Chris Mooney - World Without End

"Want to run through the game plan one more time?" Booker asked.

Conway shook his head. He reached down and picked up his briefcase.

"I'll call you when I'm ready," he said, and opened the door and stepped out into the raw November air that whipped around him.

Cole was on the encrypted phone, speaking to the van across the street:

"Stephen is to be picked up when he steps out of the bank," Cole said.

"He isn't to be harmed. When you have him, bring him to me."

Cole hung up. He sat in his swivel chair in the warm, growing darkness inside the back of the van, which was parked in a diner lot at the end of the block, less than 100 feet away from the bank.

The driver's door opened and in came the Elf holding two white paper bags take-out food from the diner. He handed one to Lee and then turned around and settled behind the wheel. Lee sat the bag up on the console and took out the cup of coffee. On the color monitor, the black Lincoln Navigator slid away from the curb. Outside the front window, Lee could see the other van parked across the street, the one with the sniper.

Lee flipped back the lid on the coffee and listened over his headphones. If Conway played the CD in the bank, Lee would be able to hear the recorded conversation between him and Raymond over the bug in Conway's watch. It was all there including Raymond's order to take Cole off the playing board.

Lee moved one of the headphone's pads off his ear and said, "We should pick Conway up. Now."

"We will. When he leaves the bank," Cole said.

"Why not get him in the room?"

"The bank is monitored by security cameras. Plus, it's a confined space. We have no way of controlling what might go down in there, but when Conway steps outside, he's ours."

Lee shook his head.

"Problem, Owen?"

"This reminds me of the Mosier gig. I told you the guy was suicidal. I told you to pick him up before he met our operative and what happened?

Mosier shoots the guy in the back of the head and then decides to dine on a bullet himself. A year's worth of work got flushed."

"Your voice is off, Owen. This isn't like you."

"We couldn't hear what Conway and his crew were planning at the office, and now suddenly we can hear everything? Plus, we got this psycho Angel Eyes to deal with. What if he's inside the bank now and makes a run on Conway while we're sitting out here waiting?"

Cole didn't respond.

Lee gulped about a quarter of his coffee, set it down on the console, and then grabbed his black North Face jacket from the floor and put it on over his sweatshirt. He said, "Last night you carved that broad into dozens of pieces. She wasn't a threat at all, but this guy Angel Eyes, he's a major threat to the success of this operation and you won't take it seriously. He knows we're here. That's why we should go inside the bank now."

"Don't you wish you could be inside there with Stephen," Cole said.

"To watch his face when he discovers his boss injecting rat poison into his friend's neck. Talk about a Kodak moment. The bug in Stephen's watch I want to listen. Play it over the speakers. I want to hear everything."

Lee turned around, faced the monitor, and grabbed his coffee from the console. As he drank it, his left hand slid inside his jacket. He could feel the.38 in the hidden pocket. No way was Cole going to hear what happened in Riley's condo. Lee undid the snap and got himself ready.

An attractive young woman with blond hair pulled back into a bun ushered Conway into a private room so he could view the contents of the safety deposit box. Typical bank decor: silk potted plant in the corner, a cheap framed watercolor painting of flowers hanging on the drab cream-colored wall, and a table made of pressed wood complete with one of those plastic, hard-back chairs.

Conway placed the steel-gray safety-deposit box on the table and smiled at the woman as she shut the door. Then he locked it and got to work.

Booker's laptop was in the briefcase. Conway parked the briefcase on top of the table and then removed the small Sony laptop and a pair of Sony Walkman headphones. He didn't want Cole or his men overhearing this just yet. Conway placed the laptop on the desk, flipped opened the screen and powered it on. While the laptop booted up, he flipped open the safety deposit box lid and inside saw the CD locked in a clear jewel case.

John Riley's final conversation with Renee Kaufmann, his final moment of life his murderer every question Conway needed answered was stored on this shiny silver platter, waiting to be unlocked.

Pandora opened the box and unleashed all the evils back into the -world, Angel Eyes had said. So it will be with you. Revelations are at hand, Stephen. Be prepared to have your foundation shaken to its core.

His chest felt tight. Different images and imaginary scenarios swirled around in his head.

The laptop was ready now. Waiting.

Are you sure you're ready to confront this?

A press of the button and the laptop's CD tray slid open. Conway removed the CD from the jewel case, placed it on the tray, and then slid the tray shut. A whirl as the computer came to life, the laser reading contents stored on the CD. Conway sat down in the chair and moved his body close to the desk. His face hovered just inches from the laptop's small screen.

The Windows Media Player program opened up and there, alive on the tiny window, was Riley's crooked Irish nose and smile as he looked directly at a Web camera mounted on top of his monitor. The picture quality was so real, so lifelike on the active matrix screen, it was as if his friend was merely standing behind a window.

Conway slipped the headphones over his ears. Riley talked about video conferencing software and Renee gave an update on Amsterdam a doorbell rang. Riley stood up and walked to the door, oblivious to the fact that he was about to invite his killer inside. Out of the camera's frame, a door opened. Muted conversation, too far away to be heard.

Here it comes.

Lines of static flashed across the screen.

Had to be a jamming unit.

The white lines grew and the picture started to blur, the words garbled. Conway couldn't make out Riley's face or the face of the man he had let inside.

Shit. Slowly, Conway fast-forwarded through the static.

The man in the chair stood up. Conway hit the PLAY button. The static was still there, the words inaudible, but through the static he could make out the blurred figure of John Riley sitting on the couch.

The screen was swimming with static now. Conway couldn't see a thing.

Revelations are at hand, Stephen.

Then the static was gone. Conway looked at the man standing over John Riley's body and felt a sharp, cold chill explode at the base of his spine and burst across his face so fast that his skin tingled.

On the screen Raymond Bouchard held a jamming unit in his hand. Inside the condo with him was the man who had posed as skydiving instructor Chris Evans. Conway listened as Bouchard instructed the man called Owen Lee to plant the drugs around the condo. Listened as Bouchard and Owen Lee talked about Misha.

The Austin operation was a lie. Staged.

Angel Eyes's involvement: a lie.

Everything over the past three years, all that work all of it was one big fucking lie. Raymond Bouchard had staged an operation and massacred his own people so he could own the military suit and its cloaking technology.

Pasha, what she said… she had been right all along.

For a moment Conway felt numb and useless as his heart struggled to fight off an awful and now undeniable truth.

The phone in his briefcase rang.

His hands shaking, Conway took off his headphones and then reached inside the briefcase and removed the new phone that Jonathan Cole had given him. Conway pressed the phone against his ear, knowing that Cole would be listening.