Endgame

by Dee Davis

  "But people died because of you." The words were out before Madison could stop them.

  Nigel turned to her, his expression scornful. "So what are you, fucking Pollyanna? In our world winning costs, dear. A couple of lives is nothing at all, believe me. I'd have thought you were made of sterner stuff."

  Anger flared, and then she saw a flicker of regret in his eyes. Nigel was posturing. Making the most of a very bad situation. She refrained from answering. Whatever he said now was purely in defense, and she'd not let him goad her into a response.

  "Well, the game's up now." She could have just imagined it, but she thought that she heard an additional edge of anger in Gabriel's voice. "And we need to know what all you've done."

  "If I tell you, I'll be handing you victory. And I don't think that's exactly in my best interests, do you?" Nigel had regained at least a semblance of calm.

  "Damn it, Nigel, cut your losses. Tell us what you know, and we'll make sure you're safely on British soil before the brass hears about this."

  "Cullen Pulaski?" Nigel's laugh was more like a hiss. "I hardly think I need to fear him."

  "Don't underestimate the man," Gabriel said, his eyes shooting sparks now. "And don't underestimate me."

  Nigel blanched, his face suddenly pale beneath his tan. "Are you threatening me?"

  "Let's just say I'm calling in all favors."

  "This accord means that much to you?" He frowned as he tried to understand. Then he shot a look at Madison, a small smile playing at his lips. "Or is it her? Has she brought out a streak of decency? Imagine that—after all these years." The smile turned to a sneer. "I'd have never pegged you for a sap, Gabe."

  Gabriel's fists clenched, and Madison willed him to see Nigel's words for what they were—bravado and bluster.

  "It's about honor among friends, Nigel. That's why we're even having this discussion," Payton said, obviously sensing the impending explosion, and cutting it off before it could begin. "We were under the mistaken notion that we owed you this much. I'm beginning to think we were wrong."

  "You hacked into the system and left the trail to Virginia," Harrison said, cutting through the building tension to bring things back to the issue at hand. "What I need to know is what else you did to the system."

  "Nothing that you haven't already found," Nigel said. "That was the whole point, and you performed admirably—beyond expectation, actually. Which is more than I can say for Payton." He shot a wry look in the other man's direction. "I hadn't counted on you remembering the attempted assassination. I assumed you had your mind on more mercenary objectives."

  "And Lin Yao didn't help matters, did he?" Payton asked, his tone light, belying the anger reflected in his eyes.

  "Well at first he played into my hands, actually, but then in your usual thorough manner you managed to throw things off, but I rallied with that bit of intelligence. You'll have to give me credit for that much." They might as well have been discussing the home farm over tea.

  "Enough with the recap," Gabriel boomed. "I need to know what else you've done."

  "I think you've managed to nail it all, old boy." Again the English accent was put on a bit thick, as if it were a shield; but then again, maybe it was.

  "What about Schmidt?" she asked.

  "What about him?" Nigel turned his banal gaze on her. "I've already said I didn't kill him."

  "Did you see the killer?"

  "No. And I would tell you that." His eyes softened ever so slightly. "I was sorry about your friend Jeremy."

  Madison bit back a retort. There was no guarantee that they could have stopped his murder even if Nigel had played fair. "How about at the first apartment—the ghost?"

  "Me, I'm afraid." Nigel grimaced. "Left a print, too. Al-though so far, Payton, you've missed calling it."

  "You wanted us to think someone was there." Madison was speaking to herself as much as Nigel, but he re-sponded anyway.

  "That was the general idea. Look, I was just supposed to keep you distracted. Let things take their own course." His gaze met Madison's. "Even if people had to die. As I said, it's the price of doing business."

  "Well, the cost is too high." She knew she sounded priggish, but there had to be a line, didn't there?

  "Maybe." For a moment Nigel lost his buoyancy, his face almost gray, the strain obvious. "But it wasn't my choice to make."

  "What about the LUDs?"

  "That was easy." He waved his hand in dismissal. "You wanted information fast. So you didn't really question it." Again he shot a look at Madison. "Except you."

  "But I didn't know."

