Page 74 of Every Last Breath

But his choice was one of necessity, and Agent Kinkade had no way of knowing that. She would assume she’d lost him in the bowels of Union Station. When she emerged from the Metro, she’d follow instinct and look in the wrong direction.

He sprinted through the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial and veered hard to the south. Under different circumstances, he would’ve chosen east, removed his shirt and donned a new hat from the options in his bag, and strolled, blending in.

This was the hand he was dealt. He would play it. To win.

Hitting E Street, he then darted south, heading back to the hotel.

He yanked off the long-sleeve top, revealing a simple white T-shirt, and threw on a green bucket hat, tightening the cinch cord under his chin.

Five hundred yards. A breeze. He blasted across Fifth Street, dodging cars and joggers. Bristling energy, sharp and electric, drove him. So close now. He would not be denied. Val would be at his side, and together, they’d usher in the four horsemen.

Aleksander dashed through the traffic on Sixth Street, ignoring the symphony of honks and squawking brakes. One more block.

Holding a steady stride, he coasted.

His body nimble, his limbs light as air.

Slowing, he strode into the restaurant on Seventh. The hostess at the front smiled.

“I’m meeting someone,” he said, winded. “There’s my party now.” He pointed, gliding past her. Cutting through the lunchtime bustle, he breezed into the Hotel Monaco, which connected to the restaurant, and headed for the staircase.

Two men stood at the front desk. Both had been on the yacht, not appearing damaged from the explosion. Agents. Cockroaches.

Aleksander enjoyed playing cat and mouse, but it was time to return to the top of the food chain where he and his son alone did the chasing. He raced up the stairs to the fourth floor, taking off the hat and glasses, and whipped the door open. Rounding the corner, he hurried to his room. He popped the key card into the slot. Green dots illuminated, and he slipped inside.

At the safe, he entered the code and retrieved the canister of smallpox. The rest of the equipment he needed to execute his plan was with Val in another hotel. The suitcase he pulled from under the bed contained everything he required for now. He stripped, changing into black pants, a generic white dress shirt, and the hotel staff jacket he’d lifted during the distraction of their shift turnover earlier this morning.

In the bathroom, he dragged a washcloth over his face and applied the disguise he’d procured—along with the rest of the items in the suitcase—from his contact.

Here in Washington, DC, with enough money, he could get almost anything as easily as ordering room service. Almost. The specialized access credentials and equipment Val was modifying for the next step of the plan could only have been obtained thanks to the assistance of the industrious information broker, Daedalus. The man was a fount of intelligence, thanks to his bevy of spies, and his access to resources was staggering.

The black wig Aleksander shifted in place itched, but as problems went, that was nil. A glued-on chevron mustache, cotton balls stuffed in his mouth between his teeth and cheeks for a jowly look, and a pair of glasses transformed his face into one even he didn’t recognize.

He tossed what he could into the suitcase, his blood pressure rising over this willy-nilly scramble. The room door slapped shut behind him when he left. Hunching his shoulders, he carted the wheeled suitcase down the hall. Turning his left foot inward altered his gait, adding a subtle limp. His nerves were strung as tight as his garrote around a target’s throat. He had to hurry.

Timing was everything.

The two agents from the lobby rounded the corner, coming from the elevator. The big, bald one held out his hand, and the other handed him a generic taupe key card attached to a chain. They must’ve swiped it from housekeeping.

Lowering his gaze and rolling his shoulders into the hunch, Aleksander strode past them. Not a second glance from them in his direction. They suspected nothing.

He slapped the button for the elevator. Getting a new burner phone was next on his list, followed by contacting Daedalus. He needed information on Agent Maddox Kinkade. Fast.

Planning and adaptation were his strengths. Seeing the how. He and Val had time to deal with this contingency.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened. Ducking in, he tapped the lobby button.

His plan for the biological weapon had come together easily. Such a brilliant target. It was as though the gods had set the gift of glorious vengeance in the palms of his weary hands. His retribution would be recorded as the greatest tragedy in American history. A hammer blow to the country’s stability, showing the entire world the fragility of their security.

He strolled off the elevator, spotting Agent Kinkade and Scarface at the far end of the compact lobby. Scarface had a hand pressed to her cheek, anxiety etched across his features.

Aww, the lovers. How grateful they should be.

Aleksander would redefine their meaning of fear.

Scarface threw his arms around the pretty Kinkade in a strangling hug. Her hands lifted as if to reciprocate, but she hesitated.

Fascinating. Aleksander slowed but didn’t stop moving.