by Scott Blade
“But they’ll kill you!”
He said, “I’m sorry. You go. Go now!”
She begged, “Let it go, Widow! Come with me!”
“If I leave them alive and someone else dies, I’ll never live with myself. No. This ends here and now. My way,” he said and took a step back. “Now go! Keep going till you find a town! Call Cameron and the FBI. Don’t trust the local cops. Get them here!”
She looked down at the steering wheel and then back up into his eyes.
She said, “You’re a great man, Jack Widow. I like you! And I want to see you again! Come back to me! Come back to me alive!”
He leaned down and kissed her. Then he shifted to stand back up again. She grabbed him by the collar. They kissed one more time.
Widow smiled and said, “I got your number.”
Gray hit the gas and peeled out of the garage. The tires squealed and smoked the air, and she was gone like a Formula racer. The Lotus left black tire marks.
She raced down the driveway and the long winding road and past the fiery police cruiser and the guards and the golf carts. She crashed through the gate.
Widow heard the gate and metal crash in the distance. He watched as the Lotus’s taillights faded away.
Sixty-Five
Widow went over to a utility box in the garage. He wrenched it open and shut off the power to the house. Then he walked back into the kitchen. He skipped the kitchen and went straight to the main room. It was a huge grand living room with a double staircase to match. He waited and saw no one. He walked up the stairs and saw no one.
At the top of the stairs were two long hallways; each led into darkness. The halls had more gold trim and crown molding and high ceilings and expensive everything. He saw a dim light down the left corridor. He followed it, keeping the MP5 out and ready to kill. He checked every door and every room that he passed. Everything was empty: empty bedrooms, an empty home theater, and an empty closet that was the size of a bedroom.
The left corridor led to the west wing of the house. He followed it until he heard voices. He ended up at a heavy oak door. It was ajar, and a light came out of the crack. He kicked it open, and it creaked on old hinges.
He entered a massive study or library or den or a whole other apartment. He wasn’t sure.
Inside the room was another twenty-foot ceiling. There was a massive stone fireplace with a large fire roaring in the pit. It crackled and buzzed with life.
A stuffed grizzly bear stood in a far corner, next to a set of French doors that led out to a massive balcony. There were taxidermied animals of all types mounted on the walls. In one corner, he saw a huge striped tiger. It was as big as the bear. It was stuffed in an attack pose like it was about to leap on the back of an elephant and maul it to death.
There were elk heads and deer heads and pronghorns and moose and wolves and all kinds of big game animals. A stuffed lion stood up in the opposite corner from the tiger.
There were massive bookcases and a huge antique telescope. A massive open skylight was directly in front of the telescope. The telescope was pointed up at the brightening sky, but the skylight’s glass was tinted, making it still seem dark inside.
On another wall, opposite the bookshelves, were tons of military items. There were photos of Gaden all over the place, in military uniform and out. Medals and antique rifles and pistols were displayed in cases. There were various war uniforms. One large American flag was strung up on the wall above it all.
Widow stepped into the room. The MP5 was out in front of him. The room was so large it took him a minute to scan it all. There were shadows everywhere. The only light was from the crackling fire and the morning sunlight that was dimmed by the skylight and curtains over the French doors.
There was furniture everywhere: a massive table—embedded with an ancient map of the world—lounge chairs and sofas, and a huge stone and marble desk. It looked like something he had seen Saddam Hussein sit behind, in a news spread once.
Behind the desk was Nick Gaden. He had a lit cigar in his mouth like he was celebrating a victory. He stared at Widow with the biggest expression of dumbfoundedness that Widow ever saw in his life. Gaden was thunderstruck.
Widow stepped farther into the room. He pointed the MP5 straight at Gaden.
Gaden reached up slowly, took the cigar out of his mouth, and set it down in an ashtray. He raised both hands, showed them to Widow, and stood up out of the desk chair. He stepped around to the front of the desk.