  "Yes, you did. I saw it in your face." He smiled. "The pieces of the puzzle just weren't in place yet."

  It was an odd compliment, but she accepted it with a nod, feeling like she'd fallen down the rabbit hole along with Alice.

  "So where does this leave us?" Harrison asked, clearly as perplexed by the situation as she was.

  "It leaves me on a plane home, I suspect." Nigel shrugged. "And it leaves the rest of you a tad off your game. But I've no fear that you'll put it all right in no time. After all, the pieces are still the same, you just need to reassemble them—throwing out the bits I added, of course."

  "You'll need to talk to Cullen. Tell him what you've done." Payton sounded as if he'd rather pull teeth. Which wasn't a bad analogy, really.

  "Not me, mate. I'll exercise my right to a get-out-of-jail-free card. I'll not deny any of it if pressed, but I won't talk until I'm safe on British soil, as you so eloquently put it, Gabe." He stood up, straightening his collar and tie, his image as dapper Englishman restored.

  "You've already packed, I take it?" Gabriel asked, his face still shrouded with a combination of frustration and anger.

  "In the likely event that I'd need a fast getaway, I never really unpacked. And with the night's baby-sitters—" he tilted bis head toward Harrison and Payton "—the writing seemed to be on the proverbial wall. So I guess this is it." He stuck his hand out. "All's fair and all that?"

  Gabe ignored his hand, and refrained from comment.

  Nigel's face tightened at the affront. "So it's to be like that, is it?"

  Gabriel's gaze met hers, and she tried for encouraging, but wasn't sure if she succeeded. There simply wasn't an easy fix for a situation like this. And despite the fact that she abhorred what Nigel had done, she also could see the strain between the three men, and understand their pain.

  "Right, then." Nigel dropped his hand. "I'll just be off." And with his head held high, he walked out of the room.

  Silence followed, heavy like a blanket or the first fall of snow. And Madison shivered in its wake.

  "So he just gets away with it?" Harrison said, his voice not much more than a whisper.

  "He'll be reprimanded. I called Langley this morning. They'll have already begun negotiations with the British. There'll at least be an attempt to save face. Nigel will get the brunt of it no doubt." His face was impassive, but the muscle in his cheek was ticking again.

  "He was lucky you let it go at that," Payton said.

  The two men exchanged glances, then Gabriel turned to face the window. "We need to reconsider the facts and come up with a new theory. And then we'll have to present it all to Cullen."

  "I can do that," Madison said, determined to shoulder some of the burden. "He'll listen to me."

  "We'll do it together." Gabriel turned around with a sigh, lines of exhaustion creasing his face. "But first let's figure out where the hell we are. There's still a murderer out there, and we've got to find him."

  "If it isn't the Chinese, then who the hell are we looking lor? We've already identified at least twenty-five groups that have reason to want the accord to fail." Payton stood up to stretch, his attention still on the white board, and the list of names they'd written.

  "Well, we know it wasn't Ernhardt Schmidt, and that could possibly rule out any of the groups he worked for," Madison offered.

  She looked as tired as Gabe felt. What he'd
like to do was pick her up and carry her away from all of this. To take her to bed and never come out again. But he couldn't allow himself to deviate from the mission. He needed to stay focused.

  "Right," Harrison was concurring. "We found a Walther WA2000 in his apartment, along with enough ammo to blow away half of New York."

  "But Jeremy's killer used a lighter gun," Payton said. "Maybe an M-16 or a Bushmaster. The cartridge was .223."

  "And Schmidt's rifle takes .300 Win Mag," Gabriel finished.

  "Isn't the Bushmaster the gun that was used by the Washington sniper?" Madison asked, her nose scrunched up in thought.

  "Yeah. I think so, why?" Harrison turned to look at her, recognizing as Gabe did that she'd come to a conclusion.

  "Well, it's probably nothing. But consider Schmidt. We're all agreed he's a pro, right?" She waited for everyone to nod, then continued. "And he had a Walther—what was it?"

  "WA2000. One of the best sniper rifles made." Gabriel was watching her now with interest.

  "Exactly. And expensive no doubt," she said.

