Category Archives: The House Always Wins

Part Six Recap (2/2)

After a painful hello, Sarah and the rest of the team settle down with Devlin to discuss the day’s events at the Brooklands. The first order of business for the brave thief is a frank discussion with Alex and his daughter about the ambush that had killed Johannah.

Both father and daughter struggle to come to grips with this new reality. The idea that Asher could have been so petty, so motivated by revenge, that he would commission a hit against unarmed and innocent targets is a bitter pill to swallow. The knowledge that Johnnah’s death was nothing more or less than a complete accident is even more difficult to accept. But, with Asher finally brought down by his own arrogance, there is at least a little hope that healing can begin and the family torn asunder by one tragic death might finally begin to reconnect.

Sarah provides Alex and his daughter with the identification they’ll need to get back to their own country without incident and Devlin, growing increasingly angry with every second spent dwelling on his own thoughts, encourages them to leave immediately. The final task he has in mind will require his full attention.

Devlin barely has enough time to shower and change into more comfortable clothing before he and Sarah lead their team downstairs, to a conference room where Billy and his men are celebrating. Upon Devlin’s request, Billy dismisses the majority of his men, except for his two most trusted lieutenants. Chester and James take positions on either side of their leader; Sarah and Devlin share a spot at the opposite side of the table, while Michel and Mila flank them.

The primary issue, as Devlin sees it, is how quickly Hill was able to mobilize and counter their plans. It happened at the processing plant, which would have been enough of a problem. But the fact that he had known the exact time of their attack, had in fact planned for it, implies more than temporary lapse in judgement or a moment of loose lips. For that much information to leak, someone in Billy’s organization would have to be a mole.

Unfortunately, Devlin has no way of proving his suspicions. Without discussing the matter, he passes the bluff over to Sarah, trusting that she will find a path between the truth and exaggeration that rings true enough to shake something loose.

She begins by elaborating the main problem with Hill’s intelligence. The drug lord simply could not have listened to her communications without either the services of a superlative hacker, capable of penetrating Sarah’s electronic defenses, or he would have needed one of her earbuds with an active connection to her network.

Sarah tells Billy that her equipment has certain proprietary technology: upgraded bits and pieces that no other earbud on the market would have any need for. In order to keep her improvements from filtering out into the wider criminal underworld, she makes sure that each earbud has a specific signature. That way, if one goes missing, she’ll be able to identify and brick the gear before anyone else has an opportunity to reverse engineer it.

With every transmission tagged, Sarah continues, it would only be the work of a few seconds to determine whose earbud Hill was using to eavesdrop on their plans. Whoever gave Hill access to to their communications would have to be the mole.

She looks across the table at the three men. Billy, freshly released from imprisonment by his own brother; Chester, brash and angry, even when those emotions were weaknesses and liabilities; and James, steady and reliable.

After a minuscule signal from Devlin, Sarah looks directly at James and asks him why he chose to betray everyone’s trust.

Every person in the room, except for Devlin and Sarah, stare in shocked silence at James. Of anyone, his treachery is the most surprising possible outcome. Had the signal come from anyone other than Devlin, Sarah would have doubted it; but it was from him and she trusts him without hesitation.

Exposed in front of his friends and “family,” James defaults to a position of innocence. He only cracks when Sarah threatens to retrieve all of the audio from his earbud – a boldfaced lie, delivered with the sincerity of a saint – that he cracks and admits his wrongdoings. The team manages to get him to admit to the crime of leaking information to Hill but, before they can uncover how long he’s been playing both sides, James takes drastic action and attempts to simply kill Devlin and Sarah. They’re only saved by the instinctive actions of Chester, their greatest critic and least likely savior, when he draws and fires without thinking.

Prior to his last ditch efforts, James admitted to working for someone…not Hill, but someone higher. For the team, there’s only one entity higher than Hill with skin in the game. Their theories are confirmed in short order when they head upstairs, the entire London affair finally put to bed, and discover the Lady in Avis’ room.

She invites them to make themselves comfortable and keeps the promise she made to Devlin so many days ago, at the beginning of the job. For their success against impossible, unimaginable odds, the team has earned the most precious of rewards: the truth.


Devlin and Mila respond to the Lady’s arrival as casually as possible. Sarah and Michel – who have never seen the mysterious Puppetmaster in person – react with more surprise. David, the Lady’s personal giant, steps forward to protect his mistress until Mila issues a sober, serious threat. The terms of her employment leave no room for misinterpretation and, even if they did, her time as a member of a healthy team of compatriots and comrades has caused a change in the stoic bodyguard. Devlin, Sarah, and Michel are her charges and no one – not the Lady, not David, not anyone – is going to put them in danger.

The Lady seems delighted at this development. She calls David off and begins to explain.

While she knew much of what was going on in London, she did not have all of the information. Fairfax’s double identity – as both a nobleman and the kingpin “Hill” – slipped past her as did the connection between Hill and the beggar’s king, Billy. The fact that her much-desired key turned out to be a living child also proved to be a surprise. And, although she was fully aware that someone in Billy’s organization was a mole, she had no particular idea who it might be. Now, with the knowledge of the mole’s identity, she suggests that he essentially committed suicide. Not to protect himself, necessarily, nor to protect the family he mentioned in his last moments.

His suicide, the Lady theorizes, was specifically to protect the very people he betrayed. His masters, the Magi, would have razed the Earth in order to keep him from talking.

When Devlin points out that Hill would likely know even more about the Magi’s operations than a lowly informant, the Lady responds by having David turn on the television. A breaking news report tells the team that an explosion on the M1 has brought traffic to a standstill while emergency services sought to uncover the cause of the detonation.

The central car – the one that went up in flames – is the same one that Hill was traveling in. The Interpol agent assigned to supervise the transfer, Agent Lane, has disappeared. Escaping an exploding car before it explodes leads everyone in the room to the same conclusion: Lane, Adlai’s mentor, must also be working for the Magi.

Sarah can barely wrap her head around the implications of such a highly placed operative. Devlin does better, but not much. The sheer scope of the Magi’s operation, previously intimidating, must truly be gargantuan if a senior Interpol agent is underneath their ethereal, criminal thumb.

The Lady ignores their stupor and presses on. The Book she wanted – the Book that Devlin and his friends risked their lives to acquire – contains a list of names, like Lane’s and Fairfax’s. People of influence and power in the real world who owe their success to the Magi are enumerated within, along with bank accounts and potential soft spots. It isn’t a complete resource containing every agent in every cover, but it is enough that the simple fact of the Book’s existence makes it as dangerous to possess as radioactive materials.

In a just and intelligent world, the Lady would destroy the Book immediately and forget that it ever existed. The team would leave London and find somewhere nice where they could lay low until they were certain the Magi weren’t waiting to string them up as an example. They would be able to spend their acquired wealth in peace and security.

In this world, however, she has other plans. Wronged by the Magi at some point in her distant past, the Lady wants nothing so much as revenge. To that end, she wants to use the names contained within the Book as a first step towards the greater goal of finding out the true names of her enemies. Without the cloak of secrecy they’ve used as protection for an unknown amount of years, the Lady intends to drag the Magi out in the light of day and destroy them.

To that end, she needs Devlin, Sarah, and their team.

Since the prison break in London, the Lady had guided Devlin and Sarah so that they would find themselves in this position. By attacking the business of a duly appointed agent of the Magi – and therefore, attacking the Magi themselves – the team has made themselves targets for the organization. Without the Lady’s protection, it’s only a matter of time before they are captured, tortured, and gruesomely murdered. Even then, the Lady’s resources can only provide a temporary cover and, by using them, she risks exposing herself as well.

Her champions chosen, the Lady puts all of her chips in for one last bet: that Devlin, Sarah, Michel, and Mila – a group of criminals, riffraff, thieves without any particular distinction before this affair – will be able to do the impossible.

“Find their names,” the Lady tells them before she leaves them to ponder their new predicament. “Your lives quite literally depend on it.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

Devlin has been played, manipulated, and positioned like a game piece. His friends, both new and old, have gone into deeper darkness than ever before and emerged safe. He has new allies and new enemies, although he isn’t quite sure who belongs to which category. Up to his neck in troubles he could never have imagined, he knows that the only way around the impossible situation is through.

The team – Devlin O’Brien, Sarah Ford, Emilia Durante, and Michel St. Laurents – have been made pawns by forces far more powerful than they. But there’s no rule that says pawns can’t become powerful in their own right, given time to grow and a reason to do so.


Part 6: Recap (1/2)

At the eleventh hour, with every possible disadvantage stacked against them, Devlin, Sarah, and their team of misfits and malcontents approach an impossible job: breaking into a mansion owned by the elusive and dangerous Hill to save the girl Avis, her companion Neal, their erstwhile associate Billy, and the golden Book responsible for the chaos and madness that has plagued them during their struggles in London. Every asset is tapped, every ally contacted, and every potential plan checked and re-checked, in hopes of mining even the remotest opportunity at success, in the face of almost certain failure.

It begins with the Russian mafioso Stanislav and his Ukrainian cohort/ex-paramour Anton. An explosion specifically designed to create more fear than damage, crafted with the aid of Anton’s bombmaking expertise, creates an atmosphere of uncertainity and doubt in Hill’s poorly trained men. That window of confusion is then capitalized on by the native Brits, Chester and James, to waylay a single vehicle in the elaborate shell game perpetrated by their opponent. With that piece taken out of play and replaced by one of their own – namely, an identical car driven by the Frenchman Michel – the team is able to find their way past the first layer of Hill’s defenses, by relying on the natural propensity of frightened people to close ranks and rely on trusted security whenever possible.

Devlin and his bodyguard, Emilia, emerge from the trunk of their Trojan horse on the other side of Hill’s cameras and security systems. Together, they infiltrate into the mansion itself, keeping to the shadows to avoid detection, and searching for any sort of security hub that Sarah might be able to subvert to their own ends. Instead of locating that, however, it doesn’t take them long before they stumble upon a secret corridor leading down, beneath the mansion. There, they find Neal, beaten and bloodied.

Despite enduring considerable abuse, Hill’s former employee maintained the presence of mind to track his surroundings. As a result, he alone is able to lead Devlin and Emilia straight to the room where Avis is being kept. After a brief conversation, and a heartfelt reunion between the girl and her unlikely friend, Devlin makes a judgment call: Emilia is to go with Avis and Neal, protecting them as they make their way back out of the mansion and into Michel’s waiting getaway car. Emilia protests, asserting that her primary job is the protection of Devlin and Sarah, but he convinces her that this plan, more than any other, has the highest chance of success. Reluctantly, she agrees, and the three slip away to find their own way out of the mansion.

At the same time, Devlin’s former partner turned bitter rival, Asher Knight, enters the building with a retinue of armed men intent of hunting down the man he once called ‘friend.’ With Sarah guiding him, Devlin desperately hides himself within Hill’s master bedroom. Within that very bedroom, concealed behind a false dresser, he finds a safe; within that safe, he hopes, he might find the Book that has catalyzed so much trouble for so many people.

His time behind bars and the advances in technology aren’t enough to keep him from cracking the state-of-the-art vault and retrieving the item of his search. However, just as he readies himself to secret the Book away from Hill’s custody, an ominous click sounds behind him and his comms, as well as the miniature camera he wears to give Sarah eyes on the scene, go dark.