He said, “Jack Widow?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m utterly impressed. You should come work for me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why? The pay is really, really good.”
Widow said, “Where’s Fallow? And the other two?”
Gaden stepped forward, slowly, and kept his hands up.
“Well, Fallow is out somewhere. And by the other two, I assume you mean the two left from his guys?”
“The other two who murdered Eggers?”
“They’re not here. They’re somewhere else. With your girlfriend. You had better put down that gun, or you’ll never find her.”
“Good. Then they’re already dead.”
Gaden paused a beat. Widow stepped closer and saw the guy’s features from the fire in the fireplace. Gaden stood six feet tall. He wore a wool sweater and dark chinos and house slippers. He looked comfortable, like a man about to pose for a Vanity Fair cover in a gaudy den, like the one they were standing in.
He was neatly dressed and neatly trimmed. He was clean-shaven with gray hair, buzzed short. He looked like a man about to run for the Senate, which he was planning to do.
The only leftover reminder on his body from his military service was a vicious, old scar across his forehead and cheek. It looked like a knife wound. It was white and hardened, appearing to have come from an injury decades ago.
Gaden smiled and said, “So you got her out. That’s good. You really are impressive.”
Widow stayed quiet.
Gaden said, “You know what room you’re standing in?”
“A latrine?”
“Funny. It’s a replica of the Oval Office. All except for the animals, of course.”
Widow glanced around and realized he was right. The room was oval-shaped, but it was far larger than the Oval Office, not that he had ever been inside the real deal before.
“Not exact. There are pictures of a douche bag all over the place in this room.”
Gaden said, “You think you’re so smart.”
“I did pretty well on my SAT.”
Suddenly, Widow felt something like a brisk wind. Something moved with little noise and little energy, like a ninja.
Then he heard the click of a slide being racked, and the metallic start of a trigger pull. He felt the tip of a cold barrel brush against his ear. He felt a muzzle jammed hard against the back of his head, right behind his ear.
Gaden lowered his hands and said, “How smart are you now?”
Fallow stood behind Widow; his Glock 19 was jammed against Widow’s head.
Fallow said, “Drop the gun!”
Widow stayed where he was, keeping the weapon pointed at Gaden’s center mass.
Fallow said, “Go ahead. Shoot him. But then you’ll be dead. And I can pay that girlfriend of yours a visit. I feel like we didn’t’ have enough time to get properly acquainted.”
Gaden said, “You can’t kill us both. You’re beat, Commander. Drop the weapon.”
No choice. Widow dropped the MP5. Fallow shoved Widow forward, and then he scooped up the MP5, tossed it to Gaden, who caught it and ejected the magazine, ejected the chambered bullet. He tossed both into opposite directions in the room.
Fallow reached out and took Widow’s other guns, unloaded them all, and did the same, tossing them into the farthest shadows in the room. Next, he took the bow off Widow’s shoulder. He tossed it over to the stuffed tiger.
Gaden reached behind him and pulled out ano
ther Colt 1911 from his desk. It was gold-plated with an ivory handle. It was the kind of gun that Widow had only seen rich dictators possess, a collector’s item.
Gaden and Fallow circled Widow with their guns in his face. They forced him back deeper into the room. He ended up with his butt against the massive desk.
Gaden said, “Empty your pockets.”
Fallow holstered his Glock and started to move and shove furniture out of the way like he was making room for something, some kind of spectacle event. He pushed everything that wasn’t bolted down or heavy all the way against the walls.
Widow emptied his pockets in front of Gaden, setting his belongings down on the desktop. It included his passport, bank card, the Ontario MK III knife, the nineteen dollars and change he took from the meth heads, and the nine-millimeter bullet he caught from Gray’s Sig Sauer before handing it over to Daniels. He laid it all out in a pile.
Gaden barked, “Lose the coat!”
Widow took off the Havelock and draped it over his belongings.
“Want me to lose my pants next?” he asked.
