Adam swept a stiff broom across the worn canvas mat. The dojo was empty save for himself and Matsumoto who knelt in one corner meditating. Since his very first day, Adam had been assigned the chore of cleaning the studio each night after practice. It was not a punishment, simply a duty that befell the foreigner. He didn’t mind staying after class. He had no family to hurry home to, and the chore allowed him never to feel pressured to leave. Instead, he used the quiet time to reflect on what he’d learned. He suspected that this was Matsumoto’s motivation, though they had not discussed it. It was the way of the Japanese to leave much unspoken.
Most evenings while Adam cleaned, Matsumoto would retire to a corner of the dojo and begin a lengthy meditation exercise. When Adam finished cleaning, they would exit the dojo together with hardly a word spoken—both respectful of the other’s time of reflection. Tonight was different, however.
As Adam put up the broom, Matsumoto said, “May we talk?”
He approached Matsumoto and knelt facing him. “Of course.”
“Tell me, Cowboy, how do you feel you are doing in your study of judo?”
Adam hesitated. Humility was very important to the Japanese, so he chose his words carefully. “I’m improving, but I still have much to learn.”
Matsumoto snorted softly. “Surely, you know that you are one of my strongest students. Since your arrival, you have taken to judo better than I could have imagined.”
“Thank you, sensei.” He had not known until now that Matsumoto recognized his progress.
“Your strength is found in your determination. The other students claim you are fumetsu, unbreakable. They hold you in great esteem.”
Adam shifted, a bit uncomfortable at the praise. He said nothing.
“You and I have a bond. Have you felt it?”
“Yes,” Adam answered. Since their first meeting he had felt uniquely connected to Matsumoto. He could not, however, put it into words.
“Just as that of a river to the mountains. Each must accommodate the other.”
Adam bowed in respect.
Matsumoto closed his eyes, brought in a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth. “Close your eyes, Cowboy. I wish to teach you.”
Adam did as instructed.
“Take a moment to relax yourself. Let your emotions leave your body. Instead, think only of your inner self. Feel every beat of your heart, every breath of air in your lungs.”
Adam began by first tightening and then relaxing each muscle in his body. He then cleared his mind of distractions and worries. Having practiced kenpo for many years, meditation was not new to him, and he quickly found himself rested and at peace.
When he saw that Adam was ready, Matsumoto continued, “The world is connected by an infinite set of strings, everything bound to everything else. To understand this, you must allow your ki to travel beyond your own self.”
Adam was surprised by the reflective tone of Matsumoto’s voice. It was as if he were relaying the meaning of an ancient Japanese artifact.
“Concentrate on extending your ki throughout the dojo just as we do in rooting ourselves during judo,” Matsumoto continued. “Allow your energy to travel along the floor, to snake up the walls, even to flow through me.”
Adam slowly released his ki into the room, his internal energy flowing out and away like soft billows of smoke. With the extension, he began to envision the room in great detail … the stained floor mat, the heavy oak door with cracked blue paint, the weathered Japanese flag hanging from the ceiling. Sounds and smells also came to him, the musky odor left by men who had struggled against one another, the chirp of a cricket sitting in the windowsill, the air passing in and out of Matsumoto’s body.
“I am imagining the room,” he said. “Many details, many sounds and smells.”
“Good. But do not only imagine. See and feel the dojo in your mind’s eye. Everything is there for you. You have only to reach out to it. Extend from a point just below your navel. This is the nexus for all your ki.”
“I’ll try.” Adam slowed his breathing and continued releasing his thoughts, emotions, and very soul into the room. Slowly over several minutes, new details came to him. Things he had never consciously noticed before. The silent rhythm of the air as it pulsed from the air duct high overhead. The split in one of the large wood beams supporting the ceiling. The halo of moonlight that passed through the window and fell on the very spot where Matsumoto knelt each night during meditation.
“The dojo is like an animal, alive and breathing,” Matsumoto said. “Can you feel it?”
