“This button right here”—George placed his thumb on it for emphasis—“sets off that little explosive up there. Very noisy stuff, I’m afraid. Ka-boom.”
That seemed to shake up the cop. He suddenly looked pale. “Explosive?”
George gestured with the remote. “Right up there, my friend.”
Max’s eyes followed the gesture. “Jesus.”
George was feeling better now.
Max’s eyes darted in every direction as if searching for a quick exit. “Forget it, Camron,” the young cop said, but his tone no longer held the same bluster as before. “It’s over. The place is surrounded.”
“Guess I have no choice,” George said with fake regret. “Looks like I’ll have to blow the place up.”
“You’d kill yourself too.”
“No big deal.”
“Wait!” Max shouted. When he did, the point of the blade broke the skin. A small cut opened up. Blood began to trickle down Max’s neck.
“What?” George asked.
Max closed his eyes. He did not like bloodletting, especially his own. “I have an idea,” he said.
“Oh?”
“An exchange, actually.”
“What kind of exchange?”
Max thought a moment. “Information for freedom. I’ll have the charges dropped in exchange for your testimony against the guy who hired you.”
Panic again seized George. He knew almost nothing about his employer — no name, no address, nothing. Damn it! He knew he should have investigated this new employer more thoroughly. Why had he failed to follow his standard background check? Stupid! And another goddamn mistake.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He could fake it, of course. Stall. Make up a name. Lie. But George was realistic. There was no way the Thais were going to let him walk — not after an incident like this. The Thais were not like the Americans. They did not work that way.
“No dice,” George answered slowly. Like a well trained surgeon, George scraped at Max’s wound with the point of the blade. More blood flowed. A plan — a brilliant, surefire plan — began to take shape in his mind. His smile returned, radiant. “But I have another idea,” George ventured.
“Yes.”
“I am going to walk out of here. In exchange, I guarantee that no one will get hurt.”
Max shook his head. “The place is surrounded—”
“Don’t worry about that,” George interjected. “I have a way out. You are going to wait five minutes. If you leave this room before then, I’ll detonate the bomb. After five minutes you are free to go.”
“Max,” Michael interrupted. It was the first time he had spoken since George had entered the room. “Don’t listen to him. He’s lying.”
Max nodded, but he seemed unsure. “How can we trust you?”
“You have my word,” George said.
“Max—”
“Then it’s a deal,” Max said, “under one condition.”
“Max, listen to me. You can’t—”
“You have a better idea, Michael? He’s got a blade on my throat.”
Michael just stared at him. “You can’t trust him.”
“What choice do we have? Huh?”
George liked what he was hearing. “We are wasting time. What is your condition?”
“You give us some information before you leave.”
“No.”
“Then no deal,” Max said.
“I am the one holding the stiletto and the detonator—”
“No deal unless you talk. I just want information, George. I’m not interested in capturing you.”
George considered his options. His employer had, after all, screwed things totally. George no longer owed him any loyalty. Why not talk? The cop would be less likely to try anything if he had information he thought was useful.
Besides, Lieutenant Max Bernstein was not going to live long. Neither was Michael Silverman.
“Ask your question.”
“Who hired you?”
“I don’t know. I got anonymous calls.”
“What was the purpose of the murders?”
“Purpose?”
“Why did you target people at an AIDS clinic?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“Come on, George, you’re going to have to do better than that.”
“I kill for hire,” George explained. “The less I know, the better.”
“You must have heard something.”
“Nothing.”
“Then why did you make the murders look like the work of a serial killer?”
“Those were my instructions,” George said. “I was told to slash them all up in an unmistakably similar fashion — make it as bloody as possible.”
“Why did you dump Bradley Jenkins behind a gay bar?”
George shrugged. “I just did what I was told.” As George spoke, his plan crystallized. As soon as he hit the street, he would set off the explosives, killing Silverman and the cop while providing him with the ideal diversion for his escape. “That’s what I get paid for, Lieutenant — even if the payments did come a little late. I thought I was being stiffed until yesterday—”
“Did you kill Dr. Bruce Grey and make it look like a suicide?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Orders.”
“Were all the other victims mutilated?” Max asked.
“Yes.”
“Stabbed repeatedly?”
“Yes.”
“None killed any other way?”
George sighed impatiently. “All were stabbed except Dr. Grey.”
“And Riccardo Martino?”
“Never heard of him.”
For the first time since the questioning began, Max paused. Then: “Why was Michael kidnapped?”
George rolled his eyes. “How the hell am I supposed to know? I got a call in the morning telling me to nab Michael Silverman before the day was over. That’s what I did. I paid off a friend in customs, loaded him on a cargo jet, and we flew over here. I do not like to repeat myself, Lieutenant, so I will say this for the last time — I do not know, nor do I care, why my employer ordered any of these jobs.”
“What were your last orders?”
“Blow up a building and let Michael go.”
“What building?”
“A storage house.”
It was Michael who spoke. “The clinic’s storage house,” he said. “All Harv’s lab work would have been destroyed.”
