‘OK, let’s see the weapon,’ the man said, and even his voice seemed different, lower and more gravelly, although that could just have been the tension. ‘Take the piece out, nice and slow, and toss it over the railing.’
I shook my head sadly. ‘I’m not carrying.’
He was silent for a moment, then he flicked towards my torso with the barrel of the gun. It was another nine-mil Glock, I saw, like the one he’d used to shoot Sean. He was getting a taste for them.
‘Show me.’
Obligingly, I lifted the hem of my sweatshirt, just high enough to expose the waistband of my jeans, turned a slow circle. It went against all my training to present my back to an armed assailant, but he wasn’t going to shoot me just yet.
Not without discovering what I knew – and who else knew it, also.
When I was facing him again, he gave a sardonic smile. ‘Don’t know why that should surprise me – you always were so sure of yourself.’
‘With reason,’ I said coldly. ‘I caught you, didn’t I?’ Twice.
The smile lost some of its internal backing, became more forced. Not a memory he wanted to dwell on. His chin lifted on a taunt. ‘Tell me, Charlie – those reflexes of yours quick enough to dodge a bullet?’
‘What does it matter?’ I shrugged. ‘Epps has a bullet with your name on it, and you can’t dodge that one for ever.’
‘Dodged it pretty good up ’til now,’ he said with satisfaction. His eyes were everywhere, I saw, as if expecting the Homeland Security man to storm in with a full SWAT team behind him at any moment. It took half his concentration away from me and I needed to use that while I had the chance.
I cursed the fact I’d left the SIG behind in New York, but I had set out to confront and detain, not to kill. The man in front of me may not have started out personally violent, but he’d certainly picked it up along the way. Who knows what else he’d had to do in order to survive on the run?
My heart rate had stepped up, but I let my arms dangle, kept my knees soft and my shoulders relaxed. Strangely, I felt no fear. I had no doubts that the man behind the gun was prepared to use it if he had to. He might even be looking forward to it, but if it was my destiny to die here, I was ready for it.
And I would not provide him with an easy kill.
‘I hope you’re not too attached to good old Roy Neese, because he’s blown out of the water.’ I watched the information filter through the layers of nerves, tightening and tangling as it went. ‘Roy Neese. Where did you find that one? Doesn’t quite have the ring of your old name, does it?’
As I spoke, I turned sideways, leant back and rested my elbows on the rusted steel handrail that bordered the walkway. I let my hands droop, and hooked one heel onto the lower railing, keeping it all very casual, relaxed. And all the while hoping he wouldn’t notice that one arm was now half a metre closer to him, and I had a solid object behind me to launch from.
‘Had to pick something.’ He flashed his teeth quick enough for it to be more grimace than grin. ‘Too many people in my … position go for names that stand out, for one reason or another. Or they keep a hold of their initials.’ He paused, as if not sure he should be telling me so much, but realising it didn’t matter either way. ‘I used one of those random-name generators you find online.’
‘Clever,’ I agreed sedately, nodding. ‘I heard Epps sent you after one of the militia groups linked to Fourth Day. What happened – did being a double agent not do it for you?’
I kept my voice comparatively quiet, so the background roar of traffic overhead would make it harder to hear. And as I watched, he shifted his stance a little, unconsciously edging closer.
‘You think I ever intended to spy on those crazy bastards?’ he asked, almost incredulous. ‘Let me tell you, they do not take kindly to that kinda thing. And paranoid? They make guys like Epps look real trusting.’
‘He must have been, to turn you loose on a solemn promise to be a good little boy, cross your heart and hope to die.’
He ignored the mockery in my tone and shook his head, the barrel of the Glock starting to drift downwards. ‘You just don’t get it, do you, Charlie?’ he demanded. ‘I’m hardly a blip on his radar. In fact, Epps is better off with me off of his radar altogether, because then he’ll never have to answer for the errors he made in California. Errors that caused the deaths of his own people.’
‘The way I remember it,’ I said tightly, ‘that was down to you.’
‘Semantics,’ he dismissed. He paused, gave me a pitying look. ‘You really think I didn’t know they were coming for me tomorrow? You think, even if I wasn’t planning to be gone by then, that I won’t be loose again a month from now?’
I tried not to show how hard that set me reeling, was suddenly glad of the railing at my back. ‘But you didn’t know I was coming for you today.’
He laughed. ‘You forget – I spent some time with you, Charlie, and you’re one of the good guys. I had a feeling you might come with them, want to be the one who slapped on the cuffs with a self-righteous air. Didn’t expect you to spring for an advance flight, though. You’ve been tailing me since – when? Saturday morning?’
So, my surveillance skills really did need improvement. ‘Friday night, actually,’ I said, as calmly as I could manage.
He smiled. ‘Should change your looks some, if you’re gonna do this professionally. Once seen, never forgotten.’ His eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Epps told me Meyer survived, so what’s this all about, huh?’
The implications of his false assumption flashed through my brain as fast as the synapses could fire. For reasons of his own, Epps hadn’t told him Sean was still in a coma.
So use it.
‘You really don’t know?’ I murmured. ‘Never mind about me – you think Sean would be happy to let a little shit like you get away with taking him down?’ I deliberately softened my voice still further. He leant close enough for me to smell his aftershave, strong enough to remind me that he was not a field operative, or he wouldn’t wear something so distinctive in still air. I smiled. ‘You really think I’d come out here after you, alone and unarmed, for any other reason than as bait?’
I saw the convulsive jump of his Adam’s apple. ‘Bait?’
I let my eyes slip past his face to a point behind his left shoulder. ‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’
His head snapped round, knees ducking his body as he turned, as if to avoid a blow. I kicked away from the railing and jabbed my knuckles hard into the rigid tendons at the back of his right hand. The hand sprang open immediately, a completely involuntary reaction. The gun clattered onto the planking and spun away behind him.
I followed up with a fast elbow to the throat, both to disable and to silence him. He crashed backwards, scrabbling for the collar of his polo shirt as though the soft cotton was responsible for his lack of breath, and I realised I’d put all my pent-up rage and heartache into that single blow.
By the time he’d got his senses back under him, I’d picked up the Glock, checked the magazine and was pointing it in his direction. He shielded his head with his arms, palms outward and fingers spread, while he gulped for air and speech.
‘Wait,’ he managed at last, rasping. ‘I’m on a boat – in the Riverside Marina. I have money on board! I can pay—’
‘Pay?’ I heard my voice crack, harsh and raw, and something else seemed to split open inside my head, my heart, and come pouring out like poison. ‘Do you honestly think there’s enough money on a boat – on a whole fleet of fucking boats – to begin to make up for the damage you’ve caused?’
Smoothly, easily, I stepped back a pace, brought the muzzle of the gun up until the sights were aligned on the centre of his forehead.
‘Charlie, wait! Please—’
‘Too late,’ I said, and pulled the trigger.