“Yes. I’m like a blind man finding sight. How is this possible, sensei?”
“I can tell you only what I know. If you learn to channel your ki, you will be able to travel across the cobwebs that bind this world together. You will see the clouds dance in the sky, hear the heartbeat of a hummingbird, and feel the cool depth of the sea. Such extension can bring about both knowledge and healing.”
And though others might have taken Matsumoto’s words as an abstract lesson, Adam accepted them as metaphysical truth.
“Such extension is only possible for those possessing great ki,” Matsumoto continued. “You were blessed, as was I, with such power. Mastery requires a lifetime, but tonight you have begun your journey. This knowledge is passed to you alone. Please respect its importance.”
Adam felt powerful emotions stirring within him. He could say only, “I am honored.”
Matsumoto fell silent. Together the two men sat, both extending their energy into the small studio. After several minutes, Matsumoto roused and brought his hands together with two sharp claps.
The door to the dojo opened and Adam heard the soft footsteps of someone entering behind him. He remained completely motionless, still trying to unravel the newfound mysteries of the small room.
“Answer me this question,” Matsumoto said in barely a whisper. “Who stands inside the door?”
At first, logic tried to intervene, telling Adam that this was a puzzle that could be solved by deduction. The heaviness of the stranger’s steps or perhaps the rhythm of his breathing might provide an answer.
He forced such reason from his mind, and instead allowed his ki to once again fill the dojo. In his mind’s eye, an image slowly materialized. A young man, balding before his years. Thick muscular forearms and hunched shoulders. Before he could second-guess the image, Adam said, “Aida-san.”
“And how do you know this?”
“I … I can feel him. I can sense his disturbance of the ground, of the air. I can detect his odor as it spins its way through the room. More than anything, I can feel his ki.”
“Open your eyes and see for yourself.”
Adam opened his eyes and turned to look at the door.
Fumio Aida stood looking at the two of them, hesitated a moment, and then offered a deep bow.
* * *
Adam extended himself farther than ever before. First came a small room, lights and tones splitting the sterile darkness. Beyond was the hospital, white coats and the smell of sickness everywhere. Outside its walls was a city. People raced through cold citadels of steel and glass, unaware that he’d settled over them like a smoky phantom.
Still he went farther. Out across the water. The waves rising and falling as they danced to the moon’s midnight orchestra. The business of life beneath continued despite his ghostly intrusion. Then across the land filled with trees and birds, cars and farmhouses.
Adam didn’t know how far he now reached. Distance could no longer be fully measured by simple metrics of miles or feet. He now moved in another plane of existence. A dimension where time and space were only semblances of truth.
The energy of the life he’d encompassed was more powerful than any force he’d ever imagined. It was on the sprawling web that connected all life together that he finally rested. And with his rest, healing began.
* * *
The first round of consciousness came two days later, and for an instant, Adam wondered if he had died. An unlikely angel stared down at him, but in place of wings and halo were a split lip, bruised cheekbone, and swollen eye.
Adam blinked several times, trying to shake the delirium. The hospital room came into focus, and he began to understand where he was. He tried to sit up. Plastic intravenous tubes, an oxygen mask, and wires from electronic monitoring equipment all resisted him.
“Whoa, pal, take it easy,” Agent Valin said, pushing him gently back to the bed. “You took one through the lung. It’s going to take some time before you’re ready to play football. How you survived at all is a goddamn miracle. Even the doctors say so.”
Adam was confused. This was the man he’d fought in the corridor. The same man he’d smashed in the head, kicked in the bladder, and otherwise inflicted with great pain. Why was he acting as if they had just returned from a round of barhopping together?
Adam moved the breathing mask down to his chin. “Hey, man, sorry … about the …” His throat was too sore to continue. Evidently, whatever medical attention he’d received included the dragging of long strips of fine grit sandpaper up and down his windpipe.
