The End Game (7 page)

13

QUEEN TAKES C4

Hodges's house

Bayonne, New Jersey

M
ike didn't want to believe what she saw.

Two agents were down at the kitchen table, a poker game spread between them, and now the cards were sprayed with blood. The third agent lay on his side in the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

She didn't want to go in the master bedroom, she didn't, but she had no choice. Richard “Dicker” Hodges lay in the middle of the bed, a beautiful plaid flannel blanket covering him, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead, another to the chest. His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling.

Everything screamed surprise attack. Whoever had gotten in was quick, clean, leaving four dead, each taken down with only two shots. They hadn't seen any brass on the floor.

Nicholas said, his voice cold as ice, “The work of a professional.”

Mike turned to him, saw the pulse slamming madly in his throat,
felt the fury radiating off him. Since she felt the same mad brew, she didn't bother to say anything.

She studied Mr. Hodges's peaceful face. “Whoever did this knew what he was doing. As you said, this was a professional hit.”

“Have you ever seen anything similar? All four men shot once in the forehead, once in the heart?”

She looked up at the odd note in his voice.

“Executions, you mean? Yes, some Mob hits. But, Nicholas, this feels, well, cleaner. More precise. No one struggled. He shot them where they sat or stood or lay, and they didn't even raise a hand to stop him. And the method, two fast shots? Yes, very clean.”

Nicholas said, “All Hodges did was speak to us, yet it was enough to send this killer over here to punish him, to erase him, and anyone with him.”

“To tie up loose ends.”

They left Mr. Hodges and walked back into the hallway to stand over the dead agent. Nicholas said, “What was his name?

She choked a little on the name. “Cedarson. Rex Cedarson.”

“He was in the bedroom watching over Mr. Hodges, heard the shots, or heard something that alarmed him, since the assassin may have used a suppressor, and was moving toward the kitchen when he was shot. At least he had time to get his gun out.”

Mike swallowed down grief and guilt. Rex was a good man, always up for a joke, had once even locked her in the men's room. The other men were steady, professionals all the way, good family men.

“The other two agents were Bob Ventura and Kenneth Chantler. Though I knew Cedarson the best.” She didn't add he had a two-year-old daughter and an eight-year-old son, a wife he loved and didn't see enough of because he had a burning desire to move up the ladder and worked too much. The other two agents had similar lives.
And they were gone, in the blink of an eye, simply gone. Their deaths were a punch to the gut. “I can't stand this, Nicholas, I really can't.”

He knew this was a huge blow, knew she was on the edge and might go over if he tried to comfort her, so he said matter-of-factly, “I want to show you something, but be careful. We don't want to ruin any evidence CSI might pull from around the house.” Like Mike, though, he knew it was pointless. Whoever had done this hadn't left a single trace of himself.

She followed Nicholas back into Mr. Hodges's bedroom. He was staring at the dead man, then he raised his hand and mimicked shooting.

“I'd say Mr. Hodges was asleep when the shots were fired in the kitchen and Cedarson ran out of the room.”

“You think he could sleep through the shots, even suppressed?”

He didn't, but he wanted to keep her focused. “Perhaps he took a sleeping pill. I don't think he ever knew he was going to die. So look. The assassin stood right over him and took the two shots. I'd say he's at least my height, maybe a bit taller. The ME won't find gunpowder residue on Mr. Hodges, or on the others; the wounds are all clean. The killer came in hard and fast—four shots in the kitchen, two in the hallway, two in here. Mr. Hodges was the target, of course.”

“All of these men dead simply because one honest, lonely man was a good citizen and told us what he'd heard at the bar. I can't believe that level of—what would you even call this?”

Nicholas said, “Insurance. Our assassin is really careful, believes in overkill. Is he someone from COE? Until now, COE hasn't gone around killing people. And this was professional all the way. What would a professional assassin be doing hooked up to a small-beans anti-oil terrorist group? Why this elaborate killing? It wouldn't have mattered. There was nothing more Mr. Hodges could have told us.”

“Remember Mr. Zachery believes someone new has been added to COE? Someone more violent? Maybe whoever this is now runs things.”

“Seems to me this level of escalation pretty well nails it. A new violent addition.”

They heard a siren. “Backup's nearly here. Nicholas, how did the assassin find Mr. Hodges? How did COE even know he'd spoken to us?”

Nicholas said, “I think we probably led the killer right here to Mr. Hodges's house.”

“Someone followed us? From Federal Plaza?”

His mobile rang. He glanced down—one o'clock in the morning, and the number on the screen was the main number at 26 Federal Plaza.

“Drummond here.”

“Nicholas,” Agent Gray Wharton said, “we have a huge problem.”

“Yes, Mike and I are standing in the middle of it. I'm in Bayonne, and we have four bodies, including Mr. Richard Hodges, our tipster.”

Wharton swore. “He's dead? Our guys are down, too? Yes, of course they are. Give me a second here, Nicholas.”

Nicholas heard him draw a deep breath, could practically see him trying to get hold of himself. “Okay, listen, on top of all that, there's more. I'm sending a file to your phone right now.”

