Steve Berry - The Jefferson Key

Malone huddled close, listening to the thumping report of lead ripping through metal, and waited for his moment. When the firing stopped, he rose, aimed, and brought the gunman to a wavering halt with a bullet to the shoulder.

He rushed over and kicked the rifle away.

The man writhed in pain on the wet pavement, and blood poured from the wound.

The storm freshened as gusts of wind molested the trees. His eyes swept the darkness, and he noticed something.

All the lights in the building that had been illuminated were now out.

KNOX STEPPED OFF THE PLANE AT THE GREENVILLE, NORTH Carolina, airport. He’d flown to New York aboard the Commonwealth’s jet, piloting the twelve-seater himself. He’d learned to fly while in the air force. His father had encouraged him to join, and the six years he’d spent on active duty had been good for him. His sons had followed suit, one of them just finishing a Middle Eastern tour, another planned to enlist. He was proud that his children wanted to serve. They were good Americans, as was he.

The small, regional airport lay forty minutes west of Bath, and he quickly made his way to a Lincoln Navigator parked beside the Commonwealth’s private hangar. Ostensibly, both the plane and the building belonged to one of the Hale business concerns, used by executives for corporate travel. Three pilots stayed on the payroll, but Knox never used them. His trips were private, the fewer witnesses the better. He was still concerned about New York and all that had gone wrong. But at least he’d managed to escape in one piece.

He unlocked the rear door and tossed his travel bag inside. The place was quiet and still for late on a Saturday night. Movement out of the corner of his eye diverted his attention. A form emerged from the darkness and said, “I’ve been waiting.”

He stared at the faceless shadow, an inkblot on the night, and said, “I should kill you.”

The woman chuckled. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”

“Our deal is over.”

Andrea Carbonell stepped forward. “Hardly. We are far from through with each other.”

MALONE RETRIEVED THE WEAPONS FROM THE TWO DOWNED men then ran toward the building’s entrance. He saw that its glass doors had been shattered, the electronic latch destroyed. He entered the lobby, immediately finding cover behind a sofa grouping with chairs. A reception counter fronted one wall, two elevators another. Three sets of glass doors lead into what he assumed were other offices, but they were dark. Another set of glass doors at the far end opened out to the rear of the building. His gaze found the stairway, an EXIT sign burning a dull crimson from battery power.

He crept close and eased the door open.

He heard movement.

Footsteps.

Above him.

WYATT LED VOCCIO OUT OF THE OFFICE AND DOWN THE HALL, passing both open and closed doorways. Emergency lighting indicated where the stairs waited and, in the soft glow from the illuminated panel, he caught sight of the exit door.

Which was being eased open.

He grabbed Voccio by the arm, signaling for quiet, then diverted them both into the first open space. Some sort of conference room, the opposite wall lined with windows, the plate glass smeared with rain and lit from the outside by lamps below. He motioned for the doctor to wait in one of the corners, then peered out into the hall, his eyes struggling to define shapes.

Two forms disturbed the darkness, both moving ahead toting automatic rifles. He thought he caught the silhouette of night goggles around their heads. It would make sense that these men would have come equipped.

Thank goodness he’d also thought ahead.

KNOX WAS IN NO MOOD FOR CARBONELL’S THEATRICS. HE’D sold his soul to her, doing something that ran counter to every fiber in his being.

But she’d made a convincing case.

The Commonwealth was finished.

All four captains would spend a decade or more in federal prison. Every penny they’d made and every tangible asset they owned would be seized by the government. No more crews. No more letters of marque. No more quartermasters.

Knox could either survive the calamity or become part of it.

God help him, he chose survival.

The NIA knew about the assassination attempt because he’d told them. That had been his bargaining chip, the one piece of information that neither NIA nor anyone else had known.

His ticket out.

Carbonell had listened to him intently.

“They’re going to kill Danny Daniels?” she asked.

“Three captains think that’s the solution.”

“And what do you think?”

“They’re crazy and desperate. That’s why I’m talking to you.”

“What do you want?”

“To see my children graduate from college. To enjoy my grandchildren. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison.”

“I can make that happen.”

Yes, she could, he thought.

“Keep their plan moving forward. Do nothing out of the ordinary. But keep me informed.”

He hated himself for selling out. He hated the captains for forcing him into the position.

“One thing,” she said to him. “If you hold out or give me one shred of bad information, the deal is off. But you won’t go down with them.”

He knew what she’d do.

“I’ll tell them that you sold out, and let them handle you for me.”

Of which he was sure.

So he’d fabricated the weapons, delivered them to New York, then provided Carbonell with card keys to both rooms, per her request. She’d then told him to carry out the attempt, as planned, with no stops.

He’d wondered about that.

“You cut that close,” he said to her. “I wasn’t sure you were going to end it or not. The guy dangling out the window. Yours?”

“An unplanned complication, but it worked out. Good work on Scott Parrott.”

He’d killed Parrott only because that’s what the captains would have expected from their quartermaster. Duplicity could never be tolerated. Anything less than direct force would have been suspect.

“You gave him up easily,” he said to her.

“Would you have preferred one more live witness around who could sell you out?”

No. He wouldn’t. Which was another reason why he’d acted. “Were you going to kill me in New York?”

She laughed. “Far from it. That was a favor from me to you. In the event that, for some reason, you didn’t move on Parrott.”

He didn’t understand.

She said, “How better to shield the fact that you’re a traitor to all those you once held dear than to place your life in dire jeopardy, from which you manage to escape?”

“That whole thing was an act?”

“Not from the agents’ perspectives. They knew nothing, except to stop you. But I knew you could handle yourself.”

“So you sacrificed them, too? Do you care anything for the people who work for you?”

She shrugged. “They had a better-than-fair shot at besting you. Five against one. It’s not my fault they failed.”

Damn her. None of that had been necessary.

Or had it?

Both incidents would indeed provide him with excellent cover.

“Captain Hale,” she said, “and the rest of the Commonwealth are surely in a panic. But it seems the captains work together about as efficiently as the intelligence community.”

He could not argue with that conclusion. They were all becoming more combative, more irrational. He knew about what Hale had done earlier, killing his long-term accountant. Who was next?

“Hale wants the cipher solution,” she said. “But I don’t particularly want to give it to him.”

“So don’t.”

“I wish it were that easy.”

“Like I said, we’re through. I’ve done my part.”

“I taped our conversations. I’m taping you right now. Your captains might find our talks enlightening.”