One graceful leap had him over the railing. He scampered quietly over the top of the retaining wall and didn’t hesitate to launch himself off it once he was directly atop his target. The cool air teased him, kissing his cheeks and tousling his hair on the way down. The smell of sea and surf was overwhelming. And the white glow of the lighthouse at the end of the harbor arm seemed to shine with sinister glee.
He landed beside Morrison with a mightythud, his knees screaming with the impact. Karate-chop style, he brought his arm down on Morrison’s outstretched hands, and the little revolver hit the beach and skittered toward the waves lapping under the pier. As for Morrison? Well, the blow was enough to knock the evil old man to his knees where he howled in alarm and fury.
Dagan made a grab for him, getting his arms around the bastard in a bear hug that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with his mad desire to squeeze the life right out of the fucker. Morrison hadshotat Chelsea. As far as Dagan was concerned, that was reason enough to put him six feet under.
Morrison surged to his feet, biting and hissing and scratching and kicking. Dagan had to give it to the scrawny old fart. He was strong for his age.
And slippery as a fuckin’ eel!
Morrison managed to get an arm free and…wham!He elbowed Dagan square in the jaw. Dagan’s teeth clacked together. Stars flashed in his field of vision. The blow loosened his grip, and Morrison was able to scramble away.
Sonofa—!
The old man made it three feet before Dagan pounced. Simultaneously reaching into his pocket for his weapon and grabbing the ridiculous knot of hair at the back of Morrison’s head, he yanked the old man against him. Without an ounce of care, he shoved the sharp tines of the fork he had grabbed from the beach against Morrison’s wrinkled neck.
“Don’t move, motherfucker,” he hissed.
“Fuck you, you bloody fuck!” Morrison yelled, his voice traveling over the beach and echoing across the water.
“Now I ask you, is that any way to talk to the man who holds your life in his hands? Where’s your backup?”
With his front against Morrison’s back, Dagan could feel every ragged breath the man took. Morrison was trying to act brave, but it was obvious he was scared shitless.
“You should be afraid,” Dagan assured him. “The missions I’ve run? The men I’ve killed? It’s like a drug, an analgesic that enters the bloodstream and numbs a man to the worst of life’s horrors.” Was he laying it on a little thick? Maybe. But there was also truth in every one of his words. “I could dispatch you to the next world without an ounce of regret. The only thing holding me back right now is that I want to know where your backup is.”
Particularly if that backup had a bead on Chelsea.
The thought was enough to make Dagan sick to his stomach. He regretted that hasty bowl of Frosted Flakes…er…whatever they were called on this side of the pond.
Straining his ears, he listened for her. But the crashing surf and Morrison’s wheezy breaths made it impossible to hear anything else.
“If I tell you, you’ll just kill me,” Morrison snapped.
“Maybe. But I can promise it’ll be quick and painless. On the other hand, if youdon’ttell me, I’ll stab this fork into your carotid. Believe me, it will hurt like hell while you slowly bleed out. Plus, you know, the posthumous humiliation of the mighty Spider having been taken out by silverware.”
Morrison, who had continued to put up a weak struggle, stilled against Dagan. Then the old man did the strangest thing. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. “You thinkI’mSpider? That’s rich!”
Dagan suddenly had that lifted-hair-on-the-back-of-his-neck, prickly-palms feeling. He dragged Morrison toward the pier until the side of the thing was at his back, Morrison acting as a human shield at his front.
“I hate to be the one to break it to you, mate,” Morrison said. “I’m just the weather vane. I don’t make the wind blow.”
“I don’t have the time to translate fuckwit into English. Speak plainly.”
“You want plain? I’ll give you plain. You have the wrong man. I’m not Spider.”
Now it was Dagan’s turn to go stock-still. Morrisonwasn’tSpider?
For a moment, he considered that the old man was lying. If MorrisonwasSpider, it wasn’t like he’d go around admitting it, right? Then again, Dagan had always recognized the truth when he heard it. And the truth rang loud as a bell in Morrison’s words.
“Then whoisSpider?” he demanded.
“Is he the one you’re truly after?” Morrison panted.
“Yes.”
“Tell me where you’ve hidden the thumb drive you used to plant the virus inside my systems, and I’ll tell you the real identity of the man you seek.”
As far as deals went, it wasn’t too bad.
