Her heart began to pound so hard she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk.
“I’ve thought about it,” he said. “No matter where you want to live, I can make it work…on São Diogo Island, or in Manhattan, anywhere. We’ve been wanting to set up a U.S. office for some time now. And if—”
“Jack, I—”
“No!” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say anything, not now. Not until—” he hesitated “—not until you’ve thought about it properly. But whatever happens tonight, know, Olivia, that this is what I want. I never want to lose you. Not again.”
“Jack…you’re scaring me.”
His eyes burned. He grabbed her, kissed her, hard and long and deep and desperate. And when he pulled away, she was breathless, her blood pounding, and she saw a raw anguish in his features.
“I love you more than anything, Livie,” he whispered, his voice gravelly with emotion.
“Jack…you’re not thinking of going and dying on me now, are you?”
His lip twitched. “Done that already—death is not what it’s cracked up to be. No, now I’m thinking of how much living we still have to do, how much time we have to make up. We’re still good together, Olivia. Don’t you think?”
“Better than good, Jack. It’s better than ever.”
Relief sifted into his eyes, and Olivia was moved to see it. Her warrior was vulnerable. He cared so much about her that he was afraid. She could not have loved him more than at that moment.
She didn’t need to think. Of course she was going to say yes. She couldn’t imagine any other future, didn’t want to, not without him.
He checked his watch and inhaled deeply. “It’s time.”
20:14 Romeo. Caribbean Sea.
Monday, October 13.
Olivia stood beside Jack on the small yacht as they chugged out of the harbor, leaving the twinkling lights that lined the bay. They headed into dark water.
But the moon was almost full, the milky way miraculous, and there was a soft, salty breeze that ruffled the ends of her red dress. She knew it looked good on her. She hadn’t felt more glamorous in a long time. And Jack looked simply spectacular, as if he’d stepped straight off the pages of a high-powered men’s magazine. What his body did for a tux should be declared illegal.
She watched the churning white wake behind their boat, trying not to think of what lay ahead, of tomorrow.
“Why did you do that?” he asked her out of the darkness.
She glanced up at him and smiled, glad for the diversion. “You mean why did I just hand a diamond ring worth hundreds of thousands of dollars to that couple standing on the dock?”
He grinned. “Yeah, that would be what I mean.”
Her smile deepened. “They looked so much in love, Jack. And they were as young as we were when you first proposed to me. Besides, I didn’t want the ring any more. I didn’t want any part of him near me. Ever again.”
“He didn’t want it back?”
She shook her head. “No. Maybe that couple can sell it, get a small start. Maybe they can have a chance, one we never got.”
He touched her face. “You’re beautiful, you know that? Inside, not just on the outside. It’s why I first fell in love with you.”
She looked into his eyes and realized with mild shock that they were pale gray—almost silver in the moonlight. “You’re not wearing your contacts, Jack!”
“Henri has served his purpose, Olivia. Jack is back. Now I want your father to recognize me.”
Panic nudged her. “You…want to shock him?”
He nodded. “I’ll need the edge. I need to get straight to the point. We’ll have less than an hour.”
“If he sees it’s you, if he sees that you’re alive and with me, that you’re not Henri, he’ll know immediately that I am betraying him, that I’ve helped set him up.”
He studied her quietly. Then he took something out of his pocket, held it in the palm of his hand. It glinted in the moonlight. She stared.
“You left this in your bathroom.”
“My Saint Catherine pendant?”
He let it dangle through his fingers, the small disc spinning in the moonlight.
“You fixed it.”
“Do you remember why I gave this to you, Livie?”
“Of course.” She hesitated. “It’s the reason I kept it, why I kept on wearing it.”
“Saint Catherine of Alexandra,” he said, “patron saint of lawyers, a learned lady who argued for what she believed in, who held true to her beliefs, stuck to her course.”
She lifted her eyes to his, the innuendo dead clear.
“Will you wear it tonight, for me?”
Tension tightened her stomach. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I will.” She turned around, lifted her hair up, bent her head forward. He looped the chain around her and fastened the clasp at the back of her neck.
She placed her fingers over the pendant, turned back to face him, wearing the symbol he’d given her in law school. It was a time when the world—their future—still lay at their feet, bright with promise. It was a time when they were both committed to righting wrongs, fighting for global justice—naive ideals maybe, but that’s where dreams start, and from them a reality is fashioned. They never really had the opportunity to do that. It had been stolen from them.
“A second chance,” he whispered, and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
Olivia turned to watch as they approached her father’s yacht—a bank of glimmering layers of light. Snatches of music reached them on the breeze, then were drowned out as some of his guests arrived by helicopter. The tension in her stomach coiled tighter.
The trouble with Saint Catherine was that she’d died for her beliefs.
A week ago Olivia might have been ready to die for what she believed in. But now Jack was back. Now she had too much to live for.
“One hour to midnight,” he said as their craft bumped up alongside the Genevieve.
Jack adjusted the small communications device in his ear as they knocked softly against the Genevieve’s hull. “Can you hear me,” he said quietly.
“Affirmative,” McDonough responded.
Jack was now in contact with his teams. He reached for Olivia’s hand, grasped it firmly. “Showtime,” he murmured.
