Thin Line (24 page)

Or maybe he trusted Reese.

"Jack," she said. "Don't do it."

I took my eyes off the target for a second and swept over the room. McSweeney had positioned herself a few feet back. She held her Glock out, aimed at
Bear. The big man had one hand in his pocket, where he'd placed his own sidearm, and the other up in the air. His eyes darted wildly between McSweeney and
Taylor.

Brett extended his arms to the side. Fingertips brushed against plaster walls. He took two steps forward. "Listen to her, Noble. It's not worth shooting
me. Not here."

I kept my pistol trained on him, said nothing.

"Just give me ten minutes," Taylor continued. "And if you aren't satisfied, I'll leave with the two of you, and you can do what you need to. Just not
here."

"Turn around," I said.

Taylor complied. He even lifted his shirt as he twirled in a circle for me to show he was unarmed. "Happy?"

I nodded at Bear. The big man pulled his other hand from his coat and placed both on the kitchen island. McSweeney, in turn, lowered her weapon. I did the
same, directing the barrel toward the floor, ready to rise up if Brett acted in any way threatening.

"Taylor," I said. "Come in here, opposite Bear, hands on the counter."

He did as instructed without any sign of resistance. He perched atop a stool, further placing himself into a position of weakness. Any action he attempted
would require him to get off the swiveling seat. That would add a second or two. Not much to most people. A lifetime to us.

"Guns away, Reese."

She counted down from three and holstered her weapon, as I tucked mine in the waistband of my pants. We both kept our palms on the handles, neither willing
to give up yet. The first to move would be in a disadvantageous position. McSweeney gave in. She directed both hands, palms out, toward the ceiling. At
shoulder height, they held firm. She took a step toward the island.

A long silence persisted after I joined the other three. We stood around the kitchen island, like four friends enjoying a drink after a long week. The
sound of our breathing, out of sync, rose and fell. Finally, Bear spoke.

"What are we doing here?"

Taylor started to speak. I cut him off. I wanted to hear from McSweeney first.

"You know who this man is, right?"

She nodded.

"And you're aware that we were sent to terminate him."

Again, she nodded.

"You understand that order is not given lightly, and it means this man is a threat to national security."

McSweeney remained still this time. Her eyes glassed over, but that was the only outward sign that my words had affected her.

"So what's he doing in your living room?"

"Jack," Taylor said.

"Shut up," I said without taking my focus off McSweeney. "Reese, answer the question."

She said nothing.

"I don't care what the cameras catch," I said. "We'll be long gone before your partner sees anything."

Her voice trembled as she replied. "This is one of my sources. And…" She paused, wiped her eyes, took a deep breath. Exhaling, she said, "He's my
brother."

Brett stood at one end of the island. Reese at the other. I glanced between them, my head on a swivel. Same eyes, similar lips. Hair color didn't mean
anything, but theirs matched. The faces were similar enough. She might've been telling the truth.

But it didn't add up. Why wait until now to reveal this?

"You said your maiden name was Italian."

"It is," she said.

"Where the hell does Taylor come from?"

"You think that's really my last name, Jack?" Brett said. "Do I look like a Taylor?"

My head rotated toward him. "Do I look noble to you? What does it matter whether someone looks like their last name?"

"Stop it." McSweeney glanced at her brother, who nodded. Permission, I presumed, to reveal a secret he'd sworn to take to the grave. "We were orphaned as
kids. Somehow they managed to keep us together, most of the time. Every once in a while, he'd end up at one foster home, me in another. When that happened,
we'd act up, get kicked out and put back in the program. The case workers, bless them, would go out of their way to place us at the same orphanage, or if
we were really lucky, another family who could take on two kids. After a few years, we were adopted by the same family. They insisted we take their name.
Neither of us cared much about our history or ancestry, so we did."

I said, "So, maiden name, you meant it changed then, when you were a kid? Not when you were married?"

"Yes and no. Look, I don't want to involve them. They took us in when I was eleven and he was twelve. Raised us as their own. You don't need to know their
name."

