Chris Mooney - World Without End

Inside the Jaguar with its black leather seats, Cole put in a Miles Davis CD, the volume turned low. They drove through the streets of Somerville, Cole tapping his fingers against the steering wheel and staring out the front window as he ran through a private store of options. Several minutes later, they were on the highway heading south, back to Boston.

"That was one hell of a ride back there," Cole said.

Conway just nodded.

"It's okay to be a little shook up," Cole said.

"God knows I would be. Nothing worse than drowning. Except maybe being burnt alive."

Conway kept looking out the front window, watching the traffic. A minute or so passed before Cole spoke again.

"What did Renee Kaufmann want to talk to you about?"

"Why didn't you ask me inside the van?" Conway said.

"I wanted to ask you in private."

Conway couldn't see a way around it.

"She left a note for me with the director of the funeral home, asking me to meet her at the Aquarium," he said.

"I went up to the top floor and found her, and that's when Misha came in. He took her away before I got a chance to talk with her."

"And now Misha's shark food."

"You sound crushed."

Cole laughed.

"Actually, I couldn't think of a better ending for Misha. This note from the funeral home, you got it with you?"

Conway had the note in his back pocket. It was wet, dissolved probably.

"I shredded it," he said.

Cole pulled over into the breakdown lane, parked the car, left it running. He twisted sideways, his left hand still draped over the steering wheel.

"You mind if I search you?" he asked, smiling.

"Go for it."

Cole looked like he was considering it. Then his eyes cut sideways, out the front window. He licked his lips and then rubbed them together for a moment.

"The guy sitting in the back of the van with us, Parker, he look familiar to you?"

"No," Conway said.

"He should. He was at the funeral home, the night of your friend's wake."

Conway thought back to it but couldn't remember seeing his face.

"After you left, he talked to the funeral director and then went to a pay phone and placed a phone call. I traced the number. It belongs to a man named Chris Wiley. He's a counterterrroism expert with the FBI.

He's also a friend of John McFadden."

"The dead mole."

Cole looked back at Conway.

"You're starting to see the big picture? We got a goddamn spy network within the CIA. Can you imagine what would happen if this sort of news got out?"

"You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure about Parker. He bought a Rolex in downtown Boston a few days ago. I replaced it with an identical watch, only this one had a bug in it. I heard him talking with the funeral director and heard the whole conversation with McFadden's friend, Wiley. Raymond thinks and I happen to agree with him that these two boneheads are part of a spy ring that is feeding information to Angel Eyes."

It made perfect sense, of course. But how did Conway know this guy was telling the truth?

You live in a wilderness of mirrors. Be careful, Stephen. Jackals surround you.

"This guy Parker, he's been with Bouchard since the beginning. Parker's run all sorts of black ops," Cole said.

"When you finally figure out the decryption code and hand it over to Bouchard, Parker's going to blow a bullet through the back of Ray's head. So when you do figure out the code, you are to tell no one but me. Understand?"

"Sure."

"Why do I get the feeling you and I are not on the level here?"

"You calling me a liar?"

"I think you just survived one hell of an underwater ride and right now you're confused and scared and to top it off, you have this psycho playing head games with you. I don't think you know who to believe."

Conway stared out the window at the passing traffic and thought, Why didn't Angel Eyes take me in when he had the chance?

"Has he made contact with you?"

"No," Conway lied.

"Don't let him get inside your head and make you start thinking you can't trust the good guys."

Conway looked back at him.

"I know who to trust," he said.

Cole reached inside his jacket pocket and came back with three items: a Palm Pilot, a phone, and a bulky Citizen's diver's watch. He handed them to Conway.

"The watch is a little different," Cole said.

"Release this button here and you have a garroting wire so sharp you can cut off a person's head. You get in an emergency situation, you press down on the glass and it turns on the emergency transponder and throws me into action. If for some reason you can't activate it, don't worry. There's a transmitter inside the watch. I can track you down anywhere."

Conway fastened the watch to his wrist. It felt heavy. Bulky.

"The Palm's different too," Cole said.

"It's based on the IIIc model and has the same color screen and functionality as the one you're used to, only this one's a tad bit wider. That's because there's a sheet of Semtex inside. You hold down these two buttons and then the program comes up on the screen, see?"

Cole showed him. On the color screen came a box asking him to place in a time.

"Enter the time, hit the button here, and you got yourself an improvised explosives device that can take down a car. The Palm acts as the charge. Just make sure you're far away when this puppy goes off."

Conway thought, I'm going to have a bomb attached to my hip.

"The phone Raymond gave you," Cole said.

Conway reached into his pocket and brought out the phone. It was wet, worthless. He handed it over.

"Here, take mine," Cold said.

"Before you take the car back to the city, stop somewhere and buy some new clothes and get a haircut.

And I want you to stay with your buddy, Booker. Stick with him. That way I can watch both of you."

"Where you want me to drop you off?"

"I'm going to get off here."

Cole opened the door, the inside of the car filled with the rush of traffic whizzing by. Conway climbed behind the wheel, but Cole didn't shut the door. He leaned one arm on the opened door, the other on the roof, and looked down into the car.

"Steve, I know you're dealing with a lot right now. I can appreciate what you're feeling. But remember this: Angel Eyes was the one who killed your friend."

Only one way to find out.

"We're on the same team, Steve. You understand?"

"Absolutely."

"My numbers are programmed into your phone. Call me if you find out anything."

Conway looked up and smiled.

"You can take that to the bank."

The neighborhood in this section of Lynn was made up of the lower-middle-class homes that had seen better days, the kind of place that acted like a black hole where you could disappear off the face of the earth. No one paid attention to you, they didn't want to stop and talk. No one cared. It was the perfect place to conduct personal matters without raising suspicion.

Cole pulled his car, a rented Nissan Maxima, into the driveway of a house on the end of the street, near the Commons. The ramshackle, two-floor unit had a fresh coat of yellow paint and a chain-linked, fenced-in backyard that was full of rotting leaves, decaying dog turds, and a rusted swing set that leaned to the side, as if it were sinking into the ground. It was after five, the world dark now, the front and back porch lights turned off, the shades drawn.

Cole got out of the car and walked up the rickety back steps. He opened the back door and moved into the kitchen with the peeling blue-and-white diamond-patterned linoleum floor and oak cabinets hung crookedly on nicotine stained rose wallpaper. The air was stale, heavy with the noxious fumes of takeout Chinese food.

Inside the living room, the TV was on, turned to the top news story of the day: the Aquarium bombing. Cole moved through the living room and walked down the small length of hallway. The basement door was cracked open. Far below, waiting in the sound-proofed, gray-concrete belly of the house, he heard the whimpered cries behind the prayers coming from a TV gospel show.