“Mm, I would say . . . a Heckler and Koch. USP.”
“Jack?”
Jack jerked back in surprise, gun coming up, aiming.
Blade stopped, hands up and empty. “Jack, please listen to me. You’re sick. Heatstroke, maybe an infection. I think you’re having a flashback. Can you hear me?”
Blade. Ethan Blade. Bad guy. Enemy. And Jack was sick and fucking tired of seeing the bad guys walk away while his own hands were tied by law and morals and fucking red tape. Well, maybe it was time for a change. Jack fired.
Blade dropped, rolled, and came back up in a slick move, pistols in both hands.
“Drop it, Jack.” He was Arctic cool, like McIntosh. Steady as a rock. “You’re in no shape for this. Your hand is shaking so much you’re just as liable to hurt yourself as you are me. Let me help you.”
“Help me? Right.” He fired again.
Blade hit the ground and came up barehanded this time. Jack shifted aim and fired. The crazy bastard wasn’t there. Then suddenly, he was behind Jack, pinning his arms and knocking the gun from his hand. Before he could think about defence, Jack was down, hitting the ground face-first. Blade landed on his lower back, using his knees to trap Jack’s arms to his sides.
“Sorry, Jack,” Blade said, arms coming around his neck in a sleeper hold. “It’s for your own good.”
Jack fought, but it was no use. He was weak and hurting, and Blade was too strong. His vision blurred and blackened, stars dancing in the growing darkness . . .
Ethan’s information had injected new life into Lewis Thomas’s investigation. With a name to start from, Lewis’s team had rapidly collated so much data about Alpha Subject the list of aliases and jobs attributed to him began to beggar belief. He’d been a busy little “escort,” gathering up an impressive list of clients across the globe, his latest target Deputy Secretary John Garrett of the Office of Transport Security. Natport, his current employer, had also shown unexpected depth when poked in the right places. With a plethora of dubious affiliations and dealings exposed, it was a short search to uncover an extensive smuggling network. People, drugs, animals, weapons—it seemed Natport wasn’t too picky about what they transported, so long as whoever it belonged to paid handsomely for the service.
The information was perfect, just what they needed to break this case and convince the other directors Ethan was valuable. So perfect, in fact, Jack had to wonder. Not that he’d ever believed it entirely, but Jack now knew Ethan wasn’t here just to share information. The problem with that was with the obvious out of the way, there were few other reasons Ethan would be here. Few enough Jack could only think of one.
At his cubicle, with Maxwell next to him catching up on paperwork, Jack tried to convince himself he was wrong. Tried to believe Ethan was only here to pass on information. No matter which angle he came at it from, however, he couldn’t quite get there. The day Ethan Blade did something straightforward would be the day the Devil started knitting.
Wish you were here?
There were still moments, very infrequently in the last six months, more so in the last twenty-four hours, when Jack recalled the sick, fatalistic feeling he’d had in the torture shack, looking at that poster of the beach. No matter what happened in Jack’s life from now on, that question would stick with him. Like the instinctive shudder he got whenever he thought about the soaking-wet forests of Jharkhand, the oppressive atmosphere of the Cardamom Mountains, or the invasive cold of Afghanistan in winter.
Jack logged in and called up the feed of the holding cell. Ethan was stretched out on the bed. He appeared asleep, but Jack wondered if he really was. The man had barely slept for three days after the incident with the search party. Too busy saving Jack’s life.
God. Jack hated this. Knowing why Ethan was here hadn’t answered all the questions. Had only introduced more questions—deadly questions.
His implant pinged. Closing his eyes, Jack slipped sideways. The implant overlay opened up before him, showing a message in the corner. He tapped it open.
Meeting room 10B. Ten minutes. The ID tag was Director Tan.
Jack slipped out of the trance, then shut down the video feed from the cell and stood.
Maxwell stood as well. “Lunch time?”
“No. I need to talk to McIntosh.” Jack set off to find her.
She was coming out of the operations room, a smug smile in place. The “Jack” she greeted him with was even warm and inviting.
