Sometimes love makes you blind.

  She’d noticed something was up, but hadn’t commented on it. Now, she sauntered out of the bedroom, wearing one of his shirts and her own underwear. The top was enormous on her, almost reaching her knees.

  She said, ‘Is everything okay?’

  He wiped his face with one hand, blinked hard, and rested the side of his head on his palm as he looked at her. ‘Yeah. Just stressed, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But we did it, right? We got away with it?’

  ‘For now.’

  Every word felt hollow, every syllable faked.

  She wandered over and stood behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders. He gently tapped the MacBook’s touchpad, discreetly switching tabs. Hiding the list of transfers.

  ‘What was that?’ she said.

  ‘Hidden accounts,’ he said. ‘I’m working on the money situation.’

  ‘You don’t have to hide it from me.’

  ‘I just don’t want you to know too much,’ he said. ‘For your own safety. If this all goes bad. Maybe you could claim obliviousness if they take us in, you know?’

  ‘How could it go bad?’ she asked. ‘We just stick to your strategy. Order meal delivery and get them to leave it at the door each time. Order new clothes online. Order everything online. No one will see our face for as long as we need. You explained all this to me already. How the way society is set up nowadays makes it easier to vanish. Which is, you know, paradoxical, because of surveillance.’

  She was saying too much — they both knew it.

  The more silence she could fill, the longer it’d be until she had to ask, Why are you so concerned? What went wrong?

  Notifications chimed from the other browser tab — five separate pings, only a couple of seconds apart.

  Slater knew he couldn’t hide it from her any longer.

  He tapped back across.

  $1.00 — Where you were

  $1.00 — Dropped

  $1.00 — The first time

  $1.00 — We met.

  $1.00 — Three hours.

  She read the descriptions.

  She went silent.

  Thinking.

  After a spell she said, ‘These are your private accounts. The ones the government don’t have access to.’

  Slater nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  She read the words, over and over again. ‘You don’t have to obey them.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I do.’

  60

  Dawn also broke over the neighbourhood of Great Kills in Staten Island.

  It was a glorious morning — cool and crisp and sunny — and the boats were out in the harbour. Small hobbyist yachts began drifting away from their moorings as the sun came up, filling a cloudless sky. Four blocks in from the shore, a leafy residential street home to several swanky apartment buildings bristled with life. White-collar workers stepped outside and sauntered down to ground level, steaming thermoses of coffee in their hands. Middle-class mothers wheeled prams down the wide sidewalks, and elderly residents led their dogs to Great Kills Park or trotted them toward the various marinas dotting the harbour for their morning sun and maybe a swim.

  When the initial rush of activity faded to a slow crawl, a plain black sedan pulled up against the kerb below one of the apartment buildings. Its windows were tinted, but the driver’s window rolled down a crack, providing whoever was inside with a clear view across the street. There the car waited, its driver clearly surveilling the opposite apartment complex, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the terraced balconies and the lobby entranceway.

  Biding his time.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  Patient.

  It took three minutes for two men to step out of the narrow laneway on the sedan’s side of the street. They’d come from the building the sedan was resting beside. They wore expensive black windbreakers and khaki pants and their hair was buzzed all the way down to the scalp. They didn’t gel with the quiet suburbia of Great Kills, but they didn’t need to. They were spending most of the time behind closed doors, out of sight and out of mind.

  Now they moved with practiced efficiency. If they had to be seen in public, they wished to be seen for as little time as possible. Best to use their training to get this over and done with in seconds, whether it was hostile or not. They both kept a hand under their windbreakers, and there was no mistaking what they were clutching. They swarmed the sedan with deceptive speed, one man rounding to the driver’s side, the other darting to the rear passenger seat, affording him a potential angle on anyone in the rear seats as well as a clean line of sight diagonally across to the driver.

  Excellent execution.

  The man by the driver’s side pulled his Sig Sauer automatic handgun and tapped the barrel twice on the driver’s window.

  It came down instantly.

  There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation by either man. They were both in operational mode, supremely focused on neutralising the threat, ready to do whatever it took.

  The driver was a plain pudgy guy in his middle-fifties with a horrific comb-over and a pair of ridiculous sunglasses covering his eyes. There was no one else in the car — at least, not in the passenger or rear seats.

  The driver mumbled something.

  The guy by the driver’s side ducked down, folding at the waist. Maybe to say, Sir, please leave the area. Don’t loiter here.

  He didn’t get the chance.

  King came sprinting out of the same laneway the two tier-one boys had come from, a two-hundred and twenty pound freight train of momentum, and he was on them before either had the chance to realise what was happening. They were expertly trained, but they weren’t inhuman. They could only focus on one thing at a time, no matter how sharp that focus was. The driver was an unknown threat, in the process of mumbling something that may or may not relate to the job they were on, so the guy on the driver’s side had his line of sight ruined as he leant in through the open window to hear the man better.

