by Jack Mars
Zero was silent for a long moment. He needed time to process all of that; in the moment, all that mattered was they were safe somewhere and staying off the grid, where Bright couldn’t find him… but only if Bright was telling the truth.
“So that’s the deal. You take out Krauss, and I call it off. You’ll be safe. You can live normal lives. I’ll deal with the CIA. What do you say?”
Zero looked at Mischa. He knew that she wanted nothing more in the world than to deliver the death blow to Stefan Krauss. He knew that killing Krauss was a positive move, maybe even a necessary one for the good of people everywhere.
And they would do that anyway. But he wouldn’t make a deal with Mr. Bright.
“Here’s what I say,” Zero told him. “I say that you’re not afraid of Krauss coming to kill you. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of goons to keep you safe, plenty of places to hide if you needed to. I think you’re afraid of Krauss because he knows things about you. Maybe he doesn’t remember them right now, but the longer he’s alive, the more will come back to him. He knows where to find you. He knows what you’ve done to him.”
Bright said nothing in response.
“In fact,” Zero continued, “between what I know and what he knows, I bet we have enough information to blow the whole lid on you, Shaw, the program, all of it. I’m a liability, same as him. So you can see how I’m not all that eager to trust your word. I have no reason to believe that if I take out Krauss, and I let my guard down, you won’t still send people after me and my family. That’s what I say.”
“Ah, there it is,” Bright said. There was the hint of a smirk in his voice. “There’s that intellect I’ve been waiting to see.” He sighed. “You’re right, Zero. I’d still send people to kill you, and your kids, in their beds if I had to, and I’d still sleep just fine at night.” He clucked his tongue. “Fine. Do what you will and enjoy it while you can. But I hope you’ll be looking over your shoulder from now until your soon-to-be untimely death. Goodbye, Zero.”
Bright ended the call.
Zero lowered the phone. He’d called a bluff, and he’d been right; Bright would never stop. Zero and his family would never be safe, not until Bright and Shaw and anyone else involved was exposed.
No—exposing wouldn’t be enough. Bright needed to die.
And he would… but not today. He was tomorrow’s problem. Today’s was Krauss.
“We can’t kill him,” Zero said softly. “I’m sorry, Mischa, but we can’t kill Krauss.”
Her gaze narrowed. “And why not?”
“You heard what I said on the phone. He knows things, or he will. Bright is the bigger fish here.”
They had no choice now. They had to find Krauss before he left Cairo, because Krauss would get himself killed going after Bright, and the information in his head would be lost.
Mischa looked away, her frown deepening. He could tell she was grappling with the same thing. They both wanted him dead. But they had to put personal feelings aside, because there was someone else who deserved it more.
The mastermind.
Had Krauss actually said that?
If Bright was actually to be believed, then Krauss hadn’t actually threatened him directly. And beating around the bush wasn’t exactly his style.
What if Bright isn’t the mastermind?
Then who might be?
He was about to pose the question to Mischa when they heard the squeak of hinges. Someone was entering the small restaurant. Mischa jumped off the stool and tensed. Zero reached for the paring knife in his pocket, his only weapon.
They both relaxed when they saw the familiar face enter.
“Todd,” Zero sighed. “Thank god…”
Strickland raised a black Glock and pointed it at Zero. “Drop the knife. Don’t move. You’re both under arrest.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Zero did as he was told. He set the small paring knife on the bar, and he slowly raised his hands over his head.
Mischa hesitated. He could see the tension in her shoulders, her small arms. But then she glanced up at him, and he nodded once, and she too lifted her hands until her elbows were right angles.
“Todd,” Zero said slowly. “I know what you’re probably thinking…”
“Stop,” Strickland ordered. “Just stop. I don’t want to hear it from you anymore. I told you to stay away from Cairo, and you didn’t. You knew about the bombs, and you said nothing. Now people are dead. The accord is ruined.”
“I was wrong,” Zero admitted. “I had a hunch, and I was wrong about the timing. We tried to contact you—”
“Too little, too late. If that wasn’t already clear.” Strickland scoffed. “You could have warned the palace guard, or the police, or any number of other people. Admit it, you came here to save the day. To stop it yourself.”
“No,” Zero denied. “That’s not… it wasn’t like that…”
“When hasn’t it been?” Strickland demanded. “Three years we worked together, and it’s always been you against the world. You always had to be the hero. There are a lot of innocent people dead here today.” The disgust in his expression chilled Zero to the core. “You feel like a hero?”
“Todd, please. I know how all this must look, but we don’t have time. This was done by Stefan Krauss, and he’s still here, in Cairo, for now. But we can get him. We can leave now, and together—”
“You’re not a part of this anymore!” Strickland shouted. “What about that don’t you understand? You can’t go flying around the world, committing crimes and killing people, and not expect repercussions. Do you understand that?”
Zero couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead he looked at the floor. He saw Mischa’s feet shift, just a tiny bit, almost imperceptibly.
Please don’t try anything.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Todd said. “We’re going to arrest you—”
“We?” he interrupted.
