She watches his face closely and is satisfied with what she sees there: shock.
“He left you alone because he thought you were a hyena. Or a crow. Something that lives on roadkill. Not nice, but part of the . . . I don’t know, the ecosystem, I guess. But then you decided that wasn’t enough, didn’t you? You thought why wait around for some tragedy, some massacre, when I can make my own. DIY, right?”
Nothing from Ondowsky. He simply watches her, and even though his eyes are now still, they’re awful. It’s her death warrant, all right, and she’s not just signing it. She’s writing it herself.
“Have you done it before?”
A long pause. Just when Holly has decided he isn’t going to answer—which will be an answer—he does. “No. But I was hungry.” And he smiles. It makes her feel like screaming. “You look frightened, Holly Gibney.”
No use lying about that. “I am. But I’m also determined.” She leans forward into his space again. It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done. “So here is the other thing. I’ll give you a pass this time, but never do it again. If you do, I’ll know.”
“And then what? You’ll come after me?”
It’s Holly’s turn not to speak.
“How many copies of this material do you actually have, Holly Gibney?”
“Only one,” Holly says. “Everything’s on the flash drive, and I’ll give it to you on Saturday evening. But.” She points a finger at him, and is pleased to see it doesn’t tremble. “I know your face. I know both your faces. I know your voice, things about it you may not know yourself.” She’s thinking of the pauses to defeat the lisp. “Go your way, eat your rotten food, but if I even suspect you’ve caused another tragedy—another Macready School—then yes, I’ll come after you. I’ll hunt you down. I’ll blow up your life.”
Ondowsky looks around at the nearly empty food court. Both the old man in the tweed cap and the woman who was staring at the mannequins in the window of Forever 21 are gone. There are people queuing at the fast food franchises, but their backs are turned. “I don’t think anyone’s watching us, Holly Gibney. I think you’re on your own. I think I could reach across this table and snap your scrawny neck and be gone before anyone realized what happened. I’m very fast.”
If he sees she’s terrified—and she is, because she knows he’s both desperate and furious to find himself in this position—he may do it. Probably will do it. So once more she forces herself to lean forward. “You might not be fast enough to keep me from screaming your name, which I believe everyone in the Pittsburgh metro area knows. I’m quite speedy myself. Would you like to take that chance?”
There’s a moment when he’s either deciding or pretending to. Then he says, “Saturday evening at six, Frederick Building, fifth floor. I bring the money, you give me the thumb drive. That’s the deal?”
“That’s the deal.”
“And you’ll keep your silence.”
“Unless there’s another Macready School, yes. If there is, I’ll start shouting what I know from the rooftops. And I’ll go on shouting until someone believes me.”
“All right.”
He sticks out his hand, but doesn’t seem surprised when Holly declines to shake it. Or even touch it. He gets to his feet and smiles again. It’s the one that makes her feel like screaming.
“The school was a mistake. I see that now.”
He puts on his sunglasses and is halfway across the food court almost before Holly has time to register his departure. He wasn’t lying about being fast. Maybe she could have avoided his hands if he’d reached across the small table, but she has her doubts. One quick twist and he’d’ve been gone, leaving a woman with her chin on her chest, as if she’s dozed off over her little lunch. But it’s only a temporary reprieve.
All right, he said. Just that. No hesitation, no asking for assurances. No questions about how she could be sure some future explosion resulting in multiple casualties—a bus, a train, a shopping center like this one—wasn’t his doing.
The school was a mistake, he said. I see that now.
But she was the mistake, one that needed to be corrected.
He doesn’t mean to pay me, he means to kill me, she thinks as she takes her untouched slice and her Starbucks cup to the nearest trash receptacle. Then she almost laughs.