The Book Of Fate Part 48

"Did you hear me?" she shouted at The Roman, almost crying.

"They learned their lesson with Boyle, didn't they? They approached you with a softer touch. Then suddenly, Boyle got shot . . ."

"Roman, tell her I didn't know! I never knew you'd do that!"

"And now they had it all," Lisbeth added. "A sitting President behind in the polls . . . the guaranteed b.u.mp from some hired whackjob's a.s.sa.s.sination attempt. If it all went right and the President hadn't been pulled back by the crowd, The Three would say good-bye to Boyle, while putting you, their unknowing new member with far more inside influence than Boyle, in the perfect spot to pa.s.s along your helpful helpful new recommendations to your husba-" new recommendations to your husba-"

The Roman's good hand jabbed forward in a blur, pounding the b.u.t.t of his gun into Lisbeth's face. Blood burst from her top lip, and her head whipped back, cracking against the headstone. Gasping, she swallowed something tiny and jagged. A lick with her tongue quickly told her it was the tooth next to her left front. "Hkkkkk!" "Hkkkkk!" As it sc.r.a.ped down her throat, she hunched forward like she was about to throw up, then dry-heaved twice as a mouthful of blood drooled down to her shoes and the soaking gra.s.s. As it sc.r.a.ped down her throat, she hunched forward like she was about to throw up, then dry-heaved twice as a mouthful of blood drooled down to her shoes and the soaking gra.s.s.

Two miles away, the faint wail of an approaching train moaned.

Staring at the ground as a dry heave flushed all the blood to her face, Lisbeth didn't even hear the whistle. Indeed, as the rain dripped like a leaky faucet from her hair, her chin, her nose, the only thing Lisbeth registered was the squish of The Roman's shoes as he stepped forward.

"She's gonna need an ambulance, Wes," he called out calmly into the darkness. Reaching down to the back of Lisbeth's head, he grabbed a fistful of her soaking hair, holding her so she was bowed down in front of him.

"Get the h.e.l.l off me!" Lisbeth shouted.

"Keep hiding, Wes!" The Roman announced, clenching her hair even tighter and taking a half-step back. Almost like he was winding up.

The last thing Lisbeth saw was the flecks of mud on the tips of The Roman's black calfskin shoes. And the ball of his knee as he rammed it toward her face.

107.

He smells like hospital antiseptic and hamburger meat gone bad. But as Nico digs the barrel of his gun into my scars, it's not the smell that churns my stomach. I swallow so hard, it feels like there's a brick in my throat.

"How could you help him? How could could you?" he demands. "Do you even know what you've unleashed?" His eyes jackrabbit side to side to side to side. He's been off his medication for two days. you?" he demands. "Do you even know what you've unleashed?" His eyes jackrabbit side to side to side to side. He's been off his medication for two days.

"Answer me!" he seethes, forcing me back with a shove of his gun. He doesn't even blink as the rain hits his face.

Stumbling off balance, I crash backward into the shrub. A wayward branch stabs me in the spine, but I barely feel it. Just seeing Nico, hearing him-I'm back at the speedway. The crowd roaring. Manning smiling. A hundred thousand fans stand up, pointing and waving. At us. At me. And the b.u.mblebee. Pop, pop, pop. Pop, pop, pop. The ambulance doors close on Boyle. The ambulance doors close on Boyle.

"-ven listening to me?" Nico demands as I blink back to reality. His gun grinds against my cheek, but I still don't feel it. I don't feel anything. I haven't for years.

"Where's Boyle?" he says.

"I don't kn-"

His left hand springs out like a cobra, sinking its fangs into the center of my s.h.i.+rt and tugging me toward him. He pivots to his left, tripping me, and I fall back again, down into a puddle, sending water everywhere. Nico's right on me, straddling my chest, pinning my biceps with his knees, and never moving his gun from my scarred cheek.

"I found your letter," Nico growls as the Chinese menu peeks out from the inside pocket of his army jacket. "Where's Boyle!?" "Where's Boyle!?"

I want to tell him it's fake . . . that The Roman . . . and the First Lady . . . that I don't want to die. But after eight years of imagining this moment, imagining every minute of finally confronting Nico-what I'd say, where I'd stand, how I'd cross my arms against my chest, even what I'd do if he tried to lash out and throw a punch . . . how I'd duck down at the last instant, how I'd be ready this time, and he'd miss me, and then, before he ever saw it coming, how I'd spin back and clench his throat in my hands, squeezing so hard, hearing him gasp, and still clutching tighter, my fingers digging into his windpipe as we tumbled to the ground and he gasped for mercy-the only words that leave my lips are the ones that have been there since the day he shredded my face. The one question that the doctors, the shrinks, the President, my family, my friends, my parents, and I have never been able to answer: "Nico," I blurt. "Why did you do this to me?"

