Perfect Assassin (15 page)

“Guarantee?”

“I’m not going to let the agency crucify her. She’s a victim in this.”

“Something you should know. The lab reports came back on the Chameleon. Our body at the morgue is Pavvo Creon. Merrick believes the Chameleon is still alive. That means Holic could still be working for him. Merrick isn’t going to give anyone any guarantee at this point. I’ll fly out and pick her up. Take her off your hands, so you—”

“No. If you do, it’ll be a wasted trip. Without a guarantee I’ll take her and run.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? If we find out that Otto Breit is her partner, then she took those first two shots. She’s a—”

“If that’s the case, she killed them under Holic’s orders. She’s not a killer.”

“And yet two men are dead from bullets she planted in their skulls Holic-style. What guarantee do
you
have that if she had the chance she wouldn’t do the same to you?”

“I want to tell her that her mother is alive.”

“And you think she’ll believe that? That it’ll make a difference?”

“I need another favor.”

Pierce groaned over the phone. “This is suicide, Jacy. Merrick already knows that I’ve been holding out on him.”

“One more favor.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Jacy relayed what he wanted, and this time it was Pierce’s turn to swear. “Impossible. That’s classified.”

“Get me what I need and call me back.”

“Do you know what you’re asking?”

“Play this my way, Pierce. I know what I’m doing.”

“This isn’t like you. You’re not thinking straight.”

“You don’t know her like I do.”

“That’s more than evident.”

“It’s my way or no way.”

“Then I’ll call you back when I get to headquarters. I’m five hours away.”

Chapter 12

M
errick entered the interrogation room where Otto Breit had been taken. Pierce had been going at him for an hour, and he’d been watching through a two-way mirror. Breit was unwilling to cooperate. He claimed he didn’t know anything. That he had no idea what they were talking about.

It would be damn hard to hold him without more evidence, and the man knew it. Pierce had found nothing to incriminate Breit in the man’s apartment in Vienna. But that would have been careless of him, and the man looked neither stupid nor careless. If he was working as an assassin, he wouldn’t keep his equipment in his living quarters.

The thought of turning Breit loose made Merrick sick. If he was part of Holic’s operation, he wanted him behind bars—after he told them where they could find Holic’s daughter.

Merrick stepped into the interrogation room and closed the door. He wished he had something else to force Breit’s hand. Anything.

“Mr. Breit, I’m Adolf Merrick. We need your cooperation. If you give it, I can assure you we’ll go easier on you.”

In a thick European accent, Breit said, “I told your dog, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Merrick motioned to Pierce, then whispered. “Step out and call Jacy. Tell him you’ve picked up Otto. Relay the situation. Tell him we need something to crack him or we won’t be able to hold him long.”

Pierce nodded and walked out.

While he was gone, Merrick said, “We’ve got you, Mr. Breit, and unless you tell us what you know, you’ll be prosecuted for six assassinations.”

The man just sat there.

Merrick tried again. “Tell me where the kill-file is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Holic gave you up,” Merrick said as Pierce came back into the room. “He’s made a deal with us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You saying you don’t know who Holic Reznik is? Your father worked for him,” Merrick offered.

Breit never answered.

Pierce said, “We also have your partner. Prisca Reznik is in custody, and she’s talking. Are you sure you don’t want to tell your side of the story now?”

Merrick turned to look at his agent. If Pierce was bluffing it was a good bluff, but if he wasn’t, he’d been kept in the dark. He didn’t like being the last to know critical information.

Otto Breit didn’t take the bait, and after another thirty minutes of getting nowhere, Pierce and Merrick left Breit in the interrogation room with a guard standing outside, and headed for Merrick’s office.

Inside, Merrick asked, “Do we have Prisca Reznik?”

Pierce hesitated, then said, “No. But I know where she is.”

“And where is that?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’m listening.”

“You better sit down.”

Merrick raised a silver eyebrow, then sat behind his desk. He watched his agent walk to the window. He knew what that meant. When he had thinking to do, he always found himself at the window.

Pierce began, “This is complicated. You need to hear me out before you blow. Try to understand where Jacy is coming from.”

“Jacy?”

Pierce turned around. “Prisca Reznik has been living in his house for five weeks.”

“What?” Merrick couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Like I said, it’s a long story. Pretty bizarre, actually.”

“I’ve heard every kind of bizarre there is over the past twenty years. Get to it.”

Pierce relayed the story, and then left soon after. It was for the best. Merrick needed to cool off—he had started to boil two minutes into the tale.

