“This is it, isn’t it?” I say, and before I can say another word, I hear a click behind me, a gun being cocked.
I go completely still. Someone entered, and I didn’t hear. We didn’t lock the door behind Matt, did we?
Yury’s craning his neck around me to face the door. His eyes are glued on something, someone, whoever just entered. There’s recognition on his face. A slow smile creeping to his lips. And it sends panic shooting through me. I’m going to die. I’m going to die here, right here, right now.
I’m frozen in place, waiting for the shot. I can’t bring myself to turn around, to see the person who’s going to kill me.
Yury’s smile is even bigger now. I see his teeth, crooked on one side, yellowed. He opens his mouth to speak. “Hello, Peter. It’s good to see you.”
—
PETER.
I hear the name, but it doesn’t seem real. It can’t be, can it? I turn around, slowly. Pleated pants, loafers, glasses—and a revolver pointed right at me. Peter. Instinctively I drop my pistol, raise my hands, back away from him.
Omar said there was a mole in CIC, someone who worked with me. Yury said they had someone with access to Athena. I should have connected the dots.
But Peter? Peter?
“Vivian, I think you know Peter?” Yury says, and starts laughing, a crazy, manic laugh. He’s enjoying this.
My eyes are still on Peter. He lowers the gun to his side, his arm at an awkward angle, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
“Those search results you took, Vivian?” Yury says. “I told you they didn’t matter. Because our friend Peter here has another copy. Don’t you, Peter?”
“How could you?” I whisper, ignoring Yury, my focus entirely on Peter.
He blinks at me, says nothing.
“I have to say, your timing is wonderful,” Yury goes on. “I was just talking about you.”
Peter’s eyes don’t leave mine. I’m not sure he heard what Yury said. “When you didn’t show up this morning, Vivian, I had a feeling you might be here,” Peter says.
Peter’s the mole. He’s been working for the Russians, helping them blackmail me. “How could you?” I say again.
He pushes his glasses up with the index finger of his free hand, opens his mouth to speak, shuts it again. Clears his throat. “Katherine.”
Katherine. Of course Katherine. Katherine’s the only thing that mattered to Peter more than his job, his country. He pulls his glasses off, uses the back of his other hand—the one with the gun—to swipe his eyes. The gun flails, the barrel pointing in all directions. I’m not sure he even remembers he’s holding it. And his finger’s still on the trigger.
“That clinical trial…,” he says, putting his glasses back on, adjusting them on the bridge of his nose. “She didn’t get in.”
Didn’t get in? I stare at him, need him to continue. In the chair behind me, Yury is silent.
“She had a couple of months to live, at most. There’s no way to describe what that’s like, hearing that news….” His voice wobbles. He shakes his head, clears his throat. “One day she was fine. We had the rest of our lives to look forward to. And the next day, that news. Two more months.”
I feel a pang of sympathy for him, one that very quickly dissipates. This isn’t Peter, my mentor, my friend. This is someone standing in front of me with a gun, ready to kill me.
He blinks, refocuses on me. “Then someone showed up at my door. One of them.” He nods at Yury. His voice stays flat. “Promised to get us the drugs from the trial, if I’d work for them.”
“So you did it,” I say.
He shrugs, a hopeless shrug. There’s shame in his gesture. At least there’s that. “I knew it was wrong. Of course I did. But he was offering the most valuable thing in the world to me. Time. Time with the one person who meant everything to me. How can you put a price on that? How can you say no to that?”
He’s pleading, like he needs me to understand, to forgive him. And in a way, I do. As much as I hate to admit it, I do. They hit him where he was most vulnerable. They did the same to me, didn’t they?
“I never told Katherine. She wouldn’t have let me do it. I told her that they let her into the trial after all. I vowed that when it was all over, I’d come clean. I’d tell security exactly what I’d told the Russians. I’d right every wrong I’d committed.”