At first concerned, then gradually growing panicked, Sarah opens a line of communication with Michel. The Frenchman isn’t at an angle where he can truly see into the building, although he does remember seeing the silhouette of two men in Hill’s bedroom, just before the radios went quiet. With a rapidly diminishing pool of options – the Russians are on the outside of the estate, Michel’s contribution to the plan will only work so long as he remains unobtrusive, and the Brits are notoriously difficult to keep in line – Sarah goes with her gut, fumbles the connections momentarily, and calls for Mila to return to the building and save her ex-husband.

Mila, however, has issues of her own. Only a few yards away from freedom, she is stopped and forced to confront Aiden, the man who trained her, mentored her…and, ultimately, broke her.

Aiden tries firs to seduce Mila away from her wards, promising a return to glory and an inevitable promotion to his place at the head of their mercenary outfit, when his illness finally takes his life. When delicacy and charm do not work, something snaps in the man’s demeanor and he attacks her like a wild animal. The battle between the two trained fighters is more than simply physical and, at a critical moment, Mila realizes that she cannot kill Aiden without proving his philosophically correct. She hesitates to pull the trigger and Aiden, sensing blood in the water, attempts to provoke her by shooting Avis instead.

Michel, listening in due to the mishandled transfer of open lines, interrupts Aiden’s attempt at murder with the back end of his car. The mercenary, already wounded, is knocked through a window and into the mansion proper. Without waiting to see whether he will emerge again, Avis, Neal, and Emilia all pile into the getaway vehicle and prepare to escape the mansion for good.

Sarah accelerates the timeline for their escape, funneling their enemies in specific directions, and activates the Russians and Brits outside of the estate to provide even more misdirection. At that exact moment, Devlin’s comms come back online. He explains that the signal was jammed and that revelation lays bare exactly how stark their situation has become…how stark, in fact, it had always been. If Hill knew to have a signal jammer, then he already knew their frequency. If he knew that, then it was possible he had been listening to them in real time, all from the very start.

With nothing left to do but improvise, Devlin tells Sarah to activate Plan B, which she is reluctant to do. Only after he explains his reasoning, correctly pointing out that the alternatives involve their grisly deaths, she relents and sets things into motion.

Plan B, as it turns out, begins with a phone call to the London Metropolitan Police Department.


After dealing with the unexpected arrival of someone specifically equipped to block his communications, Devlin decides to make moves. He retrieves a suitcase – the very same one contained within Hill’s personal safe – and leaves the room. With Sarah in his ear and helped by a generous helping of luck, he manages to avoid encountering any of Hill’s or Asher’s men as he makes his way downstairs.

A little too well, perhaps.

He realizes, just before walking into a trap, that the path is almost too clear. If Hill was capable of intercepting their communications, it would only be reasonable to assume that he knew exactly where Devlin was and how he would plan to make his escape. Therefore, if Devlin’s route is clear, then it is probably clear for a reason. What reason that might be eludes the intrepid thief and, with no other real option, he takes a deep breath…and walks straight into the noose that Hill had laid out for him.

Inside the dining room, the grand table where Hill revealed himself to be the seemingly weak nobleman Fairfax is gone. In its place, there is only Hill and his bastard older brother, William Fairfax, literally chained into his wheelchair, with a gun pressed to his temple. Reflexively, Devlin pulls out his own weapon, borrowed from Emilia, and the two men stare each other down for seconds that feel like an eternity.

For only the second time since meeting, and the first time without outside interruption, Hill speaks to Devlin in his true persona: ruthless, sadistic, and solely focused on increasing his power no matter the cost to anyone around him. Hill reveals the truth behind his agenda, explains why he effectively challenged Devlin and his team to come after him, their friends, and the Book.

First: by using a known enemy, especially one who has proven so frighteningly proficient at improvisation in the face of the certain doom, to stress test his defenses, Hill plans to make his home into an impenetrable fortress so secure that no other thief would be able to steal from in the future.

Second, and more importantly: antagonizing Devlin’s team into increasingly spectacular displays runs the risk of attracting the attention of Hill’s mysterious masters, the Magi. When the Magi inevitably take notice of the chaos in London, the manner in which their finances in the area have been disrupted, Hill will be able to use Devlin and company as scapegoats, to ensure that no suspicion falls on him. If the Book should happen to go missing at the same time by, say, pure happenstance, then no blame could fall on him.

Of course, both of those outcomes depend on retrieving the Book from Devlin in the first place. Hill demands that Devlin sacrifice the suitcase and its contents. If not, Hill promises to kill not just Devlin…he will give the order to his men to execute Sarah and Devlin’s entire team. In that moment, to illustrate his point, Hill unveils the full depth of his surveillance. Cameras, pointed at Sarah’s supposedly safe staging area, well away from the estate; ears, in the form of the communications system that Sarah worked so tirelessly to protect; live-streaming video as Devlin’s friends struggle to find a way out of Hill’s death trap.

While Devlin listens to the enumerations of his problems, a burst of intuition warns him of an incoming attack. He barely manages to avoid the butler Coleman’s initial assault. It doesn’t take Devlin long to realize that Coleman is being forced to assist Hill, but that knowledge doesn’t help him in the ensuing scuffle. He loses the suitcase, first, and ultimately even his own gun. It’s only through a last minute attack, throwing caution to the wind, that Billy manages to disarm his older brother, although not before Devlin suffers a wound to his upper thigh that removes any chance of evading further attacks. Spitefully, Hill disdains the use of his own weapon and retrieves the gun that Devlin entered the room with before throwing open the suitcase, triumphantly and pompously revealing that he has obtained…

…nothing at all. The suitcase is completely, utterly, impossibly empty.

Infuriated by this sudden, unexpected turn of events, Hill rails impotently at Devlin, who is content to merely laugh at the latest development. When Hill turns Devlin’s own gun on the thief and attempts to execute him, he is stymied once more. The gun has been unloaded. After speeding through the stages of grief, Hill attempts to pressure Coleman – the butler, now armed with Hill’s original weapon – to kill Devlin. Just before the butler works up the nerve to squeeze the trigger, Sarah speaks into Devlin’s ear and the thief plays his final card: he knocks five times on the floor and makes eye contact with Coleman.

The butler taps one finger against the side of his gun twice, completing the signal. Then, he turns his gun to point at Hill, instead.

Forcing himself upright, Devlin explains to the dumbfounded Hill that Coleman’s family has been rescued from his clutches. Furthermore, the forces he’d planned on using to murder Devlin’s team have mysteriously all disappeared. The live-feed was actually a fabrication, masterminded by Sarah from her mobile command center; the comms chatter, faked for Hill’s benefit. Every weapon that Hill believed he had against Devlin and his team has been disarmed, removed, or otherwise proven to be false. And the final insult? Coleman, loyal butler for most of Hill’s life, has been working with the police in order to bring down the drug lord, once and for all.

Enraged beyond belief, Hill rushes at Devlin and tries to kill him with his bare hands. It’s only through the timely arrival of the police, phoned not too long ago by Sarah herself, that Hill is stopped from committing at least one murder. Unfortunately, the police arrest Devlin for breaking and entering, at the same time that they put Hill in handcuffs for his litany of crimes.

At the hospital, during a brief stop where the worst of his injuries can be treated, Devlin receives an unexpected visitor. Hill’s lawyer, a slimy man who practically reeks of corruption, sidles into the room and informs Devlin that Hill has every intention of dodging any and all charges thrown at him. His tendrils extend to the highest levels of the Metropolitan Police. And, as soon as Hill gets out of police custody, he intends to make Devlin’s suffering his highest priority.

When the lawyer leaves, Devlin tells the police that he’s ready to talk, but only if he can do so at Scotland Yard. The request is granted and, after a quick discussion with an inspector, Devlin finds himself alone in the interrogation room.

And then, exactly as Devlin had known, Asher enters the room.


Through all the madness and the mayhem, Devlin and Asher have found themselves face-to-face several times. Via Skype in Ukraine, just before a hired sniper perforated the trailer by the docks; in the warehouse outside of London, after Devlin had been drugged and kidnapped; at the Green Light Gala, where they’d fenced with words and wit, immersed within the most elite criminals in Europe; and, most recently, in an abandoned subway station, where Asher had threatened the life of Devlin’s oldest friend. But it is only here, seated across from each other in the heart of the London police system, that Devlin O’Brien and Asher Knight finally have the opportunity to talk.

After an opening salvo between the two men, the conversation turns deathly serious when Devlin finally asks Asher why, of all things, the genius mastermind blames his friend and former partner for the abuse suffered at the hands of the Magi. Without an audience to bluster for, caught off guard by the blunt simplicity of the question, Asher finally admits the truth. He doesn’t blame Devlin for the mistakes that led to his capture and torture; he is, however, jealous of how quickly Devlin and Sarah met, fell in love, and married each other. In his mind, it seems, Devlin replaced his friend without a second thought and that, more than anything else, pushed Asher into his vengeful vendetta.

In exchange for an honest answer, Asher asks Devlin how, exactly, he managed to remove the Book from Hill’s estate, directly under the man’s nose. Devlin plays coy, only dropping the scantest hints, and Asher guesses at the rest on his own. With the anarchy at the estate – stolen cars, fistfights between trained mercenaries, the arrival of the armed wing of the police – every eye was squarely on Devlin and his known team of associates. Therefore, it was child’s play for Alex to slip in, disguised as one of the guards. Alex’s connections among all walks of life put him contact with Coleman and, through the butler, he discovered the truth about the police’s inside man and about Hill’s ultimate plan. During the comms blackout, Alex had met and warned Devlin. Together, they had formed a last ditch plan and, by necessity, kept it entirely off of comms until such time as Sarah was able to circumvent Hill’s techniques. While Hill faced down Devlin, Alex had been free to leave the building with the real prize.

In awe of how effective this simple act of misdirection was, and temporarily less guarded than normal, Asher lets slip a nugget of information that turns Devlin’s blood cold: years ago, when the Magi felt comfortable allowing their newest plaything a bit of free rein, Asher used his first hit squad in an attempt to kill Sarah. Instead of accomplishing that goal, however, that squad was responsible for the death of Alex’s wife, Johannah.

Even when confronted by a furious Devlin, Asher shows no remorse for his actions. The failure of the squad to kill Sarah, he says, only motivated him to become more creative in his twisted pursuit of ‘justice.’

Stunned by the cavalier attitude of the man he once considered a friend, Devlin can just barely find the words to point out that Asher has admitted to a capital crime while inside of a police station. Asher shows no concern at this. He informs Devlin that, during the theft of the Book, Asher pulled off his own coup: every bit of blackmail and leverage that Hill had amassed during his time as London’s premier crime lord changed owners. With those secrets safely in his pocket, Asher knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that no London police officer would dare arrest him.

Devlin, despite the rage pumping in his vein, allows himself a thin smile and unveils his last trick. Where the London police would falter to arrest someone with so many connections, Interpol would not. Almost as if summoned, Agent Neetipal Adlai enters the room, having listened to the entire conversation with his own ears and immediately arrests Asher for murder in the first degree.

In an eerie echo of the tense conversation that preceded it, Devlin and Adlai end up on opposite sides of the interrogation table once more. This time, however, Adlai surprises the intrepid thief. According to Coleman, their man on the inside of Hill’s operation, Devlin’s assistance was instrumental in bringing down the drug lord. What’s more, there has been no official report of anything having been stolen. As far as the police are concerned, Devlin isn’t guilty of a single crime with regards to the events at Hill’s estate.

“You are a criminal,” Adlai tells his enemy, rival, unexpected comrade-in-arms, “but you are not the bad guy today.”

