by Matthew Dunn
He could hear the rapid footsteps of the Feds behind him. They’d established he’d used the alley to evade capture. Now they were pursuing him down an adjacent street. He doubted they’d shoot him in the back. But he knew there was no chance of escape.
He slowed down and lowered Mr. Peres to the ground. “End of the line for us, Mr. Peres.”
He faced Kopański and Duggan as they rushed to him, their guns at eye level.
Stein smiled while sucking in air. “Sorry about the flash-bangs.”
Duggan yelled, “On your knees!”
The Feds were directly in front of him.
Stein complied and put his hands behind his head. “Mr. Peres is frightened by men with guns. Please don’t scare him.”
“That’s the least of our concerns right now!”
“It should be. But he’s old and dying. You’re just doing your job. Neither of you look like unsympathetic bullies. Look after my dog.”
Kopański cuffed Stein while Duggan kept his gun trained on Stein’s head. “The dog will be fine. It’s you who should be worried,” Kopański said.
Stein looked at Kopański with an expression that suggested he was anything but worried. “Do what you have to. But I’ll burn New York to the ground if you mistreat Mr. Peres.”
Gage jogged back to the SUV as she saw her men escort Stein to the vehicle, Duggan walking Peres on his lead, Kopański gripping the straps of Stein’s cuffs and holding the Israeli’s arms high behind his back.
“No names!” barked Gage at her colleagues as Stein was put in the back of the SUV. She addressed both men. “You two in the back.” She darted a look at Painter. “Time for the ladies to get to work.”
Gage and Painter swiveled to face Stein. Along with a burlap shirt, blue jeans, and boots, his gorgeous looks were accentuated by his flowing blond hair. Mr. Peres was by his side.
Gage was completely composed as she said, “Mr. Stein, you are an assassin.”
Stein smiled.
“You know the Federal Bureau of Investigation has been watching you for some time.”
“A year to be precise.” Stein’s smile broadened. “I see them every day. But not tonight. Not until you turned up.”
“Why do you think we turned up?”
“Because you want information about a man.”
“Correct.”
Painter asked, “Would it be foolish of us to assume you will give us that information?”
Stein turned his attention on the former detective. “Two big men are pointing their guns at me. It’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”
“So you won’t talk while guns are pointing at you?”
“It’s not the guns that bother me; it’s the disposition it puts my mind into.”
“It makes you angry?”
“It makes me fear for your friends’ lives.”
Gage and Painter exchanged glances.
Gage addressed her male colleagues. “Lower your guns. But if he does anything stupid, kill him.” She said to Stein, “You are not under arrest, nor will we torture you.”
“Tut, tut. Never reveal your weaknesses.”
“But we will rendition you to Syria, where local authorities there will question you under more extreme methods because of at least ten assassinations you’ve committed in the country.”
Stein shrugged. “Mr. Peres and I are a dying breed. How we go out is in the lap of the gods.” His expression steeled. “You are playing God. But that doesn’t scare me.”
Gage retorted, “I want you to take a deep breath and think about your situation.”
“I’ve done that already, Agent Gage.”
Gage frowned. “Who is that?”
“She is you.” Stein looked at the others in the vehicle. “I confess I don’t know who your backup is.” He returned his attention to Gage. “But I made it my business to know who you are.”
“Which is what?”
“The person who broke the Frisco killings, the Baltimore massacre; dismantled the Russian spy ring in New York; and has a husband who works in an accounting firm at 2430 M Street Northwest, D.C.” Stein’s grin returned. “I could go on. You’ve done so much. But your crowning achievement was bringing Will Cochrane to jail three years ago.”
Gage had no idea how he knew this information, half of which was classified.
“And after all, Agent Gage, we’re here to talk about Will Cochrane. Aren’t we?”
“If I am who you say I am and have a husband in 2430, you’d better not touch him!”
“I won’t. He seems like a nice man. He takes your two kids to school when you work nights. Your children seem so happy.”