  "Something along the lines of ten grand, I'd guess, without any modifications." Payton looked to Gabriel for concurrence. He nodded, keeping his attention on Madison.

  "So on the one hand we have a professional killer, with a ten-thousand-dollar rifle and on the other we have a murder committed with a six-hundred-dollar rifle that could have been bought at almost any gun store in America."

  "So what are you saying?" Harrison frowned, trying to follow her logic.

  "Well, it's certainly not Schmidt. Even if we didn't have other evidence, I'd have to go off the gun itself. Professional killers rarely change their choice of weapon. Stock-in-trade and all that. And they certainly don't use garden-variety weapons."

  "So you're saying the killer wasn't a pro? But if that's true how did he managed to off Schmidt?"

  "That's a bit of a puzzle, but leaving that aside for the moment. I think we can safely say that we're not dealing with a highly trained professional. Which could mean two Ihings. First, the person who hired our killer doesn't have or doesn't want to spend top dollar. And second, he quite possibly doesn't have the expertise or contacts to hire someone of Schmidt's caliber."

  "It's easy to hire a hit man, but quite another thing to find a mercenary. Is that what you're getting at?"

  "Yes." She nodded, shooting him a smile. "And that tells us something about our killer. He's not organized at an international level. He has enough money to hire someone but isn't willing to take it to the level of someone like Schmidt. And none of that sounds to me like organized dissidents or terrorists."

  "So what is it?" Payton asked, his frustration cresting.

  "I don't know. But I think we need to take another look at our victims. Maybe in the wake of Nigel's deception we've been on the wrong track. Maybe there's something else. Something besides the accord that links them together."

  "It's worth a shot." Gabriel trusted her instincts. He'd seen them in action on more than one occasion.

  He'd like to believe he would have eventually come to the same conclusions she had about Nigel, but the fact remained she got there first, and she was dead-on. And with sudden conviction, he had a gut-level feeling that she was right this time, as well.

  "Harrison, let's dig deeper into their lives. Everything you can find about them. They're all public figures, it shouldn't be hard to put together a complete dossier. We're looking for commonalities. Anything in their pasts that might make them the target of this kind of violence. Pay-ton, you help him. And in the meantime, Madison and I will go break the news to Cullen."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  "So you just let him walk away?" Cullen's voice was pitched so low, it was almost impossible to hear him, the vein beating at his temple threatening any second to explode. Gabe had to hand it to him, he was reacting bet-ter than expected. Or at least managing a modicum of control.

  "Yes."

  He waited for the explosion, but instead, Cullen sank down into his chair, releasing a long sigh. "But he says he didn't kill this Ernhardt Schmidt."

  "And I believe him." Gabe shrugged, not interested in discussing the ins and outs of Nigel's defection.

  "But he's your friend." Kingston spit the word out as if it were a curse. "Why should we believe you?"

  "Because ballistics backs him up," Madison said. She was sitting on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, her gaze encompassing both Kingston and Cullen. "Nigel carries a 9 mm Beretta. He had it out when we found him with Schmidt. But the slugs they got out of Candace Patterson and Ernhardt Schmidt were .38s. No match. He didn't kill Schmidt."

  "Well, if he hadn't already been dead, Nigel would have killed him," Kingston stated, stubbornly sticking to the point.

  "Probably," Gabe said, fighting against his anger, not willing to divulge anything more. Whatever had happened between the two of them, it stayed there. He shot a glance at Madison, hoping she'd understand.

  "It doesn't really matter. Whatever his intentions were, they've been thwarted." The hint of a smile played at her lips and then was gone. As usual they were communicating on a level separate from the others. Like a team. And he couldn't deny that it felt really good.

  "Which, unless I'm missing something here, leaves us back at the beginning." Cullen reached for a small ball on his desk and began to squeeze it. "Everything we've gathered in the way of evidence is now shot to hell."

  "Something like that." Madison shrugged, working to convey a sense of nonchalance Gabe knew she was far from feeling. "Anyway, it's not all a wash. We've got the correct information now, and we're trying to rethink the issue. It's looking like maybe something beyond the accord is motivating our killer."

