World Without End (48 page)

It's a trap, it's got to be a trap, keep your eyes shut and get back down here where it's safe.

The woman yanked back both of his eyelids and said, "Dixon, we need to get moving."

The woman was part of the Borg; she was dressed in black tactical combat clothing and carried the kind of submachine gun popular with the twentieth-century unit known as the Hostage Rescue Team, once a part of the now-defunct government agency called the Federal Bureau of Investigation. But this Borg drone also had a peculiar night vision device mounted across her face.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Dixon. You're safe."

Pasha Romanov flipped up the night vision and turned on the tactical flashlight mounted under the stock of her HK submachine gun. A bright beam of white light lit up the dark basement. She shined the light in Major Dixon's eyes. They didn't register. He was in shock, lost in his own world.

Pasha shut the light off and slung the weapon behind her back. The entire house was dark from the small explosives device she had planted on the electrical box. After that, she had tossed a smoke canister through the window and then blew her way through the back door. The five men who had been guarding the house came running downstairs, and when they did, it wasn't hard to put them down.

Pasha's cell phone rang. She knew who was calling.

"Stephen?"

"Dixon is being held at 27 Park Place in Lynn," Conway said. He was yelling above the thumping blades of a helicopter.

"The house is guarded with a security system and " "I've got Dixon."

Pasha moved her light to the corner of the room.

"And the suit."

"How did you " "I can't get into it right now, I'm running out of time." The neighbors had heard the explosion; some of them had ventured out of their homes, wrapped in jackets, to investigate the commotion. No doubt the police had been summoned.

"Where's Raymond?"

"Running for his life. Forget him. Angel Eyes is here. I think he's going to make a run for the suit."

"He can't get it if he can't see it. You know the decryption code?"

"Ralph Wiggim. Meet me at 100 Summer Street, on the roof. A helicopter will pick us up and fly us out to Logan. We're going to take a private jet to Virginia. I've already made the arrangements."

"I'll see you there," Pasha said and hung up. She shoved the phone back into her jacket.

A wool blanket was on the floor. Pasha picked it up and wrapped it around Dixon, and then with both hands picked up his thin, shaking body, and threw him across her shoulder. He was light, no more than a hundred pounds. Grabbing his legs and holding them close to her chest, Pasha Romanov walked over and picked up the long suitcase that held the military suit and moved into the backyard. As she ran down the driveway, her van parked across the street, she heard the sound of police sirens building in the frigid evening air, coming closer.

Steve Conway crouched low in the alcove on the roof of the thirty-four-floor skyscraper on 100 Summer Street, uncomfortably high off the ground with the wind whipping around him like an angry storm, and watched Booker's helicopter fly away in the night sky full of stars, on its way to refuel. Far below and out of his view was the city of Boston, its downtown lights rising up and washing over the edges of the building's roof.

The wind roared and whistled, roared and whistled. Conway still wore the headset, the phone clipped to his belt. He had traded his bank clothes for something warmer: jeans, sneakers, a sweatshirt, and a dark blue Columbia ski jacket. He backed farther into the alcove, out of the wind, and rested his back against the wall. The door next to him, according to Booker, led to a room full of electrical equipment. Near the opposite end of the roof, where the helicopter had made a tricky and uncomfortable landing, and in full view, was a similar alcove with a door, this one leading to the stairwell on the thirty-fourth floor.

Once Pasha arrived, Conway would destroy the military suit dumping it inside an incinerator would probably be best and then they would fly to Logan where they would take a private jet that would fly them back to Virginia. One of Booker's men had made a copy of the CD recovered from the safety deposit box. That CD, along with the copy of Dixon's torture video, would be handed to the CIA Director himself. Let him clean up the fallout.

And he -will. It's going to be an ugly, dirty affair, it's going to be in the national spotlight. No matter which way you look at it, you've ruined your career.

