No, he would have no guilt, no regrets; he’d done what he had to do. They betrayed him, they deserved death. So why didn’t he feel cleansed, whole again, since he’d meted out the proper justice, done the only thing he could? He felt nothing. All he knew was he was alone again, except for bleeding, whining, crazy Andy next to him, and Darius, and only God knew where Darius was. All Matthew knew was what Darius had told him—he was getting the final pieces together for his part in their big score.
Of course Darius wasn’t his real name. Matthew had no idea who he really was, but like Ian, he’d looked at the vast amounts of cash Darius had brought to him and listened for hours to him speak fluently in his upper-class British accent about how the world had to change, and how Matthew would be the one to do it. He’d given Matthew renewed focus, given him greater purpose, showed him a wider vision of the world, and he’d demonstrated with Bayway what it would take for Matthew to truly make himself the world’s savior, how he could truly avenge his murdered family and rid the world of the vermin that threatened to take it over.
He thought about his family, dead, too, a decade now, not enough of them to bury after the bombs blew them apart.
Ian and Vanessa, their bodies burned beyond recognition. What he was doing, buying into Darius’s plans—was it worth it? He thought of the codes Darius had helped them buy from that German hacker, the codes that were in his control, the codes he couldn’t now undo because of the memory sticks lying sodden in the ruins of the burned apartment.
Screw insurance. It was his final big act. He was ready. “Yes,” he said aloud, “I’m ready, more than ready. No going back now.”
Andy turned at his voice. “Going back? Why would we do that?”
Matthew laughed.
38
KNIGHT TO E2 CHECK
Washington, D.C.
Carl Grace climbed into his car in the hospital parking lot, pressed his forehead to the steering wheel, and cried. Nessa could die, and for what? It would mean he’d let down his brother and not kept her safe. Who would have ever believed Vanessa would want to follow in her father’s footsteps so literally, getting herself shot while undercover? And now she might die, just as her father had died.
Nothing was worth her life, nothing. Certainly not those stupid gold-coin bombs Matthew Spenser has created. He should have pulled the plug, pulled her out, but he hadn’t. His boss, Temp, had been adamant that Vanessa stay active in COE until she could get her hands on the bombs. Now she could die and all he knew was Spenser had disappeared and there was an assassination coming. Who?
And it was his text that had broken her cover. He’d never forgive himself if she died because he’d decided to screw Temp and he was trying to warn her to leave.
He swiped at the tears, straightened, and looked blindly around him at the staff pouring out of the hospital. Shift change. No, Nessa couldn’t die, she couldn’t. He simply couldn’t imagine what he would do if he lost her. She’d been going above and beyond the call of duty for two years now, working undercover in Europe, then the UK with the IRA, now infiltrating that mad group, Celebrants of Earth—COE. He hadn’t slept decently for weeks, constantly worried about her, and the stress was beginning to take its toll.
He didn’t want to leave her, but he had had no choice. He had to stop Matthew Spenser, put an end to COE.
His phone rang as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Yes?”
A female voice said, “The DI wants to see you now.”
“Good, I want to see him, too. I’ve got vital information he needs. Tell him I’ll be there in fifteen, Gladys. I’m off-campus.”
“Hurry. When he got back from a meeting at Tango Two’s place, he was on the warpath. I’ve never seen Temp like this. It’s something big, Carl, really big.”
“So is my news.”
He knew about Trafford’s meeting with the other muckety-mucks and the vice president, not surprised Callan Sloane was now loaded for bear, given the explosion at Bayway.