Erasing Faith(103)

His eyes lit up. “One of my better plans to draw you in, if I do say so myself.”

“But… why?”

“You needed to be eliminated from the playing field — permanently. If Abbott hadn’t interfered, you’d have already joined your friend Margot, in the ground.”

“You’re the leak,” I said, finally putting words to the realization that had been staring me in the face for the past five minutes. “You’re the one working for Szekely.”

“Give the girl a cigar!” He grinned.

“If you so much as touch me…” I swallowed. “Wes is going to kill you, when he gets back here.”

His laughter was bone-chilling. “Oh, I’m afraid he won’t be swooping in to save you anytime soon. He can’t come back for you because, you see, he never left.”

As if on cue, the screen door was thrown open and a man appeared in the entryway — a man I’d hoped to never see again.

Istvan Bordas.

As terrifying as it was to see him — nearly unrecognizable due to the horrific burns that covered his hands, his face, every visible patch of skin — it was worse still when my eyes dropped and I caught sight of what he was dragging along behind him. His grip was bruising, unflinching, as he hauled the body harshly over the threshold.

Wes.

A large gash was seeping from his forehead, blood dripping freely down his ashy face. His eyes were closed, sunken into his head like shadowy recessed pools. Looking at him, I felt the breath slip from my lungs as though I’d been kicked in the stomach.

I didn’t know if he was alive or dead.

“The mighty Weston Abbott, finally brought to heel,” Benson muttered triumphantly, watching as Istvan lugged Wes’ body inside and dropped him harshly to the wood floor of the cabin. He landed with a thud, unresponsive and unmoving, and I felt whatever hope I’d harbored that he might only be faking his unconscious state begin to dissipate.

“You won’t get away with this.” My words seemed a flimsy defense. “You can’t just kill us.”

Istvan laughed heartily, as though I’d told a hysterical joke. Benson grinned shamelessly.

“Oh, but we can,” Benson said. “We’ve done it before. And you’re the last ones left who know about the Budapest operation. That’s the beauty of classified missions, Miss Morrissey — total containment. After this, we can finally move forward with the rest of the plan without the threat of opposition.” He shook his head. “Abbott was a f*cking thorn in my side for so long. He’s always been skittish, but when his comrades started dropping like dominoes he became even harder to pin down in one location. He’s damn near impossible to kill — all my previous hired-out attempts have failed. So, for that, I have to thank you.”

My heart was pounding so loud, it was difficult to focus on anything else. My mind was full of one, singular thought that I repeated over and over until the words slurred into a nonsensical blur.

Getthegungetthegungetthegun.

“Thank me?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“For making the impossible possible!” he exclaimed. “It seems you’re his fatal flaw. His kryptonite, as it were. Before you, he’d never have stayed in one place for so long. He wouldn’t have been so blinded by lust, he failed to safeguard himself. He certainly wouldn’t have left you alone, fooled into leaving by such a flimsy lie.” He made a happy tsk sound. “Because of you, he didn’t realize what was happening until it was far too late. You could even say you’re responsible for his death — the one who killed him.”

My jaw clenched as I tried to stay in control. “My parents were never in danger,” I said, my voice flat. “There was no mission to protect them.”

He grinned. “Of course not.”

I wanted to throw up.

“Without Abbott monitoring my every move like a little narc, I can finally broker a deal for Szekely’s prototype. Do you know what biological weapons are, Miss Morrissey?”

I jerked my chin higher and refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer. He didn’t seem to mind — he was going to tell me anyway.

“Szekely’s work blows every conventional bio-weapon out of the water. We’re talking targeted nerve agents, programmed to affect specific individuals. To find and eliminate a particular person’s DNA. It will revolutionize warfare — my superiors are desperate to get their hands on it.” His tone was gloating and his eyes gleamed, the excitement he felt almost palpable. “Three years ago, when we learned about the prototype, I realized that whoever controls Szekely’s weapon also controls the global playing field. And I had no intention of being on the losing side of history.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he reminisced. “Abbott’s operation in Budapest gave me the perfect opportunity to initiate contact with Szekely. I warned him about the raid, he cleared out of his compound hours before the team of agents arrived, and a beautiful partnership was born.”

For a moment, he and Istvan grinned at one another in mutual congratulation. Benson’s smile barely dimmed when he looked back at me and continued speaking.

“If my plan succeeds, within a year the prototype will be in the hands of our military. They won’t realize until it’s far too late that Szekely has already programmed his weapon — not to inflict warfare on others, but to eliminate our own forces. Our leaders, our top strategists, our entire government…” He grinned. “They’ll be dead, and I’ll be on a private island with more money than God, watching as our country’s defensive forces fall to shit. It’s the ultimate Trojan Horse.”