“Sebastian is broken.”
“A lot of people are.” The American nodded and took a pull from the bottle. “Sebastian and Mom are pushing this Ten Plagues Initiative forward despite everything I’ve tried to do to stop it.”
“Like … ?”
The American turned to him and smiled. “Before I answer that, you answer me this: if you had to pick one quality that defines everything the Kings stand for, what would it be?”
“Chaos—?”
“C’mon, kiddo … you know as well as I do that’s just the company line. What’re the real characteristics?”
Toys thought about it. “Misdirection. Lies, misinformation, disinformation. All of that.”
“See, you are a smart young fellow. Misdirection. The Israel-Islam thing? Misdirection. The terrorist attacks—9/11, the India attacks, bombing of the USS Cole? Misdirection. The whole Ten Plagues Initiative is mostly misdirection. Most of it is a pure profit machine, like we’ve been saying. But some of it—a lot of it—is to keep eyes looking in the wrong direction even among us. You can’t believe hardly anything we say, even when we’re telling the truth.”
“Okay. So, how does that answer my question? How does it explain how you’ve been trying to stop Eris? Mostly it looks like you’ve been helping her … .” His voice trailed off and he smiled as much as his mashed lips would allow. He cocked an eyebrow. “When Dr. Kirov died it nearly derailed the Ten Plagues Initiative.”
The American grinned approvingly. “Didn’t it, though.”
Toys smiled as much as his damaged lips would allow. “Kirov’s death was pretty convenient.”
“Uh-huh. It should have stopped the Initiative in its tracks. But … Mom talked the Kings into bullying me about calling Gault.”
“You didn’t want to bring him in?”
“Hell no.” He handed over the bottle. “Can you guess why?”
“Because … he would do what he has done. He’d figure a way to make the Ten Plagues Initiative work.”
“And ain’t that just a kick in the fucking ass?” The American patted Toys’ knee. “Now … keep thinking that through.”
They sat side by side on the floor while Toys worked it out. Toys asked, “When did Eris first ask about Sebastian?”
“Six months ago. Right around the time Dr. Kirov had his first stroke. A ministroke. Son of a bitch bounced back faster than I expected.”
“Six months. That’s … right around the time that the DMS started hitting cells being trained to support the Initiative.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We know that someone has been making anonymous calls to Mr. Church to tip him off.”
“Yep.”
“In order to reveal the location of those cells, the caller has to have a source within the Kings organization.”
“That’s what the Kings believe. There have been all sorts of internal witch hunts to find the blabbermouth. Turns out, it was Kirov’s Conscience.”
Toys looked at the big man, but the man’s smile never wavered.
“Inconvenient that the man died before someone as persuasive as Santoro could make him talk,” Toys suggested.
“Yeah, what interesting timing that was.”
Toys took a final sip of the tequila and set the bottle down. “A Big Picture kind of person might look at that and wonder if Kirov’s Conscience was ever truly dirty.”
“They might.”
“And that person might also wonder if there is truly a war between the Seven Kings and the Inner Circle.”
“Indeed.”
“And that person might wonder if the entire thing was misdirection from the jump. Maybe to start a war.”
“And how would that benefit the Kings?”
“It destabilizes those in power.”
The American grinned like a happy bear. “How’s the mouth doing?”
“I can barely feel it.”
“Does it hurt too much to talk on the phone?”
“No.”
The American got clumsily to his feet. As he did so his cell phone fell from his pocket and landed next to the bottle. He pretended not to notice it.
Toys looked at the phone and then up at the towering bearlike anomaly of a man. This King of Fear.
“Remember what I said to you a while back? About how Judas got a bad rap when he was really probably trying to save Jesus? In fact, here’s a bit of interesting biblical trivia. In Luke 24:33 and Mark 16:14 it clearly states that when Jesus rose from the dead he met with ‘the eleven.’ Most people assume that the missing disciple was Judas, who was supposed to have killed himself out of remorse for his act of betrayal. But in John 20:24 we learn that the missing disciple was Thomas. So … that means that the other eleven included Judas. And in 1 Corinthians 15:5 the Apostle Paul says that Matthias wasn’t voted in as the replacement twelfth Apostle until forty days after the Resurrection. So … Judas was still there. In fact, in Acts 1:25 we learn that Judas ‘turned aside to go to his own place.’ People don’t read the whole Bible. They don’t get the Big Picture. Judas’s death was a fake, and considering that God ordained his betrayal, and Jesus predicted it, Judas was acting according to the will of God. He wasn’t a traitor—he was a company man who did the right goddamn thing, even though it was the hard goddamn thing to do. He was a Big Picture guy. Just like me and you.” He smiled down at Toys. “Lock up when you leave, kiddo.”
He turned and lumbered out.
Toys stared at the empty doorway for a long time, and then he set down the ice and picked up the phone. It was an exotic model with a kind of scrambler attachment he’d never seen before.
Chapter Fifty-five
Starbucks
Southampton, Pennsylvania
December 19, 5:54 P.M. EST
Every cop in five towns and some from Philadelphia descended on that parking lot. The streets were closed off, the airspace declared a no-fly zone except for SWAT choppers.
The cops wanted to bag my team, but that wasn’t going to happen. We had the right credentials, and by the time the first ambulance rolled in Echo Team was already at work on the survivors. Khalid was an actual M.D., so he and Circe sectioned the coffee shop and triaged the wounded. Bunny, Top, and John Smith went to work patching bleeders, immobilizing injured backs and necks, removing the most immediately threatening glass splinters, and treating people for shock. Then waves of EMTs arrived, as well as a couple of carloads of nurses and doctors from the nearby hospital. As the professionals claimed the scene, we backed off.
I called the DMS but was unable to get Church on the phone, so I told the duty officer the pertinent details and said that we needed someone on the horn to the local chief of police and probably the governor.
Top caught up with me. “Khalid’s got the prisoner stabilized. Want to go have a little chitchat?”
“Yes, I do.”
My nerves were still jangling and I had the jitters and sick stomach that often follows violence and an adrenaline surge. If I had the time I’d throw up, then buy a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and curl up in my room and watch Comedy Central until I passed out. Fat chance of that. My thigh hurt like hell, and blood from the cuts had pooled in my shoe, so I sloshed as I walked.
I went over to the corner where the wounded shooter was being prepped for transport. Khalid had removed the man’s scarf, goggles, and hat to reveal a face that was as American as apple pie. Well, as American as pizza and cannolis. His skin was a greasy gray, and pain had etched deep lines on either side of his mouth. His eyes followed me with glassy uncertainty. An IV bag was plugged into his arm and he was wrapped in bandages. His uninjured hand was cuffed to the stretcher on which he lay.