With those words, Adlai leaves Devlin alone in the interrogation room to consider how dramatically things are changing. Then, with no one stopping him anymore, he leaves the police station as well. There is still one final piece of business that demands his attention.

Chapter 141

Despite Billy’s every attempt to wheedle more information out of me – begging, pleading, threatening – I steadfastly refused to say another word about the Magi to him.  Sarah, Michel, and Mila were equally tight-lipped.  Finally, angry at our collective silence, he told his men to wrap James’ body up into a convenient floor rug and left the Brooklands in a state of mixed emotion: fury, because someone he’d considered a friend was dead and we weren’t providing any answers; apprehension, because there was every possibility that he had even more moles in his organization that he simply hadn’t rooted out yet; and terror, because he knew less now than he had before coming to the Brooklands, except that now, his people were dying.

A part of me longed to tell him everything I knew.  If I’d been in his shoes, I would’ve wanted to know.  A force that could turn a friend into an enemy or push someone into an act of cold blooded murder was a force I would’ve pitted myself against, in sheer ignorant defiance.  In fact, I’d just finished doing something similar for a little girl I barely knew.

Sarah would have called that streak of nobility dangerous and idiotic.  She would have been right.

After he left, I asked Sophie to remove James’ chair from the conference room.  She showed a brief flash of shock when she saw the bloodstain but she recovered quickly.  The offending chair and all trace of the blood was gone within twenty minutes.  Ten minutes after that, an efficient team of maids cleared away all of the food and drink and left the four of us alone in the room with nothing but our thoughts.

Sarah spoke first.  She’d used the time since Billy’s departure, while we waited for Sophie to do her work, to center herself.  There was only a slight quaver in her voice now.  “That didn’t make sense,” she said.

I nodded.  “You’re right.  As soon as you shook him up, he started throwing out all kinds of micro expressions.  He’d been working within Billy’s organization for a long time; I guess he’d assumed that stoic posture as an excuse to be generally unreadable.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.  He shouldn’t have gone for his gun.  Moles don’t commit murder for causes.  They work for other people.  They lie, they cheat, they steal.  But they aren’t brave enough to kill.  Certainly not for masters who aren’t in a position to help them anymore.”

“I knew what you meant.  I was just…being delicate about it.”

Sarah shook her head.  “Being delicate isn’t going to solve anything.  Whatever happened here is something that we’ve got to figure out.  What pushed James into what he did?  What did he think he had to gain?  Hill is in prison and Asher is on the way.  I’ve personally disrupted every account I could find and the police will put a freeze on everything else before too long.  So why did he go for the gun?”

“I should’ve killed him myself,” Mila said in a moody tone.  She’d moved so that her back was to a wall and there were two guns on the table in front of her.  “Can’t believe he got the drop on me.”

“That isn’t helping anything either,” I said.  “You’re injured.  I’m injured.  We just went through hell to pull off what we did and it’s a miracle that any of us even made it back to the Brooklands, let alone all of us.”

“Working while injured is my job,” Mila shot back.

“And, in the future, I’ll be more than happy to let you fire high caliber weapons with broken fingers,” I said, “but for right now?  Either stop talking or be useful.”  The tone was sharper than I would normally have used.  Coddling Mila wouldn’t do any good.  If anything, she’d reject to the implication that she was suddenly too damaged to handle criticism.

Michel spoke up.  “Devlin, surely you cannot – “

“No,” Mila interrupted.  She took a deep breath.  “No, he’s right.  I can work through my issues when things calm down.  Thanks.”

“Anytime.  So?  Any thoughts on what just happened?”

She was silent for a few seconds, while she thought over the events of the last hour.  “James must have wanted to die,” she said finally.  “I don’t think he ever planned to kill Sarah for outing him.  He didn’t even want to get away.”

“What makes you say that?” Sarah asked.

“Because I was in the room.  Slower than normal, sure, but that wouldn’t have stopped me from putting him down.  If he wanted to kill you, he should have tried to kill me first.  Then, while the rest of you were panicked, he could have taken both you and Devlin out and fled.”

“Except for Chester and Billy,” I pointed out.  “And the rest of Billy’s gang waiting outside.”

Mila acknowledged that point with a slight bob of her head.  “True.  But Billy doesn’t carry a gun and Chester wasn’t going to shoot him.”

“Uh, Mila,” Michel said tentatively, “Chester did shoot him.”

“That was a reflexive thing.  The way he was shaking, repeating the same idea over and over like he was trying to convince himself of something?  Typical behavior from a first time shooter.  He’s never killed before and he certainly didn’t mean to do it tonight.”

“Then why did he do it?”

She shrugged.  “All of that emotion these two stirred up – anger, betrayal, doubt, fear – just made a perfect environment.  Chester saw a gun and he reacted.  I’d bet he’s regretting it now, but he’ll probably work his way back around to a justification before too long.”  She turned to Sarah.  “Sorry, but you didn’t work your way into his good graces enough that he’d kill to protect you.”

“Good to know that I don’t have to add anyone to my Christmas list,” Sarah said sourly.  “Anything else?”

“Off the top of my head?  Nothing worthwhile.  Give me some time to think about it and I might be able to come up with more.”

“We still do not know who he was really working for,” Michel said.  “If he was not working for Hill this entire time, who put him into Billy’s organization to begin with?”

I gave him a meaningful look.  “You know who put him there.”

Silence.  We all knew who James’ real masters had been.

“Alright,” Sarah said, after the tension grew thick enough that I could practically feel it against my skin, “let’s say that…they…were the ones who put James in a position where he could inform on Billy.  Why?  Billy’s gang wasn’t even a major factor in London, let alone on an international stage.  How?  He couldn’t have been paid for his work.  And if he was paid, where’s the money?”

“He told Chester that he had a family.  These rich and powerful types love to use loved ones as leverage,” I said.

“And I told you that he doesn’t have a family!”  I stared at her.  A moment later, she raised her hands in apology or surrender.  “Sorry.  Feeling a little tense right now.  What I mean is this: there isn’t any record of him having a family.  Not any that are still alive, at least.”

“What did you find?  Anything that might shed some light on this situation?”

Sarah pulled up a document on her tablet.  “James Vidoc was born in Burford, England to a pair of loving French immigrants.  His father died when he was twelve, in a chemical fire; his mother died fifteen years later when her car went off of a cliff.  He left town and started working temp jobs for a while.  Eventually, he fell off the radar and he doesn’t show up on any public records again until he was pulled in for a few minor possession charges.  That’s probably just before he started working with Billy.”

She showed me the tablet.  Displayed on its screen was a picture of James, taken by a prison photographer.

Something tickled at the back of my thoughts.  I focused on that feeling and, gradually, it crystallized into a memory.  “Vidoc?  That’s his last name?”

Sarah nodded.  “Why?”

When I’d been in La Santé, there had been precious little to do.  Storytime with Patric helped to pass the days but, when he was unavailable or tired, I’d taken to reading whatever translated works the prison library had.  “Vidoc was an author,” I said.  “A French author. He was a criminal who ended up becoming the Chief of Police in Paris for a while.  I read his memoirs.”

“Vidoc’s not an uncommon French name, either,” Sarah said, but she sounded uncertain.  “It’s not the most common, but it’s not what anyone would use for a pseudonym.”

“Maybe.  But it says right here that Burford’s population is only thirteen hundred people.  What do you think the odds are of anyone from a town that size making their way to London?”  The thoughts were connecting faster and faster.  I followed the chain as far as it led.  “And another thing.  A chemical fire and a car accident?  A car accident that took the car off of a cliff?  Was she near a large body of water when this accident happened?”

Sarah’s eyes widened.  “Yes,” she whispered.  “And I’ll answer your next question before you even have to ask it: the car was never found.”

“If there was a car,” I said.

“What are you implying?” Michel asked.  He hadn’t made the same leap, but he was sensitive enough to pick up on the sudden foreboding atmosphere in the conference room.

“James Vidoc,” I said, “doesn’t exist.  He never existed.  Everything about him is fabricated.”

“But that’s…that’s…”  Sarah struggled to find the right words for a moment.  “Do you understand what that kind of forgery entails, Devlin?  Creating an entire identity from scratch isn’t easy.  Faking a history is harder.  But to fake police documents, medical examiner reports, newspaper articles, and bank accounts tracing back for a lifetime?”

“No,” I said.  “But I’d be willing to bet that the Magi do.”

“Devlin.  They ran his fingerprints.”

There wasn’t anything to say to that.  Sarah understood, probably better than me, what that detail meant.

“Is that something you could falsify?” Mila asked.

“Me, alone?  No.”  Sarah wasn’t bothering to protect her ego anymore.  The possibility that someone was capable of technical wizardry at that scale had destroyed any hint of pretense.  “With other people to change documents and erase files, in real-time?  Maybe.  But I’m not sure.”

“And James…?”

“If what Devlin is suggesting is true – and I’m not willing to say that it’s even possible – then someone completely altered every record relating to a James Vidoc in every law enforcement database between here and the other side of Europe.”  She swallowed.  “And that still doesn’t answer why anyone would go through that much trouble.”

“I don’t know.  That scares the shit out of me, though.”

“Me too.”

We all fell into a contemplative silence.  Michel moved, without making a sound, and found a bottle of liquor that Sophie’s maids had overlooked.  He didn’t speak as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a long drink from it.  “You use false names,” he said.  “This name is more thorough.  What is the difference?”

“There are still people who know that I’m not some German businessman,” I said.  “You knew the truth.  Sarah did, obviously.  Asher, Mila, Alex…I didn’t become someone else.  I was just pretending.  According to Billy, James lived with them.  He’s spent years as someone who he might not have been.  There are police records.  Assuming those aren’t faked, he’s been at this for at least a decade.”

Mila reached out and took the bottle from Michel’s fingers.  “And there’s nothing to say, one way or another, that the police records aren’t faked.  Or coerced in some way.”  She took a long pull at the liquor, as well.

“And if that’s true, then we’re back to square one.  Square zero, really.  Everything we know about James might be a lie.  But we don’t have anything else to go off of.”  I desperately wanted a go at the liquor myself, but I suppressed the urge.

Sarah did not share my compunctions.  She plucked the bottle from Mila and took a long drink.  Then, after a moment, she repeated the process.  “All we know for certain is that he was so scared of what might happen to him that he chose effective suicide instead of facing them again.  We don’t know why he was in Billy’s organization, why he was tasked to help Hill after working against him for so long, what they were holding over him, how many more people they have in similar positions…”  She trailed off.

I picked up the thread for her.  “And we don’t know what they want.”

Neither Sarah or I were using our name for the mysterious string-pullers and puppet-masters.  Those two syllables – the Magi – seemed to have taken on a mystical feeling and I had no desire to see what happened if I spoke it out loud too many times.

Sarah’s phone beeped.  The sound startled all of us to different degrees.  “It’s Avis,” Sarah said, when she calmed down enough to check her phone’s display.

“Why is she texting you?  How is she texting you?”

“I dropped off a phone earlier,” Sarah said, “while you were in Scotland Yard.  The idea had been to make sure we could contact her if we had to…you know.”

“If we had to break you out of jail again,” Mila said.  Sarah shot her a look and Mila shrugged.  “What?  Was I not supposed to tell him what you had in mind?”

Sarah crossed her feet at the ankles beside me.  We were sitting close enough that I could feel the movement.  “Anyway,” I said, trying my best to divert attention away from Sarah before she lashed out in embarrassment, “what does Avis have to say?”

“She says that she’s found something in the Book that we might want to see.”

“No elaboration?”

