Джеймс Паттерсон - Killer Instinct

Wait for what, though? Gorgin wasn’t giving any more signals. All he was doing was making tea. At least she could still see his—

No sooner had he pulled out a couple of tea bags than he shifted his body, his back suddenly facing Elizabeth. She couldn’t see his hands anymore, but his arms were definitely moving. He was doing something.

Something he didn’t want her to see.

Elizabeth edged forward in her chair and dropped a hand to her side, slowly tucking her blazer back behind her Glock. Her fingertips tap-danced on the grip as if keeping time. Any sudden move. That’s all it would take.

How long can someone go without blinking?

“What’s that?” she asked.

Gorgin had said something. She didn’t hear him.

“I said, you’re awfully quiet over there, Agent Needham.”

He began to turn. There was something in his hand.

No. Both hands.

Chapter 39

TEACUPS. HE was holding the teacups.

He walked over, casually placing them on the table. One for her and one for him. Elizabeth didn’t look down at hers. She wasn’t about to take her eyes off this guy, not for a second. Not until she knew what the hell was going on.

The answer was right in front of her.

“The water should be ready in a minute,” said Gorgin, returning to the stove. He was talking over his shoulder. “My uncle says it’s best to pour from the kettle directly onto the tea bag.”

Again, there was nothing in Gorgin’s voice. Nor was there any head nodding this time or anything approaching a signal.

Still, Elizabeth heard him loud and clear. His instructions. She looked down inside the cup and literally read the tea leaves.

They’re listening.

Gorgin had written the two words on the tea bag in her cup. That’s what he’d been doing when he turned his back to her. Clever. If she’d seen him taking a pen to a tea bag, she would’ve asked what on earth he was doing. Not a good thing if someone was listening in—someone who probably didn’t want Gorgin talking to an agent with the JTTF.

Elizabeth looked up from the cup, locking eyes with him as he leaned against the counter next to the stove. She nodded. Message received.

Only who’s listening? Why the hell is the house bugged?

Elizabeth quickly replayed the last few minutes in her mind. She’d told Gorgin who she was, but that was outside on the steps. Still, he’d referred to her as Agent Needham once she was inside. That couldn’t have been by accident. He wasn’t trying to pass her off as the Avon lady or a neighbor looking to borrow a cup of sugar.

So now what?

Elizabeth was about to motion for the pen. She would write out her questions, hopefully on something bigger than a tea bag. She wanted to ask how to play this out—should she inquire about the Mudir as intended or instead make up an excuse for her being there?

It was as if Gorgin could read her mind.

“So let me guess,” he said. “In the wake of the Times Square bombings, every Muslim in the tristate area is getting a house call.”

“That would be a lot of house calls,” said Elizabeth.

“You’re right. Make that young single men of a certain age who just happen to be practicing Muslims. I believe the word is profiling .”

“That’s your word, not mine. It’s also not a word that the JTTF would use.”

Gorgin gave her a thumbs-up. They were ad-libbing the script, but she was sticking to it perfectly. So was he. Whoever was listening needed to think that Gorgin would never crack under pressure. That he could take the heat. It was only fitting they were in a kitchen.

Elizabeth still had no idea who this guy was or even what information she could expect to get from him, but there was no doubting the sense that he was someone she could trust. That was the point, right? It was why she’d been sent his way. Gorgin could help her.

For a moment, she even stopped watching his hands.

Oh, shit. No!

No-no-no-no-no!

Chapter 40

EVERYTHING HAPPENED at once. The worst things usually do.

The sound of the kettle whistling suddenly pierced the room, drawing Elizabeth’s eyes to the stove just long enough that she didn’t immediately see Gorgin’s right hand reach under the dish towel by the sink. He was already whipping his arm around toward her before she could reach for her holster.

There was no catching up; he’d outdrawn her. There was no getting out of the way; he was too close.

This is how I die.

Elizabeth watched the barrel of his gun line up with her chest. All that was left for him to do was pull the trigger.

But the barrel kept moving.

She hadn’t heard the front door opening down the hallway. She hadn’t heard the footsteps. And she definitely hadn’t seen the man with the thick black beard entering the kitchen with an AK-47 trained at her head. But Gorgin had.

Now he pulled his trigger.

He got off two rounds. Maybe three. He only needed the first. It was a perfect kill shot to the carotid artery.

The bearded man spun from the impact, his neck wildly spurting blood as he shifted his aim off Elizabeth and onto Gorgin. He was falling to the ground, his legs collapsing underneath him. Maybe he squeezed his trigger. Or maybe his finger just twitched. Either way, his AK-47 sprayed a line across the kitchen as he came crashing down with a thud.

Elizabeth looked at him by her feet and then up at Gorgin, their eyes locking as they’d done before. His stare said it all. She didn’t need to see the two holes in his chest, the dark redness oozing and spreading across the front of his hoodie. She knew how badly he was hurt.

Elizabeth sprang from her chair as Gorgin fell to the floor, gasping for air as he rolled onto his back. He was losing too much blood, too quickly.

Grabbing the dish towel from the counter, the one that had concealed his gun, she tried to clamp the entry wounds, only the blood kept coming. It wouldn’t stop.

Gorgin could barely speak but he wanted to. He needed to.

“The house,” he said, his lungs wheezing. There was more to the sentence, only he couldn’t finish it. He blinked a few times as if trying to gather his strength. “The house…it’s wired.”

“I know,” said Elizabeth. “You told me. They’re listening.”

Gorgin reached up, his hand flailing as he tried to grab her arm. “No,” he said. “The house is wired. ”

Chapter 41

WHAT GORGIN meant hit Elizabeth almost as fast as the smell.

She first thought a stray bullet had pierced the stove and somehow triggered the gas. Except the smell wasn’t coming from the stove.

She looked up. Oh, Jesus. It was so thick she could literally see it. The gas was pouring out from the air duct in the ceiling.

Chemistry 101. The bomb ignites the gas, which levels the house and everything in it. There’s no evidence to be had. Or witnesses.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” said Elizabeth. She started to slide one hand under Gorgin’s back, another under his legs. Could she even lift him? She had to try.

“Don’t,” he said. “There’s no time.”

“I’m not leaving without—”

“Go.”

Elizabeth coughed, her lungs burning. She could barely breathe. It was now or never.

He had saved her life. There was no way she wouldn’t try to save his.

“Okay, here we go,” she said, steadying herself to lift him up. “We can do this. Just stay with me.”

She was so focused on his body, so consumed with mustering the strength to carry him, that she didn’t see his eyes. They were still staring at her, but it wasn’t the same. There was nothing behind them. He was gone.

“Go,” he’d told her. The last word he would ever speak. Go.