Tate heard a footstep behind him and swung around. Lash stood between him and the door, holding a pistol with a silencer aimed at Tate’s head.
He was grinning. “Expect you’d like to know what this is all about?” Lash’s educated upper-crust accent was gone, replaced by a lower-middle-class private-school kind of accent.
“I expect I know,” Tate said, stalling. “You’re not MI5, are you?”
“What gave me away, old man? Is it the gun aimed at you?” Lash, or whatever his real name was, laughed again. “Hand over your weapon or I’ll shoot. And I’m not ready to kill you just yet. Another fifteen minutes, maybe less, and we’ll be in the full teeth of the storm.
“No one will hear a struggle or a thump or a shot being fired. It will be the perfect time for a killing.” Lash’s eyes sparkled with excitement. The man was a psychopath who enjoyed killing. It was written all over his face.
“SMASH, I presume.” Tate tossed him his gun, stalling for time, hoping to find an opportunity to disarm him. Now wasn’t that moment.
“Yes. I’m one of their best. You should be honored they sent me to kill you. I’m only sent after the most valuable targets.” Lash wasn’t dumb enough to bend to retrieve Tate’s weapon.
He kicked it away, making sure it was out of Tate’s reach without losing eye contact with Tate for even a fraction of a second.
“Does this honor come with a trophy? Maybe a commemorative plaque?” Tate inched closer to his side of the cabin. If he could get his hands on that copy of War and Peace …
“Don’t move.” Lash’s voice was hard. “I have a hair-trigger reflex. Don’t force me to cut your life shorter than it needs to be.”
Tate nodded toward the berth opposite Sophia. “At least let me sit.”
Lash nodded.
Tate moved to the berth and sat, waiting for his opportunity. With any luck, the tilting ship would knock his book gun right into his lap.
“I’m afraid this honor comes without a star on Langley’s wall for your service.”
Tate stared at Lash and cocked a brow. “Really? You’re a magician, are you? I believe we thwarted your plan to discredit me. Even as we speak the Agency and my PR and legal teams have mitigated the damage.”
“Temporarily.”
“That’s really my wife in those pictures and video, you bastard.” Tate was livid that RIOT had dragged Mal into this.
“Yes, I know.” Lash’s gaze flicked to Sophia. “She almost failed us.”
“Where’s Mal? If you’ve harmed her—”
“Don’t look for her to help you. She’s safely locked away. Alive. For now.”
Tate instinctively leaned forward, aching to take a swing at him.
“Careful.” Lash drew a bead on Tate. “I almost shot you just now. No more sudden moves.”
Tate had to keep Lash talking and distracted. “All right. You’re dying to tell me, so spill it. What’s going to happen to all of us? Why won’t I get my star? Start with Sophia. Did you poison her?”
Lash smiled as Tate tried to assess just how crazy the bastard was. “Just drugged. For now. I had to keep her quiet. She really is crazy for you.” He shook his head. “Some guys have all the luck.”
“I think that’s called charm,” Tate said dryly. “You were saying that you’re somehow going to discredit me?”
“Yes.”
The storm was picking up. The boat rocked along with Tate’s stomach. The last thing he needed was to lose his lunch now. The smell of curry that they hadn’t eaten filled the room, adding to his nausea.
“The story,” Lash said. “It’s simple, really. Sophia will have one bullet to the head. Shot at the height of the storm when no one will hear. To the back of the skull, execution style, like she was killed by a pro. A bullet from your gun.” Lash’s eyes glowed with sick excitement. “You’ll be found with one in your heart. Murder-suicide.”
“Very nice,” Tate said, inching toward the book almost infinitesimally. “But why? And what about Mal?”
“Impatient? I’m getting there. Did I mention this is a double murder-suicide? A nice, juicy love triangle?”
Tate went cold. He had to force himself not to flinch or show any signs of panic.
“Oh, you don’t like the plan? That’s really too bad. We’ve been working on it so hard at SMASH for the last six months. It’s been our goal to embarrass the CIA and take out one of their agents.”
