by Derek Haas
She raised her arm and pounded her fist into the front of his pants with everything she had, and like a tornado, spun again and scratched at his face.
He was already countering, closing his lids to avoid her fingernails, raising his hand to swing the blade down in an arc.
Clay caught him.
The Snow Wolf’s arm was raised and poised to swing down with lethal force, but Clay hit that arm right at its high point and damn near snapped it off. The shoulder made an audible pop as it flew backward, the knife banging uselessly on the pavement, and then the two adversaries came together and bounced off the front of the trolley as it braked to a stop.
It wasn’t a fair fight from there. Fourticq crashed to the ground, his arm useless so he hit the pavement with his nose unprotected. It shattered.
A primal instinct within Clay surfaced at the sight of Fourticq’s blood. He growled without realizing he was doing it and rolled onto the back of the Snow Wolf. Then he picked up Fourticq’s head by the hair and smashed it back down into the ground, again and again and again.
Somewhere a young woman screamed, but Clay couldn’t hear it. The sound of the ocean waves crashing on the hull of his uncle’s boat drowned out the noise.
Chapter Thirteen
WARREN SUMNER ducked into the bathroom to wash his hands. He had prepared Adams’s transfer to Prague down to the last detail, but he still had so much to do. That was the way it was with the best assistants: first they took care of their boss, then they took care of themselves.
The water felt good, cleansing. His kindergarten teacher had taught him how to properly wash his hands, first rubbing the back, then the front, then intertwining the fingers, and all these years later, he could remember her face, how it lit up when he did it right.
He was just turning off the faucet and reaching for the paper towel dispenser when the door of the bathroom opened and Austin Clay walked inside.
Warren swallowed but couldn’t seem to get any moisture into his mouth. Clay wasn’t moving toward the stalls; he just stood in the doorway, looking directly at him. Warren grabbed a paper towel and pulled, but it broke in the middle so he only got a small triangle from the dispenser. Absently, he dried his hands with that piece rather than try again.
“Is she okay, then?” He tried to put the proper amount of concern on his face.
“Marika? Yes.”
“I was about to head to the hospital to check on the Adams family.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. How this could happen here is—”
“How was it supposed to happen?”
Warren stopped. He could feel his eyes darting and wished they wouldn’t, but he couldn’t make them stop. He forced a smile.
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.”
“How was what supposed to happen?”
Clay folded his arms across his chest and stepped closer. “I have a theory, and you tell me where I’m wrong.”
“Okay?” Warren tried to suppress the rising panic inside him.
“I think you tried to pull off your first mission.”
“I don’t—”
“I think you looked at it like this. There were two dangling threads left over from the attempted assassination of Adams. Two threads that would keep him from starting his EurOps position with a clean slate. Snow Wolf and Marika Csontos. So you came up with a way to kill two birds with one stone. You’d give Fourticq the address where Marika was staying, and then you’d make sure I got the news too late to stop him but in time to kill him. Fourticq would take care of the girl, and I’d take care of him.”
“That’s not—”
“What you weren’t counting on was a bomb on Adams’s plane.”
Warren stopped trying to respond. His face felt flushed with blood. His eyes shifted again, and Clay’s widened.
“Or…wait. Wait. Kudos, Warren. I didn’t think you had it in you. You did know about the bomb on Adams’s plane. Hell, you arranged it. And if it all went down the way you wanted, you’d have all your problems tied up in one swoop. Adams would be dead, leaving a vacuum in power that you could help fill. Snow Wolf and Marika Csontos would be dead. And you’d have me in your arsenal, unencumbered.”
“That’s…none of that is true.”
“Do you know how many men I’ve gotten to tell me the truth over the years? How many men, bigger than you, maybe not meaner, maybe not more despicable, maybe not as evil as you, but bigger men nonetheless, who have told me their secrets?”
