Half-Past Dawn (26 page)

Cristos just stared at her, momentarily losing all focus.

“How could you do this after everything I did for you?” Nadia openly wept. “I stopped Raj from killing you. I kept my father and the prime minister from seeking you out. I paid for your hospital, your care. I watched over you while you were in a medically induced coma.”

Cristos’s head began to spin, once again not knowing what to believe. Riley was very clear that the only reason he was alive was that the fire alarm had gone off and that Raj and Nadia needed to escape before they were seen. Riley said he was paying for his treatment, that his government, in conjunction with the British, was paying.

“I’m so sorry for what I did to you.” Her words flooded out on heavy breaths. “I panicked when I saw you killing Raj, I lost my mind and threw that oil. I can’t imagine the pain you must have endured. I haven’t slept since that night. Can’t you understand? This is my world. This is where I belong.”

Cristos began to panic; all logic, all reason, had left his mind as he fell under Nadia’s spell once again. “Come away with me. I can—”

“Go away with you?” she screamed. “You’re a monster. How could you do this? My father, the prime minister …”

She turned and looked at Raj. His eyes had fallen shut, his breathing coming in fits and starts as he slowly began to die.

“You’ve taken everything from me. Get out. Get out!”

“Raj said that—Riley said—”

“Who said what? You listen to everyone except yourself. What does your heart tell you, what does your instinct tell you?”

Cristos could see the truth in her eyes … and feel it in his heart. She was right. He was trained to listen to his instincts, and yet he had tucked them away, chosen to ignore them when they had been his guide for his whole life.

Cristos reached down, offering her his hand.

Nadia picked up the bejeweled dagger, pointing it at him. “Stay away from me.”

“Nadia …”

“I have nothing. You’ve taken it all from me.”

Cristos could see the despair in her eyes, her body shaking, on the edge of a nervous breakdown. He had come there seeking vengeance, bringing death, and succeeded in his task. But he had been manipulated by all: Nadia, Raj, Riley. He was truly just a pawn in their games. And while his heart had burned with Nadia’s betrayal, looking at her now, he couldn’t bring himself to harm her, for he realized that he still loved her in spite of everything.

“Please, you don’t understand …” he said as he reached out for her.

Nadia stepped back, finally looking at her father, the prime minister, and Raj.

And without warning, without a single word, she looked Cristos in the eye and plunged the dagger into her own chest.

T
HE OPEN-AIR
J
EEP
raced up the mountainside, under the canopy of night, the thick leaves allowing only shards of moonlight to penetrate. In the valley below, a sudden explosion lit up the night as the prime minister’s vacation home was torn to shreds, an enormous fireball engulfing it and the remaining guests inside.

Cristos white-knuckled the steering wheel, his eyes darting between the road and Nadia, who lay motionless across the backseat, the dagger protruding from her chest.

He had nowhere else to turn. He had abandoned his culture, his people, his father, but now they were the only ones he could turn to to save the woman he loved.

Five miles up the dirt road, the hard-packed surface abruptly ended as if it had been swallowed by nature. He grabbed Nadia off of the seat, careful to avoid touching the dagger, and carried her into the jungle, still knowing the path better than anyone. The long, twisting trail meandered through the thick foliage, over rocks and streams, up a five-mile slope whose grade never diminished.

It would be at least another hour before he reached the village. He feared that he was already too late when two Cotis priests stepped out of the dark jungle, members of the Tietien council. Hovath had schooled him in martial arts and weaponry, while Prunaj had taught him of spirituality and the jungle. Each—uncharacteristic for the Cotis people—carried a sidearm on his hip. Without a word, they flanked him.

And Cristos’s father stepped from the cover of the foliage.

Father and son locked eyes, a world of emotions exchanged without a word.

“You cannot come back.”

“You have to save her,” Cristos pleaded.

His father looked at the girl, her body limp in his son’s arms. “Save her for herself or save her for you?”

“Please,” Cristos begged. “Bring her back.”

