Chris Mooney - World Without End

"What do you mean you read?"

"Welcome to the electronic age. There are no more secrets." Angel Eyes took in a deep draw of air and then sighed.

"Did you ever try to track down your birth mother?"

Conway didn't say anything. The problem was, the image of the man he had carried for so long inside his head this faceless entity that stole high-tech weapons and killed people or made them disappear, this intelligent wfor-villain the CIA knew only as Angel Eyes didn't match the polished gentleman from earlier today. Conway was still trying to figure the guy out, to discover the true agenda locked behind the surface smile and cunning words that, once formed and sharpened, had the ability to flay the soul.

"Am I getting too personal?" Angel Eyes asked.

"The past is the past. I don't think about it."

"It's okay to be vulnerable with me, Stephen. It doesn't make you less of a man. I certainly don't think any less of you. You are, in fact, one of the bravest people I've ever met."

Conway's heart was tripping inside his chest with an anxiety he couldn't name. Must be the dream, what it meant. Yes. The dream was still fresh in his mind. He stared out the window at the snow that was coating the city in a fine white blanket.

"I was roughly your age when I decided to undertake one of the most terrifying journeys of my life," Angel Eyes said.

"It didn't take much to un shroud the mystery. Two weeks' worth of work and I tracked her down to this disgusting flat in London. There she was, this small, petite creature with chemically treated blond hair and bad eyesight, her spine twisted with osteoporosis, clearly in pain as she tended to the flowers in her garden. The poor thing had to use a walker to get around. For days I watched her from my car. No visitors or friends ever came by. It was heartbreaking."

"What was her name?"

"What's important, Stephen, was what I did. I rang her doorbell and had my first panic attack. There I was, standing on her porch, and I thought I was going to faint. I looked through the door's paneled window and saw her arthritic claw fumbling at the lock, and I ran away.

Can you imagine that? Me, a grown man, very successful, and I ran away and buried my hands in my face and cried like a child. I was terrified at what I would discover. It took a couple of days, but I came to my senses and went back just in time to see her body being wheeled into the back of an ambulance. She had died in her sleep." Angel Eyes sighed against the receiver. A wet click in his throat and then he said, "All those questions… they went unanswered. Failing to gather the courage to talk to her was one of the worst mistakes I ever made.

I regret it to this day, Stephen. Don't make the same mistake."

"This is why you called me? Because of your mother?"

"No. I needed someone to talk to. A companion who would understand the depth and severity of my loss."

"Your loss," Conway said, his voice rising before he could stop it, the anger leaking out from behind the locked door. In his mind he saw it all in a rush: the bodies of the dead IWAC members; Pasha bruised and walking as if she were crippled; and John Riley as he twisted on the floor, his shaking hand gripping his chest, wanting to claw through the skin and break apart the bone and stop the spasms in his heart, his final breaths becoming shorter, more painful.

"Today, at the Aquarium, the man who came in to help you, his name was Gunther." Angel Eyes's voice caught.

"I've known him since he was a boy."

Conway started pacing the floor, his palms ringing, wanting to hit something.

This guy can deliver you Dixon and the suit (Can he? Or is it Raymond ) but you've got to play his game. You're the only person who's seen this guy up close and lived and now you got him on the phone, Jesus Christ, Steve, don't blow it because you're pissed off. You might not have this opportunity again.

"I've lost men before, people I've liked and respected, but this…

This is the first time I've lost someone close to me. Someone I cared for and loved. Deeply." Angel Eyes swallowed audibly. When he cleared his throat and spoke, his voice almost trembled.

"This boy was my life and now he's gone."

Conway could feel the words burning on his tongue. He leaned forward and placed one hand against the window.

"Why are you being so quiet, Stephen?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"How about thank you?"

"For what?"

"Gunther saved your life, Stephen. Twice."

Conway turned his head away from the window. He hadn't expected that.

"When you were spit out of the tank, you had a gun pointed to the back of your head. One of Misha's men was dressed as a police officer,"

Angel Eyes said. Darker.

"Gunther shot him before he had a chance to blow your head off."

Conway felt drops of sweat slide down his armpits.

"The second time was at Praxis, just as the suit was leaving," Angel Eyes said.

"I had a chance to save you or to go after the suit. Gunther went in and found you unconscious. He carried you out of the lab and dropped you outside, where the EMTs rescued you."

"So what's your interest in all of this?"

"Like you, I'm trying to make the world a safer place. Only you're working for the wrong team."

"So you admit to wanting the suit."

"Of course."

"Why?"

"To keep it out of the hands of the people you work for."

"And why should I believe you?"

"Why the recalcitrance, Stephen? Didn't you talk with Renee Kaufmann?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?"

"She's not with me, Stephen."

"Then where is she?" Conway asked. Deep in his heart, he already knew the answer.

"Why don't you ask Raymond or his partner, Mr. Cole. You have their numbers."

Conway didn't say anything.

"Misha didn't work for me, Stephen. I make it a habit of not associating with liars and thieves. I was delighted to hear of Misha's denouement inside the tank. My only complaint is that it should have been slower."

"I didn't talk with her," Conway said again.

"I haven't lied to you, Stephen, and I never will. I despise it. I expect you to honor me with the same courtesy."

"Honor you'?"

"What terrifies you more, Stephen? The truth or the fact that you've placed your loyalties, your trust and your life the very essence of who you are with jackals, men who view you as nothing more than a means to an end. You've been used."

Conway thought of the CD waiting for him at the bank. Then he thought of the bald man at the Aquarium the man Angel Eyes had called Gunther on his knees and clutching his stomach as he whispered his final words:

Bouchard's dirty. He's setting you up. Stay away from him and his partner, Cole. You can't trust them. This was the same man who had called 911 and reported John Riley's murder.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Conway said.

"Burying your head in the sand will not make the truth go away."

"Dixon has nothing to do with this."

"You're right. He's an innocent victim."

So casual in the way he said it, it took Conway aback.

"Release Dixon and I'll give you the decryption code," he said.

"So you do know the code."

Conway saw Randy speaking the decryption code in the dream and knew it was true.

"Once I know Dixon is safe, I'll deliver you the code," he said.

"Poor, poor, Stephen. The vultures are circling, and all you want to do is cover your eyes."

Conway had a feeling of sinking in quicksand, of losing ground in the conversation.

"Don't play innocent. You killed Alan Matthews."

"Yes."

That took Conway aback.

"Alan Matthews was a budding pedophile. It was only much later, after I had already gone into business with him, that we found pictures of nude little boys in a lock box inside his condo. That's why he couldn't get it up for the girls or for the guys. Alan's true desires rested in smooth, hairless skin. Money can buy almost anything, Stephen. Especially secrecy."