Nicholas felt the phone vibrate slightly in his hand. “It's here. Gray, what am I looking at?”

“Someone launched a major cyber-attack on all of the major oil companies. Everyone's been hit—Exxon, ConocoPhillips, Occidental, all of them. Their systems are down, and so far we haven't been able to break the encryptions. Nicholas, it's bad. It's very bad. Worse
than the Shamoon virus attack on the Saudis in 2012, and with all the same hallmarks.”

“Who's behind it? Russia? The Chinese?”

“I've been tracking it as best I can, but it's coming from multiple international sites. I need you. You've got to get here as soon as you can.”

Gray was never an alarmist, which meant this was really bad. “I'm on my way.”

Mike grabbed his arm. “What is it?”

“Major cyber-attack on the oil companies. I've got to help Gray back at Federal Plaza.” He ran his hands through his hair, standing it on end. “What are the odds?”

“I had no idea COE had the expertise or the willingness to go in this direction.”

“If it's them. This sounds like a very sophisticated attack. Hey, if they have a professional assassin, why not a professional hacker? Gray and I have to try and shut it down.”

She shooed him with her hand. “Go. I'll stay here and handle the scene.”

He lightly touched his palm to her bruised cheek. “Thank you.”

“Nicholas?”

He turned at the front door. “What?”

“Be careful, okay? Whoever did this already killed three of our people. I'd be really pissed if you got yourself hurt. Again.”

He flashed her a smile. “Agent Caine. Worried about me?”

“Yes, lamebrain, and I'm serious.” She gestured toward the kitchen. “This isn't good.”

He nodded. “I know it's not. I'll take a care. You as well, understand?”

14

PAWN TO C6

Brooklyn

V
anessa froze, but her brain didn't. She must have accidently turned off the mute when she'd shoved the phone into the soap. Had Matthew heard it, too? He was still kissing her, and now he was sucking on her ear, his hand rubbing her breast.

Distract him.

Her hand fitted over him again, caressing.

Too late, the phone dinged again. This time it signaled an incoming text.

Matthew slowly raised his head and looked down at her.

Should she kill him? She could kick him in the groin, send him to his knees, grab him and choke him or break his neck. Or grab his head and smash him into the porcelain tub. No gun, that was in her bag in the bedroom.

Her knee came up at the same moment Matthew lunged. He went for the soap, she went for his balls. He managed to turn in
time and her knee struck his thigh. He grabbed her leg and jerked up, throwing her off balance, and she fell backward, three steps, into the shower. He planted his foot on her neck, grabbed the bar of soap.

“What is this?”

She tried to push off his foot, but he only pressed down harder. She couldn't breathe.

“Looks like a bar of soap, but I don't think it's just any bar of soap—maybe it's magic soap. It rings. Isn't that amazing, Vanessa? Ringing soap.”

He pried the phone from the soap, wiped off the screen. He looked down at her, and she jerked at his foot to get it off her neck. “Can't breathe, Vanessa?”

He pulled his Beretta out of its holster on the back of his jeans, lifted his boot off her neck. “Who have you been talking to, Vanessa?”

Her throat was on fire. She whispered, “Not mine.” She didn't know if she'd gotten the words out. She rubbed her throat as she stared at the muzzle of the Beretta. She didn't move.

He looked thoughtful, none of his manic anger she could see. “Really? What does this mean? FT or AM?” Still his voice was calm, but she could only imagine what was roiling around in that genius brain of his. She knew exactly what it meant.

Follow through or abort mission.

She never blinked. “How would I know, Matthew? I found the phone in the drawer. I was looking through it to see whose it might be. Then you came in and I was afraid you'd think it was mine and I know how you hate phones. Then this all started to happen, you were kissing me and I forgot about it—”

“So you hid it in the soap? Lucky for you it's such a big bar, otherwise you'd have hid it in your bra?” His voice was flat,
emotionless. He leaned over and turned off the shower. He waved the Beretta in her face as he stepped back.

“Get out of here.” She slowly rose, realized she was sopping wet, shook herself, and stepped out of the shower.

“Vanessa,” he said, her name a caress, “you're lying to me.”

“No, I'm not, Matthew. I'd never break your rules. Obviously the phone belongs to Ian or Andy; it sure isn't mine. You've got to believe me, Matthew. Now let me get on dry clothes and together we can show the phone to Ian and Andy, see what they have to say.”

He stepped into her face, and she felt the Beretta pressing against her breast.

He whispered against her cheek, “You're lying, you traitorous bitch.”

He dragged her from the bathroom, his arm around her neck, the Beretta against her temple now, and pulled her down the hall. She jerked at his arm, and he let her suck in a breath, then squeezed hard again.

She saw her uncle's face, knew he would grieve for her, and he'd know in his heart she'd screwed up. She was facing death alone. Alone. She shut her eyes, stopped struggling, and the pressure released. Matthew threw her onto the floor and she rolled, smashing into the corner of the sofa. She heard Ian shouting, heard Andy talking fast and crazy, nothing new in that.