“And the honor fell to me.” Tate kept inching. “Did you pull my name out of a hat or was it a consensus thing?”
“I have no idea how they picked you, old man. Someone higher up the chain in RIOT than me made that decision. I’m merely tasked with carrying out the plan they concocted. You must have angered someone.”
“Yeah, I imagine I have.” Tate smiled. War and Peace was nearly with reach. “Back to the plan.”
“Yes. It’s very simple, really. We know how you love the ladies. We searched through the organization until we found just the one to dangle before you, a prize you couldn’t resist. The head of SMASH found Sophia. She’s your type and she resembles your ex rather strikingly. What a happy coincidence. It gave us a chance to take out another adversary in the process, two agents. You see,” Lash paused dramatically. “You see, we know you better than you know yourself. And we know the Agency equally well.
“We knew you’d jump at the chance to rescue a girl in trouble, especially a gorgeous one who reminds you of the only girl you ever really loved. We also knew the Agency would send your ex out as part of the exfiltration.
“She’s a valuable target, too, and hardly ever in the field. We couldn’t count on you falling for Mal again. That’s just gravy. But that didn’t matter to us anyway. We could spin it to our needs.
“You think you thwarted us by letting the world know the woman in the pictures we splashed all over the Internet is your wife? That fuels our story and gives it authenticity and depth.
“Here’s the tale as it will be known to the world. You and your ex sneak off to Cheltenham, the place where you fell in love, to try to make a go of things a second time around. You both realized you made a mistake, and for the sake of your child, you decided to give it another shot.
“While you were there, the paparazzi found you and took those pictures which they sold to the press. Ah, but the course of true love never did run straight? Isn’t that the phrase?”
Tate shrugged, using the opportunity to get closer to the book. The ferry rocked, sending it to the very edge of the nightstand next to him. One more good wave and it would fall into his lap.
“And so, by an unfortunate quirk of fate, while in Cheltenham, you run into a woman who is like your ex, but young and impressionable, and without all the baggage. And she has something you want—intel that will help the CIA and MI6 bring down a top secret enemy.”
Tate had a good idea where this story was going.
“There will be a letter in Sophia’s purse detailing how you promised to marry her if she’d provide intelligence for you. In it, she describes how you used her and her body. It’s lurid, juicy stuff. Just the kind of scandal the public loves.
“On her phone is a string of texts between you. Lovers’ stuff. The promises you made. And a little video of her naked, straddling you, riding you while your ex-wife is out.
“So here’s how it plays out—Sophia has followed you onto the ferry where she confronts you about your betrayal. You kill her to stop her from ruining your career and stuff her body beneath the berth. Where it will eventually be found.
“In the meantime, Sophia has sent Mal the video. Mal confronts you. You fight. The gun accidentally goes off. She’s dead, too. Distraught, you kill yourself.”
“Very nice. Sounds like prime-time evening drama material. I hope you’ll let my estate have the movie rights. I have a young daughter to provide for, even after I’m dead.”
“You’re funny, Tate. Too bad you’re on the wrong side. We might have been friends.”
Tate highly doubted that. Tate nodded to Sophia, feeling foolish and duped. But not as duped as he might have been if it hadn’t been for Mal. “Was she in on the plan? Did she set out to make a sex tape?” He had to know whether Sophia was telling the truth about that.
Lash shook his head. “She has no idea about the tape.
“The intel Sophia has supposedly imparted to you is what you Americans call icing on the cake. As soon as you’re dead, I’ll use your phone to transmit a program to your CIA servers. Once NCS downloads it, it will launch a cyberattack on their system the likes of which they’ve never seen.”
Lash kept grinning. “It’s unstoppable. And part of the story. One of NCS’s best men involved with a sexy terrorist. The letter, which is hot stuff. He commits a double murder, kills himself, and then the cyberattack hits. How will the Agency ever recover from the scandal? It will be in the media for months. Heads will roll. Emmett Nelson will at last be taken down with his favorite agent. You can see why you don’t get a star.”
“That’s a nice bedtime story.” Tate was running out of time and turning greener by the minute. “You took a chance by joining us.”
