The Bestseller Job

  “I may have had a little work done,” she lied, stringing him along. “But what actress hasn’t? It can be such a sexist industry sometimes…”

  “But how does an actress, of no particular distinction, come to know about certain matters?” He flipped idly through Larry’s scrapbook. “I cannot help wondering if I am attending your latest performance—in which you are simply playing the role of Tarantula.”

  Right on the money, Sophie thought. Beria was no dummy. He was zeroing in on the truth, which she had to steer him away from. “I told you before. The acting gigs are just a cover. The footloose, nomadic life of an actress is ideal for espionage. It allows me to travel, get invited to the right parties, mingle with smitten admirers.” She smiled slyly. “Don’t forget. Mata Hari started out in showbiz…”

  “And wound up before a firing squad,” Beria reminded her.

  A few feet away, Carl made a point of working the slide on his Glock. Larry whimpered.

  “Well, her exit left something to be desired,” Sophie said. “I’ll give you that. But my point stands. Acting and espionage often go hand in hand.”

  “Perhaps,” Beria said. “But the thing is, I don’t recall ever employing an actress—and your credits, as listed here, do not match up with various past operations. The chronology doesn’t track.”

  Sophie was starting to wish that Larry had left that bloody scrapbook at home, or chosen to stalk another actress altogether. Maybe Lindsay Lohan?

  “Or perhaps”—she vamped—“your secret operations weren’t as secure as you thought. People talk, rumors and gossip get around, loose lips spill things that maybe they shouldn’t have. As Tarantula, I heard all sorts of interesting shoptalk, some of which may have made it into Gavin’s books.”

  Was he buying this? Sophie watched Beria closely, trying to read him.

  “My people do not talk,” he insisted, “and live.”

  “Are you sure about that?” She gestured at the manuscript before him. “Then why are we here?”

  “That is what I mean to find out, one way or another.” He turned toward his distaff accomplice at the computer station. “Pilar, what progress have you made verifying our guest’s story?”

  “Facial recognition is running now,” she reported, “cross-referenced against the alias ‘Sophie Devereaux.’” The woman looked away from her monitor, where a snapshot of Sophie was being compared to a rapid-fire stream of flickering close-ups. Female faces, young and old, flashed by faster than human eyes could process. “In a pinch, we can run her fingerprints and DNA, too.”

  “Maybe later,” Beria said.

  Sophie understood now why Pilar had taken her picture. She watched anxiously as the computer worked its magic. Sophie had often seen Hardison employ the same tactics to identify unknown parties, including Beria himself; she didn’t like being on the receiving end. Hardison had done an expert job of scrubbing their pasts, so her criminal record wasn’t likely to show up in any of the usual databases, but Beria had high-powered connections to the intelligence community. Who knew what resources he had access to? It wasn’t all that long ago that the Leverage crew had landed on the CIA’s radar, after that business with the illegal experiments on homeless veterans…

  Sophie tried to conceal her apprehension as she perched uncomfortably upon the stool. Beria let her sweat, choosing to delve into Assassins Remember while they waited for the computer to yield the answers he wanted. Putting Larry’s scrapbook aside, he picked up the bound manuscript.

  “The dead-tree version?” Pilar mocked him. “Really?”

  Shades of Hardison, Sophie thought. In her experience, ebook enthusiasts could be a bit evangelical at times, like they couldn’t wait for the rest of the world to get with the program. Pilar struck her as an early adopter.

  Beria plucked a fountain pen from his vest pocket. “I prefer taking notes on paper,” he explained.

  “Dinosaur,” Pilar said, shaking her head. An electronic chirp interrupted their debate. “Hang on, we have a winner!”

  “Put it on the screen,” Beria said.

  Oh hell, Sophie thought as her face and file took over the video wall. The dossier was distressingly complete, listing a large variety of her aliases as well as her recent involvement with Leverage Consulting & Associates. Sophie felt uncomfortably exposed. She had often imagined her face on the big screen, but this wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. At least her real name was still listed as “Unknown,” she noted. That’s something, I suppose.

