The trail abruptly came out on a dirt road. It was little more than a pair of ruts under the canopy of trees. Ressler hung back. Another conundrum. The road would make it easier to run and easier to find help, but it might also make it easier for the Hive to find him.
Wheels crunched on gravel and rustled against grass. Ressler dodged back under cover. A brown van hove into view. Should he run out and ask for help? It might be Hive. Ressler had no way to—
The driver was Aram Mojtabai.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Elizabeth Keen dashed down the tunnel back toward the nursery from the chem lab while the alarm blared in her ears and red emergency lights glowed on and off. Luke was still asleep in her arms. With the evacuation alarm screeching and sending everyone outside, she wouldn’t have to explain her absence from the nursery. She could just say she’d been caught in the evacuation with Luke.
The baby changed everything.
Keen couldn’t leave the Hive or let it be destroyed. Not when babies and children were here. At least Ressler had gotten away. Now she just had to find a way to—
“Hello, Elizabeth.”
Keen came up short as she rounded a bend in the tunnel. The Beekeeper was standing directly in front of her with a small swarm of drones behind him. One of them was Pug. The red lights gave them an eerie cast. Pug snatched Luke from her before she could react.
“I’m just… the baby…” she stammered.
“We were mistaken to put our trust in you so soon,” the Beekeeper said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a syringe. “We think you need a private session in the Circle. You seem attached to the babies. We can use that.”
“A baby is supposed to be in the nursery,” Pug said.
Two of the drones grabbed her. She fought them hard as the needle came.
* * *
Ressler blinked. For a long moment, he couldn’t move. His mind couldn’t process what he was seeing. Aram. It was Aram. Driving a rusty brown van. Through a national forest. Five hundred miles from Washington. Ressler would have been less surprised to see a penguin on the road.
With a shout, he raced from cover, waving his arms. The van jerked to a halt. Ressler dashed to the passenger side, jerked the door open, and leaped in. Aram gave him a nervous little wave.
“Thank god,” Ressler panted. “I can’t believe it, Aram. What are you—?”
“Good evening, Donald,” said a familiar voice from the back seat. “I’m glad to see you’re safe.”
Ressler jerked around. Reddington was sitting in the back, hat on his head, insouciant smile on his face. A jolt went through Ressler.
“What’s going on?” Ressler said. “What are you doing out here? How did you find me?”
“Is Lizzie all right?” Reddington returned with a note of urgency in his voice.
“Last I saw. She had a baby with her.”
“A baby,” Reddington said slowly.
“It wasn’t hers,” Ressler said, not quite believing this was the turn of the conversation. “Look, we need to get out of here, find a phone, call the task force—”
“All in good time, Donald,” Reddington said in that maddeningly calm voice. “Please reach under your seat and pull out what you find there.”
Mystified, Ressler obeyed. He came up with a paper bag and a pair of handcuffs. Inside the bag were two protein bars and a bottle filled with a sports drink.
“We brought those just in case,” Reddington explained as Ressler tore into the bars and gulped down the drink. Normally he hated the nasty green stuff, but now it went down like nectar. He felt some of his strength return.
“Thanks,” he said, then held up the handcuffs. “What are these for?”
“Contingencies,” Reddington replied blandly. “Aram, would you continue on our way, please?”
Aram did. He had to switch on the headlights now. Outside the van, crickets were chirping. An owl hooted in the distance.
“So what’s the plan?” Ressler tossed the handcuffs aside.
“I assume by now you know about the sarin gas the Beekeeper is mixing together in his hive.”
“Yeah. Keen told me. She found the lab.”
Reddington nodded. “But perhaps you’re not aware that spreading sarin gas is a two-step process. By itself, sarin creates an annoyance on the level of a smoky campfire. It must be mixed with tributylamine to become deadly. A colleague of mine was engaged to sell the Beekeeper the final shipment of tributylamine, but I intercepted it.” He jerked his head behind him. Ressler peered into the darkness in the rear of the van and made out a number of crates piled in the back. His stomach crawled around his insides.
“Isn’t that a little dangerous?”