Gaden smiled and said, “Lose the shoes. Kick them off.”
Widow kicked off his boots. They went flying against the grizzly bear’s feet.
Fallow kept pulling and pushing things out of the way, making a huge empty space in the room like a boxing ring.
Fallow finished moving things out of the way and then joined Gaden. They motioned for Widow to move to the center of the room.
Fallow and Gaden circled him again, like two predators circling their next kill.
Gaden asked, “Commander, have you ever heard of vale tudo?”
Widow said, “It’s Brazilian boxing.”
Gaden said, “Not just Brazilian. It’s an underground thing.”
Fallow said, “Men fight to the death.”
Both Fallow and Gaden smiled at Widow.
Fallow said, “Ours is knife fighting to be accurate.”
Gaden said, “Two men enter a ring, like this room, and they knife each other to death. See, we’ve been doing vale tudo for decades. In Iraq, we’d take prisoners and make them knife fight to the death. We promised them the winner got his freedom and his life.”
Fallow said, “They never did.”
Widow thought for a second. Something clicked in his brain, the more civilized brain. Henry Cho had been stabbed to death. Thirty-one years old. He never lived to see another birthday. He never lived to be able to marry his partner.
Widow said, “Is that why you killed Cho? Is that why you blamed it on Shore?”
The two men laughed.
Gaden said, “Hardly. No Cho and Eggers and most of the others weren’t in on the vale tudo. We only did it when we had the right guys in our unit—like-minded kind of guys. Once we did, we’d go out and make it happen. During the war, it was easy. Easier than you’d think.”
Fallow said, “It got harder after Saddam was caught. But in the beginning, it was easy and fun.”
Gaden said, “We gave them knives. We watched the blade combat until they were both stuck pigs. And then we’d stick the winner.”
Fallow said, “I miss those days.”
Gaden said, “No, I killed Cho because he was the one who ratted me out. He started the investigation into me in the first place. He managed to get some of the other guys to go along with it. They all knew the things we were doing. My daddy had a lot of money, as you can see. From our family business.”
Gaden pointed around the room with the Colt, like he was showing off his wealth.
Widow asked, “Weapons?”
“Right. My being investigated woulda led to an arrest and court-martial and prison time for the rest of my life. I have no doubt. I was sloppy back then. I had to scare Eggers and some of the others into submission. I couldn’t kill them all. That would’ve gotten noticed. So, we needed a target,” Gaden said.
Fallow said, “We killed the butt pirate and his boyfriend. That was fun. We made it look like what it looked like, and that was that.”
Gaden said, “Eggers was the weakest link. But we bribed him with stock in my daddy’s company. We bribed all of them with stock.”
Widow asked, “Fifty million dollars of stock?”
They laughed at him.
Gaden said, “Nah. It wasn’t worth that much back then. It was under a million. How was I to know that Congress would grant my daddy’s company those huge contracts for Naval weapons and equipment? The stocks skyrocketed after that. We had unbelievable growth for twenty years, even through the stock market crashes. Weapons sales always remain high. All my guys got a cut. All the guys who knew got a cut. It was a way of ensuring their silence. Some of them didn’t agree with it. So we had to silence them.”
Widow asked, “Why murder Eggers? He was a nobody. A drunk. He was drinking himself to death already.”
“Don’t you know? Don’t you see it?”
Widow thought for a long second. He glanced at the medals, displayed like trophies. He glanced at the flag.
He said, “Because you wanted to ensure he kept your secret. You wanted a guarantee that he’d never tell anyone that you murdered Cho. Because you’re running to be a Senator from Alaska? But who gives a shit? He probably would never even have known?”
“Look around you.”
Widow glanced around.
Gaden said, “My Senate seat will be vacant a year after I get in. Know why?”
Widow stayed quiet.
“Because once I’m a senator, I’m going to announce my run for the big office.”
“You want to be president?” Widow asked. He couldn’t help it, but he burst into laughter.