“We.” He turned at the source of the new voice. Preston McMahon emerged from the restaurant’s kitchen. He must have come in through the back door, Zero reasoned. Cutting off their exits. McMahon was short but stocky, well-built, his hair still shorn short and face clean-shaven from his Army habits. He held a Glock in both hands but had the barrel directed toward the floor. “Zero. Good to see you again.”
“You too, McMahon.” Preston was the grandson of William McMahon, a former US president whom Zero had rescued from a hostage situation not two weeks earlier.
“We’re going to arrest you,” Todd continued. “We’re going to bring you somewhere, and we’re going to talk. You’re going to tell us everything you know, and then EOT is going to catch whoever was behind this. Krauss, Bright, all of them. Then you are going to be put on a plane and sent back to the United States. I’m sorry, Zero, but you have to answer for what’s happened here. All of it.”
He nodded. “I understand. I’ll comply.”
But in his mind he knew that they wouldn’t catch Stefan Krauss. They wouldn’t catch Bright. The CIA would see to that. They’d protect him, or he’d flee, or he’d get off the hook on some bureaucratic loophole or immunity. Shaw and the agency could twist it, make it look however they wanted to. Bright could pin the bombing on someone else.
Strickland was right. Zero wasn’t a part of this anymore, and that worked in his favor, because there was no denying it; the situation from here onward was going to require some extrajudicial means, and the type of prejudice that EOT simply could not afford.
“McMahon.” Todd kept his aim on Zero. “Cuff him.”
Preston stowed his Glock and reached for handcuffs at his belt.
“Zero,” Todd commanded, “take two steps away from the bar. Don’t try a thing.”
He did as he was asked, sidestepping twice slowly so he was standing on open floor, equidistant between the bar and the nearest table.
Behind him, he felt McMahon’s fingers close around his left wrist. “Sorry about this, Zero.” He twisted the arm behi
nd Zero’s back.
“Me too,” he admitted.
Strickland’s aim was on Zero. McMahon’s focus was on him too. They assumed, erroneously, that he was the threat. That the little girl with him wasn’t much of one.
Neither of them had really seen her in action, he realized.
“Just one thing,” Zero said. “Please… don’t shoot her.”
Strickland frowned. “Why would I—”
Mischa already had the paring knife in her hand as Todd’s gaze flitted her direction. She flicked it, sent it whistling through the air and into his left hand. He howled and dropped the Glock.
Zero dropped to his knees before the cuff could close around his wrist. McMahon still had a firm grip on his arm; the action yanked the former Ranger forward, just off-balance enough for Zero to spin and sweep a leg. McMahon grunted as he fell, and Zero rolled forward.
He snatched up Todd’s Glock and had his aim on McMahon while the younger man was still on one knee, a hand on his holster.
“Don’t,” he warned. “Hands up.”
Preston McMahon did as he was told and put his hands up.
“Where’s the rest of your team?”
“Nearby,” McMahon said. His gaze flickered down and to the left, just for a second. “They’ll be here any second, so you should probably drop that.”
Zero shook his head. “I’ve been doing this a long time. I can tell when you’re lying.”
McMahon rolled his eyes. “It’s just us. The other two are at the palace, helping to clear it.”
“Mischa, relieve him of that weapon.”
She scurried over to take it from him. “Pardon,” she said as she pulled the pistol loose.
McMahon moved quickly. As soon as Mischa had the gun out of the holster he reached for her, wrapping both arms around her in a bear hug and lifting her entirely off the ground in front of him.
It happened quickly. Zero hesitated. He didn’t want to shoot anyone, let alone McMahon or Strickland.
Mischa’s feet kicked at the air. Her arms were pinned at her side. She cursed in Russian.
“You’re really going to use a thirteen-year-old girl as a human shield?” Zero asked him.
“You really going to shoot me?” McMahon challenged. “Drop the gun and I drop her.”
“You first.” Mischa threw her head straight back. The back of her skull connected with his forehead. His grip loosened and she dropped to the floor. McMahon staggered and held his head.
“Oh…” he groaned, blinking as if he was fighting loss of consciousness.
Mischa flipped the Glock around in her hand. She jumped up and smacked him just once, solidly, on the top of the skull with the pistol’s grip, and he crumbled.
“Mischa!” Zero scolded. “Was that necessary?”
“What? I didn’t shoot him.”
He turned his attention back to Strickland, who held his bleeding left hand with his right. He hissed breaths through his teeth; the paring knife had pierced the back of his hand but hadn’t broken through to the other side.
Zero knelt beside him. He didn’t point the gun at him.
“I’m sorry, Todd. You’re right. About almost all of it. I imagine you blame me for this.” He could see it in his eyes, the anger and betrayal. “There’s going to come a time when I have to answer for all of it. But right now, I’m going to go find and stop Krauss. Call for backup if you want, or follow me if you can, but I have to do this. He’s on his way to kill someone, and it’s going to get him killed.”
“Why do you care,” Todd winced, “if he gets himself killed?”
“Because he has information that we need. About this man who calls himself Bright.”
Information about the mastermind.
He frowned, returning to the thought he’d had just before Strickland had barged in.
What if Bright isn’t the mastermind?
