The forest sped by in a blur on both sides as we shot along the country road. Andreyev overtook a VW Golf on a blind bend and I followed, narrowly missing an oncoming eighteen-wheeler. My heart thundered at the sound of an angry blast from its loud horn. I swung in behind Andreyev and squared up just in the nick of time.

  I forced the Toyota down two gears and hit the gas. The car jumped forward and I drew alongside the Porsche. Another truck was heading directly for me. Fast. I must have been doing eighty when I swung the wheel hard and crashed into Andreyev’s car. He fought for control, but I held firm and forced him off the road. I swung into the lane as the truck passed by with a roar.

  Next to me, Andreyev’s car hit a patch of ice, skidded, and came to a crashing stop against a tree. I pulled off the road up ahead of him and jumped out as he emerged from the car. He was dazed but he had a pistol in his hand.

  I ran at him. He fired wildly. He tried to adjust but was bleeding into one eye, struggling to focus. I reached him before he corrected his aim, and drove my shoulder into his gut. We both crashed against the back door of the Porsche. He brought the gun down on my neck but I stood firm, instinctively fighting the blank pull of unconsciousness. I swung a punch that connected with his chin.

  Another gunshot, this one close to my ear. The world screamed, but I ignored the pain and drove a left cross into his nose. He crumpled and I followed up with a combination of jabs and a hook that sent him to the ground.

  He dropped the gun and tried to crawl away through the snow, whining like a wounded animal. I picked up his pistol and held it against his head.

  “It’s over, Victor,” I said. “It’s over.”

  He rolled onto his back and looked at me with hate-filled eyes.

  I kept the gun trained on him as I walked over to the Porsche. I leaned through the open driver’s door, reached past the burst airbags, and picked up the Bull from the driver’s footwell.

  “You traded it all for nothing,” I said, walking back toward him. “Your people should never have picked such a common object to store your data. This is a replica I bought on Wall Street first thing this morning.”

  I tossed the Bull into the snow. Andreyev’s face twisted in despair.

  “The original is on its way to people who will know how to decode it. People in the US government.”

  His head dropped. He looked utterly defeated. I leaned against the Porsche and kept the gun on him as I listened to the sound of approaching sirens.

  CHAPTER 92

  THE SOUND OF the tray crashing to the floor set Beth’s heart racing. She hadn’t been the same since the abduction, but she was getting better. She looked at Josh, who smiled and reached across the table to take her hand. They were in Al’s BBQ Shack, a family restaurant in Shrub Oak that was popular with parents because there was an indoor play area and ball pit. It wasn’t Beth’s idea of a great restaurant, but the kids loved it and were off playing with some friends they’d bumped into.

  Loud chatter filled the air, along with the clatter of cutlery and the sounds of people eating. Beneath it all, a bedrock of music that never stopped. It was a brash, loud place and all Beth wanted was peace and quiet, but right now she thought the kids deserved every treat they could get.

  “My head is ringing,” Josh said with a smile.

  “Tell me about it,” Beth agreed.

  “I love you,” he said.

  Suddenly none of the crashing noise or hustle and bustle seemed quite so bad. The thought of never seeing him again, the memory of what had happened to them, that was true horror. Every day since then had been bliss.

  “I love you too.”

  The kids came running over and pointed out an approaching waiter.

  “Is that our food?” Danny asked.

  “Looks like it,” Josh replied. “Shuffle in.”

  Maria slid into the booth next to Josh and Danny sat beside Beth. She beamed at her family, feeling the warmth of contentment precisely because she knew how close they’d come to losing everything that mattered.

  “Looks good,” Josh said, as the waiter served their meals.

  “Two burgers, a hickory chicken, and two large ribs.”

  “Ribs, here,” Floyd said. “Beth’s having the chicken, and the kids have got the burgers.”

  “And the last ribs?” the waiter asked.

  “Those are mine,” Ted Eisner said, sidling up behind him. “Don’t you just love it when that happens? You come back from the bathroom and the food is right there. Shift over, youngster.”

