don’t.”
“Then what the fuck do I need you around for?”
Marty Wheeler realized what Hanley was saying. “Wait . . . I do know things. My extraction. I was supposed to hook up with the Solntsevskaya Bratva here in London, get a ride to the Peruvian embassy, and hang out there until I was shipped off to the port to take a freighter to Russia.”
“But none of that happened, so that’s pretty fucking irrelevant, isn’t it?”
Wheeler looked down.
Hanley said, “You know something, Marty.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know shit. He didn’t involve me—”
Hanley interrupted. “I’m not talking about Zakharov. I’m talking about what you know about the Agency.”
“What . . . what do you mean?”
“You’ve seen some faces a guy like you isn’t supposed to see. You know some things a guy with morals like yours shouldn’t be allowed to know. You aren’t making a case for why I should keep you around.”
The bound man looked uncomprehendingly at the DDO. “Because . . . because you’ll go to prison if you make it to where I’m not around. Jesus, Matt. Power has gone to your head.”
“You got a lot of good men dead, Marty. And you standing trial . . . that would be a mess for the nation.”
Wheeler thought he understood. With a crack in his voice he said, “You’re going to get your asset to kill me, Matt? Is that it?”
“Of course not.”
Wheeler breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m going to do it myself.”
Hanley drew a Glock 23 pistol from inside his coat. Held it up. “Standard issue. Nothing fancy. A gun a guy like you might happen to get hold of somehow.”
“We’re friends, Matt.”
“Which makes it harder, no question, but it also makes me more pissed off at you, so in some sense I guess it will make it easier. I’d let you know after . . . but . . .”
“Suicide? You actually think anyone will believe I shot myself?”
Hanley shrugged. “Your people staged Renfro’s body. I saw right through it. I think I’ve got the skills to make it look like it was death by your own hand. Let’s find out.”
“You’re fucking crazy, Matt. You’re worse than the last guy in your position. All your off-book shooters blasting their way across the first world. Washington, London, Paris, Hong Kong. It’s fucking nuts, man.”
Matt knelt down next to Wheeler. “I don’t do a damn thing the director doesn’t let me do.”
“Tell that shit to someone else. I was Ops before I was Support, you remember, don’t you? The director doesn’t have a clue what you’re up to. He just told you he didn’t want to know, so you’ve taken that as carte blanche to do whatever the fuck you want to do.”
Hanley moved closer to Wheeler now, his face inches from the seated and bound man. “Well, I gotta tell you, Marty. I know that’s not true because I do a whole lot of shit I don’t want to do.” He lifted the gun in his left hand. “But this . . . this I very much want to do.”
Hanley shoved the barrel of the gun up under Wheeler’s chin.
“Fuck you!” Wheeler shouted.
The gun went click and Wheeler screamed falsetto.
Slowly Hanley stood back up and holstered his weapon. Tears filled Wheeler’s eyes now, but through them he was able to see his old friend look at someone or something behind Wheeler’s chair.
Addressing the person who was obviously now standing there, Hanley spoke slowly, emphatically. “To within an inch of his life. You copy?”
The bearded asset who’d been squatting in front of Wheeler minutes before responded, demonstrating that he had not, in fact, left the room. “Solid copy, sir.”
Deputy Director of Operations Matt Hanley walked past the assistant deputy director of Support without another word or glance, and then the asset appeared. He’d put on a pair of contractor gloves, and he turned to face the man strapped to the chair.
“Matt! God, Matt! No! Please no!”
Hanley shut the door on the way out, but this did little to drown out the screams.
* * *
• • •
Zoya Zakharova awoke with the loud click of the lock being disengaged from the heavy wooden door to her cell.
She rubbed her eyes, and they cleared to reveal her father standing in the doorway. She sat up while he grabbed a chair and walked over to her with it. Behind him he left the door open. She could see no one out in the hall. It was a show, she was certain,