  King barrelled straight for the guy on the rear passenger side and grabbed him by the back of his head with a giant palm and threw it forward into the tinted window hard enough to splinter a spider-web of cracks across the glass. It would have broken his nose and knocked him clean out simultaneously, so King disregarded a follow-up shot and took advantage of the fact that he hadn’t slowed down one bit. The sedan was low to the ground and King was six-foot-three and incredibly athletic, so all he had to do was leap off both feet and momentum did the rest. He slid along the roof on his hip and when the same momentum launched him off the other side he came down on top of the guy still leaning through the driver’s window.

  Which made the guy crumple, because he hadn’t been bracing for a two hundred plus pound weight slamming down onto the small of his back. He was leaning just far enough into the car for his throat to smash against the sill, which eliminated any chance of offering resistance, because you can’t aim a gun when you’re gasping for air and paralysed by the pain. He fell away from the sedan in literal agony, hands flying to his throat, convinced his airways were restricted and he was on the verge of death. King had landed alongside him, and opted to take the man’s terror away by pivoting onto his side and slamming an elbow down against the guy’s forehead. It was a move he’d practically perfected, and it turned the lights out like clockwork.

  King scrabbled to his feet, threw open the rear driver’s-side door of the rented sedan, and hauled the unconscious man to his feet. He threw him over one shoulder, stepped forward, and dropped him across the rear seats, where he splayed with all four limbs going in separate directions. It was crude but efficient.

  King rounded the hood, repeated the over-the-shoulder manoeuvre with the other guy, and dropped him on top of his friend, both of them mutually disoriented. You don’t stay unconscious for long, so they were both coming too, but they were concussed. They were fundamentally useless.

  King collected their weapons and threw them through the now-open passenger window.

  The driver was already out of the sedan. He levered to his feet in the middle of the street, took off his sunglasses, and placed them on the driver’s seat. He was short, fat, and older than he looked.

  King said, ‘Thank you. If you want to keep that money, then you never saw me.’

  ‘Saw who?’ the old guy said with a reassuring wink.

  He swaggered away from the scene, and didn’t look back once.

  King had found him on the street and offered him five grand to drive up, sit there, and act confused.

  Money well spent.

  He got behind the wheel, reversed a few dozen feet, and turned the nose of the rental car into the laneway beside the apartment complex. As soon as the sedan was off the street, he pulled into the shadows under the lee of the awnings and stamped on the brakes. The glove compartment popped open all on its own, and King reached across the centre console and fetched the four rolls of duct tape he’d picked up from a hardware store.

  He’d yet to find a more efficient way to restrain a resisting foe.

  He got out and set to work tying up his two hostages.

  Two down.

  Two to go.

  61

  Slater was dead inside.

  There was no other way to put it.

  He thought he’d felt dread before. He thought he knew what it meant to be totally, overwhelmingly crushed. Now he realised he’d never come close. He’d never reached the bottom of the barrel. He’d been down in the depths, but there was a world of difference between what he’d experienced in the past and what he experienced now. It was worse than learning of Ruby’s death. It was worse than anything.

  Because Alexis was here, in front of him, her face open, her eyes trusting.

  And he was going to have to ruin her life.

  He stood up. She backed off a step, confused by his brashness, and then she saw his eyes. They were wet, but he hadn’t teared up with sadness.

  It was rage.

  She said, ‘What is it?’

  His face softened. He said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  She stared at him, uncomprehending.

  He said, ‘This was all a mistake.’

  Silence.

  He said, ‘I need to go back.’

  It didn’t compute. ‘What?’

  He pointed to the laptop. ‘All this was futile. The accounts were just the beginning. They’ll have us surrounded within days. They run the country, Alexis. They’re all-seeing, all-knowing.’

  She took a shaky step to the nearest armchair and put her hand on top of it to steady herself. The blood drained from her face. ‘Will…’

  ‘I communicated with them,’ he said. ‘They said, if I came back, they wouldn’t touch you. You can go back to your old life. You can pretend none of this ever happened. You can still … have a life. I can’t.’

  He refused to reveal the truth.

  If she knew her family’s lives hung in the balance, she would carry that paranoia forever. She didn’t deserve the burden.

  He would shoulder it.

  All of it.

  He always had.

  Her face had collapsed, but she was still able to bottle her emotions. She said, ‘What about everything we talked about? What about us?’

  He said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Will.’

  He took a step backwards. Away from her. Getting closer to the door.

  She said, ‘No.’

  It’d make it a thousand times harder if he left her with a good impression. Internally he was broken, destroyed, torn to pieces. He couldn’t let it show. If she had fond memories of him, she’d be more likely to try and throw herself back into his world — whether she was looking for him, or information in the wake of his death. It was the hardest decision of his life. He could see the love in her eyes, and below that, the horrors of betrayal.

  She said, ‘Please, Will. There’s a way through this. You know there is. Don’t give up. Please.’

  He tried to respond, but couldn’t.

