“Where were you when she was killed?”
“North Carolina.”
“Even that's true, you know who did. Maybe those assistants you said you had handy,” Nicky said.
Winter ignored him. “Doing what in North Carolina?”
“Watching you.”
“Bull,” Nicky said.
“I bet you were killing Kimberly Porter, posing as a cop. I bet you ran down Hank and Millie while you were trying to silence Faith Ann and then joined us so we'd find her so you could finish her. Who hired you?”
“I was in North Carolina,” Adams insisted.
“And you arrived here when?”
“I was on the flight with you, Massey. US Air 443. I was in coach. Seat 23-A.”
“I didn't see you,” Winter said.
“You weren't supposed to.”
“He's a lying sack,” Nicky said. “You killed my friend Millie, you son of a bitch.” He pushed the gun harder against Adams's skull, tilting his head to the side.
“No, I didn't. But I know who did.”
“Who?” Winter asked.
“The name won't mean anything to you.”
“I just bet not,” Nicky said. “Pick an easy one, like Doe or Smith.”
“Paulus Styer,” Adams said.
“And of course he's a foreign-coated professional killer,” Nicky mocked.
“He was born in East Germany. Styer was trained from childhood by the Soviet KGB at their academy. After the country went broke, his handler for the KGB, Yuri Chenchenko turned the group of specialists into a for-profit business. These guys handle wet work for clients all over the world. The Russian Mafia gives them a lot of work,” Adams said.
“So you're working with Styer?” Nicky said.
“Not with him. I'm supposed to kill him,” Adams replied. “And I will if you don't sneeze and blow my brains out.”
“Why did Styer kill Kimberly Porter?” Winter asked intently.
“He didn't.”
“How do you know that?” Winter repeated.
“There wouldn't have been any point. Despite the odds against such a coincidence, I doubt the two events are related.”
“But you said he ran down Hank and Millie,” Winter reminded him.
“It's classified,” he said. “I can't tell Green.”
“I could lock you up in the USMS holding cell,” Winter said. “Incognito for days. If you know anything about me, you know I always keep my word.”
Winter saw that finally something frightened Adams.
“You do that and you're dead,” Adams said.
“Threaten away, you two-bit…” Nicky started.
“Nicky is going to hear this,” Winter said.
“It isn't a threat, it's a fact. Styer will kill you both. Paulus Styer is a different sort of killer. He is a temperamental kill artist who is as idiosyncratic and brilliant as Bobby Fisher. And he kills like it's all a deadly chess game. He hit Hank as a gambit-solely to draw his opponent to him.”
“How much money does this super-killer get paid?” Nicky said. He saw the expression of impatience in Winter's eyes and shrugged. “Just wondering.”
“Who is his real target, his opponent?” Winter asked.
“There was silence for a moment. Then Adams told Winter: “You are.”
“He'll wish he had a checker player to kill,” Nicky said, laughing. “Massey here will eat him alive.”
“You are a worthy opponent for Styer, but you won't get a shot at him, Massey.”
“Sniper, is he?” Nicky said.
Adams shook his head slowly.
“You've been running surveillance on me?” Winter asked.
“Yes,” Adams said. “Audio bugs, phone taps, GPS trackers. But we've been careful to keep our numbers down so neither Styer nor you would make us.”
“You've seen him watching me?”
“We've never seen him, but he has amazing sources for intelligence, and he's a master at disguising himself. We don't think he's been piggybacking our communications, but it is possible. That's why I communicate with my handler only through encrypted e-mails.”
“How long have you been on me?”
“Awhile.”
“Days?”
Adams nodded.
“Weeks?”
“Yes. Weeks.”
“Your job is to protect me from Styer?” Winter said.
“Yes.”
Winter was sure Adams was lying. “Why is he after me?” he asked.
“That is classified.” Adams glanced up into the mirror at Nicky. “Lock me up. Styer'll kill you, and they'll kill me for letting him do it.”
“How do you know he's after me?”
“We turned Styer's handler. The-”
“Who the pink fuck is we?” Nicky interrupted, exasperated.
“Let him finish,” Winter snapped.
“The handler's a businessman. Yuri Chenchenko sold us Styer for enough benefits that it's a zero-sum decision. We want Styer because he kills people we don't want dead. He's an enemy of the state, so making a deal with his handler for him was a no-brainer.”
“If you are who I think you want me to believe you are, you sure as hell aren't here to protect me. If you are assigned to kill this Styer, I'm your bait, so you owe me the truth.”
“It might be because…” He shook his head slightly. “This is just between us, it has to stay that way.”
“Fine,” Winter said. “My word.”
“Cross my heart,” Nicky said.
“It could be sort of our fault that he's after you.”
“Define ‘sort of.'”
“Look, I know you aren't going to shoot me, Green. So aim that damn gun somewhere else.”
“So far, you ain't bought yourself a thing but a. 45-caliber hollow point. I hope you got extra gore insurance on this car when you rented it.”
Winter opened the breech of the Glock he'd removed from Adams's pocket and saw the glint of brass. He pointed the weapon at Adams. “Put the Colt away, Nicky. He knows I'll shoot him.”
“When a certain Russian mobster, who wasn't technically guilty of what he was convicted of last year, whom you helped the A.G. frame, made an attempt to hire a hit on the attorney general, the FBI intercepted the messenger and came to see us about it. We saw an opportunity to thwart that hit and to get Styer, someone we wanted. We offered Yuri a deal, and Yuri offered Styer an assignment to get you, which he took because of your stellar reputation, Massey.”
Winter asked. “Why didn't y'all get Yuri to point him out to you-give you his hideout?”
“Styer moves constantly, keeps everything secret, so if there was a mole in his group, or someone gets turned, he'll be safe. He trusts Yuri, but even Yuri never knows where Styer is, so all he could do was send him to us like he did. If Styer survives and figures out he was set up, he'll go straight back to Russia and kill Yuri. He has independent ties into intelligence and helpers.”
