I jerkily nodded and climbed into the passenger seat. I closed my eyes. The pillar of fire that had been Eddie’s plane burned onto the inside of my eyelids. “It’s over,” I said.
Valentine put the Explorer in gear. “Sure, whatever.” He thought for a moment. “So. Who was that on the plane?”
I let the pain carry me into the dark.
. . . over . . .
Chapter 30:
What Happens
in Vegas . . .
VALENTINE
Las Vegas, Nevada
June 29
0300
Somehow I ended up back in Las Vegas. It was like I couldn’t escape that place. It had been Bob’s idea. Vegas was the nearest big city, and we needed a place to go. We found a crappy motel in a crappy part of town, the kind of place where call girls hang out in the lobby and they don’t bother asking for ID, and checked in.
Hawk had gone home. As far as I knew, neither Gordon Willis nor any of his surviving men had identified any of us. At least I hoped not. We made a pretty big mess and shot down a private jet. There was bound to be a shit-storm over it, and we decided it was best if we scattered before anyone figured out what happened. If they traced it back to Hawk, or any of us for that matter . . . I didn’t know what would happen, but I knew it would be bad.
Bob insisted that Gordon Willis and his people weren’t part of the legitimate government. As much as they’d use every resource to figure out what happened, they’d try just as hard to keep things quiet. That made sense to me. I knew things about Gordon that Bob didn’t know. I knew what Gordon did. He was a traitor, not only to his country, but to Majestic, the shadowy organization he served. He was probably running just as far and just as fast as we were.
We all had injuries, but with some rudimentary supplies we were able to sort ourselves out. Bob was a medic, and a good one at that. Between the two of us we had gotten the others patched up. Lorenzo had been put down with a significant amount of painkillers. He probably should have been taken to a burn unit for a few spots on his back and legs, but that would’ve attracted attention, so he was going to have to make do.
Reaper was so preoccupied with the tablet PC he’d found that he barely noticed as we closed the hole in his arm. Jill only had nicks and bruises, but mostly she had just needed to crash. She’d had a hell of a day. All things considered, the girl was doing okay. She was tougher than she looked.
I’d been so close to killing Gordon I could taste it, yet he got away. I needed to get some air, and on top of it I was starving. I left our motel room to get some food. Bob Lorenzo insisted on going with me, which was both annoying and suspicious. It was annoying because I was contemplating just ditching those guys and taking off on my own. That was going to be a challenge riding with the hulking FBI agent in his G-ride SUV.
The ride was awkward, for me at least. I didn’t know Bob, and even though we’d just gone through some shit together, I sure as hell didn’t trust him. It was obvious he wanted to talk to me about something, and I wasn’t comfortable with it.
Bob was quiet for a long time as we fought our way through Vegas traffic. “So, who are you really, Mr. Nightcrawler?” he finally asked. He didn’t look at me.
“Are you asking me as a cop, or are you asking me as a guy who just helped me kill a bunch of people?”
Bob didn’t respond for a long time. “Don’t judge what you don’t understand.”
A sardonic grin split my face. “My name is Michael Valentine, and I understand things a lot better than you think.”
“I believe you,” the big man said slowly. “You used to work for Gordon Willis, right?”
I was quiet for a few moments before I answered, trying to choose my words carefully. My gut told me I could trust Bob. Recent experience taught me that I couldn’t trust anyone. “Yes. Until a month ago, anyway.”
“You seem to have some kind of grudge. Were you in Majestic?”
That’s who Colonel Hunter had said he answered to. “You could say that. To answer both your questions, I mean. I wasn’t really aware of who I was working for until recently. I’m not sure what Majestic is. All I can find on it is a bunch of Internet conspiracy-theory crap.”
“It’s just a name. It’s every secret, every abuse of power, every bad thing you can imagine. They used to exist to protect us, but now they just exist to consolidate their power. I’m guessing you were Dead Six, then.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You fit the profile,” Bob said. “Young, probably former military, and you’re not wearing a wedding ring so I’m guessing you’re single. No family, either, right? Don’t get excited. I’ve been looking into this stuff for a long time. I was waiting for someone involved in that to pop up. It’s my lucky day, I guess.”
He knew too much. He looked over at me and squinted. Was he doing the math? Trying to decide if he could get to his sidearm before I could get to mine? Bob was a Fed; was he in on this?
My face went blank. “You’ve got a forty-cal Sig in a strong-side, thumb-break cop holster that’s stuck behind your seat-belt buckle. You won’t get it out fast enough.”
Bob chuckled before turning back to the road, shaking his head slightly. “Well, I’ll be. You’re quiet. You’re used to people underestimating you, aren’t you? But you turn it on like a light switch when you feel threatened. That’s something else. But listen, I’m no friend of Gordon Willis. Trust me on this one. Let’s just say that keeping up on current events is a hobby of mine. You could go so far as to say that I’m a bit of a conspiracy theorist, or at least my bosses seem to think so. Dead Six was one tiny operation out of many, all of them secret, most of them illegal, and half of them pure evil, all run by men like Willis, and if you get in the way of their power, you die.”
“What do you know about Project Heartbreaker?”
“Officially? Nothing. Unofficially, an old friend of mine was the assistant ambassador in Zubara. We were on the same ODA. He knew that I was . . . obsessed, I think, was the word he used, about things like this. When things started to go bad there, he called me up, wondering if I could do some checking for him. I did, and found the stink of Willis and his people all over it. I’ve been doing research into him and the others like him for years. So I did some poking, through sources you wouldn’t understand and I wouldn’t tell you about anyway, and I learned about Dead Six. I told my friend, Jim Fiore, about what I’d found, and he was dead within forty-eight hours. I warned him not to talk, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“Because I want your help,” Bob answered. “Because I need your help. You know things. Come with me. There are plenty of us in the government, the real government, who would love to see these people stopped. We can protect you. You can help us put a stake through their heart once and for all. There are still ways to work through the system. If we shine the light of day on these cockroaches, they’ll scatter. If you come help me, we can . . .” Bob trailed off as I chuckled at him. “What is it?”
“You think I haven’t heard this line of bullshit before? Come sign up with us, serve your country, fight the bad guys, blah blah blah. It’s the same crap every time. Well, you know what? I’m done. I’m done signing up. I’m done joining the cause. I’m tired of being somebody else’s damned pawn.”