The Asset (26 page)

Best handed out envelopes with keys. As they were getting ready to leave, Love sidled up to Kennedy and nudged him conspiratorially.

“I don't know about you,” she whispered, “but I could use a drink.”

S
haken, not stirred,” Love said
wistfully as she sipped her second martini.

Kennedy toasted her with a glass of Jack Daniel's, the best whiskey they had in the South Boston bar Love had chosen. The place had no street sign and an alley entrance that looked like the door to a utility room. There were a handful of people tucked into dark corners, drinking and talking in hushed tones. There was an air of menace to the clientele, and they stole looks at Kennedy and Love from time to time, sizing them up.

“Proud of you, you big lug,” she said, toasting him again.

“Why?”

“Without you, we wouldn't have a chance.”

“We don't have a chance,” he said ruefully.

“No, we have one. It's a small one. Very small. But we have it. And we wouldn't have it without you.”

“Thank you for—”

She grabbed his face and kissed him hard on the lips. Kennedy was completely taken by surprise. When Love pulled away, she had tears in her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“Don't be,” Kennedy said, slightly stunned.

“You're not mad at me?”

“For kissing me?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know you've been keeping me at arm's length and all, and I respect that, but it was driving me crazy.”

“Me too,” he said. “I won't do that anymore.”

“Good,” she said and kissed him again.

“Get a room,” Nuri said behind them.

They turned, and she was standing there with a beer.

“Mind if I join you?”

“You don't trust the safe house either, eh?” Kennedy said.

“Hell no,” Nuri said, sitting down. “Lentz put a pill in Juarez and Trudeau while they were flying over one of the most desolate stretches of nothing on the planet. I think he can find us in Boston.”

“How'd
you
find us?” Love asked.

“I followed you,” Nuri said. “I could tell you were scheming and I figured you might want to drown your sorrows. Just so happens, so did I.”

“Very perceptive,” Kennedy said.

“But you haven't figured out where you're going after this, right?” Nuri said.

“Nope,” he replied.

“I have some ideas,” Nuri said. “But enough business talk. Let's drink.”

She looked around the bar, raising an eyebrow.

“And try not to get stabbed.”

They stayed in the bar, drinking and eating until the sun went down. Nuri hacked into a local real estate site and found corporate apartments previously owned by defunct start-ups that had not yet gone on the auction block. The apartments were furnished and most likely had some leftover toilet paper and ramen noodles from businesspeople passing through. One was within walking distance in Cambridge. All they had to do was crack the key box and slip in for the night. Nuri gave them the address but told them to wait in the bar while she went there first to scout it.

After she left, Love said, “Hey, I want you to know something.”

“What's that?”

“I'm still glad you asked me to help you. And I'm still glad I stayed on. I know you're protective, but this has been my choice all along and I don't regret it. Cool?”

Kennedy looked at Love across the table. Amid all the insanity that had ambushed his life when he joined Red Carpet, there was one thing that
blew him away more than anything else: he loved her. He stood up, walked around the table, and kissed her.

“Cool,” he said.

“We better go.”

They were putting their coats on when both of their satellite phones buzzed.

W
here have you two been?”

The last of Alia's smooth facade was gone. She practically herded them into the Beacon Hill safe house conference room.

“I've been trying to reach you. And Nuri too.”

“What's wrong?” Kennedy asked, avoiding the issue of them having gone AWOL.

She switched on the local news. Three apartment buildings in different areas of the city were on fire.

“Those are all your safe houses,” she said.

“Holy shit,” Love said.

“I need to know where you've been and why you weren't reachable.”

She pulled a gun and laid it on the table, her hand still gripping it.

“There's no need for—”

“Shut up,” Alia snapped.

“We were drinking at a bar in South Boston,” Kennedy said defiantly. “We didn't feel comfortable going to your safe houses. And I'm glad we trusted our instincts. Now put the gun away.”

Alia left it on the table, within her reach but not theirs.

“How does Lentz know our every move, Alia?” Kennedy asked. “Is it possible someone close to us is tipping him off?”

“Where's Nuri?” Alia asked.

“We don't know,” Love said.

“All of our Cuban data feeds are dead,” Alia said. “Your airport feeds are still active, but all of the chatter we were hearing before—supporting a network of TSA agents working with Lentz—has ceased. And our field office in Havana received a FedEx package thirty minutes ago.”

She switched the television feed to a photograph of an open FedEx box ­sitting on top of a pile of bloody newspapers and black plastic sheeting. ­Inside the box, there was a cheesecloth sack soaked with blood. She switched to the next photo and the cheesecloth had been removed. Underneath was Rico's head.