“Not really. MI5, MI6, and the CIA, none of them pay attention to the small people. We find the weak, underpaid programmers and either bribe them or torture them for the code word of the day generators. We’re good. We can infiltrate at will.”
“And the real Lash?”
“Dead.”
* * *
Mal was safely locked in Lash’s cabin, yet she was nervous. What was taking Lash so long? She worried he was dead. SMASH assassins were the best in the world, next to the Agency’s. What if something had happened to him?
She paced the cabin, trying to determine the best course of action. Her cell buzzed. She grabbed it up, expecting Lash. Instead it was a call.
“Mason?”
“Mal, thank God. Is Tate with you? I’ve been trying to reach him.”
“No.” Her heart raced. Mason sounded worried. “What’s wrong?”
“Where are you? Get someplace secure.”
“I’m in a cabin. I’m fine.”
“Can you talk?”
“Yes. I’m alone.”
“We just got a call from Scotland Yard. They found one of our agents murdered.”
“What? They found Walburn already?” Mal couldn’t believe it.
“Walburn? What are you talking about?”
“The MI5 agent you sent to back us up.” Mal swallowed hard. “He’s dead. Freshly. Less than half an hour ago if that. I found him myself. Who are you talking about?”
“Lash.”
“What!” Now she was really freaked. “I just saw Lash. He was heading out to help Tate. You mean he’s dead?”
“No, he’s alive.”
“You just said he’s dead.”
“I said Lash is dead. The real Lash. A passenger found his body stashed in the train station in Reading.”
“What? But how—” Mal’s brain wasn’t working right. She wasn’t processing. Nothing made sense. “Then who’s on the ferry with us?” But she knew without asking.
“One of RIOT’s top SMASH assassins, near as we can figure.”
“Oh, no! He’s with Tate. I have to warn him.”
“Mal, Tate’s not picking up his phone.”
“I have to help him.” She pulled her pink gun from her purse and headed for the door.
“Be careful. Use extreme caution. I don’t need to tell you how dangerous he is.”
She was already reaching for the door. She grabbed it and yanked and almost slammed into it as she took a step forward expecting it to open before her. “I’m locked in. But how?”
She was still on the cell with Mason.
“Where?” he asked. “Where are you?”
“In Lash’s cabin.”
“Get out of there. Now!”
“I can’t. I’m somehow locked in.”
Just then the ferry listed to the side. Mal screamed as she lost her footing and fell against the wall.
“Mal! Mal!”
“I’m fine. The ship just pitched. We’re in the middle of a raging storm.” She struggled with the door. “I can’t get out, Mason. Somehow Lash has jammed the door from the outside.”
“You have to get out. For your own safety. If Lash comes back, you’re done for.”
“There’s no way out. Just the door. It opens in from the hallway. I’m tugging as hard as I can and it won’t budge.”
“He’s probably used a shim and wedged it from the outside. Are you on the inside or in an outside cabin? Is there a porthole?”
“A porthole! Yes.”
“I can give you instructions on how to pry it open and climb out. Hang on. Let me call up the ferry schematics. What cabin are you in?”
She told him the number.
“I’m looking to see if there’s a ledge outside.”
“Mason, did you hear me? We’re in the middle of a gale-force storm. I can’t climb out the window onto a ledge. I’ll be blown off into the sea.”
“Not if you rope yourself in. The life jackets are stowed beneath the right-hand berth. Get one out and put it on. There should also be emergency rope.”
She put her Bluetooth headphones on, tucked her phone in her pocket, followed his instructions, and lashed herself to the rope.
“Here’s the plan—you’re going to go out your porthole and into the one in the cabin next to yours. It’s only a six-foot walk along the ledge to the next porthole. You’ll pry that one open. Climb in and dash out. Easy.”
“For you maybe.”
“You can do this. You have to. And you have to hurry if you’re going to save Tate and Sophia. And yourself.”
“If it isn’t too late already. Lash has been gone over ten minutes.” She was going to kill Tate herself if she climbed out that window into the storm and he was already dead.
