to leave the country for a while. South America, perhaps. Or one of the African countries where money could buy privacy. He had more than enough saved to live well for years. Maybe it was time to get serious about music, and to retire from his line of work.
But he didn’t have to decide now. He would have plenty of time to think about it.
He looked into the rearview mirror at the destroyed car dwindling in the distance. “Say hello to the Devil when you see him, Mr. Cox. Ask him how he is enjoying my guitars.”
41
Jay rushed into Thorn’s office, breathing hard. “You hear the news?”
Thorn raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“Cox. He’s dead! His car blew up!”
“Really?”
“According to CNN. A guy I know at CopNet confirmed it. Out on Long Island this afternoon.”
“Huh. How about that.”
“Maybe God decided to take a hand.”
“Maybe.”
“I gotta go tell Julio, and I need to call Toni and Alex.”
After Jay was gone, Thorn leaned back in his chair and sighed. He had been feeling pretty good after the sword match with his troll stalker, but this news sobered him a bit.
Captain Julio Fernandez would act surprised when Jay found him, but he wouldn’t really be surprised. They hadn’t been able to nail Cox, for reasons beyond their control, but there was more than one way to see the scales balanced. Cox was guilty of much, and it was right that he should be punished. Like Marissa had said in her story about the snow runners: Maybe they couldn’t come at him directly, but there were other, less orthodox paths. Back and twisty roads that arrived, eventually, at the same place. Not the first choice, but better than not getting there at all.
His private line cheeped. He looked down at the ID. Marissa.
He picked up the handset. “Hi.”
“You heard about Cox?” she said.
“Yes, just now.”
There was a short silence.
“We didn’t actually do it,” he said. “In case you were wondering.”
“Good to know.” She paused. “I’d like to drop by in the morning, sort of go over things and everything.”
“I’d like that, Marissa,” he said.
She was silent again and he smiled.
“Fine,” she said after a moment. “Well, I’ll see you then.”
He agreed and they hung up.
But like Marissa had told him, there were other ways to approach a problem. Net Force hadn’t killed Cox. There was no way that Thorn could have given those orders, and if any of his people would have carried orders like that, well, they wouldn’t be his people for long. But somebody had blown up the hit man Natadze’s house and his prized guitars, instruments for which he held great passion, even love. What would a man who was a killer do to somebody who did that to him?
Or somebody he thought had done it?
You run with killers, sometimes you paid for it.
Thorn thought his grandfather would be pleased.
Justice had been served.
EPILOGUE
“Boss,” Jay said.
Thorn looked up and saw Gridley in the doorway.
“Not that it makes any difference to Cox, but I cracked the final piece of the Turkish file and got the list of names. There are some real eye-openers here, too, boss; I’m talking some names that you simply won’t believe.”
“Great work, Jay. I’m sure the FBI will appreciate that — he certainly wasn’t the only spy the Soviets had here, and there have to be more we don’t know about.”
“Yeah,” Jay said. “But here’s the funny part: Cox might have been a spy, but his name wasn’t on the list. He was all worried for nothing.”
Thorn stared at him. “You mean if he had just sat tight, none of this would have ever happened?”
Jay nodded. “That’s right. He could have lived happily ever after. How’s that for irony?”
“Not bad,” Thorn said, smiling. “Not bad at all.”
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