Barely.
He needed to get out. If he stayed, he was going to hurt Alex.
And that would be bad because…?
He turned and walked out of the room. Alex might have called from behind him, he wasn't sure. The hallway was rimmed with red and he could hear a ringing in his ears.
He'd never wanted to kill someone as badly as he did right then. Well, the night was still young.
23
OUTTHOUGHT
Ben drove south on 280, the cruise control set for seventy because with the rage still coursing through him he couldn't trust himself not to speed. It was late and traffic was light. The hills glowed faintly under a high crescent moon.
He had already decided to do one more thing tonight, and he was going to do it. Most likely nothing would come of it anyway, but by God he was going to stick to the plan no matter how hard the little shit tried to get under his skin.
He forced all the bullshit out of his mind and concentrated on tactical considerations. He started to feel better. This is who he was. This is what he was good at.
They'd sent someone for Alex at the hotel. Meaning they knew he was moving around. Meaning they probably wouldn't bother making another run at his house. But there was a chance they might, depending on how healthy their numbers remained after they'd lost two at the Four Seasons. If they had no other leads, they might go with the only information they had: work address during the day; home address at night. He imagined himself in their shoes, whoever they were. He would know it was unlikely the target would reappear, but nor was it impossible. Alex was a civilian. It would be hard for him to break out of the patterns and habits of his daily life. He'd be in denial, too. Eventually the two could combine-an item left at home that he realized he needed, a moment of wishful thinking, and the target might reappear at a known nexus. Ben had seen it happen before, and had been there to take advantage of it.
He'd seen at the Four Seasons that the objective of their operation had changed. It was no longer about interrogating Alex first; now it was a straightforward elimination. Under the circumstances, the question then became: Knowing what you know about Alex, where would you lay an ambush at his house?
The answer was easy. The house and a detached garage formed an L at the end of the driveway, with a wooden gate separating them and leading to the backyard. Wait behind the gate. You'd have perfect concealment, and line of sight over the whole driveway. When Alex gets home, it doesn't matter whether he parks in the driveway or the garage. All you need to do is step out from concealment, blow his brains out with a suppressed pistol, and walk to whatever quiet side street you'd used to park your vehicle. Thank you for playing; next contestant.
If someone were waiting there, his attention would be focused on the driveway and, to a lesser extent, the street beyond it. He wouldn't be thinking about the backyard. It wouldn't occur to him that someone might know this terrain, and use it. Someone who, say, used to cut through the backyard, and the neighbor's yard behind it, on his way to and from school every day.
He got off 280 at the Portola Valley-Alpine Road exit and headed south on Alpine past the low-slung wooden buildings of the Ladera shopping center, where his mom had bought groceries and his dad made sure the cars were gassed up and the tires full. His parents’ houseAlex's house-was on a cul-de-sac called Corona Way, one of many such small streets in a neighborhood dotted with rambling houses and large, hilly lots. He made a right on La Mesa Drive, then a left on Erica Way, uneasy at how comfortable the turns were, how familiar the landscape.
There were some cars parked on the tree-lined streets, Lexuses and Mercedes and Volvos that looked like they belonged. He cruised by them slowly, checking the interiors. They were all empty, the windshields and hoods covered in evening dew.
He pulled over and killed the headlights, then opened up his bag and took out a pair of night-vision goggles. Night Optics USA D-321G-A, about six grand a pair if you could find them outside the military. And small and lightweight enough to make a perfect stocking stuffer. He adjusted the headgear and clicked on the unit, and suddenly the world was in sharp, green focus. Rock and roll.
He turned left on Escanyo Way, a cul-de-sac roughly paralleling Corona and separated from it by two winding rows of houses and yards and a thicket of trees. The street was empty of cars and there were no streetlights. He parked alongside a stand of redwood trees between two houses-the Levins’ and the Andrewses’, he remembered, if they even still lived here. Alex used to play hide-and-seek out here with their kids. He made sure the car's interior light was set to the off position and got out, easing the door closed behind him.
The air was cold and moist and smelled of conifers and peat moss. He closed his eyes and stood with his head cocked for a moment, listening. The wind rustled in the tops of the trees, carrying with it the faintest whoosh, whoosh of the thin traffic on 280. How many nights had he snuck out, or in, along this very route, nights that smelled and sounded exactly like this one? He remembered standing in this very spot, taking a drunken leak among the trees, hoping his parents were deeply asleep, coming up with stories in case they weren't. And then there was the time Enough. Focus.
Right. He eased the Glock out and headed up the grass at the extreme edge of the Levins’ front yard. He moved slowly, placing each foot carefully toe-heel against the damp grass, pausing after each step to look and listen.
It took him four minutes to cover the fifty feet to the wooden fence enclosing Alex's backyard. It wasn't a high fence, only six feet, built less for privacy than to contain the family dog, Arlo, a mildly neurotic poodle their mother had doted on but whom Ben had mostly just tolerated, and who in any event had long since shuffled off that mortal canine coil. He stood on his toes in the shadows of a clump of oak trees and looked over the fence. He could see the spot at the corner of the house and garage as clearly as though someone had thrown a spotlight on it. It was empty. He glanced around the yard. It was exactly as he remembered. The clubhouse their father had built them when they were kids. The hot tub no one ever used. It was like Alex was living in some kind of family museum. It was pathetic.
He scanned the yard and, seeing no one, put the Glock back into the holster and pulled himself carefully up onto the fence. He turned sideways, eased over his right leg, then his left, then slowly lowered himself to the ground. He brought out the Glock again and waited, looking and listening. Nothing.
Most of the yard was covered in wood chips or gravel. He avoided those areas, keeping to the grass, staying in the shadows. Step. Stop. Look and listen. Step. Stop. Look and listen.
The spot by the garage was so perfect an ambush point that once he had confirmed it was empty he doubted anyone was here. Probably they were short on manpower at this point. Or they figured Alex wasn't coming back tonight. Or both.
Still, best to be certain. The only other spot that would make any sense as an ambush point was the opposite corner of the house, which faced the street at the end of a narrow dog run framed by the house on one side and the fence on the other. You could stand at the front corner in the dark and still see the street, then head back toward the garage when you saw a car turn in.
He moved carefully toward the house, stopping at the raised wooden deck that led to a pair of sliding doors and the kitchen. Step. Stop. Look and listen. He hunkered low, taking advantage of the cover and concealment the deck offered, and began to move laterally.
He was almost at the left corner of the house, and getting ready to take a quick peek past the edge, when he heard a voice from behind him, quiet but cutting with deadly intent through the silent night air.
“Don't turn around. I'm wearing goggles, too. I'm behind cover, and there's a laser dot right on your spine.”
Ben had a nanosecond to decide whether to instantly turn and engage or to comply. The calm confidence in the voice, and the facts it had just articulated, persuaded him the second choice was better. For now.
He remained motionless. Where was the guy? From where the voice had come from, he must be behind the
