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Ice had thought a moment, then sighed. “The adoption. Fay’s niece and nephew. I heard about it from Fox. Heard Kaiser’s wife Alice moved back in after leaving him a decade ago.” He took a breath, then shook his head. “Still, there’s no way Kaiser’s done with the job. Because the job isn’t done with him. I know men like Kaiser. He’ll never be able to turn it off, never be able to turn away from this.”
Benson grunted. “That’s what I’m hoping he’ll figure out before it’s too late. Either way, right now Kaiser’s decided to do this O’Donnell thing by the book. He’s worried another wet-team will show up at the hotel and make a mess that can’t be cleaned up. The safe-house was one thing—Kaiser got Moses to clean up the bodies, get rid of your truck. But a hotel is a different ball-game. Collateral damage would be unavoidable. Hell, there are guests from a dozen different countries in that hotel. A couple of stray bullets end up in those international guests and we could start the next World War.”
Ice had chuckled darkly, peering through the spyhole to check the hallways. “We’re all right to hang out in Mumbai as long as you need it, Benson. I got things under control. We’ll leave the hotel within the hour, stay under the radar so my alias doesn’t show up in any other hotel databases.” He’d scanned the hallways, waited until a busboy pushed an empty room-service cart into the service elevator, then turned his attention back to Benson. “But eventually I’m going to have to bring Indy home. I presume civilian flights are off limits—we’d show up on the flight manifests, and even I can hack into those with a simple download from the dark web. Embassy flights are off-limits too, right? And we’ve got no military bases here, no C-17 transports that could shuttle us back to Andrews or Robbins worry-free. So what’s the plan?”
Benson had hesitated for a disconcertingly long breath. Ice hadn’t worked with the man before, but the other Darkwater guys had said Benson was always in control, always one step ahead, always had a plan.
Except Ice wasn’t picking any of that up from Benson right now.
Instead he got the distinct sense that Benson was anxious, worried in a way that he couldn’t hide.
“You hiding something from me, Benson?” Ice said quietly, a dangerous edge moving through him. Sure, the other guys had made it clear that it was best to go along with Benson’s games, to trust the wily old dog.
But Ice wasn’t like most of the other Darkwater guys.
Ice was used to running the mind-games himself.
Ice was the guy who extracted secrets from others.
So he didn’t respond well to being stonewalled.
“Of course I’m hiding something from you, kid,” Benson said cheerfully, but with an underlying tenson that Ice could read clear as a neon sign. “Look, I need a few hours to handle Kaiser, maybe get him something concrete on . . .”
Benson trailed off, but Ice jumped on it. “On Rhett Rodgers?” Ice shook his head when he realized Benson was unravelling, that the guy was maybe finally coming undone, that seven years of Darkwater missions might be coming to an end. Well, had to happen soon enough, Ice thought. Everything ends, nothing lasts forever. But Ice wasn’t going to go down with the ship. If the Captain wasn’t steering right, Ice had no problem stepping up and taking over. Some might call it mutiny. To Ice it was just common sense. “Look, Benson. You need to come clean right now or else I’m going to take matters into my own hands. Start talking, or I swear I will call Jack and give him the name Rhett Rodgers.”
“Then Jack will spend the rest of his life in Federal prison. Besides, Jack works for me, not you.” Benson’s tone was cold and commanding, crackling with natural authority. “And you work for me too, last time I checked. But I’ll check again, tough guy. You still want to be a part of Darkwater? Still want to work this mission?” He took a breath now, exhaling with slow satisfaction, like he already knew Ice’s answer to what came next. “Still want to keep Indy safe? ItisIndy, right? No longer just O’Donnell to you. No longer just a target to you.” Another breath, and now Ice could almost hear the grin on Benson’s face. “You two were in that steamy bathroom an awfully long time, Ice-man. Hope I gave you two enough time to . . . what’s the right word . . .connect.”
Ice had gulped back a barrage of obscenities, tried not to crush the phone to powder. But after the surge of anger there came a sinking stab that threatened to stop his heart.
Because Ice had made sure to leave the Darkwater phone outside in the living room before he stormed into the bathroom with all his weapons alert and erect. Benson might have faintly heard him shatter the bathroom door, but after that no voices would have made it through the roar of the shower, no phone-camera could have seen through the thick walls even if it had been pointed that way—which it wasn't.
So if Benson didn’t have eyes or earsinsidethat steamy cocoon of theirs, it meant the phone call had truly been bad timing, just a coincidence, Benson’s best guess that he’d given them enough time to finish whatever they’d started in there.
Which meant Benson's timing had been off.
A bad sign.
Because what had the other Darkwater guys—and especially their wives—said about the strange coincidences on all those previous missions?
They’d said it felt like there were no such things as coincidences on a Darkwater mission.
That everything either lined up perfectly or just totally fell apart.
Of course, Ice had laughed off that pseudoscientific crap which belonged in the trash along with astrology, palmistry, and the entire grab-bag of New Age nonsense—which he was very familiar with, thanks to Mom and Dad’s hippie-hugging ways.
And maybe that’s why those woo-woo warnings from the Darkwater wives had stuck with Ice, had triggered something in him, dredging up unsettling memories that he thought were buried for good.
Yeah, that shit about coincidences and timing was the same kind of crap Mom and Dad used to go on about, over and over again like broken records still playing on a lopsided turntable from the drug-filled haze of the 1960s and 70s.
And of course there was that dumb home-grown poem which Jack loved but drove Ice up the damn wall every time his parents recited it like a verse handed down from the heavens:
No such thing as a lucky break.
No such thing as a meaningless mistake.
No such thing as misfortune or luck.
So just follow your heart and you’ll never be stuck.
