The Chemist

He complied carefully. “Who is your partner?”

“Someone for hire. Not your concern.”

“I really believed you were dead this time.”

Alex didn’t respond.

“What have you done to Livvy?”

“Nothing permanent. Yet.”

“She’s only three.” His voice quavered uncharacteristically.

She turned to give him an incredulous look, which was wasted, as he never glanced away from the road in front of them. “Really? You expect me to care about civilians at this point?”

“She’s done nothing to you.”

“What did three innocent people in Texas do to you, Carston? Never mind,” she said when he opened his mouth to answer. “That was obviously rhetorical.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Kevin Beach.”

There was another long pause as he rearranged things in his mind.

“You’re going to turn left at the next block,” she instructed.

“How did you…” He shook his head. “I don’t have him. The CIA does.”

“I know who has him. And I know Deavers is following your direction in his interrogation,” she bluffed. “Your specialist is the one leading the case. I’m sure you know where they’re working on him.”

He stared stone-faced through the windshield.

“I don’t understand what is happening,” he muttered.

“Let’s talk about what you do understand, then,” Alex said in a bleak voice. “Of course you remember a little concoction Barnaby and I created for you called Deadline.”

His pasty skin started to mottle, blotches of puce blooming on his cheeks and neck. She held her phone out and his eyes flickered to it automatically. The photo was back to its original size now, and the IV hooked into his granddaughter’s arm was conspicuously in the foreground. There was a saline bag, the nutrition bag, and a smaller, dark green bag attached underneath it.

He stared at the photo for one long second, then his eyes were back on the road.

“How long?” he asked through his teeth.

“I was generous. Twelve hours. One hour has passed. This operation shouldn’t take more than four, at most. Then Livvy is delivered safely back to her mother, no worse for wear.”

“And I’m dead?”

“I’ll be honest, the odds aren’t good that either of us makes it through unscathed. A lot is riding on your acting abilities, Carston. Lucky for you, we both know how convincing you can be.”

“What happens if, through no fault of mine, you die?”

“Bad luck for Livvy. And her mother, for that matter. Things have been set in motion. If you care about your family, you’ll do your very, very best to get me out alive.”

“You could be bluffing. You were never this cold-blooded.”

“Policies change. People change. Shall I share a secret?”

She gave him a moment to respond, but he just stared straight ahead with his jaw locked.

“Kevin Beach wasn’t in Texas when Deavers sent the kill squad. I was.” She let those two words hang in the air for a moment before she went on. Carston wasn’t the only one with acting abilities. “I’m not the person you used to know, Carston. You’d be surprised at the things I’m capable of now. Take the next right.”

“I don’t know what you hope to accomplish here.”

“Let’s get down to it,” Alex said. “Where is Kevin?”

Carston didn’t hesitate. “He’s in a facility west of the city. It used to be a CIA interrogation suite, but they haven’t used it in years. Officially, it’s abandoned.”

“The address?”

He listed it from memory without a pause.

“What kind of security?”

He glanced over, his eyes studying her for a second before he responded. “I don’t have that information. But knowing Deavers, it’s more than is necessary. He’ll go overboard. He’s terrified of Kevin Beach. That’s why he came up with the whole charade with the brother. No risk, that’s what he called it.” Carston chuckled once. It was a bitter sound, in no way amused.

“Does he know my face?”

Carston’s eyes jerked to her in surprise. “You’re going in?”

“Will he recognize me?” she demanded. “How much of my file did he see? Did you show him the footage from the Metro?”

Carston pursed his lips. “We agreed from the beginning to keep our… situations separate. It was need-to-know. Years ago, he would have had access to your old recruitment file, your write-ups from a few interrogations. He might still have those, but nothing more current. The only picture in that old file was from your mother’s funeral. You were very young, your hair was longer and darker…” He paused, seeming lost in thought. “Deavers isn’t a detail guy. I doubt he’d be able to link you to the picture. You don’t look that much like nineteen-year-old Juliana Fortis anymore.”

She hoped he was right. “It’s more than my life on the line,” she reminded him.

“I’m aware. And… that much is a bet I’d take. But I don’t know what you think you’re going to do when you get inside.”

“We, Carston, we. And, probably, we go down in a hail of bullets.”

“And Livvy pays? That’s not acceptable,” he growled.