He took the elevator up to the Green Room where all the top-secret files were kept. He still needed to do what he’d promised Jacy he would do. It wasn’t hard to get in. He was a familiar face, and he was an old card player. A master in the art of double talk, with a pair of slippery hands that had served him well in his younger days.

Twenty minutes later he left the Green Room, then made a call to Jacy. He gave up the info, then an update on Otto Breit. There wasn’t much to tell.

Breit was a cold sonofabitch. A real tough character. The kind of man who wouldn’t crack even if they used an ice pick.

Pris woke with a start. Locked in her room with nothing to do, she had paced for what seemed like hours, then curled up on the bed.

It was dark outside; she glanced out the window and then turned on the light next to the bed. The day was gone, and she wondered if it had started to snow again. How cold was it? Bad weather would be a factor if she had to escape on foot.

She opened the drawer on the nightstand and took out a jagged piece of mirror she’d broken away from the one that hung on the wall. Jacy would come soon and when he did, she was going to escape—one way or another.

There was a noise in the hall and she came off the bed quickly. She laid the broken mirror down, then shoved the two pillows under the bedding to form a body. Grabbing up the piece of mirror, she turned off the light and hid behind the door. When it opened light shone inside from the hall and onto the bed. Pris waited. There was no movement. Long seconds ticked by and then Jacy called her name.

Pris held her breath. The door opened wider and he stepped inside. It was at that moment that she made her move. She leapt out from behind the door with the jagged piece of mirror in her hand. He turned at the movement and she raised her hand and made a fast swipe at him, ripping his shirt and slashing his chest.

He swore crudely and staggered back. Seeing another chance to do damage, she kicked him hard in the crotch, then again—this time in his bad knee.

The minute he lost his balance and went to the floor, she darted past him. She’d almost reached the hall, but he rolled to his side and grabbed her leg.

“No!” Pris tried to shake him off, but he wouldn’t let go, his grip like an iron trap. She fought him and lost her balance. The air whooshed out of her as she hit the hard wood. She dropped the jagged piece of mirror after it dug into her hand, cutting it open. She cried out in pain, but she didn’t give up the fight. Again she kicked him, at the same time she clawed the floor with her hands to get away.

In a battle for survival, she turned into a wild cat. A chair was close by, and she grabbed a leg and pulled it over on him. He swore again and let go of her leg to bat the chair away.

This was her second chance, maybe her last. She scurried into the hall on all fours like an animal fleeing a trap.

Just as she got to her feet, Jacy called out to her, “I told you I had proof your father is a liar. I have a phone number.”

She started down the hall not wanting to hear anything he had to say.

“Pris! You need to make the call. Pris! Call your mother. I have the number in my pocket.”

She froze at the word
mother
. He was lying. A cruel trick.

“Pris. She wasn’t killed on Glass Mountain. She survived.”

The possibility was crazy. She would know if her mother was alive. Her father wouldn’t have allowed her to believe she was dead. And yet…

Prisca turned around, and in the dim light she could see Jacy digging into his pocket. His chest was covered with blood, and his face was a grimace of pain. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and extended it to her with bloody fingers.

“You can use my cell phone. It’s in my office. Or the phone in the kitchen. Make the call, Pris. Call your mother.”

Otto strangled the guard that brought him his evening meal. He’d been placed in a holding cell. He’d never been locked up before and it made him feel like a caged animal. How Holic stood it, he didn’t understand. It would drive him crazy.

He undressed the guard, left him near naked on the floor, then stripped off his own clothes and stepped into the blue uniform. It was a tight fit, but it would do. He took the man’s identification. Before he left, he tucked Miss Pris’s cashmere scarf inside the shirt, and buttoned the buttons to his neck.

All he could think about was that Onyxx had her and he needed to get her away from them. She was a novice at this life. She must be scared. He hated thinking about her frightened. Hated thinking about her in a cage like this one.

How they had captured her, he wasn’t certain, but they wouldn’t have her for long. He would find her and set her free at any cost.

He slipped into the hall and closed the door behind him. Walking down the corridor as if he belonged there, he looked for an exit. When he found it, he flashed the dead guard’s ID and walked out of the agency.

A piece of cake, as the Americans would say, Otto mused.

They were fools. They thought he would betray Miss Pris. A man never betrayed a comrade, and never the woman he loved. Not even if he was facing a firing squad.

These Americans knew nothing about loyalty and honor. That was why he would win the fight against them.

Otto Breit disappeared into the busy streets of Washington, D.C., vowing that he would be back.

The Onyxx Agency hadn’t seen the last of him.