“The name’s Bart Valin, and don’t sweat the bruises. You did what you had to. I haven’t had my ass kicked in a good twenty years. It’s nice to know someone can still humble a guy like me.”
Adam only blinked trying to make sense of his words.
“Besides, you did it,” Agent Valin continued. “You saved him. You saved Senator Shoemaker. You’re a bona fide national hero.”
“Hero?” Adam repeated hoarsely. He emitted a short but painfully wet cough. Tears leaked out the corners of both eyes.
“In fact, we’re both heroes,” the agent said as he carefully replaced the oxygen mask.
Adam looked up at him with wrinkled brows, now even more bewildered.
“I know … I know,” the Secret Service agent said in a hushed voice. He looked around the otherwise empty room, as if to be certain he was still alone. “Just so you know. I gave it to them straight about what went down, but they didn’t want to hear it. They concocted a bullshit story about us fighting side by side in a big shootout with four international terrorists. When I told them they were full of shit, they gave me direct orders to keep my mouth shut. Hell, I was even promoted to section chief. I know it’s a bribe, but do you know how big a jump that is? I’m a chief. No more cherry assignments. No more Karen Parson.”
Adam closed his eyes, trying desperately to comprehend what he was saying. Who was Karen Parson? Who concocted the story, and why? What terrorists? Why hadn’t he mentioned the assassin?
“Hey, you can still spoil this thing. Personally, I don’t think it’s a good idea, but it’s your call. I take my hat off to you. I don’t know how you took all four out on your own, and I think you’re due some major badass credit for it. But I guess I’m hoping you wouldn’t mind sharing the spotlight. You’ll have a friend for life. But, like I said, you call it as you need to. I’ll back you either way. Orders be damned.” The man squeezed Adam’s shoulder.
Adam once again pulled his oxygen mask down. “Who gave the orders?” he choked.
“Huh?”
“Who told you to play along?” Adam’s voice was barely a whisper, and even at that, each word caused him to wince.
Agent Valin again looked around the room. Leaning in close, he said, “Deputy director of the Secret Service. Do you understand what I’m telling you? The order came directly from him to me. No one in between. I’ve been reassigned to a new section. A fresh start. A thorough cover-up. You get what I’m saying?”
Adam waited for more. Things still didn’t make sense.
After a moment of consideration, Agent Valin continued, “Look, I’m going to shoot straight with you. Follow my lead on this one. Keep your mouth shut, and take the credit they’re willing to dish out. The alternative isn’t pretty for either of us.”
Adam stared into the agent’s eyes, and for the first time he thought he saw a healthy dose of fear hidden in them.
* * *
The next time Adam woke, the room was dark. Agent Valin was gone, and only the beeping heart monitor now kept him company. He wasn’t sure how many days it had been. All he knew for sure was that the wall clock read four, and the darkness outside his window indicated that it was nighttime.
He discovered a small paper cup of water beside his bed. He sat up and carefully drank several swallows. The water hurt going down, but it was bearable. He took several slow deep breaths. The urge for spastic coughing was gone. Overall, he was feeling better. With another day’s rest, he thought he might be able to get up and walk around a bit.
The silence and darkness of the hospital room helped to clear his mind. Such moments of silence were rare, and he thought it a good time to consider the situation.
How did I come to be here? he wondered. No, that wasn’t the right path. Starting from the beginning would likely lead him down a frustrating path of unknowns. He had to be more cautious in his reflection if there was any hope of drawing conclusions.
Where to start? he wondered. Facts first. Then let those facts spill to conjecture. All right then, what are the facts?
He’d been right about the assassin in the control room. The carefully cut hole in the glass, the rifle, and Agent Valin’s comment about Shoemaker being unharmed, all confirmed the shooter was there to kill the senator. Fine, so that much is known.
There’d been a shoot-out with four men. Their identities were still unclear, but he understood their assignment. They were unquestionably there to kill the assassin. Since no one could have known Adam would be in the control room, he had to conclude he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Given their weapons and indiscriminate use of force, he didn’t think they were FBI or Secret Service.
