Killers of a Certain Age(81)

“Vance, all we want is a chance to prove we’re innocent.”

He turned to me with a tight smile. “Innocent of what? Paar’s death? Carapaz’s?”

“There is an order out for us,” I said evenly. “We are just trying to stay alive.”

Suddenly, the smartwatch on his wrist chimed and he looked down. A text message scrolled by and he read it, smiled, then pulled his cuff down over his wrist.

“I appreciate your courage in coming in here like this. Truly. I expected some ridiculous, theatrical caper, and instead you’re taking what’s coming to you like a man.” He leaned closer and I could smell the strong menthol of Fisherman’s Friend on his breath.

“You starting a cold?” I asked. “If so, I’m going to need you to sit way back. And keep your germs to yourself. I really don’t want to catch anything.”

The smile tightened. “You don’t get it, do you? That message was from Benscombe. I have a team there and they’ve just taken the others. Whatever you thought you were doing here”—he paused and made a circle with his forefinger—“is over.”

I let my face fall as I turned away from him, staring straight ahead. He slid his hand under my elbow.

“Now, I’m going to get up and you’re coming with me. I have four associates in this room, so please know that if you decide to try anything stupid, you won’t make it out alive.”

I swallowed hard and forced myself to sound casual. “Where are we going?”

“Where else? Benscombe. I thought it would be nice for all of you to die together.”

“Shouldn’t you be twirling a mustache when you say shit like that? Maybe petting a fluffy white cat?”

His nostrils flared a tiny bit, the only show of annoyance he allowed himself.

“Relax,” I told him. “I see your goons.” I moved my gaze around the room, nodding to three people arranged at different vantage points. “Upstairs is Wendy Jeong. I haven’t seen her since Marrakesh. Nielssen is mingling in the crowd, dressed as a cater waiter. He just missed me in New Orleans, you know. And Carter Briggs is sitting two rows back, across the aisle. By the way, I think he just bid on some silhouettes and they’re way overvalued.”

“You missed one.”

“No, I didn’t. Eva Nowak, by the phone bank. Wearing knockoff Chanel and not even bothering to try to blend in. The bitch never did know how to dress, but then I’m not exactly winning any awards for my fashion sense. A little piece of advice for you, Vance—I can see every one of them is packing. You really should tell them to be more discreet.”

His hand tightened on my upper arm. “I know you don’t want to see any of these innocent art people get hurt. So let’s get up now, nice and easy.”

I did as I was told. He guided me through the crowd and out the front door. A luxury SUV with smoked glass was waiting at the curb a little way down the street, the motor idling. We stood outside as he searched me, running his hands through my pockets and a lot of other places, checking for weapons. As soon as we appeared, the foursome I had spotted were on our heels, opening doors and piling in. I got shoved to the back, where someone was already sitting, folded into the corner and taking up as little space as possible. A hand in my back shoved hard and I caught myself by grabbing on to the person in the shadows.

“Sorry,” I said reflexively.

“So am I,” the figure said.

Just then the interior light clicked on and I got a look at him.

“Hello, Martin.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE



Vance sat on my other side, so the trip to Benscombe was pretty cozy. We didn’t talk beyond a polite offer of water on their side and an equally polite refusal on mine. I was thirsty, but the last thing I wanted was to have to pee. I knew Vance would never authorize a bathroom stop and you shouldn’t hold it too long at my age. That’s how you get UTIs.

So, I checked out. When I was a kid, I never counted sheep. Instead I silently recited the presidents in order. Then I moved on to English monarchs, elements of the periodic table by atomic weight, counting to a thousand in various languages. It doesn’t really matter what the mental task is—the point is to occupy your mind just enough to keep it from wandering off. This time I worked my way through a list of my kills, starting with the Bulgarian job out of Nice.

We turned off the main highway towards Benscombe. I looked around and stretched a little before turning to Martin.

“So, I’m guessing you were working with him the whole time?” I asked, jerking my head to Vance.

I could only see him in silhouette, but I could tell he was biting his lip.

“Not at first,” he said quietly.

“You prepared the dossier against us?” I made it a question, but I already knew the answer. I had seen everything I needed in Carapaz’s file, starting with Martin’s initials right at the start of the coded string of characters in the margin. MF—so appropriate, as it turned out.

“Yes. Naomi didn’t brief the board for the last meeting. I did. She had morning sickness and couldn’t travel,” he said, lowering his head.

I poked him in the sweater vest. “It was a shitty thing to do to us. Was it your idea or Vance’s?”

I turned and saw that Vance was watching us.