He c.o.c.ks his head as if he understands perfectly. Then his brow contracts. He hasn't heard a word I've said.

"I know you've been in contact with him," he says. "That's why G.o.d steered the bullet your way. The ricochet. That's why you got broken."

"That's not true!" I shout as a brand-new rage swells within me.

"It is true! The Book of Fate is written! Everything for a reason!" he insists in a puff of hot breath that smells like beef jerky. "You sided with the Beast! That bullet in your face-your fate is written-that's G.o.d's will!" he insists in a puff of hot breath that smells like beef jerky. "You sided with the Beast! That bullet in your face-your fate is written-that's G.o.d's will!"

"Nico, they lied!"

"Did you not speak to him? Did you!? Did you!? See . . . it's true!" he shouts, reading my expression and digging the gun into my cheek. "G.o.d gave you your chance at redemption, and you spit at it! That's why He brought me here-to finish His job! To see your blood!" he insists, his finger tightening around the trigger. I try to fight, but he's too strong. All I see is the outline of Nico above me, the light behind him, his head s.h.i.+elding me from the rain, the rosary around his neck swaying like a hypnotist's pocket watch. He pulls the hammer back on his gun. "This is meant to hurt, Wesley." He tugs me toward him. See . . . it's true!" he shouts, reading my expression and digging the gun into my cheek. "G.o.d gave you your chance at redemption, and you spit at it! That's why He brought me here-to finish His job! To see your blood!" he insists, his finger tightening around the trigger. I try to fight, but he's too strong. All I see is the outline of Nico above me, the light behind him, his head s.h.i.+elding me from the rain, the rosary around his neck swaying like a hypnotist's pocket watch. He pulls the hammer back on his gun. "This is meant to hurt, Wesley." He tugs me toward him.

I clamp my eyes shut at the sudden beam of light, but all I hear is- "Oh, Lord! Y-You have it," Nico whispers as his hand starts to tremble. I see his eyes glitter in the dark.

"What're you-? What? What?" I ask, confused.

"I couldn't see in the photo . . . but this close," he stutters, staring at my face. "It's so clear," he insists. "Your scars! The way they intersect . . . jagged in your flesh . . . one cutting through the other. The papers said it was like railroad tracks, but it's really a perfect-a perfect-a perfect-a perfect . . . cross cross," he blurts. "Of course! Mother of G.o.d, how could I not-? You weren't meant to die on that day, Wesley-you were meant to be born on it!" Craning his head back and staring up at the sky, he adds, "You transformed him, didn't You? By my actions . . . through Your will. That was his role-the crossbearer," he insists, his head still up as he mumbles a brief prayer.

In the sudden silence, I faintly hear the First Lady's voice in the distance. Lisbeth shouts something back. They're too far for me to make it out, but with his heightened hearing, Nico should- His eyes pop wide as if he's heard his own name. Slowly, he lowers his chin, following the- "That's not true," he whispers, holding his stomach like someone put a corkscrew in his gut. I can't hear what Lisbeth's saying, but as I look up at Nico, it's not hard to translate. "No . . . The Three never-"

Nico's knees still pin my arms, but his weight-all the pressure-is gone, and his body starts shuddering with his own personal earthquake. Behind us and miles to the left, a train engine's faint howl pierces the air.

Nico's chin quivers; his eyes swell with tears. Reaching up to the sides of his head, he clutches the tops of his ears, tilts his head down, and pulls tight, as if he's trying to rip them from his skull. "Please, G.o.d," he begs. "Tell me they're lying . . ."

"She's gonna need an ambulance, Wes," The Roman bellows in the distance. The Roman bellows in the distance.

Lisbeth.

Jerking wildly, I struggle to sit up. Nico doesn't bother to fight. Sliding from my chest, he crumbles like a rag doll onto the wet gra.s.s and curls in full fetal position. Sixty to zero in less than ten seconds.

"Don't say that, G.o.d," he sobs and pleads, his hands tugging at his ears. "Please . . . don't . . . don't turn Your back on me! Help me heed the Book! Please! Please!"

"Keep hiding, Wes!" The Roman shouts, even louder than before. The Roman shouts, even louder than before.

Scrambling to my feet, I peer through the shrub's branches, down the stone-paved, tree-lined path, straining to see shapes in the faint light. Down at the end, at the base of the ancient banyan tree, I can just make out two figures as The Roman rams his knee into Lisbeth's face and she lurches backward. Just behind them, the First Lady has her back turned. Seeing her, I should be boiling, raging. But as I study the back of her crooked neck . . . all I feel now is a bitter empty chill. I need to get to Lis- "I know you're there!" The Roman taunts. For the first time, it p.i.s.ses me off. The Roman taunts. For the first time, it p.i.s.ses me off.

Lisbeth's still- "She's hurting, Wes!" The Roman adds. The Roman adds. "Ask her!" "Ask her!"

