The Hit - Страница 55

“My guys weren’t that good either, actually,” said Robie.

She looked at him sharply. “I wonder why not?”

“Maybe their best guys are already in Ireland.”

Robie turned the radio on. “I want to hear if there’s anything on the news about the mall yet.”

There wasn’t. But there was another story that captured their interest. The news anchor was succinct with the details, although right now there weren’t that many of them.

When the anchor went on to another story Robie turned off the radio and stared over at Reel. “Someone murdered Howard Decker,” he said.

“They’re cleaning up loose ends, Robie. These sons of bitches are planning to pull this off and then get away scot free. But they’re not. I’m going to put a round into every single one of them. I’m going to keep shooting them over and over until I run out of bullets.”

He placed a hand on her arm and gripped it.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“I’m sorry about Mike. We can go somewhere and you can grieve for him. And for Gwen—”

“I don’t need to grieve for anybody—”

“I think you do.”

“You don’t know anything about me. So leave your damn grieving sermon for somebody who cares. I’m a killer, Robie. People are usually dying all around me.”

“But not usually your friends, Jessica.”

She started to say something, but then the words seemed to catch in her throat.

Robie continued, “I’m not playing grief counselor. Once we get to Ireland, there will be no time for you to get right in your head. So you’re either in this a hundred percent and I know I can count on you, or you’re useless to me and you can drop me at the next exit.”

Reel blinked. “You used that ploy on me once before, Robie.”

“Yemen. We lost Tommy Billups. You blamed yourself. More to the point, you checked out on me for about half an hour.”

“Until you kicked my ass.”

“Because a team is a team, Jessica. And there’re only two people currently on our team. A house divided is screwed. Which in our case means dead.”

She took a long, calming breath. “I’m good, Robie.”

“Turn the anger into something that will guarantee we beat these pricks, Jessica. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I know. You’re right.”

They drove in silence for a few miles.

Reel broke it by saying, “That’s why you always were number one.”

He turned to look at her.

“You never let your emotions get the better of you, Robie. Never. You were a machine. Everybody thought so.”

He stared down at his hands. He actually felt embarrassed by her words.

By how wrong they were.

He reached into his jacket and rubbed the stock of his pistol. Not for luck. It was never about luck.

This was his talisman. This was his tool of choice. This was what he did.

I am a killer.

I am also a human being.

The only problem is, I can’t be both.

Reel glanced at him. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Nothing important,” he answered.

Chapter 70

The tri-engine Dassault Falcon could carry a dozen passengers comfortably.

It only held two tonight.

Reel sat in the rear seat of the cabin.

Robie was next to her.

No one was behind them. That was how each liked it.

“How did you score this ride?” he asked.

“Fractional share ownership. A lot less security. And a lot more privacy.” She looked at him. “What do you spend your money on?”

“Remember my little house in the woods? The rest is in the bank earning negative interest.”

“Saving for your retirement? Your golden years?”

“Doubtful. You know, they could trace your ownership of the plane.”

“It’s not under my name. It’s under the name of a Russian billionaire who doesn’t even know how many planes and yachts he owns. I just get my little piece and no one’s the wiser.”

“That was clever.”

“We’ll see how clever I am when we get to Dublin.”

“I’ve done some recon.”

“Your friend Vance again?”

“Never hurts to have the Bureau’s research muscle behind you.”

“Didn’t she ask questions?”

“She was thinking them, but she didn’t ask them.”

“So what did she find out?”

“The protection bubble is much like past years, with a couple of new wrinkles.”

“Such as?”

“Apparently, in a show of global cooperation, they have invited some non-G8 leaders for a day event. It actually opens the conference.”

“Which non-G8 leaders?” asked Reel.

“Several from desert climates.”

“Are they idiots?”

“Apparently they don’t think so, no.”

“You know what comes with leaders.”

“Their security details.”

“And those details are internally vetted. We have to trust that they are what they say they are.”

“That’s right.”

Reel looked out the window at forty-one thousand feet where the dark sky sat there, vast, empty, and apparently brooding.

“Do you want a drink?” asked Reel. She rose to head to the bar at the front of the cabin.

“No,” responded Robie.

“You might change your mind about that.”

A minute later she settled back in her seat cradling a vodka tonic.

They hit some modest turbulence and she held the glass up to avoid spilling the contents. As the air smoothed out she took a sip and looked at Robie’s laptop screen.

He said, “We’ve got a bag full of weapons back there. How about customs?”

“Russian billionaires don’t go through ordinary customs and neither do their ride-share partners. The process is very streamlined and private for the most part.”

“Tell me again how you managed that?”

“I didn’t think I told you in the first place.”

“You sure your Russian billionaire’s not a security issue?”

“He loves America. Loves free markets. Loves capitalism. He’s an ally. No issues there. And he gets us private wings and an arsenal through customs.”

“I’m impressed with some of the firepower you have.”

“Don’t think it’ll be enough. Too many of them. Not enough of us.”

“We just have to be more clever and more nimble.”

“Easy to say. A lot harder to do.”

He stared at her drink.

“You want one now?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’ll make it.”

“No, I got it. It’s my one chance to be domestic.”

He watched her walk down the aisle. The last thing he could ever envision was Jessica Reel domesticated.

When she returned, she clinked her glass against his. She said, “When this is all over, it still won’t be all over.”

Robie nodded. He knew right where she was going.

He sipped his drink, thought about his response. “I guess it won’t be.”

“Would you believe me if I told you at this point I didn’t care?”

“But that doesn’t necessarily change anything.”

“So kill or capture me?”

“I received conflicting orders, actually. Some were kill. Some were capture.”

“But with capture I could make public statements. I could say things they don’t want to hear. I have the right to freedom of speech. I’m entitled to a legal defense. So I don’t see an option other than kill, Robie.”

Robie sipped his drink and ate some nuts she had brought back in a bowl. “Let’s see if we survive Dublin. If we do, we can revisit the question.”

She swallowed the rest of her drink and set it down. “Yeah,” she said. “I suppose we can.”

He stared at her. He knew this was a lie and so did she. They flew for another hundred miles in silence. Down below, the Atlantic frothed and churned as an ornery low-pressure system drifted farther out to sea.

Reel finally said, “When I pulled the trigger on Jacobs, you know what it felt like?”

He shook his head.

“No different from any of the other trigger pulls I’ve made. No difference at all. I thought I would feel something new because he helped kill Joe. I thought there would be some sense of revenge, of justice even.”

“And Jim Gelder? How did you feel when you killed him?”

She looked at him. “How do you think I should have felt?”

Robie shrugged. “I’m not the person to ask.”

“You’re the perfect person to ask. But let me ask you something.”

Robie waited, his eyes narrowed, wondering where this conversation was going.

“You didn’t pull a trigger when you were supposed to. How did that feel to you?”

“The target died anyway.”

“That’s not what I asked. How did you feel?”

Robie didn’t answer right away. The truth was he had tried not to think about that very thing.

How did I feel?

Reel answered for him. “Liberated?”

Robie looked down. That had been the exact word forming in his mind.

Reel seemed to sense this but did not push the point. “Another drink?” she asked, noting his empty glass. When he hesitated, she said, “Remember the domesticity, Robie? I sense I’ll become bored with it before we land. So strike while the iron is hot.”

She took the drink out of his hand but set it down on the tray. She looked at her watch. “We have exactly three hours and forty-one minutes to landing.”

“Okay?” asked Robie, looking confused and dropping his gaze to the empty glass.