CHAPTER 70

LUCAS BEAN LEFT THE kitchen and pushed Ryan Malcomb’s wheelchair through the great room to a dining area near the kitchen.

Malcomb said, “I am going to release you from your restraints so we can eat in a more civilized manner. But don’t get any stupid ideas. Lucas was with the British SAS, elite counterterror. And Katrina, in addition to being an excellent cook, was trained as a Swallow by the GRU.”

Katrina White was walking away from us as he said it. She was very strong and moved like a gymnast, very aware of her posture and gait.

A GRU Swallow, I thought, now very interested in the woman.

Bean came around to each of us and cut free our wrist restraints. We sat at a trestle table, Malcomb at one end, Bree and I opposite each other in the middle, and Sampson at the other end.

White brought out a sausage, broccoli, and garlic dish that smelled like heaven and spooned it out over fresh pasta. The former SAS operator poured Chianti into our glasses.

“A toast,” Malcomb said, raising his glass.

We all looked at each other. Bree shrugged and picked up her glass, so I did too. Sampson gave it an awkward second and then grudgingly raised his glass.

“To a better future,” the head of Maestro said.

We mumbled the words. Bean said, “Amen, M.”

Malcomb sipped the wine. Bree and I did as well. It was very good. Sampson set his down. The lights flickered and died.

The darkness was so complete, it was disorienting.

Malcomb said, “No need for panic. The redundant generators are switching.” He’d no sooner said that than the lights came back on, dimly at first and then with more power. The big video wall rebooted.

“Redundant generators,” I said, looking around. “The work that must have gone into this place is extraordinary.”

The leader of Maestro smiled again. I’ve always believed that there is nothing a powerful rich man likes to talk about more than himself, his accomplishments, and his toys.

Malcomb said, “The mine’s previous owners did most of it. The pneumatic elevator occupies the main shaft. This room was actually a cave chamber they accidentally drilled into. The place was riddled with them, like Swiss cheese, old limestone deposits amid the granite. All our work and living spaces are located inside tunnels that were bored into the butte back in the fifties. All we had to do was come in and modify them to serve our needs.”

I said, “Still must have cost you a fortune.”

Malcomb’s smile widened. “It is extraordinary what you can accomplish when you have billions at your disposal.”

“Your aunt the bank on all this?”

The smile vanished. “My aunt is a saint. She helped fund my start-up, nothing more.”

Sampson said, “Why are we here, Malcomb?”

His face fell. “I usually talk business only after the meal. At least try your food. Katrina went to a great deal of trouble to make this for you. It’s a Sicilian peasant dish.”

John looked like he wanted to grab his table knife and wing it at the man but he picked up his fork and forced himself to eat. Bree and I followed his lead.

Like the wine, the dish was incredibly good.

“What do you think, Dr. Cross?” Malcomb asked after I’d taken a couple of bites.

“Who knew a trained assassin could cook like a master chef?”

In the kitchen, Katrina laughed and rubbed the left side of her neck as if working out a knot. And then I placed her.

Malcomb was pleased. “Her grandfather cooked in the Kremlin.”

Sampson glared at me until I blinked at him twice, paused, and did it again, a signal we’d been using forever to alert each other to play good cop/bad cop.

John stared at his plate as he ate, then set down his fork and said, “Again, why are we here, M? Why not just kill us like you tried to do last year in Montana?”

Malcomb sighed and took another sip of wine. “Montana was a strategic and tactical mistake made by one of my trusted team leaders, someone who was interested in snuffing out the last of the Alejandro cartel men who were in the Bob Marshall actively hunting you. I had little or no say in the matter.”

I didn’t believe him. “So why kidnap Bree and John? Why lure me in and kill Fagan?”

He tapped his index finger against his lower lip. “As I said, Fagan was an accident; she made a mistake. I brought you here because there is a problem I believe you three can help fix.”

“Okay,” Bree said, crossing her arms. “What’s this problem?”

Malcomb shifted in his wheelchair, pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, and grew dead serious.

“The problem, Chief Stone, is that nothing works anymore. The system is broken. Mankind is out of order. We are spinning into chaos and in doing so, we are not only destroying civilization but also dooming the planet.”