  He nudged Danny along the bench and the waiter set the platter in front of him.

  “You’ve got sauces and wipes, so you should be all set.”

  “Thanks,” Floyd responded as the waiter withdrew. “Dig in, everyone.”

  “Thanks for inviting me,” Ted said. He popped a french fry in his mouth. “I hope I’m not cramping your family outing.”

  “Not at all,” Floyd assured him.

  “Besides, you’re paying,” Beth added with a smile.

  “She’s kidding,” Floyd said. “It’s on us. It’s the least we can do after—”

  “Don’t even go there,” Ted interrupted. “You’d have done the same, and the insurance paid out for a brand new car, so we’re all square.” He sucked at a rib. “This is good.”

  Beth nodded and smiled at Floyd. “It really is. As good as it gets.”

  CHAPTER 93

  I DIDN’T THINK I’d ever had a highball that tasted this good. I took another sip and relished the peaty undertones of the single malt.

  “What time is he coming?” Mo-bot asked.

  It didn’t matter whether you were grand or low-born: if Mo wasn’t in the mood for something, she wouldn’t hide it. And right now, all she wanted was to be on a plane to Los Angeles.

  “Eight,” Jessie replied. “He said he’d be here at eight. Right, Jack?”

  I nodded. Jessie had been at my side for much of the past two weeks, helping coordinate our response with federal law enforcement. The implications of what we’d discovered on Roslov’s Bull were profound.

  The technology alone was priceless, and so, it seemed, were the secrets it contained. Sci had only been able to decipher a tiny fraction of the data stored on the bronze, but it was enough. His refrain for weeks had been “Heck of a thing.”

  He said it now. “Heck of a thing. I wish I could have had it a little longer.”

  I’d insisted on handing it to the one man I believed I could trust—the man we were about to meet—Secretary of State Eli Carver.

  Justine squeezed my hand and I smiled at her. She responded with a sweet grin. We’d hit some turbulence following the car chase with Andreyev. She felt it was an unnecessary risk—Floyd, Beth, and the children were all safe, and we had the original Bull—why risk my life capturing Andreyev? But I couldn’t let him get away, not after all the pain he’d caused. For Roni Alvarez, for Jim Taft, I had to get justice. I think she accepted that I’d never be one of those guys who could sit back and let others deal with problems. I had to get involved, and when I did, I would give it my all.

  “He’s here,” Justine said, and I looked at the door to the Library Bar. A squad of Secret Service agents entered and fanned out as they scoped the place out. Conversation hushed and the patrons of the split-level bar watched to see what would happen next. Moments later, Eli Carver strode in. If he was aware every eye in the place was on him, he seemed unfazed by the attention.

  He slid onto the bench seat opposite me.

  “Jack Morgan. I just want to shake your hand,” he said, leaning across the table.

  I took his hand and he wrapped both of his around mine for a warm, clasped shake.

  “Where do I begin? This country owes you and your team a great debt. Rick Ferguson led us to two double agents he’d recruited within the Pentagon. You were right to be paranoid, Jack. There were more moles. Victor Andreyev has offered to turn on his former employers. He’s probably the highest-value asset we’ve flipped since Maxim Yenen.”

  He looked at my team and held their gazes one by one. This guy was a master politician. He knew how to make people feel important.

  “And the bull, the Charging Bull. The technology… I mean, wow! But the data—Roslov was running a huge network. Political interference, financing radical groups, bribing officials, buying influence around the world. We found three senators on his list and the details of every single payment he’s ever made to them. No wonder the Russians were prepared to go to such lengths to get it back. We’re in the process of dismantling or monitoring what we believe to be somewhere in the region of half their foreign intelligence activity.”

  Sci whistled.

  Carver looked at me squarely.

  “So, like I said before, if you ever need anything…”

  “I could use a name,” I said. “Andreyev told me he’d been instructed to hire me by someone in the Kremlin, that I’ve made powerful enemies over there.”

