Smoke and Mirrors

93

Styer took the phone from Alexa’s ear, closed it, and removed the earpiece he’d used to listen in on her call. She was in an armchair, where Styer had placed her after carrying her from the bathtub, still bound. Paulus put the second phone into his pocket where she could see it. She had cooperated because Styer told her he had planted a bomb containing three kilos of Semtex in the Gardner house. The detonator was rigged to his cell phone. All he needed to do, if she tried anything rash, was to hit the SEND key. She had taken his word, seeing in her mind the faces of everyone inside the house. She knew he would not hesitate to kill them.

“So Cynthia’s alive?” she asked.

“She is indeed. You’ll see her very soon.”

She watched him, still so convinced by the disguise that to hear his Eastern European-accented English flowing from the familiar lips was as unnerving as having a dog talk to you.

“Why Winter?” she asked.

“I don’t understand your question,” Styer said.

“Why all this to kill Winter?” she asked. “What did he do to you?”

Styer sat in the chair across from her, crossed his leg, and studied her without answering.

“I understand you were supposed to kill him in New Orleans. Why did you lie-say you weren’t?”

Styer said, “He both knows and talks too much. He talks about me to the CIA and the FBI. I saw a photo of him meeting with the new leader of the shadow group that is seeking to kill me. I explicitly forbade him from looking for me as the condition for allowing him to rejoin his family and take care of the orphaned Porter girl. He chose to ignore that. Did he imagine I wouldn’t know everything? I thought he was smarter than that.”

“I know for a fact that he hasn’t been looking for you. A man he presumed was from the CIA spoke to him about you, in the guise of warning him.”

“I saw a picture of him meeting with a cell leader.”

“Somebody made sure you got it then. If they told anybody he was looking for you, if there was a picture of that meeting, it means they took it to spread the word, figuring you’d come after him so they could nail you. Doesn’t that make more sense?”

“Winter lied to you,” Styer said, rubbing his chin gently so as not to disturb the synthetic skin or the makeup that covered it. “He wants revenge for those old people in New Orleans.”

“You mean Millie and Hank Trammel?”

“That wasn’t personal. I explained that to him. In this line of work, there is often collateral damage.”

“The Trammels were like family to Winter. I don’t expect you to understand that. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re a killer. He isn’t.”

“Don’t be so naive. Do you know how many men and women he has killed?”

“He only kills when there’s no alternative. His life is filled with people who love him. You don’t have any idea what that is like. Despite all of your expertise, you’re never going to be more than a heartless calculating predator.”

Styer smiled warmly. “Alexa. We are all only animals of varying intelligence. Our thoughts are no more than chemical reactions. Our movements are just electrical responses to stimuli. Like all living things, we are born, we live our lives, and we die and rot right off our skeletons. Family is accidental and random, based on sexual desire and fertility. Friendships are merely selfish associations. We join together as animals to feel safer, to pool emotions others have convinced us are necessary to feel better about ourselves. He has to kill me, as I have to kill him. As long as I live, he will not be able to feel the world is more than chaos, that there is a god, that anything matters. Conversely, as long as he lives, I will have to look over my shoulder, and I can’t allow that. I gave him a chance to live, but he can’t forget about me and what I did to those old people.”

“How did you know he’d be here?” Alexa asked.

“I keep close tabs on him.”

“You don’t know everything.”

“What don’t I know?” Styer asked.

“You’ll see,” she said.

“Tell me,” Styer said, taking a knife out of the pocket of his cardigan, and opening it so she could see the short serrated blade. “I’d like to know what the great FBI agent Alexa Keen could possibly know that I don’t.”

Styer stopped smiling and stood, casually holding the knife down by his leg.

“Oh, there’s one thing I should tell you,” Alexa said, taking a deep breath.

Her scream was the loudest, most powerful sound she had ever made, and completely took Styer by surprise.

He lunged at her.