A rush of something surges through me. Hope? It’s over now, isn’t it? Katherine’s gone. “The drugs worked, for a while.” Yury’s listening with rapt attention, like he’s hearing all this for the first time, too. “Then he gave me the flash drive. Told me to load it on to the computer in the Restricted Access room.” Peter pushes the glasses up on his nose. “I refused. Telling them about Marta’s drinking, or Trey’s boyfriend, that’s one thing. But giving them access to our systems…to the identities of covert agents, Russians who are working for us…there’s no way I could do that.”
Peter’s jaw clenches tight. “He threatened to cut off her drugs. And then he did it. She died four weeks later.”
My mouth opens and a rush of air escapes. My heart goes out to him once more, imagining the agony of those weeks, knowing what his decision cost them both. And then a newfound surge of hatred for these people. These monsters.
“They think I won’t say anything,” Peter goes on. “They think there’s no way I’d go to the authorities now, because I’d guarantee myself a place in prison for the rest of my life. What they don’t realize is that my life isn’t really worth living anymore.”
Yury looks like he’s been hit. Stunned, speechless.
Peter ignores him. There are tears in his eyes. “I didn’t want to go on, but I had to. I had to fix what I’d done.” His voice quivers. “Especially what I’d done to you.”
“To me?” I breathe.
“I told them we were almost into Yury’s laptop. My guess is that’s when they loaded Matt’s picture on, for you to find.”
It makes sense. That would explain why the files weren’t encrypted. Why it was photographs, nothing more. It was a setup.
They knew exactly how I’d act. That I wouldn’t turn Matt in. That they’d be able to manipulate me. They knew it, even when I didn’t.
“I’m responsible for getting you into this,” Peter says quietly.
I should say something, but I don’t know what, can’t find the words. This is too much to process right now.
And then I see Peter’s eyes focus on something behind me. A mask of fear settles over his face.
“Drop the gun,” I hear. Matt’s voice.
I turn, and there he is, standing at the edge of the living room. Beyond him, I can see that the door leading from the kitchen to the patio is ajar. He snuck in through the back. A pistol is in his hand, by his side. His gaze is locked on Peter.
There’s a dull pounding in my head, like none of this can really be happening, none of it makes sense. He shouldn’t be here. He should be at school, picking up our son, keeping him safe. “Where’s Luke?” I ask. “Why are you back already?”
He doesn’t look at me. I’m not sure he even heard me.
“Matt, where’s Luke?”
“I called your parents. They’re getting him.”
How did he know my parents were at the house? And why didn’t he go himself? None of this is right. “Why?” I manage to ask.
“They’re closer. They’d get there faster.” He holds my gaze, his expression soothing. “They were glad to help. And I couldn’t leave you here alone. Go on, Peter. Continue.”
But Peter is silent. His hands are clasped in front of him, the revolver on the floor at his feet. I look over at Yury, who’s taking it all in. The fear I’d seen just moments ago is gone, replaced with the smug look that terrifies me, even though I’m too confused to understand exactly why.
Matt speaks again. “Continue.” His voice is brittle.
“Yury’s right, Vivian. I downloaded the search results before the systems reset. I’m the r
eason they’re blackmailing you.” Peter’s expression hardens. “But he’s wrong about something. I didn’t keep a copy.” He reaches into his front pocket, and Matt raises his gun.
“Matt, stop,” I say. I can hear the panic in my voice.
“It’s okay,” Peter says. He’s already pulled something out of his pocket, something small. “It’s just this.” He holds out a flash drive, dangling from a silver key ring. I stare at it, watch it sway back and forth, suspended in the air, and wait for him to explain. There has to be an explanation. I trust him. He’s been my mentor for years.
“It’s the pictures you found, minus Matt’s. That’s all I kept.” He extends the flash drive out to me. “There’s no evidence you’ve ever seen them. Nothing they can use to blackmail you.”
Peter takes a step closer to me, the drive still suspended from one hand. “Do what you want with this, and with the identity of the fifth sleeper.” He casts a quick glance at Matt. “I trust you’ll make the right decision, Vivian, whatever that is. But they’re not going to manipulate you the way they did me.”