“Oh no,” Love said and started crying.

Kennedy glared at Alia.

“She needs to know the truth. I'm sorry you have to see it, but I'm not in the business of sugarcoating things, especially not now.”

Love fled to the bathroom. Alia watched her go, her hand remaining close to her gun.

“Where the hell is Best?” Kennedy asked.

“I don't know. I've been trying to reach him too.”

“Alia, you can't protect us. You need to give us guns and all the cash you have. Now. I'm not waiting around here for the other shoe to drop.”

She looked at him skeptically, then opened a locking cabinet and pulled out two Berettas in shoulder holsters with extra mags on the belt.

“You know how to shoot?”

Kennedy picked up one of the guns and held it like he was holding a snake.

“You don't know how to shoot,” she said.

She showed him quickly how to load a mag, slap it into the handle, chamber a round, and operate the safety. Kennedy put the holster on.

“Money.”

“Where do you think you're going to go?”

“Anywhere away from here.”

“He'll find you,” she said.

“He already has. Now I'm going to find him.”

She handed him a couple of stacks of hundreds and he shoved them into his jacket pockets.

“Kennedy, I'm sorry.”

“Me too.”

He went to find Love in the bathroom at the back of the house. She
was sitting on the edge of the tub with her face in her hands. A lit cigarette dangled between her fingers.

“We need to go,” Kennedy said.

Love looked up and saw the gun strapped to him and the one he was offering her.

“No,” she said. “I don't want that.”

“I don't think you understand—”

“I understand. And we both know that's not going to save us.”

“No, but it might buy us some time,” he said.

“Where the hell are we going?”

“I say we stick to the plan with Nuri. Alia doesn't know where she is.”

“What if Nuri is the one tipping off Lentz?”

“Then we'll retire early,” Kennedy said.

Love started crying again. Kennedy put his arm around her shoulders. The front-door buzzer went off. They both looked up.

“Stay here,” Kennedy said.

He tried to hand her the gun but she wouldn't take it, so he laid it in the tub next to her.

“Lock the door and stay quiet.”

Kennedy left the bathroom and Love locked the door behind him.

Alia walked out of the conference room, holding a gun.

“Get out of sight,” she said.

Kennedy hid in a room across the hall from the conference room so he could watch the hallway and the bathroom through a crack in the open door. He chambered a round in his Beretta and waited.

He saw Alia walk to the end of the hallway but lost sight of her when she went into the foyer. He heard the front door open and Alia speaking to someone with a male voice. They were too far away for him to understand what they were saying. He heard the front door close again. Alia said something to the man and walked out of the foyer, back into the hallway where Kennedy could see her. She turned back expectantly, as if annoyed that the man was not following her, and Kennedy heard two pneumatic pops. Bullets tore through Alia's chest and forehead.

She crumpled to the floor, dead.

Then Best emerged from the foyer holding a .22 caliber Beretta 70 with a barrel suppressor. Kennedy moved back, away from the crack in the door, and held his breath.

W
hile Kennedy stood flat against
the wall, away from the door, he could hear Best stalking around the house, checking all the rooms. He had to think. He had to do something before Best got to the bathroom where Love was hiding. But if he came out and opened fire, he was a dead man. Kennedy had never shot a pistol in his life. The odds of him hitting Best at all were against him. And Best would have the second shot. He would not miss. To make matters worse, Love started whimpering in the bathroom.

“Who's there? It's Best! Come out.”

Love kept whimpering. “It's Love. I'm in the bathroom. I'm hurt.”

“Is anyone else here?”

“She killed Kennedy. Killed him . . .”

The whimper turned to a sob, and Kennedy knew she was doing it to distract Best so he could get a shot at him. As quietly as he could, Kennedy moved back to the crack in the door and saw Best walking slowly toward the bathroom, keeping an eagle eye on his surroundings, ready for anything.

“I'm coming,” Best said. “How bad is it?”

“It's bad. Help me, please!”

When Best was a few paces from the bathroom, he opened fire, blowing holes in the door and emptying his magazine. Kennedy sprinted out
from the room where he was hiding, afraid he was too late. Best heard him and turned. Kennedy aimed for the widest target, his chest, and fired three rounds. Best was blown off his feet and smashed through the bullet-­riddled bathroom door.

He landed on the tile floor and tried to reach for his gun, but Kennedy pushed through what was left of the door and kicked the gun aside.

Love was perched up on the windowsill, holding on to the shower curtain rod. The bullets Best had fired hit the back wall a foot below where she was sitting. She climbed down and looked at him dying on the floor.

“Fuck you, motherfucker,” she said.