He laid her down on the ground, gently stroking her dark hair from her face.

“Does she wish to live?” his father asked. “Or have you taken away what she lives for?”

His father knew what he had done.

“Bring her back!” Cristos exploded in rage.

“I know what you’ve become,” his father said softly. “My whole life, I fought it. Although I knew it to be your future, I had clung to hope. But fate sometimes is stronger than any force. The shadow hidden within you has emerged and consumed your heart and soul.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I do understand. I should have stopped you before all of this death. I foresaw your future but allowed my heart to fall into denial, questioning the future as some question the past.”

“I love her.” Cristos’s voice cracked. “You have to help me.”

“After what you have done—” his father said with pain filled eyes. “You will be followed; you will bring the outside world to us again. We cannot afford to protect you. We cannot allow our ways to be investigated so they may build a case to convict you.”

Prunaj and Hovath stepped forward, pulling and raising their pistols. They were trained on Cristos, and, anticipating his every move, they stayed just beyond his reach. Cristos’s emotions vanished, his eyes falling on Hovath.

“We must turn you over to the authorities of the outside world,” his father continued as Cristos kept staring at Hovath. “Please do not—”

And without warning, with his eyes locked with Hovath’s, Cristos drove his fist into his father’s gut, the immense blow knocking him sideways toward Hovath.

Cristos spun left, snatching the gun from Prunaj, continuing his motion up and into the priest’s neck, crushing his larynx with the butt of the pistol. Prunaj fell to the ground, unable to breathe.

As he was taught so well, Cristos could feel Hovath’s approach, could sense his finger wrapping the trigger. He feigned left and spun, firing Prunaj’s gun, the bullet hitting Hovath’s wrist, crippling his hand as the gun fell to the ground.

With no regard for his mangled wrist, Hovath dived at Cristos, and although he was his teacher, skilled in hand-to-hand combat, the student had surpassed him long ago. Cristos caught Hovath by the shoulder, rolling toward the ground, taking his teacher with him as his arm wrapped around the man’s neck. And as they hit the jungle floor, Hovath’s neck snapped from their combined weight.

With no regard for the bodies, Cristos stood and stared at his father, who was recovering.

“This is your fault,” Cristos said.

His father looked at the twisted bodies of the two dead priests. He turned and looked upon Nadia, finally stepping toward his son. “Take her away from here. Never return. You are no longer my son.”

Cristos slowed his breathing, focused, reaching out to feel any other attackers, but none came.

He looked back down at Nadia, shards of moonlight refracting off of the bejeweled hilt of the knife that protruded from her lifeless body. He finally realized that she would not have wanted to be
saved; he had taken away everything she loved in the world. He accepted that she had used him with no regard for his heart and in so doing permanently destroyed it, killing his emotions, his feelings, his true self.

And in that moment, Cristos knew that his future was sealed.

He crouched down, wrapped his hand around the jewel-encrusted blade, and withdrew it from her chest. No blood poured from her body, its flow having long since ceased. He looked down on the face that had caught his eye one year earlier, its solemn innocence so contrary to the callous, selfish heart within. His father was wrong. Cristos had not succumbed to fate, had not followed some preordained path. His soul had been turned by Nadia, a woman of two faces, whose evil had infected his own heart.

In that moment, he vowed never to love again. Never to become a pawn of his own heart.

And in a lightning move, one too quick for his father to react to, Cristos plunged the blade into his father, lifting him upon the blade into the air, his powerful muscles flexing with effort.

He looked at his father, and his father stared back; there was no pain in his eyes, just pity, resignation at what his son had done to him.

C
RISTOS SAT IN
a café on the Champs-Élysées sipping tea, watching the Parisians passing by. He was dressed in a custom-made suit, his green tie set off against his white shirt. He had left Cotis and the Asian continent behind one week earlier and headed to Zurich, Switzerland, where he bought a townhouse and began to formulate a future.

“We would like to avail ourselves of your services again,” Riley said. He and his silent partner sat across from Cristos, each sipping coffee.

