“I’d rather say it was you who crossed our paths,” he says.
“A matter of perspective. Knightley has information I need before she dies, something my employer wants very much,” I lie, just to make sure that I am not underestimated.
“Who is your employer?” he asks, naturally.
“Someone way up the food chain,” I say. “I believe in the equal caliber of your client.”
His silence on the matter confirms my theory. There is a client, an employer. Someone high profile.
“Why are we here, Mrs Nobody?” he finally asks.
“What I wonder is why she is on your target list,” I say, and let my voice trail off for a moment, staring outside to check where we are going.
“That software of hers has destabilized established orders,” he says, and I understand.
“I need a name,” I say.
“My business runs on privacy,” he says. “I am not going to divulge my clients to anyone.”
So it is his business. Meaning he is the broker.
“Your business runs on you dealing with problems in the shadows. Would be a shame if it all went public, wouldn’t it?”
His eyes narrow into slits, but I am not easily intimidated.
“I need the information,” I say, “I offer you a deal. I get the information and kill her under your name and make sure Zeus is buried with it.”
He considers me.
“Our inside man got busted,” he says, “It will be nearly impossible to get to her.”
“Not for me,” I say.
“You seem awfully confident,” he says and chucklesdarkly.
“I got to you, didn’t I?” I ask rhetorically and with as much arrogance in my tone as possible.
The hint of a smirk appears on his face.
“The name of your client,” I say.
“POTUS,” he says, and reaches into the door storage and pulls out a burner. My heart sinks, because right this moment, I know there won’t be a way out.
I have walked into death, and maybe it is for the better.
“Here,” he says. “Use it only for confirmation of your success. You know who we are, so don’t even try to double-cross us. If all goes well, you may live; if not, you’ll be dead before you can please.”
“I don’t play around,” I say. “I get things done.”
The car comes to a halt.
“Use one of the guns you took from my people as an identifier, leave it. Call. We’ll clean. You vanish and never lose a word about our…temporary alliance.”
“There will be no need for cleaning,” I say.
“And why is that?” he asks.
“Because I am awfully good at burning things down beyond recognition.”