Clay stepped closer again, and Warren’s eyes tracked to the door. Could he get around Clay? Break past him before the field operative could reach out an arm and stop him? Then what? Warren heard his voice come out squeaky, breaking like the voice of a teenager going through puberty. “What? You’re going to torture me?” He couldn’t keep the alarm out of it.
“No, Warren. You’re going to confess to what you did. What your plan was. All of it.”
“How did you—?”
“Because you and Fourticq were in contact before all of this. You were his inside man in Los Angeles long before Adams got on a plane for Prague.”
“You couldn’t know that. His files were all cleaned out.”
“It’s not on his hard drive. It’s on yours.”
Warren decided he’d just stick his chin up and blow past Clay, take a haughty air, act offended, and just…go.
“You’re lying,” he said. “And I don’t have to stand here and listen to this.”
“You got your loyalties confused, Warren. I don’t know what Fourticq told you, or promised you, but you put your cards in with him instead of with the Agency.”
“Absurd.” Warren brushed past Clay and was surprised when the larger man didn’t stop him. He breathed easier. He would walk out to the elevator, head down to his car, and drive away. He didn’t know where he’d drive, but he would head south and then—
He opened the door to the corridor and shrank back when he saw the hallway filled with people. Twenty dark-suited men stood on either side of the door, blocking his way. He searched their faces until he saw one he recognized. Half of the face was peeling, as though the man had fallen asleep on his side in a lounger on a beach.
“You’re going to tell us everything,” he said.
“Michael. It’s not what you think. I didn’t—”
“Take him.”
And then he was grabbed rudely under his arms and led forcefully away.
Epilogue
HE NEEDED a break.
Clay had spent the last four months in Berlin, tracking embassy staffers and reporting back to EurOps whom they met with, when they met, where they were headed, and why they were meeting. There was a reason these men were politicians; they were boring. They went to meetings, they wrote missives and reports, they glad-handed, and they failed to do a single thing that was interesting.
He met Adams at Sanssouci Park in Potsdam, near the obelisk that guarded the entrance. They looked like a couple of businessmen out enjoying an afternoon walk. The sun was high in the sky, and Europe was headed for another summer heat wave. They had both shed their jackets and draped them over their arms.
“I can see Prague has been treating you well,” Clay said, and patted Adams on the stomach.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I mean you look like you’ve put a tire around your middle, Patch.”
He had taken to calling Adams Patch after the dippy clown Robin Williams had portrayed in a maudlin movie. Adams hated the nickname, of course.
“Don’t call me that.”
“But you’ve always filled me with such joy, such a will to live—”
“Enough,” Adams said, now crossing his arms over his stomach. “What do you have?”
“If Berg and Eichel were sharing inside information with Nigeria, I found no evidence. These guys are clean.”
“Hmmm,” Adams said. “All right. If there’s no fire there, there’s no fire.”
“Th
ere’s not even smoke.”
Adams nodded. “Okay…I’m going to need you in Dubai. There’s a group of arms dealers—a consortium of American, British, and French—who might be trying to sell weapons to, let’s just say, unsavory types in Syria.”
“When do they meet?”
“You’ll get the dossier this week. I believe they’re flying into Dubai week after next.”
“Perfect. I need a break.”
“A break?”
“I just have to get out of here for a few days. Clear my head.”
“And go where?”
“Where the left hand won’t know what I’m doing.”
Adams smirked and nodded. “Fair enough.” He started to leave, but Clay’s voice stopped him.
“How’s the family?”
Adams turned, surprise on his face. He wasn’t used to anyone in intelligence save the Director asking after his family. But there was no animus in Clay’s voice, just genuine concern. “Great. Laura has found a group of expats in Prague who keep her busy. She’s playing tennis again and feeling well.”
“And Kate and Grace?”
Adams grinned, impressed Clay remembered their names. “They keep me on my toes. I don’t think they’ve stopped smiling since we landed in Europe. We’re going to take them to see Paris next week.”
“I’m glad,” Clay replied, and he meant it. “I’ll report in from Dubai after I land. Take care of yourself.”