I tense to run, but there's a tug on my slacks. And a familiar click.

Behind me, Nico rises from the mud-climbing to one knee, then the other-his tall frame unfolding like an Erector set. His short black hair is soaked and matted against his head, while his gun is pointed at my chest.

"Nico, let go of me."

"You're my crossbearer, Wesley," he says as he wipes tears from his eyes. "G.o.d selected you. For me."

"She's bleeding pretty bad, Wes!" The Roman shouts. The Roman shouts.

Lisbeth yells something too, but I'm so focused on Nico, I can't hear it.

"Nico, listen to me-I know you heard them . . ."

"The crossbearer carries the weight!" Smiling sweetly, he points his gun at his own head. "Will you catch my body when I fall?"

"Nico, don't-"

"Will you catch me when I fall, fall, fall from grace . . . the crossbearer to bear witness . . . ?" He lowers his gun, then raises it up again, pressing it against his temple. I hear Lisbeth moaning.

"G.o.d sent you to save her too, didn't He?" He stares at me, transfixed, the gun still at his head. "Save me as well, my angel."

Behind us, the train whistle howls, so close it's almost deafening. Nico presses his lips together, trying to look like he's not cringing. But I can see his jaw tightening. For me, it's noisy. For him, it's overwhelming. Wild-eyed, he points the gun back at me to keep me from running.

I don't care. "I'm innocent," I tell him as I step toward him. He knows it's a warning.

"n.o.body's innocent, Dad."

Dad?

"Lord have mercy on my son," he continues, his gun moving from my chest, to my head, back to my chest. He's crying again. He's in agony. "You understand, Dad, right?" he begs. "I had to do it. They told me . . . Mom said to follow the Book! Mom said to follow the Book! Please tell me you understand!" Please tell me you understand!"

"Y-Yes," I say as I put a hand on his shoulder. "Of course, I understand. Son."

Nico laughs out loud, the tears still streaming down his cheeks. "Thank you," he says, barely able to contain himself as he clutches his rosary. "I knew . . . I knew you'd be my angel."

Turning left, I glance through an opening in the shrub. The Roman's aiming his gun down at Lisbeth.

"Nico, move move!" I say as I shove my way past him. All I need to do is- Blam!

I jump back as The Roman's gun explodes. Down the path, a tiny supernova of light breaks the darkness like a burst firefly, then disappears.

I run as fast as I can.

Lisbeth's already screaming.

108.

You don't believe me, do you?" Boyle asked Rogo as the white van skidded out of the parking lot and swerved onto Griffin Road.

"Does it matter what I think?" Rogo replied, gripping the console between their bucket seats and staring out the front window. "C'mon, make this light."

The van blew through the 25th Avenue intersection as Rogo checked his side mirror to see if anyone was following. So far, all clear.

"You still need to hear it, Rogo. If something happens t- Someone needs to know what they did."

"And you couldn't just write a letter to the editor like everyone else?" When Boyle didn't respond, Rogo shook his head and again glanced in the side mirror. The Marshals' white building was barely a dot in the horizon. "So all this time, you were in Witness Protection?"

"I told you, version 2.0. Witness Fortification Witness Fortification," Boyle clarified. "Not that they'd ever acknowledge its existence. But once I told Manning what was happening-usually, it takes the President one phone call to make something happen. It took Manning three separate calls to get me inside."

"And they do this a lot? I mean, c'mon, making families think their loved ones are dead?"

"How do you think the government prosecutes their terrorism cases against these suicidal maniacs? You think some of those witnesses would've talked if the Justice Department couldn't absolutely guarantee their safety? There are animals in the world, Rogo. If The Three, The Four, whatever they call themselves-if they thought I was alive and hiding, they'd slit my wife and kids' throats, then go out for a beer."

"But to lie to people like that . . ."

"I didn't choose this life. The Three chose me. And once that happened, once they tossed me aside for the First Lady, this was the only way to keep my wife safe, and my kid-both kids-alive."

"You still could've-"

"Could've what? Taken the family into hiding with me? Put everyone at risk and hoped for the best? The only absolutely una.s.sailable hiding spot is the one where no one knows you're hiding. Besides, The Three have single-handedly compromised our top law enforcement agencies, picked apart our databases for their private use, and collected thousands of dollars in t.i.tle 50 money for confidential tips about terror attacks-all without us ever knowing who the h.e.l.l they were."

"Until two days ago when they panicked and went after Wes."

"They didn't panic," Boyle said as he slowly pressed the brakes. Two blocks in front of them, the three lanes of Griffin Road narrowed into one. Something was definitely blocking the road. "Is that construction?" Boyle asked, craning his neck and squinting through the dark.

"I think it's an accident."

"You sure?"

"Isn't that an ambulance?