I pull my eyes from him to the drive. Then I reach for it, take it from him. Matt’s watching me, his expression unreadable. Peter’s words keep ringing in my head. I trust you’ll make the right decision, Vivian, whatever that is.
I look down at the gun in Matt’s hand. My mind flashes back to the shoe box in our closet, to finding the empty space where it had once been hidden. And then realization hits.
“You had a gun this whole time.” The words come out before I can process them, filter them.
“What?”
“Why didn’t you shoot Yury? Why did you stay?”
“Jesus, Viv, are you serious?”
“You said you weren’t sure if you could take him. But you had a gun.”
“I’m not a killer.” He looks incredulous. “And what good would it have done?”
“He threatened our son. He brought you Luke’s backpack.”
I watch the emotion on his face morph into hurt. “My God, Vivian, what’s it going to take for you to trust me?”
I can’t answer that. We stare at each other, unblinking, and I see his jaw tighten, his nostrils flare, just the smallest bit.
A sound pulls my attention away. Yury is chuckling. “This is better than the movies,” he says with a laugh. He believes Matt’s on his side. The revelation hits me like a slap, leaves me feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of me.
And then Yury’s smile vanishes, just like that. His face becomes like stone. “The boy dies tomorrow,” he says, his eyes burning into mine. The words draw all the air out of the room, they’re so unexpected, so terrible. “If you don’t do this, Luke dies tomorrow.”
There’s no doubt in my mind that he means it. Suddenly it’s just me and him, this man who intends to kill my child. I’m paralyzed, can’t tear my eyes away from his face.
“And then another one after that. Ella, maybe.” There’s a look in his eyes now that makes my stomach turn. “Although she’s growing into quite a pretty girl. I might save her for last. Start with the twins, let her get a little older first…”
My vision’s blurring, all the strength in my body gone. I manage to turn toward Matt, the only person who could possibly understand the depth of my terror right now. I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a strangled, anguished plea.
Something changes in his face. A look of resolve settles over it, and inexplicably, I know what’s coming. I watch Matt lift his gun.
And then there’s a shot.
—
MY EARS RING; everything is muffled, fuzzy. The blast reverberates in my head. I blink, try to focus. This isn’t real. This can’t be real. Matt drops the gun. His hands fly up in front of him, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. There’s a look on his face I’ve never seen before. Revulsion and disbelief, like he had no idea he was capable of what he just did. He takes a gasping breath, then another.
Yury’s slumped in his chair, head lowered. Blood darkens the center of his shirt, creeping, staining it at the edges, even as I watch.
Reality hits me a moment later. Matt just killed someone. My husband just took someone’s life. A monster’s life, but a life just the same.
“You need to leave,” I hear. Peter’s voice. I can barely hear him through the ringing in my ears, the hammering of my heart. “The Bureau’s been on my tail. They’ll be in here any minute.”
The FBI. Here. Oh my God.
“You need to leave,” Peter says again, this time with more urgency. He reaches down, picks up Matt’s gun.
I need to leave. But I can’t move.
And then there’s a sound behind me, pounding. A loud blow, then another, and then the door bursts open. Figures in dark tactical gear enter, crouched low, rifles raised and aimed. They’re shouting. “FBI! Hands in the air!”
I raise my arms high above me. I see the vests, the large block letters. The barrels of the rifles, pointing at Peter, at me.
Just Peter and me. Matt’s gone.
“Drop your weapon!”
I look at the agents, and there’s a face I recognize. Omar. He’s aiming at Peter, yelling. They’re all yelling.
“Drop the gun! Drop the gun!”
Matt’s gun is still in Peter’s hand, at his side, that awkward tilt of the arm. I can’t read his face. There’s more yelling, more instructions to put the gun down, put hands in the air. Then I hear Peter’s voice over them: “Let me talk. Let me talk.”
The yelling quiets. The agents go still, each in a shooting stance, arms extended straight in front, guns aimed—two at Peter, one at me. Peter sees it, too. “She’s done nothing wrong,” he says. He’s calm, astonishingly calm. “She’s here because of me. I needed her to hear me explain.”
