Steven James - The Queen

I felt my anger rising. “Other partners? Accomplices?”

“None that are still alive.”

How did he pull this off for so long!

I remembered my conversation with my brother at lunch yesterday, when I’d considered the fact that every killer, every rapist is friends with someone, is trusted by someone, loved by someone.

And my conclusion: You can never really know someone, not really; at times every one of us acts in ways that are inconceivable to others, that are unthinkable even to ourselves.

How true Jake was watching me curiously.

“So what’s the story you’re going to use?” I didn’t have enough play with my ankle to stand, but I was able to push myself to my knees. “Alexei killed me? You chased him, but he got away? Is that it?”

“Something along those lines. Maybe that I was searching the sawmill office when Chekov attacked you down here. By the time I heard the motor running and managed to arrive, it was too late to stop your tragic, and rather grisly, death.” He contemplated that for a moment. “I should be able to make that fly. I’m pretty good with this sort of thing.”

“Why not just shoot me?”

“Come on, Pat, that really would be hard to explain, besides, by now you should know I like a little spectacle.”

I thought of the videos, the soft chuckles of the person filming them. “Sooner or later,” I said, “you knew we would’ve caught on that Reiser wasn’t Richard’s partner. That’s why you killed him, so we’d stop looking, right? By killing him, you-”

“Yes, yes. Case closed. But it didn’t quite work out like that, did it?” Sirens in the distance, still a few minutes out. “Okay, let’s get things rolling.”

“And Albuquerque and St. Louis-you know which cases I’m talking about-you stalled out those investigations, didn’t you? To give the killers more time.”

“Really, Pat. You should have been a profiler.” He took a long look at me. “And so, first, though, the matter of Lien-hua. If, as you said, she knows, I’ll have to hand her over to Basque, let him do what he does best. It should make for some really good footage. I always like those Asian girls. The way they writhe.”

Anger.

Cutting loose inside me.

“Mmm. And what about Tessa? What shall we do with her? Oh, she’ll be devastated by the death of her stepfather and his girlfriend. Maybe I could send her the video of Lien-hua’s last few hours?” He paused, seemed to savor the thought. “No, as tantalizing as that is, I think watching that sweet little stepdaughter of yours squirm under Richard’s blade is just too enticing. I think we’ll do her too.”

Easy, Pat, don’t lose it!

I saw movement near the doorway, a dark blue parka, and I had an idea. “So you’re saying you’re going to kill a woman, kill a girl, just to watch them suffer? To watch them die?”

“I can’t think of a better reason.”

“Killing men isn’t enough for you? You turn to women and children?”

“Patrick, trust me, the more helpless they are, the more satisfying it is.”

“That was the wrong thing to say, Jake.”

“Really?”

“You’re going to regret threatening Lien-hua and Tessa.”

He grinned. “Am I?”

“Yes,” came a voice from the doorway. “Now, step away from the control board.” I heard the sound of a shell being slammed into the chamber of a shotgun.

Alexei Chekov edged through the doorway, aiming the Remington 870 12-gauge from the gun rack in Sean’s pickup at Jake’s chest.

He must’ve read my email.

He’d come back.

And Alexei Chekov does not take it lightly when people threaten women or children.

“Step back,” Alexei repeated to Jake. “I mean it.” Maybe Alexei didn’t typically use guns, but I was glad to see him holding one right now.

Obviously surprised but not appearing intimidated, Jake held up his hands, backed away from the panel.

“So, you enjoy killing women?” Alexei said. “Watching children suffer and squirm?”

The smugness on Jake’s face evaporated. He said nothing.

Keeping the gun on Jake, Alexei called to me, “Who is Valkyrie, Agent Bowers?”

Oh no.

Not good.

Now Jake grinned. “Go on, Pat, tell him the truth. You don’t have any idea who Valkyrie is.”

Alexei eyed me. “Is that true?”

Not Terry. Not Cassandra.

Would Becker have lied while he was dying, his skull crushed?

No. I doubted that.

So, not Becker.

Rusk?

“Well?”

My thoughts tumbled over each other, roaming, curling, turning in quick cycles, flipping through the facts. I could feel it. Everything coming together. The clues, the case, like an intricate puzzle, all clicking into place.

Whoever Valkyrie was he, or she, knew details of this mission, communicated with the Eco-Tech team.

Code names by high-level operatives are rarely chosen indiscriminately. Valkyrie draws from images of death, eternity, beauty, marriage.

Fluent in different languages. Male. He has a specialty in communication technology and hacking.

Yes.

“Agent Bowers?”

To find out what lies at the core of someone’s personality, you need to know more than what he wants… Only when you know what someone most deeply regrets will you know what matters to him most.

What he most deeply regrets…

“Tell him, Pat,” Jake called. I said nothing and Jake went on, “In the car, Patrick had me send that email to his account noting that he knew who Valkyrie was-”

The mind has to deal with guilt somehow. When it’s overwhelming, escaping reality is sometimes the only choice.

“But he made that up. Just to lure you-”

“I was speaking with Agent Bowers,” Alexei said coolly. “I’d like you to be quiet now. Quiet alive or quiet dead. You choose.”

Jake said nothing.

“Agent Bowers, tell-”

But before Alexei could finish his sentence, Jake went for his gun, and then I was yelling for Alexei to Get down! but Jake snatched up his Glock, aimed, Alexei fired the shotgun, the slug hit Jake in the torso, and he jerked to the side, crumpling to the ground.

Even if the magazine of the Remington 870 had a plug, Alexei had at least one shot left before he would need to reload. He turned the barrel toward me. “Who is Valkyrie?”

Careful, Pat. His GRU psych profile noted his “volatile and irregular temperament.”

“Alexei,” I ordered, “put down the shotgun and-”

On the other side of the room I saw Jake rise to his feet and reach for the switch to the pulp grinder.

“Behind you!” I yelled to Alexei.

But it was too late. Jake flipped the switch, the engine sprang to life, the blades of the log grinder began to churn, and the conveyor belt I was cuffed to lurched forward, carrying me toward the spinning blades.

Alexei trained the shotgun on Jake, but Jake fired again, sending him ducking for cover behind a workbench about three meters from the grinder. I could barely hear the shots over the roar of the motor.

All Jake needed to do was hold Alexei off for a couple minutes. Then I would be dead, backup would be here, and Jake would be the hero-wounded in the line of duty while apprehending an internationally wanted assassin.

As far as I knew, the only way to turn this wood grinder off was the switch beside Jake.

It’s like a giant paper shredder.

And shredders can be jammed.

Hoping to stop the blade, I aimed my Maglite into the spinning blades, threw it in.

For a fraction of a second, the machine stalled, but then, with a sheer, screeching noise, the blades chewed through the flashlight’s aluminum casing and batteries, sending shards of metal flying in every direction. Even four meters away I felt some of them blister across my face.