“I had Benton do some digging on them after I found out they had captured Luke Winterfield.”
Now that name Sonya knew. “That rogue CIA agent? He’s one of yours?”
“Was,” Grafton allowed. “Before he turned against me. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, the Black Knights captured the sonofabitch, and he must have given them something on me, because they bloody well started trying to suss out my identity. I’d already determined that I would go after them for the death of my son. Even though I wasn’t close to Sharif, that doesn’t mean I could condone anyone taking him from me. No one takes what’s Spider’s and lives to tell of it. But, like they say, revenge is a dish best served cold. So I was waiting. Biding my time. But after Winterfield, the Black Knights starting sticking their noses into my business and it shortened the timeline on my vengeance. Which is why we find ourselves here now.”
And there it was. For the first time, someone had dared to take something from the almighty Lord Asad Grafton, and more than that, tried to bring him down. He was determined to personally make them pay for the presumptions.
“Spider?” Angel spoke up for the first time.
Grafton turned away from the menu to pin Angel with a look from behind his sunglasses. “My diabolical underworld nickname.”
Sonya knew Grafton was careful about who he let in on the secret that he was the Mustache Pete of the world’s largest crime syndicate. That, combined with the fact that he’d already spewed his guts about his son—and what he’d done to his son’s mother—sent a chill up her spine.
No way was he airing his dirty laundry without some fiendish motivation. Absolutely no way. So what the heck was he thinking? Was he trying to impress the Prince of Shadows? Or was there something else going on?
Apprehension had pretty much been her sidekick all day long. Now full-blown alarm joined the gang. She thought she was beginning to understand Grafton’s grand plan. “You’re giving the…” She glanced around the empty café and lowered her voice. “The stuff to Al-Qaeda on the condition they use it against these Black Knights people, aren’t you?”
“Let no one ever accuse you of being dim-witted, Sonya my dear. It’s a win-win all ’round. Even though Daesh has suffered many defeats, they continue to occupy the attention of most Western Intelligence agencies. Which means Al-Qaeda has had the time and space to regroup and rebuild. They are making a comeback, grooming Hamza bin Laden to take up the reins from his dead father, and he’s made it clear he wants to announce Al-Qaeda’s continued threat to the world in a big way. When his group blows up the Black Knights’ compound in Chicago, they’ll prove they’re able to hit America’s heartland, and I will rain fire on the men who killed my son and who had the audacity to lock horns with me.”
Sonya’s voice was thready, her heart all skip-a-beaty when she said, “You’ll kill millions of innocents.”
“Thousands,” Grafton objected. “Angel here”—he nodded to Angel—“was only able to get his source to agree to a small amount of the material. Enough to take out roughly ten city blocks.”
“But the fallout…”
“True.” Grafton shrugged. “More will die from that. Still, I doubt the death toll will reach six figures.”
It took everything Sonya had to stay in her seat. And even though she had a contingency plan lined up, that didn’t lessen the urge to stop this thing right here, right now. Before it had a chance to get off the ground. She glanced at the silverware arranged neatly on the table in front of her. Her hand itched to grab the fork and stab it into Grafton’s carotid.
Maybe Angel was a mind reader. When she glanced at him, she would swear he gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“It’s an ugly term,” Grafton continued, blithely unaware of her homicidal thoughts. “Collateral damage. But sometimes it’s necessary and—”
He cut himself off when the waiter appeared with a tray holding their drinks. After setting Sonya’s tea in front of her, the bearded doughnut served Grafton, pouring from the giant bottle of Perrier. His voice was quiet when he leaned close to Grafton’s hooded ear. “The first man is here.” Only it sounded more like De feerst man ees here. “You want I should show him in?”
“Yes. Of course.” Grafton nodded, nonchalantly squeezing his lime into his fancy water.
Sonya’s adrenaline spiked again as the waiter disappeared through the door at the back. A second later, a man with a set of eyebrows that seemed to traipse across his face like woolly mammoths appeared in his place. A brown paper grocery bag was clasped in his right hand.
He didn’t look around the café, barely spared Grafton a glance. Instead, he zeroed in on Angel and traipsed over to their table. Taking the seat to Sonya’s left, he set the paper bag by his feet.
Showtime.
She opened her mouth to play the part Grafton had devised for her, but try as she might, she couldn’t get a single word past the dump-truck-size lump in her throat.
Angel took one look at her and asked his source, “You have the product?”
She envied him his poise. Mr. Cool, Calm, and Collected. Knowing there was enriched uranium beneath the table had her pulling her legs under her chair and battling the urge to bolt.
“Is here,” Eyebrows said in a Russian accent so thick his rolled R seemed to go on for an eternity. He tapped the top of the table with one finger. “Now, you pay me.”
“Mind if we check the goods?” Angel asked.
Eyebrows swung his attention over to Sonya, sparing her a quick glance. “Of course.”
Angel dug the bag from beneath the table and glanced inside.
“Looks good,” he told his source. “Has the correct markings. But let me check.”