“None,” Sarah said.  “But, all things considered, do you think it’d really be safe for her to send out that kind of information over the cell network?”

Sarah’s phones were encrypted.  She’d told me so herself.  I didn’t understand the technology, but I knew how fastidious she could be about her privacy when the situation called for it.  There would precautions built on top of precautions, redundant defenses within more redundant defenses, all for the sole purpose of ensuring that no one could possibly find a way to eavesdrop on our conversations.

“No,” I said.  “All things considered, I’m not sure it’s safe for us to even have that kind of information.”

There was no denying the summons, though.  Sarah’s curiosity had been whetted.  No matter the danger, she was going to follow the trail of clues to its end.  And where Sarah went, I went, too.

She led us out of the conference room and to our private elevator.  It was spacious enough for all of us to fit without unnecessary crowding.  I noticed that Sarah kept a tight grip on the bottle of liquor.

The ride up to Avis’ room was shorter than the ride to our suite.  We reached our destination before I’d had a proper amount of time to really shed the feeling of dread from downstairs.  Something still felt wrong, like I was missing some obvious clue or overlooking an important detail by virtue of my own shortsightedness.

The elevator doors opened onto an empty hallway.  I’d never actually been to Avis’ room, so I let Sarah lead the way down the hallway until we reached an ordinary – at least, ordinary for the Brooklands – door.

“Avis,” Sarah said, “we’re here.  What did you have for us?”  She knocked twice on the door.

The door swung open.

A hole formed in the pit of my stomach.  My heart dropped through that hole and disappeared into a pit at the soles of my feet.

“Avis?” Sarah called out.  I could hear the fear in her voice.

Mila pulled out a gun and stepped into the room.  The rest of us crowded in behind her.

My time at the Brooklands had been spent in only two locations: the conference room downstairs and our penthouse suite at the top of the building.  Still, I knew that their less expensive rooms probably had more furniture than the barren scene I saw in front of me.

There were only two pieces of furniture in the room.  A coffee table crafted from some exquisite and probably exotic type of wood was a few feet past the doorway.  There was a cell phone resting on that table and, next to that, a nearly full bottle of dark red wine.  Just beyond that coffee table, there was a deep, comfortable-looking chair.

Seated in that chair, the Lady looked at all of us with an expression that made me feel like an ant underneath a child’s magnifying glass on a hot day.  She raised a glass to her flawless lips and downed half of that glass’ contents.

“I was beginning to think,” she said, that alluring accent shifting with each syllable, “that you were never going to figure it out.”


Chapter 140

Chester jerked away from James and his jaw dropped in disbelief.  Billy controlled his expression marginally better, in that he only began to stare.  “What?  That can’t be right.”

James, however, met the accusation with a disturbing amount of calm.  “You must have got it wrong,” he said in that low rumble.  “Maybe you should run that program again?”

“I’ll be the first to admit when I might have made a mistake,” Sarah said.  I privately disagreed with that sentiment, but wisely kept those thoughts to myself.  “But not this time.  There were only so many earbuds that I didn’t have under my direct control.”

“I didn’t even have one,” James countered.  “You gave it to Chester, remember?”

“Well, it sure as bloody as hell wasn’t me!” Chester’s voice was filled with something approaching panic.  “She’s the one making the accusation.  You ever think that your encryption whatever-you-called-it isn’t as good as you thought?”

I ignored Chester and focused on James, instead.  “Chester doesn’t have a motive to do it,” I said, “and I honestly don’t think he even has the ambition.  Billy helped him get the money to save his sister and that was enough.  The thought of betraying him for a chance at something better wouldn’t even have occurred to him.”

As I was talking, my mind was beginning to draw connections, outlining what must have happened before we’d even entered London.  I didn’t have all of the details, and I probably never would, but it was easy to imagine the conversations that could have taken place in dark rooms or darker alleys.  Everyone spoke the language of money and poor people spoke it better than most.  A lifetime struggling to survive at Billy’s Halfway House would have been more than enough to soften anyone’s resolve.  From that point, a suitably large cash offer for something as harmless as a little shared information would be difficult to resist.  And, after making that mistake once, every request of increasing severity would become harder and harder to say no to.

But was that really true?  I didn’t know for certain.  It could have been blackmail or some other form of coercion.

“But you, James?” I asked out loud.  “I look at you, and I see someone who’s thinking.  Never talking any more than you have to, only ever answering direct questions so that you don’t accidentally reveal more than you want to.  And you’ve been perfectly placed since we joined up with you guys to pass intelligence on to Hill.  But why?  That’s what I want to know.”

“Can’t tell you what I don’t know,” James said, “seeing as I didn’t do what you’re accusing me of.”

“It’s funny,” Sarah said.  “I looked into both of you, as soon as we crossed paths.  Chester was easy to figure out, all things considered.  But I couldn’t find much about you.  Name, National Insurance number, former addresses.  Nothing too out of the ordinary, but also nothing to explain why you were caught up with Billy and his lot.”

“Not hard to figure out,” he said immediately.  “Had a bad string of luck.  Lost my house when my parents died and I ended up with Billy.  Worked my way up from there.”

“That’s true,” Billy said.  “He’s been with me, almost since the beginning.”

“Isn’t that exactly where you’d want to put an inside man?  At the very beginning of things, when he could take an active hand in the way an organization grew, while still knowing all of the infrastructure?”

Billy’s expression turned doubtful.

Chester was not so easily unsettled, though.  “That’s my mate,” he said, “and he’s not a bloody grasser.  He helped save your life at that plant!”

If I hadn’t badly misread him, James had also put my life in danger at the plant first, so that particular debacle wasn’t earning him any points in my book.  “Look at it this way.  How many people knew about the plant in the first place?  Who did Sarah and I talk to about the estate job?”

“We had to get all of our men in position to detonate those bombs,” Chester countered, as though he’d scored a great point.  “One of them could be the leak.”

“Unless you decided to act like a bigger idiot than you actually are,” I snapped, “none of your men should have known we exist.  And they certainly wouldn’t have access to one of Sarah’s earbuds.  Honestly, Chester, you cannot be this dense.  You wouldn’t have made it this far if you were.  Was there ever an opportunity where he could have gotten your earbud without you realizing?  Did it ever move overnight, even though you knew for a fact that it was on the nightstand, for instance?  That never happened?”

Chester glared at me and then, slowly, the suspicion shifted away from me and over to James.  “You found the earbud after the processing plant thing went sideways,” he said.  “Told me it’d been under some rubble. Why’d you go back to look through the rubble?”

“Seriously?”  James leaned back and crossed his arms.  “I went back to see if there was anything worth salvaging.  Some of the product, maybe.  I don’t know.”

“But you found an earbud?”

“Those aren’t indestructible,” Sarah chimed in.  “You could probably break one by stepping on it.  Exactly where did you find it, James?  When did you even have the time to look?”

“Chester,” James said.  “You know me.  Whatever she thinks she knows, it’s wrong.”

He was talking more than normal, letting anxiety slip into his words.  A fear reaction was normal, even for an innocent party.  We needed more.

“You’ve been caught,” I said, stressing the operative word as much as possible.  “Hill’s been taken down and so has Asher.  Whatever he had on you – if he had something on you – is gone now.  There isn’t any illegal monolithic empire waiting in the wings to fall down on you if you break ranks.”

The veins on Chester’s neck stood out a little.  Not much, but enough for me to guess at what emotion he was feeling.

“Wait…was that it?  Was it that simple?” I asked.

James said nothing.

Billy cleared his throat.  “What are you talking about?”

I mused aloud, letting my mind free associate its way through the problem.  “Hill was going to move up in the world.  Asher already had his connections, and he was in a position to profit no matter who won. But if Hill graduated to controlling larger portions of the European market, that would leave a vacancy here.  Someone would have to step into that role.”  James glanced up for an instant and my eyes caught his.  “Someone who’d proven himself loyal, capable, and willing to backstab their friends in exchange for a little more power.  That’s exactly the kind of person who Hill would appreciate.”

“You’re not wrong,” Billy said.  Unconsciously, he rubbed one of his paralyzed legs.  “But…no, it couldn’t be James.  It couldn’t be.”

There wasn’t enough hard evidence.  Billy and Chester had an unknown amount of years working side by side with James.  I could plant doubt, but not enough to actually matter.  There was too much trust between the three of them.  Suspicion and vague hints weren’t going to be sufficient.

“The earbuds never really stop recording,” Sarah said casually.  “They just don’t transmit all of the time.  Even when they’re off, there’s a small charge that keeps them ready for reactivation.  There’s an easy way to figure this out.  Chester, let me see your earbud.  I’ll go through its history and then we’ll know for sure.”

I blinked.  Sarah hadn’t told me about that feature.  Frantically, I went through my memory, wondering if I’d ever made any particularly embarrassing admissions when I thought she couldn’t hear me.

Then I looked at Sarah’s face and the tiniest corner of her mouth quirked down.

Chester shrugged.  “If it gets James clear of this bloody nonsense, here you go.”  He reached into his pocket and fished out the earbud, moving as if to toss it onto the table in front of him.

Before the tiny black piece of electronic equipment could touch the surface of the table, James moved.  Despite his size, he was frighteningly quick.  He snatched the earbud out of the air, perhaps an inch or two before it would have landed.

“What’re you doing?” Chester asked his friend.  “Let her have the damn thing and then we can focus on finding out who the real leak is.”

“It…”  James stopped, swallowed, and started again.  “It wasn’t for Hill.”

What wasn’t for Hill?”

“He wasn’t involved in all of it,” James continued.  “Not the whole time.  Not until just before this lot came here and started stirring things up.  But then they gave him my name and he started using me for information.”

Chester looked as if he couldn’t quite understand the words coming out of James’ mouth.  “What are you talking about, mate?”

James kept on talking.  His voice was calm and controlled, like he was discussing the weather instead of revealing the depths of his own treachery.  “You don’t understand,” he said.  “You can’t understand.  I didn’t have a choice.”

Billy spoke next and there was frost on every syllable.  “So you gave me bad intelligence.  Let me send good people – people that only wanted to help – into a trap.  Helped my brother keep me hostage and risked the lives of every man and woman who you’ve been working side by side with for years.  Is that about the size of it?  What possible excuse could you have?  You didn’t have a choice, James?  You could have come to me!  We could’ve figured it out!”

That sentiment struck an eerie chord in my memory.  It sounded perilously like the conversation I’d had with Asher, back at Scotland Yard.

“So you were going to take Hill’s spot, then?” Billy continued remorselessly.  “You were going to finish the job my brother started, I guess: kill me and run London while Charles moved up in the world.  Tell me if I’m wrong.”

“It isn’t even my fault!” James yelled back.  “If it hadn’t been for them, things would’ve been fine.  Asher would have taken over, instead of Hill, and he didn’t even care about you.  Everything would have worked out, except…except…”

“I can’t believe I ever trusted you,” Billy said.  The condemnation hit James like a physical blow.  He rocked back from the force of it.  “I should have left you in the gutter where I found you.”

James tried and failed to meet the anger in Billy’s eyes.  “Chester,” he said, “you’ve got a family, too.  You understand what kind of pressure someone can put on you.”

Chester’s expression had changed from shock to suspicion.  Now, it seemed as though he were verging dangerously close to sympathy.

“He used your earbud,” Sarah said.  “You were the one who would’ve taken the fall for it.”

“Is that true?” Chester asked James in a near whisper.  “Were you setting me up to take the fall for you?”

