The Last Protector(Clayton White #1)(62)

Oxley placed the glass on White’s parched lips and slowly poured the wine into White’s mouth. The wine stung his gums and burned his lips, but he swallowed.

“More?” Oxley asked.

White had a feeling he had to say yes, so he nodded. Oxley looked pleased and repeated the process. Once the tasting glass was empty, Oxley returned it to the table and picked up a wooden chair on his way back. He sat in front of White and stared at him.

“I have to admit that this doesn’t happen often, but I’m perplexed, Clayton,” Oxley said. “I really am.”

White was confused, too, but he didn’t think it was the right time to mention it.

“I’m trying to decide if I should trust you or not,” Oxley said.

White kept his mouth shut. What the hell was he talking about?

“Are you a man of honor, Clayton?”

“I like to think so,” White replied.

Oxley nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “Can I assume you were briefed about my military career?”

White’s instinct was to lie and deny, and to try to slow things down as much as possible to buy Hammond some time to mount a rescue operation. He wondered if Hammond’s asset in Cape Town had received White’s message. He remembered putting the NSA cell phone back in his pocket while the call was still dialing. Hopefully there had been some traffic cameras that had caught the action. With a bit of luck, the NSA could locate the phone and hack the video feeds to see who had taken him and which direction they’d driven.

White shook his head. Who am I kidding? Hammond had warned him this was an off-the-book operation. He had no support. He hadn’t even told Veronica where he was going, for God’s sake. In his haste to avenge his father’s death and the attempt on Veronica’s life, he had gone against not only his training but also his common sense.

And here I am, he thought, tied to a fucking chair.

Oxley clicked his fingers repeatedly in front of White’s face. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah,” White said. “I heard you. I know.”

“Tell me what they said about me,” Oxley said. “And be honest.”

“SAS turned MI6 agent,” White said, not seeing the point in lying.

“What else, Clayton? Tell me what else they told you.”

“That’s it,” White said. “That’s all I know.”

Oxley’s eyes darkened, and then he abruptly clapped his hands together, creating a surprisingly powerful bang that reverberated inside the tasting room and would have made White jump two feet high if he hadn’t been fastened to his chair. Even the four men seated at the high table and out of earshot turned toward them.

“Fuck you, Clayton White. Fuck you,” Oxley said, rage tightening the skin of his face. “I was just starting to trust you.”

Oxley got up from his chair and started to pace back and forth in front of White. White’s heartbeat picked up, and a fine sheen of perspiration broke out on his brow. He was utterly powerless. He was in control of absolutely nothing.

A real damn shame, he thought, his throat drying up again. His thoughts returned to Veronica, regretting having waited so long to propose.

Enough with the regrets! Veronica yelled at him. Get a grip, Clay! Come back to me.

White gave his head a good shake. He wasn’t powerless. The game wasn’t over yet. The man in front of him had killed his father and had wanted to murder his fiancée. This wasn’t something White could let go. If he gave up now, what assurance did he have that Oxley wouldn’t give it another shot?

As suddenly as he had started, Oxley stopped pacing and turned to face White, his hand moving toward his holster. It was time for White to take a leap of faith.

“CONQUEST,” White said, just loud enough for Oxley to hear him. “They briefed me about it, told me about your role.”

Oxley folded his arms across his chest. White was glad to see Oxley’s hands moving away from his holster.

“Good,” Oxley said. “Did it come from Alexander Hammond?”

White nodded.

“In your own words, then, tell me what you know about CONQUEST.”

“It was a special unit, led by my father, General Maxwell White, that was tasked with investigating corruption within the upper echelons of the coalition forces,” White said.

Oxley was shaking his head, a huge smile on his face. “Are you being serious?” he asked.

“You were fired,” White continued. “But you somehow managed to turn the tables on my father and convinced the judge he had fabricated the evidence against you.”

Oxley stared at White for a few moments.

Then he began to laugh.

The sound infuriated White. It was as if Oxley was pissing on his father’s grave.

When Oxley finally stopped laughing, his eyes were filled with pity, which was the last thing White expected.

“You’re a pawn, and you don’t even know it.” Then he added, as if he was talking only to himself. “The man has no shame. None whatsoever.”

“Why did you try to kill Veronica Hammond?” White asked, trying to regain some sort of control of the conversation.

Oxley pushed the wooden chair closer to White and turned it around. He sat in the chair with his forearms resting on its back.

“In retrospect,” he said, “it was a miscalculation.”