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I absorbed every story about the attack. But nothing in the news made sense. The murdered Russian from the suite next door to ours had apparently been loyal to his government, with no known enemies. He’d been visiting Berlin to take his twenty-five-year-old daughter on a birthday shopping spree.
It was entirely possible that the real story was being kept out of the press. Perhaps that young woman was a mistress rather than a daughter. Or the oligarch was an American asset, and our side was trying to keep that fact quiet. But there was no hint of anything rumbling in the background—none of those quotes from anonymous sources, “officials close to the investigation,” etc.—that usually indicated something else was going on.
Too many questions were left unanswered. Who would do this? And why? And who funded it?
I forced down more eggs and pushed the stack of newspapers away from me. They were useless.
So I flipped it around. SayI’mthe individual carrying out this attack. I have a highly experimental chemical agent. I’m headed to the Adlon to kill a Russian oligarch and possibly other people… because that’s how chemical agents work. There is almost always collateral damage, though it can be minimized, which is why I unleash the weapon in a hallway where there will not be many people.
Wait. Why not play it completely safe and unleash it in the oligarch’s own suite? A person of my experience and skill should be able to break into the room easily. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be trusted with a chemical agent. I’m no lackey. I’m a professional killer.
Yet for some reason, I choose the hallway. Why? What advantage does that offer? This puzzle piece refused to fall into place.
Then it struck me:What ifIwas the actual target, and not the oligarch?
Had some terrorist scumbag decided to take revenge on me during the happiest day of my life? Had I been traced through my new husband? Did the scumbag wait until Kevin was about to open the door, knowing that if he tried to break into the room when I was inside, I’d take him apart a dozen different ways?
All at once I was overwhelmed with the feeling that I was going to lose the breakfast I’d just eaten. It couldn’t be true… but sadly the pieces fit.
I did this.
CHAPTER 21
“YOU KNOW I’M in Berlin hunting you, right?”
“I expected they’d send you.”
“And now you’ve practically turned yourself in to me.”
“It would appear that way.”
“Why?”
I was sitting across the café table from the closest thing I had to a rival at the Company. Her name was Zoya Gage, and she’d spent the past ten years trying to undermine me at every turn.
Which I appreciated, frankly. It kept me on my toes. Zoya was the prodigy Quentin had discovered just before me, so when I was brought into the fold, I became an instant threat. This taught me a lesson: there will always be someone smarter, younger, and tougher than you. People who seem to be rewarded more than you. It’s important to accept that and focus on your own unique strengths. Otherwise, it will unravel you.
“Tell me everything you know about the attack,” I said.
“You know more than I do. After all, you were there.”
“I want to know what kind of chatter you’re hearing. Possible suspects, motives, anything. Is anyone looking into my case files?”
Zoya leaned back in her chair. Behind her was the iconic television tower of the Berliner Fernsehturm, and from my angle, it looked as if Zoya had a giant spike sticking out of the top of her skull.
“Ahh,” Zoya said. “You think this is all about you, don’t you?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Look at the ego on you. Even in your condition.”
“Are you saying the Company believes the oligarch was the target? If so, what’s the motive? Who wanted him dead?”
“I don’t know anything about that. I’m just here to bring you in.”
I must have shuddered, because all at once Zoya had the strangest expression on her face. It was genuine concern.
“So it is true,” she said softly. “You really are dying.”
