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“My memories of winning, first of all,” he says. “And I would have enjoyed being the most powerful tycoon on the planet. I think a life of luxury and decadence would have been enough.”
“It never would have lasted,” I reply. “Hardt was right about you. If I wasn’t the one to take you down, someone else would have. For all your talk of logic and rationality, you’ve let your life be driven by a lie. You’re a fraud, Simon, and it wouldn’t have been long before someone exposed the truth.”
“I guess we’ll never know, will we?” says Anton, as the roar of a jet sounds overhead. “I think the cavalry’s arrived.”
An icy surge clenches in my gut. No one should be flying right now.
“Ingram, respond!” Eyal calls out over the intercom, the buzz of helicopters in the background. “We have incoming!”
What the fuck is going on?
“Ingram, respond!”
“Maybe it’s the FBI,” says Anton. “Wouldn’t that be perfect? Just in time to rescue Anton Ford, America’s most beloved business icon, from the terrorist scourge of Anarchy, Inc. Any last words?”
There it is. I see it in his eyes: anticipation. Finality. Pleasure.
“Ingram, I love you,” Kate says. “Nothing will ever change that.”
I reach for her hand.
“Kate, I love you too. And I’m sorry, Anton.”
He closes one eye and aims down the iron sight at me.
“What are you sorry for?” he asks.
“For not telling my father the truth that day, or afterward.”
He grins.
“It’s too late for that.”
“Perhaps,” I say. “Maybe when this is over I’ll go see him. He may not understand, he may not remember me or you, but I’ll tell him.”
Anton’s mirth disappears as I step in front of Kate. He feels it now. He recognizes his error. Too late.
He fires a shot, then the gun falls. Fire burns in my shoulder, but it quickly goes numb. I kick the gun away as Anton hits the ground, body convulsing.
“What… what…” he groans.
I turn to Kate, looking her over. There’s a shiny patch on the black fabric of her outfit. I put my hand over it, but feel no split in the material.
It’s not her blood; it’s mine.
There’s a hole below my armpit.
“Ingram!” she shouts. “You’re-”
“I’m fine,” I say, turning back to Anton.
“How…” he gurgles.
“We implanted a chip in you,” I say, crouching down over his spastic form. “Just in case. Always have a contingency plan or two, right? I set the trigger to ‘I’m sorry, Anton.’ I knew it would be the last thing I’d ever say to you.”
I pick him up by his collar and punch him hard in the face.
“The poison should kill you within another thirty seconds or so. This is goodbye, Anton. Rot in hell, you piece of shit. Fuck off and die.”