  I sensed Justine shift uncomfortably. Carver was smart enough to pick up on her concern.

  “He was probably trying to get inside your head,” he replied. “But I’ll check it out for you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Secretary,” I said, and he frowned.

  “I’ve told you, it’s Eli.”

  “And I said I might feel more comfortable with that once we’ve had a beer together,” I countered. “What can I get you?”

  He stood. “I’m afraid I can’t. Dinner date with some defense contractors. They tell me it’s essential for national security, but I’d much rather hang out with you guys.”

  “Another time then, Mr. Secretary,” I said.

  He gave a wry smile. “You folks enjoy your evening.”

  We said our goodbyes and within a few moments, he and his Secret Service detail were gone.

  “Heck of a thing,” Sci remarked.

  “When are you going to stop saying that?” Mo-bot exclaimed. We all chuckled.

  “Well, it is,” Sci objected.

  Mo-bot elbowed him playfully.

  “Come on,” she said. “I need to grab my stuff. Meet down here in an hour?” she asked me.

  I nodded. We’d booked a jet to leave for Los Angeles.

  “We’ll catch up soon,” she said to Jessie.

  When she and Sci were gone, Jessie got to her feet.

  “I’m going too,” she said. “Unless you need anything?”

  I shook my head. “You’ve done more than enough. I’ll call you for our regular briefing on Wednesday.”

  “Thank you,” Justine said to Jessie. “For everything.”

  “Yes,” I added. “Thank you. You’ve been outstanding.”

  Jessie blushed. “Look after him. He needs watching.” She gave a warm smile, then turned and walked away.

  Justine lifted my arm and put it over her shoulder. I pulled her toward me, and she settled against my chest.

  For a while we didn’t say anything, simply watched the other patrons spending a normal evening in the busy hotel bar. True to its name, the place was fitted out like a library in an old English country home and had a comforting atmosphere. It was where Justine and I had flirted with giving our relationship another try, before my trip to Moscow. The place had special significance, at least for me, so I’d chosen it for our last night in New York.

  “She’s right, you know,” Justine said at last. “You do need watching.”

  “And you think you’re the right person to take on the responsibility?” I asked.

  “I do,” she replied, before leaning in to kiss me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  We’d like to thank our editor, John Sugar, and the team at Cornerstone for their excellent work on this book. We’d also like to thank you, the reader, for coming on another adventure with the Private team, and hope you’ll join us for the next one.

  Adam would like to thank James Patterson for giving him the opportunity to be part of Private. He’d also like to thank his wife, Amy, and his children, Maya, Elliot, and Thomas, for being such great inspiration, and his agent, Hannah Sheppard, for her continued support.

  Discover Your Next Great Read

  Get sneak peeks, book recommendations, and news about your favorite authors.

  Tap here to learn more.

  JAMES

  PATERSON

  RECOMMENDS

  PRIVATE

  I’ve always been a curious person. It’s one of the many reasons why I’m a writer. Something I always asked myself was: “What happens if a ‘one percenter’ gets into trouble?” The answer: Jack Morgan and PRIVATE. On Jack Morgan’s agenda in his debut outing is investigating a multimillion-dollar NFL gambling scandal and solving a series of schoolgirl slayings. Then, the unthinkable—his former lover turned best friend’s wife is murdered. One thing you should know about Jack is that beneath his Lamborghini-driving, red-carpet-event-attending surface, he’s a very smart guy. And he takes no prisoners. Just wait till you get to the end of PRIVATE. You’ll see what I mean.

  PRIVATE: # 1 SUSPECT

  Over the years, I’ve learned that reputation is everything when it comes to business. While Private’s Jack Morgan has a reputation for being effective and discreet, he’s also known for being quite the lady killer. But when an ex-lover shows up dead in his bed and all evidence points to him, Jack realizes someone wants to kill more than just his good name. To make things worse, another event threatens Private’s stability, and Jack suddenly finds himself with his back against the wall. Characters will do the most shocking things when they have no other options, especially characters like Jack who are used to being in control. I won’t tell you what happens, but I will say it’ll blow your mind.

