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“What else did they talk about? Anything. Chatter, any code names they used — I want all of it.”
She hesitates a moment, then looks up at me.
Kate says, “They asked me to give you a message: they knew you were using my show to draw them out, so they turned your plan around to trap you instead of them. They said they’re not stupid, and that’s why they’re winning.”
I have half a mind to strangle her, just to spite them. I could even pin her death on them — but that would be a waste. She can help me do more damage to Anarchy, Inc. alive than dead.
“Did they even check you for tracking devices?” I ask.
“No.”
I bash my fist into the car’s side.
Where the fuck did these people come from? Did I do something to them? And how could they know about the Masters? Everyone who knows we exist is either dead or under my control.
But are they all dead?
That same stupid, nagging doubt: this is Ingram’s doing. It’s not possible, though: I shot him, and then the bomb we planted on his private jet took out his most trusted operatives. They’re gone.
No bodies were ever found. Like Simon Wilson’s.
Kate shrinks back as I pound the car door, bruising my knuckles until they’re bloody. When I run out of gas, my chest heaving for air, I turn to her.
“Kate, who were they? Who did this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“They had on motorcycle helmets!” she cries. “I didn’t see them!”
“Is that how they got away? Motorcycles?”
“I. Don’t. Know! I was in here, blindfolded!”
Dammit! Fucking dammit!
“How long did they stay here after parking the van?”
“They got out right after parking,” she says.
They must have had another vehicle here waiting for them. If they’re really smart, they would have had multiple sites prepared for this attack, depending on where the police chase from LPN led them. They obviously have the intelligence and resources.
“Nick! Have you gotten any word about where they went?”
“No,” he says.
I sigh, wincing as my hand aches.
They’re long gone. We never would have had a chance of catching them — not today, anyway.
“Get me on a jet,” I tell him. “I want to be out of this fucking city in thirty minutes.”
—
Nick gets us to the airport safely; whatever future plans Anarchy, Inc. has for me, they’re apparently giving me the rest of the day off.
“Take Kate to the bathroom,” I tell Nick as we prepare for takeoff. “Have her clean up and get ready to go on camera.”
By the time we’re in flight, the madness in New York has mostly subsided — the fires have been doused and the traffic has cleared. However, details about the shootings have come out: not just my mercenaries in Brooklyn — which has been dubbed the Brooklyn Massacre — but also Kate’s guards right outside LPN. Witnesses saw her get taken. It’s all over the news. As far as the world is concerned, she’s still missing. That’ll have to be addressed immediately.
I make the arrangements in the air, penning the script myself. Death may have a plan — and I’m sure it’s a very good plan — but I own this whole fucking planet. It’s time to remind him of that.