  Beria scanned the data on the screens. “Actress, con woman, occasional thief. Known associates include…” He followed a link to a photo of Eliot. The hitter glowered at the camera. “Eliot Spencer, ex–Special Forces, mercenary, and retrieval specialist. Formerly employed by the likes of Damien Moreau?” The latter was a ruthless crime financier whom Eliot had long regretted working for; the Leverage crew had put finally put Moreau behind bars a few years back. It was not surprising that Beria recognized his name. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

  Files on Nate, Hardison, Parker, and even Tara Cole flashed across the monitors. Beria took it all in.

  “You keep fascinating company, I must say,” he said eventually. “And judging from the most recent reports, you and your friends have acquired a definite reputation for inserting yourselves into matters that do not concern you.”

  Sophie did not deny it. “We like to think we make a difference.”

  “But as a grifter and occasional Robin Hood,” he observed. “Not an assassin or black-ops veteran.”

  “A girl can’t change careers?”

  “Your career, according to this, is pretending to be what you’re not.” Beria seemed to have made up his mind. “Such as Tarantula?”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” she said, making a last-ditch attempt to salvage her cover. “All that ‘Robin Hood’ business with my new crew? Simply my own way of atoning for my guilty past, just like in the books.”

  “A valiant effort to maintain your role,” he said, “but you are wasting your breath. I am sure enough.” He put down the letter opener. “You are not Tarantula, but I suspect you know who is. And you are going to tell me that… without further delay.”

  I don’t think so, Sophie thought. She wasn’t about to rat out Denise. “What if I have no idea? What if my crew and I were simply trying to con Brad Lee out of the rights to the sequel?”

  “Then ‘Larry’ here has a very short life expectancy.”

  “Hey… what?” Larry didn’t miss the not-so-veiled threat. He rattled his cuffs, tugging uselessly on his restraints. “Why me? What have I got to do with this?”

  “It’s very simple,” Beria said to Sophie. “If you don’t tell me who Tarantula is, in the next few minutes, Carl is going to shoot your friend Larry in the head.”

  “What?” Larry yelped. “You can’t.”

  Carl pressed the business end of the Glock against Larry’s temple. He didn’t look like he was bluffing.

  “No more games,” Beria said. “No more acting. You remember what happened to Gavin. Tell me the name now… or Larry will be just as dead.”

  “Sophie!” Larry entreated her desperately. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Please! You can’t let them do this!”

  No, she realized. I can’t.

  “All right. Let’s put all our cards on the table.” She hopped off the stool, seizing the spotlight. “You want to know who the real traitor is? Read Chapter Thirteen of the new book. It’s all there.” She made eye contact with both Carl and Pilar. “In fact, you should all read it… if you want to find out what kind of man you’re really working for. And just how far you can trust him.”

  “Chief?” Carl asked. “What’s she talking about?”

  “Anton?” Pilar said.

  Beria scowled at Sophie. “I’m not sure what sort of game you’re trying to play here…”

  “No games,” Sophie said. “Just the truth, at last.” She nodded at the manuscript and tablet on the
desk. “Chapter Thirteen. It’s a must-read. Trust me.”

  Beria snatched up the bound manuscript and leafed hastily through its pages, searching for Chapter Thirteen. Pilar darted across the room to reach for the tablet containing the electronic version. Beria grabbed her wrist.

  “What’s the matter, Anton?” Sophie asked. “Don’t you want her to read it? Afraid of what she might learn?”

  His eyes shot poisoned daggers at her. He let go of Pilar’s wrist. “This is a trick,” he growled. “Don’t forget that.”

  Pilar claimed the tablet and returned to her computer nook. Carl craned his head, trying to see what was on the screen. His gun remained pressed against Larry’s skull. “What’s it say?”

  “Give me a minute! I’m reading!”

  Anton raced through the pages of the manuscript, trying to stay ahead of his accomplices. His face darkened.

  “What the devil? This never happened!”

