“How much?”
“Money?”
“Yeah, money.”
“Five million dollars.”
“You gave away the crown jewels for a lousy five million?”
“No! It was very discreet. He gave me names, I gave him dates. That was it. It was a good deal for everyone. I kept the database. Nobody’s got it but me.”
“The whole thing?”
“Just the United States. Desert Life only does business in the U.S. The whole database was too big to steal.”
Will was swimming in a stew of information overload and raging emotions. “There’s a little more to this, an extra little wrinkle, isn’t there?”
Mark was silent, fidgeting with his hands.
“You wanted to stick it to me, didn’t you? You chose New York for your charade because that’s my patch. You wanted me to eat shit. Didn’t you?”
Mark hung his head in childlike contrition. “I’ve always been jealous,” he whispered. “When we roomed together, I mean, I never knew anyone like you in high school. Everything you did worked out great. Everything I did…” His voice trailed off to nothing. “When I saw you last year, it reopened things.”
“We were just freshman roommates, Mark. Nine months together, when we were kids. We were very different people.”
Mark made a forlorn admission, choking back emotion. “I was hoping you’d want to room with me after freshman year. You helped them. You helped them tape me to my bed.”
Will’s skin crawled. The man was pathetic. Nothing about his actions or intentions had a trace of nobility. It was all about self-loathing, self-pity, and infantile urges wrapped in a surfeit of IQ points. Okay, the kid had been traumatized, and okay, he’d always felt guilty about his role, but it was an innocent college prank, for Christ’s sake! The man holed up in this hotel room was loathsome and dangerous, and he had to quash a powerful desire to lay him out with a blow to his sharp, thin jaw.
In one fell swoop this pitiable creature had turned his own life on its ear. He didn’t want to be involved with any of this. All he’d wanted was to retire and be left alone. But it was obvious that once you knew about the Library, things could never be the same. He needed to think, but first he needed to survive.
“Tell me something, Mark, did you look me up?” he said confrontationally. “Do I get taken out today?” As he waited for the answer, he thought, If it’s yes, who gives a shit? What do I have to live for anyway? I’ll only screw up Nancy’s life the way I screwed up everyone else’s. Bring it on!
“No. Me neither. We’re both BTH.”
“What does that mean?”
“Beyond the horizon. The books stop in 2027. Area 51 had a life expectancy of eighty years.”
“Why do they stop?”
“We don’t know. There was evidence of a fire at the monastery. Natural disaster? Something political? Religious? There’s no way of knowing. It’s just a fact.”
“So, I live past 2027,” Will said wistfully.
“I do too,” Mark reminded him. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Okay.”
“Did you figure out it was me? Is that why they’re looking for you too?”
“I did. I nailed your ass.”
“How?” Will could see how badly he wanted to know. “I’m sure I didn’t leave any tracks.”
“I found your screenplay in the WGA registry. First draft, bunch of uninteresting character names. Second draft, bunch of very interesting names. You had to tell somebody, didn’t you? Even if it was a private joke.”
Mark was astonished. “What gave you the idea?”
“The font on the postcards. It’s not used that much these days unless you’re writing screenplays.”
Mark sputtered, “I had no idea.”
“Of what?”
“That you were that smart.”
As Frazier sat in front of his terminal, he willed himself into a state of optimism. They had Will’s cell phone blip on the screen again, his men were in proximity, and he reminded himself that none of his operatives were going to die today and neither was Shackleton or Piper. The inescapable conclusion was that the operation was going to be smooth and that both men would be reeled in for interrogation. What happened to them afterward was clearly not going to be up to him. They were BTH, so he imagined they’d be defanged one way or another. He didn’t much care.
His optimism was shaken by DeCorso. “Malcolm, here’s the story,” he heard through his headset. “This is a hotel, the Beverly Hills Hotel. It’s got a few hundred rooms on twelve acres. The beacon we’ve got is accurate to about three hundred yards. We don’t have the manpower to box him in and search the hotel.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Frazier said. “Can’t we boost the signal somehow?”
One of the Ops Center techs answered without looking up from his screen, “Call his phone. If he answers, we can triangulate him to fifty feet.”
Frazier’s mouth curled into a Cheshire smile. “You fucking all-star. I’m going to buy you a case of beer.” He reached for a phone and hit the button for an outside line.
Will’s prepaid phone rang. He thought of Nancy. He wanted to hear her voice, and didn’t pay attention to the caller ID tag: OUT OF AREA. “Hello?” No one answered. “Nancy?” Nothing.
He hung up.
“Who was it?” Mark asked.
“I don’t like it,” Will answered. He looked at his phone, grimaced and turned it off. “I think we should leave. Get your stuff.”
Mark looked scared. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know yet. Somewhere out of L.A. They know I’m here so they know you’re here. We’ll get a cab to my car and start driving. Couple of smart guys, we should be able to figure something out.”
Mark stooped to pack his laptop away. Will was towering over him. “What?” Mark said, alarmed.
“I’m taking your briefcase.”
“Why?”
Will gave him a brawn over brains look. “Because I want it. I’m not asking again. And I want your password.”
“No! You’ll ditch me.”
“I won’t do that.”
“How do I know?”
The slender man looked so frightened and vulnerable that Will took pity on him for the first time. “Because I’m giving you my word. Look, if both of us have the password, it increases the chance I can use it as leverage to get you back if we get split up. It’s the right move.”
“Pythagoras.”
“Come again?”
“The Greek mathematician, Pythagoras.”
“Does that have some significance?”
Before Mark could answer, Will heard a scraping sound from the patio and drew his pistol.
The front door and the patio door blew in simultaneously.
The room was suddenly full of men.
For a participant, close-quarter firefights seem to last forever, but to an external observer like Frazier, who had an audio feed, it was over in under ten seconds.
DeCorso saw Will’s weapon and started shooting. The first round buzzed past Will’s ear.
Will dived onto the tangerine carpet and returned fire from a low angle, aiming at chests and abdomens, big body masses, jerking his trigger as fast as he could. He’d only fired his weapon in action once before, at a very bad highway stop in Florida, his second year as a deputy sheriff. Two men went down that day. They were easier to hit