  He took another step back.

  Her face contorted, and her shoulders slumped, and she had to put both hands on the chair back to stop herself from crumbling.

  He said, ‘I’m sorry. There’s no other choice. There’s no point us both dying.’

  She couldn’t answer.

  He said, ‘If you love me…’

  She looked up.

  ‘…live a good life. Do the things you want to do. Make it worth it.’

  ‘Where has this come from?!’

  She screamed the last two words.

  He shut himself off. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually. The more he tried to explain, the more it would hurt.

  What could he say?

  If we keep this up, your family will die. Innocent people will be butchered. People who have nothing to do with this. And then they’ll probably get us, too, to top things off.

  If he told her the truth, he was effectively ruining her life. Because she’d blame herself for it all, and there was no way in hell he was letting that happen.

  He said, ‘I’m sorry. I hope you understand.’

  His leather jacket and his Glock were on the table by the door. He slipped the jacket on, picked up the Glock within its polymer holster, and attached it to his waist. He draped the jacket over it. His actions were hollow, empty. Just like he was.

  When he was ready, he looked up at her one last time.

  She was so beautiful. So strong.

  The best thing that had ever happened to him.

  She deserved more than him.

  She deserved more than chaos, suffering and death.

  He forced back the tears with every ounce of his willpower, turned, and walked out.

  62

  Don’t waste time.

  King armed himself with one of the Sig Sauers — a P226 with a black suppressor attached — and hid it under his jacket. He cast one last look at the two operators practically cocooned in duct tape, sandwiched into the rear footwell with only enough space around their heads to breathe.

  They weren’t going anywhere.

  He left the sedan draped in shadow and threw the keys away. It wasn’t so out of sight that the pair would die of thirst before they were discovered. But it would take at least a couple of hours for a passerby to summon the nerve to check on the car. By which point King would be a world away.

  He knew exactly where Violetta’s apartment was, as well as the layout of her building. He recalled what she’d told him about the perimeter. There was another operator in the apartment beside her, and a man staying in her spare room. She was in there, no doubt. Kept on lockdown until the Slater issue was cleared.

  The key point being neither her apartment or the one next to her faced the street.

  So if there was a sniper’s nest, it was now empty, populated by the two men in the sedan from the opposite building. King shivered as he crossed the street, terrified that his analysis was inaccurate, expecting his head to burst apart at any moment. Seconds later he reached Violetta’s lobby without incident, proving himself correct.

  Don’t waste time.

  The mantra of the hour.

  Every second that went by only threatened to amplify the resistance. He had surprise on his side, and little else.

  He caught a twenty-something woman coming out of the lobby, and intercepted her perhaps a dozen feet from the entranceway. He tapped into every sliver of his charm and displayed it across his face, accentuating his physique, flashing a broad grin. It was no secret he was a handsome man. And rugged and built on top of that, which only added to it. He could use it when necessary. She was tall and long-limbed, wearing a blouse tucked into tight blue jeans.

  He said, ‘You’re going to think I’m a moron.’

  She stopped in her tracks, and gave him the brief once-over that everyone gives a stranger. She clearly liked what she saw. She said, ‘What?’

  But there was no irritation in her tone.

  It was playful.

  He said, ‘It’s petty. But you look like fun. Humour me for a second or two.’

  She said, ‘I’m listening.’

  He said, ‘Look over my shoulder. You see those balconies across the street?’

  She nodded.

  He said, ‘My ex-girlfriend lives in one of those apartments. We broke up yesterday. She’s genuinely psycho. She cheated on me, and to make things worse she’s refusing to let me see the dog.’

  The woman pouted. ‘What kind of dog?’

  ‘Golden retriever. His name’s Zeus.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You deserve better.’

  An overt hint.

  ‘She’s watching us right now,’ King said. ‘I don’t know if you can see. Don’t look too hard.’

  Discreetly, the woman scouted the balconies. She said, ‘No. Can’t see her. But I didn’t look too hard.’

  ‘If you take my hand right now and smile and take me into your lobby, she’ll get so mad she might pass out.’

  A devilish smile crept over the woman’s face before she could suppress it.

  She said, ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Depends how good of a job you do.’

  ‘I’m a theatre major.’

  ‘Let’s go, then.’

  He reached out and offered his hand and she took it and cosied up to his arm like they were in the honeymoon stage of a new relationship. He muttered some small talk in her ear and she giggled at it as she turned and retraced her steps. When they stepped into the lobby, they kept their faces turned to each other. She was a good eight inches shorter than him, so it was perfectly natural for him to look down at her, keeping his features masked from any surveillance cameras. They made it all the way across the lobby hand in hand, and King had confidence that his presence would have been automatically discarded by any prying eyes fixed to the CCTV footage. Sure, the physical features matched, but he wasn’t the only big guy on Staten Island. They hadn’t seen his face, and if he was hand in hand with a resident they could assume he hadn’t kidnapped or blackmailed her.