Gaden’s smile receded, and his voice broke and rose.
He said, “I will be in the White House! I had to erase all who might stand in my way!”
Gaden took a slow, deep breath.
He said, “Eggers was out there with an enormous bank account. He left me alone for years, but as soon as he saw my face on national TV, he’d spill his secrets. And I couldn’t have that. But you came along. You couldn’t just leave it alone. I read about you. Everything that I could read. You have some sealed files. High-priority clearance required. You must’ve been some hot shit, Widow. But now you’ll never leave this room alive.”
Widow said, “Gray got away already. She’ll go right to the FBI. She’s probably already halfway there. She probably has already told NCIS. You’ll be ruined. No matter if you kill me or not.”
Gaden nodded.
“Maybe. Or maybe a has-been SEAL, someone that nobody ever heard of, and a rookie NCIS agent invaded my home without cause and killed a bunch of my guys.”
“That’s horseshit. In an hour, you’ll either be dead or in handcuffs.”
Silence.
Widow looked around. He knew what was coming. It was vale tudo, a gladiator match, a deathmatch.
Widow said, “Pick your poison.”
Gaden said, “Know what Cho saw to make him betray me?”
Widow stayed quiet.
Gaden said, “I killed a kid. I’m sure you saw the accusations about the towelhead kids. Those were schoolgirls. No one cared. But it was a teenage boy I killed. That was the one. He was nobody. Just some kid. I claimed he was one of the insurgents, but I have no idea. Who knows? Maybe he was.”
Gaden lowered his Colt 1911.
“I gutted him with my knife. Know what I whispered to him before he died?”
Widow stayed quiet.
Gaden said, “I asked, ‘How you like my knife work?’ And I stuck him till he bled out. And to be honest. I said the same thing to Cho.”
Silence.
Gaden ejected the magazine from the Colt 1911. Then he ejected the round in the chamber. He tossed the bullet at Widow’s feet, and then he tossed the magazine off in the shadows. He circled behind Widow, forcing him to the center of the room. Gaden laid the Colt 1911 on the desk.
Fallow kept his Glock out.
Gaden stepped behind t
he desk and went into a drawer. He came out with a display box of military knives. He opened it and took out three knives. He handed one to Fallow, kept the second for himself, and offered the third to Widow, only it wasn’t a knife. Not like the others. The third knife was a fake wooden knife for practicing.
He said, “Take it.”
Widow reached out and took the wooden knife.
Gaden said, “Enough talking. Now, you can fight us in a match of vale tudo.”
Fallow emptied his Glock of bullets. He tossed it. Then he took the magazine and tossed it off hard into a corner.
Gaden said, “Any of the guns are fair game. If you can find them, load them before we kill you.”
Fallow said, “This is going to be fun.”
Widow stood there, his feet planted firmly. His waist and arms and legs were all loose and ready to dance.
Fallow came at him first. He swiped right and swiped left. Widow danced and maneuvered and parried the knife blows with the wooden blade. Then he did something neither guy expected. He dug deep into his pocket and jerked something out of it.
Gaden didn’t see what it was, but he saw the move. He came at Widow’s empty side. Fallow retreated and stabbed at Widow’s center mass.
In one fast move, Widow made two moves. First, he threw the wooden blade hard and straight at Gaden like it was a real knife. The wooden blade jabbed him straight in the forehead, right on the old scar. It was hard and powerful. The wood didn’t cut him or stick him or knock him off his feet, but it startled and rattled him, and it hurt. He stepped back several paces as if Widow had planted a powerful uppercut in his chin.
The second move: Widow danced right. Fallow came at him again. The knife missed Widow’s center mass, but Fallow was already in the move, in the stabbing motion. His weight moved him forward and fast. He passed along Widow’s ribcage, and Widow stuck Fallow in the back of the neck, in the medulla oblongata, the brain box, the central power box to the brain.
Widow stuck Fallow in the back of the head with something long and sharp and broken at the hilt.
