She wasn’t scared, because she’d lived her whole adult life expecting a moment like this.
But she did regret that she’d never have the chance to sit in a Mexican beach bar, watch the warm sea ebb and flow while she drank a bottle of beer, feel a man’s hand on hers, maybe Will Cochrane’s.
That would have been nice.
When Augustus’s knife entered Ellie’s stomach, of course she felt absolute pain.
But as the blade sliced upward, she kept her eyes shut and held on to the image.
She imagined holding Will’s hand as they walked from the bar, along a white sandy beach, as if she were already in heaven.
It was her picture.
No one could take it away from her.
Certainly not the repulsive scum who were with her now.
And as the visceral savagery took her life away, she felt relief that the twins hadn’t noticed that her message to Will contained two words that would hopefully warn him off.
THIRTY-TWO
It was the last two words in Ellie’s voice message that made Will’s stomach knot and his mind swirl.
Good-bye, William.
She’d never called him William, meaning she’d given him a signal to let him know all was not well. And the tone of her voice was not one that was simply signing off a call. Instead, she sounded like she was saying her final farewell to him. He was in no doubt that her request to meet at the Friendship Heights metro in the morning was one that was made under extreme duress, meaning Sheridan or men working for him had caught her. But that wasn’t why Will felt so much despair. It was the fact that she’d said good-bye that made him fear the worst about her safety and future.
He turned off his cell, feeling ashamed of himself for involving Ellie in his quest for the truth.
No—shame wasn’t the right word for how he felt about himself.
Revulsion and abject guilt were better words.
If it turned out that anything had happened to Ellie, he knew how he’d react.
Utter sorrow and self-loathing would be inevitable.
So too would be the death his hands would deliver to anyone involved in hurting Ellie.
He sucked in oxygen to focus his thoughts and stared at Marsha Gage’s house on Colorado Avenue. It was nearly nine P.M., and yet it didn’t surprise him that her car wasn’t parked outside her house. She was leading the FBI’s most significant manhunt in decades and would be working as close to 24-7 as possible. But he hoped that she’d be home at some point soon, if nothing else than to grab a quick shower and a change of clothes. That’s when he’d speak to her. Face-to-face. A gun pointed at her skull if the situation warranted.
When Ed Parker finished the call with Charles Sheridan, he shook his head and began sobbing.
Catherine entered the living room, frowned as she looked at her husband, switched off the TV, and placed a hand over his forearm. “What’s happened?”
Ed looked at her, his face flushed red, eyes wet and streaming, bottom lip quivering. “We’ve gone… gone… gone too far. Much too far.”
Catherine tried not to cry because her husband was so emotional, but she felt her eyes welling up. “Too far?”
Ed nodded. “Ellie Hallowes. Sheridan’s men got to her. But… but…”
“But?”
Ed blurted, “They were only supposed to get her to flush out Cochrane. End there. Not do anything else, apart from keeping her quiet until after Cochrane was caught. But Augustus and Elijah couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t.”
Catherine felt disbelief. “They killed her?”
Ed rubbed his moist eyes. “Slaughtered.”
“What… Jesus… what does Sheridan think of that?”
“He doesn’t care. It’s what he wanted.”
“Dear God!”
“Sheridan doesn’t care about God.” Ed placed his head in his hands. “But he acts like him. At least, acts like His disciple. Jellicoe’s the one who pulls all the strings. Jeez, what have we done?”
Catherine placed her arm around her husband. She loved him and hated seeing him like this. She’d always loved Ed, even though a decade before she’d been unfaithful to him while they were in Prague — not just once, but twice. Things had been bad between them at that time. But since then she’d gotten her thinking straight and had cherished what Ed had given her. Poor Lindsay Sheridan had also snuck into another guy’s bed at around the same time, but her reasons for doing so were wholly different, and Lindsay never suspected that Catherine had been less the perfect wife and more like her than she knew. “As far as I can work out, what you’ve done has been for your country and your family.”
Ed pulled out his cell phone while muttering, “I wish I could turn back the clock.”
Catherine pulled his head against her chest. “You want me to leave you alone?”
Ed held onto his wife, still crying. “Just need to make a call. After that, stay with me. Please.”
Antaeus gently lifted the chameleon out of the tank. Parker’s call had offended his sensibilities and dignity.
Ellie Hallowes was dead.
Killed by Charles Sheridan’s goons.
That was unacceptable.
Wrong.
After this was over, he hoped Sheridan and Jellicoe would be forced to face up to their maker. They didn’t work for Antaeus, knew nothing about the truth behind Project Ferryman, were mere callous and ignorant foot soldiers in Antaeus’s grand scheme, and were self-serving swine who relished inflicting misery on others.
He kissed the reptile on its back. To him, the chameleon had come to represent Ellie. He stared through his study’s window at the starlit night sky. “My daughter’s name was Anna. She’d be nine by now if she hadn’t been killed by the man who saved you in Norway.” A tear ran down the disfigured side of his face as he said, “Retribution is an intractable merry-go-round of inevitable pain.” He returned his attention to the chameleon while feeling deeply sad. “Tomorrow, my beauty, I promise you I’ll get you a much bigger tank, one that will give you lots of room to explore. It’ll make you feel free.”
Will walked across the street toward Marsha Gage’s house, with the intention of secreting himself in a place where he could get to her quickly once she pulled up in her car and got out. He was midway across the street when he heard a vehicle driving at speed toward him.
Marsha Gage?
Other law enforcement officers who wanted to apprehend him?
Shots were fired from the vehicle.
No, these were people who wanted him dead.
He dived to the ground, rolled, and pulled out his handgun. The car was eighty yards away, its headlights off despite the road being in near darkness. But the streetlamps gave him just enough light to see that there were two men in the car: one driving, one shooting.
Shackleton and Amundsen.
Two exceptional assassins.
Not that Will knew who they were.
Or what they were capable of.
He fired at the windshield, but the car swerved and his bullets went wide of their mark. Whoever was driving was clearly an expert. He maintained traction and increased speed as he got the car back into position so that it was hurtling toward Will.
Will was about to fire again, but the headlights were now turned on, blinding him. The vehicle screeched to a halt as Will sprinted left to get behind the cover of a stationary car. Around him he heard dogs barking and doors opening and slamming shut as people came out to see what was causing the noise before fleeing back into their homes as they realized the commotion was a head-to-head gun battle. He pointed his pistol at the car, trying to adjust his vision so that he could catch any signs of movement. Nothing. He fired a couple of warning shots, with no idea if they’d hit the assailants, and broke cover, his only chance being to flank the car and get away from its dazzling headlights.