With no regard for the bodies, Cristos stood and stared at his father, who was recovering.
“This is your fault,” Cristos said.
His father looked at the twisted bodies of the two dead priests. He turned and looked upon Nadia, finally stepping toward his son. “Take her away from here. Never return. You are no longer my son.”
Cristos slowed his breathing, focused, reaching out to feel any other attackers, but none came.
He looked back down at Nadia, shards of moonlight refracting off of the bejeweled hilt of the knife that protruded from her lifeless body. He finally realized that she would not have wanted to be saved; he had taken away everything she loved in the world. He accepted that she had used him with no regard for his heart and in so doing permanently destroyed it, killing his emotions, his feelings, his true self.
And in that moment, Cristos knew that his future was sealed.
He crouched down, wrapped his hand around the jewel-encrusted blade, and withdrew it from her chest. No blood poured from her body, its flow having long since ceased. He looked down on the face that had caught his eye one year earlier, its solemn innocence so contrary to the callous, selfish heart within. His father was wrong. Cristos had not succumbed to fate, had not followed some preordained path. His soul had been turned by Nadia, a woman of two faces, whose evil had infected his own heart.
In that moment, he vowed never to love again. Never to become a pawn of his own heart.
And in a lightning move, one too quick for his father to react to, Cristos plunged the blade into his father, lifting him upon the blade into the air, his powerful muscles flexing with effort.
He looked at his father, and his father stared back; there was no pain in his eyes, just pity, resignation at what his son had done to him.
Cristos sat in a cafe on the Champs-Elysees sipping tea, watching the Parisians passing by. He was dressed in a custom-made suit, his green tie set off against his white shirt. He had left Cotis and the Asian continent behind one week earlier and headed to Zurich, Switzerland, where he bought a townhouse and began to formulate a future.
“We would like to avail ourselves of your services again,” Riley said. He and his silent partner sat across from Cristos, each sipping coffee.
Cristos nodded.
“How will we contact you?”
“You won’t. When in need of my services, you will place a memorial posting to Nadia Desai in the obituary section of the Sunday edition of the London Times. I will then contact you.”
“Very well,” Riley said.
“I have a question for you.”
“Yes,” Riley said with a smile.
“Who paid for my treatment at the hospital?”
“I thought we discussed that.”
“Did Nadia visit me while I was in a coma?”
The two men looked at each other. The silent man nodded.
“Yes, she did,” Riley said without any display of contrition or embarrassment. “Every day.”
Cristos picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth, and placed it on the table. He finally stood. He looked directly at the tall, silent man. “I will be available, but understand that if you ever lie or betray me again, you will end up like your friend here.”
“I don’t understand.” The man spoke for the first time.
Riley looked at Cristos with a curious smile. “What do you mean?”
And as if drawing a pen from his pocket, Cristos pulled out a gun, quickly placed it against Riley’s right eye, and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 29
Larry Knoll looked up at the monitor, the display showing two FBI agents leading a group of three men into the main entrance, and buzzed them in.
In the last ten hours, his post had become the site of mayhem. Between the various FBI, Justice Department, police, and ADA, he wasn’t fully sure what was going on, but the groups seemed to be squared off more against each other than working in concert.
But in the last hour, a semblance of peace had been restored. Most of the various law-enforcement officers had returned home to their families, headed out for drinks on a Friday night, or gone back to their offices to regroup. There was no one else in the cavernous lobby at this hour except for detectives Myers and Reiner, whom he had just let down to evidence to drop off some materials on a new case.
This was Larry’s third double shift in seven days. Not that he was complaining. He needed the money. He had promised Daria that when the baby was born, they would have no debt and a small nest egg to allow them to give their newborn child the advantages that neither of them was afforded. There was a comradery among the double shifters: Charlie downstairs, Nolan Ludeke upstairs in the medical facility. They had come to be known as the musketeers, as the three of them did the work of six and did it better than those working half the time on twice the rest.
As Larry finally turned his attention to the five who walked across the large marble lobby, he did a double take as he saw the face of the man in the middle of the group. He had read the papers, had seen the news, and had actually seen him just two days earlier with his wife. Larry had been devastated at the news of their dying, which confirmed his belief that it was always the good who were struck down before their time. But maybe that wasn’t in effect today.
At 8:25, J ACK walked through the main entrance to the Tombs. Aaron and Donal walked in front, with black bags on their shoulders, while Cristos and Josh were three steps behind. They had run through the plan four times, studying Jack’s hastily drawn map, discussing contingencies. And while there was no further discussion of Mia or the cost of failure, the threat was abundantly clear. If Jack did not succeed in turning the case over to Cristos, Mia would die. Jack had a part to play, and he was about to play it at award-level caliber.
“Holy shit,” Larry said.
Jack smiled back.
“But…” Larry was lost for words. “You’re alive?”
“Hey, Larry,” Jack said as he held his fingers up to his lips. “That’s between you and me.”
“And your wife, she’s OK?”
“Yeah,” Jack said, nodding. “Thanks for your concern.”
“I didn’t hear.”
“No one has, and I need you to keep it that way.”
Larry nodded in understanding.
“We need to go downstairs,” Jack said.
Larry looked the other men over.
“Show him your badges, boys.”
Aaron, Donal, and Josh flipped open their billfolds, flashing badges, quickly closing them up and stuffing them back into their pockets.
“FBI?” Larry said with raised eyebrows, turning back to Jack. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone over to the dark side, too.”
“No.” Jack laughed. “I’m still a good guy.”
“And who’s this?” Larry pointed at Cristos. He was still on guard despite the DA standing before him.
“He’s a member of the Cotis government. I’ve got a real hush-hush case going.”
“Is that what everyone downstairs is after?”
“You might say that. Who is downstairs, by the way?”
“Charlie, he’s always down there; some accountant”-Larry pointed at Aaron and Donal-“and three of their