  Clearly, he had reached the part where “Darius Anton,” a cagey, manipulative spymaster who bore a not entirely coincidental resemblance to Beria himself, had betrayed Yvette and her handler. Seems that Anton had been playing both sides for years, providing terrorist groups with arms, tactics, and the occasional tip-off. Yvette had grown suspicious of his double-dealing, so Anton had been forced to eliminate both her and her handler, “David Honda.” He had personally killed Honda, framing Yvette, then arranged for Yvette to perish in a fiery plane crash. But she survived to tell the tale…

  Nate had personally plotted Chapter Thirteen himself, although Sophie liked to think that she had polished the dialogue and character motivations somewhat. She braced herself for the fireworks.

  Over by her computer, Pilar gasped aloud. She stared in shock at Beria.

  “Anton? Is this true?”

  “What?” Carl asked, still in the dark. “What does it say?”

  “Lies!” Beria slammed the manuscript down onto the desk. “This is a total fabrication—and a blatant attempt at slander!”

  “Is it?” Sophie didn’t back down. “You know what they say. The truth is stranger than fiction… and often more incriminating.”

  Carl swung his gun away from Larry. He waved it angrily. “Somebody tell me what’s in the friggin’ book!”

  Sophie was happy to oblige. “The CliffsNotes version? Your boss is a double-dealing turncoat with plenty to hide and no loyalty to anyone but himself. But, of course, you knew that already. Just ask Drake and McCullough. Beria wasn’t too concerned about leaving them behind, was he?”

  “I don’t know…” Carl’s brow furrowed.

  “This is ridiculous!” Beria said. “Don’t you see what she’s trying to do here? This is obviously a setup.”

  “Really?” Sophie scoffed. “Then why did you return from the dead to deal with Gavin’s books, even going so far as to see to Gavin’s murder personally? Why go to such lengths to find out what was in the sequel? Unless you were afraid of the ugly truths contained in these so-called novels.” She segued smoothly from prisoner to prosecutor, putting Beria on the hot seat. “You weren’t worried about Gavin—or Tarantula—shining a bright light on the dirty little world of black ops. You were scared that your current associates would find out that you had betrayed and murdered your own people because they had figured out what kind of man you truly were.”

  “Nonsense,” he insisted. “This is a transparent ruse.”

  “But you were never supposed to get your hands on the sequel in the first place,” Sophie pointed out. “You wouldn’t even be reading it right now if you hadn’t kidnapped Brad and held him for ransom. What are you suggesting, that Gavin—whom you killed—wrote an entirely new book in the last forty-eight hours?”

  “That does seem like a bit of a stretch, chief,” Carl said. “How did she know we were going to force her to give us the book?”

  “I couldn’t, and neither could Denise. We could only give you the book Gavin had already written, complete with the truth about Beria.” She turned toward Carl and Pilar. “Of course, now he’s going to have to dispose of you two at some point. Sorry about that.”

  Carl swung his gun toward Beria. “Is this true, chief? There anything to this?”

  Pilar stared at Beria. “You killed Okata?”

  “Don’t be absurd!” Beria snapped. “Carl, Pilar, don’t tell me you’re falling for this libelous tripe. Just look at her record again. Who are you going to believe, me or a career con artist who lies as easily as she breathes?”

  No need to get nasty about this, Sophie thought. “As opposed to a spymaster who sells out his own people?”

  “¡Carajo!” Pilar exclaimed, continuing to scroll through Assassins Remember. “It says here that Anton—I mean, ‘Anton’—sold out an operative who had infiltrated al-Qaeda. And ratted on his own agents in exchange for immunity from prosecution.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot about that part.” Sophie gave Beria a withering look. “For shame.”

  “You duplicitous bitch!” Beria snarled. His elegant diction and manners evaporated once more, exposing the murderous fury Sophie had glimpsed in the cemetery. “I should have cut out your tongue back in that wretched graveyard!”

  “Before I could spill the beans about your treachery?” she challenged him, playing to her audience, which now consisted of Carl and Pilar. “See! He wants to silence me now, just like he did with Gavin!”

  “Who is Gavin?” Larry asked frantically. “I don’t understand what’s happening! Are you still going to shoot me?”

  Shut up, Larry, Sophie thought. You’re not helping.

