Without knowing how to identify the terrorists their task appeared impossible. They had to search thousands of faces to try and ascertain which ones screamed I’m doing something I shouldn’t be. As a spy, Nash had studied countless profiles of terrorist attacks. He knew that before an attack, some perpetrators sweated profusely and practically screamed to be made, while others were as cool as an Arctic frost and gave away nothing. A sense of panic infused his bones. They were going to fail.
Another thought struck. It wasn’t pleasant. Yousif’s disappearance may have altered the terrorists’ plan, meaning everything could be unpredictable. Even if Pinchot finally relented, his information might no longer be up-to-date, and perhaps wouldn’t even matter. Nash felt the sweat on his palms.
With forced casualness, Pinchot asked, “When will you release me?”
Sophia replied, “When we’ve captured the three terrorists.”
Pinchot’s icy veneer was boiled away by his white hot anger. “That wasn’t the agreement!” He would have strangled her if not for the ties and Baptiste’s hand on his shoulder. “I tell you how to get them then you let me go. That was the deal.”
“You haven’t told us anything.” Sophia’s voice was higher, the pressure evident in her tone. “The deal was we’d let you go in exchange for how to find them. You’ve failed to provide that information, so…” She motioned to his restraints.
Pinchot struggled against those exact restraints. “I can’t get to him from here. If I wait for you lot of incompetent idiots to grab them I’ll miss my chance, or worse, you’ll scare him off. Either way I lose my chance.” Regaining his composure, he lowered his gaze. “I’ll tell you how to find them but you have to let me go now! Free me and you’ll know what I know.”
Nash didn’t entirely agree with Sophia’s steadfast adherence to the agreement, but this was her operation and he had little choice. He may as well back her up.
He gave a slow, sad shake of his head. “We’re trying to save lives here; you’re after revenge. You’re still sticking to the Tartarus manifesto of getting what you want and damn the human cost.”
Pinchot gave a dismissive grunt. “And you’re still putting your slanted outdated morals ahead of the greater good. Your pathetic pacifist manifesto is jeopardising everything.”
Sophia folded her arms. “Can everyone stop saying manifesto?”
Pinchot ignored her. “My so-called vengeance serves your interests too, Nash. You let me cut off the head of the snake and you’ll help stop Tartarus here and now, and you won’t even get blood on your lily-white hands.”
“There’s a thing called justice.”
Even to Nash’s ears the statement sounded hollow. The sympathy in Sophia’s eyes only compounded his unease.
Pinchot let forth a bitter cackle. “You tell it to every law enforcement agency in the world who’s after you, let’s see how your beloved justice looks then. Hmm? Wake the fuck up, you pathetic child, the only way this all ends is if you let me go right now.”
Pinchot’s eyes were manic. He was unconcerned that his thirst for vengeance was putting hundreds, if not thousands of lives at risk. He only cared for one.
Nash studied Sophia. They had discussed the topic at length. She wouldn’t let the dangerous man before them loose. They’d lied in the hope of the truth being revealed, but by now it was obvious Pinchot wouldn’t tell them how to find the terrorists. There was no point keeping it a secret any longer.
“You’re not leaving this van, Mister Pinchot,” Sophia observed throatily. “Not until this is all over, perhaps not even then, and given your conduct this morning I’m inclined towards the latter. Now, you either help us save innocent lives or you let your hatred condemn them all.”
“I’ll fucking kill you!”
Pinchot yanked his bound hands and Baptiste struggled to keep him down. When he realised he couldn’t free himself, Pinchot kicked out at Sophia as he let out a bitter yelp. His cries became increasingly incensed as Baptiste held him down.
Nash had to get out of the van; he was suddenly overcome with claustrophobia. It wasn’t Pinchot, although he certainly wasn’t helping. Their gambit had failed. They were on their own and had to find the terrorists without aid. Nash opened the door and leapt out on unstable legs.
Eva stepped around the corner of the van. “That sounded like it went well.”
Pinchot’s muffled cries continued. Sophia’s raised placating voice came through the van’s walls, but there was no reduction in his manic screams.
Nash turned to his team. “We’re on our own.”
Bishop scanned the crowd, which was growing by the minute. “Marvellous,” he said in a tone which suggested it was the exact opposite of marvellous.
After a couple of minutes Sophia stepped from the van and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She always did that when she was nervous. “Mason…”
“I know.”
“I don’t think—”
“I said I know.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until white spots danced wherever he looked. He needed sleep, but that would be impossible in the next few hours, possibly ever. “Can we…?”
Sophia shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not without…”
“Yeah.”
Eva squinted. “Can the rest of us join this telepathic conversation or is this just for ex-shaggers?”
Ignoring her, Nash said, “Sophia, you need to inform your team this just a got a whole lot harder.” He turned to Bishop. “We’re going to need the weapons and comms pack from the driver’s compartment, please.”
The well-dressed man gave a two-finger salute and disappeared around the front of the van. As he did, Sophia stepped away and held her comms device to her red lips, speaking in hushed French to her team.
Eva gave Nash a nudge with her elbow. “What’s going on between you two? There’s a weird vibe. Like a sexy tension, but not. Are you two…” Eva looped her index finger and thumb together and made the appropriate mime with the index finger on her opposite hand.
“No.” Nash rolled his neck. “But that’s part of it.”
“I’m confused.”
“You and me both.”
Eva punched him in the arm. “Spill.”
Nash consulted the bight clear sky before his gaze returned to Eva. “I have a daughter.” Ignoring Eva’s gaping mouth, he pointed to Sophia, whose back was turned. “We have a daughter.”