“I’m going to talk you through this. I’ll be with you every step.” He guided her through a trial run of opening the porthole from the outside as she’d have to do from the ledge. The porthole in her room opened like a window. Lash had overlooked that fact. Or maybe he didn’t think anyone was crazy enough to climb out it in a storm. Or egotistical enough he thought she wouldn’t discover he was a RIOT assassin until it was too late.
“Here goes nothing.” She pulled it loose. A gush of water surged in along with a burst of rain and wind.
“Courage.”
She’d already tied one end of the rope to one of the berths. She stood on the berth, took a breath as her hair blew in the wind and the rain plastered it against her head and climbed out. Once she was outside, she could barely hear Mason. The wind and the roar of the sea drowned him out. She climbed onto the ledge and hung on, inching her way in the darkness toward the light of the next porthole.
A wave pounded the ferry. It rolled, nearly knocking her into the sea. She nearly lost her grip. She was drenched now and shaking with cold and fear.
Just remember your boating skills, she told herself. She’d been sailing in rough seas before. This was like being hiked out in rough water with her back barely skimming above it. Only she didn’t have to wrestle with a sail, just a rope and her fears.
She inched her way along the ledge, finally reaching the porthole. Inside the occupants were watching TV, oblivious to her plight. They couldn’t hear her outside over the noise of the storm as she worked to loosen the porthole with the tools she’d brought with her. A wave caught her. She swung over the side and screamed.
Mason was yelling in her ear, just a buzz in the tempest of sound and fury around her. She managed to get a grip on the rope and hoist herself back onto the ledge, but she’d lost her screwdriver in the process. She pried the porthole loose with her bare hands around the rim. It gave way suddenly, nearly sending her tumbling off the ledge again. She caught herself just in time and threw herself through the porthole, ignoring the startled gasps of the couple inside.
“Pardon me. I?
??m just passing through.” She was dripping and windblown. Her T-shirt clung to her body and had gone nearly transparent. Rain blew in from outside as she threw off her life jacket and unlashed herself from the rope. “Sorry to interrupt. Carry on.” She raced through the room and out into the hall toward Tate’s cabin, praying she wasn’t too late.
* * *
The storm was blowing at full force, knocking the ferry around like a toy on the seas and creating enough racket for Lash to get away with as many murders as he cared to commit.
Lash looked at his watch. “How time flies when you’re waiting to die, Mr. Cox. Sounds like our storm is sufficiently vicious.” He aimed his pistol at Tate’s heart.
The ferry pitched. Lash stumbled. War and Peace fell into Tate’s lap.
Lash recovered quickly and took aim again. Tate counted on the accuracy of Lash’s aim and just had time to cover his heart with the bulletproof book. Lash fired. The bullet hit War and Peace with enough force to knock Tate back and bruise his ribs.
Damn! That hurt like hell.
The force of the bullet impact took Tate’s breath away. Gasping, he had just enough time to aim the barrel-spine of the epic novel at Lash’s head. This was definitely war.
Tate fired just as the ferry rocked again. A hole pierced the spine of the book. Lash stumbled. Tate’s shot went wild, just nicking Lash’s gun arm. Tate cursed the storm. He ordinarily wouldn’t miss at this close range.
Lash barely flinched. In the fraction of a second he took to look at his bleeding wound, Tate took aim again. The boat listed to the other side. Tate took a step back to brace himself. Lash charged him, lunging for the book.
Tate knew every self-defense and offensive move there was. So did Lash. They were evenly matched in strength, size, and skill. A betting man would lay even odds on them. Tate wasn’t as optimistic.
He aimed a kick at a pressure point in Lash’s leg that would bring him down. Lash blocked it. He threw a punch. Lash deflected it.
As they struggled, Lash scratched Tate across the arm. A trickle of blood beaded up. Tate ignored it and tried to bang Lash upside the head with War and Peace.
Lash deflected it again. They continued struggling. Tate realized he was on the offensive while Lash was playing defense. This wasn’t typical SMASH behavior. For some reason, Lash thought he could outlast Tate, wear him down and then strike.