He put his briefcase on the desk and leaned down towards her. “Look, you little dyke, you may be back in the Bureau, but if you don’t get out, I’m going to make your life hell.”
Slowly, her eyes locked on his, Alex stood. “You can try. But whatever you do? I’ll still be here, and you won’t.”
He laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”
“Because I know who you are.”
“Really? And who am I?”
Alex smiled, with a feral tilt to her lips. “You are FBI Assistant Director Calivin James Bishop.” She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “Or should I just call you CJ?”
His eyes widened and he reached for his gun.
“Ah-ah.” The muzzle of a .45 was pressed against the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything stupid, CJ.” Teren said. She reached inside his jacket and took his weapon, handing it to Alex, who immediately removed the clip. “Now, why don’t you just have a seat? I’m sure Dawkins and White would love your company in their holding cell — and we’ll have somebody come right in to take you down there.”
He sat down gingerly, his eyes never leaving Alex’s.
“Aren’t you going to ask how we figured it out?”
He didn’t say anything.
Alex continued. “It wasn’t that hard, really. Dawkins and White don’t like you very much.” She shrugged. “Of course, they couldn’t tell us your name, but once we showed them your picture, they had lots to tell us. White’s so angry about you having his wife killed, that it wasn’t too hard for the Justice Department to get him to agree to testify. Dawkin’s blames you for everything. Especially for sending Treville to try and kill him.”
Bishop spat on the floor. “May their souls all burn in hell.”
Teren shrugged, backing off but keeping the gun pointed at his head. “They probably will. Of course, you’ll be right beside them.”
He turned and glared at her.
“No. I will go to Heaven, and sit at the right hand of God, for all I have done has been for His glory, and in His name.”
“You killed people in the name of God.” Alex shook her head. “That’s just sick.”
“You’re the sick one, you dyke. You reject God’s word, and blaspheme His name. You defile everything you touch, you perverted —”
“That’s enough,” Teren cut him off. “You’ll make no converts here, CJ. Save your preaching. Maybe they’ll let you give a sermon before they strap you into the chair. But you’re finished here. It’s over.”
He glared at her, then looked back at Alex. “You think this is over?” Bishop sneered at her. “It hasn’t even started. You may have won this battle, but the war goes on, and we will wipe your evil from the face of the earth.”
“How?” Alex asked. “We took your bank account, and the treasure Eisenbein had been using. There’s nothing left.”
He laughed, and leaned towards her. “You think that was all the money? Just that one account?” His smile turned evil, and he softened his voice. “There are hundreds of accounts. Filled with billions of dollars. That wasn’t even the largest.”
“There are more Nazi accounts? From the forties?” Alex moved forward in her chair. “Where?”
His laugh grated in her ear. “Like I’d really tell you. You’re not just a dyke, you’re a Jewish dyke, doubly damned. But one day,” his eyes took on a mad glint, “one day your kind will burn in the same fires your ancestors did — and we’ll use their money to make it happen.”
Alex stood, leaning over the desk, her weight on her hands. “Yeah? Maybe. But you won’t be here to see it. If they let me I’ll throw the goddamned switch to fry you.”
“You wouldn’t have the guts, you disgusting bitch.”
Teren reached out and pushed him back into the chair. He turned and leveled a glare at her.
“You should have died in Lithuania.”
“Yeah, and you should never have been born. Just shut up. I’ve killed enough people in the last couple weeks, one more won’t really matter.”
“Then do it.”
Teren shook her head. “Oh, no. You’re standing trial, and going to prison. I won’t let you just take the easy way out.” She glanced at Alex. “Wanna go see what’s holding things up?”
“Right.”
Alex moved out from behind the desk, and started towards the door. Just as she opened it there were gunshots in the outer office. Alex drew her weapon.
Teren turned slightly at the sound, and before she could turn back, Bishop was on her. She squeezed the trigger, but the shot went well wide, and he tackled her to the floor. Grabbing a loose hold on her hair, he managed to smack the injured side of her head into the carpet. As thick as the carpet was, the blow was enough to stun Teren, and she closed her eyes for a moment, against the pain. It gave Bishop just enough leeway to yank her head up and slam it back down again, and again. Then he rolled off of her and reached for her gun.
Alex had drawn her weapon at the first sound of gunfire outside the office, and but relaxed at Cliff’s call that it was okay, the shooter was under control. She turned back toward the office in time to see Bishop roll off of Teren and pick up her .45. Teren groaned and tried to roll over, her head wound bleeding once again. At the sight of the blood, Alex raised her gun, and went to one knee. She shouted a warning, but Bishop didn’t hesitate — he brought Teren’s gun up, his finger curled around the trigger, aiming towards the stunned operative.
The sound of two shots echoed loudly in the office. For a moment, everything froze.
Then, with almost exaggerated slowness, Bishop collapsed, blood pouring from his temples, where Alex’s bullet had entered and then exited his head. There was a groan as he rolled slightly on his side, then a wheeze from his lungs.
Then silence.
Both he and Teren were still.
Chapter Forty-two — Conclusion
FBI Agent Alexia Reis let herself drop down into the chair in her partner’s living room. David was once again on the couch, this time with his wife beside him. Sarah and Maggie, who had joined them for dinner, were seated next to each other by the fireplace, Maggie comfortably snuggled in Sarah’s embrace.
“Ah, Miri, that was a wonderful dinner.”
“Thank you, Alex. I’m glad you enjoyed it. You looked like you needed something special.”
Alex nodded. “Yeah. Besides, you make the best orange-sesame chicken in the world.”
Miri chuckled. “I’m not sure about that. But thanks anyway.”
David leaned forward. “So, you wanna explain what happened? Or are you keeping it to yourself?”
“No, I’ll talk.” She smiled at him. “Wish you’d been there, buddy.”
“Me, too, partner.” He winked. “Now, talk to us.”
“Okay.” She leaned her head back. “Where should I start?”
“Well, how about telling me a little about what I missed? The stuff in Europe would be nice.”
“Europe. Okay.”
Alex started the tale of how Teren had taken her to Switzerland, and their investigation at the art gallery, and the dinner with Meinhard. She continued with their receipt of the bank records and the discovery of their pursuers, then the subsequent train ride to Germany.
“You mean you guys took a five hour train ride together. In a sleeper car.”
“Yes, Miri.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Don’t tell me you spent the whole five hours talking about the case, Alex.”
“No.” The blonde grinned. “We played chess.”
She continued on, explaining their trip to Jurgen von Odbert’s house. Alex had to swallow when she spoke of the old man’s suicide. That was followed by a quiet recounting of the gun battle in the cemetery, and her fear when Teren had been shot. She stopped for a moment, letting the tears roll down her cheeks. Miri handed her a box of tissues, and she offered back a sad smile.
“So, that was the day that Gerd and I went through the papers that the BKA had seized from Eisenbein’s office.”