Boyle nodded as the cars came into view-an ambulance, a tow truck, and a silver car turned sideways from the collision. Boyle glanced to his left, already eyeing the side streets.

"Something wrong?" Rogo asked.

"Just being cautious." Refusing to lose his thought, he added, "Anyhow, The Three didn't panic. They got greedy and fat-thanks mostly to The Roman."

"So what the First Lady told Wes was true," Rogo said. "That they started with all these small tips-VX gas in Syria, training camps in Sudan-and then used that to build credibility until they could find the monster threats and ask for the multimillion-dollar let's-all-retire paydays."

"No, no, no. Don't you see?" Boyle asked, quickly pulling out of the single-file line of traffic and rechecking what was causing the accident. But all was normal. Ambulance. Tow truck. Wrecked silver car. Flipping open the console between them, Boyle checked on a small box the size of a videotape, then closed it just as fast. He tried to hide it with his elbow, but Rogo saw the word Hornady Hornady in bright red letters on the box's side. Growing up in Alabama, he knew the logo from his dad's hunting trips. Hornady bullets. "Once they established The Roman as a solid informant, they didn't even need the big threat. Why do you think people are so worried about agencies working together? The Roman would bring his info into the Service, then Micah and O'Shea would serve it again from their outposts in the FBI and CIA. Now, each one's confirmed the other. That's how informants get verified: You check it with someone else. And once all three agencies agree, well, fiction becomes fact. It's like that bombing threat on the New York City subways a few years back-not a single grain of truth behind it, but the informant still got paid. Meanwhile, is this the only way to get to I-95?" in bright red letters on the box's side. Growing up in Alabama, he knew the logo from his dad's hunting trips. Hornady bullets. "Once they established The Roman as a solid informant, they didn't even need the big threat. Why do you think people are so worried about agencies working together? The Roman would bring his info into the Service, then Micah and O'Shea would serve it again from their outposts in the FBI and CIA. Now, each one's confirmed the other. That's how informants get verified: You check it with someone else. And once all three agencies agree, well, fiction becomes fact. It's like that bombing threat on the New York City subways a few years back-not a single grain of truth behind it, but the informant still got paid. Meanwhile, is this the only way to get to I-95?"

Rogo nodded and c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "I don't get it-they made it all up?"

"Not in the beginning. But once they built that reputation for The Roman, they could sprinkle bad tips in with the good and earn a little more cash. And with the big stuff-you think six-million-dollar tips just jump in your lap?"

"But to make something that big up-"

"It's like making the Statue of Liberty disappear-it's the kind of magic trick you pull off once, then disappear until the dust settles. So when their first attempt . . ."

"Blackbird."

". . . when Blackbird Blackbird was set up, they had it perfect: hold a fake NSA computer hostage and reel in the cash. It was big enough to get serious money, but unlike promising that a building was about to blow up, there was no penalty or suspicion if the White House decided not to pay. Then when was set up, they had it perfect: hold a fake NSA computer hostage and reel in the cash. It was big enough to get serious money, but unlike promising that a building was about to blow up, there was no penalty or suspicion if the White House decided not to pay. Then when Blackbird Blackbird failed and we failed and we didn't didn't pay, they were smart enough to realize they needed an inside track at the White House just to make sure the next request went through." pay, they were smart enough to realize they needed an inside track at the White House just to make sure the next request went through."

"That's when they approached and threatened you."

"When they approached and threatened me, and and when they tried the softer sell on someone with even more power than that." when they tried the softer sell on someone with even more power than that."

"But to a.s.sume that you or the First Lady would go for it-much less be able to pull six-million-dollar strings over and over . . ."

"Y'ever been fis.h.i.+ng, Rogo? Sometimes, you're better off throwing in a few lines with different bait and seeing who nibbles. That's the only reason they approached both of us. And though she'll forever deny it-in fact, she probably doesn't even think she did anything wrong anymore-but the First Lady's the one who swam toward the hook," Boyle explained. "And as for making their next next six million happen, or the ten million after that, look at any White House in history. The most powerful people in the room aren't the ones with the big t.i.tles. They're the ones with the President's ear. I've had that ear since I was twenty-three years old. The only one who's had it longer is the person he's married to. Whatever they came in next with-if six million happen, or the ten million after that, look at any White House in history. The most powerful people in the room aren't the ones with the big t.i.tles. They're the ones with the President's ear. I've had that ear since I was twenty-three years old. The only one who's had it longer is the person he's married to. Whatever they came in next with-if she she had a hand in it and thought it'd help them on security issues-believe me, it'd have gotten through." had a hand in it and thought it'd help them on security issues-believe me, it'd have gotten through."

"I don't get it, though. Once Blackbird Blackbird got nuked, didn't they at least need got nuked, didn't they at least need some some kinda results before they could make another big request like that?" kinda results before they could make another big request like that?"