Standing her ground, Octavia said, “Only a coward would shoot an unarmed woman.”
As Mr. Barnard’s finger twitched on the trigger, Mr. Wilson shouted, “Enough! There is an order to this.”
“But, Wilson—” Mr. Barnard started.
Mr. Wilson cut him off. “Do not let your emotions get the best of you. That is why you were caught in the first place.”
Mr. Barnard frowned. “Let me kill her—”
“No!” Mr. Wilson exclaimed. “You work for me, not the other way around. We will do it my way, just as we planned.”
Shifting the pistol towards Mr. Wilson, Mr. Barnard said, “Perhaps I will just shoot you and then I can do whatever I like.”
Mr. Wilson lifted his brow, showing no signs of being distressed by a pistol being pointed at him. “If you shoot me, then you won’t get paid. Can you afford to do so?”
Mr. Barnard considered him for a moment before lowering his pistol.
“I thought so,” Mr. Wilson said as he pushed the spectacles further up his nose. “Bring the women forward.”
A burly man grabbed Anette by the arm and forced her forward before shoving her down to her knees. Octavia came to kneel next to her.
Mr. Wilson paced in front of them, his eyes being fixated on Roswell and Caleb. “I just want you all to know that it is entirely personal that I want you dead. This proves that I have outsmarted you. I am better than you, in every way.”
Removing a pistol from his waistband, Mr. Wilson waved it between Octavia and Anette. “Who should I kill, Roswell?” he asked. “I think it is only fair that you decide who dies first.”
“Don’t do this,” Roswell pleaded. “I beg of you.”
“You beg of me?” Mr. Wilson mocked. “A spy does not beg.”
Roswell moved to stand in front of the ladies. “Kill me instead.”
“In due time.” Mr. Wilson pointed the pistol at Anette. “Perhaps I shall kill the woman that you care about first?”
A knock came at the main door and it echoed throughout the hall.
“What in the blazes?” Mr. Wilson asked. “Someone get the door!”
One of the men walked over to the door and opened it. He stuck his head outside and said, “No one is here.”
“Someone clearly was there,” Mr. Wilson responded. “Find them.”
The man stepped outside and a commotion could be heard. Then, it grew quiet. Eerily quiet.
A moment later, the door opened and Fredrick stepped into the hall with a smirk on his lips. “I’m sorry I’m late, but the hackney took longer than anticipated.”
Mr. Barnard’s face grew pale. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “You are supposed to be dead.”
“Yes, sorry about that. I knew you would be disappointed but, frankly, I didn’t care,” Fredrick said. “You should know that the building is surrounded by agents and you are all going to die if you don’t put down your weapons.”
Mr. Wilson shook his head. “You are lying.”
“Am I?” Fredrick asked with a slight shrug. “Do you want to take that chance?”
“All the agents have gone into hiding,” Mr. Wilson said. “Even Kendrick is afraid—”
A man’s deep voice came from the direction of the stairs. “I am not afraid of you, Wilson,” he said as he pointed a pistol at Mr. Wilson. “You should have put more than one guard at the back door if you wanted it to be more secure. I thought I taught you better than that.”
“You taught me nothing, Kendrick!” Mr. Wilson seethed. “I was just your puppet.”
