The Inner Circle (39 page)

It was then, she admitted, she realized she had crossed a line and there was no going back. Creating those Google Alerts had been a risk, yes—a very huge risk, in fact—but even if something had come up, she could have ignored it. But now here was something that threatened to destroy the Inner Circle, and she readily devoured it. She read it through once, twice, three times. Each time she cried. And each time she wondered if there was anything she could do to somehow change things.
 

“So then what happened?”
 

“I decided to contact Carver’s supervisor at the FBI. Only I didn’t know who his supervisor was—you hadn’t given a name in your story. But I knew what section he worked in, at least from what you had written, so I began to quietly make inquiries. I claimed I was looking into ways to make sure my constituency would be safe against child pornographers and even online terrorism. I asked around, and was eventually put in contact with Edward. I began to suspect he was indeed Carver’s supervisor, but I couldn’t quite tell whether or not he had purposefully set Carver up. Then I realized there was no need for subterfuge—I was a member of the Inner Circle, after all. One day while we were alone I simply asked him about Carver.”
 

Here Stark cleared his throat and leaned forward, taking over the story.
 

“Truthfully, she scared the shit out of me. As I told you, by then I had begun to suspect something had happened to Carver, and here now I became even more paranoid. I denied it at first, because quite honestly, I didn’t know much about it. I asked how she even knew about Carver—by that point it seemed nobody even remembered him, even though he had been gone for only a year. The congresswoman looked me straight in the eye and said—” He looked at her. “Do you remember what you said?”
 

She nodded. “I asked, ‘Are you a member of the Inner Circle too?’ I knew it was a risk, but I knew that if he
was
a member, everything would be fine. We could, I don’t know, laugh about it and be on our way. But if he
wasn’t
a member, then that would be okay, too. And I watched his eyes, just like you’ve been watching my eyes, Ben, to see if he was lying. Tell me, do you believe me so far?”
 

“I’m not sure yet. I guess that depends.”
 

“Depends on what?”
 

“Are you going to help us?”
 

“That’s a good question,” she said. “I’m still asking myself the same thing.”

55

The limo let us out down near the Financial District, a few blocks away from the World Trade Center Memorial. I lit up a smoke almost immediately.
 

Ronny said, “Maybe you should cut back on the smoking.”
 

“Maybe you should cut back on the gum chewing.”
 

“I’m being serious.”
 

“So am I. That can’t be at all good for your jaw.” I tilted my head down the street. “Come on.”
 

We started walking down the block. Nearby was a subway station.
 

“So what do you think?” Ronny asked.
 

“I’m not sure yet. You?”
 

“She put on a good face, but she seemed scared.”
 

“That she did.”
 

We came to the Rector Street subway entrance. I pulled out my phone and dialed the Kid’s number as I took one last drag of my cigarette.
 

“We’re headed back.”
 

“How long?”
 

“Probably an hour.”
 

“How did it go?”
 

“Pretty much as expected.”
 

“Is she going to help?”
 

“She says she still needs to think about it.”
 

“What the fuck,” the Kid said. “She
does
realize the fucking thing is happening tonight, doesn’t she?”
 

“Stark said he’ll call later, either way.”
 

“I’m glad we could wait until the very last minute. Bet you wish you’d taken along my program, huh?”
 

He meant the program used both times we’d spoken to Edward Stark, first over the phone and then face-to-face. The problem was the Kid, despite his assurances to the contrary, could not place the program on one of the iPhones fast enough. Besides, we’d agreed to only use burners while in the city, to ensure nobody could listen in on our calls or somehow manage to track us. Also, I wasn’t sure what level of nervousness the congresswoman would have shown when I whipped out my phone and told her to keep talking, that this would alert me every time she lied.
 

“I’ll see you when I see you.” I slipped the phone back into my pocket, caught Ronny giving me a look. “What?”
 

He opened his mouth but hesitated. Shook his head.
 

“What’s wrong?”
 

“Nothing.”
 

Now it was my turn to give him a look. “Don’t you think it’s time for a new piece of gum?”
 

He shook his head, and we started down the steps into the subway station.

•
   
•
   
•

W
E
TOOK
THE
N train up to Union Square, transferred to the 4, and rode that up to Lexington Avenue. Then we waited for the N, which took us back downtown, where we ended back at Times Square. There we waited for the 2, which then took us uptown.
 

Were we being too overly cautious? Perhaps. But if I’d learned anything in the past two years, being overly cautious was better than being dead. Carver had trained us to keep an eye out for possible tails, but in a city of over eight million people, a dog would have a hard time keeping track of its own tail, let alone someone meaning to track and kill you.
 

Eventually we came to our stop. We scanned the terminal, made sure we were clear, and headed up to the street.
 

“Let me guess,” Ronny said as we climbed the stairs, “you’re going to light up the moment we hit the sidewalk.”
 

My hand was already in my pocket, reaching for my smokes. I glowered at him. “Not anymore I’m not.”
 

He offered me a yellow stick of Juicy Fruit. “How about an alternative?”
 

“Why, Ronny, I thought you would never ask.”
 

We waited on the sidewalk for another minute, both of us chewing our gum, waiting to see if anyone else might linger. When it was clear we definitely didn’t have a tail, I pulled out my phone and dialed the Kid. I told him we would be there in ten, and then I disconnected the call and walked over to the nearest overflowing trashcan and added my gum to the detritus.
 