  "That makes absolutely no sense at all," Kingston said, jumping up from his chair. "Of course it's the accord. Every one of the people murdered held a key role in the negotiations. How could it be anything else?" His face was turning red, his anger apparent for all to see.

  "I tend to agree." Cullen's voice was calmer, but no less concerned. "It just doesn't make sense for it to be anything else."

  "We haven't dismissed the idea that the deaths are tied to the negotiations," Gabe assured them. "But we have to explore all the options."

  "I suppose so," Kingston said, taking his seat again. "I didn't mean to yell. It's just all so frustrating. Like waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I can tell you right now being on the hit list isn't helping matters any."

  "I assume you've taken additional precautions?" Gabe asked. If Kingston's outburst was anything to judge by, the man probably had an army of bodyguards 24/7.

  "Of course." He waved a hand in dismissal. "Cullen, too. I doubt anyone could get to us, but then I'd have thought the others were safe, too."

  "I don't think anyone is really safe, Kingston." This from Madison, who was obviously thinking of Jeremy.

  "It wasn't your fault, Madison." Cullen leaned over to pat her hand. "You did what you could."

  She nodded her agreement, but Gabe knew she wasn't agreeing at all, merely putting an end to the conversation.

  "Have you ruled out Chinese dissidents?" Cullen asked, ludiciously changing the subject.

  "More or less. We're still making some inquiries, but it isn't looking likely. We've also ruled out the groups Schmidt usually works with. Since he was here, it would seem likely he would have been our man if one of his usual employers was involved."

  "And you're sure it wasn't him?" Kingston asked.

  "Absolutely," Madison said. "Again it's a matter of ballistics. Ernhardt favored a Walther WA2000. We found it at the apartment. Our killer uses .223 cartridges."

  "He could have changed weapons," Kingston offered, but didn't sound convinced. "I mean he's used both a rifle and a handgun."

  "True." Gabe shook his head. "But most mercenaries tend to get pretty comfortable with their weapons. Kind of like a violinist and his violin. It's almost a signature. And since being caught isn't the norm, Schmidt wouldn't worry
much about it being a tip-off."

  "But someone found him and killed him. If he knew he was being hunted, maybe that would warrant the change in M.O.?" Cullen leaned forward, obviously interested.

  "Still no go." Gabe leaned back against the bookcase. "The guy was killed in his bed, which means he had no idea anyone was on to him. Otherwise he'd have been watching. Between that and ballistics, I'd say we can rule Ernhardt out."

  "So you think the real killer is the one who shot him?" Kingston frowned.

  "It seems probable," Madison answered. "If it was our killer though, it would mean he's getting inside information. No one else knew we were even chasing Schmidt."

  "Nigel," Cullen spat.

  "It's possible," Gabe acquiesced. "But not likely. If Ni-gel'd been in contact with the actual killer, then he wouldn't have needed to try and kill Schmidt himself."

  "I thought you weren't sure?" Cullen's eyes narrowed shrewdly.

  "I said probably." He shrugged, pretending he didn't care, knowing Cullen saw right through him.

  "The point is, it doesn't make sense to assume that Nigel was the leak." Madison neatly turned the conversation away back where it belonged.

  "Then who is?" Kingston's question was for Cullen.

  "No one here. I can guarantee that. But we haven't exactly been keeping our operation a secret. Hell, the press has been nosing around here for days. Anyone could have found out with a little effort."

  "Maybe." Gabe wasn't really buying into the idea, but until they had more information he wasn't ready to speculate, either.

  "What about the killer?" Cullen asked, "Are you still thinking there's more than one?"

  Madison nodded. "It fits the pattern. Particularly il we're talking about someone with the desire to cause havoc with the accord."

  "And if it proves to be something else altogether?" Kingston shifted in his chair to look at her.

  Madison shot a look at Gabe, and he returned a slight nod. At this point it didn't seem worth the effort to try and hold their cards, especially with Cullen and Kingston.

  "Then it could be one killer. If this is emotionally motivated, variation in M.O. isn't as unusual. There's a lack of planning. A tendency to act in the moment with materials at hand."