Cristos nodded.

“How will we contact you?”

“You won’t. When in need of my services, you will place a memorial posting to Nadia Desai in the obituary section of the Sunday edition of the
London Times
. I will then contact you.”

“Very well,” Riley said.

“I have a question for you.”

“Yes,” Riley said with a smile.

“Who paid for my treatment at the hospital?”

“I thought we discussed that.”

“Did Nadia visit me while I was in a coma?”

The two men looked at each other. The silent man nodded.

“Yes, she did,” Riley said without any display of contrition or embarrassment. “Every day.”

Cristos picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth, and placed it on the table. He finally stood. He looked directly at the tall, silent man. “I will be available, but understand that if you ever lie or betray me again, you will end up like your friend here.”

“I don’t understand.” The man spoke for the first time.

Riley looked at Cristos with a curious smile. “What do you mean?”

And as if drawing a pen from his pocket, Cristos pulled out a gun, quickly placed it against Riley’s right eye, and pulled the trigger.

F
RIDAY
, 8:25
P.M
.

L
ARRY
K
NOLL LOOKED UP
at the monitor, the display showing two FBI agents leading a group of three men into the main entrance, and buzzed them in.

In the last ten hours, his post had become the site of mayhem. Between the various FBI, Justice Department, police, and ADA, he wasn’t fully sure what was going on, but the groups seemed to be squared off more against each other than working in concert.

But in the last hour, a semblance of peace had been restored. Most of the various law-enforcement officers had returned home to their families, headed out for drinks on a Friday night, or gone back to their offices to regroup. There was no one else in the cavernous lobby at this hour except for detectives Myers and Reiner, whom he had just let down to evidence to drop off some materials on a new case.

This was Larry’s third double shift in seven days. Not that he was complaining. He needed the money. He had promised Daria that when the baby was born, they would have no debt and a small nest egg to allow them to give their newborn child the advantages that neither of them was afforded. There was a comradery among
the double shifters: Charlie downstairs, Nolan Ludeke upstairs in the medical facility. They had come to be known as the musketeers, as the three of them did the work of six and did it better than those working half the time on twice the rest.

As Larry finally turned his attention to the five who walked across the large marble lobby, he did a double take as he saw the face of the man in the middle of the group. He had read the papers, had seen the news, and had actually seen him just two days earlier with his wife. Larry had been devastated at the news of their dying, which confirmed his belief that it was always the good who were struck down before their time. But maybe that wasn’t in effect today.

A
T
8:25, J
ACK
walked through the main entrance to the Tombs. Aaron and Donal walked in front, with black bags on their shoulders, while Cristos and Josh were three steps behind. They had run through the plan four times, studying Jack’s hastily drawn map, discussing contingencies. And while there was no further discussion of Mia or the cost of failure, the threat was abundantly clear. If Jack did not succeed in turning the case over to Cristos, Mia would die. Jack had a part to play, and he was about to play it at award-level caliber.

“Holy shit,” Larry said.

Jack smiled back.

“But …” Larry was lost for words. “You’re alive?”

“Hey, Larry,” Jack said as he held his fingers up to his lips. “That’s between you and me.”

“And your wife, she’s OK?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, nodding. “Thanks for your concern.”

“I didn’t hear.”

“No one has, and I need you to keep it that way.”

Larry nodded in understanding.

“We need to go downstairs,” Jack said.

Larry looked the other men over.

“Show him your badges, boys.”

Aaron, Donal, and Josh flipped open their billfolds, flashing badges, quickly closing them up and stuffing them back into their pockets.

“FBI?” Larry said with raised eyebrows, turning back to Jack. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone over to the dark side, too.”

“No.” Jack laughed. “I’m still a good guy.”

“And who’s this?” Larry pointed at Cristos. He was still on guard despite the DA standing before him.

“He’s a member of the Cotis government. I’ve got a real hush-hush case going.”

“Is that what everyone downstairs is after?”