James looked at Chester, then Billy, then back to Chester.  He deflated slightly, as whatever self-justification he’d used to sleep at night evaporated under the simple question from his friend.  Then, with a malevolence smoldering in his eyes like hellfire, he turned to Sarah.

His hand vanished under the table and I knew, instantly, what was going to happen.  Revealed as a traitor, there was only one thing James could do.  There wasn’t any chance to spin things, at this point.  He was finished with Billy’s gang.  All he could do was make sure that we paid for ruining his plan.

The barest sliver of metal cleared the edge of the table, glinting with an evil light.  Mila wouldn’t be fast enough.  The injuries from the processing plant coupled with the damage Aiden’s beating had given her weren’t enough to sideline her, but they were sufficient to slow her down by a second or two.  Michel was out, as well.  Given an opportunity for his adrenaline to mount, he might have pulled something off, but there wasn’t going to be time.

Sarah’s eyes widened.  Some flash of intuition must have warned her because she started to bring her tablet up to her chest like a shield.  She was moving in agonizing slow motion, though, and the tablet might not have been enough to actually stop the bullet.

In a moment of ludicrous clarity, I regretted changing out of the suit with its bulletproof vest.  Still, I never stopped to think about what I did next.  I threw myself to the side, knocking her out of the way with my own body, just as a sound like thunder rang out in the comparatively small room.

My shoulder hit the ground first, but that particular pain had been such a constant companion that I scarcely felt the new flare up.  There weren’t any new screams of agony from my battered body, though.

That was shock, probably.  The bullet wound in my leg had hurt worse, although the one I’d just taken to the gut should have caused much more damage.

“Devlin?”  Sarah asked in a quavering voice.  “Are you okay?”

I wanted to laugh.  I had just thrown myself in front of a bullet for her. ‘Okay’ wasn’t really a word that applied to the situation.  Dazed, I reached down to feel the extent of my injury.

I felt nothing.  No bullet hole or injury existed, no matter how fervently I patted down my body.

“I’m…fine, I think?”  The statement came out as a question.

Cautiously, I got back to my feet.  Mila was standing with a gun in her uninjured hand.  Michel hadn’t quite fled behind her, but he was in a position where he could attack or flee with equal ease.  The gun in Mila’s hand was ready, but no smoke twined out of its barrel.

Instead, the thin trail of dark gray vapor came from the weapon in Chester’s hand.

James was slumped in his chair and a red stain was slowly spreading across the front of his shirt.  I stared at the body in horror for several long seconds.  Finally, I cleared my throat and spoke around the lump that had formed there.  “Did you…is he…?”

Chester spun on me and pointed the gun in my direction.  “No!  You…don’t move!”

Billy put his hand on top of Chester’s.  “Don’t do it,” he said in a soothing voice.  “This isn’t on them.”

“He was…he was my friend and I…I…”  Chester couldn’t finish a sentence.  He let out a shuddering breath and let his hand fall to the table.  The weapon clattered out of his loose grasp.  “I didn’t think, I just…I just…”

“I didn’t think that he’d…” Sarah began.  She stopped as a full body tremor made her shiver.  “I didn’t think that he’d try to kill me.”

Even though I had seen the move coming a split second beforehand, I didn’t understand the action entirely myself.  James had lost a lot, but he hadn’t seemed suicidal.  He’d seen Mila in action.  He had to have known that she would have killed him a heartbeat after he pulled the trigger.

“What are you going to do with him?”  The question came from my own lips, surprisingly steady.

“Can’t leave him here,” Billy said, equally calm.  “Get your concierge to keep any civilians out of the way, and I’ll…I’ll get my men to get him out of here.”  He paused.  “We’ll see to it that’s he buried.  I…I didn’t know that he had any family.”

“Neither did I,” Sarah said.  “There wasn’t anything about a family in his records and I was thorough.

James began to tremble in his seat.  Billy wheeled himself closer and wrapped an arm around his lieutenant.  “I can’t believe it was him,” Billy said.  “I just can’t believe it.”

“He was scared,” I said.  I wasn’t talking to anyone in the room, just airing my thoughts as they occurred to me.  “Not angry.  He was scared.”

“Of what?” Billy asked.  “What could he have been so scared of to risk his life – our lives – like that?”

“Not what.”  I pulled myself out of my thoughts and spoke, not to Billy, but to Sarah and my team.  “Who.”


Chapter 139

After downing some food from room service, Sarah and I told Alex to take his daughter and leave the country.  His involvement in the chaos over the last weeks was minimal but I didn’t even want to chance anything else going wrong before they were safely back in Germany.  He conceded to the request with only a token amount of resistance.  He had a lot to think about, I knew, and a lot of unresolved anger to process.

I wondered whether he thought life in prison was a suitable punishment for Asher, after what he’d done.  I wasn’t sure if a suitable punishment even existed.  Still, confinement would have to do for the moment.

Sarah suggested that I take a shower before confronting our personal Benedict Arnold.  Mila agreed with that assessment and Michel, in his own subtle way, made it clear that bathing wouldn’t be a terrible idea.  So, I washed off as quickly as possible, and changed out of my custom suit into a pair of comfortable jeans and a polo shirt.  Then, feeling more like myself, I led us all into the elevator and down to the conference room where our new allies waited.

We paused at the door.  “Are you ready for this?” I asked Sarah.

She sighed.  “Not really, but what other choice do we have?”

“Should we…I don’t know, practice?”

“What good would that do?  You don’t know what’s going to happen any more than I do.”

“Fair enough.  So…play it by ear?”

Sarah nodded.

Michel opened his mouth to say something.  Mila stopped him with a raised hand.  “No, they aren’t going to tell us what they’re talking about.  No, they didn’t have a chance to discuss any of this yet.”  She grinned.  “Yes, this is all somehow going to work out.”

Immediately upon entering the conference room, I saw that Sophie had taken Alex’s simple directive and gone completely overboard with it.  The long table running down the center of the room was overflowing with food and drink.  There were cooked hams and turkeys, more bottles of liquor than I could count at a glance, and an assortment of finger foods available for the taking.  Billy’s men were voraciously attacking the fare, focusing mostly on the liquor.  The scene reminded me of a nature documentary I’d once been forced to watch about piranhas and their feeding habits.

That was good, though.  Sophie’s typically overblown zeal ensured that my quarry would be in an amenable mood and, therefore, unlikely to realize what we had in mind until too late.

Billy sat at the distant point of the table.  He wasn’t partaking of the food or drink as we entered.  Instead, he seemed withdrawn and uncharacteristically moody.  The effect of his sulk was only magnified by the bruises visible on his skin like spots on a leopard.

He looked up and the gloom surrounding him lightened a little.  “Well, look who it is!”  He forced exuberance into his voice, but very little of that emotion found its way onto his face.  “Boys, take a good long look at our conquering hero.  In just a few weeks, he managed to do what we’ve been trying to do for years.  Give ‘em three cheers, eh?”

The horde of men tore themselves away from the feast in front of them and, raising whatever glasses were close at hand, roared out three cheers for me.  I accepted them with a slight nod.  “How’re you feeling?” I asked Billy, when the noise died down and the men returned to their drinks.

“My brother kidnapped and threatened to kill me,” Billy said, “just before he went completely off the deep end and tried to kill you with his bare hands in front of me.  So I’m feeling bloody lovely, of course.”

His accent sharpened and slipped, seemingly at random.  He was either more emotional than he was letting on or he’d had more than his fair share of liquor before we’d made our way downstairs.  Probably both.

“Physically, I mean,” I said.

He shrugged one shoulder and winced in pain.  “I’ll live.  I’ve had worse beatings from schoolboys.  Charlie always did hit like a girl.”  Pause.  “Present company excluded, I mean.”

Mila raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms underneath her breasts, but she didn’t say a word.

“There are some things we need to talk about,” I said.

“Can it wait?” Billy asked.  “I think my boys need a little bit of time to celebrate before we get down to the business of figuring out what to do with that whole empire my brother was so intent on ruling.”

“No,” I said, “it really can’t.  It’s about what happened at the estate today.  The longer we wait to have this discussion, the worse it’s going to be.”

Billy accepted that enigmatic statement with ease.  “Alright, then.  Chester, James; leave that mess alone and get over here.  The rest of you, take a bottle for the road, and take a walk!”

The two men, chief lieutenants in Billy’s organization and local heroes in their own right, detached themselves from the mass of drunks with some difficulty and headed in our direction.  They took up seats on either side of Billy: Chester seated on his right while James deposited himself to Billy’s left.  Then, all three men looked expectantly at me.

I turned my gaze to the table’s setup while the lower ranked men followed Billy’s order and slowly filed out.  There was a seat at the head of the table, opposite Billy, and more than enough chairs to accommodate my team.  There was only a single problem with the arrangement.  I took one of the surprisingly heavy chairs and dragged it across the floor, until it was directly next to me, then gestured to Sarah.  “After you.”

She seemed delighted by the gesture and made a curtsy in response.  “Such a gentleman,” she said.  “If prison taught you manners like this, you should go more often.”

“It’s called jail before conviction,” I countered.  “And I didn’t even go to lockup tonight, so let’s not be premature.”

Mila and Michel exchanged a look before taking seats of their own.

“What’s so important that you needed to talk about it right now, then?” Billy asked, when we were all settled in place.

I decided to dispense with as much formality, pomp, and circumstance as I could get away with.  These accusations required a certain amount of delicacy, I knew, but that didn’t mean I had to waste time before making them.  “This isn’t the first time a plan of ours has gone sideways,” I said.  “I mean, certainly not the first time in my life, but it isn’t even the first time it’s happened in London.  It’s the second time, in fact, that Hill caught us flat-footed and unawares.”

Using the nickname for Billy’s brother came naturally.  I’d only known him by that moniker for the vast majority of my time in conflict with him, so it was difficult to reprogram my brain.  Billy graciously didn’t correct me.  “I was thinking about that myself,” he said.

“Let’s go over both of those situations, then.  Just so we’re all perfectly clear.”  I took a deep breath.  Presentation was key, here.  “The processing plant was a trap.  The whole thing was just an excuse to get us in one place, so that Hill could have his hit squad pour bullets into the building.”

“I remember,” Billy said.  “I’m not that old.”

“The problem, though, is that he couldn’t have known when you were going to find out about the plant.  Without that knowledge, he couldn’t have anticipated when you’d attack.  And he obviously didn’t have time to adjust his plan for our intervention.”

“What’s that mean to you?”

“That he has a mole in your organization,” I said, “but that said mole didn’t have an opportunity to warn Hill that you’d changed plans.  Agreed?”


Chester cleared his throat with a great deal more noise than was strictly necessary.  “What’re you getting’ at?”

“I’m painting a picture,” I replied, through gritted teeth.  “It’s all going to make sense in a little bit.  I promise.”

He looked as though he had something else to say, but he lapsed into sulky silence instead.

I gestured for Sarah to pick up where I’d left off.  “Then there’s this whole business with Hill’s estate. There was absolutely no way for someone to intercept my communications without hiring someone as good or better than me, and giving that person days to take apart my encryption protocols.  The only way, then, that Hill and his men would be able to listen in on our conversations was if they had an exact copy of an earbud or receiver already using those protocols.”

“You said something about that before the police came crashing in,” Billy said.  “And your friend’s the one who found about the mole, yeah?”

Chester leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear what I had to say next.  Even James, normally stoic to the point of muteness, seemed interested.

“Yes and no,” I said.  “My friend learned that there was a mole, from Coleman.  But Coleman didn’t actually meet the guy, so he couldn’t give us a name.”