Ian shouted, “What is going on here, Matthew? Don't hurt her, you bastard.”

Matthew said nothing, merely stood over her, the Beretta aimed squarely at her heart, and tossed Ian the phone.

“What is this? I've never seen this before. Is this her phone?”

Ian paused, looked down at Vanessa, sodden, huddled in on herself. “Is this your phone, Van? Really, it's your phone?” She heard
the horror in his voice, but also heard the acceptance that she was guilty.

“You think we've got a traitor here, Matthew?” Andy asked, and jerked the phone out of Ian's hand. “Let me see it, we'll know soon enough.”

“Ian, Andy, it isn't mine. I already told Matthew that it wasn't, that I found it in a drawer when I was cleaning them out to pack. Is it yours, Ian? Andy? It's not mine, I swear it. But Matthew doesn't believe me. Tell him it can't be mine, Ian. Tell him.”

Ian wouldn't meet her eyes. Andy was staring down at the tiny phone in his palm, ignoring all of them. “Tell me your secrets, little phone,” he said, his voice almost a croon. Crazy, crazy Andy, even more twisted than Matthew was now, and that was saying something. “Where did you come from, little beauty? So tiny you are. Tell Andy your secrets.”

Matthew said, “Andy, quit screwing around. Who's she been calling?”

Andy finally looked up. “Sorry, dude, there's no history, everything's been wiped.”

Without a word, Matthew hauled her up and threw her into the wall. His fist moved so quickly she almost didn't see it coming. But he didn't hit her; instead, his fist slammed into the paneling behind her head, cracking the wood. He stuck the Beretta into her cheek.

Soft, his voice was so soft, cajoling. “Tell me who you really are, Vanessa. Tell me right now or I will shoot you dead.” She felt the rage pouring off him, even as his face remained emotionless, as if they were talking about what to have for dinner.

“Please, Matthew,” she whispered, voice shaking, a little girl's terrified voice, “please don't kill me, I didn't do anything. You've got to believe me. It was probably Andy, you know how crazy he is,
haven't you always told me how nuts he is? I mean, give him a match and he'd set the world on fire, and he's always playing with that Zippo. But not me, how could it be me? You know I've wanted you, I was proving it to you in the bathroom. It isn't my phone, Matthew, really, it isn't my phone.”

He grabbed her wet hair, jerked her head forward. His voice remained soft, even soothing, comforting.

“Vanessa, I will let Andy set fire to your hair if you don't start talking. Now.”

Vanessa knew he was ready to kill her with his bare hands. She had to find the right words. “Listen, Matthew, you hired me to make you bombs, and I've done my job well. I've stuck with you, helped you.” She raised her hand to touch his face. He froze. “Don't you know I love you, that I've loved you since the moment Ian introduced us in Belfast? Why won't you believe me?”

“How long have you been with me, Vanessa?”

Where is he going with this?

Before she could answer, he turned to Ian. “How long since you brought her to me, Ian?”

Ian was staring down at her. “Four months and, a week or so—we first met at the Duck and Deer pub in Londonderry.” A look of pain crossed his face. “I thought she'd be perfect for us.”

“Four and a half months. And you've been in every hour of our lives since.”

Andy looked up from the phone. “I heard Darius telling you she was trouble. I thought he said that because she wouldn't sleep with him.”

“Matthew, Ian, you've got to listen to me. It's not my phone. Even though there were deaths tonight at the refinery, it will be offline for weeks, and the world will listen to you, Matthew, finally listen. And
look what Andy did—he took down the big oil company systems. We'll have them under our thumbs by morning. You know I feel the same way as you about how our president is cozying up to the Iranians and all those other Middle East terrorists, you know I do.”

Ian said to Andy, his voice and his eyes dead cold, “Take the phone apart.”

Andy plugged it into his computer and tapped on the keyboard. There was stark silence in the living room except for the sounds of the keys and Matthew's heaving breathing.

Andy called over his shoulder, “The outgoing texts are automatically deleted, very nice custom program to do that. There's a single number in the memory, though it's deleted from the phone itself, too. The number's been called three times in the past two weeks, but the calls go different places.” He looked at Vanessa. “Who are you talking to? Who's on the other side of the call?”

“Can you reverse the number?” Matthew asked, never taking his eyes off her, his gun now steady on her chest. Center mass: she'd be dead in less than a heartbeat if he pulled the trigger.

“Yeah.” More tapping. “The number's cloaked, it bounces off four satellites before it goes through. Phone's encrypted, Matthew.”

His voice—so soft, so deadly calm. “Where'd you get an encrypted phone, Vanessa?”

She said again, “It's not mine.”

Matthew kept his eyes on her face. “I know, it belongs to Ian, it belongs to Andy. Could it belong to me as well?”

“Maybe it belongs to Darius, and he's manipulating you yet again. Maybe he isn't who you believe he is.”

“Darius? Now, that's a thought.” He said to Andy, “Call the number, Andy.”