“Use me?” Tom replied. “How so?”
“Amsterdam,” Chip said flatly, nodding to his colleague. “The operation on Chilly’s hotel.”
Tom glanced over at the dark-haired man. “Chilly? That’s your name?”
Chilly grimaced. “More of a nickname.”
“So tell me Chilly, how in the fuck did you survive that raid in Amsterdam, anyhow?”
“You already know the answer to that, Tom,” Chilly replied. He dragged his index finger across his neck like a knife and smiled. “I killed myself.”
Tom looked at Chip. “What do you mean, you used me in Amsterdam? Are you saying you actually wanted that raid to happen?”
“Absolutely.”
“But why?”
“For two reasons,” Chip replied. “First of all, we wanted to know how many agencies were after us. As expected, your brother-in-law’s CIA team had the hotel covered, but we were somewhat surprised to find Agent Martin from your own Department of Homeland Security waiting for us at the bar where Jeri’s package was sent. The second re–”
“Wait a minute,” Tom interrupted, “Rick Martin was in Amsterdam?”
Chip nodded. “Agent Martin tried intercepting the package when we went in to pick it up,” he answered matter-of-factly. “He followed Tall Tommy – oh, that’s the Australian gentleman by the way – followed him all the way to Beijing before Tommy cut him loose. He’d probably still be looking for us there if Chilly’s last letter hadn’t tipped you off to Dongying.”
Tom shook his head. His suspicion was right – the agent Director Preston had sent into the field was none other than his own idiotic colleague. He still couldn’t understand why Preston had chosen Rick Martin. “Where is he now?” he asked.
Chip raised his eyebrows in surprise. “He’s dead, Tom.”
Tom glanced at Chilly, who nodded solemnly. The two men stared each other down for a long moment before Tom returned his attention to Chip.
“What was the second reason?” he asked.
“András Vida,” Chip replied.
Tom looked at him quizzically for a moment until he recalled the name.
“Wait… you mean the first man killed at the hotel? The Bulgarian?”
“He was Hungarian, actually,” Chilly replied.
“I don’t care if he was fucking French Canadian. What did he have to do with any of this?”
Chilly narrowed his stare on him. “András Vida was a major trafficker of young Eastern European women in the region’s sex trade. I was fortunate enough to have seen the consequences of his work first hand. He was a bad man… and he needed to die.”
Tom leaned forward and pointed his finger at Chilly. “You knew he was staying at that hotel, didn’t you? That’s why you picked it. Then you used yourself as bait and got the CIA to run in and carry out your personal vendetta, is that it?”
“That about sums it up,” Chip interjected from his seat at the bar.
Tom looked over at the older man with disgust.
“And you authorized that?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re as much of a goddamn terrorist as he is.”
Chip shrugged. “Well Tom, I suppose that depends on your definition of a terrorist.”
“How about someone who terrorizes or kills for their own political or personal gain. That’s my definition of a terrorist, you old fuck.” Tom paused and glared at Chip, his face red with anger. “And you’re guilty of both.”
“Or neither,” Chilly replied flatly. He stood up and walked over to Tom, kneeling down beside him on the floor.
“What? Are you going to kill me now, asshole?” Tom growled. “I’d love to see you try to–” He didn’t have time to react before Chilly’s left hand swung out and connected with his jaw. Tom immediately fell back, his head once again slamming hard into the floor. In an instant Chilly was on top of him, his right hand holding Tom’s neck. In his left hand was a small syringe, its needle pressed gently against Tom’s jugular vein.
“Do you have any idea how predictable you are, Tom? Do any of you people? No, of course you don’t. Despite all the evidence against it, you’re still operating under the delusion that you guys – you governmental agency guys – are somehow more competent than anyone else. Even now, you’re failing to realize that we could have destroyed you, or your brother-in-law Alex, or that smug idiot Jack Preston at any time during this assignment. Hell, killing any one of you would have been a vacation next to the work we do.”
Tom forced his eyes from the syringe and stared up at him.