David Baldacci - The Whole Truth

Yet the world wanted more. Much more. They wanted to know who had lied to them. They wanted the person or persons really behind it all. And they wanted them yesterday.

NICOLAS CREEL SAT ALL ALONE in his sumptuous conference room on the Shiloh . He’d heard from his executive teams at Ares. And the news was all bad. The contracts were all being suspended, every last one of them. There went several trillion dollars straight to oblivion. The idiot woman had guaranteed that the world would remain stranded in a hellish quagmire, where the weak and maniacal ruled the powerful and civilized. And she was anointed as a savior? Was he, Nicolas Creel, the only one who could see the truth? Under his vision the world would be a far safer place; now all that was ruined. And she had cost him his PM maestro. Pender could be replaced, but Creel knew he would never find anyone as good.

Because of Katie James, a legion of investigators would be delving into every detail of the origin of the Red Menace. And despite Creel’s great pains to keep his involvement unknown, someone might get lucky enough to follow the trail to his doorstep. He would never go to prison, of course. The rich and powerful almost never did, despite whatever crimes they might have committed. His lawyers were too accomplished, his purse too deep, his reputation too good. He had built elaborate safeguards into the plan as part of his exit strategy in the case of a disaster. And his men had destroyed every single scrap of evidence at Pender’s office. There was no direct proof anywhere. His fingerprints were on nothing. Pender was dead. No one else knew of his involvement except for a very few who had just as much to lose as he did.

No, it was not fear of prosecution that was crushing him now. It was the taste of a terrible injustice done to him. Instead of his triumph, instead of the world being put back into its natural balance, the earth was resonating with one name: Katie James. James had saved the world, people were saying. James had righted a great wrong. The woman was a true hero.

Yet the only thing James really had done was screw him, Creel concluded, and emasculate the part of the world that really counted. And for that she would have to pay. He was not a man who held grudges. At least not for very long. He was far too impatient when it came to that. The offending person must be dealt with quickly. Revenge was not best eaten cold. It was a dish that needed to be served with hatred still blazing hot.

He picked up his phone. He might not be getting his beloved cold war back. But there would be more casualties. Starting with one in particular.

He said into the phone, “I don’t care if you have to take out an entire city with a dirty bomb. Either you bring me the lady within forty-eight hours, or our arrangement is ended permanently . And so are you.”

Nicolas Creel left his beloved Shiloh and boarded a launch headed to shore. He spent the next several hours visiting with Italian officials regarding the construction of the new orphanage. After that he prayed in the chapel, the mother superior by his side. That evening he had dinner at a local restaurant and shared a bottle of Chianti with the mayor and his wife, trying to forget at least for a few hours the complete disintegration of his vision for the world.

Before returning to his yacht, Creel visited the construction site. He stood looking down into a pit that had been excavated a few days before. Very soon they would pour the foundation here. Hundreds of thousands of cubic yards of concrete would flow into this hole. The place would stand for a century, providing a worthy roof for many orphans.

But the foundation would not be poured until Creel gave the order. And he wasn’t going to do it just yet. He had something very special he wanted to bless this place with. A gift that would lie here for all eternity.

He rode the launch back to the Shiloh .

And counted down the minutes until Katie James’s death.

It wouldn’t make everything all right, of course. For now, though, it would have to be enough.

FRANK AND ROYCE BURST INTO THE ROOM where Katie was being kept under the watchful eye of two FBI vets. Frank said, “We just got another credible bomb threat. They must’ve found out where she was. There’s an SUV waiting in front.”

They hustled down the stairs. Royce pushed Katie into the SUV and then called out to Frank. “This is the third damn time. We better bloody well get her out of the country, Frank.”

“I’m on it.”

“Where do you want me to take her this time?”

“Location four. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

Royce nodded, shook his head wearily, and climbed into the seat next to Katie.

“Here we go again,” he said kindly. “Sorry, Katie.”

The driver sped off and the man next to him, big and burly, turned to face her, a large gun in hand.

Caesar smiled and said, “Glad to have you with us, Ms. James.”

Katie looked startled, but then something jabbed her in the arm. She looked down at the syringe sticking out of her. And then at Royce who was pushing the plunger all the way down. As the meds hit her bloodstream, Katie slumped over in the seat.

Royce pulled the needle out and nodded at Caesar.

Caesar said, “Bugs?”

Royce expertly searched Katie for surveillance devices and shook his head.

Caesar handed Royce a battery-operated saw, which he used to cut off Katie’s cast. Royce checked it over minutely and shook his head again.

The truck slowed to a stop, Royce got out, and tossed the split cast into a passing garbage truck. He climbed back in. “If the cast is bugged, they’ll be on a jolly nice detour now. Hit it!”

The driver punched the gas and the Suburban shot forward, hung a left, and was gone.

Eight hours later the private plane touched down on a remote airfield in Italy. A truck pulled up next to the aircraft and a box was loaded onto it from the plane. Several men got in the truck and it rolled off. An hour after that it arrived at the Italian seaside, the Mediterranean moodily aglow under a setting sun. A launch carried the box, Caesar, Royce, and several other men out to the Shiloh .

The crew had been given the evening off. Only the captain remained on board, and he was sequestered on the upper bridge. Special visitors of a sensitive nature had been the only explanation given to the man. He didn’t ask for another.

Nicolas Creel was sitting in the ship’s library surrounded by first-edition books he’d purchased over the years, and unlike some collectors he’d actually read them. When the door opened and the box was brought in he didn’t smile. He actually felt as though he would never smile again.

He nodded at Royce. “Good work. I never had any doubts your association would pay off for me.”

“Pleasure, Mr. Creel. MI5 never saw my potential. And certainly never paid me fairly for it.”

Creel looked at Caesar. “Shall we let the illustrious Ms. James join us?”

The big man opened the box and lifted Katie out. She was just coming to. Caesar laid her on a table. The men stood there until she sat up and looked around.

“Welcome, Katie,” Creel said. “I may call you Katie? I feel like I know you so well even though we’ve never even met.”

Katie slipped off the table and dropped into a chair. She rubbed her head and grimaced as she clutched her arm. “Where the hell’s my cast?”

Royce said, “We thought it best to remove it. GPS devices can be embedded in such things.”

“It was just a damn cast, you idiot.” Katie held up her arm where the break in the skin was clearly visible.

“So you say.”