Taylor wasn't Brett's last name. Hell, Brett might not be his first name. Who was this guy, that the government had given him a new identity?

Bear said, "Enough of the genealogy lessons. Now let's circle back here. It doesn't matter who's related to who. They don't send us to the front door of a
boy scout's house. You sold your country out, Brett. The question is, how bad? How deep were you in with those terrorists over in Paris?"

Brett seemed taken aback for a second. I could sense him calculating, determining where Bear was going with the line of questioning.

"We saw you in the footage," I said. "Coming out of a drug store in Paris. Right as they shot the woman and her associate."

His face darkened. He averted his stare. His right hand briefly clenched into a fist.

"Who was she?" I asked.

"She was my asset," he said. "A junkie with nothing to lose, so I used her and got her inside that cell. And it's my fault she died. We were so close, so
friggin' close to taking them down. Another month, maybe two, they'd have led me right to the next man in their chain of command, and then they would have
been worthless to me. So, anyway, I return home, tailed by the big man there, and I find a dead guy in my apartment. The man, well, it was easy to tell why
he was there. Question was, who stopped him, and where were they when I got there?"

"So you didn't kill McLellan?"

"That's what I just said." He looked up at me. "Did you?"

"I'd never seen the guy until I found him dead in your bed." I thought through the list of things the Old Man had said to me about the evidence he had. Did
he have conclusive proof of McLellan's assailant?

"Why were you guys sent?" Brett asked.

"I used to think it was because you were involved with a terrorist cell in Paris. A group that once had and might possibly maintain connections in the
U.S."

Brett shook his head, stared at the counter. "I've been trying to bring them down for eight months, Jack. Like I said, we were there, close. The attempt on
my life meant I had to speed things up if I was going to succeed. I had a feeling that's why you were sent. Why that other man was sent. My haste, that's
why Angela died."

"You can't blame yourself for that," McSweeney said.

"I can," Brett said, "and I do."

"It's pointless," I said. "She knew what she was getting into the moment she agreed to work with you. No different than any of us."

"It's a lot different than any of us. I signed up for this. I let them erase my life so I could do this. You two, you enlisted, you accepted your special
assignment in a top secret division. You joined the SIS of your own recognizance, Jack. There's not one contract you two have taken on since going
independent that your arms were twisted to get you to sign."

Brett leaned forward. There was something about the way he looked at me. Not desperation. Something else, more powerful.

Conviction.

And a need to have someone in his corner. I was familiar with how far that would drive a man.

"Why was McLellan sent, if we were already on the docket?" Bear said.

Brett nodded as he considered this. "You know, in our line of work, the right hand often doesn't know what the left is doing. But, I think this goes
further than that. I think whoever sent him, and this was my first instinct, was someone who had a stake in the terrorist cell."

"Someone over here?" I said.

Brett nodded.

"In the government?" Bear said.

Again, Brett nodded.

"Reese," I said. "You and Brett go in the other room for a few."

"Why?"

"I need to talk to Bear."

She reached for her pistol.

"Keep it on you," I said.

The pair went to the other side of the apartment. There, they talked softly while staring out a window into the diffused darkness. Beyond them, a glow of
orange haze rose from the street.

I leaned back against the stainless steel fridge. It felt cool against my back. Heat rained down from the vent above. Both sensations met somewhere in the
middle.

"Thoughts?" I said to Bear.

"We can do our job now and be done with this mess. We had an order to take him out. Someone up high had to sign off on it. Nothing bad will come of it if
we do it."

"If everything he's said is true, and I don't have a reason to doubt him, then we'll be killing an innocent man."

"Innocent is a relative term."

"Innocent in our eyes. He does what he does for our country. It's not like he's a psychopath killing everyone in his wake. It's not like his actions have
led to mass death and destruction."

"What if his story about the terrorists was made up? What if he was sitting with that woman who got shot, and got up to call in those bastards to take her
out?"

