big clock in my head went
“Then tell me what you do need.”
“I need you to step out of the air lock. I swear I won’t hurt you. But I need to see you. I need to look into your eyes.”
“And why would that be?”
“Because I need to know if I can trust you.”
“Trust is a funny request from someone who just killed his kid.”
“I could have vented the Ebola into the atmosphere,” he said. “I didn’t have to warn anyone. I didn’t have to bring you here. I could have made this much worse.”
“If you want to earn my trust, Doc, why not let some of the hostages go?”
“
“And you want me to become a hostage, too?”
“No,” he said, and maybe it was the distortion of the PA system, but he sounded genuinely surprised. “No, don’t you get it? This isn’t about you! I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know you.”
“But you do know these people. Aren’t they your friends? Your colleagues and co-workers?”
“Exactly!” he said as if he’d just made a point.
He sneezed. I heard it through the PA system and I heard it in the room. He was definitely over behind the filing cabinets.
“I don’t have much time,” he said. “God … Mikey.”
“Where is your wife, Dr. Grey?”
He didn’t answer.
“Is she dead, too?”
“Yes,” he said after a long pause.
“Help me understand this. You take your co-workers hostage and yet you kill your own family?”
“I won’t explain over the com system.”
Seems that my options dwindled down to just one.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to stand up and step out of the air lock. If this is an ambush, believe me when I tell you that I’m better at this than you are. If I see a gun in your hand I will shoot you dead.”
“I won’t shoot you.”
“Same rules apply if I see a trigger device. You’re not winning friends here.”
“No,” he said, “I expect not. Monsters don’t have friends.”
That was a comforting statement.
“Coming out,” I called, and I let my gun lead the way as I straightened and eased out of the air lock. The hostages all took an involuntary step back as I fanned the pistol barrel across them. I had the file cabinets in my peripheral vision, and I was ready to bust a cap in absolutely anything that moved.
Suddenly I heard a ripping sound to my right and knew for certain now that he was there. There were no shots, no further sounds.
I had my pistol in a two-handed shooter’s grip and I moved low and fast, checking every corner, and when I reached the wall of filing cabinets I took a breath and then whirled around.
Dr. Charles Grey sat on the floor. He held a beaker of some evil-looking liquid in his left hand. His pistol lay next to his right thigh. The hood of his hazmat suit was gone, torn open and partly off, which explained the tearing sound I’d heard. His face was puffed and red from crying, but he wasn’t sick. Not yet. He’d been waiting for me to arrive before subjecting himself to the Ebola pathogen.
He looked up at me with eyes that were filled with a devastating sadness. The microphone fell from his hand.
“Help me,” he said softly. “Please, for the love of God help me … . I don’t want to kill the world.”
Interlude Twenty-one
The Seven Kings
Four Months Ago
After the oath was given and accepted, there was a party. The Kings and their Consciences left the chamber and went up into the castle, where tables had been set, food laid out, and a thousand candles lighted. There were scores of people—members of the upper-echelon staff, rock stars, politicians, famous artists.
The American took Gault and Toys aside before they entered the ballroom.
“Careful what you say in here.”
“These people don’t know?” asked Gault.
“Nah. They think this is a party, and most of these lunkheads are professional party people. They jet-set around the world to wherever the party is. Drinking, snorting, and fucking their way through the glitterati landscape. No cameras are allowed and the stuff that happens here never makes it to the press.”
“Yes,” murmured Toys with a smile, “we’ve swum in these waters for years.”
The American laughed. “Good point. Then you know the rules.”
“The only rule is silence,” said Toys.
“Fucking A.” The American clapped them both on the shoulders and then dove into the eddying waters of flesh and excess.
Gault made to follow, but Toys touched his arm. “Sebastian … are you sure about this?”
“About what? Getting drunk and getting laid?”
“I’m being serious here.”
“Why?” asked Gault. “Why are you even hesitating? I could tell when we were in there that you didn’t like it. Why? This is what we have both wanted
“When you’re done coming in your pants, how about stepping back for a perspective check? Don’t you think this is all too much too soon? And too free?”
A look of disappointment flickered over Gault’s face. “I understand that you’re still off-balance from what happened with Amirah and the Seif Al Din, Toys. Granted our luck turned bad with that.” He touched the bandages that covered part of his handsome face. “Don’t think that I’ve forgotten, or could ever forget. But sometimes fortune does smile on people. We’ve landed on our feet here. We’ve landed hip deep in gold dust. We’re among friends.”
“They’re not my friends,” said Toys defensively.
“Sure they are. They’re my friends and what’s mine is yours. Now stop being a pussy and let’s go get what we deserve!”
Toys started to protest, but Gault clapped him hard on the shoulder—much harder than had the American— and pulled him into the noise and movement of the party.
Chapter Thirty-three
The Blue Bell Inn
Skippack Pike, Blue Bell, Pennsylvania
December 18, 3:07 P.M. EST