“Ma’am.” Jack fell into step with her. “Do you have a moment?”
“A brief one. I’m about to talk to the minister about Blade’s custody.”
Fingers crossed for a positive outcome of that conversation, Jack said, “I won’t take up much time. I’ll walk with you.”
Jack waited until they were in the elevator, as alone as they could be with Maxwell’s bulky body looming in the small space. “Tan’s called me to a private meeting.”
He watched her closely, looking for a reaction to Tan’s request. McIntosh and Tan had been civil towards each other in the review meeting, so perhaps whatever had caused Tan to blow up when Jack had been sent undercover was all in the past. Yet Jack couldn’t help but wonder.
All McIntosh did was nod tersely. “Not unexpected. He did express a great deal of interest in the situation. Don’t let him threaten you, don’t agree to anything he proposes, and come to me straight after.”
Nothing she wouldn’t have cautioned him about in any other circumstances. “Yes, ma’am.” Maybe Tan would say something in the meeting to clarify why he’d acted as he had.
Maxwell kept his gaze straight ahead. As head of security, he wasn’t subordinate to any of the directors, yet he wasn’t their equal, either. He had sole responsibility for the Neville Crawley Building, but at the discretion of the directors in residence. If one of them ordered him to unlock all the doors, he would have to do so—within reason. The problem with Gerard Maxwell, however, was that while he was good at his job, highly trained, and perfectly discreet when required, he was also obedient to a fault. Jack could be wrong, but he was fairly certain Maxwell hadn’t had a thought beyond performing his duty as ordered since joining the navy.
The doors opened on the tenth floor. McIntosh gave Jack a parting nod and headed to her office. Jack returned her nod, and then he and Maxwell went the other way.
Meeting room 10B was a smaller version of the conference room he’d been in that morning. Tan was alone when Jack knocked on the open door. He stood by the windows, looking out at a skyline decorated by streamers and painted flags flying from building tops, the result of a harbour-wide art installation.
“Close the door, please, Mr. Reardon.” Tan turned around at Jack’s knock. “Maxwell, you won’t be required for this. Please remain outside.”
The HoS nodded and turned, falling into a parade rest outside the door.
“I watched the video of your interview with Omega Subject,” Tan said when the door was closed. “The man certainly appears to trust you.”
“Don’t believe it, sir. He appears to be a lot of things.” Stone-cold killer; friendly comrade; attentive carer; innocent. “He’s a superb actor.”
“I’m sure he is. Intriguing, though, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so, sir.” Jack kept his eyes fixed firmly on the building across the street. The streamers twirled and twisted in slow chaos. Although Tan’s voice had been rather dry, there was an undertone to it Jack didn’t like. A touch too much . . . fascination? Whatever it was, it made Jack uncomfortable.
Tan leaned over the table and tapped a screen. It popped up from the table surface and came to life. “I’ve been reading through your amended reports regarding the Valadian operation and had a couple more questions. It’s a very interesting read this time around.” He scrolled through a couple of pages before settling on one, which he scanned quickly before looking up at Jack again. “However, I believe there is still more information you haven’t surrendered.”
“Sir?” Christ. Of cour
se the new report still didn’t contain everything that had happened in the desert. What the hell had Tan picked up on?
“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Reardon.” This time, there was a definite suggestion to the words, a sly understanding that rippled down Jack’s spine with chilly fingers. “I’m well aware of what’s needed to get certain jobs done, and I have a far more . . . lenient attitude to the actions of my assets. As I said this morning, I’m quite happy with your behaviour throughout the Valadian operation. The new statements do not fundamentally change anything with the continuing investigation, so where is the fuss regarding your initial omission?” He cast a pointed look at the door, the other side of which was watched over by Maxwell.
“Thank you, sir,” Jack murmured.
Tan smiled magnanimously. “Still, I’d like some clarification on certain things. For instance, this section.” He read from the screen in front of him. “‘A search party had established a camp at the far end of the gully. It was decided we would retreat and monitor the situation and only act if required.’ You go on to say Blade was spotted while scouting the camp and that confrontation became necessary.”
