Primary Valor Jack Mars (miss read books TXT) 📖

Mileswas the last person to leave the office tonight, by a lot. He had been waitingfor word about the rescue operation, word that had not come. And he had notbeen careful, that much was clear. He was alone, alone with this stranger, andthey were sitting in a darkened car, deep in shadow, at the back of a parkinglot.

“How didyou get inside this car?”

“You’revery stupid, you know that?” the man said. “People get in and out of this caranytime they want. This car is bugged, my friend. This car, the car before it. They’vebeen listening to you talk for years. The only reason you’re not in jail isthey like you where you are.”

Milesbegan to turn to look at the man squarely.

“Don’tturn around. You can see me in the mirror.”

The manspoke forcefully, and Miles found himself obeying that voice. He looked in themirror instead.

The manwas Hispanic, with a dark face, dark eyes, and dark hair. Everything about himwas dark, save one thing. There was a long vertical scar down the left side ofhis face. That raised tissue stood out pale, nearly white, against the rest ofthe man’s skin.

“I haven’tcommitted a crime. There’s no reason for anyone to put me in jail.”

The mansmiled and shook his head. He looked up at the sunroof of the car, as if hemight find God there, and they might have a good laugh about how everyonedenies everything. But God sees all.

“Do youknow me?” the man said. His English was good, but he spoke it with a faintaccent that suggested it wasn’t his first language.

Milesshook his head. “No. I’ve never seen you before.”

“Youknow of me, then?”

“What’syour name?”

“I haveno name. They call me El Tigre. In English, the Tiger. The tiger is a solitarycreature. Do you know this nickname?”

“No. Idon’t know it.”

Therewas no mercy in those eyes. No compassion, no humanity. They were the hardest,coldest eyes Miles had ever looked into.

“I tookyour granddaughter. It was just, how you call it, a job. I do things like thatfor money. I gave her off to the people who paid me. I did not touch her, andshe was in perfect health when she was with me. You should know that.”

“Okay,”Miles said. He could not seem to move now. His body was locked up. It occurredto him that the thing to do was open his door and burst out of the car, thenrun screaming through the garage. But he didn’t seem to have the muscle controlto even try it. He couldn’t lift his hand to touch the door.

“She’s abeautiful girl,” the man said. “I took good care of her.”

Milessaid nothing in response. He was stuck in place. He was stuck in time. He couldnot move forward from this moment into the next.

“Two ofmy friends were killed by the FBI. One was a very good friend. He was with me along time. I don’t blame you for that, even though you sent the agents.”

“Thankyou,” Miles said.

He gazedout through the windshield at the parking lot in front of him. It was a bleak,forbidding place, a subterranean nightmare of a place. There was no one here. Therewere no cars here. Just dismal yellow light, bare steel pillars, and an emptyconcrete lot. It was hideous. He almost couldn’t believe that he had beenparking down here for so many years.

To makesmatters worse, everyone parked down here—all the employees, the partners, theclients, the guests. Miles Richmond strived for excellence in everything hedid. But look at this garage. What kind of impression did this place make?

“I don’tcome here because my friends got killed,” the man said. “When people get killedin my line of work, you can say they lived a dangerous life, and it was theirtime. The bill came due, that’s all. I always think that way. It’s for thebest. You didn’t kill them, and revenge is a bad idea. I take revenge on you,someone takes revenge on me, someone else takes revenge on your wife and kids,on and on. It’s not worth it.”

Mileswas losing the thread of this conversation. The man was talking around incircles, talking without coming to the point.

“Do youknow why I am here, if not for revenge?”

Milesshook his head. “No.”

“I camebecause someone paid me to come. This is another job. You need to understandthat as well. There’s nothing personal. It’s just business. I know almostnothing about you, for sure not enough to hate you. You’re just some guy who ison the wrong side. And it’s okay because you’re old. You would have died soonanyway.”

Milesfinally understood. Despite the fear, despite the terror that would see him turnto stone and never say another word, he found his voice.

“You don’thave to do it,” he said.

“Yes, Ido.”

Milesfelt something pressing against the back of his head then. He glanced in therearview, and could just make out the reflection of a gun. It was a handgunwith a long silencer at the end, and the man, The Tiger, was holding it toDarwin’s head.

TheTiger’s eyes showed no obvious emotion. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t worried. Hewasn’t sorry. “Adios, Miles Richmond.”

“Wait. Youdon’t have to do this. We can work something—”

“DarwinKing says hola.”

Milessaw the gunshot that killed him. He watched it in the rearview mirror. Ithappened in an instant, but time seemed to slow to a crawl, if only for thatinstant. A lick of flame appeared at the end of the barrel of the gun. Somethingtraveled from that hole, an energy more than something physically seen.

Milesfelt it enter his head.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

9:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool

The National Mall

Washington, DC

“Beautiful.”

William Theodore Ryan, MinorityLeader of the United States House of Representatives, had just left work forthe evening. The night was chilly, and he wore a long wool coat over his suit.

Inside his coat, there was ashoulder holster he wore when he left the Capitol each night. Guns were notallowed in the House chamber, and he respected that tradition. But once he leftthe chamber, he was permitted to carry a concealed weapon, and he chose to doso.

The gun he typically carried was small,a Beretta Nano—what they called a pocket pistol. Macho types that Bill hadknown