Page 94 of Nobody's Hero

Koenig looked at Draper. Waterboarding an old lady who’d just disclosed that the daughter she thought had died at birth had actually been alive and thriving until she’d been thrown out of the job she’d loved because she’d had the audacity to complain about being raped by the son of a vice admiral seemed . . . distasteful. Draper would do it, though, Koenig knew that. She had the ability to compartmentalise her emotions. To take them out of her decision-making process. It was why he disliked her so much. Emotions were good. They were the starting point for everything wonderful about the human condition. Empathy. Sympathy. Compassion. Love. Their roots wereallemotion. But right now, they needed to know what Margaret knew. And Draper was the only person who could make it happen.

‘Drowning me won’t change anything, Benjamin,’ Margaret said, reading to the end of the page. ‘After I’d told my sponsor what I wanted, they appointed someone who can best be described as a project manager. The aforementioned Jakob Tas. We only ever met over the phone, neverfacie ad faciem. We discussed the big picture, but never the finer details. Jakob wrote the small print, not me. There are several ways the Acacia Avenue Protocol can be executed; I have no way of knowing the route he chose. I’m in the dark too.’ She paused. Smiled, then added, ‘Exciting, isn’t it?’

Koenig ignored her last remark. ‘Part of this “big picture” you discussed was abducting the people who’d attended Bess’s Future Threat meeting?’ he said.

Margaret nodded. ‘I didn’t know everything. Elizabeth was paranoid about uncovering something that might work. She kept us in silos. But there was only so much she could do. I knew some of the others who’d attended. Jakob questioned them about their input and whothey’dmet while they were there. Over the course of a few months we’d mapped out everything. The only thing we were missing was Elizabeth. I never believed she was dead. It was simply too convenient.’

‘If you knew everything, why did you need her?’ Draper asked.

‘Because the preparatory actions we took—’

‘Please, have the balls to call it what it is. They were abductions and murders.’

‘Jolly good,’ Margaret said. ‘Theabductions and murderswere necessary, but they did leave a pattern. One that Elizabeth would see and act on. And I needed to understand what those actions might be. Maybe even steer them.’

‘You knew she would come out of hiding to watch over you.’

‘I was heavily involved in most of the protocol,’ Margaret said. ‘It made sense that I would be at risk too. So, I made myself look like an easy target. Vulnerable. Practised my old-lady-with-cancer limp and hired some goons to approach me unawares at Speakers’ Corner every Sunday. I knew she would turn up eventually, and I knew she would take robust measures if she thought there was a threat to my life.’

‘Robust measures?’ Carlyle said. ‘I killed them, Margaret. Imurderedthem.’

‘You did what you thought was best, Elizabeth. And one of the things I’ve taken from having faked cancer for half a decade is that while the easiest people to con are the cheats and scoundrels, the easiest people tomanipulateare the honest and decent. Take it as a compliment.’

‘Why not just kill her?’ Draper said. Tactful.

‘Because I needed to know the safeguards she had put in place. We got close during the Acacia Avenue week, but I knew there were parts she hadn’t shared. That there were—’

The Gulfstream hit a patch of turbulence. It acted like a full stop. Gave Koenig time to catch up on what Margaret had told them. Now he’d recalibrated himself to challenge everything she said, her lies weren’t difficult to see. She was right; shewasn’ta field agent. When she improvised, she got it wrong. She overcompensated. Said too much.

‘Why did you kill Hobbs?’ he said. ‘Because if you’re as removed from the actual operation as you claim, killing him doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. If you’re as in the dark as we are, how can you help steer the investigation?’

Margaret said nothing.

‘Who did you call to get those mercenaries to the airfield in Scotland? Who did you call to get them to Stillwell Hobbs’s apartment?’

Margaret still said nothing.

‘What’s in San Diego?’

Margaret held his gaze for a full thirty seconds. Her breathing was steady. She looked calm. In control. ‘You really are very good, Benjamin,’ she said. ‘When this is over, please don’t think ill of me.’

She then picked up her cup by its base, smashed it against the table, and gouged a shard of bone china into her neck.

Chapter 100

‘A little help here, Koenig!’ Draper shouted.

She was holding a towel against the gaping hole in Margaret’s neck. Pressing hard, trying to stem the tide of blood. She was on her second towel. It was already sodden. Koenig thought it was a wasted effort. Margaret had done her job well; the wound was fatal. The shard of china she’d used had been the size and shape of a fluting knife, and she hadn’t hesitated. She hadn’t warned them. She’d jammed it into the soft tissue underneath her jaw and twisted until Koenig had grabbed her hand. The blood pouring from her neck was dark red, like roasted beets. She’d severed one of the major veins in her neck. The external jugular, for sure. Maybe the internal jugular as well. Not the carotid artery. The blood wasn’t light and frothy, and it wasn’t coming out hard and fast like a busted fire hydrant. This was more like an overflowing storm drain. Slow and steady but equally powerful.

But not for long. After a minute it was little more than a trickle. And then it stopped completely. Margaret’s eyes went glassy; her mouth hung open. She was dead.

Draper threw the towel to the floor in disgust. She glared at Koenig. ‘This is your fault,’ she said. ‘I wanted to cuff her, but you said not to.’

‘That’s enough,’ Carlyle said. Her face was ashen. But it was also hard. Like tempered steel. ‘This was a collective mistake, Miss Draper. We should all have recognised Margaret’s monologue for what it was – a death-row confession. We need to regroup and refocus because turning on each other isn’t going to get the eggs scrambled.’

Draper sighed. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s just . . . it felt like we were about to get somewhere, you know? To get so close, only for it to . . .’

‘We weren’t close,’ Carlyle said. ‘Margaret didn’t tell us anything; all she did was provide the context. Even if we’d forced the issue, she’d have had plausible misdirection ready to go. She’d have made us look at her right hand while her left was picking our pockets.’

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