The End Game

Mike gu

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“What?”

“No blood on my shirt. No rips. Nothing.” He gri

He watched her execute a daring move around two taxis, leaving them screaming in her wake. No need for her to speed, but he realized she was pissed.

Nicholas laid his hand on her thigh, felt the sleek play of muscles beneath his fingers, and quickly lifted his hand. “Really, I’m fine. I had no idea our wounded-knee guy even got close to me. You were the one I was worried about.”

Mike looked straight ahead, missed a parked car by an inch. Then she looked at the impossibly handsome face next to her, saw worry—for her, not himself—and threw back her head and laughed. “Yet again, you saved my neck. Thank you, Nicholas. Sorry about your beautiful coat. You want a character witness for Nigel?”

He met her eyes, took his pinkie and put it through the hole, wiggled his finger. “Once Nigel gets a load of this I could have a dozen character witnesses, but I fear it wouldn’t help. As Nigel pointed out last night, however, Barneys will rejoice.”

Nicholas’s mobile rang, and he pulled it from his pocket, put it on speaker. “Gray, what’s happening?”

“The guy you shot in the knee? The NYPD found the brown Honda. It was abandoned at the base of the Williamsburg Bridge. Either they got into another car or they’re on foot. Either way, we lost them. I’ve sent a team to process the car. Perhaps we’ll have some luck lifting fingerprints. Or blood, that’d be good.”

“I will only confirm that I shot the guy in the knee if you promise not to rat me out to Zachery. This isn’t a good time for a hearing and losing my weapon.”

“Yeah, yeah, I promise. You’re a dweeb. As far as I know, you don’t even know how to fire a weapon.”

“Thanks, Gray. Ah, the knee shot? That was only because he was aiming at Mike.”

“I was going to say nice shooting, Tex, but since he got away, forget it.”

Mike said, “Tex? He’s supposed to be James Bond, Gray, not the Lone Ranger.”

Gray laughed, told some agents around him what Mike had said, and there was more laughter.

“All right, you hyena,” Nicholas said, “when you calm down, let me tell you I’m calling Savich to have him plug in MAX.”

Gray gave one last hiccup. “Good idea. Can’t hurt.”

35

BISHOP TAKES B6

Baltimore, Maryland

Zahir Damari loved nothing more than raising his face into a strong stream of hot water in a shower. Since he was staying at a nice hotel, it was piping hot and he knew it wouldn’t run out, like it sometimes did in Jordan, even in his exquisite villa. He washed himself slowly, luxuriating in the loofah gliding over his skin. Everything was back on track.

Once dressed, he applied several layers of makeup and prosthetics using the photo on his current fake passport as a guide. He was always careful, always precise. After a few finishing touches to his hair, he studied the results in the mirror, nodded at his reflection. He looked good; he was ready. If the man he was meeting described him, it wouldn’t matter, since he would be describing another man entirely. Zahir smiled at himself in the mirror. Actually, if the idiot did describe him to anyone at all, even his lovely wife, he wouldn’t live an hour longer.

Before Zahir left for Silver Corner, he called Matthew, to make sure his part of the plan was locked in, and Matthew was ready to pull the trigger. He smiled again as he punched in Matthew’s number—Matthew didn’t realize it, but he was Zahir’s minion, as gullible as only an ideologue could be. There were so many exactly like him on both sides, driven by hate, no real thought to the future or what could be made of the future.

He pictured the beautiful blast at Bayway, the flames that licked into the sky, and the feel of the ground shaking beneath his feet. The power of such a tiny part of that gold coin was amazing.

Matthew didn’t pick up until the fourth ring, and that worried Zahir. He realized immediately something was wrong. Matthew sounded exhausted and depressed, very unlike himself.

“It is Darius. Tell me what is happening?”

“Was it you who set me up? You who betrayed me, set them against me?”

Now, this was interesting, at least for a moment. “Come, Matthew, what are you talking about?”

And it all came spilling out, his killing of both Ian and Vanessa because of their betrayal, and how he’d burned the building down around them. “But maybe it was you, Darius, who betrayed me. Was Vanessa right?”

“What do you think?” You idiot.

“All right, all right, so it was the only thing I could do. I killed them, both of them. Ian tried to protect her, can you believe that?”

“Maybe he was in love with her, too.”

“No, no.”

Zahir listened to him ramble about a small phone hidden in a bar of soap, heard the growing hysteria in his voice. This wouldn’t do. He very much needed Matthew, in case something got cocked up. It shouldn’t, but you never knew, and that was the thrill of his business, the uncertainty, the wild card, like Vanessa. Sounded to him like she was an undercover agent. He didn’t think she’d ever gotten a photo of him to send to her handler. He was always too careful.

“Did you learn anything from Vanessa before you killed her?”

“She kept saying it wasn’t her, it was Ian, it was you. The phone messages were all deleted. Even Andy couldn’t find anything.”

“Very well. She is dead, no longer a threat to us. However, now we have to move quickly—whoever Vanessa was working with, or for, knows all about us.” Except me, of course. He heard Matthew’s deep, hoarse breathing. “Get hold of yourself. You did what you had to do. Now you must do your job, you must keep moving forward. All will be well.”

“But does it really matter anymore, Darius? Blowing up Bayway, I realize you believed this would help our cause, but now, like you said, because of Vanessa, the Feds know who I am and will be hunting me. And all those deaths, I swore never to be like them, like those terrorists who killed my family.”

What a twisted-up fool Matthew was. Who cared about the deaths at Bayway? Hadn’t he just murdered both Ian and Vanessa? Zahir would never understand this genius, who seemed now like a whining, hysterical child.

Patience, patience. Pull him back in.

“Matthew, where are you? What are you doing? We need to speak more about this.”

Then suddenly Matthew turned on a dime, something that always amazed Zahir. The steel was back. “I’ll do my job, Darius. You do yours,” and Matthew hung up.

Zahir stared at his cell phone, not wanting to believe that Matthew had actually hung up on him.

He realized he wasn’t surprised that Vanessa had been some sort of undercover agent. But it was Ian—he’d protected her? Was he an agent as well? No, impossible. Ian was a true believer and loved Matthew like a brother. Yet he’d tried to protect her. Well, in the end, who cared? It didn’t matter, they were both dead, it was over. Except Matthew was right, the FBI would be after him, guns blazing.

His only worry was that Matthew’s brain would twist him up again and he wouldn’t follow through on the assignment he and Darius had worked out. That, or he’d be caught first.

Either way, Zahir had fail-safes. He always had fail-safes.

As soon as he had the blueprints, he’d be ready to move out. In fact, he was rather looking forward to finally having his moment in the sun. His wits, his abilities, pitted against theirs. He would be tested, and he relished it.

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