Chester let out an explosive breath.  “What’s the point of all this, then?  We already know all of this.”

Billy nodded his agreement.  “Soon as we get a second to catch our breaths, I’ve got plans to go through the organization from top to bottom until I find out who was playing both sides.  Can’t run the business with that kind of a leak.”

“About that,” I said.  “There can’t really be a business, Billy.  Hill’s going down and Asher’s going to see to it that the infrastructure is unusable, at least in the recent future.  Even after Interpol leaves town, trying to run anything as big as Hill’s enterprise is just going to be asking for trouble.”

If Billy could have used his legs, he would have stood up in sudden outrage.  As it was, he slapped his palms down on the table.  “You could’ve said something about that before!”

“I didn’t know about it before,” I said.  “Asher’s being vindictive, which I could probably have predicted, but even I didn’t know that he’d be willing to burn everything to the ground rather than let anyone else have it.”

“And the people I’m looking out for?”  Billy asked.  “What am I supposed to do to help them?”

“Hill went to a lot of trouble to make his businesses seem legitimate,” Sarah said.  “My guess is that he expected a lot of attention on how he ran things.”

Privately, I thought that the scrupulous and overzealous attention to detail was a result of his employment by the Magi, but I kept that thought to myself.  The less Billy, Chester, and James knew about the Magi, the better it would be for everyone involved.

“It wouldn’t take much to use those shell companies,” Sarah continued, “and to turn them into something that actually made money.”

Billy tilted his head.  “How?”

“You’d have to launder all of the liquid cash he’s had stashed away,” she said.  “That’s not going to be easy, but it is doable.  There’ll be a scandal when it comes out that he was the head of the drug ring, which hurts your reputation, but there’s another story that can be spun out this that could turn things your way.”

“Which is?”

“Think about it,” I interjected.  “One brother, born to privilege, falls into a life of crime; the other, the product of an illicit love affair, rises to restore his family’s honor.  It’s got potential.”

Billy thought about that for several seconds.  “I never wanted to be a Fairfax,” he said finally.

“What you want has very little to do with what you are,” I countered.  “But it’s just something to think about.  You could help your people – give them jobs, rebuild the devastated areas where your Halfway House is, clean up some of the brute crime – and you wouldn’t have to run the risk of police intervention.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Billy said, but there wasn’t any malice in his voice.  “A thief telling me to go straight?”

“I’m full of contradictions.  Some would say it’s my best trait.”

I could feel Sarah roll her eyes.

“Anyway.  That’s not what I wanted to talk about.  Coleman couldn’t get a name, true.”  I paused for dramatic effect.  “But we figured one out on our own.”

Silence, deep and profound, fell over the room.  Sarah and I hadn’t rehearsed this bit – there hadn’t been any time – so Michel and Mila were both in the dark, as well.  Michel looked rapt with curiosity and Mila appeared slightly more interested than usual.

James was the first person to speak, surprisingly.  “Well?  Who is it?”

I didn’t answer him.  This was Sarah’s show, now.

She started her speech by tapping a few keys on her cell phone.  I was in a position to see that she’d been pressing random buttons, but Billy, Chester, and James were not.  “I make a habit of not bothering to reveal every single technical detail of my equipment to anyone,” Sarah said.  “Devlin doesn’t care about the specifics, for one thing, and he’s really the only partner I’ve had.”

A tremor of pleasure went through my body at her use of the word ‘partner.’

She continued speaking.  “The technology I used to construct the earbuds is proprietary.  A lot of it is guesswork, honestly.  And I’ve had plans to sell some of it legitimately, just to shore up my own profile.  Anyway, the point is this: each earbud is marked.”

Two truths and a lie.  Maybe two lies.  It was possible that Sarah intended to market some of her technology.  We hadn’t really talked about anything financial in years, even before our divorce.

“Marked?” Chester asked.  “What’s that mean?”

“It means that every transmission coming from a given earbud has a certain signature, so that I could make sure that one earbud wasn’t transmitting as another,” Sarah said.  “If someone let Hill use one of my earbuds to copy the protocols, they’d also copy the signature.  When I realized that Hill was listening in our communications, I immediately went back through every transmission, so that I could find out who the mole was.”

She fell silent and allowed the tension in the room to build to an almost painful level.  I could barely keep from grinning, personally.  Unlike the rest of her family, Sarah had never been one for long speeches.  Despite her relative inexperience, however, she was doing a masterful job of bullshitting.

Despite my enjoyment, I had my own job to do.  I looked across the table, reading micro expressions on the faces of all three men, searching for some sort of sign.

Sarah kept right on vamping.  “It wasn’t easy.  All of the transmissions coming out of Hill’s estate made it difficult to find the exact frequency.  That’s why I didn’t say anything at first: I wasn’t sure yet.  While Devlin was somehow contriving a way out of Scotland Yard, I had programs running to filter and identify.”

“Oh, come on!” Chester said.  “Don’t make us bloody wait forever!  Who the hell is it?  Who’s the mole?”

One of the men across from me moved, lowering their chin and tucking it in maybe a half of a millimeter.  It was such a minute gesture that most people would have missed it.  To me, searching their faces with something approaching desperation, it was as obvious as a lighthouse on a clear night.  I made a subtle gesture with two fingers where Sarah could see it.

Sarah turned her head a millimeter in my direction and raised an eyebrow.  I nodded.  “Alright then,” she said, shifting her attention back to the three men at the other end of the table.  “I’ll get to the point.  James…why’d you do it?”


Chapter 138

After I retrieved my personal effects and made my way out of Scotland Yard, I decided that calling Sarah or Michel for a ride would probably not be the best idea.  Adlai’s bemusing amiability aside, it wasn’t insane to think that someone was probably tracking my movements.  Hill might have been dethroned, but every member of his organization might not have received notice of that.  Had I been in the former drug lord’s position, I would’ve taken steps to make certain that the architect of his downfall paid dearly for his or her presumption, regardless of what happened to me in the interim.

Since I was said architect – or, at least as far as Hill knew, the primary instigator – it seemed prudent to take a few steps to ensure my safety.

By the time I finally reached the Brooklands, after switching modes and methods of transportation enough times that even I was starting to feel irrationally paranoid, I was both hungry and exhausted.  Sophie wasn’t at the front desk when I entered, but that wasn’t surprising.  We weren’t her only clients and I suspected that at least one of the Brooklands’ less ‘legally challenged’ guests had requests or demands of their own to make.  I gave the front desk clerk a vague sort of wave, walked past him without saying anything, and went straight to the penthouse elevator.  Then I stopped, walked back to the front desk, and plucked a banana from a dish of fruit.

“Long day,” I said to the clerk.

He blinked at me, but said nothing.

The elevator shot straight up through the Brooklands’ floors and stopped after only a few seconds.  I took a bite of my banana and straightened my suit jacket as the elevator doors slid open.

I was greeted with a gaping gun barrel, leveled at a point just between my eyes.  I blinked with excruciating caution and, just as slowly, took another bite of my banana.

“I’m going to have to teach you how to fight, aren’t I?”

“Might be useful,” I said.  “Although, judging from what I heard before, you might not be up to a teaching lesson for a couple of weeks.  Or months.”

“Please.  I could be unconscious and still kick your ass.”

“And, on that note, it’s good to see you too,” I said to the gun barrel.  “Although I think I would have been a little more welcoming, had I been in your shoes.”

The barrel stayed there, rock steady, for another second or two.  Then, it lowered slightly and I saw Mila’s bruised face at the other end of the gun.  “That’s because you’re a softie,” she said.  “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t have waited for the doors to open before I drew.”

We held eye contact for another handful of seconds before Mila returned the gun to a shoulder holster, dangling free underneath her bad arm.  “So,” I said, “are we supposed to hug now or…?”

She snorted, cutting me off mid-sentence.  “There’s still some liquor here, I think.  Or you can just ask Sophie to get some for us.”

“Yeah.  Either way, celebrating with an awe-inspiring hangover is always an option.”

She smiled then.  The expression crept across her face, growing by millimeters, until she wore a smile from one ear to the other.  She moved out of the way, allowing me to move deeper into the room and then returned to a position where her diminutive frame more or less blocked the elevator from sight.

“You’re an idiot,” Mila said.  “An absolute idiot.  Do you know how worried everyone was about you?”

“Even you?”

Mila rolled her eyes.  “Everyone else. What was there to be worried about?  If you didn’t come out of Scotland Yard on your own, then I would just have gone in there to get you.”

There was every possibility that she was being entirely serious.  In a pitched battle between the forces of law enforcement in the great city of London and a pissed off Mila who wanted to honor the terms of her contract, I wasn’t sure which side I’d want to put my money on.

“Good thing I got out of there on my own,” I said.  “Before you had to go starting World War III on my account.”

“Good thing,” she agreed.  The smile dimmed slightly, then faded away.  “Did she know what you were going to do?  Using yourself as bait like that, making sure that all of the bad guys were too busy looking at you to watch what we were doing?”

Mila didn’t have to clarify who she was.  “Part of it,” I said.  “Not everything.  Hell, I didn’t know everything that was going to happen.”

“You were guessing?”  There was more shock and surprise in Mila’s voice now than I’d ever heard before.  “That was a risk you took on a whim?”

“More than a whim,” I said.  “There were signs.  But, uh…yeah, kind of.”

She whistled.  “She’s going to be furious with you.  You do know that, right?”

“I’d sort of figured as much.  I’m just hoping she’ll give me a chance to explain before she – “

I noticed, in a detached way, the exact instant when Mila took a half-step back and turned slightly.  The elevator dinged and a tiny red light above it flickered to life.  Mila’s eyes widened and her lips parted, as though she were going to say something.

All of these details dawned on me in slow motion, but I wasn’t quite able to grasp their importance immediately.  So, when it came, the thunderous slap that filled my sight with a field of exploding red stars of pain caught me entirely off guard.

When my vision cleared, Sarah stood in front of me.

Tears were streaming down her face in tiny rivers.  Her eyes were red and the skin around them puffed out.  An invisible tie held her frizzy brown hair back and corralled it into an approximation of a ponytail.

“You…you…”  Her voice failed her, but her mouth continued to open and close as if she’d been suddenly rendered incapable of producing sound.

“Hello to you, too,” I said, massaging my cheek.  “And ow.”

“You knew what was going to happen!”  Her voice came out sharp and shrill.

“I didn’t know that Hill had an inside man,” I countered.  “Not until it was too late to actually tell you about it.  I thought Alex would’ve explained that.”

“Oh, he explained it, all right.  Just before he told me that you planned to get arrested again.  That you’d never even intended to leave the estate in one piece.”

Ah.  That explained the slap.

“Did you honestly think there was any other way that was going to work out?” I asked.  “Even if we hadn’t been compromised from the very beginning, Hill had more men, more money, and more to lose.  The only way to keep him from issuing the kill order was letting him think that he was winning, until the very last second.  So…”  I trailed off.

“So you kept that from me?  So you decided to throw yourself in the line of fire, without stopping to ask anyone else what they thought?”

I opened my mouth, realized that I didn’t have anything to say that would constitute even a modicum of an acceptable excuse, and closed my mouth again.

“I thought we’d already talked about this, Devlin,” she said.  “But you’re apparently too damned noble and suicidally stupid to understand exactly what I meant before.  So, let me make this excruciatingly clear.”

Sarah took a step forward.  She was only an inch or two shorter than me and her nose hovered just a hair beneath mine.  I prepared myself for another thunderous slap.