“Not in the least!” Reddington said. “Not until it mixes with sarin, anyway. That’s the whole point, Donald.”
“So you intercepted the tributylamine, and the Beekeeper can’t spread the sarin gas,” Ressler said with relief. “Reddington, that’s perfect! Now we only need to—”
“I’m afraid you’ve misread the situation, Donald,” Reddington interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Ressler picked up the protein bar wrapper and hunted around the inside for crumbs. “We drive until we get cell coverage, call Cooper, and—”
“No,” Reddington interrupted again. “Donald, I want you to use those handcuffs. One cuff on your wrist, the other on the door handle. Do it so I can see they’re tight.”
Ressler turned in the seat to see if Reddington was making some kind of joke, and found himself looking down the barrel of a pistol. Behind it was Reddington’s round face and fedora hat.
“Now, please,” Reddington said. “I should hope the threat is implicit and need not be stated.”
“No,” Ressler said. “Not until you explain—”
Reddington fired the pistol.
The sound was deafening thunder inside the van. The bullet speared the windshield behind Ressler and created a spider-web of cracks around the hole. Aram yelled and the van swerved a little. Ressler’s ears rang.
“The second bullet will end up somewhere less pleasant,” Reddington said as if he were ordering a honeyed scone. “The handcuffs. Where I can see them. I won’t tell you again.”
Aram made a small sound, but kept his eyes on the road. Ressler slowly clipped the cuff to his wrist, holding it so Reddington could see, then attached the other cuff to the door handle. Reddington put the pistol away and leaned back—well out of reach, Ressler noticed sourly.
“Are you at least going to tell me what’s going on?” Ressler growled.
“You haven’t figured it out? Donald, I’m disappointed.”
“He’s delivering the tributylamine to the Beekeeper,” Aram said from behind the wheel. “For lots of money.”
Now Ressler did yank on the handcuffs. “You son of a bitch! You had this arranged from the beginning, didn’t you? You wanted to learn where the Beekeeper was so you could pull off a weapons deal. You used us.”
“You make it sound sordid.” Reddington sighed. “Your presence will help matters, you know.”
“I’m not helping you,” Ressler snarled. “Aram, why aren’t you—?” But then he saw the handcuff on Aram’s wrist, the one clipping him to the steering wheel.
“Just insurance,” Reddington said. “Ah—our greeters seem to have arrived.”
The van had emerged at the bottom of the hill where the Hive had its headquarters, and the headlights swept over the cave’s main entrance. A dull ache started in the pit of Ressler’s stomach as armed drones poured out of the cave to surround the van.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ressler pulled harder at the handcuffs, then froze when the barrel of a rifle poked itself at his cheek through the open window. Aram kept his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes wide and unhappy.
“Good evening, gentlemen!” Reddington called from the back seat. “You may recognize me from the earlier unpleasantness after we entered the park. I’m here to clear thi
ngs up. Please be so kind as to tell Dr. Griffin that Raymond Reddington is here.”
“Reddington?” The Beekeeper pushed his way through the drones and settled his glasses more firmly on his nose. Mrs. Griffin stood a step behind him. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“A small misunderstanding, Benjamin,” Reddington said. “Your people opened fire on mine.”
“You were following the Bodysnatcher,” Dr. Griffin pointed out. “We assumed you were law enforcement.”
“Nothing of the sort!” Reddington chuckled. “Fortunately for you, I have a forgiving nature. Though I should probably tell you I have a sharpshooter named Dembe with an infra-red scope trained on the back of your head at this very moment. I’m forgiving, but far from forgetful.”
The Beekeeper touched the back of his head as if an insect had bitten him there, then brought his hand down. “What do you want, exactly?”
“I’ve brought your shipment of tributylamine,” Reddington said. “I believe you had an order in.”
“Not from you.”
“A minor shift in the market. But I’m pleased to offer it to you for a mere twenty percent hike in the price you agreed upon with your original vendor. I have expenses of my own to meet. A new car, for example.”
“What’s to prevent me from simply taking the tributylamine right now?” Dr. Griffin asked narrowly, and Ressler felt his scrotum shrivel.
