Steve Berry - The Alexandria Link

He maneuvered Gary in front of him, since the last he’d seen of the two men they were heading toward the street. Gun ready, he bolted straight for the yard next door. He kept his attention to their flank, allowing Gary to lead the way.

They passed through the opening.

“How predictable.”

He whirled and froze.

Standing twenty feet away was No Neck, Pam in his grasp, a sound-suppressed Glock jammed into her neck. The Kronborg Shooter stood off to the side, gun aimed directly at Malone.

“I found your ex wandering this way,” No Neck said with a Dutch twang. “I assume you told her to stay in the car?”

His gaze locked on Pam’s. Her eyes pleaded with him to forgive her.

“Gary,” she said, unable to move.

“Mom.”

Malone caught the desperation in both their voices. He repositioned Gary behind him.

“Let’s see how you did, Malone. You tracked my man over there from the castle into town, waited for him to leave, then followed, thinking your boy would be here.”

Definitely the voice from the cell phone last night. “Which all turned out to be right.”

The other man was unmoved. A sickening feeling invaded Malone’s stomach.

He’d been led.

“Pop the magazine out of that Beretta and toss it away.”

Malone hesitated, then decided he had no choice. He did as told.

“Now let’s trade. I’ll give you your ex and you give me the boy.”

“What if I say keep the ex?”

The man chuckled. “I’m sure you don’t want your son to watch while I blow his mother’s brains out, which is exactly what I’ll do, because I don’t really want her.”

Pam’s eyes widened at the prospects that her foolishness had spawned.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Gary asked.

“Son, you’re going to have to go with him-”

“No,” Pam yelled. “Don’t.”

“He’ll kill you,” Malone made clear.

No Neck’s finger lay firmly on the Glock’s trigger, and Malone hoped Pam stood still. He stared at Gary. “You have to do this for Mom. But I’ll be back for you, I swear. You can count on it.” He hugged the boy again. “I love you. Be tough for me. Okay?”

Gary nodded, hesitated an instant, then stepped toward No Neck, who released his grip on Pam. She instantly hugged Gary and started crying.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Let me stay with him,” she said. “I won’t give you any trouble. Cotton can find whatever it is you want and we’ll be good. I promise.”

“Shut up,” No Neck said.

“I swear to you. I won’t be a problem.”

He leveled the gun at her forehead. “Take your tight ass over there and shut up.”

“Don’t push him,” Malone said to her.

She gave Gary one more hug, then slowly retreated his way.

No Neck chuckled. “Good choice.”

Malone stared his adversary down.

The man’s gun suddenly swung right and three sound-suppressed bullets left the barrel and plowed into the Kronborg Shooter. The body teetered, then dropped, spine-first, to the ground.

Pam’s hand covered her mouth. “Oh, Jesus.”

Malone saw the shocked look on Gary’s face. No fifteen-year-old should be forced to watch that.

“He did exactly what I told him to do. But I knew you were following. He didn’t. Actually told me he hadn’t been followed. I don’t have time for idiots. This little exercise was to get all the bravado out of your system. Now go get what I want.” No Neck pointed the Glock at Gary’s head. “We need to leave without you interfering.”

“All the bullets in my gun were tossed away.”

He watched Gary. Interestingly, the young face conveyed not a hint of anxiety. No panic. No fear. Just resolve.

No Neck and Gary started to leave.

Malone held the gun at his side, his mind reeling with possibilities. His son was only a few inches from a loaded Glock. He knew that once Gary was gone, he’d have no choice but to deliver the link. He’d avoided that unpleasant choice all day, since doing it would generate a whole host of dilemmas. No Neck had clearly anticipated what he would do from the beginning, knowing they’d all end up right here.

His blood seemed to turn to ice and a disturbing feeling swept through him.

Uncomfortable.

But familiar.

He kept his movements natural. That was the rule. His former profession had been all about chances. Weighing odds. Success had always been a factor of dividing odds into risk. His own hide had many times been on the line, and in three instances risk had overridden odds and he’d ended up in the hospital.

This was different. His son was at stake.

Thank heaven the odds were all in his favor.

No Neck and Gary approached the hedge opening.

“Excuse me,” Malone said.

No Neck turned.

Malone fired the Beretta and the bullet found the man’s chest. He seemed not to know what had happened-his face a mix of puzzlement and pain. Finally blood seeped from the corners of his mouth and his eyes surrendered.

He fell like a tree under an ax, twitched a moment, then stopped.

Pam rushed to Gary and swept him into her arms.

Malone lowered the gun.

SABRE WATCHED AS COTTON MALONE SHOT HIS LAST OPERATIVE. He was standing in the kitchen of a house that faced the rear of the dwelling where Gary Malone had been held the past three days. When he’d rented that locale, he’d rented this one, too.

He smiled.

Malone was a clever one, and his operative incompetent. Tossing the magazine had emptied the gun of bullets, except for the one already in the chamber. Any good agent, like Malone, always kept a bullet in the chamber. He recalled from his army special forces training the time a recruit had shot himself in the leg after supposedly unloading his weapon-forgetting about the loaded round.

He’d hoped that somehow Malone would get the best of his hired help. That was the idea. And the opportunity came once he’d spotted Pam Malone heading for the house. He’d radioed his minion and told him how to use her carelessness to make the point even clearer to Malone, bribing the man to shoot the other with a pledge of a bonus.

Thankfully, Malone had ensured that the payment would never be made.

Which also meant there was no one left alive to connect Sabre to anything.

Even better, Malone had his son back, which should calm his enemy’s most dangerous instincts.

But that didn’t mean this endeavor was over.

Not at all.

In fact, only now could it finally begin.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 5

VIENNA, AUSTRIA

1:30 PM

SABRE BRAKED AT THE GATE AND WOUND DOWN THE DRIVER’S-SIDE window. He displayed no identification, but the guard immediately waved him through. The sprawling château stood thirty miles southwest of downtown among forests known as the Vienna Woods. Three centuries old and built by aristocracy, its mustard-colored walls of baroque splendor encased seventy-five spacious rooms, all topped by steep gables of Alpine slate.

A bright sun poured past the Audi’s hazy windshield, and Sabre noted that the asphalt drive and side parking lots were all empty. Only the guards at the front gate and a few groundskeepers tending the walkways disturbed the otherwise tranquil scene.

Apparently this was to be a private discussion.

He parked beneath a porte cochere and climbed out into a balmy afternoon. Immediately he buttoned his Burberry jacket and followed a pebbled path to the schmetterlinghaus, an iron-and-glass enclave a hundred yards south of the main château. Painted an unadorned green, its walls lined with hundreds of panels of Hungarian glass, the imposing nineteenth-century structure easily blended into the forested surroundings. Inside, its fortified indigenous soil supported a variety of exotic plants, but the building took its name- schmetterling -from the thousands of butterflies roaming free.