The Prometheus Deception by Robert Ludlum Page A

But talking , Bryson realized grimly, was the last thing on the hit man’s agenda. “A couple of guys in the same business who just happen to be on different ends of a gun, that’s all. It’s nothing personal, I’m sure you realize that. Strictly business. One minute you’re looking through the sights, next minute you’re looking at the barrel. Happens. The wheel’s always turning. I’m sure you were very good in your time, which is why I have no doubt you’re going to take this like a man.”
    Bryson, considering his options, didn’t reply. He’d been in roughly similar circumstances countless times before, though never, except during his early training days, on the other side of a pistol. He knew how the man in the seat behind him was thinking right now, the way the flow chart was patterned: if A, then B  … How a sudden move on Bryson’s part, a direction ignored, the steering wheel spun in the wrong direction, would initiate a countermeasure. The hit man would try to avoid pulling the trigger while they were in traffic, for fear the vehicle might careen out of control, imperiling both men. This familiarity with the options available to his enemy was one of the few cards Bryson had to play.
    Yet at the same time Bryson was quite aware that the man would not hesitate to fire directly into Bryson’s head if he had to, lunging forward to grab and steady the steering wheel. Bryson didn’t like the odds.
    Now they were crossing the Key Bridge. “Left,” the man barked, indicating the direction of Reagan National Airport. Bryson obeyed, careful to seem compliant, resigned, the better to put the other man off his guard.
    â€œNow take this exit,” the killer resumed. The exit would take them toward the area immediately outside the airport where most of the rental-car agencies had offices.
    â€œYou could have done me back there at the parking garage,” Bryson muttered. “You should have, actually.”
    But the hit man was too skilled to be drawn into a discussion of tactics or to allow Bryson to challenge his competence. Obviously the expert had been fully briefed as to the nature of Bryson’s mind, how Bryson would likely react in such a circumstance. “Oh, don’t even try that,” the professional said with a low chuckle. “You saw all the video-cams back there, the potential witnesses. You know better than that. You wouldn’t have done it there either, I’ll bet. Not based on what I hear about your skills.”
    A slip there, Bryson reflected. The man was definitely a contract employee, an outsider, which meant any backup was unlikely. He would be operating on his own. A Directorate staffer would be protected by others. This was a valuable piece of data to store away.
    Bryson steered the car into a deserted, vacant parking area, the far end of what was once a used-car lot. He parked as instructed. He turned his head to his right to address the other man, then felt the barrel of the gun grind painfully into his temple: the professional made no secret of his displeasure. “Don’t move, ” came the steely voice. Turning his head back around, staring straight ahead, Bryson said, “Why don’t you at least make this quick?”
    â€œSo now you’re feeling the way the other guys felt,” said the professional, amused. “The fear, the sense of futility, of hopelessness. Of resignation.”
    â€œYou’re waxing entirely too philosophical for me. I’ll bet you don’t even know who’s issuing your checks.”
    â€œBeyond the fact that they clear, I don’t really care.”
    â€œNo matter who they are, what they do,” said Bryson quietly. “No matter whether they’re working against the U.S. or not.”
    â€œLike I said, so long as the checks clear. I don’t do politics.”
    â€œThat’s a pretty short-term way of