"The American?" Neeley cocked the weapon. The cold hard sound was more effective than any words. "Tell me what happened."
"OK, OK, he offered money or death. I needed the money to get away.” Jean-Philippe swallowed. “I was sleeping with that blond girl, Helga. Remember? The one whose boyfriend was a psycho? He was starting to get suspicious and I was afraid. I thought the money would get me away and then I would go to New York and find you."
Neeley had looked at Hannah when he mentioned Helga. Hannah, fortunately for her, given Neeley's current emotional state, continued to keep an impassive face.
Neeley took a deep breath and forced herself to ease the pressure on the trigger.
Jean-Philippe's head was bowed and Hannah found the story partially believable. In her limited experience, his cowering two-timer alibi seemed to hold water but people sometimes admitted to one thing to cover up something deeper and she had no doubt that was what Jean-Philippe was doing.
"You must believe me. I had no idea that it was a bomb. If I am guilty of something, it is of holding back about the money and that I was with sleeping with Helga. Please believe that!"
Neeley ignored his pleas. "Tell me about this American."
"I only met him once. The man who worked for him pulled me off the street and drove me to a house, to the basement. He threatened to kill me if I didn't do as he said. He just wanted someone I trusted to take the box to London. That was all."
"How much money did you get?"
"Enough, all right, Neeley? I got enough to get away from Berlin and go to school and start over here. And the payments continued over the years."
Neeley gave a tired, sad nod. "Enough to start a new life, right, Jean-Philippe? A new life you choose, one that you wanted to live." Her voice sharpened. "You don't get to start over in this business. Not unless there is a reason for someone to let you."
"I tell you the truth," Jean-Philippe said.
"No, I don't think you do," Neeley said. She switched the subject abruptly. "Do you have a family?"
His look was a curious mixture of pride and fear at her interest. "Yes. My wife and I have two sons."
Neeley's voice was tight and full of obvious hurt. "And your wife? What is her name?"
Jean-Philippe hung his head. "Helga."
Neeley drew a deep breath that had an audible hitch at the end. "You son of a bitch. I could kill you now just to feel good, but I won't. I think your American will do that. Someone seems to be trimming away all the loose ends and you appear to be a big one."
His head jerked up. "What do you mean?"
"You figure it out."
Hannah's voice caught both Neeley and Jean-Philippe off guard. "Did someone tell you we were coming?"
The shifting of the man's eyes answered the question for both women. "You bastard," Neeley whispered. "You sent the man after us. The man in the park."
"I had to protect myself," Jean-Philippe pleaded.
"Who told you we were coming?" Neeley demanded.
"Someone from the American’s office called me," Jean-Philippe said.
“Who is this American?” Neeley asked. “Nero?”
Jean-Philippe frowned. “No. The man behind it all is Senator Collins. I do not know the name of the man he sent to me. Who gave me the bomb. But he was a dangerous and crazy man. You could see it in his eyes.”
“Racine,” Hannah said.
“That might have been his name,” Jean-Philippe admitted.
Neeley stood. She crossed the distance between her and her former lover and put the gun to his forehead. "If you tell me the truth, I will let you die quickly. If you lie to me again, I will make you hurt for a long, long time. Then I will find Helga and your children and kill them. The truth and they get to live."
Jean-Philippe was sweating profusely now. "You have changed, Neeley."
"I've become what you made me," she replied. "Did you know about the bomb?"
He paused, and then answered. "Yes."
Neeley's eyes closed briefly. "Why did you want to kill me?"
“It was not me. It was the American.”
“Why did he want me to kill me,” Neeley amended.
"It wasn't for you."
"Who was it for?"
"Another American on the same flight. Some soldier going home. This man — Racine you say his name is — who paid me said this soldier had information that the Senator wanted destroyed. The only way to do it was to destroy him and everything he had with him."
"Gant," Neeley whispered.
"Pardon?" Jean-Philippe said.
"What information?" Neeley demanded. She blinked a few times trying to absorb all she had just learned. Even through her shock, she realized that Hannah seemed to be at least one, if not two, steps ahead.
"A videotape," he answered.
"What is on it?" Hannah asked.
"I do not know."
“You’re lying,” Hannah said.
In response to her partner’s accusation, Neeley moved the barrel of the gun a few inches closer toward her former lover.
“It’s a videotape of a meeting. About some oil pipelines.”
“Are you on it?” Neeley asked.
“Yes.”
Neeley focused on Jean-Philippe. "Why did Racine and Collins let you live and pay you?"
“Because I gave you the bomb.”
“That’s not enough,” Neeley said. “As we all know, it didn’t work. I’m here aren’t I?”
Jean-Philippe licked his lips. “Because of the papers.”
“What papers?” Neeley demanded.
"Papers with Collins' name on them. And other names. Names of people who are very important now. Papers that show they dealt secretly and illegally with the Taliban and others. And more. Pictures of Collins meeting with people. People who have been very prominent in the news — bad news — lately. People he would never want anyone to know he ever spoke and dealt with. All of this was very dangerous information. It’s become even more dangerous in the last several years. It was what my partners and I collected as I we worked on the pipeline deal behind the scenes."
“There were no papers or pictures in the package,” Neeley said. “Just the bomb.”
“Of course not. I kept the papers for my own insurance. I did not trust Racine or the Senator.”
“You set me up,” Neeley hissed. “Not once, but twice. With the bomb and then by telling them I had the papers.”
“Ah!” Jean-Philippe protested, “you must understand. It all worked out for the best. Once the Americans thought you gave the papers to Gant, the situation changed.”
Hannah cut in. “And you sold out the others, didn’t you? Your fellow black market financiers? Those involved in the Afghanistan deal.”
Jean-Philippe weakly nodded.
“What happened to them?” Neeley asked.
“They—“ Jean-Philippe seemed to search for the right words, then finally shrugged—“disappeared. I do not know exactly.”
“You scum,” Neeley hissed.
"Where are the papers now?" Hannah asked.
"I keep the originals in a safe place."
"And copies?" Hannah asked. "Do you have any here?"
"I have copies here," Jean-Philippe confirmed.
"Get them," Neeley said.
Jean-Philippe turned on his stool. He picked up a small hammer and smashed it down on a plaster skull that was on a shelf. He pulled out a plastic wrapped package.
"How convenient," Neeley noted as she took the packet. "That's why you ran back here, isn't it?"
“You can have the papers,” Jean-Philippe said. “In exchange — ”
Neeley’s laugh was harsh. “In exchange? You’ve got nothing, nothing, that you can use with regard to me. All that was gone when you handed me that bomb. When you told Racine I had the papers.”
"What are you going to do now?" Jean-Philippe asked.
Neeley stuck the gun in her pocket and turned away, heading out the door. Hannah followed. They walked away without looking back and the two women were silent as they made their way through the suddenly still office and by the glaring receptionist.