suffering if I
don’t have to, but that’s me. Here’s the way I look at it. You? You’re a
goner either way. You screwed the pooch and you lost. Come sneaking around in
here on foreign territory, trying to track down somebody that knows how to
ambush better than he knows how to breathe. Good God almighty, what were you
thinking? You probably had a better chance of lollygagging your way into the
White House and sticking your finger up Hamm Walters’ butt than you did taking
me out on my own property. I know you’re not in the mind to talk just yet, but
here’s your deal. I got two questions. You give me honest answers and I
promise I’ll make it quick. Your other option is this, you can go on keeping
your mouth shut like an old stubborn mule, but you’ll earn the right to find
out what a flaying knife feels like. Inch by inch. I may even have some lemon
juice downstairs, come to think of it. So, what’ll it be?”
Randall had no intention of
actually torturing him, figuring the threat would be enough.
He was right.
The Devil Himself dropped his
head back against the floor, defeated. “Ask.”
“Smart move. If there’s any
sort of afterlife, I’m sure you’ll be thanking—”
“I said ask .”
“Hold your horses. I was
getting there. What was Enigma doing here with you?”
“He found me in Atlanta.
Said he’d been getting some heat from the organizers and for whatever reason, they
were postponing. Phones and email were too risky so he was passing along the
news personally. I was first on his list, and he was on his way here next, so
I kidnapped him, made him lead me to you. Figured on the off chance that
they’d start it up again, the rest of us could be minus one player.”
“No kidding. Figured you’d
get a head start, huh? Well, I reckon you over-thought that one by a country
mile. I’ve been here the whole time. All you had to do was look me up in the
phone book.”
“Next question.”
“Damn, you’re in a big hurry
to die, huh? Okay, next question. I figure you sneaky bastards are better at
recon than I am, and being the type of scum you are, I doubt you two didn’t
ride here in silence the whole way. So, how much do you know about Ares?”
The answer was unexpected,
and sent Randall to the floor with wide eyes and a hand over his mouth.
CHAPTER 11
Mary had been so pissed at
Randall, after learning about his lies, that she’d sent his calls straight to
voicemail when he’d tried to call a number of times the night before. She
hadn’t bothered listening to his messages either. They were probably full of
excuses about how she wouldn’t have gone if he’d told her the truth. At the
moment, she had no desire to listen to anything he had to say.
She was more concerned with
completing her task than allowing him the opportunity to apologize. All she
wanted to do was get it over with and get back home.
Mary met Chuck at a coffee
shop the next morning. With a slight headache after only two beers and a bevy
of information overload the night before, she ordered an extra-large cappuccino
and hoped the caffeine would ease the dull throb between her temples. On the
other hand, it was almost a welcome discomfort as the pain gateway swung away
from her bad leg.
She carried her drink in one
hand and used her cane to push herself through the packed, bustling swarm of
coffee junkies with the other.
Chuck sat by the window at a
small two-top, green tea steaming in a white mug, uneaten scone resting on a
small dish, reading the Washington Post . He looked up from the paper
and smiled as she sat down. “The country’s going to the dogs, isn’t it? Nothing
but doom and gloom in the news. Pages and pages of death and destruction, and
only one little article about a man rescuing a puppy over on I-95.”
Mary sipped her cappuccino
and said, “If they put nothing but feel-good stuff in the paper, we’d
don’t have to, but that’s me. Here’s the way I look at it. You? You’re a
goner either way. You screwed the pooch and you lost. Come sneaking around in
here on foreign territory, trying to track down somebody that knows how to
ambush better than he knows how to breathe. Good God almighty, what were you
thinking? You probably had a better chance of lollygagging your way into the
White House and sticking your finger up Hamm Walters’ butt than you did taking
me out on my own property. I know you’re not in the mind to talk just yet, but
here’s your deal. I got two questions. You give me honest answers and I
promise I’ll make it quick. Your other option is this, you can go on keeping
your mouth shut like an old stubborn mule, but you’ll earn the right to find
out what a flaying knife feels like. Inch by inch. I may even have some lemon
juice downstairs, come to think of it. So, what’ll it be?”
Randall had no intention of
actually torturing him, figuring the threat would be enough.
He was right.
The Devil Himself dropped his
head back against the floor, defeated. “Ask.”
“Smart move. If there’s any
sort of afterlife, I’m sure you’ll be thanking—”
“I said ask .”
“Hold your horses. I was
getting there. What was Enigma doing here with you?”
“He found me in Atlanta.
Said he’d been getting some heat from the organizers and for whatever reason, they
were postponing. Phones and email were too risky so he was passing along the
news personally. I was first on his list, and he was on his way here next, so
I kidnapped him, made him lead me to you. Figured on the off chance that
they’d start it up again, the rest of us could be minus one player.”
“No kidding. Figured you’d
get a head start, huh? Well, I reckon you over-thought that one by a country
mile. I’ve been here the whole time. All you had to do was look me up in the
phone book.”
“Next question.”
“Damn, you’re in a big hurry
to die, huh? Okay, next question. I figure you sneaky bastards are better at
recon than I am, and being the type of scum you are, I doubt you two didn’t
ride here in silence the whole way. So, how much do you know about Ares?”
The answer was unexpected,
and sent Randall to the floor with wide eyes and a hand over his mouth.
CHAPTER 11
Mary had been so pissed at
Randall, after learning about his lies, that she’d sent his calls straight to
voicemail when he’d tried to call a number of times the night before. She
hadn’t bothered listening to his messages either. They were probably full of
excuses about how she wouldn’t have gone if he’d told her the truth. At the
moment, she had no desire to listen to anything he had to say.
She was more concerned with
completing her task than allowing him the opportunity to apologize. All she
wanted to do was get it over with and get back home.
Mary met Chuck at a coffee
shop the next morning. With a slight headache after only two beers and a bevy
of information overload the night before, she ordered an extra-large cappuccino
and hoped the caffeine would ease the dull throb between her temples. On the
other hand, it was almost a welcome discomfort as the pain gateway swung away
from her bad leg.
She carried her drink in one
hand and used her cane to push herself through the packed, bustling swarm of
coffee junkies with the other.
Chuck sat by the window at a
small two-top, green tea steaming in a white mug, uneaten scone resting on a
small dish, reading the Washington Post . He looked up from the paper
and smiled as she sat down. “The country’s going to the dogs, isn’t it? Nothing
but doom and gloom in the news. Pages and pages of death and destruction, and
only one little article about a man rescuing a puppy over on I-95.”
Mary sipped her cappuccino
and said, “If they put nothing but feel-good stuff in the paper, we’d
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