never tell you, not you, not anyone.” He spread his arms wide. “Here before God I give you my word.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“You don’t know me,” said Freddie darkly. “It’ll be my little victory. Go on, do it. She’s dead anyway.”
Max lowered the gun sharply, aiming at Freddie’s leg, his finger tightening around the trigger.
A shot rang out around the church and Max was sent reeling, as if clubbed in the arm. He stumbled and fell, gripping his shoulder, feeling the blood, the shock giving way to a searing pain and the vague realization that he’d just been shot.
Elliott stepped into view from behind a pillar—his gun, his eyes, trained on Max.
“Is he alone?” Elliott asked.
Max was on the point of replying when Elliott turned to Freddie and demanded, “Is he alone?”
“I think so,” replied Freddie, slowly coming out of a crouch.
“You think so, or you know so?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
Freddie’s confusion was becoming more evident with each response.
Keeping his gun on Max, Elliott recovered the revolver from the ground before backing away.
“What are you doing here?” Freddie asked, bewildered.
“My job,” said Elliott. “Covering your back. I work for Tacitus too.”
Tacitus? The significance of the word was lost on Max, and for a moment the same seemed true for Freddie. But then he began to laugh.
“You think it’s funny? You see me laughing? I wouldn’t have to be here if you hadn’t screwed up.”
“Elliott?” said Max pathetically.
“Shut up.”
Elliott turned back to Freddie and nodded toward the main doors. “Get out of here.”
Freddie edged his way past Elliott. “What are you going to do with him?”
“Use your imagination.”
“Goodbye, Max,” said Freddie.
The words sounded almost heartfelt.
Max stared at them both, incapable of speech.
Elliott advanced on him.
“Elliott …,” he pleaded.
“Lie down.”
Max kicked out with his feet, trying to keep him at bay.
It couldn’t end like this. It wasn’t possible.
His efforts to defend himself were rewarded with a crippling boot to the solar plexus. Gasping for breath, he looked up at Elliott, vaguely aware of Freddie—a dim shape in the smoke, watching from near the entrance.
“I’m sorry,” said Elliott, dropping to one knee and placing the muzzle of his revolver against Max’s temple. “But as the old saying goes, ‘It is appointed unto man once to die.’”
The words chimed with some hazy memory. He knew that they had made him laugh at the time, but he couldn’t remember why. Something to do with snow and an old man …
He was still groping for the details when Elliott pulled the trigger.
LONDON
“SHALL I POUR?” SAID ELLIOTT, REACHING FOR THE WINE bottle.
“Why not?”
Elliott filled their glasses before raising his own in a toast. He took a moment to settle on one he was happy with.
“To all those who didn’t make it.”
“All those who didn’t make it.”
They clinked glasses tentatively, as if the weight of their shared history might shatter the crystal.
“They told me
“I know,” said Elliott. “Remind me—how did I die?”
“You went down in a plane off the French coast,” replied Max.