“You too.” Adams watched Clay disappear around the obelisk and head out of the park. He chuckled to himself, then raised his hand to shield his eyes so he could look at the hieroglyphics carved into the stone pillar, but he couldn’t make sense of the shapes. Somehow, that struck him as apt.
Clay settled into his booth, drank his coffee, and gazed out the window. They made a strong pot at this diner, and when the waitress came, he asked for more. She topped it with a smile. “You in for the game?”
Clay looked back from the window and offered her a smile of his own. “No.”
“Not a football fan?”
Now that he took a moment to look around, he saw that most of the booths were occupied by men and women in red-and-orange jerseys. They were all chattering excitedly.
“Not really.”
“Well, you picked a busy time to come in…it’s the first game of the season and we’re gonna be hoppin’.”
Now he knew why she was making conversation…he was taking up a whole window booth, just drinking coffee. She could’ve shuffled in a couple of families in the time he’d already spent sitting there.
“Tell you what”—he searched for her name tag—“Helen. You let me sit here and drink my coffee until I want to get up, and I’ll give you a hundred-dollar tip.”
“You’ll get a piece of pumpkin pie and not another word from me.”
“Can you make it apple?”
“I can make it anything you want, sugar.” She waddled off, and he turned his attention back to the window.
She sat across the street at an outside table, cross-legged, peering down into a textbook. Her hair had grown longer since he’d last seen her and was shiny and clean. A single braid twisted down from her temple and dangled next to her mouth. She played with it absently as she read. Every now and then, she’d pick up a yellow highlighter and mark something on the pages.
The sun was reflecting off the window where Clay sat, so she couldn’t see him. He was adept at sitting in places where he could study people without their knowledge. He raised the cup to his lips as the waitress set down a steaming piece of apple pie.
He looked back out the window just as a young man about Marika’s age approached and she moved a backpack so he could take the seat next to hers. The boy put his hand out on the table, and she took it. A smile stretched across her face so wide that it lit up the distance between the two cafes.
When the waitress returned to Clay’s booth, she found a hundred-dollar bill there, but her customer was gone.
About the Author
Derek Haas is the author of The Silver Bear, Columbus, and Dark Men. He cowrote the screenplays for the films 3:10 to Yuma, Wanted, The Double, and the new NBC show Chicago Fire. He is the creator of the website popcornfiction.com, which promotes genre short fiction. Derek lives in Los Angeles. Interact with Derek and other fans at derekhaas.com, follow him on Twitter @popcornhaas, or Facebook friend him.
MULHOLLAND BOOKS
You won’t be able to put down these Mulholland books.
Breed by Chase Novak
Say You’re Sorry by Michael Robotham
Bleed for Me by Michael Robotham
The House of Silk by Anthony Horowitz
The Revisionists by Thomas Mullen
The Right Hand by Derek Haas
SEAL Team Six: Hunt the Scorpion by Don Mann
Gun Machine by Warren Ellis
The Whisperer by Donato Carrisi
Hit Me by Lawrence Block
Edge of Dark Water by Joe R. Lansdale
You by Austin Grossman
The Crook Factory by Dan Simmons
Beauty by Brian D’Amato
Visit mulhollandbooks.com for your daily suspense fiction fix.
Download the FREE Mulholland app.
Also by Derek Haas
The Silver Bear
Columbus
Dark Men
Thank you for buying this e-book, published by Hachette Digital.
To receive special offers, bonus content, and news about our latest e-books and apps, sign up for our newsletter.
Sign Up
Or visit us at hachettebookgroup.com/newsletters
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Derek Haas
Newsletter
Copyright
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2012 by Derek Haas
Cover design by Allison J. Warner
Cover photographs: motorcyclist © Jeffrey Sitthi/Getty Images; tunnel © Medioimages/Photodisc
Cover copyright © 2012 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Mulholland Books / Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017
mulhollandbooks.com
twitter.com/mulhollandbooks
First e-book edition: November 2012
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.
ISBN 978-0-316-19848-6
grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