  “Don’t listen to her!” Beria ordered. He lunged across the room and snatched the tablet from Pilar’s grip. “And stop reading that garbage!”

  Sophie smirked. Beria was playing right into her hands.

  “You can’t stop the truth from coming out, Beria. No matter how many of us you kill…”

  “Everybody freeze!” Carl shouted. “I’m not going to—”

  Frenzied barking, coming from outside, cut off whatever he was about to say. All eyes turned toward the blackened windows, which offered no glimpse of what had upset the Dobermans.

  “The dogs!” Carl said, stating the obvious. “Something’s got them riled up!”

  The Dobermans raised a racket, then abruptly fell silent.

  “What the—” Carl glanced about in confusion. He even looked sincerely worried about the suddenly incommunicado canines. “What happened to them?”

  Beria had other priorities. “Pilar!” he ordered. “Check the cameras!”

  “Like I couldn’t figure that out on my own.” She worked her keyboard, momentarily putting aside her doubts about Beria, although she sounded more than a little on edge. Multiple windows opened up on her monitor, which just as quickly went black. “No!” she exclaimed. “No, no, no…”

  “What is it?” Beria demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  The video wall dissolved into a cascade of visual static.

  Pilar stabbed at her keyboard, but to no avail. Her windows to the world had closed. The cameras on the coaster had gone blind—or perhaps been appropriated by another user.

  “We’ve been hacked,” she said, “by a wizard.” She struggled to reboot the cameras. “Whoever this is, they’re good.”

  Explosions went off outside, the blinding flashes visible even through the painted windows. Deafening blasts shook the house. Gunshots were fired in the air. Choppers could be heard approaching from above. The noises seemed to be coming from all sides. Carl spun in circles, not sure where to point his gun.

  “Chief?”

  Pilar stared up at the ceiling, hearing the choppers draw nearer. She had to shout to be heard about the tumult. “¡Mierda! It’s a full-fledged assault!”

  It certainly sounds like it, Sophie thought.

  “What’s happening?” Larry looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or terrified, and was somehow managing generous portions of both. “Are we being rescued?”


  A loudspeaker boomed overhead:

  “Attention! We have you surrounded. Throw down your weapons and surrender, or face severe consequences!”

  Sophie suppressed a smile. She recognized the voice, despite an affected southern twang, which, frankly, was a little over-the-top.

  “Oh, thank God!” Larry exclaimed. He shouted up at the ceiling. “Help us, please! They have Sophie Devereaux! She’s in danger!”

  “Shut your trap!” Carl stepped back and opened fire at the ceiling, as though trying to bring down the copters single-handedly. The sharp report of the Glock added to the din. Sophie covered her ears as Carl emptied his gun, then paused to reload. “I don’t get it! How did they find us?”

  Pilar had her own questions. “Who is it? FBI? Homeland Security? Seal Team Six?” She wheeled about, turning on Beria. “What happened to your vaunted connections? I thought we were protected, unless…” A sudden suspicion dawned behind her eyes. “Did you arrange this? Are you throwing us under the bus?”

  “Sounds like him,” Sophie said. “Bastard.”

  “Are you insane?” Beria’s thin face was livid. An angry vein pulsed at his temple. “You think I had something to do with this?”

  “If the shoe fits…” Sophie said airily. She calmly inspected her nails. “Remember Chapter Thirteen?”

  Concussions rattled the tin roof one story up. A bomb tumbled down the ceiling into the fireplace, exploding as it struck the hearth. Clouds of thick white smoke spewed from the bomb, filling up the command center. The billowing fumes had a distinctly chemical odor. Sophie placed a hand over her mouth and nose. It helped a little.

  “Oh God,” Larry moaned. “I think I’m going to throw up…”

  Lovely, Sophie thought. I really do have the best fans.

  By now, the oppressive whump-whump-whump of the choppers was threatening to drown out everything else. It sounded like an entire fleet of helicopters was circling above. All that was missing was “The Ride of the Valkyries.”

  The loudspeaker’s stentorian tones descended from the heavens:

  “Attention, all suspects! Repeat: Attention, all suspects! Exit the building with your hands up! This is your final warning!”