Security personnel waited up on deck. Underneath the vessel, Jack’s divers circled like hungry sharks, and on the surface, out of obvious range, his men waited for his order to close in. They had the Genevieve surrounded.
He held his arms out, noting camera positions as the security guards patted him down. It was eight minutes after eleven. Arriving any sooner might have given Killinger too much time to come up with backup. Any later, and they might not stop the bombs.
The guards politely asked if they could remove the two guns and the knife they’d found. “But of course,” he said in his best French-Belgian accent, and they waved him forward.
They hadn’t found the detonator, or the syringe and vial in the compartment hidden in his shoe. He slid his hand proprietarily around Olivia’s waist, and for a brief moment he allowed himself to enjoy the delicious slip of blood-red silk under his fingers.
He escorted her toward a covered area of the deck lined with hundreds of tiny white lights. A sumptuous buffet complete with ice carvings, Alaskan crab, lobster and caviar was set off to the left. The remainder of the area was filled with guests who exuded the distinct scent of wealth. Diamonds flashed, music tinkled, glasses chinked, and people laughed lightly.
He guided Olivia through the sophisticated crowd and toward the bar. Olivia nodded and smiled, greeting people she recognized. Jack felt absurdly proud to be at her side, to be here, as himself, as her lover.
He heard McDonough’s voice in his ear telling him that it looked as if there was now only one man in the stateroom that served as Killinger’s office. FDS divers had determined this using underwater infrared equipment beneath the boat.
It was time to make his move.
Killing
er was most likely watching his guests through the cameras he had mounted everywhere. Jack looked up and stared directly into one.
Killinger was hugely relieved to learn his daughter’s boat had finally arrived. Olivia was safely on his turf. He was back in control.
He’d instructed his guards to bring Devilliers to see him right after Elliot’s televised press conference. He wanted to meet this man before he had him eliminated. A part of him was intrigued. He wanted to see for himself what attracted his daughter to the notorious Belgian arms dealer.
Killinger checked his watch—forty-nine minutes and it would all be over. Maybe he needn’t worry about the fact that his assassin had not shown up yet. So far everything was still going to go according to plan. He could deal with his assassin after the trasfer of power.
He glanced at the bank of plasma screens that lined one wall of his office. The smaller screens were part of his onboard security surveillance system, the bigger screens he’d had installed to monitor the top news channels, as the world and its reporters readied themselves for the president’s press conference. He’d had one of his White House insiders leak the news of the president’s failing health to a CBNN correspondent, just to put Elliot on edge, to remind him that the Cabal was here, waiting, and to make the world sit up and notice.
Forty-five minutes to go now. He turned his attention to the bank of security screens and watched his guests. Something instantly caught his attention. A man captured by camera nine looked right at him, right into his stateroom, a direct challenge in his eyes. Killinger went stone still.
His heart began to race. Devilliers? He hit a button, froze the frame, zoomed in.
That haunting feeling surfaced again as he looked into the man’s eyes. They were ice gray—like a dangerous wolf.
Killinger’s blood turned cold. He knew where he’d seen those eyes before. Perspiration prickled over his lip. His heart began to race. He zoomed in closer. The man’s angular face and violent scar filled his vision, his room, his very soul.
By God.
He felt faint. Could it be? Could it really be him?
Jack Sauer?
Alive?
His daughter knew. If this was not Henri, if this was Jack, back from the dead or God knows where, then Olivia must know that her fiancé was not the one who had killed Elizabeth. Did she know what he was doing now?
His head was spinning.
What in hell did Jack have to do with any of this? Where had he been all this time? And that elaborate cover of Henri Devilliers, everything had checked out…. Killinger cursed violently.
He’d been duped.
He turned back to the bank of screens, panic and confusion licking through his body. On one of the television channels an anchor was announcing that the president was getting ready to address the nation. Killinger’s guard knocked, opened the door to his stateroom. Killinger spun round, nerves biting at him.
“Thirty-eight minutes to go, sir. Would you like me to link the feeds through to the ballroom?”
“No! No, not yet.”
Damn, he was not in control here. His eyes shot back to the bank of security cameras, and his heart clean stopped.
The assassin was boarding the yacht. His security guards were patting him down, surrounding him. Killinger had told his men that the man would be using the name Frobisher, and that under the pretext of escorting him to his office, they were to take him down into the hold, detain him until he could be interrogated. And then killed.
Killinger’s eyes followed from camera to camera as his guards led the albino past the buffet table. But the assassin stopped suddenly, right in front of Olivia.
Every nerve in Killinger’s body coiled tight. He zoomed in quickly, the man’s words snaking through his brain….
She looks like your wife.
The bastard was trying to rattle him. Then Killinger caught sight of Jack. He was staring at the albino, his wolf eyes narrow and dangerous. Killinger zoomed even closer, his hands trembling. Jack’s body was strung like wire as he stared at the albino.
He knew him!
Killinger could barely breathe. How would Jack Sauer know this man? He hit the communications button. “Bring Frobisher to me. I must speak with him. At once!”
