An odd itch in the back of Jackie’s brain made him say, “Yes, sir, but she’s here and we could use her as bait for this Pilgrim asshole.”
Teach didn’t look at him.
“That’s true, Jackie.” Hector gave him a cold smile. “Pilgrim will come after her.”
“I hope he does.” Jackie lit a cigarette and focused so his hand didn’t tremble. “I want to kill the bastard.”
“I already killed Pilgrim once,” Hector said. “I’m sure we can do it again. If you’d carry her into the house, I’d appreciate it. Just follow me.”
Jackie carried Teach, dangling over his shoulder, and dropped her into a chair in a conference room. The table was smooth granite, with a state-of-the-art presentation system hooked into the table, a giant plasma screen on the wall.
Jackie turned to leave.
“No, Jackie, stay,” Hector said. “You’ll find my sales pitch interesting.”
Jackie wanted to go be by himself, clean up his torn and soiled clothing— although he realized he had nothing to wear, his suitcase in Nicky’s trunk— but he stopped and stood behind Teach’s chair.
Hector sat on the edge of the granite table.
“I want to make a deal with you,” Hector said.
She waited.
“You’ve cost me a great deal today,” Hector said. “In money, in blood, in risk.”
“Perhaps you should reconsider your investments,” she said evenly.
“I’m not going to contact your people and demand ransom. I’m going to contact your people and demand loyalty. You’re going to help me.”
“I won’t.”
“Adam Reynolds, he’s found ten of your people. I’d like to know how many of them you have total. I’m guessing twenty to thirty. Former and discredited CIAs, maybe a few former KGBs who want to live and work in Europe and Asia, a hacker and a thief thrown in for good measure that you’ve recruited.”
She watched the tabletop.
“I could torture you,” he said, “but, God, it’s just so distasteful and ineffective. And I’d probably end up killing you—you’d lead me down several false paths, I’m sure, and I know my own temper well enough to know I’d kill you in a rage.” He offered her a smile that reminded Jackie of a fracture in a window.
“What do you want?” she said finally.
“I want the names and details of everyone who works for you in your private little CIA, Teach. Every account you have. Every resource you have.”
“This is the part where I tell you to go to hell, I think,” she said.
“Hell is crowded,” he answered. He clicked on the laptop, opened a video chat file.
The screen kicked to life. It showed a young man in his late twenties, bound to a chair, mouth gagged. His eyes were blackened, as though he had been beaten already, a dried trickle of blood inching down his chin, past the gag. He blinked into the camera, flinching at the harsh light on his face.
“He used to be Antonio De La Pena,” Hector said. “Ex-CIA field operative, missing and presumed dead after a botched job against narco-terrorists in Colombia. His cover was blown and he had nowhere to go except witness protection, but you made him a better offer. He’s worked under about three different aliases for you, most recently in Mexico City.” Hector leaned closer to Teach. “You’re going to cooperate, or he pays.”
“Cooperate.” She said the word as though she were testing its taste in her mouth.
“You’re going to come to work for me, Teach. You and everyone in the Cellar. You’ll follow my orders without question. You will not let any of your agents know that there has been a change in leadership. If you do not cooperate, I will expose your entire illegal operation. The government will disavow you like you’re lepers and probably most of your people will end up in those lovely foreign prisons in those delightful countries where you’ve made so much mischief over the years.”
Teach did not tense her shoulders; she did not tremble.
“Tell me the ten you know,” she said.
Hector rattled off a list of names. Teach closed her eyes, bit her lip. She nodded toward the screen. “Why grab him?”
“He’s the youngest and most inexperienced. If I have to kill one to prove a point, he’s the most expendable.” Hector shrugged. “Purely a business decision.”
“I take my orders from very few people,” she said. “I can’t fool them by taking orders from another source.”
“Let me guess. The president.”
She shook her head. “No. The president never knows about us to preserve deniability. A senior cadre of career officers within the Agency—they give me direction.”