Who then? Agent Valin had referred to them as “international terrorists.” Could that really be true? He doubted it. Killing political assassins didn’t exactly fit with a terrorist agenda. Besides, he didn’t see how four heavily armed terrorists could have gained access to a controlled area.
The authorities were denying any connection to the men, and that meant they fell under Adam’s “if you shoot me, I shoot you,” rule. No harm, no foul at having killed two of them.
The official denial didn’t prove they weren’t part of some agency, just that they’d become a liability. Trumped up charges of terrorism and four dead bodies could do wonders for the reputed competency of a law enforcement agency, especially in light of the recent assassinations. Terrorists were easy for the public to understand because the term collectively lumped together any and all bad guys willing to do extreme things to hurt the country and its citizens. In being so labeled, they could then be blamed both for the public assassinations and anything else that required a patsy.
But if the terrorist claim was untrue, it suggested that, for whatever reason, the men had been allowed access. That pointed to government involvement, whether it be a corrupt individual or an entire government organization. Once again, Lara’s far-fetched assertions of conspiracies didn’t seem so outlandish.
The bigger question is how could they have hoped to pull off the deception? It would require the cooperation of the investigating agencies. Admittedly, with a little doctoring, most of the evidence could be made to support it. The guns were there. A Beretta found in Adam’s hand had killed two of the terrorists, and the Secret Service agent’s gun had killed the others.
Also, there were no witnesses who could betray the truth other than Adam and Agent Valin. That meant the conspirators had to get both a private investigator and a Secret Service agent to go along with a charade.
Agent Valin had been given the proverbial carrot-and-stick, bribed with a promotion while simultaneously threatened with unspoken professional and perhaps personal harm. As for Adam, the same approach was basically in play. Go along with the concoction, and he would be made a hero. Go against it, and people would suffer. Agent Valin hadn’t said the words, but he’d delivered the message loud and clear. Just as he had been supposed to do.
Why the cover-up? Agent Valin said he’d attempted to tell his superiors the truth, but they wouldn’t hear it. So, either he was lying, or more likely, that the truth was irrelevant.
If the four men were government operatives, as Adam suspected they were, why had their agency disavowed them? The answers to both seemed to be the same. People in power wanted the general public to believe that the recent assassinations were the work of the four evildoers now lying dead.
The biggest problem with this scenario was that the real assassin hadn’t been caught. What happened when another politician got his brains blown out at the next campaign stop?
But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? Somehow the four “terrorists” were tied to the assassin. They knew where he would be. They knew when to show up. They were there to finish him just before, during, or possibly after the heinous act. And if they were there to finish him, it meant the assassin’s job was complete.
Adam suspected that if the men had been successful in killing the assassin, along with a nosy private investigator with possible ties to terrorist organizations, they would have been hailed as patriotic agents of the U.S. government.
Two all-important facts floated to the surface. First was that the assassin and those sent to neutralize him were somehow connected. And second was that whoever handed the orders down to Agent Valin understood the threat to be over despite the missing sniper. To Adam, this led to only one logical conclusion. The deputy director of the Secret Service, the assassin, and the four terrorists were all sleeping in the same blood-stained bed. How else could it be explained?
That anyone had yet to question Adam about what happened in the control room was further proof of government involvement. In any other situation, a dozen Secret Service agents would be holding a pajama party in Adam’s room, waiting for him to regain consciousness—perhaps even administering some smelling salts to speed the process.
In this case, however, the agency had sent only a single man, Agent Valin. His courtesy visit was only to allow Adam the opportunity to rediscover the truth. The implied message was that people who make noise during cover-ups conveniently disappear or die. A bullet wound through the lung could lead to complications …
Adam now came to the most puzzling question of them all. Why had the assassin not only spared but gone so far as to save his life? Only one possibility came to mind. The killer, or someone directing him, had a reason to want Adam alive. That led to one of two answers. Either Adam was to play an integral part in the conspiracy, or his life was spared for some personal reason.
