Killer Instinct (Instinct #2)(55)

Only it wasn’t really a question. It was a reminder. No one talked to the Mudir like that. And just to make sure? He added his own special punctuation.

Click.

Sometimes it takes the cocking of a hammer to drive a point home.

Consider it driven. Viktor immediately apologized, his voice trembling. He was suddenly a guest in his own home.

“I know, I know. I should’ve returned your calls,” said Viktor. “I was afraid to disappoint you.”

“Then don’t,” said the Mudir. “Where’s my package? What’s the delay?”

“Please lower the gun.”

“Answer the question. What’s the delay?”

“It’s customs,” said Viktor. “It’s being held up at customs.”

“You said you had that covered.”

“I do. Everything’s going to be fine. I’ve been assured the shipment will be cleared by the end of next week.”

“That’s too long. The timeline has changed. Things will be happening faster,” said the Mudir. “You’ve got twenty-four hours.”

I had one ear trained on the conversation. In my other ear was Julian asking me if I was okay. If I had a third ear I maybe would’ve heard the footsteps out in the hallway.

“There you are!” said Elizabeth. I knew the second she saw Viktor, she’d also see his guest—and his gun. Her reaction was pure reflex. “Oh.”

As in, Oh, shit.

The G42 is the smallest Glock there is, and I knew exactly where Elizabeth was hiding it. She had it strapped to the inside of her leg underneath her dress.

“My goodness. I can’t imagine what this must look like,” said Viktor. “Elizabeth, I want you to meet a good friend of mine.”

I slowly reached inside my jacket, feeling for the grip of my own Glock. There was no telling how the Mudir would respond, but I could feel Viktor silently pleading with him to play along.

He did. “I’m Benjamin,” he said. “Benjamin Al-Kazaz.” As liars go, at least he was consistent.

He offered no explanation for the gun in his hand. Nothing more about himself. But he was very curious about Elizabeth.

“What’s your last name?” he asked.

“It’s Johnson,” she said.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an interior designer.”

I waited for the Mudir’s next question, but all I heard was silence. It was the loudest, most threatening stretch of dead air I’d ever encountered. The Mudir knew who Elizabeth really was.

“You’re no interior designer,” he said.





CHAPTER 77


ALL HELL broke loose. All at once.

I sprang from behind the curtains as the Mudir raised his arm to shoot Elizabeth. Viktor was screaming at him, “No!”

From the corner of his eye, the Mudir spotted me—a sudden distraction enough to shift his aim a couple of clicks to the left of Elizabeth as she dove clear of the doorway.

I closed the gap fast, bull-rushing him before he could swing his gun my way. I wanted him down but not dead. He knew too much. Too many secrets. The Mudir was more than a terrorist; he was the terrorist, the one behind the Times Square bombings and whatever else he was planning.

Had we hit the floor clean, I would’ve owned all the leverage, but my momentum carried us onto the back of the couch. As we careened into a bookcase, he was able to break free.

“Freeze!” yelled Elizabeth.

As fast as she was with her G42, the Mudir was even faster. By the time she was back in the doorway with him dead in her sights, he’d grabbed Viktor.

“Think again,” said the Mudir, his gun pressed hard against the side of Viktor’s head.

I didn’t know if I was more relieved or impressed. The Mudir could’ve killed me instead of going after Viktor, but he knew Elizabeth was surely packing as well. If he pulled the trigger on me, he would’ve been a dead man, too.

The Mudir was smart, all right. But how smart?

“Go ahead,” I told him, pointing at Viktor. “Kill him.”

The look on Viktor’s face. As if he weren’t scared shitless enough. The look from Elizabeth, too. She knew what I was doing. It was one thing she couldn’t do because of her badge.

But the only look that really mattered was the Mudir’s. I needed that grin on his face to go away. I needed to see a flash of fear, the sudden realization that maybe he hadn’t thought this all the way through.

Instead, he simply smiled wider. Nice try, he was telling me.

It didn’t matter whether I gave a shit about Viktor Alexandrov or not. As long as the Mudir had his gun jammed against the Russian’s head, he was walking out of that apartment. Alive.

With a couple of choice thoughts for me, as well.

“You’re out of your depth, Dr. Reinhart,” said the Mudir. “What brought you here tonight will only get you killed.”

“I’ll consider myself warned,” I said.

The most unsettling thing about the Mudir in that moment wasn’t the fact that he was threatening to kill Viktor. Or that he didn’t seem to care that there were two Glocks aimed right at him.

No, the most unsettling thing was that he seemed to be enjoying himself. He was relishing the moment. It was as if he lived to be this close to death. His and everyone else’s.