Prisca stood a long minute in the hall staring at the piece of paper in Jacy Madox’s hand. He was bleeding all over the floor, his shirt soaked.

“You’re saying if I call that number my mother will answer?”

“If not her, then Nadja Stefn, and you can ask to speak to your mother. I got clearance.”

“Clearance?”

“Just call the damn number,” he swore, “before I bleed to death.”

She moved quickly, snatching up the paper, afraid he would try to grab her again, then raced into the living room to dig his pickup keys from his coat and stuffed them in her pocket. In the kitchen she rushed to the phone that hung on the wall and dialed the number, not sure what she was expecting.

The woman who answered wasn’t her mother, but she recognized the voice.

“Aunt Nadja?”

“Pris. Oh, honey, is it really you?”

“It’s me.”

“We’ve been so worried. Are you all right?”

“Is my mother there?” Heart racing, Prisca cried out the words. “Is she?”

“She’s right here, honey. Hang on.”

Prisca was shaking so badly she could hardly hold the phone.

“Pris?”

The sound of her mother’s comforting voice brought Prisca to her knees. She crumpled to the kitchen floor and started to cry. “Mama…”

“My prayers have been answered. Sweetheart, where are you?”

“I’m…never mind. I thought you were dead. Father said Bjorn Odell shot you, and—”

“Pris, listen to me. It’s true I was shot, but it wasn’t by Bjorn Odell.”

Pris closed her eyes. No, she thought. This can’t be happening.

“It was your father who shot me. Holic…he—”

“No!”

“Pris, it’s true. He lied to you, sweetheart. You can’t trust what he’s told you. Not one word.”

“Then he doesn’t work for a government agency?”

“No. I hate telling you this over the phone, but you must listen to me, Pris. Your father is a professional killer. I’ve kept his secret for many years. It was wrong of me. I know that now. I loved him.”

Pris started to cry. “I’m so sorry, Mama.”

“When we were on Glass Mountain, he thought I had betrayed him, and that’s why he shot me.”

“So it wasn’t by mistake?”

“No. There’s something else you must know. Your father killed your great grandfather, too.”

“Grandpa Stefn is dead?”

“Yes.”

“What does Aunt Nadja have to do with all of this?”

“It’s complicated, sweetheart. When I see you I’ll explain everything. I know this all sounds unbelievable, but it’s true. After I was shot, Nadja and Bjorn Odell helped me go somewhere safe so your father wouldn’t be able to hurt me again. I’ve been so worried about you, Pris. I’ve prayed every day that you would call. Until you can come to me, you must believe me and be careful. You must go to Washington and talk to a man named Merrick at the Onyxx Agency. He’ll arrange to bring you to me. I’ll give you his number so you can call him. The number is—”

“That won’t be necessary. I know how to reach the Onyxx Agency.”

“You do?”

“I’m with an agent from Onyxx right now. I’ll be in touch soon, Mama.”

“I love you, sweetheart. Thank God you’re safe. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me, too. Goodbye, Mama.”

Pris disconnected, then dropped the phone. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed. Her mother was alive and she was so grateful, and at the same time she was heartsick. Her father was a stranger. A man who had used her love for his own purpose.

She didn’t now how long she sat there. Suddenly she remembered Jacy Madox, and she jerked up from the floor and hurried back through the living room, wiping her eyes. When she reached the bedroom he was sitting up, his legs out in front of him. His bloody shirt was unbuttoned, and she saw the cut was at least eight inches long—a wicked gash across his heart.

She went into the bathroom and grabbed a towel, then returned and knelt beside him. She didn’t say anything as she pressed the towel to his chest to slow the bleeding.

She would never forgive herself for what she’d done. Everything Jacy had said about her father was true.

“You make the call?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

Her hands started to shake, and she feared she would break down. She started to pull away, but he reached for her and drew her to him.

“You okay?”

He was the one who was hurt and he was asking her if she was okay?

“It’ll be all right now, honey.”

His voice was soothing and gentle, and she could no longer hold back the tears. She gulped air, let the tears flow. She felt his arm wrap around her tighter. She felt his lips on her forehead, soft and warm.

“I killed those men,” she whispered against his neck. “I’m just like my father.”

“No. He planned all of this. But it’s over now. He’s not going to win this one.”

She looked up and shook her head. “Two men are dead because of me. I deserve the same as my father.”

She cried harder, and while she cried, he held her close. In no rush to see to his injuries, he rested his head against the bed and began to rub her arm in a slow comforting motion that made her cling to him like a lifeline.