Chris Mooney - World Without End

Conway thought about asking her more questions about the fire and decided against it. He needed her to answer a more important question.

"Airport," he croaked.

"There was an accident."

"The terrorist attack." The nurse shook her head, a frown on her mouth, and sighed.

"What happened to those poor people in those explosions if they catch this guy Angel Eyes they should hang him from a tree and let people throw rocks at him, stone him to death like they did in the Bible.

That's what I think."

"Angel Eyes?"

"That's what the newspapers and TV are calling the guy who did the bombings. He's the leader of some sort of terrorist group."

The nurse's words tumbled inside his head. He stared at her for a moment, not quite sure what to say. Questions lined up like dominoes in his head.

Conway pushed it away. He would deal with that later, but right now, all he cared about was the answer to one question. He formed the words, hope swelling inside him hoping that Bouchard had been wrong about Pasha.

"Survivors," he said.

"A few. Not many. Some of them came here."

"Her name…" Conway had to swallow, start again.

"Her name is Pasha Romanov. Is she here?"

No change in expression on the nurse's face. Please God, let Bouchard be wrong and let her be here.

"Let me go check. Is there anything else you need?"

Yes. I need you to hit the rewind button and let me go back three days in time. Can you do that?

"Newspapers," he said.

"All three days?"

Conway nodded.

"Let me see what I can do," she said and patted his arm. Then she reached over and grabbed a remote from the nightstand and placed it near his hand.

"In case you want to watch some TV. Give me a few minutes, and I'll be back with your papers." The nurse smiled.

"You're doing fine, you know. That scar on your forehead will fade in no time. You're lucky to be alive, Mr. Conway."

The helpful and eager smile back in place, she turned and left the room. Conway stared up at the ceiling tiles that glowed red and gold from the evening's sunlight as the word lucky tumbled through his head.

He tried to focus on the world beyond the door, tried to listen to the scatter of shoes across the floor and the bits of conversation, anything to keep his mind occupied.

It's possible she's alive. Maybe she wasn't inside one of the vans.

Maybe she was injured, maybe she was unconscious somewhere in the lot, and they found her and brought her in and she's here and she's fine.

He was looking out the window, watching the sunset, when the door opened.

It wasn't the nurse. The person who stood in the doorway was a small, thin man with chipmunk cheeks shadowed with permanent stubble. He wore a starched white shirt and pale blue jeans, his black cowboy boots pushing his height up to maybe five-five. A large paper cup of coffee was in one hand; the other held several newspapers. Conway's eyes were locked on the badge draped across the man's belt, near the gun holster.

"Detective Lenny Rombardo, Austin police," the man said.

"You and I need to talk."

Detective Rombardo walked over to the bed with a Marlboro man swagger and tossed the newspapers on Conway's lap. He slid a chair over, sat down, and crossed his legs. His black hair glistened with gel and stuck up on his scalp like porcupine needles.

It wasn't supposed to go down this way. Phase one of the operation was supposed to be completed, the IWAC team moving onto the second and final phase: identifying Angel Eyes and his group. Dixon would be brought into the IWAC fold not that unusual a move, given his technical skills. Conway should have been lying in his bed back in the condo and thinking about where he was going to go on vacation, maybe do the Caribbean thing with Pasha down in the Cayman Islands.

But it hadn't worked out like that. There would be no phase two of the operation because it had gone FUBAR. Dixon was gone, the IWAC unit had been killed, and Pasha… he tried to wipe the thought away and was left with a sharp and throbbing pain like a dagger of ice melting against his heart.

"How's the back of your noodle?" Rombardo asked.

"Fine." The word came out in a dry wheeze.

"You took quite a spill in the lab, cracked the back of your noggin against the floor and then that tile bonked off your forehead and cracked your skull open." Rombardo blew out a long stream of air as he shook his head.

"You're one lucky son of a bitch."

He knows I was inside the lab. Yes, of course he does, that's ivhy he's here. Conway looked back out the window. It was too soon for this.

He needed some time to prepare his story, the one that would throw Rombardo and his boys off the scent and away from the IWAC group.

"You remember much?" Rombardo asked.

"I just woke up a few minutes ago and my head's a fog. Can we do this later? Maybe tomorrow morning."

Rombardo grinned.

"Relax, I'm on your team," he said.

"My team?"

"I know what went down." Rombardo sipped his coffee and waited for Conway to say something. When he didn't, Rombardo said, "The school.

Dixon. What went down in the attic. I know all of it, Steve. Don't worry about the police. I already made the call to your boss. You're protected."

My boss? Does he mean Bouchard? Is he alive? Conway didn't say anything.

"Sorry, my mistake." Rombardo reached inside his shirt pocket and removed a thin black device the size of a pack of playing cards. A green light blinked steadily.

"It's amazing to me that the CIA can make a jamming unit this small.

Then again, I'm still mystified as to how a copying machine works, so I'm easy to impress." He slid the device back inside his pocket.

"Don't worry, we already checked your room and your condo for bugs.

It's clean. But after what went down, it doesn't hurt to be extra careful." Rombardo sipped some more of his coffee, his body relaxed, his legs crossed.

"We've got you and the perimeter covered. We can talk. It's safe."

Conway remembered Pasha saying something about having a contact inside the Austin police department in case IWAC ever ran into trouble, but Pasha had never mentioned a specific name. Was Rombardo the real deal?

Possible. What was equally possible was that Rombardo was one of Angel Eyes's men sent here on a fact-finding mission. Conway wasn't about to say anything until he talked with Bouchard.

If Bouchard's still alive. Conway wasn't about to ask Rombardo.

"By the look on your face I take it Pasha never mentioned my name to you," Rombardo said.

"No. Where is she?"

Rombardo shifted in his chair, and Conway felt the last lingering threads of hope vanish.

"I'm sorry, Steve."

Conway's eyes jumped up to the ceiling. Lightning quick he slammed the door shut on his thoughts and emotions and would keep them shut until he was alone, away from this guy Rombardo.

"Look. I know this isn't easy for you. I know you just woke up and have no idea about what's gone down and that you're probably feeling a lot of things right now, so let me give you the lowdown on what we know," Rombardo said and then plunged right into it.

"The surveillance was blown. That means we have someone working on the inside. That's right, a mole, another real Aldrich Ames special, only this one's got to be close to Bouchard, someone who knows about the group and its activities. Ray told you about this guy McFadden, right?"

Conway didn't say anything.

"Granted, I don't have the inside scoop the CIA is trying to keep the damage under wraps but what I can tell you is that this asshole McFadden has, for the past twenty years, been giving up secrets to the Russians," Rombardo said.

"This guy forked over all this info on our intelligence systems and sold all this high-tech stuff that was worth millions."