The Prince of Risk A Novel(103)
Alex didn’t detect a gun on Salt’s person, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one close by. “I don’t need a gun, and I couldn’t give a shit about rights. Just drive.”
Salt hit the accelerator. “What the hell do you want?” he asked.
“Everything. Names. Targets. Timing. Mostly I want to know who’s behind it.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
“How did you find me?”
“I’d prefer it if I ask the questions.”
“You’re interrogating me in my own car?”
“Major Salt, you’re in serious trouble. I’d say cooperating is your best bet.”
“Your office didn’t even send you. So what if Lambert served under me once? That was years ago. You’re on nothing but a wild-goose chase.”
“I know you recruited Lambert. I know he was sent to Namibia for training. I know that you paid GRAIL a fee to help you. I think we’re way past a wild-goose chase.”
“You listening in?”
“And it’s all on tape.”
“No court of law will ever admit it,” said Salt. “You can take your tape and shove it up your cute little ass. Why the hell should I talk to you?”
Alex twisted in her seat, reached out her hand, and took firm, unremitting grip of Salt’s unmentionables, giving a salutary squeeze to make sure the good major got the message. “Because if you don’t,” she said, “I’m going to rip your balls off right here and now.”
Salt’s eyes widened. The car swerved wildly.
“Steady,” said Alex. “Eyes on the road. We’re going to have a full and frank discussion. All right?”
Salt nodded. His face was very red. He turned the vehicle into Hyde Park. Traffic was sparse.
“If you think you can hide behind a lawyer on this one, you’re wrong. Your ex-messmate Sergeant Lambert killed one of my dearest friends. I am here on his behalf, his wife’s, and his two baby daughters’. I don’t give a fuck about a warrant, a lawyer, or whether the Bureau sent me here or not. This is between you and me. Are we clear?”
“Just let go,” said Salt. “Please.”
Alex clenched her fingers viciously, then released her grip. Salt exhaled and slid lower in his seat. “Bloody hell. Let me pull over. Do that again and you’ll get us both killed.”
“Talk,” said Alex. “Who contracted you to find Lambert and the rest of them?”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Salt. “I’ll tell you. Just let me get off the road.”
The car crossed Serpentine Bridge. Ahead and to the right was a small parking lot. Alex noted that there were only a few cars, probably due to the earlier rain.
Salt looked over his shoulder to signal. Reflexively, Alex looked, too. She realized her mistake a split second too late. She saw only a flash from the corner of her eye before Salt’s forearm clubbed her head, slamming her face against the window. She saw stars. Salt hit her again, this time with his fist, his curled knuckles crunching her cheekbone.
Vaguely, she observed Salt pounding his hand into the dashboard, the compartment falling open, Salt reaching for something black and bulky, and she knew it was a pistol, a Glock like the one she carried. He freed the weapon from the compartment, and she knew that he would use it, that no soldier draws a weapon for show. A bolt of adrenaline returned her faculties. As Salt swung his arm to her head and brought the pistol to bear, she grasped his shooting hand and forced it high and away. The gun fired inches from her face, and Alex felt the powder burn her cheek. The gun fired again. She was deaf and blind, her head clamoring with a terrific ringing, her sight a wall of blackness.
She was at Windermere, lying flat on her back, powerless to stop Lambert from shooting Jimmy Malloy.
Not again.
She blinked and her sight returned. Salt was driving on the wrong side of the road. A great grille of gleaming silver bore down on them.
“Watch out!” she cried.
The truck careened out of their path, the blare of its horn only barely audible over the ringing in her ears. Salt threw the wheel to the left and regained their lane. At that moment Alex rose in her seat, took hold of his upper arm with her left hand, and twisted her torso, wrenching the forearm down across her knee, snapping the arm.
Salt screamed. The pistol fell onto the floor. Alex scooped it up and pressed the snout to Salt’s temple. “Stop the car,” she said.
The Aston Martin turned into the parking lot, still traveling at high speed. Salt braked too hard, and the car fishtailed before shuddering to a halt.
“You bloody bitch. You broke my arm.”