“Yes, sir.” It was one of the more heavily revised parts of his original report. Excluding Ethan’s presence in his initial debriefing had been difficult, but returning him to the action had been near impossible. Reliving those tense moments when he hadn’t been sure if Ethan wouldn’t kill him as coldly and swiftly as he had Valadian’s men had only refreshed all the doubts he’d had about Ethan’s intentions. All the doubts he’d had about his own actions in the desert. He’d made progress in the months after leaving the desert, getting past his own confused reactions to Ethan. And now he was right back there, feeling the same uncertainty, the same draw towards an unstable, enigmatic assassin.
Goddamn Ethan Blade for upsetting his life. Again.
“Your report on the confrontation is very thorough,” Tan said. “Omega Subject comes across as a highly effective combatant, and very intelligent.” There was a musing quality to his voice now as he regarded Jack pointedly. “Of course, one would expect that given the information we have on Ethan Blade.”
“As I said in the meeting this morning, he’s very convincing. So much so, it’s hard to discredit his claim on the name. Sir.”
Tan flashed him a predatory smile. “Regardless of the validity of that claim, however, Omega Subject is an extremely competent operator. Capable of pulling off jobs even some of our best operatives would have trouble doing. Nikonov, for starters. He was on our active watch list for years, and then within a matter of days, the Russian FSB had found him and had him in custody. Not to mention everything you say Omega Subject orchestrated with Valadian.”
“He’s very thorough.” Jack was proud of his even tone. “He can read his targets incredibly well.”
“And that’s what I’m missing from your report, Mr. Reardon. What I’d like to know more about. You describe Omega Subject’s actions and aims well enough, but not him. I’d like to know what you think of him. Not the assassin or meticulous planner, but the man himself.”
Jack shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again. His breath caught on his ribs, which were suddenly too tight to let the air escape. This wasn’t about Valadian at all. Tan was more interested in Ethan. “Sorry, sir?” He scrambled for time to understand, to wonder if Tan had somehow discovered the things Jack had left out of the report the second time around.
“It’s not that hard a question,” Tan said mildly. “I’d like your impression of Omega Subject’s personality. His psyche. How he thinks.”
“Jesus Christ.” It was out before Jack knew he was going to say it.
Tan’s only response was to lift an eyebrow, part quizzical, part reprimanding.
“Sorry, sir,” Jack repeated, not really meaning it. “But you want me to psychoanalyse Blade, and that’s a pointless effort. The man was playing a part the entire time I was with him.” Except for those few moments when Jack had suspected he’d seen the real man behind the masks. The one who loved his cars; the control freak letting loose; the man who showed unabashed affection for animals; the one who wanted reassurance for the bad things he did.
Tan nodded. “As expected, yes. But you must have some idea why he does the things he does. For instance, why did he take the Valadian job? Valadian was a two-bit thug with no known agenda, political or theological. The most pertinent thing about him was the army he was hiding in the middle of one of the harshest deserts in the world. There are African warlords and South Asian drug lords with all that and more, and yet Blade shows no interest in them. So why Valadian?”
It was a pertinent question, and one Jack hadn’t thought about back then. Too busy just trying to get through it without losing life or limb. Afterwards, that had been Maria Dioli’s concern, not his.
“Think about it, Mr. Reardon.” Tan shut down the screen and let it slide back into place in the tabletop. “I’d like to hear your thoughts about it and other aspects of Omega Subject.”
“Other aspects?” Jack asked warily.
“Such as his feelings towards the Office. Is he a threat to us? Does he have any strong personal views on any of the world powers? Apart from his clients, is there anyone else he answers to? Anything, really, to give us a clearer picture of the man in the cell downstairs. You can go now.”
At the door, Jack was stopped by Tan speaking again.
“Oh, and Mr. Reardon.” He waited for Jack to face him before continuing. “If you ever get tired of Donna questioning your loyalty, come and see me. We’ll work something out.”
