Collision(125)

On the other side of the warehouse a window shattered.

“You never told me why you killed Emily,” Ben said. “She must have found out about the multiple companies you were setting up, that you wanted to have no trace back to Hector Global. So you could spend money doing all sorts of dirty work.” He heard footsteps behind him. “You explain something to me. I found a payment to the Cellar’s financial front, Sparta Consulting, from one of your sham companies the day after she died . . .”

“Ben?” Pilgrim. His shoulder bloodied, he staggered into the warehouse holding a gun. He came close to Ben, less than five feet away. He aimed his gun at Hector.

“Did you stop the attack?” Ben’s voice rang hard as iron.

“Yes. Would you please shoot the bastard? Then maybe you can patch me up again.” Pilgrim stumbled.

“I will. When you tell me who killed Emily.”

“Hector did . . .” Pilgrim said.

“No.” Ben shook his head. “Hector’s buddies in the CIA wanted her dead because the sham companies Hector set up were for them and she found out. They gave the dirty job to Teach. I found the payment. I have to know who inside the Cellar killed her.”

“Maui,” Hector said, a helpful tone. “Two years ago. A single shot through a kitchen window. I have pictures a friend in the CIA gave me.”

Pilgrim’s face, pale from loss of blood, went the color of bone. “What?”

“Who killed her, Pilgrim?” Ben said.

“Ben, I don’t know . . .”

“I think you do know.” Hector’s voice was iron. “Flight through Dallas on the payment schedule, Ben. I think you know who likes to fly through Dallas, see his kid whenever he can.”

Ben’s eyes went wide, the gun shook in his hand. The silence in the warehouse pressed like the dead air inside a sealed coffin.

“Ben. . . ,” Pilgrim tried to say. “Maui?”

“Did you kill a woman in Maui two years ago?” Ben whispered. “Answer me.”

Pilgrim opened and shut his mouth.

“Teach wrote up a list of all the jobs for me. That’s when I knew Emily was a Cellar job,” Hector said. “I didn’t order her death, Ben, my friends at the CIA did. They sent their best to do the worst.”

In the Dallas apartment, Hector had started to speak of Emily, and he’d said, You mean who? and raised the gun to shoot Ben, and Teach had launched herself at him . . . before he could finish.

Ben closed his eyes, for just a half second, then turned the gun toward Pilgrim. “Drop your gun. Get over by the wall. With him. Right now!”

“Ben, I . . . I . . .” Pilgrim stopped. He dropped the gun, put a hand to his forehead.

Hector spoke in a low voice, and to Ben it sounded like bones cracking. “Teach was told by one of her taskmasters that Emily was selling secrets to China. That she was meeting a Chinese agent in Maui to pass Agency secrets she’d learned through my contracts with the Agency. She had to be taken out.”

“Is this true?” Ben yelled. He remembered Pilgrim’s litany of sins: A couple of times I killed people selling secrets to the Chinese.

Pilgrim looked up from the concrete and met his stare. “Yes, Ben. I . . . yes. I killed her.”

Ben thought his head would explode from the wave of pain. “You . . . you . . .”

“I had no idea,” Pilgrim said. “They gave me an address and her description. Nothing else about her.”

Ben thought: He didn’t even know her name.

“He pulled the trigger, Ben, that’s all that matters,” Hector said.

Pilgrim swallowed, tried to speak, failed, then managed. “I . . . I was told to wait for a phone call. It would mean to go ahead.”

You have to kill him. What Ben had thought in the fury of the fight with Jackie, the thoughts crowded into his head like a cancer.

“Ben,” Hector said, “your only hope is to make a deal with me. What do you want in compensation? I’ll give it to you. Bringing me down won’t bring Emily back. Your career’s over now, you know that. You may be facing prison time. My contacts in the government can pardon you. I have the power to save you, Ben; he has nothing. You just have to stay quiet.”

“You stay quiet,” Ben said. He kept his stare locked on Pilgrim.

“My hands are clean, his are bloodied.”

“You do what’s necessary, Ben,” Pilgrim said quietly.

The word necessary burned Ben’s brain like a hot iron against flesh. You do the necessary work, he’d reassured Pilgrim, more than once, during the past few days. His chest ached.

Ben steadied the gun on Pilgrim. “You shot my wife to death.” Every word was ice in Ben’s throat.