Primary Threat. Джек Марс

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      Murphy’s fist pistoned out and connected with the man’s face. He felt the bone across the bridge of the man’s nose break. The man’s head snapped back. Two seconds later, blood began to flow from one nostril, down the man’s face and across his chin.

      Murphy took a step back. He didn’t want to get any blood on his shoes.

      “Try again.”

      “Speck said there was a black ops guy, special ops. He had an inside track on the whereabouts of the President’s Chief of Staff. Lawrence Keller. The special ops guy was going up to Montreal, he was part of the team that was supposed to rescue Keller. Maybe he was the driver. He wanted money. After that…”

      The man shook his head.

      “You think I’m that guy?” Murphy said.

      The guy nodded, abject, in despair.

      “Why do you think that?”

      The man said something in a quiet voice.

      “What? I didn’t hear you.”

      “I was there,” the man said.

      “In Montreal?”

      “Yes.”

      Murphy shook his head. He smiled. He laughed this time, just a bit.

      “Oh, buddy.”

      The guy nodded.

      “What did you do, ditch when it got hot?”

      “I saw where it was going.”

      “And you saw me.”

      It wasn’t a question, but the guy answered it anyway.

      “Yeah.”

      “Did you tell Speck what I looked like?”

      The guy shrugged. He was staring at the concrete floor.

      “Talk!” Murphy said. “I don’t have all night.”

      “I never spoke to him after that. He was in jail before the sun came up.”

      “Look at me,” Murphy said.

      The guy looked up.

      “Tell me again, but don’t look away this time.”

      The man looked directly into Murphy’s eyes. “I haven’t talked to Speck. I don’t know where they’re holding him. I don’t know if he’s talking or not. I have no idea if he knows who you are, but if he does, he obviously hasn’t given you up yet.”

      “Why didn’t you run?” Murphy said.

      It wasn’t an idle question. Murphy was facing the same choice himself. He could disappear. Now, tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Sometime soon. He had two and a half million dollars in cash. That would last a man like him a long time, and with his… unique skills… he could top it up once in a while.

      But he would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. And if he ran, one person who might creep up behind him was Luke Stone. That wasn’t a pleasant thought.

      The guy shrugged again. “I like it here. I like my life. I have a little son that I see sometimes.”

      Murphy didn’t like that, the way the guy slipped his son into the conversation. This cold-blooded killer, a man who had just admitted to murdering a young mother, and who was an accessory to the murder of two small children and only God knew what else, was trying to play the sympathy card.

      Murphy went to the chair and pulled his gun out of the holster. He screwed the sound suppressor onto the barrel of the gun. It was a good one. This wasn’t going to make a lot of noise. Murphy often thought it sounded like an office stapler punching through stacks of paper. Clack, clack, clack.

      “You have no reason to kill me,” the man said from behind him. “I haven’t told anybody anything. I’m not going to talk to anybody.”

      Murphy hadn’t turned around yet. “You ever hear of tying up loose ends? I mean, you do work in this business, don’t you? Speck might know who I am, he might not. But you definitely do.”

      “You know how many secrets I’m sitting on?” the guy said. “If I ever got taken in, believe me, you would be the least of what interests them. I don’t even know who you are. I don’t know your name. I saw a guy that night. Dark hair, maybe. Short. Five foot nine. Could have been anybody.”

      Murphy turned and faced him now. The man was sweating, the perspiration popping out on his face. It wasn’t that hot in here.

      Murphy took the gun and pointed it at the center of the man’s forehead. No hesitation. No sound. He didn’t say a word. Every line was etched clean, and the man seemed to be bathed in a circle of bright white light.

      The guy was talking fast now. “Look, don’t do it,” he said. “I have cash. A lot of cash. I’m the only one who knows where it is.”

      Murphy nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

      He pulled the trigger and…

      CLACK.

      It was a little louder than normal. He hadn’t figured on the echo in the big empty space. He shrugged. Didn’t matter.

      He left without looking twice at the mess on the floor.

      Ten minutes later, he was in his car, driving on the Beltway. His cell phone rang. The number was blocked. It didn’t mean anything. It could be good, it could be bad. He picked it up.

      “Yes?”

      A female voice: “Murph?”

      Murphy smiled. He recognized the voice instantly.

      “Trudy Wellington,” he said. “What a lovely time of night to hear from you. If you tell me where you’re calling from, I’ll be right over.”

      She almost laughed. He heard it in her voice. Get them laughing. That was the way into their heart, and into their bedroom.

      “Ah… Yeah. Get your mind out of the gutter, Murph. I’m calling from the SRT offices. There’s a crisis and we’ve been pulled in. Don wants a bunch of people in here now, as fast as possible. You’re one of them.”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      10:20 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time

      Fairfax County, Virginia

      Suburbs of Washington, DC

      “What do you think, baby?”

      Luke Stone whispered the words. Probably no one could hear them but him.

      He sat on the long white sofa in his new living room, holding his four-month-old baby boy, Gunner, in his lap. Gunner was a big, heavy baby. He wore a diaper and a blue T-shirt that said World’s Best Baby.

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