Cross Fire (Alex Cross 17)
He dropped his weapon into a kitchen drawer and pulled two longnecks out of the fridge. He offered one to Max.
“Talk to me, Siegel. What’s going on? What are you doing here at this hour?”
Kyle refused the beer. He didn’t want to touch anything he didn’t have to.
“The op’s completely blown,” he said. “I don’t know how, but they found me out. I had no choice but to come in.”
“You look like shit, by the way. Those bruises around your eyes —”
“Should have seen me a week ago. A couple of Arturo Buenez’s boys worked me over pretty good.” Kyle patted the army-green duffel on his back. Inside was the liquid stun gun and water pack, wrapped in a thick blanket. “This was everything I managed to get out with.”
“Why didn’t you signal?” Malinowski asked, and that was the one thing Kyle had never been able to figure out — how Max Siegel was to have made contact with his handler in an emergency.
“I was lucky to get out at all,” he said. “I’ve been lying low in Florida until I could get up here. Fort Myers, Vero Beach, Jacksonville.”
Maybe it was the beer, but Malinowski didn’t seem to notice that Kyle hadn’t actually answered the question he’d been asked. How could he? He didn’t know the answer.
“So, who else should I be talking to?” Kyle asked.
The agent shook his head. “Nobody.”
“Not DEA? Anyone in DC?”
“There’s no one, Siegel. You were out there on your own.” He looked up suddenly. “Why don’t you know that?”
“Give me a break, man. I’m all messed up. Look at me.” Kyle took a step closer to where Malinowski was leaning back against the range. “Seriously, really look at me. What do you see?”
Malinowski smiled sympathetically. “You definitely need some rest, Max. It’s good you’re here.”
The guy didn’t have a clue, did he? This was just too much fun to stop.
“I’ve seen Kyle Craig, Steve.”
“What? Hang on — the Kyle Craig?”
Kyle spread his arms and smiled. “The Kyle Craig. In the flesh.”
“I don’t understand. How the hell does that figure in…?”
It was like watching numbers add up across Malinowski’s face. And just when he seemed to come up with the right answer, Kyle made his move. His Beretta was out and pressing into Malinowski’s chin before the guy even saw it coming.
“Amazing what they can do with plastic surgery these days,” he said.
Malinowski’s half-finished beer clunked to the floor. “What are you talking about? That’s… impossible!”
“I’m 99.99 percent sure that it’s not,” Kyle told him. “Unless I’m imagining all this. Consider it in an honor, Steve. You’re the first and last to know what I look like now. Are you honored?” Malinowski didn’t move, so he pushed the Beretta a little deeper into his face. “Are you?”
Now he nodded.
“Say it, please.”
“I’m… honored.”
“Good. Now here’s what’s going to happen. We’ll be moving to the back of the house, and you’ll be getting inside that filthy bathtub you never clean.” Kyle patted the duffel on his back again. “Then I’m going to unpack, and you and I are going to talk some more. I need to know some things about Max Siegel.”
Chapter 14
HE WAITED TWO MORE DAYS, spent a few nights around DC, got himself laid at the Princess Hotel. Then Kyle brought Max Siegel in from out of the cold once and for all.