Bright said there was someone Krauss was supposed to kill.
What if his target is right here, in Cairo?
Krauss knew about the accord. It was there, somewhere in his brain. He knew however much Bright had told him. And Bright might have told him plenty, since he could just erase whatever he wanted after the fact.
“The mastermind,” Zero murmured.
It wasn’t Bright. It was just that Bright’s ego wouldn’t let him believe Krauss could have meant anyone else.
“The president,” Zero said suddenly. “Rutledge. Where is he?”
“He’s secure,” Todd answered shortly.
“He’s the mastermind. The one behind all of this, the Cairo Accord,” Zero said quickly. “We need to make sure he’s safe. I think Krauss is going to try to get to him…”
“No,” Strickland said firmly.
“Todd, this is a matter of life or death—”
“No,” said Todd, “he’s not the mastermind behind the Cairo Accord. Barkley is.”
Zero balked. Todd was right. Peace in the Middle East was Rutledge’s goal, but it was Joanna Barkley who had largely orchestrated the efforts, arranged the logistics, even drafted the treaties—and he would bet good money that Bright knew that.
Barkley was the mastermind. Krauss didn’t believe in peace. He wanted to eliminate the one who had made all this happen. Krauss might have even believed that Barkley had been the root cause of his now-twisted mind.
“Where is she, Todd? Tell me where she is. You know, don’t you?”
Strickland grunted. “Yes. Of course I do.”
“Call her team. Make sure she’s okay.”
“Can’t do that. Emergency protocol is to go radio-silent until they get a physical all-clear from us.” He shook his head. “But you’re wrong. Krauss couldn’t know where she is. The only people that know are her security detail, EOT, and…”
He trailed off as a look of sheer panic crossed his face. “And Penny.”
Todd was up suddenly, on his feet with a groan, reaching for the phone in his pocket. His panicked expression transitioned to horror as he held the phone to his ear. “She’s not answering.”
Zero felt how he looked. If anything happened to Penny, especially after he’d let Krauss live twice, he would never forgive himself. “Where is she? Where’s Penny?”
“She was at the convention center, doing online recon… I have to go. I have to get there.”
“Todd.” Zero grabbed him by a shoulder. “We have to do this together. Make a choice. If you go to Penny, you need to tell me where to find Barkley.”
Strickland’s jaw clenched. “Fine.” He spoke rapidly as he explained, “Emergency protocol was that each foreign leader would be taken to a unique, inconspicuous location. No embassies, no military bases, no government buildings; nowhere that would be a potential target. Barkley is at an administrative office of Dar El-Salam General Hospital. It’s a small building that’s been closed for renovations, just off the main campus, behind the emergency room. It’s not far. Three miles or so.”
“Thank you,” Zero told him. “We’ll get her.”
He tried to pull away, but Strickland grabbed his collar and pulled him in close. “When this is over,” he said, “you vanish. You take your family, and you get gone. If I ever see you again, I’ll have no choice but to do my job. Understand?”
“Yeah, Todd. I understand.”
He doubted he’d have another option anyway.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Zero sprinted up the block, to the right, to the next block over. Mischa was right on his heels, her shorter legs moving double-time to keep up with his stride. They reached the small parking lot of the post office, and their stolen Kia, in under a minute, and thirty seconds later Zero fishtailed out onto the mostly empty street, heading away from the palace and the cavalcade of emergency vehicles still battling the fires and clearing the buildings for any further bombs.
“GPS it,” he told Mischa. He was only vaguely aware of where he was heading.
“Turn right up here,” she told him.
He tri
ed to, but the road was barricaded with yellow sawhorses to create an emergency route for fire and rescue. He spun the wheel the other way. The tires screeched as he pulled a tight U-turn. “Need another route!”
“Rerouting… ah! Up here, turn by the gas station.”
It was no comfort at all that police were busy with the palace fires and fallout thereof, but at least it meant there was no one patrolling the roads. Zero sped up, blowing a red light, and turned sharply when Mischa told him to.
He tightened his hands on the wheel, his knuckles white, his heart pounding, and for more reason than just the safety of the vice president. He could only hope that Penny was alive and well. He couldn’t bear to think that anything had happened to her—and he doubted he was going to get so much as a courtesy call from Strickland.
“Listen,” he told Mischa. “You understand that there’s more at stake here than just our lives?”
“Of course,” she answered solemnly.
“Good. That’s why I need you to do something for me. When we get there, I want you to secure the vice president. Get her out of there. I can’t worry about her, you, and Krauss at the same time.”
He expected pushback. He expected her to argue, to want to deal the final blow to the man who had killed her adopted mother, his wife, and had tried to kill both of them.
“Okay,” was all she said.
As they came up on Dar El-Salam General Hospital, he saw the glaring error in Strickland’s plan of inconspicuous locations, since this location had become anything but.
“Watch out!” Mischa warned. Zero slammed the brakes. The roads outside and leading into the hospital’s campus were completely blocked with standstill traffic. Police had all four lanes stopped, attempting to make safe lanes for the myriad screaming ambulances carrying victims of the bombing.
“On foot?” Mischa suggested.