“My sharpshooter, of course,” Reddington replied breezily. “And the fact that you want my good will.”
“I do?”
“Naturally. You intend to cleanse this entire area of human life so you can take it for yourself. Commendable. Everyone should have goals. But having isn’t the same as keeping, is it? Eventually, someone—your enemies—will try to take this away from you, and you’ll need more weapons than you currently have to hold the fort. I can supply them. Within twenty-four hours, I can get you enough to free a small South American country. Within forty-eight hours, you’ll have enough to rule the Middle East. Your enemies won’t be able to touch a hair on your head.”
“We can’t allow our enemies to come close,” Mrs. Griffin said. “They’re frightening!”
The Beekeeper thought about this. “You make a good point, Reddington. Let’s talk, then. And call off your sharpshooter.”
“Done.” Reddington made a sharp gesture to the empty air. “I also have a gift for you. Call it a good faith gesture. It’s in my delightfully broken-in vehicle here.”
In short order, the drones, including Pug, emptied the van of crates. When Pug uncuffed Ressler, using the keys Reddington gave him, and hauled him out as well, the Beekeeper inhaled sharply.
“This is the gift? That’s a strange way to treat one of your own men.”
“A wise man once told me never to let my personal feelings interfere with my own safety,” Reddington said. “Or with business. I would rather have your faith than his loyalty.”
“Son of a bitch,” Ressler said, struggling in Pug’s overwhelming grip. “I’ll kill you, Reddington.”
“That’s not nice!” Pug admonished.
“I can use that attitude in session,” the Beekeeper said. “You’ll be buzzing my praises in no time.” He opened his jacket and showed the row of hypodermics.
“What are you doing with him?” Aram demanded. He was being held by drones as well. “What are you doing with me?”
“I haven’t decided about you yet,” the Beekeeper said. “Perhaps you’ll join us. Once your conditioning is over, of course.”
“That one is still mine, Benjamin,” Reddington reminded him.
“But we have business, first,” the Beekeeper continued as if Reddington hadn’t spoken.
He spoke with one of the drones, who rushed away and returned moments later with a filing box, the kind used to store paper in an office. Someone threw a switch, and hidden lights illuminated the area, pushing back the gathering shadows. The Beekeeper removed the box lid and showed green bundles of money.
“I have to do everything in cash,” he said, “since it’s the devil’s own work to get an Internet signal through to a bank out here. This is the money we’d intended to pay the original buyer, plus the extra you asked for.”
“Excellent. Put it in the van, please,” Reddington said.
“And the tributylamine?”
Reddington said, “Before we get to that, I wanted to inquire after two other operatives of mine. A young woman and an older man?”
“They’re mine now, Reddington,” the Beekeeper said. “Both of them are part of my Hive.”
“Oh? I find that hard to believe, Benjamin. Even your methods have their limits,” Reddington said.
“Stuart Ivy, come forth,” the Beekeeper said, and one of the drones pulled off his mask, revealing Stuart’s face. “Stuart, Mr. Reddington will be staying with us for a short time while we work out some business. I’ll give you a choice I have never given any of my children. When he goes, you can leave with him, or stay with us. Which do you want?”
“I want to stay,” Stuart said promptly.
“This isn’t a trick, Stuart,” the Beekeeper said kindly. “We want you to go. We’ll give you a hundred thousand dollars if you do.”
“Are you throwing me out of the Hive?” Stuart sounded desperate. He dropped to both knees in front of the Beekeeper and tears sprang to his eyes. “Please! Don’t make me leave! We are the Hive!”
“We are the Hive!” said everyone else.
“There, there.” The Beekeeper raised Stuart up and kissed him on both cheeks. “Of course we don’t want you to go, Stuart. You’re one of our best workers, and our wisest.”
“Thank you, sir,” Stuart sniffed. “Thank you.”
“Yay!” said Pug.
“You see, Reddington?” the Beekeeper asked. “No one leaves. No one wants to.”