Gage snapped at Kopański and Duggan, “Raise your guns!” She lowered her voice. “You’ve been living in the States because you want to know what happened to Cochrane. You worked with Cochrane two years ago. I know this because I was given access to CIA files. You tried to kill him, then allied with him against a bigger threat. You saved his life, he saved yours. You feel a debt of obligation to him. You are trying to ascertain whether he really died a year ago.”
“Bravo, Mrs. Gage. But in doing so I’m breaking no U.S. laws that I’m aware of.”
“We don’t take kindly to Kidon assassins being on our soil.”
“I’m no longer Kidon. I work shifts in a kibbutz soap factory that exports to the entire Middle East. We transcend cultural divides more than diplomacy or politics. It’s about societal necessity. It’s a happy place to be.”
“And yet you’ve been here for a year.”
“I took a sabbatical.”
“Once a killer, always a killer.”
Stein looked at his dog. “We slow down.”
“You’re too young for that.”
Stein laughed. “I’ve seen twenty-year-old men slow down because they have a knife to their balls and can’t do anything about it.” His face turned serious as he looked around the vehicle. “I see killers in here who know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t be hypocrites.”
Painter leaned forward. “We’re not. We just want to know what you suspect. We know something that you might not know. But we want your perspective. If Cochrane is alive, is he a threat?”
Stein pulled his arms from behind his back. They were uncuffed, causing Duggan and Kopański to immediately lunge forward. Stein held his grin as he stared at the men. “Don’t be scared, gentlemen. It could have happened to you one minute ago. I decided not to.” He stared at Painter. “I think you are a war veteran. Not infantry or navy. Aviation, I would hazard a guess.” Attention on Gage. “You are the Bureau’s best bloodhound. There’s no guessing there. I did my research. Plus, I can see your intellect in your eyes. You’re a problem.” This to Duggan. “Ex–special forces, without a doubt. Now Hostage Rescue Team or SWAT. No, HRT. You’ve come up against Cochrane, haven’t you? And you lost. So did Agent Gage.” Finally he looked at Kopański. “You I can’t fathom. Sorrow is in your face. So is death. It means we are kindred souls.”
Kopański barked, “Shut your mouth!”
“As you wish.” Stein stroked his dog. “I believe Cochrane is alive. I’ve not met him since his alleged death, nor have any evidence to support my assumption he’s alive. But I know that he would not have killed himself. You know that too. You have proof he’s alive, otherwise why snatch me?” He waved his hands. “I could have easily killed everyone in this vehicle and walked out with Mr. Peres. I chose not to. Know this”—Stein leaned forward, causing the men to place their fingers on their triggers—“I wanted to find him and see that he was okay. But I also knew I would stand no chance against him if he decided my approach compromised him.”
Gage said, “He may have faked his death, but why is he alive again?”
Stein laughed. “I’m free to leave if I tell you the answer?”
Gage’s heart was pounding. “Yes. You and your dog.”
Stein looked at Mr. Peres. “He has cancer. The vet says he has days at best to live. When you kill
people, you cherish life more than anyone. I cherish life.”
“That’s a noble sentiment, Stein, but it’s not answering my question.”
Michael Stein ran his fingers through the dog’s fur and said, “Come on, pal. Time to go.” He looked at everyone in the SUV. “Will Cochrane is not your enemy. But I know he’s come back to life for a reason. It will have to do with something from his past. You will all die if you piss him off. Don’t do that. Please don’t do that.”
He faced Duggan and Kopański. “I very much doubt you’d want to go up against me without a cancerous and lame dog slowing me down. But nothing slows Cochrane down. Think doubly hard if you’re considering going up against him.”
He exited the vehicle, carefully lifting Mr. Peres with him. Before slamming the rear door shut, he said to all, “I suspect what you did this evening was illegal. That matters not a bit to me. I’m very used to illegal. I will forget this ever happened.” His expression turned cold. “If you put your Bureau surveillance team back on me, it will continue to be a waste of your time. It’s in all of your interests to leave me alone. If Cochrane is alive and on the hunt, he’ll scorch everything in his way. And I’ll help him.”
Chapter 16
Will lowered his binoculars and watched Stein carry his dog back to his apartment. Will pressed numbers on his cell. “Miss Ash, you know who this is. I want you to tell me what you have.”
