Triple Threat - James Patterson Page 0,69

and pour the diamonds into my soda. The stones, ranging in size from grains of sand to corn kernels, collect in a pile on top of the ice. They shimmer in the sunlight, and then they sink without a trace into the brown liquid. I put the lid back on and hold the cup up, weighing it. The cup is heavier, but everything about it still looks normal.

I park my Jeep next to Marco’s Dodge Charger. There’s a film of desert dust over both our cars.

The shack looks like something left over from a nuclear war. The windows are all broken. The front door is missing. Most of the shingles have been yanked off the roof by wind. The walls are full of holes and covered in graffiti, as if teenagers had come out here and taken turns with sledgehammers and spray paint.

As I approach the building, I drink from the cup as if it’s an ordinary soda. My feet crunch on glass and other debris as I step over the threshold. Marco is sitting on a metal chair at a table missing one of its legs. He is idly carving a piece of wood with a serrated folding knife. Rays of sunlight poke through the walls, illuminating the dust floating in the air.

“Logan!” Marco says, his face lighting up when he sees me.

He’s dressed as he always is, in dark slacks and a gray sport coat over a black T-shirt.

He jams the knife into the table and stands. He extends his hand to shake mine, but instead I lean in to give him a hug, hoping to figure out if he’s got a weapon inside his sport coat. He looks surprised, but he hugs me back.

My chest bumps against a pistol tucked into a shoulder holster.

“We did it,” I say, clapping him on the back.

“We sure did, old friend,” Marco says. “We sure as hell did.”

I settle into a wobbly chair across from Marco’s seat. I set the cup of soda on the table.

Marco sits across from me. His steel-gray eyes bore into me.

“So?” Marco says.

“So,” I say, smiling and acting as if nothing is wrong.

“So,” Marco repeats, “where are the rocks, man?”

“I’ve got them,” I say, being deliberately vague.

“I want to see them, dude.”

“There’s time for that.”

“Are they in the Jeep?” Marco says.

I shrug.

“Stop fucking around,” he says jokingly—but I can see in his eyes he’s not kidding.

He rises and takes a step toward the door, but then hesitates and grabs his knife off the table. I watch him through the window as he opens the Jeep door and looks around inside. Behind him, the sun is an orange blob in the distant haze, seconds from disappearing below the horizon.

Marco comes storming back, holding the empty satin bag. He flings it at me.

“What the hell are you trying to pull?” Marco says.

“What the hell are you trying to pull?” I say, rising out of my chair. “You set up a rendezvous in the middle of nowhere. You brought a gun. I’m not stupid, Marco. You were going to kill me as soon as I showed you the diamonds.”

Marco stares at me for a moment, and then reaches into his jacket and pulls out the pistol.

“Congratulations,” Marco says. “You’ve got it all figured out.”

“You couldn’t just let me go, could you?”

He looks at me like I’ve insulted him. “What did you think you were going to do?” he says. “Pretend you’re just like everybody else? Meet a girl and settle down? Live a normal life?”

“That sounds about right.”

“I won’t let you just ride off into the sunset, old friend,” he says, and he aims the Beretta M9 at my face.

I take a sip from my soda. “You can’t kill me, Marco. If you shoot me, you’ll never know where the diamonds are.”

“Don’t mess with me, Logan. Tell me where the diamonds are or I’ll put a bullet through your goddamn brain.”

“Go ahead,” I say. “Flush the diamonds down the toilet.”

I would happily give Marco his half of the diamonds, but I can’t do that, given the predicament. I would be dead the moment Marco saw the first diamond come spilling out of the cup. My only chance of survival is the hope that Marco won’t kill me because he knows that if he does, the diamonds will be gone forever.

I step backward toward the door.

I can see Marco considering his options, realizing he hasn’t thought this all the way through. He has the gun, but I hold all the