The gun stays trained on me.
“It’s okay, she’s one of us,” Omar says. After the slightest hesitation, the barrel swings away from me.
“Peter, drop your weapon,” he orders.
“I need to talk.” Peter shakes his head. “I need you to listen.” The glasses have slid down his nose again, but this time he doesn’t slide them back up, just tilts his head down, looks over them. “I did this,” he continues, gesturing to the chair with his empty hand. “I killed this man. Yury Yakov. He’s a Russian agent.” His eyes are full of desperation. “I worked for him. I’m the mole.”
Omar looks stunned. My eyes dart back to the gun in Peter’s hand. “I told the Russians about my coworkers. I’m the reason Marta and Trey were pitched. Maybe others, too. I told them we were investigating Yury. That we were about to gain access to his computer.” His forehead is damp; light’s reflecting off the sweat, glistening there. “And then I inserted a USB drive into the computer in the Restricted Access room. I erased the search history from Agency servers.”
I suck in a breath. I think back to that day, to bumping into him at the door. He knew. And now he’s confessing to it. Protecting me.
And then the truth hits me: There’s a reason he’s confessing to everything right now, right here. There’s a reason he hasn’t dropped the gun. “No!” I scream. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes still on me. Then he raises the gun.
I see it happen, hear it happen. Yelling. A hail of bullets. Peter, sagging to the floor in front of me, blood flowering out around him.
Screaming, a dull sound at first, louder as my hearing returns, until I realize that it’s coming from me.
I sit on the couch in Yury’s living room, perched on the edge, my hands gripping the cushions on either side of me—overstuffed, drab brown fabric. There’s a wail of police sirens outside, several of them, out of sync, a grating symphony. Flashing lights, too; they cast a pattern on the wall, a little show of dancing blue and crimson splotches. I watch it, because otherwise I’d look at the sheet that covers Peter’s body, and I can’t do that.
Omar’s beside me, close but not too close. I can feel his eyes on me. His, and those of the other agents
in the apartment, the host of others that have now swarmed in. They’re tagging, photographing, milling about and talking, stealing glances my way.
I think that Omar’s waiting for me to speak first, and I’m doing the same. Waiting to hear him Mirandize me. I’m intensely aware of the folded printouts in my waistband, the evidence that would get me locked away for the rest of my life.
“Can I get you anything?” he finally says. “Water?”
I shake my head. My eyes are still on the lights on the wall. I’m trying to sort through everything that’s happened, trying to make sense of it all. I have the hard copy of the evidence, and Peter destroyed the backup. Yury’s dead; he can’t accuse me of anything. And Peter confessed to my worst mistake—inserting the flash drive.
“We’re going to have to talk about this, you know,” Omar says, his voice gentle.
I nod, my mind working. Is he asking me as a friend and colleague? Or as a suspect? I could pretend I just found out that Matt’s a sleeper, that Yury told me. Let the Bureau look into it. It’s a chance to make things right. To turn Matt in, like I should have the very first day this began. He’d understand. It’s what he told me to do, to begin with.
Luke dies tomorrow. But if I don’t insert the flash drive, they’ll go after Luke. I have no idea who’s threatening him, and I can’t tell the FBI about it without telling them everything, implicating myself. I can’t get thrown in jail when Luke’s in danger like this. I don’t trust the Bureau to find the guy who’s threatening him. Not in time.
“Could you start by telling me why you’re here?” Omar presses.
I look away, and without thinking my eyes land on the sheet covering Peter. Omar follows my gaze, then nods, like I’ve just answered his question. “That call the other day. Was it from him?”
My eyes stay on the sheet. I’m not sure how to answer. I need a story that fits with everything that happened. I need time to figure that out, and I’m out of time.
“Or Yury?”
I blink. What would make the most sense? What did I tell him about the call? I struggle to remember. Someone’s wrapped up in it…someone who’s important to me.
Need to Know Page 21