Kay Ash sounded irritated. “It’s only been a few hours!”
“You’ll have met with Hessian Bell. What did he say?”
She was silent for a moment. “He said to trust you.”
“I thought that’s what he’d say.” Will walked away from Stein’s street. “There is a four-person FBI team hunting me. You know who they are?”
“Agent Marsha Gage is team leader. Don’t underestimate her.”
“I know she’s team leader. And the others?”
“Bell and I don’t know.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“Agent Gage and I go way back. She still looks as young as she always did. Alongside her are two NYPD detectives, Joe Kopański and Thyme Painter. They tried to apprehend me a year ago. Both are extremely accomplished. The fourth is an HRT shooter called Pete Duggan. He’s ex-SF and won’t stop until I or someone else puts a bullet in his brain. Gage has selected him for the team because he’s one of the best killers America has to offer.” He turned off the street. “Gage is doing this off the radar.”
“You’ve been watching them?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere. With the help of your pals in the NSA you could triangulate this call to get my location, send a team in to get me. You won’t see them again if you do.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Good.” Will was walking fast. “Do you have Mrs. Haden’s address?”
“Yes.” She gave him the details. “But I don’t have anything else yet.”
“Do you know what’s happening?”
“No.”
“I do. It’s imperative you get me the other names involved in the Berlin job.”
“Why is this so important?”
Will stopped. “Think of this as a chessboard with three combatants. First, we have you, me, and Bell on our team. There are two others you don’t yet know about who may be on our side. Second, there is Gage and her crew. Third, there is the major problem: Haden. But there are others in the mix. Thus, the issue is you and I don’t know who all the chess pieces are. I’m trying to correct that. Tell Hessian Bell that an acquaintance of mine is almost certainly going to talk to Mr. A. Mr. A is a foreign national residing on U.S. soil. Say nothing more than that. And don’t do anything stupid to corrupt that encounter. It’s to our advantage.”
Ash’s mind was racing. “But what if there’s a fourth side?”
“There is a fourth side. It’s a corruption of what went down in Berlin. Keep your eye on the ball.”
He hung up and got into his car.
Within the confines of his tiny apartment, Stein looked at his dog. “We’ve got to make another journey, Mr. Peres. Not too far this time. But it will involve a rented car and a road trip. I’ll put water and treats in the back for you. Are you cool with that?”
Mr. Peres limped over to his master and licked him.
Stein stroked his dog while looking out the window at the night and artificial lights. “I’ll drive carefully to try to avoid pain on your legs when I go over bumps. Sometimes the best of us start caving in because of our bodies. Don’t fear that. Gage is right—I’m a long way off that. What she doesn’t understand is that I’ve been witness to the end of life so many times. All of it by my hand. And I’m at my prime.”
He picked up his satchel.
“This will be the last we see of this shitty place. Old man, you’ve been my savior. But now I need to get to work. It will be a hunt. Most certainly your swan song. Are you with me?”
Ash pulled up outside Hessian Bell’s mansion in the outskirts of D.C. The place was palatial and accessed by a gravel drive. Exterior lights were dimmed, casting a golden glow over the building, which had been deliberately covered with vines and had been built in 1822 by a gangster who had garroted two men and dumped their bodies in baths of lime before getting the electric chair. Bell had bought the vast home for his now-deceased wife fifteen years ago after winning a long-shot bet on which bull would throw its rider in a rodeo. The billionaire who lost to him tried to extricate himself from the bet. Bell had pretended to acquiesce before showing the billionaire a picture of him and his mistress in flagrante delicto. Money was then wired to Bell’s account.
It was now 3:30 a.m.
Ash rang the doorbell, wondering if Bell was still awake. She suspected that if he was not, he’d be opening the door soon. Bell never did deep slumber, she deduced. He was always ready for the unexpected.
The door opened. Bell was there in pajamas and a robe that resembled a Victorian gentleman’s crimson smoking gown. “Twice in one night, Miss Ash. I’m beginning to regret taking you on.” He gestured for her to enter.
Ash followed him into his living room, passing ornate sculptures and framed oil paintings in the long corridor.
