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For a moment Benson panicked, wondering what his own move would be if Rhett did in fact back down, bend the knee, acknowledge that he’d tried an unsuccessful coup and it was over, time to slink away into the shadows.
Damn it, don’t get soft, Martin, Benson thought as a sudden rage whipped through him. Don’t be the gracious king who allows his defeated enemy to live. Rhett’s not that kind of enemy. You can’t turn him into an ally.
Kaiser should have stuck the knife in and twisted, Benson thought angrily. He should have pushed Rhett into a corner by saying that he was going to federal prison, bluffing that Paige had concrete evidence that would bury Rhett. Hell, Kaiser should have threatened to suspend him pending an internal investigation, threaten to maybe even go public with a full-blown criminal case involving the FBI. Didn’t matter that the evidence was arguable. It was time to play on Rhett’s emotions, draw him away from cold logic by igniting hot fear.
Push him, Martin, Benson thought furiously. Don’t let him draw you into the trap of thinking he’ll back down and retreat. Don’t think you can win this game leaving Rhett alive. He’ll never swallow the humiliation, never rest until he’s avenged the insult. He’s a fucking narcissist. You don’t know him like I do, Martin.
But Kaiser stayed silent, and Benson saw with heartbreaking certainty that his old friend thought he could win this without killing Rhett. Some part of Kaiser couldn’t cross that line and kill a CIA man who’d served his country—not yet, at least.
Now Benson was acutely aware of how far his and Kaiser’s paths had diverged when Martin chose to lead the CIA while Benson decided to stick to the shadows. CIA Director was a cross between king and father, and Kaiser was behaving far too much like a stern dad teaching his mischievous son a lesson.
But the CIA isn’t a normal family, Martin, Benson urged with a savage glance. It’s a den of snakes and you’re the King Cobra. So fucking act like it, raise your dark hood, and finish it.
Finish it or I will.
Now Benson’s hand moved to his belt, fingertips gently pulling his open jacket aside. But before he got to the weapon Rhett spoke.
“I didn’t set anyone up. Never heard the name India O’Donnell before seeing the State Department alert about that mess over in Mumbai earlier today with the dead woman in an American ex-Delta’s hotel room.” Rhett’s expression was cold stone again, blank and unreadable, like he’d decided not to retreat all the way but just take a step back, de-escalate a little, tease out how much Kaiser knew, sniff out whether Paige really had given him up all the way. “Ice Wagner is one of your Darkwater guys, isn’t he?” He grinned now, shook his head. “Wait, is this meeting just a setup for another Kaiser-Benson cover-up? Am I going to be the patsy? Wow, I’m fucking honored.” He shook his head, snorted out a scoffing laugh. “You guys are a bunch of sad clowns.”
Benson rubbed his chin, frowning deep enough to go almost cross-eyed. No mention of recognizing Scarlet from that photograph. Was it possible Rhett didn’t look closely enough at the photograph of the dead NOC assassin?
Impossible, Benson thought as dread constricted his throat. Rhett was too thorough to have missed it. He had to have recognized Scarlet from the State Department alert, had to know that Benson had lied about her death thirty years ago.
But did it occur to Rhett that perhaps Benson had lied about another death?
Did Rhett line up those photographs of mother and daughter, Scarlet and India?
Did he see himself and Scarlet in their daughter’s eyes?
And if so, did he even give a shit—other than the fact that if Rhett hadn’t actually killed Indy all those years ago, that video showed nothing more than attempted murder at worst, and they were well past the statute of limitations for both federal and Virginia state law.
Benson felt the game slipping away from him now. Rhett’s masterful control over posture, expression, and intonation gave nothing away.
So Benson slowed the game down, watching Rhett’s eyes for something, for anything, a flinch, a flicker.
And then Benson saw it.
Or rather, hefeltit.
Maybe it was wishful thinking, overactive imagination, seeing what he wanted to see. But Benson had made it this far trusting his gut, and it was all he had left.
Rhett knew about Indy, Benson decided.
Not just that, but maybe Rhett cared.
Cared in a way that might still make him snap, provoke him to go for Benson, ignite a deep-seated need to avenge what Benson did to him.
What Benson took from him.
Benson took a breath, praying that maybe there was a vulnerability in Rhett’s cold heart, that perhaps thirty years of loneliness had made its mark, opened Rhett up to the most powerful weapon in existence:
Human emotion.
So Benson pushed forward, tried to trigger that emotional weapon.
“You know damn well who Indy O’Donnell is, Rhett,” Benson whispered, fingers closing around his gun as he backed away from Kaiser to make sure nobody else got shot. “You know who she is to you. And she’s going to know too. I’m going to make damn sure of that. She’s going to know what you did to her, Rhett. She’s going to know what youareto her.”
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