I shrugged at Ronny. “That doesn’t keep its flavor long at all, does it?”
 

We started up the block. When we turned at the corner and headed east, I asked, “So what’s on your mind?”
 

“I told you it was nothing.”
 

“No, it’s definitely something. What is it?”
 

“It’s just ...”
 

“Yeah?”
 

“What the congresswoman asked you about—you being suicidal.”
 

“What about it?”
 

“Are you?”
 

We came to an intersection and waited for the light. I pulled out a cigarette and took my time lighting it.
 

Ronny waited.
 

The light changed and neither of us moved. Those few around us did, heading in different directions. It wasn’t that busy where we were, but there were people around, and for some reason I didn’t feel like talking.
 

“Do you remember what you said to me back in Miami?” Ronny asked. “After we thought Carver was dead and left the Beachside?”
 

I took a long drag, let the smoke drift out through my nose. “Enlighten me.”
 

“You said all of us are already dead. We just don’t know it yet.”
 

“Really? That’s kind of badass.”
 

“Ben.”
 

“What?”
 

“You’re slipping.”
 

“I know what I’m doing.”
 

“I think you think you know what you’re doing, but I’m talking about spiritually.”
 

I rolled my eyes, surveyed the street, started across to the other side.
 

Ronny kept pace beside me. “This isn’t a God or Jesus thing, either. It’s just ... you know what you’re doing—I have no doubt in my mind about that—and I know you have all the right intentions. But I think deep down, you want to die.”
 

I took another long drag of the cigarette and flicked it into the gutter. “Are we done?”
 

“I know you think you have nothing left to live for, but that’s not true. There’s never any good reason to want to die, Ben. None. God put us here to live—”
 

“I thought you said this wasn’t a God or Jesus thing.”
 

“Listen to me,” he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to a halt. “I don’t want to die. Drew doesn’t want to die. The Kid doesn’t want to die.
Maya
doesn’t want to die. Are you seeing a pattern?”
 

“Let go of my arm.”
 

He sighed and released his grip. “It’s crazy what we’re planning to do tonight—everybody thinks so—but we’re doing it with a purpose. Our purpose is to save Carver and stop Caesar if possible. We all know the risks. We all know that it’s possible some of us may die. But the difference, Ben? None of us
wants
to die.”
 

“They’re dead.”
 

“What?”
 

“Jen and Casey. They’re dead.”
 

Judging by his expression this wasn’t at all what he had expected to hear. “What are you talking about?”
 

“I watched them die.”
 

“Ben, you’re not making any sense.”
 

“Do you remember a month after my game, after I had written about what happened and the Kid posted it everywhere online?”
 

“What about it?”
 

“Right before Maya’s game, Carver took me somewhere. Do you remember? We got in the pickup and just drove away for several hours.”
 

Ronny nodded, slowly, waiting for me to continue.
 

“We met the Kid at a motel over in Denver. It was just him in the room, him and his laptop. He said a message had been posted marked specifically for the Man of Wax. The Kid found it, watched it, and called Carver. They debated for a few days whether to even tell me about it, but then Carver decided it was best.”
 

“Ben”—Ronny shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his arms crossed—“what was it?”
 

I opened my mouth, started to speak, but then went completely still.
 

Ronny stared hard at my face. “What’s wrong?”
 

“Grab your gun.”
 

“Why?”
 

A familiar high-pitched whine was singing out among the chaotic tumult that was New York City.
 

“We have company,” I said, already reaching for my Beretta, and turned toward the street just as the Ducati came screaming our way.

56

We were on a side street, only a few vehicles parked along the curb. There was an open spot right beside us and this was where the Ducati came skidding to a halt, its rider once again in black.
 

At the same moment, tires screeched behind us.
 

I kept my body squared toward the bike, the Beretta now at my side, and tilted my head just enough to see the Escalade now parked askew at the curb. The driver and passenger doors opened, and two Korean men stepped out.
 

“Ben?” Ronny said quietly beside me.
 

Whoever these guys were, I couldn’t rightfully call them enemies. Not after my last two encounters with them—the rider in Miami Beach, who had saved me and Ian and the girl from the two bent cops, and then in Hope Springs, Arizona, when the rider and the men in this SUV had taken one of Caesar’s men away. We might not necessarily be on the same team, and we certainly weren’t friends, but still I had the sense they weren’t here to do us any harm.
 

That isn’t to say my grip on the Beretta didn’t tighten anyway.
 

The men kept the Escalade’s doors open as they slowly approached. Both kept their hands, empty, at their sides.
 

“Stop right there,” I said.
 

Both men stopped at once.
 

I watched them a moment, then glanced back at the rider on the bike wearing the black faceplate helmet. Past the rider, down the street, traffic whipped back and forth. Fortunately for now, the street was deserted of innocent bystanders.
 

Keeping my body squared toward the Ducati, the gun still at my side, I tilted my head back toward the two men and asked, “What do you want?”
 

The passenger said, “For you to come with us.”
 

“You’re joking.”
 

“We are not.”
 

My focus was now on the passenger. He was the one who had spoken to me back in Arizona, who had said he was sorry about my friend.
 

I started to ask what it was they wanted when his gaze shifted slightly past me. His eyes narrowed. His face tightened. Then, quite suddenly, he and the driver had guns in their hands.