Adam spent a great deal of the early morning hours weighing both possibilities. In the end, it wasn’t the realization that he was entangled in a dangerous cover-up that disturbed him the most. It was the single final conclusion that he’d arrived at.
I know the assassin’s identity.
* * *
Adam held lightly to Elliot’s arm as he lowered himself into the wheel-chair beside his bed. Having been hospitalized for nearly two weeks, he was desperate to get away from beeping machines, fluorescent lights, and crabby women in chalky white uniforms.
“I don’t need this thing,” he grumbled. “I’m fine.”
“Hospital policy. You don’t have a choice in the matter,” Elliot said.
“Everyone leaving the hospital has to be in a wheelchair. Liability reasons. If you think the gunfight was bad, try walking out of here under your own power.”
Adam saw that one of Elliot’s hands was wrapped in a thin white gauze bandage.
“What happened to you?”
Elliot looked at the bandage. “You weren’t the only one wounded in battle. Can you believe that Dodson lady accidentally stabbed me with a steak knife when all the shooting broke out? I’m just glad she missed my heart.” He chuckled.
Without further argument, Adam lifted his feet and placed them onto two metal flip-down footrests. As Elliot moved behind the wheelchair, the hospital room door unexpectedly swung open.
An elderly man in a dark suit and tan wool overcoat entered. Two male assistants followed closely behind.
Adam immediately recognized him as Senator Dick Shoemaker. Standing well over six feet and having broad shoulders and thick tree trunk legs, Shoemaker looked like a retired linebacker. His head was covered in a thick matting of combed gray hair that hadn’t been entirely tamed.
“The men of the hour,” the senator bellowed, extending a giant intensely warm hand first to Adam and then to Elliot. “How are you, Adam? You look fit enough to go out and save the world. Again.” He smiled a jolly man’s smile.
“I’m feeling much better, sir,” Adam answered. Even though he wasn’t sure he’d be ready for a round of randori with his Kenju class anytime soon, he did feel markedly better.
“I came here to personally thank you both,” Shoemaker said. “Most especially you, Adam, for the injuries you received on my behalf. When a man willingly suffers for another, it forever sets him apart. I can’t begin to describe just how much I appreciate what you’ve done.”
“You’re welcome,” Adam said. He thought for a moment but found that he didn’t really have anything else to say. He’d never met the senator and knew very little about him. He may have saved his life, but it was really the life of a complete stranger. “Thanks” and “you’re welcome” seemed oddly sufficient.
Senator Shoemaker, however, had more to say. “I’ve been briefed on all that you and Agent Valin did, and I’m inspired by your courage and skill.”
Then almost as an afterthought, said “Of course thanks are due to you too, Elliot. If it wasn’t for the two of you working so hard to find these killers, I would surely be dead right now. As it was, the bullet only missed me by this much.” The senator held up two fingers separated by a few inches. “Way too close for an old fool like me.”
Adam had seen the television reports of the near miss a hundred times. Apparently his struggle with Agent Valin had been enough to cause the shooter to flinch. The bullet meant for Shoemaker had hit the podium only inches from his heart.
“My brother and I were glad to do it,” Elliot said. “I’ve personally followed your career for quite some time, and I think this country would have suffered a terrible loss if anything had happened to you.”
“Thank you for saying that. I’m glad to hear that I have at least one supporter. A man of connections no less.” Much like Mr. Greene before him, the senator had apparently gathered background information before their meeting.
“I know a few people. On occasion, I’ve even thought of tossing my own hat into the political ring.”
“Just don’t say into the presidential race. I’m finally starting to see a rally in my numbers, and I’d hate to lose that newfound momentum to one of the men who saved my life.” The senator was speaking with a friendly smile, and even his feigned concern came out as a compliment.