  PRIVATE LA

  If you’ve ever wondered what celebrity power couples do behind closed doors, you can stop all of your conjecturing—the answers are all in PRIVATE LA. America’s most popular celebrity couple has made an exit… from their lives. No one knows where they went or why, and it’s up to Jack and his Private team to breach the walls of security and hordes of paparazzi to find the power couple. But when has anything good ever come from a pile of secrets buried under miles of genius PR? Jack’s about to find that out, up close and personal, and he’s in for the shock of his life. Because in the city of big dreams, nothing is what it seems. Especially if I’m involved.

  PRIVATE BERLIN

  Every now and then, I find myself wanting a big change in scenery. Don’t get me wrong. Jack Morgan and the Private team are great fun, but sometimes a little taste of the foreign makes life a bit more exciting. And by “exciting,” I really mean dangerous. At Private’s German headquarters, Chris Schneider—superstar agent—has gone rogue. He’s the keeper of quite a few pieces of sensitive information, but one in particular could have earth-shattering consequences. Hang on tight and don’t blink. This one is a rollercoaster of tension that’ll leave you reeling.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  JAMES PATTERSON is the most popular storyteller of our time. He is the creator of unforgettable characters and series, including Alex Cross, the Women’s Murder Club, Jane Effing Smith, and Maximum Ride, and of breathtaking true stories about the Kennedys, John Lennon, and Princess Diana, as well as our military heroes, police officers, and ER nurses. He has coauthored #1 bestselling novels with Bill Clinton and Dolly Parton, told the story of his own life in James Patterson by James Patterson, and received an Edgar Award, nine Emmy Awards, the Literarian Award from the National Book Foundation, and the National Humanities Medal.

  ADAM HAMDY is a bestselling author and screenwriter. His most recent novel, The Other Side of Night, has been described as ingenious, constantly surprising, and deeply moving. He is the author of the Scott Pearce series of contemporary espionage thrillers, Black 13 and Red Wolves, and the Pendulum trilogy. Keep up to date with his latest books and news at www.adamhamdy.com.

  For a complete list of books, visit JamesPatterson.com.

  RAVES FOR JAMES PATTERSON

  “PATTERSON KNOWS WHERE OUR DEEPEST FEARS ARE BURIED… THERE’S NO STOPPING HIS IMAGINATION.”

  —New York Times Book Review

  “JAMES PATTERSON WRITES HIS THRILLERS AS IF HE WERE BUILDING ROLLER COASTERS.”

  —Associated Press

  “NO ONE GETS THIS BIG WITHOUT NATURAL STORYTELLING TALENT—WHICH IS WHAT JAMES PATTERSON HAS, IN SPADES.”

  —Lee Child, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  of the Jack Reacher series

  “JAMES PATTERSON KNOWS HOW TO SELL THRILLS AND SUSPENSE IN CLEAR, UNWAVERING PROSE.”

  —People

  “PATTERSON BOILS A SCENE DOWN TO A SINGLE, TELLING DETAIL, THE ELEMENT THAT DEFINES A CHARACTER OR MOVES A PLOT ALONG. IT’S WHAT FIRES OFF THE MOVIE PROJECTOR IN THE READER’S MIND.”

  —Michael Connelly

  “JAMES PATTERSON IS THE BOSS. END OF.”

  —Ian Rankin, New York Times bestselling

  author of the Inspector Rebus series

  “JAMES PATTERSON IS THE GOLD STANDARD BY WHICH ALL OTHERS ARE JUDGED.”

  —Steve Berry, #1 bestselling author

  of the Colton Malone series

  “THE PROLIFIC PATTERSON SEEMS UNSTOPPABLE.”

  —USA Today

  “PATTERSON IS IN A CLASS BY HIMSELF.”

  —Vanity Fair

 

 

  James Patterson, Missing Persons

 

 

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