Jack looked into the strange pale eyes of the man in front of him. He was well over six feet tall, built like a ship. This was without question the man who had killed December and escaped from São Diogo.
Violence coursed through him. What in hell was he doing here, on the yacht, now? This man knew about the FDS, about Dr. Sterling…why hadn’t he told Killinger? Why hadn’t the bombs gone off?
Unless he hadn’t told him. Yet.
He had to stop him. Jack had to get to Killinger before this man did.
He bent down, whispered in Olivia’s ear. “I need your help.” He gestured to the albino. “Do whatever you can to distract him. Charm him, talk to him, make a scene, anything. I must get to your father before he does.”
“Why?” she whispered
“He killed my man. He knows about the FDS.”
“What does he want?”
“I have no idea what his game is. I think he’s a loose cannon. Go. Now. Just make sure you have your father’s guards around you at all times—they won’t let him hurt you, I guarantee it.”
Jack opened the door to Samuel Killinger’s stateroom, entered as silently as a ghost and locked the door behind him. He’d left the guard lying unconscious outside.
Killinger was standing with his back to him, fixated with the image of his daughter talking to the albino, totally oblivious to his entry.
“Samuel.”
Killinger turned slowly to face him. Jack’s heart accelerated slightly. Killinger had been expecting him.
The first thought that hit Jack’s mind as he looked into the face of his nemesis was that the man had aged. And strangely enough, the rage that had fueled him up until now suddenly dissipated. He felt incredibly calm, as if he were in some other medium, moving slowly through warped time, playing out a scene he’d been destined to play from his birth.
“Jack Sauer,” Killinger said, studying him. “You’re alive.” His voice was still strong. It still held a deceiving and deadly warmth. Even with age, the man was just as powerful in person as Jack remembered. Yet there was an air of vulnerability about him. Maybe it had always been there. Maybe he could just see it now because he, too, was older and hopefully wiser.
Or maybe he just understood how a woman like Olivia could make a man vulnerable
“I made a mistake, Jack.”
“You made many mistakes, Samuel.” Jack said moving closer, using the man’s first name.
Killinger stiffened, squaring his shoulders. “No,” he said slowly. “I made only one. I underestimated you. What do you want, Jack? Why have you come back?” He began to edge toward the console as he spoke, his hand fingering along the counter toward the control buttons.
“I wouldn’t touch those controls, Samuel, not if you value your daughter’s life.”
Killingers eyes flickered sharply. “What do you mean?” he spoke cautiously, calmly, but Jack knew his brain had to be racing a million miles a minute, searching for escape routes. “Is it revenge you’re looking for?”
Behind him, above the screens showing repeated images of Elliot and Ruger, a digital clock read twenty-nine minutes. It flipped to twenty-eight. It was counting down.
“Justice, not revenge. And I will get it. But that’s not why I’m back. I want you to call off the biological attack.”
Killinger paled.
The clock clicked down to twenty-seven minutes.
“How do you know about the bombs? What does any of this have to do with you?”
“I’m here on behalf of the president.”
Killinger’s body twitched, but his features remained unchanged.
Jack extracted the chain from under the collar of his dress shirt and yanked the detonator tab free. He flicked the tab open, positio
ned his thumb over the pad, held it up for Killinger to see.
A news anchor on one of the channels announced that the president was preparing to take the podium. Another channel showed Elliot and Ruger talking intimately, seriously. Yet another channel focused on Grayson Forbes waiting in the wings, his face grave.
The clock flipped to twenty-six minutes.
“Call off that conference, Samuel. And call off the attack or I press this button and your daughter dies.”
His eyes flickered sharply but he remained silent.
Jack stepped closer. “Why don’t you turn around, take a look at that screen behind you. See the silver bracelet on her arm?”
Killinger held Jack’s eyes for a moment, then he turned, very slowly, and stared at the screen. “I see it,” he said. “Olivia told me that bracelet was given to her by a friend….” His voice faded as he put two and two together.
“If I press this button, that bracelet will inject a pathogen into her arm—a prion disease designed in your Nexus lab.”
He whirled round, eyes wide.
“Oh, it’s not the same one you plan to release over New York, Los Angles and Chicago, Samuel. You do not have the antidote for this one.”
He stared at Jack, breathing hard, desperation filling his eyes.
The clock clicked down to twenty-five minutes. Silence stretched.
“Call it off, Samuel.”
“I can’t. The protocols are already in place. The pathogen will be released at five after midnight. There’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
Jack raised the detonator. “Then Olivia dies, at your hand, with your pathogen. Ironic, isn’t it, Samuel?”
“I want her in here!” he demanded. “I need to see her. Now!”
Jack knew what he was doing. Killinger was aware of how much Jack had once loved his daughter, and he was going to gamble with that. He was betting that Jack could not look into Olivia’s eyes and still press that button.
“Fine,” Jack said slowly, his eyes on the clock. “Have her brought in. But one wrong move and I promise you she will die. Don’t think I haven’t got it in me.”
Killinger’s eyes narrowed and his lips curled. “So this is your idea of revenge, is it, Jack?” he hissed. “To take her away from me, the one thing I truly care about? To destroy my life—”
Rules of Re-engagement Page 16
