Chris Mooney - World Without End

The calm voice had a cold, mechanical quality to it, and sounded slightly British as if a robotic Patrick Stewart were on the phone.

"Who is this?" Raymond demanded.

"The man you're pinning all your sins on."

Raymond Bouchard straightened up.

"The whole world is watching your star performance on television,"

Angel Eyes said.

Star performance? What the hell is he talking about?

The TV was housed in the walnut armoire and turned off, but the cable box was on, already turned on to Channel Five.

"Go ahead and take a look, Raymond. I have forever."

Raymond stepped forward, reached out and turned on the TV A hum as the screen came to life and then Raymond saw himself standing over John Riley's dead body.

In his mind's eye Raymond saw Owen Lee sitting in the back of the surveillance van the night Riley was killed, Owen holding up the black, golf-balled sized device with the camera lens. It's a Web cam____________________ We found it inside the armoire, mounted on top of the computer monitor…

Riley's girlfriend… she saw the entire thing… it's possible she recorded us.

Angel Eyes said, "How does it feel to be the center of national attention?"

Raymond pressed the UP button on the cable box. Next channel, there he was, talking to Owen Lee about planting the drugs in the apartment to make it look like an OD. Next channel, Owen talked about killing Misha. About killing Cole.

"I thought about calling the police, and then I remembered the skills of your friend Mr. Cole, the one you set up to get killed," Angel Eyes said.

"Mr. Cole's on his way to see you. Bon appetit, Raymond."

Raymond Bouchard didn't see the floor or the wonderful room, all he could see behind his eyes, branded, was the picture that everyone all over the country, maybe even the world, had just seen: the image of himself standing over John Riley's dead body. It was like… it was like he had stepped sideways into another dimension, back in time to that day from his childhood when he had come home and discovered the two moving vans parked in the driveway. Right now, he felt the way his mother must have that day, useless, powerless against the men who were removing their lives.

Just a few minutes ago, everything had been under control. And now… and now… That inner voice came on, it was very cool, very collected, and Raymond listened to it: You've got your gun. Grab your suitcase, drive to Lynn, and get the suit before Cole gets here.

Inside the elevator, Raymond put on his sunglasses and pushed his damp hair down across his scalp, giving him a George Clooney kind of hairdo.

The elevator doors chimed open. Take it easy. Act normal. Remember who you are.

The suitcase strap slung over his shoulder, Raymond moved into the lobby and then walked toward the front entrance, taking his time and staring straight ahead as people whisked past him. Casually, he moved out the doors and stepped into the cold night air. A young black man dressed in the cap and white gloves of proper valet attire stared at him for a moment.

It's the sunglasses. You're wearing them at night, guy probably thinks you're a celebrity. Just relax and smile, act casual.

"Good evening, sir."

"I just need my car," Raymond said. His voice sounded confident, firm.

"It's a black Dodge Durango." He gave the man the license plate number and watched as the valet nodded and then disappeared.

From behind his black lenses, Raymond watched the faces of the people who walked in and out of the hotel. He didn't see Cole. But Cole was an expert at disguising himself. It would be hard to find him if he was Sirens. Raymond heard sirens.

The noise grew louder. Police? Ambulance? Fire? His muscles tensed, ready to run. But where? Where was he going to run to? His car pulled up to the front. Raymond tipped the man and got in. Three police cruisers whizzed by the hotel in a wail of sirens and then disappeared, taking his panic with them.

It wasn't until he was out of the city, traveling on Route One North, passing through the city of Saugus, that he felt himself start to relax. He was inside the car, alone; nobody knew where he was. He was safe; protected. Once he had the suit, he would be invisible.

Inside his pocket, his cell phone rang. He ignored it and drove faster.

Both sides of the highway were filled with brightly lit strip malls, gas stations, and retail stores. He had turned the radio to the twenty-four-hour news station, the AM channel, WBZ, and listened for a breaking news report. Fifteen minutes and no news about what he had just witnessed on TV Wait. Was it a trick?

Get the suit.

Raymond turned off the highway and onto 144 East, the route that would take him straight into Lynn. He heard a hissing sound.

He turned off the radio. The noise was faint but was definitely coming from inside the car. What the hell is that? He shut off the heat. The hissing was still there. He couldn't smell anything.

A press of the button and the interior light turned on. Raymond looked around as he drove. Nothing on the floor, and it sounded like it was coming from under his seat. He reached under and instantly felt something hard, something made of metal, and pulled it out and examined it in the small strip of light.

A canister hooked up to what appeared to be a remote-control device, the nozzle hissing air.

Get out of the car.

Raymond rolled down one window, tossed the canister outside, and using the automatic controls, rolled down the other windows. He drove faster.

His eyes started to burn.

Don't scratch them. Keep driving.

Minutes later, his chest felt tight. He tried to suck in the cold air but it was becoming too difficult to breathe. Tear gas, was that what was inside the canister? Or was it something worse? He kept trying to breathe. It was getting worse. He pulled the Durango to a side street. He couldn't call the police or go to the hospital, but if he could just lie somewhere and wait for the effects to wear off, he would be fine. Raymond collapsed against the steering wheel, against the horn, struggling to breathe.

A moment later, the car door opened.

Raymond Bouchard saw a pair of latex-covered hands grab him and push him back against the seat. He couldn't see the person, but he could hear the guy's voice breathing against his ear.

"It is finished," Angel Eyes whispered.

When Cole heard the automatic gunfire, the rain of bullets ricocheting off cars, ping! ping! ping!" glass shattering everywhere, people shouting orders and screaming for help, he knew a rescue operation was being staged. His men were here. Behind him Mr. Mark "the Elf Alves engaged in a desperate struggle to free himself of his situation.

"Get it all out now, Mr. Alves," Cole said, calmly.

"When I get you up north, I'll have you screaming for weeks."

The heavy thud of footsteps rushing up the stairs caused Cole to look toward the half-opened door. Outside in the dark hallway, he saw a flashlight zigzagging across the dirty floor and broken walls and ceiling.

"In here," Cole yelled.

The footsteps slowed to a walk. The beam of light hit the floor near the door, turned inside, and shone directly into Cole's eyes.

"They brought Owen Lee to the hospital," Cole said, squinting.

"Conway just left via helicopter. He still has his Palm Pilot. We can listen to it, get his location. You need our van get that goddamn light out of my face."

The light moved away. Cole blinked, his eyes readjusting to the darkness.

Standing before him was a man dressed in black combat gear, his face and head covered so Cole couldn't identify him. Then his eyes focused on the weird looking rifle the man carried. Wires ran from the butt of the rifle and fed directly into the base of the bulky backpack strapped across his back.