Black Friday (or Black Market) - James Patterson [124]
Hudson told her everything, except about the past year, which he was tempted to do as well. How his revenge had become sweet victory. A material reward—millions of dollars for himself and the other Vets. He wished he could share it with her, share everything right now.
Under the tent of a brightly striped wool blanket, with the windows thrown half open, they made love. Hudson was still learning to feel, and the lovemaking helped enormously. She brought him closer and closer to climax … right to the edge. He just couldn’t make it over. Then the most debilitating wave of exhaustion swept over Hudson.
He felt shaky. Then he was sliding headlong toward a tranquil dream state. The warning alarms still hadn’t completely stopped. The warning alarms almost seemed a natural part of him, now.
One moment he was softly stroking Billie’s blond hair, touching the elegant oval of her face. The next, he was falling into sleep.
Billie lay awake in the large brass bed, watching the ember glow on a filtered cigarette. She sighed quietly, blowing smoke between lightly touching teeth.
Sometimes she surprised even herself with her ability to create a lie, in perfect context, consistent with a whole world of other lies ….
Deception.
Her being able to play Chopin, and fitting that so naturally into the Birmingham, England, framework, was an inspiration. But then again, wasn’t that precisely why she was here with Hudson?
She rose from the double bed, tossing off rumpled designer sheets. She was certain it would be a miracle to wake Hudson with a cannon.
She returned to the bedroom with something close to that: a gun with a blunt-nosed silencer attached.
She knew better than to hesitate for even a second. She swung both arms up stiffly. She moved to fire the revolver into his temple, just below the hairline.
Then, she hesitated.
The sleeping body went rigid and jumped forward. Hudson’s eyes blinked open and he fired through the bed-sheets. He fired again and again and again.
Warning signals were shrieking in his head. Sirens of terrible pain screamed out at David Hudson.
Deception—forever, deception.
Horrifying deception everywhere he turned. Even here.
The Committee of Twelve, the American Wise Men— there was no way they could have let him live once Green Band ended. They had recruited him after the disappointments of Viet Nam, the disappointment in knowing his early promise in the Army could never be realized. He’d been their agent provocateur for crises around the world. They had been so attractively intelligent, every bit as smart, as precise as he was. They’d sent the girl, of course, his escort. They’d known about all his habits. They’d used him so well.
Finally, Hudson understood Green Band himself.
Chapter 97
CARROLL SLOWLY OPENED his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position. All around him were startling crashing sounds, police and U.S. Army personnel, blinding bright lights, flashing, running shapes. There was more chaos and confusion than before on the rooftop.
Faces peered down at him. New York cops, a physician? There were others he couldn’t place right now. The images registered sporadically.
“What happened?” Carroll asked. “How long have…. What happened to the body that was up here? A body was over there!”
The body of Walter Trentkamp had been near the water tower—except there wasn’t any body there now …
A uniformed New York cop knelt down alongside him. Carroll had never seen the man before. “What other body are you talking about?”
Carroll rotated his head so he could see all the way around the rooftop. “There was a body there, over near the Cobra. Walter Trentkamp of the FBI was killed right there.”
The policeman shook his head. “I was one of the first up here on the roof. There wasn’t any other body. You know, you’ve got a small watermelon growing up on top of your head.