Ultimate Weapon (McClouds & Friends #6)(17)

“I’m not sure,” Val said. “Do I?”

“You were supposed to die that day, eleven years back, in Sierra Leone. Did you know that?”

“Really.” His response was emotionless. He was feeding data into the matrix, observing from within a core of utter silence. Waiting until he knew where Hegel was going with it. It was no surprise, in any case.

“We were monitoring the arms suppliers to all of the African conflicts. It was concluded that you were dangerous, young as you were. Better to kill the poisonous snake right out of the egg, right?”

“I see,” Val said.

Hegel shook a cigarette out. “Then I saw you fight in Moidu. You were a f*cking maniac, even without any formal training. Natural talent, languages, and brains. All the makings of a brilliant operative. I decided to take a huge risk. For you.”

“I’m touched,” Val said coolly.

Hegel lit his cigarette and took a drag. “That day could have gone one of two ways. Either I held your nose shut, or I offered you a job.”

He gazed at Val, breathing out a long stream of smoke.

Val stared back, expressionless. What did the man expect? Gratitude for not killing him? He’d spat blood for PSS for years.

Hegel’s lips pursed around his cigarette. “I’m starting to regret that decision.”

“I am devastated,” Val murmured.

“Don’t mouth off to me. What happened in Moidu was damn lucky.” He grunted. “For you, anyway.”

Val was not sure that his life over the past eleven years was that much more desirable than a bloody but mercifully quick death.

Hegel made an impatient sound. “Get your ass back to work, Janos. You made me look like shit, going incommunicado for three days. Luksch is riding my ass. He wants that woman now.”

“Sorry,” Val said, unrepentant.

“This is your last chance to redeem yourself for that Fuentes disaster,” Hegel went on. “Do not f*ck this up.”

“That op went by the book,” Val argued wearily. “Every member of the Fuentes cartel was dead at the end of the day. What’s to criticize?”

“Emilia Fuentes,” Hegel snarled. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

Val saw the girl in his mind’s eye. Puppy fat, school uniform, eyes huge behind thick glasses. In shock. Spattered with her parents’ blood.

“She was eleven,” he said tightly.

“Yes, and she was the daughter of Francisco Fuentes, and she saw everything. You knew she had to die. You f*cking knew it.”

“I don’t…do…children.” The words dropped out of him, heavy and clanking and cold. And so f*cking futile.

“You can’t afford a code of conduct,” Hegel hissed. “We own your ass, Janos. We tell you what to do with it. Who to kill, who to kiss, who to f*ck. And I don’t appreciate being forced to clean up your shit.”

“Is that what you call that car accident?” Val retorted. “The one that killed her grandmother and her two cousins and her pregnant aunt, too? That is what you call ‘cleaning up my shit?’ You hack.”

Hegel’s eyes narrowed to puffy slits. “That was damage control. And you can chalk the grandmother, the aunt, and the other kids up to your own incompetence, since you didn’t have the stomach to do your job. God knows who she talked to in that forty-eight hours—”

“She couldn’t talk,” Val said, his voice hard. “She was catatonic.”

“Shut up. Your sulking has been remarked upon, Janos. Your usefulness has been put seriously into question. Understand?”

Val poured some palinka into the glass and took a reckless swallow. “I’m bored with the threats. What puzzles me is why you haven’t killed me yet. Do it, if you can. Since retirement doesn’t appear to be an option, death is starting to look very restful.”

Their eyes locked. Seconds ticked by. Val saw death in the other man’s eyes. He smiled at it with all his teeth. Unintimidated.

“You owe us,” Hegel grated. “You owe us your f*cking life.”

Val shrugged. “I’ve paid and paid. Enough.”

Hegel rose to his feet. “All right, then. Time for the big guns, old friend. You might be hard to kill, but your shriveled old grandpa is not.”

Something froze inside him. Hegel sensed it and smiled. Fuck.

Hegel peeled bills out of his pocket, and tucked them under his plate, grinning. “Never knew you had a sentimental side. Dangerous to your health. Like principles. Ditch them if you want to survive.”

“Fuck off.” Val’s voice was strangled.

Hegel chuckled, genial now that he had won. “Aw, don’t take it so hard. Consider this. If you’d followed instructions and stayed away from Budapest, you wouldn’t be in this position right now. There’s a flight for London that leaves in three hours, with a tight connection back to Seattle. Be on it. I want that uppity bitch f*cking Georg’s perverted little brains out within forty-eight hours. If you have to stick pins under the baby’s fingernails to make her do it, that’s your problem.”

Val stared after Hegel’s broad, blocky back as he stumped out of the restaurant. He was unable to move for several minutes.

Finally, he lurched to his feet and left the place. He turned his face up to the sky. Snow brushed his face, caught in his hair. The car was gone, of course. There were no taxis to be seen anywhere. Snow was piling up. Cars were crawling, skidding in the slush.