Dead Man Talking (Alex Mason Book 7) by Blake Banner & David Archer

Author:Blake Banner & David Archer [Banner, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Right House
Published: 2022-12-14T00:00:00+00:00

Twelve

​Gallin was inside. I could see her through the glass in the window, hunched over her beer. I was standing in the porch and I turned to watch the traffic hissing slowly over the blacktop. Breaking the wet runnels of light. There were not many people out and the few there were, were bent under their umbrellas, hurrying home.

​Nero answered on the second ring. He sounded tired.

​“Alex, I have told you not to—”

​“Shut up, sir.” He went quiet, didn’t answer, and then I knew we were in real trouble. “We are going back to London tonight. But before we go we need to talk.”

​“Yes,” was all he said. “Yes.”

​“When?”

​“Can you come now?”

​“Where?”

​“89th Street.”

​“I don’t trust it.”

​“It will be secure. For now, at least. Anywhere else…” He sighed heavily. “Anywhere else will be more risky.”

​“We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

​I hung up and pushed inside. Gallin looked up and watched me approach. Her eyes searched my face. If my face told her anything it told her I felt sick. “Let’s go.”

​“Where?”

​“89th Street.”

​“That’s not smart, Mason.”

​“Yeah, that’s what I told him.” I went to the bar and paid the bill. When I got back to the table Gallin was still sitting, watching me like she was waiting for something. I said, “He told me it had to be there. We haven’t the time to argue. Nero is not bent. I’ll stake my life on it. If he says 89th Street is OK for now, I believe him.”

​I was going to tell her if she wanted to wait in the car she could do that. But I knew that wasn’t what she was saying. She sighed and stood, but when we got to the car she said, “You wait in the car. I’ll go up.”

​“Why?”

​“Because I am not ODIN. I’m Mossad. They might balk at taking me out. You’re ODIN. You’ll be a legitimate target for them.”

​I walked round the car and stood close to her. “Thanks, but I don’t think they’re squeamish. We’re in this together. Where you go, I go.”

​She thumped me gently on the chest with her fist and got in behind the wheel. I went back to the passenger side and climbed in beside her. We drove at a sedate pace through the dark rain. We didn’t speak. The hiss of passing cars and the squeak and thud of the windshield wipers were the only sounds among the haze of passing headlamps.

​We eventually crossed the black water into Manhattan, and pretty soon we were cruising down Central Park West and turning in at 89th Street. We parked outside and I got out and looked up at the dark mass of the building. All the windows were black, but on the fourth floor there was a dim glow in the corner window.

​Gallin got out and stood beside me. “It’s wrong,” she said softly. I could feel the small droplets of water accumulating on my scalp. A trickle ran down my forehead. A crazy voice in my head told me I could feel that because I was alive.

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