Private Dublin

Chapter 94

Chalmont cried out as he was knocked backward and fell to the floor moaning in agony.

“Jack!” Justine yelled, running over to me.

We embraced and I kissed her before taking back my gun.

I aimed my pistol at the wounded man, who glared at me through his pain.

“Our friends in US Intelligence have been monitoring the border, watching for your entry,” I said.

Eli Carver had offered whatever support was necessary to apprehend the remnants of the Monaco conspirators, the last of the men who’d tried to kill him.

“You came in through Dallas,” I told Raymond. “I’m guessing because you thought it wouldn’t be as likely to be watched as some of the other airports. And you arrived by private jet to further minimize risk, traveling under a false identity, which was the first of your many crimes on US soil.”

Few people had any real idea of America’s true surveillance capabilities at its borders. I don’t know whether it was Homeland Security, the NSA or both, but an official body’s facial-recognition software had flagged Raymond Chalmont the moment he’d entered the terminal building.

“You were followed from the airport to Los Angeles and the rental house where you met with the other men who came here tonight to kill us. We needed to catch you in the commission of a serious crime in the United States to avoid legal wrangling over extradition, and since I knew you’d come for me, I agreed to act as bait. I hadn’t expected to be facing you unarmed.”

Justine elbowed me. “We’re going to have to talk about your communication issues.”

“Sorry,” I said to her. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You’ll never—” Raymond began, but I cut him off.

“Yes, we will. You came here to commit murder. Every aspect of your trip has been recorded, including your actions tonight.” I nodded at a camera mounted in the corner of the room. “You’re going away for a very long time.”

“Hello?” a voice called through the broken front door.

I turned to see Mo-bot and Sci leading a group of FBI agents and LAPD officers into the house.

“Good to see you both,” I said.

Salvatore Mattera and his captain, Linda Brooks, were among those who followed them in. Sal had his arm in a sling.

“So you’re the asshole who sent that assassin?” he asked Chalmont, who groaned in agony and clutched at his wounds. “Conspired to kill a cop?”

“He needs an ambulance,” I said.

“Oh, we’ll make sure he lives,” Brooks replied before turning to the prisoner. “I can’t wait to see you in court,” she said. “Judge is going to love hearing all about you.” She turned to a couple of uniformed LAPD officers at her side. “Cuff him and book him.”

They stepped forward, hauled Chalmont roughly to his feet and took him into custody.

I lowered my gun as FBI agents and other LAPD officers moved through the house arresting Chalmont’s fallen accomplices.

“I think it’s over,” Justine said.

I smiled at her. “I think it finally is.”