“Move back, palms open, knuckles against the wall.”
The man did as instructed, said nothing.
“We need to talk,” said Dex.
“You’re the Navy guy.” It was not a question. “And I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions. I know I would.”
“Why’d you blow our boat? Try to kill us?”
The big man shrugged. “No idea, really. Grapevine says it was a mistake. Somebody getting a little too zealous. We believed we had a serious situation.”
“Who are you guys?” Dex had moved down the stairs to face the intruder, his weapon positioned for a headshot where there could be no chance of hitting Kevlar.
The guy chuckled softly. “I was wondering when I’d get that one. Everybody always asks.”
“So enlighten me.”
“Too complicated. We’re not government, though. I can tell you that. And listen, I got no agenda here. Strictly a job, okay?”
“What were you looking for? What do you want?”
Before he could answer, Tommy stirred on the floor, slowly got to his knees, but neither Dex nor the other guy were distracted.
“Tommy, you okay?” Dex kept the Sig-Sauer trained on his target’s face. “Tommy, answer me.”
“Jeezuz, what the…?” Tommy shook his head in an attempt to wake himself up. Obviously dazed and hurting, he forced himself to his knees.
Dex waited until some clarity returned to his buddy. After an agonizing minute or so, Tommy stood up, pulled the heavy drapes tight over the front window before flipping on a dim table lamp. He regarded the bald guy, but said nothing.
“You okay now?”
“Better. That the fuck who hit me?”
“Good guess. You got any duct tape?”
“Huh?” Tommy looked at him dumbly for a second before getting Dex’s intention. “Oh, yeah, downstairs, I think.”
“Hurry up.”
Tommy moved as quickly as he dared to the cellar door, flipped on a light, and descended the old stairs.
Dex continued staring at the big guy. “Let’s talk while we wait, whaddya say?”
“If you insist.”
“What do you guys want?”
“Information.”
“What kind?”
The guy considered how he might answer. “The bomb, for starters. They want to know what you did with it.”
Dex nodded, paused himself. Whoever they were, they knew about the 5001 and its mission. “The bomb wasn’t there. No shit.”
“Well, yeah, at least when we got there. We know that much. What happened to it remains an interesting question, don’t you think?”
He was right about that. “Can’t help you. Is that it? You kill my friends because you thought we had the bomb — a very old bomb?”
“Like I said — this is just a job for me. If my people want me to find something, I try to do it.”
Dex had trouble not believing this guy — he contained just the right mixture of ennui with his assignment and fear for his life to make him very convincing.
“What else?”
“Hmmm?”
“What else are you looking for?”
Before he could answer, Tommy reappeared with a fat roll of silver-gray tape. “Got plenty,” he said.
Dex nodded, stared at the big guy. “Don’t move. I really don’t want to shoot you.”
“But you will, right?” The big bald guy grinned.
Dex had Tommy empty the guy’s pockets — revealing a cell phone, wallet, money clip with cash, and a small Spyderco knife.
“Check everywhere,” said Dex. “And take off his shoes and throw ’em over here.”
A more thorough pat-down revealed a compact Taurus Millennium Pro in an ankle holster, which Tommy appropriated for himself. After removing the guy’s size fourteen shoes, Tommy taped his ankles together. Then his hands behind his back with enough tape to keep a couple of I-beams together.
“If you’re as good as you should be,” said Dex. “You’ll be free sooner or later.”
“Thanks.” The hulking figure lay on the floor with additional tape stringing ankles to wrist in a kind of modified hog-tie.
Dex gathered up the intruder’s primary handgun, a Glock G18, which could do plenty of damage in a hurry, plus all the pocket stuff. Then he ripped the phone cord out of the wall just to make things a little more inconvenient.
He looked at the big guy, who seemed more than content to just lay there quietly. “I keep getting interrupted, but I need to know a few more things.”
“Yeah, don’t we all…”
“I believe I was asking you — what other info are you looking for, and how do you know we have it?”
The guy inhaled slowly, then let it out as though bothered by the effort. “I’m just an errand-boy.”
“You gotta know more than us.” Dex sat down on the couch, leaned close to the guy and admired Tommy’s creative use of duct tape.
“My people know the history of that sub you found. They know it visited a secret Nazi base, and every government in the world has wanted those coordinates for a long time now.” The agent paused, uttered another of his low, guttural laughs. “And I have no fucking clue why — they don’t bother to tell me that much.”
Dex grinned. “And what makes you think we know?”
“We don’t. We’re just playing the odds.”
“How many of your people involved?”
“No idea. Truth.”
“How about telling me who writes your paycheck.”
“Some cover corporation you’ve probably never heard of.”
Tommy stood over him, kicked him in the knee. Hard. “I owed you that one, you fuck!”
The guy winced but said nothing.
“Make it a little easier. Who are you guys?” Dex leaned closer, lightly placed his handgun behind the bald guy’s ear. But as he did it, he felt awkward and stupid. No way he could kill somebody like this. If it was a self-defense thing, probably, but Dex had too many controls in place.
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. And since you both seem way too civilized for torture or execution, why don’t we just leave it at that?”
“Who the goddamn sent you, Disney World?” Tommy stood up, prepared to kick him again. “Cuz you’re right, I wouldn’t believe that one.”
The guy broke into a mocking grin. “How’d you guess?”
Tommy wound up for another one, and Dex stopped him with a gesture. Then: “Why do you care whether or not we know? Is it going to change anything?”
“Probably not. If they want you and whatever info you’ve got, they’re going to get you sooner or later. If they don’t, it’s because they lost interest.”
Dex was getting tired of this. Plus he had a feeling this guy was just the first of many converging on this place. He was wasting time. One more try, with some humor. “Just tell me this — are you the good guys or the bad guys?”
Bald Guy smiled. “I like you, Navy. Tell you what — I don’t think we’re either bad or good. We kind of reside outside that whole arena.”
“What’re you — a bunch of aliens?”
“That’s a good one. Haven’t heard that one before. Look, let’s just say my bosses are ‘business people,’ okay?”
Dex shook his head slowly, then looked at Tommy. “We have a train to catch.”
Tommy nodded and headed toward the kitchen and the back door. Turning off the table lamp, Dex blinked as the room fell into shadow, limned only from the nearby neon of High Street restaurants seeping along the edge of the drapes. He stood over the intruder. “Good luck with that tape.”
He followed Tommy to the kitchen when he heard Bald Guy’s voice.
“Hey, Navy…”
Pausing, Dex answered. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
There was a pause, then: “For being better than me. I would’ve killed you both.”