“To tie up loose ends.”

They left Mr. Hodges and walked back into the hallway to stand over the dead agent. Nicholas said, “What was his name?

She choked a little on the name. “Cedarson. Rex Cedarson.”

“He was in the bedroom watching over Mr. Hodges, heard the shots, or heard something that alarmed him, since the assassin may have used a suppressor, and was moving toward the kitchen when he was shot. At least he had time to get his gun out.”

Mike swallowed down grief and guilt. Rex was a good man, always up for a joke, had once even locked her in the men’s room. The other men were steady, professionals all the way, good family men.

“The other two agents were Bob Ventura and Kenneth Chantler. Though I knew Cedarson the best.” She didn’t add he had a two-year-old daughter and an eight-year-old son, a wife he loved and didn’t see enough of because he had a burning desire to move up the ladder and worked too much. The other two agents had similar lives. And they were gone, in the blink of an eye, simply gone. Their deaths were a punch to the gut. “I can’t stand this, Nicholas, I really can’t.”

He knew this was a huge blow, knew she was on the edge and might go over if he tried to comfort her, so he said matter-of-factly, “I want to show you something, but be careful. We don’t want to ruin any evidence CSI might pull from around the house.” Like Mike, though, he knew it was pointless. Whoever had done this hadn’t left a single trace of himself.

She followed Nicholas back into Mr. Hodges’s bedroom. He was staring at the dead man, then he raised his hand and mimicked shooting.

“I’d say Mr. Hodges was asleep when the shots were fired in the kitchen and Cedarson ran out of the room.”

“You think he could sleep through the shots, even suppressed?”

He didn’t, but he wanted to keep her focused. “Perhaps he took a sleeping pill. I don’t think he ever knew he was going to die. So look. The assassin stood right over him and took the two shots. I’d say he’s at least my height, maybe a bit taller. The ME won’t find gunpowder residue on Mr. Hodges, or on the others; the wounds are all clean. The killer came in hard and fast—four shots in the kitchen, two in the hallway, two in here. Mr. Hodges was the target, of course.”

“All of these men dead simply because one honest, lonely man was a good citizen and told us what he’d heard at the bar. I can’t believe that level of—what would you even call this?”

Nicholas said, “Insurance. Our assassin is really careful, believes in overkill. Is he someone from COE? Until now, COE hasn’t gone around killing people. And this was professional all the way. What would a professional assassin be doing hooked up to a small-beans anti-oil terrorist group? Why this elaborate killing? It wouldn’t have mattered. There was nothing more Mr. Hodges could have told us.”

“Remember Mr. Zachery believes someone new has been added to COE? Someone more violent? Maybe whoever this is now runs things.”

“Seems to me this level of escalation pretty well nails it. A new violent addition.”

They heard a siren. “Backup’s nearly here. Nicholas, how did the assassin find Mr. Hodges? How did COE even know he’d spoken to us?”

Nicholas said, “I think we probably led the killer right here to Mr. Hodges’s house.”

“Someone followed us? From Federal Plaza?”

His mobile rang. He glanced down—one o’clock in the morning, and the number on the screen was the main number at 26 Federal Plaza.

“Drummond here.”

“Nicholas,” Agent Gray Wharton said, “we have a huge problem.”

“Yes, Mike and I are standing in the middle of it. I’m in Bayonne, and we have four bodies, including Mr. Richard Hodges, our tipster.”

Wharton swore. “He’s dead? Our guys are down, too? Yes, of course they are. Give me a second here, Nicholas.”

Nicholas heard him draw a deep breath, could practically see him trying to get hold of himself. “Okay, listen, on top of all that, there’s more. I’m sending a file to your phone right now.”

Nicholas felt the phone vibrate slightly in his hand. “It’s here. Gray, what am I looking at?”

“Someone launched a major cyber-attack on all of the major oil companies. Everyone’s been hit—Exxon, ConocoPhillips, Occidental, all of them. Their systems are down, and so far we haven’t been able to break the encryptions. Nicholas, it’s bad. It’s very bad. Worse than the Shamoon virus attack on the Saudis in 2012, and with all the same hallmarks.”

“Who’s behind it? Russia? The Chinese?”

“I’ve been tracking it as best I can, but it’s coming from multiple international sites. I need you. You’ve got to get here as soon as you can.”

Gray was never an alarmist, which meant this was really bad. “I’m on my way.”

Mike grabbed his arm. “What is it?”

“Major cyber-attack on the oil companies. I’ve got to help Gray back at Federal Plaza.” He ran his hands through his hair, standing it on end. “What are the odds?”

“I had no idea COE had the expertise or the willingness to go in this direction.”

“If it’s them. This sounds like a very sophisticated attack. Hey, if they have a professional assassin, why not a professional hacker? Gray and I have to try and shut it down.”

She shooed him with her hand. “Go. I’ll stay here and handle the scene.”

He lightly touched his palm to her bruised cheek. “Thank you.”

“Nicholas?”

He turned at the front door. “What?”

“Be careful, okay? Whoever did this already killed three of our people. I’d be really pissed if you got yourself hurt. Again.”

He flashed her a smile. “Agent Caine. Worried about me?”

“Yes, lamebrain, and I’m serious.” She gestured toward the kitchen. “This isn’t good.”

He nodded. “I know it’s not. I’ll take a care. You as well, understand?”

14

PAWN TO C6

Brooklyn

Vanessa froze, but her brain didn’t. She must have accidently turned off the mute when she’d shoved the phone into the soap. Had Matthew heard it, too? He was still kissing her, and now he was sucking on her ear, his hand rubbing her breast.

Distract him.

Her hand fitted over him again, caressing.

Too late, the phone dinged again. This time it signaled an incoming text.

Matthew slowly raised his head and looked down at her.

Should she kill him? She could kick him in the groin, send him to his knees, grab him and choke him or break his neck. Or grab his head and smash him into the porcelain tub. No gun, that was in her bag in the bedroom.

Her knee came up at the same moment Matthew lunged. He went for the soap, she went for his balls. He managed to turn in time and her knee struck his thigh. He grabbed her leg and jerked up, throwing her off balance, and she fell backward, three steps, into the shower. He planted his foot on her neck, grabbed the bar of soap.

“What is this?”

She tried to push off his foot, but he only pressed down harder. She couldn’t breathe.

“Looks like a bar of soap, but I don’t think it’s just any bar of soap—maybe it’s magic soap. It rings. Isn’t that amazing, Vanessa? Ringing soap.”

He pried the phone from the soap, wiped off the screen. He looked down at her, and she jerked at his foot to get it off her neck. “Can’t breathe, Vanessa?”

He pulled his Beretta out of its holster on the back of his jeans, lifted his boot off her neck. “Who have you been talking to, Vanessa?”

Her throat was on fire. She whispered, “Not mine.” She didn’t know if she’d gotten the words out. She rubbed her throat as she stared at the muzzle of the Beretta. She didn’t move.

He looked thoughtful, none of his manic anger she could see. “Really? What does this mean? FT or AM?” Still his voice was calm, but she could only imagine what was roiling around in that genius brain of his. She knew exactly what it meant.