“Oh no, nothing that bold,” Elliot said. “I was thinking of going for a position in the Senate.”
“Wonderful,” Shoemaker said, clapping his meaty palms together with a pop that caused patients in an adjacent room to jump. “You and I need to sit down and talk shop. There are lots of things to know, and lots of people to get to know. Who better to show you the ropes?”
Elliot’s couldn’t hide his excitement. “Really? I know you’re a very busy man with the election coming up.”
“I owe you and your brother a great deal, and this would be one small way to repay my debt. Please, I insist. One of my assistants will get in touch with you over the next week or so.”
“Fantastic. I really appreciate it.” Elliot beamed with an unshakable schoolboy’s smile.
“What about you, Adam? What favor could I possibly do for you to show my appreciation? Name it. Anything at all.”
Adam thought the senator spoke like the Wizard of Oz, offering to grant a single magical wish to all who came before him. In a sense, he might just be the Wizard. Senator Shoemaker was after all a powerful man with many connections. A man who could make unlikely things happen.
“All right,” Adam answered, figuring he would put the almighty Wizard to the test. “Lara and Maria Sativa.”
“Excuse me?” the senator said.
“A friend of ours was kidnapped while we were trying to stop the killers. Her name is Lara Sativa. She’s from Denver but disappeared while we were in Las Vegas. I don’t know if the terrorists grabbed her or if it was someone else.” Given his suspicions, Adam couldn’t take anything for granted. “Maria Sativa is her sister. She went missing a couple of weeks earlier in Denver. We believe both of the disappearances are related to the attempt on your life.”
“I see,” Senator Shoemaker said, turning to an aide. “Did you get all that?”
“Yes, sir. Lara Sativa, from Denver, disappeared in Las Vegas. Maria Sativa, sister, disappeared in Denver two weeks prior. Both related to this matter.”
The senator turned back to Adam and knelt so that they were at the same level. Dick Shoemaker’s face had become the face of a comforting, gray-haired grandfather. His eyes were as warm as his hands had been, and his expression showed a level of heartfelt compassion Adam had rarely seen.
“Listen to me, young man. I will do everything in my power to find these two young ladies. I will call in favors from people in the FBI, NSA, and CIA. If they’re on this planet, we’ll find them. I give you my word on that.”
Adam nodded, a bit shaken up by the man’s unexpected sincerity. He extended his hand. The senator engulfed it with his own huge paw.
“Thank you, sir. I need to find her,” Adam said, not bothering to clarify which of the two missing girls was “her.”
The senator placed his other hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Believe me. They’re as good as found.”
* * *
“You going back to Denver with me or heading home?” Elliot asked as he settled into a reading chair and unfolded a newspaper. “I know you’ve been away longer than you originally anticipated. With your injury, I’ll understand it if you want to go back home for some rest. Makes sense, really.”
Adam sat on the bed in the hotel room, slowly unpacking a large, black duffel bag. When he came to the Glock and Browning firearms, he stopped unpacking and set both on his lap.
“We haven’t accomplished anything,” Adam said, his voice dry with bitterness.
Elliot looked up. “Come on, Adam,” he said, clearly annoyed. “We tracked down a band of assassins and prevented the murder of a man who will likely be the next president of the United States. Not a bad week’s work if you look at it that way. Besides that, our faces are being flashed across every media station from coast to coast. We’re heroes, Adam. Imagine what that will do for us.”
Elliot was on top of the world right now. The adventure had been had, his reward received. Oddly, in his basking, he seemed to have forgotten about those who had been lost along the journey.
“What about Maria? And Lara?” Adam asked, slowly unloading the bullets from the Glock.
Elliot shot a hurt look over at him. “Senator Shoemaker said he’d find them. I believe him. He certainly has a better chance than we do. I’m just praying they’re all right. At this point, I don’t see what else we can do for them.”
“But they’re not going to be okay. Are they, Elliot?” Adam didn’t look at his brother. His eyes never left the handgun as he slowly worked the bullets from the top of the magazine. He didn’t want a loaded gun in the room right now.