The living room fireplace had dying embers. Bell tossed kindling and logs on top and gestured to one of the five sofas for her to sit. The vast room was an eclectic mishmash of style and quirkiness: original drawings from Turner, photos of Scott’s expedition to the South Pole, a cabinet containing first editions of Mark Twain’s and Ernest Hemingway’s books, a map that was framed in gold and had once been a top-secret chart of the Normandy landing zones in World War II, candles, indoor Japanese bonsai trees, French Renaissance furniture, oil lamps spread sporadically around the room, and, above the mantelpiece, a jar of Ottoman tobacco and bullet holes in the wall that spelled “CIA.” A revolver was next to the tobacco.
What was missing in the room was a woman’s touch.
Bell sat on a sofa opposite Ash and sensed her observation. “When Maureen died, I kept some things, got rid of others. I loved her too much to be reminded of her every day. Others would have done different. But I’m not others. Cochrane has been in touch with you again.”
It wasn’t a question.
Ash nodded and told him about the call.
Bell bowed his head, deep in thought. “Do you think Cochrane was watching Gage?”
“No.”
“Excellent.” Bell was pleased she had worked this out. “Extrapolate.”
Ash stared at her controller, trying to scrutinize him. “He was watching someone else, and that someone is going to contact the aforementioned Mr. A. Who’s Mr. A?”
Bell slowly lifted his head. “He is a version of me, but with a different first language.”
“A spymaster?”
Bell smiled, though he looked wary. “Once he was. Now he’s retired and living in Virginia. Cochrane made that happen. He brought him in from the cold. It w
as a brilliant tactic.”
“Does Mr. A scare you?”
Bell considered the question. “No. I could crush him. He could crush me. I believe we are equals. What scares me is that we are both too competitive with our minds. One could always burn the other out if there is a confrontation.”
“Then don’t confront him.”
“Maybe.” Bell leaned forward, his hands clasped. “Do you have any suspicions as to who’s going to see him?”
“No.”
“Cochrane knows exactly who it is.”
“He told me not to disrupt the meeting.”
“Then we don’t.”
“Sir, I—”
“We don’t!” Bell stood and walked to his fireplace. “Mr. A is a Russian, code name Antaeus. He was the most powerful intelligence officer in Moscow. Ruthless, ingenious, but with a heart. Cochrane mistakenly slaughtered his wife and daughter. Cochrane was racked with guilt. But then Cochrane discovered that Antaeus had an American child he didn’t know about from a fling before he got married. Cochrane used the child to lure Antaeus to America three years ago.”
“Callous.”
“Clever.” Bell picked up his revolver. “And kind. You see, Cochrane recognized himself in Antaeus. I feel the same about myself. We’re kindred spirits, albeit truly isolated from humanity. Antaeus is a defector. He’s given more secrets to the States than any other Russian in the last sixty years. And he’s done so for the most laudable reason. What is it that spies yearn for the most?”
“Love.”
“Correct. Love. We get it in spades from the assets we send to their deaths. Therein is the problem.”
“It’s like marrying your beloved childhood sweetheart and one day pushing her off a cliff.”
Bell nodded. “Antaeus was the spider in the center of the web. He is not a man of action—he’s a thinker.” Bell prodded his gun against the bullet holes and placed it back down. “Cochrane was given very specific instructions to kill him. He was in MI6 at the time and his plan was ingenious. He tracked Antaeus and established he always drove to and from work alone. Antaeus never permitted his wife and daughter to travel with him. So Cochrane had the green light. He planted a bomb in his car. But that evening, Antaeus’s wife and daughter were shopping in Moscow. His daughter sprained her ankle. As Antaeus was driving home he got a call from his wife. He could hear his daughter crying in the background. The wife was imploring, saying they couldn’t catch the train home. Antaeus broke protocol and picked them up. One of his assets got tipped off about the bomb and called Antaeus seconds before the bomb was due to detonate. Antaeus stopped to get his wife and child out of the rear of the vehicle. But he was too late. The car exploded. Antaeus was knocked across the street. Still, he tried to rescue his family. Sadly, they were in tiny pieces.”