Book of Souls

“Someone made a forced entry when we were at dinner. They rigged the furnace. If I hadn’t gone out, three people would be in a coma right now.”

“In a coma?” Mueller asked. “Why not dead?”

Will ignored him as if he weren’t there.

“Who do you think was targeted? You? Nancy? Her parents?”

“Her parents were innocent bystanders.”

“Okay,” Sanchez said patiently, “you or Nancy?”

“Me.”

“Who’s responsible? What’s the motive?”

Will was talking to Sanchez. “You’re not going to want to hear this Sue, but this is still the Doomsday case.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, Will?”

“The case never ended.”

“Are you telling me this is the Doomsday killer back at it?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying the case never ended.”

“This is nonsense, it’s bull!” Mueller protested. “What’s your basis?”

“Sue,” Will said, “you know the case wound up screwy. You know I was deep-sixed. You know I was retired out of the Bureau. You know you weren’t supposed to ask any questions. Right?”

“Right,” she agreed softly.

“There’s stuff going on so many pay grades above your head it would make you spin like a top. The things I know are covered by a federal confidentiality agreement that would take a presidential order to waive. Let me just tell you that there are people out there who want certain things from me and are prepared to kill to get them. Your hands are tied. There’s nothing you can do to help me.”

“We’re the FBI, Will!” she exclaimed.

“The people after me play on the same side of the field as the FBI. That’s all I can say.”

Mueller snorted. “This is the most conveniently self-serving crap I’ve ever heard. You’re telling us we can’t investigate you or this case because of some high-level clandestine bullshit. Come on!”

Will answered, “I’m going to see my son. You guys do whatever the hell you want. Good luck to you.”

The nurses left Will alone by Phillip’s intensive-care crib. The breathing tube was out, and Philly’s color was returning to normal. He was sleeping, his little hand grasping for something in a dream.

Will was steaming like a pressure cooker. He forced himself to focus. There was no time for fatigue. There was no room for sorrow. And there was no chance he’d be hobbled by fear. He concentrated all his energy on the one emotion that he knew would be a reliable ally: anger.

He understood that Malcolm Frazier and his minions were out there, probably close by. The watchers had an edge-they had dates of death, but that was as far as their prescience extended. They knew they’d be able to kill his in-laws. They hoped they’d be able to send him and his family into comas. But they failed. He had the upper hand now. He didn’t need the police or the FBI. He needed his own strength. He felt the Glock in his waistband, its barrel painfully digging into his thigh. He channeled the pain against a mental image of Frazier.

I’m coming for you, he thought. I’m coming.

At JFK, DeCorso opened the back door of Frazier’s car and slid in beside his boss. Neither of them spoke. Frazier’s truculent chin said it all-he was not pleased. His phone was hot from constant usage.

The diplomatic immunity card that DeCorso played had wreaked transatlantic havoc. The State Department didn’t have a clue who DeCorso was or why the Department of Defense was insisting they honor his claim. SIS brass furiously tried to shake information about DeCorso out of their CIA counterparts. The political football kept getting punted higher up the chains of command until the US Secretary of State was reluctantly corralled into personally interceding with the UK Foreign Secretary.

DeCorso got his get-out-of-jail-free card. The British government reluctantly acquiesced and turned DeCorso over to a detail from the US embassy. He was sped to Stansted Airport to board a private Gulfstream V belonging to the Secretary of the US Navy, and the arson and murder investigation was functionally closed.

Finally, DeCorso broke down and offered an apology.

“How’d you get made?” Frazier growled.

“Somebody called in my rental’s license plate.”

“Should’ve swapped it out.”

“You’ve got my resignation.”

“No one resigns on me. When I decide to fire you, I’ll let you know.”

“Did you get Piper?”

“We tried last night. Carbon monoxide at the Lipinski house. We rigged it while they were at a restaurant.”

“Yesterday was their DODs, right?”

“Yeah. We were causative. Piper left the house, came back, and raised the alarm. His wife and son are going to recover. We never had a chance to retrieve whatever he found in the UK. For all we know, he could’ve passed the material to Spence by now.”

“Where’s Spence?”

“Don’t know. Probably on the way back to Vegas. We’re looking for him.”

DeCorso sucked in air through his teeth. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Piper’s at the White Plains Hospital. The place is crawling with FBI. We’re watching it, and when he leaves, we’ll pick him up.”

“You sure you don’t want to shitcan me?”