Free Alpha Kill - 03 by Tim Stevens Page A

phone in his hand so hard it creaked. He darted a sidelong look at Walusz, but the mute Pole was staring straight ahead at the road.
    With a thumb that trembled, Drake punched the keys to return the call. It was answered halfway through the first ring.
    Drake waited. At the other end, the man said, “You got it?”
    “You son of a bitch,” said Drake, very quietly, enunciating each word precisely.
    “Insurance,” the man said matter-of-factly. “That’s all it is. You’re a pragmatist. You must understand where I’m coming from.”
    “So help me, if you –”
    The guy cut in: “If you fail to carry out the hit, you know what’s going to happen. If you succeed, but get caught afterward, and decide to try and plea-bargain your way out of it by mentioning my name... you know what’s going to happen. Do we understand one another?”
    Drake said nothing. Choking waves of fury seized his throat, caused his vision to swim.
    The man went on, “In return, I promise you this. If you succeed in your job, and either get away, or else get yourself arrested but keep your mouth shut - forever - then no further action will be taken. And before you ask me what guarantees I can give you... well, all you have is my word. Which you’ll have to trust.”
    Drake found his voice. He said, “After this is over -”
    “You’re going to find me and kill me. Yes, I know. Yada yada yada.” Again, there was a small sigh. “Look. I realize I’ve complicated matters, because now you loathe me more than anybody else in the world. I’m at risk of supplanting him in your hate list. But think about it this way. If he hadn’t put you away, you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. He’s still to blame. He’s the one you need to destroy, above all else. Focus on that. Compartmentalize.”
    Funny , Drake thought distantly. Compartmentalization was the only concept he’d ever found useful in any of the bullshit the shrinks had shoveled at him through the years. You could survive anything, deal with anything life threw your way, if you learned to box up experiences and ideas and feelings and set them to one side, out of the way, while you got on with the business at hand. You could always open those boxes later, at your leisure, and take a look inside, if you wanted. Or you could just ignore them, piling them up in the vast warehouse of your psyche, never to be considered again.
    But this - this , the bombshell that had just been detonated in Drake’s face - couldn’t be tidied away so easily. It was going to squat on the periphery of Drake’s vision, until he dealt with it.
    Which he would do. Sooner or later.
    On the phone, the man said: “Remember. If you need anything, call me.”
    The line went dead.

Chapter 10
    ––––––––
    W hen the door buzzer sounded, Beth jumped so hard the water in the glass she was holding spilled on the kitchen counter.
    She leaned against the counter for a few seconds, her heart hammering. She realized, when her vision began to swim, that she’d forgotten to breath, and sucked great lungfuls of air in.
    Beth squeezed her eyes shut.
    You’ve got to get a grip.
    She mopped up the spilled water quickly with a dishcloth and, before the buzzer could sound again, hurried over to the intercom beside the door.
    “Hello? Who is it?”
    The voice sounded amused and concerned at the same time. “It’s me. Who were you expecting?”
    Again Beth closed her eyes.
    Paul.
    “Come on up.” She pressed the entry button.
    In the thirty seconds or so before the knock came on the door, Beth checked herself in the hallways mirror. She looked frazzled. Exhausted, even. It was too late to do anything about her hair.
    She’d known Paul was coming, but she’d completely forgotten about him.
    And then he was there, in the crack of the door, his wry grin in place, his mild brown eyes friendly but puzzled.
    “Hey.”
    Beth stepped aside to let him in, allowing a smile to force itself across her