It was true. The Agency wouldn't be so forgiving with his need to broadcast dirty laundry on television. Here, alone on the roof, Con-way accepted the sad fact that his career, the life he had built within the CIA, was over.

Booker's voice crackled on the earpiece: "Six mean looking dudes just entered the lobby."

Book and his men were watching the main entrance to the Summer Street building. The lobby layout a wide stretch of yellow and brown tile had three entrances: north, east and west, all with revolving glass doors.

The east and west entrances were locked; the only way inside was through the main entrance on Summer Street. Once you walked inside, you had to check in with the building security behind the ornate, marble desk. Booker had replaced the building's security guards with his own men.

"They belong to Angel Eyes?" Conway asked.

"No combat gear, no blinding rifles."

"Must be what's left of Cole's. The lobby lights dimmed?"

"They dimmed any more it would be dark The suit offered the optical illusion of invisibility; it didn't change the law of physics. If Pasha walked inside a well-lit lobby, she would be invisible, but her shadow would be thrown against the floor. It would be harder to see her shadows if the lobby was near dark.

"What about the entrances?" Conway asked.

"All clear. Looks like everyone's inside two dudes just went down.

Direct shots to the head."

Pasha. She was already inside the lobby.

"The rest are running into the lobby."

Beats of silence, the wind howling above him.

"Number three down. Four. We got gunfire," Booker said.

"Five and six are down."

"It's Pasha. She's here."

"Elevator door in bay one just chimed open, but I can't see anyone."

"She's on her way up. How long until the chopper makes it back here?"

"Fifteen, twenty minutes tops."

But where was Angel Eyes?

He's got to be close.

If it came to it, Conway could destroy the suit quickly, right here on the roof. The Palm Pilot Cole had given him contained enough Semtex to blow the working military suit to bits.

Conway removed his Palm Pilot and called up the program just as Cole had instructed him. The timer was defaulted at two minutes. Should be more than enough. Press the lower button on the left and he would have a small bomb. Rip the computer from the suit, fasten the Palm Pilot to it using the roll of electrical tape inside his jacket, fling it into the air and watch as the computer, this goddamn piece of hardware that had cost so many lives, exploded into hundreds of fragments. He slipped the Palm back inside his coat pocket and waited.

Across the roof, the alcove door opened. Even in the dim light, Conway could clearly see the door swing all the way open and then shut. It looked like nobody had stepped outside. He kept staring, not wanting to blink, knowing what was about to come.

And it did. The black-clad figure of Pasha Romanov suddenly materialized out of thin air.

Conway moved out of the alcove. The wind gusted past him, howling, and knocked the headset down around his neck. His eyes watering from the cold air, he jogged over to her. Out of nowhere a gust of wind kicked him. He tripped and fell against the roof. He turned onto his back, the wind swirling around him, strong and howling. He thought he heard something, a thump-thump of helicopter blades, very faint. He looked around. He saw the dark sky.

And then the sky was gone.

Out of the darkness came the Blackhawk attack helicopter, the one Angel Eyes had stolen, the one Booker had sighted in Roxbury. The chopper flew past him toward the other end of the building. From the belly of the chopper a searchlight kicked on.

Pasha came to him and helped him back up. They both scrambled back inside the alcove. His ears ringing from the wind, Conway looked over Pasha's shoulder and saw the bright beam of light searching the rooftop for them.

"Pasha?"

She didn't move, didn't talk, just stood there, looking like some sort of futuristic lethal warrior ripped from a science-fiction movie. The intimidating-looking figure pressed a button on the wrist-mounted computer and the helmet's face shield flipped open.

Pasha's blue eyes stared back at him.

"Where's Dixon?"

"He's safe," Pasha said, and looked out at the Blackhawk moving across the roof.

Conway grabbed her left wrist and started to pry off the paperback book-size computer mounted against her forearm.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking back at him.

"Angel Eyes is here. We've got to destroy this thing. Get out of the suit."