Elliot turned his full attention to him.
“What does that mean?” Adam finished with the Glock, tossed it aside on the bed, and began unloading the Browning.
“It was you in the control room. Wasn’t it, Elliot?” Adam’s voice was cold and soft, like freshly fallen snow.
“What are you talking about?”
“It was you the whole time. You were in the control room. You helped me kill those four men.” Adam paused. “You are the assassin we’ve been chasing.”
Elliot stood up, dropping the business paper he’d just opened. “Have you lost your mind?” He was growing angrier with each word.
The sharp tone didn’t begin to shake Adam’s resolve. He finished with the Browning, set it aside, and stood up.
Elliot looked at him with obvious hostility, but the anger soon turned to fear. “What’s with you, Adam? This doesn’t make sense.”
“There are holes, I’ll admit. Things I don’t understand. But it basically adds up. You took care of Maria but needed my help finding the map.” Adam began walking slowly toward Elliot.
“No … that’s not true. I loved Maria.”
“You were conveniently never around when the assassinations occurred. First with General Livingston, then with Greene, and finally with Shoemaker. Always MIA.”
“Adam … no. You’re wrong about this. Listen to me …” Elliot began to take small steps back.
“You made suspicious phone calls to keep your accomplices informed of where we’d be. That’s how the guy with the syringe found me in Vegas. Were you really willing to have me killed, Elliot? Your own brother?”
Elliot’s face went flush. “I did make a phone call, but it wasn’t what—” “You told me that you had friends in the FBI. Friends who would do anything for you. Friends who could cover things up.”
Elliot opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. “You have ties with the vice president, too. Ties that you lie about.” He continued to advance, hands hanging loosely at his sides.
“Please, Adam. This is nuts.”
“Strangely, only three of the four candidates had attempts on their lives. Guess who didn’t? Your friend and coconspirator, Lucky Joe Marino. What was the plan, Elliot? Kill off his competition, leaving only one unelectable independent candidate and a few token replacements? And for what? A guaranteed seat in the Senate, perhaps?”
Elliot had reached the far wall and could retreat no farther. When he realized that he was trapped, he snatched up a small brass lamp and held it threateningly in front of him. “Stay away from me,” he warned, his voice shaking.
“Things went a bit sour. You missed the target. But hey, don’t worry about it. Everything’s going to work out. You’ve positioned yourself in good with the very man you were trying to kill. It’s all going to work out for you isn’t it, big brother?”
“Stop it, Adam. Stop it!”
“What really happened to your hand? Did you take a grazing bullet?”
“Grazing …” Elliot could barely get the words out.
Adam moved to within striking distance, but neither man lashed out.
“I only want to know one thing,” Adam said.
“What?” Elliot was white with fear.
“Where is she? Where’s Lara? And so help me, if you’ve killed her, brother or not, I’ll finish you right here.”
Elliot started to cry. Not bawl, just weep the soft cry of a terrified child. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. God help me. I don’t.”
“You poisoned her, didn’t you?” Adam said. “The wine in the casino lounge. You had it waiting for us. She was the only one to drink from the bottle. You wanted to take us out of the picture so we wouldn’t get in the way of killing Greene. Then you came back ahead of me and grabbed her at the hotel. Or maybe some of your thugs were involved in the abduction. Was it Big John?”
“Listen,” Elliot pleaded. “I swear to you. I don’t know where Lara is. I don’t know anything about the assassinations or any poisonous wine. I swear. Do you hear me?” He was shrieking now. “I don’t know!”
Adam hesitated, his fists balled tightly. “I’m going to give you one chance. Come clean with me now, or so help me …”
Elliot bit nervously at his lower lip, and his tears abruptly stopped flowing. He swallowed hard.
“It’s not anything like what you think,” he said. “It’s not.”
“Fine. Then tell me what it is.”