“I’m fascinated,” Reddington said without emotion. “Do you suppose I could have a word with Stuart some time later? I would take it as another favor—and offer a discount on a future shipment.”
“Nothing would please us more,” said the Beekeeper magnanimously, and his presence filled the area before the cavern until the trees themselves seemed to bend out of his way. “Stuart, put your mask back on and rejoin the others. When we’re done here, meet Mr. Reddington in the main cavern. We are the Hive.”
“We are the Hive!” Stuart said, pulling on his mask.
“We are the Hive!”
“Now what about the young woman?” Reddington said.
“Elizabeth Keen! Come forward!”
Ressler gasped as another anonymous drone removed her mask, revealing Keen. Her dark hair was disheveled, and worry bags darkened her eyes, but her expression was resolute. Ressler tried to read Reddington’s face, but the man’s expression was a mask.
“We offer you the same choice, Elizabeth,” the Beekeeper said. “Freely given. You may stay here with us in the Hive. Or you may go back to your employer Raymond Reddington. To that, we will add the same bonus we offered Stuart, and one more thing.” He smiled benevolently. “We know something about your father. A secret Mr. Reddington has been keeping from you. If you leave, we will tell it to you.”
Reddington’s face remained stony. Ressler’s bones were tight with tension. Keen looked at the Beekeeper, then at Reddington.
“The babies,” she said at last, her voice barely audible. “I won’t leave the babies. We are the Hive!”
“We are the Hive!”
“Oh god,” Aram murmured.
“Yay!” said Pug.
Nausea roiled in Ressler’s stomach. He tried to catch Keen’s eye, but all he saw was a blank, empty stare. Jesus. He had gotten to her after all.
“You see?” the Beekeeper said. “The military was foolish to kick me to the curb. They’ll pay for that, in fact. And speaking of paying, I believe I’ve paid you a large sum of money for some tributylamine?”
Face still a mask, Reddington strolled to the heavy plastic crates, each
of which was topped with a keypad and fingerprint scanner. Reddington punched in a code and allowed the scanner to read his prints. There was a hiss, and the first crate popped open. Reddington pointedly stepped back until one of the drones, realizing he’d been cued, came forward and reached inside.
Right, Ressler thought sourly. Reddington won’t even stoop to labor as common as unpack a weapon for a multi-million dollar client.
The drone came up with a single canister with a nozzle on the end.
“That’s it?” Ressler said without thinking.
“It doesn’t take much,” the Beekeeper said, and gestured again. A drone brought forth a canister the size of a can of soup. Another brought a helicopter drone and a remote control device. “Masks!”
Most of the drones were already wearing masks, giving Ressler the impression he was standing in a swarm of human bees. Those who weren’t wearing theirs quickly pulled them on. Someone handed one to Reddington. Nobody gave one to Ressler or Aram. Ressler’s ribs tightened around his heart. What the hell were they up to?
Two more drones made their way through the crowd. They were dragging something. A moment later, Ressler saw it was John the Bodysnatcher. He had a black eye, and dried blood crusted his chin. He seemed only half awake.
Mrs. Griffin watched him closely. Her hair was pulled into its bun, and she blinked rapidly, as if she couldn’t quite decide what she wanted to do. Her gaze lit on her husband, and she wandered closer to him. The drones hauling John, meanwhile, flung him to the ground at the Beekeeper’s feet. Someone gave Mrs. Griffin a mask, and she pulled it on, becoming another anonymous drone, except for her gray dress. Ressler scanned the assemblage. Where was Keen? And Stuart, for that matter? He had lost track of them in the swarm. They had to be here somewhere, though they could be anyone in those damned masks. Everyone looked alike, everyone looked the same.
“One attempt at escape, the Hive can forgive,” the Beekeeper said. He connected the two canisters and pressed a button. There was a hiss. The Beekeeper tossed the tributylamine canister aside, racked the sarin canister into the helicopter drone, and flicked the switches on the control. The drone whirred to life. It buzzed around the assembled crowd, then dove down toward John the Bodysnatcher. Ressler watched in horror.
The Blacklist--The Beekeeper No. 159 Page 19