Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

“The two American men and an MI6 officer took me in a car toward Bandar-e ’Abbas,” he continued. “I thought that’s where they would go, and in any case I had ensured that roadblocks were set up on Iran’s main roads to its borders and coastline. The younger CIA man and the MI6 man escaped, but your father was captured by soldiers from the Bandar-e ’Abbas roadblock. He was kept in captivity for years, and I later visited him in Evin Prison and spoke to him.” He smiled. “Despite what I did to him, he never admitted that his information had caused the death of my father. He was a very brave man and would not say anything about his work.” And then the smile was once again gone. “But that bravery was not enough to stop me from hating him and ending his life.” He nodded at Will and spoke quietly. “He did, however, inadvertently betray one important piece of information about himself. He called out the name of his son at the end. He called your name as I tore out his stomach.”

Will gritted his teeth.

Megiddo’s eyes seemed even blacker. “The shah’s SAVAK did not just brutally kill my father. They also killed my mother, my sisters, and my brothers.” He nodded slowly. “You can therefore imagine my delight when I discovered that the MI6 man pursuing me over the last few weeks was none other than the son of the CIA man whose information had caused the death of my entire family.”

Will fought to control his breathing. “There was no way he could have known that his information would have resulted in the death of your family.”

Anger flashed across Megiddo’s face. “He was an intelligence officer working alongside a brutal, corrupt, and desperate regime. He would have known exactly what actions could have been taken based upon his information about my father.”

Will shouted, “He was doing his job! Working alongside one abhorrent regime and witnessing the rise of an even worse one. He would not have enjoyed the decisions he had to make. But he was there to make decisions and was no doubt under orders to do anything he could to slow down the shah’s collapse until the Arab neighbors of Iran could complete their preparations to protect themselves from the new Iranian regime.”

Megiddo spat, “Justify your father’s actions in any way you see fit. It makes no difference to me, because he still caused the slaughter of my family.”

Will flexed his muscles and felt the weight of the gun. He frowned as he recalled Patrick telling him that his father had entered Iran for the first time three weeks before his capture. He asked quietly, “When was your father killed?”

Megiddo’s eyes glared at him. “Two months before we captured your father.”

Anger raged through Will. He imagined plunging a knife into Megiddo’s stomach. He imagined doing to the man what the man had done to his father; imagined taking him apart piece by piece. He shouted, “My father was not in Iran when your father’s secret work was exposed to the shah! He was not the CIA officer whose intelligence caused your father to be killed. He arrived in Iran only twenty-one days before you captured him. You murdered him for no reason!”

Megiddo frowned and stood very still. “You are lying to me in a futile attempt to justify your father’s actions.”

Will lowered his voice. “If I were, I would also be lying to myself.”

Megiddo considered this. Then he asked quietly, “Do you know the identity of the other CIA man who took me in the car to Bandar-e ’Abbas?”

Will nodded. “I do, and you’ll never learn his name.”

Megiddo smiled, but the look was very bitter. He seemed to think for a long time. “Well, that matters not now. Even though it would have been perfect if I could have taken revenge against my father’s murderer by killing his family, just as he killed mine.” He seemed to be tasting his own anger. “It would have been perfect.” He breathed deeply, and the anger seemed to go. “But it appears that my presence here has been pointless.”

Will frowned. “You may not be facing the son of your father’s killer. But you came here for another reason as well. You came here to make me the audience for your masterpiece.”

Megiddo looked hesitant. “Yes. . yes, that as well.” He looked away for a brief moment and shook his head. “Everything changed for me when I lost my father.”

“As it did for me.”

The two men locked gazes.

Then Megiddo’s expression steeled, and he spoke in a deep, harsh voice. “And so here we both are, men who excel at things because we have nothing in our lives to give us peace, men who are very alike.”

Will steeled his own gaze. “You wish to kill millions of people and cause mayhem and the destruction of borders to gain power and control over the Middle East. We are not alike. You are a monster. And I am here to kill you.”

“And I you.”

The room was silent and dark.

Will knew that no more words would be spoken. He knew that now was the time to finally settle matters with Megiddo. He studied Megiddo’s eyes and saw how cold they looked, he heard the man’s breathing slow down, he felt his presence and his strength. He knew that the man was watching him just as closely, looking for any indication that Will would raise his gun just as Will was looking for such signs from him. Will used his breath to steady his body and prepare to move his gun with absolute speed and accuracy. He decided to take three more breaths of air before holding his breath to shoot. He desperately wanted to see any signal from Megiddo that would tell him the man was going to move first-a flicker of his eyes, a change of expression, an adjustment of his stance, anything. But Megiddo was motionless. Will breathed. He saw Megiddo do the same. Will took another lungful of air. So did Megiddo. Will took his third breath. Megiddo stopped breathing.

Will knew that was the sign. Megiddo was about to raise his gun and shoot him.

For one second nothing happened.

In the next second everything began and ended.

Megiddo moved his gun with lightning speed. Will moved his arm upward, pulled his trigger, and dropped his body slightly lower. He heard his gunshot and Megiddo’s gunshot simultaneously. He felt a rush of air over his head. He saw Megiddo’s mouth open slightly and knew that Megiddo had missed his target.

He watched his bullet strike Megiddo in the center of his head.

Will ran south down Broadway. He ran past groups of pedestrians, he ran between moving cars, he ran as snow began falling gently from the sky, he ran in a nighttime that was brightly illuminated by the city’s lights.

He checked his watch and cursed the crowds and traffic. He cursed everything that was slowing his attempt to get to the Metropolitan Opera House. What was the fastest way south? He knew a subway could work, but he could also be waiting on a platform-and he had no stomach for that. He knew his only hope was finding a cab.

As he ran, he wondered what he should do. He knew that under other circumstances the correct thing for him to do would be to call Patrick and instruct the man to get the FBI Critical Incident Response Group to take over what was now a federal police matter. It would secure the area around the opera house, and it would have drills and procedures to evacuate the building while simultaneously searching for terrorists and bombs. But Will was unsure if that was the right thing to do, because he was sure something was wrong. Something had been said by Megiddo that did not sound right. He knew what it was.

I will make you my audience.

He sprinted across an intersection blocked with traffic, still keeping his eye out for a southbound cab. And he desperately tried to think. He knew that Megiddo was not the type of man who needed an audience. He knew that the man had told him about his plan for another reason. But he could not grasp what that reason was. He wondered whether Megiddo had simply fed him another lie and had bombs planted at a different location. He concluded that made no sense at this stage, as Megiddo would have forced Lana to confess everything, including the fact that Will did not really have information that could thwart his plot. He wondered if Megiddo had wanted his plot foiled and maybe even had a desire to stop the death of the children and wives and, ultimately, millions of others. But he recalled the look of death in Megiddo’s eyes and knew that the man had no intention of stopping his attack.