A minute later he arrived at the lab door. Part of him wanted to stall now that the moment had arrived, but the rest of his body propelled him into the room an dover toward his file cabinet. He took out his key, unlocked the drawers, opened one, and reached back. His hand gripped the item. He took a deep breath, pulled it out and looked.
Silence.
Eric's face registered no emotion. He returned the glass dish to the back of the drawer and carefully closed it. He locked the cabinet, picked up the telephone and dialed a number in Bethesda, Maryland.
After three rings, the phone on the other end was picked up.
Eric cleared his throat.
"Dr. Raymond Markey, please."
I fucked up. Me. George Camron... He could not believe it and yet he was holding the evidence against his chest. They had found Silverman. Shit, they had found him. Not even George's employer knew where he had hidden Silverman.
George held the point of the blade in place. When the man swallowed, George felt the stiletto vibrate in his hand. His mind raced for answers, but none came to him. He had fucked up.
Badly. But how? When?
Get control of yourself, George. Show you're still in control.
Listening to the voice in his head, George forced himself to smile. It gave the appearance, he was sure, of being in complete control.
"So, gentlemen," he began, both his grip and grin strong and steady, "how are we today? Lovely weather, don't you think?"
Max managed a shrug.
"Tad warm for my taste, George."
The man knew his name!
"Sorry about that," George replied. He wrestled with his tone in order to keep out any hint of panic. A droplet of sweat trickled down his neck and into the collar of his shirt.
"Mind identifying yourself before I slice your goddamn head off?"
"Lieutenant Max Bernstein. NYPD. You are under arrest for the-"
"Spare me, Lieutenant." A cop! He looked like some goddamn college kid. George could not believe it. They had sent a snot nosed kid after George Camron. Incredible.
"I have to read you your rights," Max continued.
"Try to move, and you're dead." With the point of the blade still against Max's throat, George released his powerful grip and reached into his pocket. He took out something resembling a small television remote. He held it in front of Max's face.
"Do you know what this is?" George asked.
Max looked at the device.
"Are we going to watch TV?" "You're very funny, Lieutenant," George said, but he did not like Bernstein's attitude. Here he was, holding a knife against the kid's throat, and this asshole is making jokes.
He knows something, George. You missed something else... "This button right here" George placed his thumb on it for emphasis "sets off that little explosive up there, very noisy stuff, I'm afraid. Ka-boom."
That seemed to shake up the cop. He suddenly looked pale.
"Explosive?"
George gestured with the remote.
"Right up there, my friend."
Max's eyes followed the gesture.
"Jesus."
George was feeling better now. Not so confident now, are you, kid?
"Yes. Powerful stuff. Bits and pieces of us will end up in Singapore.
If I see even a hint of trouble, it's ka-boom time."
Max's eyes darted in every direction as if searching for a quick exit.
"Forget it, Camron," the young cop said, but his tone no longer held the same bluster as before.
"It's over. The place is surrounded."
"Guess I have no choice," George said with fake regret.
"Looks like I'll have to blow the place up."
"You'd kill yourself too."
"No big deal." "Wait!" Max shouted. When he did, the point of the blade broke the skin. A small cut opened up. Blood began to trickle down Max's neck.
"What?" George asked.
Max closed his eyes. He did not like blood-letting, especially his own.
"I have an idea," he said.
"Oh?"
"An exchange, actually."
"What kind of exchange?" Max thought a moment.
"Information for freedom.
"I'll have the charges dropped in exchange for your testimony against the guy who hired you."
Panic again seized George. He knew almost nothing about his employer no name, no address, nothing. Damn it! He knew he should have investigated this new employer more thoroughly.
Why had he failed to follow his standard background check?
Stupid! And another goddamn mistake.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He could fake it, of course. Stall. Make up a name. Lie. But George was realistic. There was no way the Thais were going to let him walk not after an incident like this. The Thais were not like the Americans. They did not work that way.
"No dice," George answered slowly. Like a well-trained surgeon, George scraped at Max's wound with the point of the blade. More blood flowed.
A plan a brilliant, sure-fire plan began to take shape in his mind. His smile returned, radiant.
"But I have another idea," George ventured.
"Yes."
"I am going to walk out of here. In exchange, I guarantee that no one will get hurt."
Max shook his head.
"The place is surrounded "
"Don't worry about that," George interjected.
"I have a way out. You are going to wait five minutes. If you leave this room before then, I'll detonate the bomb. After five minutes you are free to go."
"Max," Michael interrupted. It was the first time he had spoken since George had entered the room.
"Don't listen to him.
He's lying."
Max nodded, but he seemed unsure.
"How can we trust you?" "You have my word," George said.
"Max- "
"Then it's a deal," Max said, "under one condition."
"Max, listen to me. You can't "
"You have a better idea, Michael? He's got a blade on my throat."
Michael just stared at him.
"You can't trust him."
"What choice do we have? Huh?"
George liked what he was hearing.
"We are wasting time.
What is your condition?"
"You give us some information before you leave."
"No." "Then no deal," Max said.
"I am the one holding the stiletto and the detonator "
"No deal unless you talk. I just want information, George.
I'm not interested in capturing you."
George considered his options. His employer had, after all, screwed things totally. George no longer owed him any loyalty.
Why not talk? The cop would be less likely to try anything if he had information he thought was useful.
Besides, Lieutenant Max Bernstein was not going to live long.
Neither was Michael Silverman.
"Ask your question."
"Who hired you?"
"I don't know. I got anonymous calls."
"What was the purpose of the murders?"
"Purpose?"
"Why did you target people at an AIDS clinic?"
"I don't know that either."
"Come on, George, you're going to have to do better than that."
"I kill for hire," George explained.
"The less I know, the better."
"You must have heard something."
"Nothing."
"Then why did you make the murders look like the work of a serial killer?" "Those were my instructions," George said.
"I was told to slash them all up in an unmistakably similar fashion make it as bloody as possible."
"Why did you dump Bradley Jenkins behind a gay bar?"
George shrugged.
"I just did what I was told." As George spoke, his plan crystallized.
As soon as he hit the street, he would set off the explosives, killing Silverman and the cop while providing him with the ideal diversion for his escape.