"What if he didn't? What if he was there to gather intel on that cell? Jesus, Bear. We can play the
what if
game all night if you want."

Bear leaned his head back, inhaled and exhaled deeply and loudly. He directed his gaze to the other side of the room, said, "What happened to that line
that you couldn't find, Jack? Good and evil and all that drivel. If that were the case, and you believed that mumbo jumbo, we could just do him and be on
our way."

I glanced at Taylor and McSweeney, two people that up until a little while ago, had no connection other than a dilapidated old brownstone. They stood the
same way, arms crossed, left leg rotated outward and bent at the knee. The sibling story seemed plausible. It grew on me. How strong was the bond formed in
foster homes? How far would a sister go to save her brother? Deep enough down the rabbit hole to take on the shadowy side of the government?

"I'm straddling the line, Bear, and from where I stand, he's innocent."

"So what now?"

"I think we need to find whoever issued the command, and get the real reason they wanted Brett Taylor killed."

BEAR REMAINED IN the kitchen, near the apartment's door, while I crossed the room toward Brett and Reese. Taylor made eye contact using our reflections in
the glass. McSweeney looked back over her shoulder. She forced a smile, sad and concerned, but wouldn't look at me. Beyond them stood two large apartment
buildings. One glass and steel, the other old brick. Half the windows in each burned with artificial light. A testament to the city and all it had endured,
and the progress it had made. Yet so many things were still the same.

"Brett, I need to ask you a few more questions."

He nodded. "Anything."

I stared at McSweeney and said nothing. After a few seconds, she took the hint and excused herself.

I filled the empty space she left behind. Stared down at the empty street. "Do you have proof, and I mean hard evidence, that can clear you?"

Brett remained silent for a beat. I studied his reflection. His eyes didn't dance around. He wasn't working up a story. Brett had to decide how much he
could reveal to a man who had been sent to kill him. Say the wrong thing, and I'd use it as a reason to carry out the order.

"There are some things," he said slowly, "hidden in my apartment. I'm sure you can appreciate that's the last place I want to go right now." He glanced at
me. I gave no outward reaction. "Other than that…"

"Your computer?"

"Wiped it in France. They were close behind from the moment they shot her. Left me with little choice. Uploaded what I could, cleared the system, and
ditched the machine."

"What about your boss?"

Brett looked down. His gaze followed a cab that passed by. "I think he's the one who recommended my termination."

"You think he's involved with the terrorists."

"Didn't say that."

I backtracked the conversation. "You said you uploaded some of the data. Can you access that?"

He shrugged. "Suppose so, but honestly, I have no idea what made it and what didn't. I'm not even sure how far it got in the transfer process."

I needed more from him. "Face me, Brett." He turned, leaned against the window with his left shoulder. I mirrored his posture. "Tell me what happened. From
finding the body in your apartment to ending up in Paris and arranging a meeting with your asset."

He remained expressionless, though his gaze drifted toward the kitchen. He studied McSweeney or Bear for a few seconds.

I didn't take my eyes off the man. His gestures and expressions could tell me more than the words he uttered.

Finally, he turned his head forward, and, with a slight nod, proceeded to tell me about a day that had lasted over thirty-six hours. He'd been in Paris and
told to return on short notice. I didn't mention to Brett that Frank Skinner had known about Brett's departure before he did. He had looked forward to
getting back to his apartment, sleeping for a few hours, then driving down to Cherry Hill, New Jersey for a meeting with his boss.

"Of course, that didn't happen. When I first spotted Bear, I figured something was up. I guess he's not the typical shooter, but something about him was
obvious. Then, when I got to my place, the building was eerily vacant. Normally when I come home, there are at least a few people lingering inside. I never
say anything to them. Don't need to. A glance is all it takes. They clear out eventually. Frankly, as long as they don't approach the third floor, I don't
care. Anyway, none of that matters." He stopped, smiled. "First thing I do when I come home is check my grandparents' apartment."