She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a fierce hug before, almost without making a sound, she started to sob into my chest.  “I am not,” she said, between heaving sobs, “going to let you get yourself killed.  If you’re in trouble, I am always going to come get you.  Do you get that?”

My mouth was suddenly dry.  My mental gears stuttered over this new complication and ground painfully to a halt.  Without any active input or a conscious desire to do so, I pulled Sarah into an even tighter embrace.  Despite the low temperature outside and her natural tendency towards a subzero body temperature, her skin felt warm against mine.  I wasn’t sure if my heart was beating faster, or hers, or both, but I wanted to savor the sensation regardless of the truth.

The moment ended too soon for my taste.  Michel stepped around Sarah, followed by Alex and Ally.  Michel and Alex looked vaguely embarrassed at the display of affection between my ex-wife and me.  Ally, on the other hand, looked equally thrilled and disappointed.  We separated, mumbling nonsense to each other.  Sarah looked away and wiped furiously at her eyes.

“Let me get one thing clear,” Alex said, “before we discuss any of the details.”

“And that is?” I asked.

“I cannot believe that worked.”

“Well, if someone hadn’t decided to go off on their own, it probably wouldn’t have gone so well.”

Alex laid a hand over his heart and assumed a saintly posture.  “I do not know what you are talking about.”

Everyone chuckled at that and I gave us all a few seconds to enjoy the moment before moving onto the next order of business.  We weren’t quite finished.  There were still a few details that needed to be dealt with before we could truly relax.  “Where’s everyone else?”

“Anton and the Russians disappeared,” Sarah said.  “Somewhere between you calling for Plan B and the police actually showing up.  After they lost them, the Russians jumped into a getaway vehicle of their own and ditched the comms.”

“And Anton went with them?”

“From the way I heard it, it didn’t seem like the other guys gave him a lot of choice in the matter.”

“The Book?”

Alex stepped forward.  “I gave it to Sarah as soon as I made contact with her.”

“And I gave it to Avis, as soon as we got back to the hotel.  She’s in her room downstairs, working on translating it as fast as possible,” Sarah said.  “Sophie’s doctor gave Neal some pretty powerful pain killers.  It doesn’t look like Hill had a chance to inflict any permanent damage before we got there.”

I nodded.  So far, so good.  “What about Chester and James?”

Alex made a disgusted face.  “Downstairs, in the conference room where we met before.  They brought some of their other men with them, as well as Billy.  He is not in good health, but he insisted on being here with them.  I asked Sophie to keep them satisfied until we figured out what to do about…well, your situation.”

My mood darkened as I thought about the betrayal, and the damage it had almost allowed Hill to inflict on me and my friends.

“Speaking of your, uh, situation,” Michel said, “what happened?  How did you get out of custody so quickly?  Did the Lady intervene again?”

I thought over the entire series of events, starting from my conversation with Hill’s lawyer and ending in the confrontation with Adlai.  My eyes went to Alex and Ally, standing side by side.  “You might want to sit down for this,” I said to them.

Alex’s eyebrow raised, but it was his daughter who spoke.  “What is wrong?”

“It’s about your mother,” I said.

“What are you…”  Alex began, then stopped.  The color drained from his face and, in that instant, I realized that he knew.  A quick glance at Sarah told me that she was on the verge of making that same intuitive leap.

But neither Michel or Mila knew enough context to figure out what I was talking about, so I was forced to start right after I’d lost consciousness at the estate and tell them the entire story of the day I’d spent in police custody.  When I reached the conclusion, every jaw in the room – except for Mila’s, of course – hung open in shock.

“It was him?”  Alex asked finally.  “This whole time, it was him?”

I nodded.  “We thought he was dead.  That’s why we weren’t able to find any evidence.  It would’ve all gone to a dead end.  Or so we believed at the time.”

“And he…it wasn’t even about…”  Alex started a few more sentences and found himself incapable of completing any of them.

I reached out a hand and gripped his shoulder.  “I got him for you,” I said.  “We got him.”

Alex looked as though he still couldn’t quite believe it, although he seemed to be making a solid effort to keep himself from bursting into tears.  Ally made no such pretense.  She was openly weeping, her shoulders rising and falling in oddly rhythmic patterns.  Alex took his daughter in his arms and hugged her tight.  After a moment, she returned the affection with an equally fierce embrace.

Michel cleared his throat.  I noticed tears glistening at the corners of his own eyes, but he wiped them away before speaking.  “So, Adlai let you go?  Just like that?”

“I’m still not entirely sure I believe it myself,” I said, “but it looks like that’s what happened.  Maybe something about our amazing civic responsibility has convinced him to turn a blind eye to some lesser acts of civil disobedience.”

“Or,” Sarah chimed in, “he knows that you won’t be able to stop yourself from stealing again and he’ll just get another shot at you later on, when you aren’t on the side of the angels.”

“It’s just like you to be such a pessimist.”  I stuck my tongue out at her.

She flashed me a wicked, knowing grin in response and my heartbeat quickened again.

“That is…” Michel struggled to find the right word for a second or two.  “…remarkably lucky, isn’t it?”

“Well, we didn’t jinx things,” I said, affecting an older, wiser intonation.  “That’s probably what did it for us.  Besides, all I did was let everybody beat themselves.  You’re the one who hit a hardened, probably crazy, and definitely homicidal mercenary with a car, Michel.”

He couldn’t really blush, considering his skin tone, but I was certain that his cheeks grew warmer at the praise.  “It was, uh…it was nothing, really.  I only did what I could to help Mila.”

“It was nothing?” Sarah repeated.  “Is that really what you’re going with?”

He shrugged and looked away.  His eyes caught Mila’s for an instant before he found something interesting to examine on the completely normal kitchen wall.

“I just want to make sure I’ve got all of this straight,” Mila said.  She shifted her weight and grimaced as one of her injuries decided to make itself temporarily known.  “We went through all of that so that Hill would reveal his contacts, allowing Asher to steal those contacts, and then you walked Asher into getting himself arrested?  Meanwhile, all we had to do to steal the Book, the girl who can translate it, and her personal Kato was just to drive away with them?”

I considered that for a moment, and then nodded.  “First: yes, pretty much.  Second: Kato?  Really?”

Mila grinned.  “I’m not completely out of touch.”

Alex cleared his throat, drawing all of our attention back to him and his daughter.  Any lingering laughter in the room died away.  “I think that we are finished here,” he said.  “Ally and I, we…we need some time to really think about what you’ve told us.  To make some sort of peace with it.”

“Oh.  Yeah, that makes sense.  Do you, uh…do you know what you’re going to tell Jules?”

Alex shook his head.  “Nothing?  Everything?  It is…complicated.  I am not sure what would be best.  I did not tell Ally about my past and look where that has led us.”

“Papa,” Ally said, “you cannot tell Jules.  You can’t.”

He gave her a skeptical look.  “This, coming from you?  I would have expected you to have the opposite opinion.”

Ally’s lips twisted up as she picked her next words carefully.  “You lived two lives when I was a child and only told me about one.  But you have been with Jules entirely.  Telling her about who you used to be would not help; she does not have any questions about that time in your life.  Does that make sense?”

“But you always wondered what I was keeping from you,” Alex said back.  “Yes.  Yes, I think that does make sense.  But still, it is a decision I will need to think about.  And, of course, I want your input on the matter.”

Ally looked surprised at that.

“You are my daughter,” Alex continued.  “Who else could I trust to give me the best advice?”

There were still tears drying on her cheeks when she smiled.  Somehow, the juxtaposition of the two conflicting emotions made the smile that much brighter.

Alex turned to me.  “You saved my life many years ago,” he said.  “And now you have gotten justice for my wife’s murder.  I do not know that I will ever be able to repay you.”

“You can live a long happy life away from all of this,” I said, immediately.

Sarah rummaged around in her pocket for a few seconds before producing a pair of tickets.  “I’ve got your tickets home, routed through a few different shell companies.”  She looked momentarily abashed.  “Old habits die hard, I guess.  Anyway, your flight leaves in two hours.  Just enough time for you to get through all of the preliminaries and security and whatnot.”

Alex nodded.  “Do you need me to stay a little longer?  To deal with…”  He made a vague gesture, presumably indicating the conference room where Billy’s gang waited.

I shook my head.  My fingers balled into a tight fist, entirely of their own volition, and I squeezed them so tight that it started to hurt.  “No.  You can get out of here.  This is something I really want to take care of myself.”


Chapter 137

If I’d expected Asher to lose his cool, I would have been disappointed.

He took my statement with surprising equanimity and even started smiling slightly to himself.  “That,” he said, “is a surprisingly sneaky plan, coming from you.  Setting me up for Interpol like that?  I wouldn’t have thought you were capable of going that far.”

“I didn’t set you up for anything,” I countered.  “If you hadn’t decided that gloating was more important than common sense and self-preservation, you could have walked away.  You did this to yourself.”

Of course, he’d earned this and much more.  The revelation that he’d been behind the attack in Florence wasn’t exactly a surprise, if I was completely honest with myself.  That didn’t lessen the impact.  If not for the presence of Adlai and the detective inspector, I still might have throttled him with my bare hands.

Asher probably would have expected an outburst of that type.  Judging by our respective histories, he could have easily beaten me in a straight fight.  But allowing him to dig his own grave, even if the truth laid bare old wounds?  If it hadn’t been so completely against my character, I reasoned, it probably wouldn’t have worked.

Adlai would have been able to put Asher away with nothing more than his open statements about blackmailing members of the police department.  I’d hoped he might go farther and say something incriminatory about the drug trade and his emerging control over the London side of things.  Not even in my wildest dreams or nightmares had I expected a confession about the disastrous job in Florence and the dreadful toll it had taken on my friend Alex and his family.

I would have to tell Alex about this.  That wouldn’t be a fun conversation.  It would give my old friend and his daughter closure, though, so it wouldn’t be a complete waste.  Getting Asher locked away for life in an Italian prison probably wasn’t the type of retribution Alex had in mind, but it would have to do.  The type of vengeance that Alex would have preferred to visit up on Asher would probably also be the type of vengeance that resulted in Allie losing both parents.

Asher watched me thinking.  Adlai and the dark-skinned detective inspector watched him watching me.  “Do you even feel bad about it?” I asked, finally, into the stagnant air of the interrogation room.

“About what?”

“The people at the bank in Limassol.  Alex’s wife.”  I swallowed.  “Me.  Us.”

The smirk dimmed and faded until it was gone from his expression entirely.  “What happened had to happen,” he said in a sober voice.  “They didn’t make me do anything, Dev, and they didn’t change me.  You were always going to be who you were and I…I was always going to be this.”

That wasn’t quite an answer, I realized, but something told me that I didn’t want to push the question any farther.  I said nothing and, instead, met his eyes for several long seconds.  It seemed as though he was trying to convey some sentiment to me through the force of his gaze.  There’d been a time when a moment of eye contact would have been enough.  But that time – and the camaraderie we’d once shared – was gone now.

Asher jerked his eyes first, as if he were stung by my inability to understood the nonverbal communication, and faced the two law enforcement officers.  “Well, you got me.  I mean, he got me, but I guess the details aren’t really important, are they?”

The detective inspector shook his head.  “Not really,” he said in an oddly agreeable tone.

“So, what happens now?  You put me in handcuffs and cart me off in the paddy wagon?”

“Haven’t used those in a few years,” the detective said.  “And I think a chat about these officers you’ve got dirt on is probably in order.”

