87

Montvale, Virginia

The woman was slumped in the backseat of Jason’s car when he deplaned one of the Hermitage’s private jets onto the Richmond International Airport tarmac. She was bound, blindfolded, unresponsive. The agent who handed him the keys also handed him a Christmas-tree shaped air freshener.

When he slid into the car, he understood why.

The Underground leader’s flesh was a swampland of infected wounds, her body running a fever so high that Jason could feel the heat of her from the front seat.

It enraged him.

Surely her wounds were the cuts he’d inflicted back in Minneapolis, but that was in the line of work. If the Hermitage chose to keep her, they needed to tend to her. Jason would be lucky if she stayed alive for the four-hour drive to Montvale, and what good would she be to him dead?

He slammed his hand into the steering wheel.

When Barnaby had called, his command had been clear.

“Take her with.”

“She’ll slow me down. Why do I need her?”

“Geppetto tells me you failed outside the Dolores Mission.”

Jason’s cheek twitched, took a new shape, popped back. When he’d met Geppetto outside Mission Delores, Geppetto had placed his hand on Jason’s shoulder.

He’d squeezed.

Just a bit.

Enough to steal Jason’s breath.

To remind him of those nights in the Lower 9, when it was his turn with Geppetto.

To make sure he remembered that single job in Minnesota fourteen years earlier.

To let Jason know that his crack could come again, at any time.

Jason despised Geppetto for that, but he hated himself worse for not reaching for a knife and skewering that meat hook of a hand like a kebab, for not even pulling away. That was Geppetto’s power, to teach you that attempting escape hurt worse than letting him have his way, to brand that message deep into your soul.

Adding insult to the promise of injury, the women had escaped their grasp outside the mission. Jason had watched across the street as Wiley fumbled with the middle bell, nearly falling before popping a drawer hidden in the bell’s harness and removing something. He saw them exit the front door, and he’d issued a terse command to Geppetto: Hold Isabel, don’t hurt her.

Even with her hair chopped, she took his breath away.

But then the FBI agent arrived, followed two hours later by this phone call from Barnaby.

“Yes, we failed. The daughters weren’t able to stay for the interview as we’d hoped.” Jason didn’t like that his voice sounds whiny, or that Barnaby’s good cheer had disappeared days ago and had not returned.

“It’s not just the docket anymore,” Barnaby says. “They have the location to Beale’s vault. This is a Code Blue. I need you.”

That announcement knocked the whine directly out of Jason.

He felt himself grow taller.

Barnaby continued, “I need stealth. If I send in the entire workforce, Wiley and Odegaard might run before they open the vault, and we’ll have nothing. That girl is the only one who can get inside, so make sure she does. A plane is waiting for you at SFO. We’ll have the Underground leader in a car for you when you land.”

Jason didn’t want to ask again. “Why do I need her?”

A pause announced Barnaby’s displeasure. “You may not, but if it comes to it, what would you do if someone was about to dismiss your mother in front of you?”

“Anything.”

Jason meant it. Killing his mother was his job.

Barnaby’s genteel voice broke into Jason’s mental stroll. “Wait until they enter the vault to be sure it’s possible. Then downsize them all. We won’t need their work any longer. We won’t need any outside employees.” His tone became reverential. “Once we have what’s inside the vault, the Hermitage will be untouchable.”

“What do I do after they’ve been dismissed?”

“We’ll have a human resources crew on hand, just out of sight, poised for cleanup. You’ll tell them when to arrive. I don’t want them there until everyone is terminated. Understand?”

“Yes sir. Thank you.”

Barnaby cleared his throat, his tone chiding. “They’re your backup, too, if you aren’t able to decruit everyone on your own. You’ll inform HR when you go in. You’ll have ten minutes from that point to finish the job. If they don’t hear from you within that time, they swarm. But that won’t happen, will it, Jason?”

The words stung. “No sir.”

“Good man.”

Barnaby had better believe it.

Everyone would be dead when Jason was done.