Free Double Cross by James Patterson

at some point, his confidence is going to outpace his skill. That’s when he’ll blow it. Has to happen.”
    “Because you say so?” Sampson asked me with a grin.
    “That’s right,” I said. I wadded up a page and shot it across the room into the garbage can with a metallic swish. “Because I say so.”

Part Two
INFAMOUS!

Chapter 31

    THE LAWYER MASON WAINWRIGHT arrived for his meeting with Kyle Craig at four o’clock sharp, as he always did. Kyle insisted that he be punctual. But this visit wasn’t to be like any of the past ones. This would be his final time with Kyle Craig, and that was cause for some sadness but also celebration.
    He wore his usual cowboy boots and hat, an oversize buckskin jacket, the horn-rimmed glasses, the snakeskin belt, his Far West professorial look. As soon as he entered the space, he and Kyle hugged, as they always did. “The beauty of rituals,” said Kyle.
    “Everything is ready,” the lawyer whispered against the prisoner’s cheek. “No cameras permitted. We’re alone in here. As you know, Washington is under way.”
    “Then let’s get started here. Nobody will believe this . . . nobody. This is greatness, Mason.”
    The two men pulled apart and immediately began to shed their clothing, stripping down to shorts. Kyle’s were off-white prison issue with yellow stains. “They’re not from piss. It’s burn marks from the laundry,” he told the lawyer.
    “Well,
these
are from piss.” Wainwright laughed as he pointed to his own shorts. “That’s how frightened I am.”
    “Well,” said Kyle Craig, “I can’t really blame you.”
    The lawyer opened his briefcase next. He pried apart the top of the case and took out what first appeared to be molded flesh. Actually, it was a custom-made prosthesis, a realistic face mask originally developed for skin burns and cancer victims, and occasionally used in Hollywood films like
Mission: Impossible
. The mask was made of silicone rubber, and every detail had been hand painted by a renowned costume artist in Los Angeles.
    There were two prosthetic applications: one of Mason Wainwright, the other of Kyle Craig.
    Once the masks were fitted properly, Kyle spoke to the lawyer. “Yours looks perfectly fine. Very good, actually. And mine? How do I look?”
    “You look like me.” The lawyer grinned crookedly. “I think I got the better of the deal.”
    “Are there any problems inherent with the masks?” Kyle asked next, as thorough as ever.
    “Only one flaw with these prosthetics, from what I’ve been told. The likenesses are perfect. That’s not a problem. But the eyelids don’t blink.”
    “Important to know. Let’s finish dressing, then.”
    Kyle put on the lawyer’s clothes quickly—just in case a guard came by, which happened occasionally, though not usually during the legal sessions, when Kyle and the lawyer were left alone by law.
    Mason Wainwright had worn clothes a couple of sizes too small that day, including his trademark cowboy hat. When Kyle got to the boots, he inserted two-inch lifts from out of the briefcase.
    Now he stood at a little over six two, close enough to the lawyer’s height.
    Dressed in the prison jumpsuit, the lawyer was still taller than Kyle, but he would walk with the prisoner’s habitual slump, so it wouldn’t matter that much, if at all. They were ready now, but the plan called for them to stay together for the full hour. Just as they always did. Everything exactly the same. Rituals to be observed.
    “Do you want to ask your questions—the eight?” the lawyer said. “Or should I ask them?”
    Kyle went through the usual questions. Then neither of them spoke for the remainder of the time they had together. Kyle Craig seemed to be almost in a trance. But he was just thinking ahead, making plans.
    Finally, when only a minute or so of the meeting remained, Kyle rose first, looking like the lawyer, of course.
    Then the lawyer stood, looking like Kyle Craig.
    Kyle extended his arms, and