Andrew Britton - The Assassin

The shot sounded like an explosion in the small room. Hakim Rudaki screamed in agony, his eyes wide in horror. He clutched at his ruined knee and slid from the bed to the floor, blood pumping between his fingers.

“Jesus Christ!” Crane screamed, dropping her arms. “What the hell are you…?”

Kealey never heard the rest of her question. He was on the ground, his left hand wrapped in Rudaki’s hair, his gun jammed under the other man’s chin. He was screaming the same question over and over, his face an inch from Rudaki’s. “Where’s the bomb? Where is it? Tell me, you piece of shit! Tell me! ”

Kealey was aware of Crane’s hands on his shoulders. She was trying to pull him back, and it briefly occurred to him that if she was in on it, she wouldn’t even be in the room; she would have gone for her gun in the hall. The fact that she hadn’t only reinforced her innocence.

He shrugged her off and kept screaming the question. Finally, through gritted teeth, Rudaki howled a name.

“What? What was that?”

“ Nazeri! I don’t know anything about a bomb! I only know the name, I swear to God…”

“Nazeri? Who is he? Where is he?”

“ I don’t know! ”

“The Iranian government was never behind this, was it?” Rudaki seemed to hesitate, and Kealey shouted the question again.

“No,” Rudaki gasped. His face was covered in sweat, and Kealey could tell he was about to pass out. “Tehran never had a hand in it. The whole thing started in Iraq.”

“With who?” Kealey demanded. “Who in Iraq?”

Rudaki shook his head, his face contorted with pain. “I never dealt with the top people. Just intermediaries.”

“Like Vanderveen, right? You dealt with Vanderveen?”

“Yes. I dealt with Vanderveen and…” He nodded at Crane, who had been watching the exchange with a mixed expression of shock and disbelief. “Her partner.”

It was irrefutable proof; at this point, Rudaki would gain nothing by lying. Kealey shot a glance at Samantha Crane. She was staring at the Iranian informant, her face frozen. “This whole time?” she finally managed to choke out. “I don’t believe it. You’re lying.”

Rudaki shook his head weakly. “It’s the truth. I swear it.”

“You’re lying,” Crane repeated, but the words had lost their conviction. “It can’t be true. It’s not possible. It’s just not…”

Her voice faltered, but instead of collapsing into herself, she suddenly sprinted forward. “ You fuck! ” she screamed. “ You fucking — ”

Kealey was caught off-guard by the sudden outburst, but he managed to restrain her in time, wrapping her up from behind. “We don’t have time for this,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “He’ll get what’s coming to him, and so will Foster.”

He could feel her trembling in his arms; her whole body was shaking with rage. “Come on, calm down, okay? I’m going to let you go. Don’t do anything crazy. Stay calm.”

He released her cautiously. Then he asked for her phone, having left his in the car. As she pulled it out of her pocket and handed it over, he pushed her into the hall, then followed her out. He was careful to keep his body between her and Rudaki, who was still lying on the floor in the bedroom, moaning in agony.

“We have to call the FO,” Crane said. She was still flushed and breathing hard. “They can get a location on Nazeri in less than a minute.”

“In a second,” Kealey said. He was already punching in Naomi’s number. He wanted to give her a heads-up first, and then they would bring the whole world crashing down on this Nazeri character. He let out a long breath, letting some of the tension ebb. It seemed like everything was in hand; the meeting at the UN was still hours away. Soon he would have Nazeri’s location, and when he got there, Kealey had no doubt that he would find Will Vanderveen and the BLU-82. At this point, the only thing he had to worry about was killing Vanderveen before he could set off the bomb.

But then he lifted the phone to his ear, and everything changed.

NEW YORK CITY

“Hello?”

He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it, wondering if somehow he’d dialed the wrong number. Bringing it back to his ear, he said, “I’m looking for Naomi Kharmai, but I think I have the wrong-”

“Is this Ryan? Ryan Kealey?”

“Yeah.” A little shock there, with the name recognition. “And you are…?”

“Matt Foster. We’ve met before.”

Kealey froze, a quiver of fear running through his chest. What was Foster doing with Naomi’s phone? He glanced at Crane. She looked back at him inquiringly, but he didn’t have time to bring her into this. “Uh… yeah, I remember you.”

“I thought you might. We met in Alexandria.”

“That’s right,” Kealey said. His mind was racing. “Where are you?”

“Just out and about.” There was a smile in the other man’s voice, but there was nothing pleasant about it. “Checking leads, following up, you know. The usual.”

“Right, well… Is Naomi there?”

There was a long silence. “I’m afraid she’s indisposed at the moment.”

Kealey closed his eyes. Indisposed? What did that mean? Surely not what it sounded like. Surely not that.

He couldn’t have killed her; there was no reason to do so. Unless Naomi had somehow figured it out first and confronted him, and Kealey didn’t see how that would be possible. But this wasn’t getting him anywhere. He had to get off the phone and think it through. “Will you tell her I need to talk to her?”

“Sure.” Foster’s tone was a little too pleasant. “Can I have a quick word with Samantha?”

For a second, Kealey thought the other man was trying to trick him into giving something away. Then he remembered that he was using Crane’s phone, and the number would have come up on Foster’s screen.

He looked at Crane. Her face had lost all of its color, and her eyes were wide and glazed over. The rage was gone, at least for the moment, but she looked utterly drained. He knew he couldn’t put her on the line; she was still reeling from Foster’s betrayal on two fronts. Judging from the show of emotion he’d just witnessed, she would give it away in a second.

“She’s also indisposed,” Kealey said, “but if you want, I can-”

“Tell me something, Ryan. Since you’re using her phone, I assume you’ve had a talk with her. Did you happen to talk to Hakim Rudaki as well?”

Kealey was gripping the phone so hard he thought it would break, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Agent Foster, I don’t know what-”

“Sure you do,” the other man said amiably. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, but I’m afraid that leaves us with a little problem. Have you called the Bureau yet?”

Kealey struggled to keep his voice even. It was clear they were done with the false pleasantries. “No.”

“Good. If you want your friend to live, you won’t try to track us down, and you won’t call the FO. Because if you do, and my fellow agents show up to gun me down, the last act of my life will be to cut her pretty little throat. Do I make myself clear?”

“You fuck,” Kealey rasped. “If you touch her, I swear to God, I’ll-”

“You’ll do nothing,” Foster said, his voice turning hard. “That isn’t too much to ask, is it? Just do nothing for the next hour. Unless you want Naomi back in pieces, that is.”

“Foster, you-” Kealey stopped and looked at the phone. The other man had already cut the connection. “Fuck!”

“What?” Crane asked. She’d already collected and reloaded her weapon, and was slipping it back into her holster. “What happened?”

“It’s your partner. He’s got Naomi.”