Asher shrugged.  “I can’t use any of them,” he said.  “Inspector Closeau has got his teeth in me now.”

Adlai’s eyebrows drew closer together at the comment.  I strongly doubted that he understood the reference.  A completely inappropriate chuckle bubbled up from my stomach and I ruthlessly squashed it before it could reach the surface.

“Just like that, then?” The detective inspector raised one eyebrow.

“Here’s the thing,” Asher said.  “If I can’t use them, someone will.  I’m not interested in making it easier for the guy after me.  And believe me: there will be another guy.  Maybe someone local, maybe someone from out of town.  Doesn’t matter either way to me.”

I puzzled over that enigmatic sentiment for a few seconds before I understood his meaning.  The Magi had financial interests in London.  There were countless suppliers, pushers, runners, and contacts just in this city and their network wouldn’t be thwarted by a single missing link.  With Hill’s coup thwarted and their chief enforcer hoisted on his petard, they would probably just promote someone else from their organization to fill the spot.

If Asher handed over the names of every corrupt cop in the Met, there would be unimaginable consequences for the local Underworld and the Magi’s operations in the area would be set back, even if only temporarily.  It wouldn’t be enough to keep him out of prison – premediated murder was a pretty difficult rap to beat, as these things went – and It probably wouldn’t be enough to actually cripple the multinational, shadowy cabal, but it would still be a serious blow.

What was Asher’s game?  He had betrayed me…he had planned to betray Hill…and now he was actively preparing to betray the Magi.  What, exactly, did he hope to gain?  I suspected that he’d been trying to convey that idea to me, only seconds ago, but that moment was gone.

“Turn around, then,” the detective inspector said.

Asher obeyed without complaint.  He stood in place, looking everywhere except at me, while the handcuffs went around his wrists.  Had he been a different man, I would have taken his silent acquiescence as a sign of defeat or of shame.  Not Asher, though.  The smirk returned to his face.  A thought occurred to me, popping into existence with no fanfare or forewarning, and it made my blood’s temperature drop several degrees.

Asher looked as if he’d wanted to be here.

But that was impossible.  I hadn’t come up with the idea to let Adlai handle my dirty work until we’d all been elbow deep in the chaos at the estate.  It had never been discussed over comms or even in person.  There simply wasn’t any way that he’d anticipated this desperate move.

Yet, the cockiness was evident on his face.  He maintained that expression while the detective inspector steered him out of my interrogation room and into one of his own.

Adlai did not go with him.  He stepped aside long enough for Asher to pass and then stepped back into place, framed in the doorway.

“You don’t want to listen in on what he says?” I asked Adlai after I’d endured a few seconds of his silent examination.  “He’s probably knows a lot that you’d be interested in.”

“I am sure my colleague can handle things,” Adlai replied, “until I am finished.”

“Finished?  With what?”

I knew what he meant, but it gave me a tiny amount of pleasure to feign ignorance.  That had always been the largest problem with Plan B.  As a method of extraction from a potentially lethal situation, it was almost all positives.  The police force was larger than my team of five or six people, only of a few of which I actually trusted, and all it took to mobilize them was a carefully worded phone call.  There were certain buzzwords that virtually guaranteed an armed response and Sarah would have taken great care to infuse the phone call with a sufficient amount of concern and fear.  No matter how many people Hill had purchased, most of them would have understood that a shootout with the police was a losing proposition.  London law enforcement had neatly taken care of the virtual army of hired goons and criminals, and they’d done it with an efficiency that had kept Hill in the dark until I’d been able to goad him into making that last mistake.

The problem with the plan, however, had been readily apparent from the moment I’d first thought of it.  I was a criminal and, when they came with their body armor and their fully automatic weapons, London law enforcement would arrest me right along with everyone else.  The Lady had been clear: another trip to Scotland Yard would fall squarely on my own shoulders.  She either couldn’t or wouldn’t help to me to get away another time.  And, even if she had been willing to expose herself a second time, there was little to no chance that she could have done anything to help me.  I’d broken into the estate of a nobleman, stirred up a hornet’s nest of illegal activity, and utilizing Plan B meant that the police would catch at the scene of the crime.

Prison hadn’t been an experience that I longed to repeat.  Two and a half years at La Santé had filled my quota of time behind bars.  But things had gone a lot worse than we’d expected, and they’d gone downhill so quickly that there hadn’t been any other option except to go with the worst possible plan that held even the slightest chance of success.  I had, in essence, placed myself in Adlai’s hands because he could at least be trusted to refrain from outright execution or torture.

Those points flashed through my mind as I waited for Adlai to speak.  When he did, his voice was milder than I would have expected, and the words shocked me out of my ruminations.  “You have done a good thing today,” he said.  “Perhaps a great thing.  Did you know that?”

My mouth dropped slightly open.  That had sounded suspiciously like praise, coming from Adlai and directed at me.  That slight concussion I’d been warned about by the doctors must have been more severe than they’d said.

Adlai closed the door and crossed the short distance to the chair opposite me.  “I think that I was sent here to get me out of the way,” he said, taking his seat.  “The drug ring in this city is – was, I suppose – very influential.  Inevitably, there must have been politicians and other people of influence whose pockets were fed by the machine here.  They would be the sort who only wanted to make a token show of involvement.  If I failed to uncover the root, then two goals could have been accomplished at once.”

That was a worrying implication to consider.  Interpol agents weren’t exactly at the beck and call of the average citizen.  Adlai’s involvement in something as mundane as a museum robbery had struck me as odd, to begin with.  Now, he was telling me that he’d actually been sent into town to investigate Hill’s drug ring…an investigation that would’ve been met with countless obstacles and roadblocks, if even half of what Hill and Asher said about the corruption in the police department was true.

It was possible that Adlai was being perfectly frank and that he was entirely accurate.  Even operating at his absolute best, Hill would probably have arranged for one of his men to take the fall, thereby appeasing the masses and giving Interpol a useful patsy.  At worst, Adlai could have taken a media beating the likes of which had rarely been seen and a talented, dogged investigator could have been removed from play.

There was an undeniable elegance to how brutally effective a plan like that might have been.  Win or lose, Adlai had been in a position where his every action furthered the goals of his unseen enemy.  My intervention into things, then, might have done more than unseat a dangerous drug lord and exact sweet revenge on my former partner; I might have saved Adlai’s job.

I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

“What happens now?”

He leaned back in his chair and said nothing.  His lips began to move silently, after a few seconds, and I tried to read them.  Within a few seconds, I realized that he wasn’t mouthing anything in English.  Something about his body language, coupled with a flicker of instinct, told me that he was praying.

Adlai opened his eyes.  “You are a criminal,” he said.

I sighed.  “That hasn’t been proven.  Well…okay, it has been proven, but I already did my time for that.”

“You have broken the law,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken at all.  “You have treated it as a choice instead of a guideline of rules that must be followed.  You have endangered others in your recklessness and greed.”

I stood halfway out of my chair in immediate protest.  “I didn’t endanger anyone!  If you want to start preaching about people who put other people at risk, then you should probably point that finger somewhere else!  You wouldn’t even have broken this case, if I hadn’t helped.”

He kept speaking in a calm, implacably remorseless voice.  “You are a thief who has stolen, robbed, and pilfered from law abiding citizens for years,” he said.  He paused for a moment before continuing.  “But you have not done that today.”

I blinked twice, hard, and then stared at Adlai in utter confusion.  “I…what was that?”

He reached a hand into his suit coat, pulled out a thin envelope, and placed it delicately on the table’s surface.  “According to Lord Fairfax’s lawyer,” he said, “no crime was committed today.  Nothing was stolen from his estate and, in fact, a mysteriously well-timed anonymous tip allowed the London Metropolitan Police to detain a number of wanted criminals.  One could almost say that whatever happened on that estate today was a part of an undercover sting, designed to identify and isolate the head of the drug cartel in this area.”

He wasn’t exactly lying, but he was presenting an extremely sanitized version of events.  I quickly thought through everything I’d done since leaving the Brooklands that morning.  If Hill had originally planned to walk away from everything, he would have needed to exercise a great deal of clout pushing his story through the halls of power.  However, if he wanted me to walk out of Scotland Yard and into whatever secret torture chamber he had waiting for me, all he had to do was refuse to press charges.

Nothing was stolen?” I asked cautiously.  My thoughts were on the Book which, of course, Hill couldn’t possibly have reported.  I hoped.

“Nothing at all,” Adlai said and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Then, my eyes narrowed in suspicion.  This was entirely too easy.  I’d been prepared to spend even more time in jail as a necessary consequence of this particular desperation move.  Adlai had been trying to catch me for years.  I couldn’t imagine that he’d suddenly become generous enough to look the other way.

I picked up the envelope and opened it, revealing a typed police report.  I skimmed over it, noting that Coleman’s name featured several times through the document, and then slowly lowered it back to the table.  “Coleman attributed his success to me?”

“Among other people,” Adlai said, “who he has adamantly refused to name.  He did not actually remember your name.  At least, that is the only reasonable explanation for his insistence that you were a German, which both you and I know to be patently false, of course.”

“Uh, yes.  Of course.  Obviously.”  I made a mental note to abandon that false name as soon as possible.  Or, I mused, to use it as a smokescreen in other cities, when I needed a bit of cover.

It occurred to me that I was thinking about my release as a foregone conclusion, suddenly, as opposed to a distant possibility.  Adlai must have read the direction of my thoughts somehow, because he leaned his elbows forward and steepled his fingers on the tabletop.  “I do not believe any of this,” he said in an intense whisper, too low for anyone waiting outside of the room to catch his words.  “I am certain that the butler would reveal the truth, if asked the correct questions in the correct way.”

From anyone else, I would have taken that as a threat.  Pressuring Coleman for the truth wouldn’t even be against the law.  All things being equal, it would actually be the moral thing to do.

Adlai was too by-the-book for that, though.  Grandstanding had never been his M.O. and taunting was beneath his dignity.

“But you aren’t going to do that,” I said.

“No,” Adlai said back.  “No, I am not.”

I swallowed nervously.  The smart move was to make a speedy exit.  My curiosity wouldn’t allow me to move a muscle without asking another question, though.  “Why not?”

He went completely still, retreating into himself as he thought carefully about the best answer.  After an eternity, he bit his bottom lip and whispered something to himself in a language I didn’t understand.  “Because,” he said slowly, “you are not the bad guy today.”

Adlai stood up from the table suddenly, as if that admission had caused him some sort of physical pain, and pivoted back to the door.  He stopped in the frame, one foot already out of the door, and spoke again.  “But that will not always be the case,” he said, without turning around.

“What are you going to do with Asher?”  I asked, out of sincere interest and a desire to break the sudden tension between Adlai and me.

“I will take personal custody of him.  I imagine he will have a great deal to tell me and my superiors.”

“And Hill?”  Adlai faced me and I read an unasked question on his face.  “Oh, um…Fairfax.  What about Fairfax?”

“My superior has already taken steps to remove Fairfax from this city.  His influence is too great here and it wouldn’t do to allow a criminal such as him to get away on a technicality.”  His eyes bored into mine.

I blinked first.  “Right.  Well, have fun with that, I guess?”

He scoffed.  “I imagine I will see you again,” he said.  “Although not under such…collegial circumstances.”

Adlai exited the room on that note, without allowing me an opportunity for a retort.  But the door to the interrogation room remained open.

I waited for almost two full minutes, expecting the ceiling to open up and dump the weight of the world on my head, before I cautiously got to my feet.  “No,” I said under my breath, “you really won’t.”