Conway felt something cold and hard press against his temple. He looked up and saw what looked like a nine-millimeter digging against the skin near his temple.

"Step back," Pasha said.

It took a few seconds for Conway's brain to register what was happening. He stared at her, dumbfounded, vaguely aware as her free hand quickly reached around his back and yanked the Clock from his waistband. She tossed it onto the roof and the nine skidded across the floor.

"Let go of the computer, Stephen."

"Pasha " "Step back. Now." Pasha's eyes were as cold as her voice.

Conway knew she meant it. He straightened up and took a measured step back. He stood there, wrapped in confusion and anger and panic, and stared at her. For a moment there was only the whistle and roar of the wind.

"Relax. Everything will be explained," Pasha said. Like she was talking to a child.

This… it felt surreal. This woman he had let her into his private world, had loved, shared secrets. She had saved his life twice and was now standing before him with a gun pointed at his chest. He stood in the cold air, his gaze moving between the Clock and the cold expression in Pasha's eyes, his brain struggling to find the hidden pieces and connect the larger picture.

"Stephen, I know you're confused, and you're angry. After everything that's happened, I don't blame you. Don't do anything rash."

Conway stared at the Clock. He wanted to step forward and knock the gun out of Pasha's hand.

She can just as easily knock you to the ground. You've trained with her, she knows all of your moves. Don't underestimate her strength.

Over Pasha's shoulder, Conway saw the Blackhawk helicopter balancing itself in the strong winds, looking for a place to touch down. Pasha hadn't moved, hadn't reacted; she remained planted. Confident.

Stoic.

The chopper's waiting for Pasha.

In that moment, the truth of what was happening, the truth of who Pasha Romanov really was, the mask she had worn all of these years when they were alone, making love all of it was a lie. In the span of four hours, he had been betrayed by two people he trusted and respected one of whom he had loved deeply. He stared at her and thought, Who are you?

The picture came into sharper focus, and the answers he had sought all this time came bubbling to the surface. Conway had to force the words out.

"You're the leak. Not McFadden."

"He worked for us. All your questions " "You mean he was a traitor, like you."

"Don't be so willing to condemn what you don't understand yet."

"You sound like Angel Eyes." His voice sounded hoarse, outside of himself.

"He's an impressive man, Stephen."

"Obviously. He's programmed you well."

"The ideals that you live by, the things you and I fought for to keep people safe, to keep this world safe we can still do it, together. Only we'll be doing it on the right side, with the right people. We want you to be a part of this, Stephen. A part of us."

"Destroy the suit and I'll come with you."

"I can't do that."

"Angel Eyes told me he wanted it destroyed. To keep it out of the hands of people like Raymond Bouchard and Misha."

"The suit… it's too important to our work."

"So he lied."

"No, he didn't lie. I had a change of heart. This is my decision.

Like coming here to get you."

"He has the laser rifle."

"I know."

"So that day, that was a setup too?"

"No. That was an accident. Armand's computer expert, Blake Mattenson, escaped with the rifle but wasn't good at hiding. We relieved him of it."

"And produced several more rifles."

"Again, my idea. We have to protect ourselves from the Raymond Bouchards of the world."

"Sounds to me like you're going to war."

"Everything Angel Eyes told you was true, Stephen. The man doesn't lie. All the weapons are hidden. Only the laser rifle was manufactured. And the name Angel Eyes? It belongs to Raymond. I didn't make the connection until after I discovered he sold us out.

He's the one who killed Jonathan King not us."

"You killed the other inventor, Matthews."

"He's the only one. The rest are safe. You can meet with them."

"All this… the whole time in Austin, all that work, it was all bullshit. You were going to help Angel Eyes retrieve the suit that day."

"Only Raymond betrayed us."

"The same way you're betraying me right now."

"I saved you at the Aquarium. I didn't have to. And after I saved Dixon, I had the suit. I didn't have to come here. I could have just left without you, but I decided to come here. To save you. Again."