Honeymoon

Chapter 103

THIS WAS IT. Simple as that. The end.

“Hey, I didn’t recognize you without your trusty backpack, Fitzgerald,” said the Tourist.

“Very funny, O’Hara. I didn’t get to thank you for saving my bacon at Grand Central. So, thanks. I think I could have handled him, but maybe not.”

The Tourist was meeting the Girl with the Backpack at a table in the food court at La Guardia Airport. The blackmailer, the seller, was due any minute. If things went right.

“This is crazy, huh? You think he’ll show? The seller?” she asked.

O’Hara sipped his supersize Coke from McDonald’s. “Only if he wants his money, which I’ll bet he does. Two million good reasons to show up.”

Fitzgerald frowned and shook her head. “Let’s say the seller does show. How do we know he’ll give up everything he has? His copies. Not try to stiff us?”

“You mean like we did to him outside Grand Central? To his late representative, I should say.”

“Hey, he’s the bad guy, remember, O’Hara?”

“I think I’ve got that part down. He’s the bad guy, he’s the bad guy.”

Just then, O’Hara got word in his earpiece. “He’s coming. We know who it is. He came himself this time.”

Fitzgerald didn’t get it yet. “So why did he come here? Didn’t he know this could be a trap?”

O’Hara leaned in close to her. “Ask him yourself. I’ll bet he has a good answer.”

A guy in his early thirties, blue business suit, aviator sunglasses, briefcase, sat down at the table. He got right to it. “So, you have my money this time?”

O’Hara shook his head. “Nope. No money. Don’t get up, though. We’re all over the food court. Taking your picture for USA Today and Time magazine. The Sing Sing News.”

“You’re making a big mistake, my friend. You’re fucked,” said the guy in the suit. He started to get up.

But O’Hara pulled him down again.

“Obviously, we don’t think so. Now, listen to me, because here’s the deal. You don’t get any money for the file you stole and then tried to sell back to us. But you do get to walk away from all this. Of course, you leave the briefcase and the copies you made. We know who you are, Agent Viseltear. If you come at us again, or if any of this ever gets out, we take you down. And I mean down. That’s the deal. Not too bad, huh?”

O’Hara stared long and hard at the guy in the suit, Viseltear, who was an analyst at Quantico and a thief. “You follow all of this? You get it?”

Viseltear shook his head slowly. “You don’t want me in a court of law,” he said. “You can’t have this go to court. I get it.”

O’Hara shrugged. “If you come at us again, we take you down. That’s what I need you to get.”

And then he punched Viseltear squarely in the jaw. Almost put him out. “Just like you tried to take me down with your pizza delivery guy in Pleasantville. Now get the hell out of here. Leave the briefcase.”

Still rubbing his jaw, Viseltear stood up from the table.

He was a little wobbly but he walked away, and it was over.

Well, not exactly over, O’Hara couldn’t help thinking—because he knew too much about what had really happened, didn’t he?

He’d looked inside the suitcase, looked at the flash drive, read that little piece in the Style section of the Times. Put one and one together. Came up with 1.2 billion.

But maybe, just maybe, that could turn out to be a good thing for him.

And maybe not.

Things aren’t always as they appear.