Jack left, more unsettled than he’d been going in. Maxwell fell into step beside him without a word, seeming to understand Jack wasn’t in the mood to talk. Few people probably were after a meeting with Tan.
At McIntosh’s office, Jack was asked to wait, as she was still on the phone with the minister. While they cooled their heels, Maxwell traded off with another subordinate. This guy was built like a swimmer—tall, lean, broad shoulders—and Jack observed that he had a habit of leaving his right hand on the gun holstered at his waist. Jack didn’t bother pointing out he could probably kick the man’s teeth in before the gun cleared the holster, even if he was clutching it like a toddler with a security blanket. Instead, he tried to find something in Tan’s words that might hint at his overall agenda.
No matter which way he angled it, Jack couldn’t see how Tan’s interest in Ethan meshed with his reaction to the Valadian op. Valadian hadn’t brought Ethan in until he was convinced there was a spy in his group, more than a year after Jack had been inserted. It was possible they weren’t related, but it would be awfully coincidental if Tan just happened to have two different reasons to get involved in a single ITA operation.
Personally, the job offer meant less than nothing. Jack had no interest in working with ETA. If it ever came to be that he couldn’t work for ITA anymore, then it would be time to leave the Office.
“Mr. Reardon, Director McIntosh will see you now.”
Jack nodded to Miller and, when his knock was answered, entered McIntosh’s office. It looked out on a similar view as Meeting Room 10B. The streamers on the opposite building twirled and small, darting sparrows played amongst the flying colours.
“The minister is pleased with our progress with Omega Subject,” she announced, “but cautious about the long term. So long as we keep getting information like we did today, she’ll consider his application for asylum.”
If Ethan ever asked for it, which Jack knew he wouldn’t. “Yes, ma’am.”
Tapping at her screen, she asked, “What did Tan want?”
“More questions about Blade.” He quickly took her through the conversation with Tan, leaving out Tan’s parting comment about her trust in him, or lack thereof. “He’s after something else, though. The interest in Blade’s nature and motives felt too . . . personal.”
McIntosh nodded along with his summation, but said, “And there was nothing else?”<
br />
Her steady tone would have given Tan’s a run for its money. Just as with Tan, though, Jack didn’t buy it. She’d found something in his words, some hint that worked into whatever game she was playing. Was it something about him? Or Tan? He hadn’t been going to tell her about Tan’s offer, but he was too curious now to pass up the chance to see her reaction.
“Well, he did offer me a job with ETA.”
McIntosh’s hands curled into fists, and her expressive blue eyes went Arctic. Assets transferring between departments wasn’t rare, and this wasn’t even the first time another director had made a play for Jack. It was, however, the first time he’d seen McIntosh react so strongly.
Then she blinked and the frost was gone. “He’s always been interested in having your set of skills. What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”
She studied him for a long moment, then sighed and relaxed back into her chair. “Good. Now would not be a good time for you to contemplate a career shift, Jack. Your situation is rather . . . precarious.”
An unnecessary reminder that his nuts were in her vice. If he made a move she didn’t like, she would slam it shut faster than he could dodge.
“Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t bother to hide the dry sarcasm.
For a moment, the corners of her full lips hinted at a smile, as if they’d just shared something important. Then she was all business again. “Thank you for your time. You may go.”
Someone blew the biggest raspberry in Jack’s ear. Warm spittle slapped against the side of his face.
Jack groaned and tried to push the offender away. His hand found hair and wet lips. Ugh.
“Piss off,” Jack said, or thought he did. All he heard was a hoarse grumble that might have been his voice. He couldn’t be sure.
A slobbery tongue tried to drill into his ear.
“Fuck!” Yes, that was him. He shoved out wildly, pushing himself away from the intrusion.
“Sheila! Bad girl. Leave Jack alone.”
The tongue disappeared momentarily, then made a reappearance as the mysterious Sheila blew another raspberry.
Where Death Meets the Devil Page 12
