“Chris?” Jim Bob’s speech was slow, probably numbed by painkillers. “You’re the one who did this to me.”
“You did it to yourself.”
“How’d you get back to the States?”
“Surprised?” Chris asked.
Jim Bob shifted in his bed and grunted in pain. He looked at the others. “And Hannah. But who is this third person?”
Chris gave Jim Bob no more information than he needed.
Jim Bob’s eyes bobbed from person to person. “Are you here to kill me?”
Chris stared through him. “Should I?”
His gaze searched the room as if looking for an escape. “If you’re not here to kill me, then why are you here?”
“I can think of three million reasons,” Chris said.
Jim Bob coughed. “Pardon?”
“You heard me.”
Jim Bob was speechless for a moment. “What have you done with my retirement money?”
The cell in Chris’s pocket vibrated. “Recently Victor’s phone has been ringing almost nonstop. Some Chinese guy leaving angry messages. Hmmm.” Chris picked up the phone and turned on the speaker before answering it. “Hello?”
“Victor, you piece shit,” a man with a Chinese accent said. “We transferred three million dollars to Jim Bob’s Swiss account for Switchblade Whisper, but we still don’t have Switchblade Whisper!”
“Jim Bob is right here. Would you like to talk to him?” Chris asked.
“Yes, stupid ass!”
Chris put the speaker near Jim Bob’s mouth, but Jim Bob didn’t say anything.
The Chinese man’s voice became louder. “Jim Bob, you give back Switchblade Whisper or return three million dollars! You not keep both!”
“This phone is not secure,” Jim Bob said.
“What you mean, phone not secure?” the Chinese man demanded. “Victor say your phone special CIA secure phone!”
Jim Bob’s heart rate on his EKG remained calm. “No, your phone is not secure.”
“This most secure phone in China! You better—”
Chris pressed the “end” button, cutting off the Chinese voice.
“I gave the Chinese the Switchblade Whisper in Syria,” Jim Bob said. “I can’t be responsible for them losing it.”
Victor’s phone vibrated again.
“All that trouble with the Chinese over what?” Hannah asked. “Three million dollars that’s no longer in your bank account.”
Jim Bob groaned. “What do you want from me?”
The phone continued to vibrate.
“A better question would be, ‘What do you want from me?’” Hannah replied.
“I want my three million dollars!” Jim Bob sputtered.
“Don’t overexert yourself.” Hannah sighed and Jim Bob’s EKG spiked.
“I want my three million dollars!”
“Call off your dogs and clear our names,” Hannah said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the one who stole the Switchblade Whisper and sold it to the Chinese for three million dollars. You killed Wolf, and when you two tried to kill Chris, he shot you both in self-defense. Then in Turkey, Chris and I recovered the Switchblade Whisper and took it to the US embassy, but you framed us, and we were falsely imprisoned. As a result, Professor Mordet attacked the embassy and took the Switchblade Whisper. And in two days, he will launch his attack on the whole country.”
Jim Bob spoke in a wounded tone. “You make it sound like I did something wrong.”
“Like I said, correct me if I’m wrong.”
Victor’s phone vibrated again in Chris’s pocket.
Jim Bob seemed to contemplate his options. “I’ll call off my people and clear your names, but I want my money, my laptop, and Victor’s phone.”
“You don’t get your laptop or Victor’s phone,” Hannah said. “That’s insurance for us in case you renege.”
The conversation appeared to have tired Jim Bob. He smiled faintly. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“You have no idea.” She nodded at Chris, and he answered the vibrating phone and turned on the speaker phone again. “It’s over, Sonny,” Chris said into the phone.
“You hear that piece shit, Jim Bob? It’s over,” Sonny said in his Chinese accent. Then he switched to his Queens, New York, accent: “How was I? Was I good?”
Jim Bob’s eyebrows twisted. He pointed his finger at the third person in the room. “Who is he?”
“Oh, right,” Hannah said, tapping her finger against her chin.
The third person pulled out a badge. “I’m Special Agent Frank Garnet with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Jim Bob Louve, you are under arrest for espionage against the United States of America, selling top secret defense information to aid a foreign government—”
Jim Bob’s EKG peaked violently, and he froze for a moment. Then he gagged hard.
Agent Garnet spoke into his hidden microphone. “We need medical assistance, ASAP!”
29
Later that evening, Chris, Hannah, and Sonny returned to Young’s house. Minutes later, a knock sounded on the door. Young answered it and accepted a large manila envelope. He closed the door and locked it. “It looks like the analysis of Professor Mordet’s meat jerky has arrived.”
Chris’s stomach turned before Young even opened it, and the warm air in the apartment made him feel light-headed. He wanted to know, but he didn’t want to know.
Young opened the envelope and took out some documents.
“Who was it?” Hannah asked.
“It’s someone I haven’t heard of,” Young said.
“Who?” Sonny asked.
Young read the name: “A Ron Hickok?”
Hearing that Ron was dead wrenched Chris’s gut and set his skin on fire. He had to sit down before he fell down.
“The Ron Hickok?” Sonny asked in disbelief. “Can’t be.”
“The brief bio here states he was the lead instructor at the Blaze Ranch,” Young said. “Disappeared three months ago.”
Sonny sighed. “I took some classes from Ron.”
“Why would Ron Hickok have anything to do with Mordet?” Hannah asked.
Sonny was quiet for a moment. “Maybe Mordet passed himself off as someone he wasn’t.”
“But how could he kill Hickok?” Hannah asked. “The only person who could kill Ron Hickok was Ron Hickok.”
“Maybe Mordet tricked Ron into teaching him Flash-Kill,” Sonny suggested.
Hannah shook her head. She turned to face Chris and started to say something but stopped.
Tears clouded his vision, but he was too numb to wipe them away.
Hannah stared. “You knew him. He trained you, didn’t he?”
Thinking became a burden, and words became unattainable, floating in some distant cosmos.
“Why wasn’t it in your service record?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was Ron’s idea to expunge my record of ever training with him,” Chris said, his voice barely a whisper. “He didn’t want anyone to know, and he never explained why.” Now the tears were streaming down his cheeks.
“He taught you Flash-Kill,” Hannah said softly. “Didn’t he?”
Chris’s skin became hot, and the room began to spin. He needed fresh air. He rose out of his chair and wobbled before regaining his balance. He put one foot in front of the other and headed for the back door. As he entered the kitchen, the doorknob seemed so far away and the house felt like it was tilting. He reached for the blurry doorknob and turned it, but the door wouldn’t open. A hand unlocked the door, and he was helped through by someone — Hannah.
For a while, he sat under a tree in Young’s backyard. He glanced back at the house. Hannah stood inside watching him through a window. She had enough sense to give him his space but cared enough to keep an eye on him.