Брэд Мельтцер - The Fifth Assassin

“And that was it? Did he give you anything or bring any gifts?”

“That prayer was his gift,” the pastor insisted, a crease forming between his eyes. “After that, his staff stepped in and… You know how they rush him everywhere. By then, the Christmas photo of the three different religions was all across the globe. To some, his blasphemy unleashed.”

A.J. felt his phone vibrating. Caller ID told him it was the one call he was waiting for. Holding a finger up at the pastor, he put the phone to his ear and pressed the answer button. “You find it?” he asked.

“They just brought it in—took all day to finish the crime scene,” D.C. police officer Saif Carvalho said on the other end. For three years now, Officer Carvalho had been playing cards with one of A.J.’s dear friends, and now he had an application in to the Secret Service. As A.J. knew, everyone needs a pal on the inside.

“You were right about one thing,” Carvalho said, referring to the gun that the attacker used on Pastor Frick. “It was definitely an old weapon.”

“How old?”

“Museum old. As in over a hundred years old. According to one of the detectives who’s a big gun collector here, it’s something called a British Bulldog pistol .”

A.J. felt the hair on his scalp prickling. After what Beecher found at St. John’s, he’d looked up the rest. A British Bulldog pistol was the gun that killed President Garfield.

Sonuvabitch.

What the hell did Palmiotti get us into?

Racing to the door, A.J. didn’t say goodbye to the pastor. This wasn’t just about imitating old assassins. President Wallace had spent time with Pastor Frick at Foundry Church… and he’d also gone to services at St. John’s. Now A.J. knew where the bull’s-eye was heading. The pastors were just the warm-up, like target practice. And now, thanks to Pastor Frick, A.J. knew the one thing all the victims had in common: President Wallace himself.

Bursting out from the chapel and into the long hospital hallway, he dialed a new number on his phone. It was time to move the big chess piece.

Running down the hallway and concentrating on his phone, A.J. didn’t bother to scan his surroundings. As a result, he didn’t see the lone man lingering just inside the hospital gift shop.

The man fit right in at the hospital. He looked like a staffer, or a doctor, especially because of the ID badge clipped to his lapel.

It was from a hospital too. St. Elizabeths.

Sipping from a cup of coffee that he held with two hands, the lone man stood just inside the glass door, studying A.J., and the fact that he was leaving in a hurry, and the urgent way he was whispering into his phone.

Now the Secret Service was definitely involved. They knew the pattern. And most important, they were well aware of the Knight’s final target: the President of the United States.

Nico would not be happy about this.

50

St. Elizabeths Hospital

Washington, D.C.

Apple or orange, Jerome?” Rupert called out nearly an hour later as he pushed the juice cart into the room of the old man who, in almost two years, hadn’t once said hello back, much less answered apple or orange. Tonight was Jerome’s first night in the new building.

“I hear the orange is better tonight. No pulp, no ice,” Rupert added.

But as was always the case, Jerome didn’t even look up. He simply stared at the only section of the newspaper he ever read: the colorful advertising circulars.

“Sleep tight, Jerome. And remember: Your sister loves you,” Rupert said, keeping the promise he had made to Jerome’s family.

Naturally, every family made special requests, and Rupert couldn’t keep all of them, or even most of them. But in Rupert’s eyes, sisters were different.

His own sister was the only person who got him through their tough childhood in Baltimore. And to this day, his sister was the only reason Rupert always asked to be staffed on the NGI floors. With the extra pay that came from working with Nico and the other NGIs, Rupert ensured that his nephew—his sister’s son—could keep going to the private school for the deaf that his recently divorced sister would never be able to afford without him.

Was it worth it?

His nephew just got a recruiting letter from North Carolina. For chess. A silent game.

Even Nico couldn’t ruin news like that.

“Almost done?” the nurse with the sad eyes called out from the nurses’ station at the end of the hall.

Rupert put one finger up, pivoting the juice cart in the short, bright new hallway. On his right was his final delivery, to the room marked Nico H .

He paused a moment, thinking whether he should dock Nico his juice for giving Karina such a hard time. But Rupert knew, when it came to Nico, no matter how annoying he was, it was never personal.

Nico had a sickness. Nico was confused. Sure, they’d gotten him to the point where he was no longer talking to the dead First Lady anymore. But that didn’t mean he was cured.

Most important, Rupert knew that if he held back the juice tonight, that’s a whole different headache they’d be dealing with tomorrow.

“Knock-knock. Apple- and orange-type drinks coming!” Rupert announced, shoving the juice cart into the door and forcing it to swing open. “Who wants sugary—!?”

“—ust thought you’d want it back,” Dr. Gosling said, standing by the head of the bed and handing something to Nico.

Dr. Gosling turned at the sound. Nico just sat there, in bed. Already staring at the door. Like he knew Rupert was coming.

“I-I’m sorry,” Rupert said. “I didn’t realize you were—”

“It’s fine… it’s fine… it’s fine…” Dr. Gosling said as he put on a wide smile and flashed his crooked ultra-white teeth. “Was just checking up on our favorite resident. Had to make sure he has a good first night, yes?”

Rupert nodded, taking an involuntary step backward. In Nico’s hands, he saw what Dr. Gosling had given him. A leather book. Nico’s book.

“He left it in TLC, in the restroom,” Gosling said, his smile still in place. “I just thought he’d want it back.”

“That’s nice of you,” Rupert said, looking at the leather book. The brown leather was the same, and the title was the same: Looking Backward . But when Rupert saw it earlier, the bookmark sticking out of it was a ten of spades. He remembered thinking that spades were sort of sinister. But now, the bookmark was a ten of diamonds.

“You bring my apple juice?” Nico demanded.

Rupert nodded, handing it to Nico.

“Apple is better than orange,” Nico added. Rupert continued nodding and Dr. Gosling laughed.

“We should really let him get his rest,” Dr. Gosling said, putting a stiff hand on the juice cart and motioning Rupert backward toward the door.

Rupert tugged the juice cart back into the hallway, and Dr. Gosling pulled the door closed behind them. As it was about to shut, Rupert saw Nico looking down at his lap. He couldn’t tell if Nico was staring at the book or the juice. But there was no mistaking this: that dark, haunting smile. Nico was definitely happy about something.

“He’s doing well, don’t you think?” Dr. Gosling asked as they both walked back toward the nurses’ station.

As the door shut behind the two men, Nico kept his head down, focusing on the quiet that returned to his room.

“ He’s doing well, don’t you think? ” Dr. Gosling asked out in the hallway.

To anyone else, it’d be too hard to hear. But Nico’s hearing was more acute than the average person’s. He could hear what others couldn’t. And see too.

“ You don’t like it when they ignore me, do you? ” the dead First Lady asked, standing in the corner of the room.