“Speaking of karma,” Jake said as he drew the pistol and pointed it at Pickens’s chest. “Turn around and put your hands on top of your head.”

“Listen to me, Jake. You’ve got it wrong, brother.” Pickens was speaking quickly, anxiously. “You and I are on the same side of this thing. I spent eight years building my cover here so they would trust me, so they would think I was one of them. It looks like I’m involved because it’s supposed to look like I’m involved.”

“I believed that, John, I really did, but a funny thing happened in Dujuma. Remember when the Range Rover was hit by that roadside bomb? That was me. I used those British plastic explosives you showed me in the basement. I didn’t use all of them, though, just enough to disable the truck so I could rescue you and kill Yaxaas.”

Pickens stared at the gun in Jake’s hands.

“I needed a few more blocks tonight,” Jake said, “to knock out the power. So I opened the second crate, but it was almost empty . . .”

The big man’s shoulders sank. He looked down at Yaxaas’s body.

“It didn’t make any sense, John. And you know how I am, ‘so damned analytical.’ I just couldn’t let it go.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Jake. There’s a lot of plastic explosives in Somalia.”

“True enough, but you bought all the PE8. ‘Every last block in the Horn of Africa,’ is what you said. And do you know what I discovered? I discovered that the PE8 in that crate was an exact motherfucking match for the IED that almost killed me.”

“I know it looks bad—”

“Only one person had access to those explosives, John.”

Pickens raised his hands in surrender—and lunged.

He was strong and fast, but the floor was slick with blood and it gave Jake the fraction of a second he needed to sidestep the attack. Pickens came up short.

Jake still had the gun pointed at his former partner.

“Shoot me!” Pickens yelled as he closed in. “C’mon, Keller. Finish it.”

“It doesn’t have to end that way, John. Give me the key and put the cuffs back on.”

Pickens laughed and faked another charge as Jake circled behind the desk.

“You’re not the only ‘analytical’ one,” Pickens said as he came closer. “I was changing my bandage when you showed up, then I heard the shot and a body hit the floor . . . I figured maybe Yaxaas got the drop on you, because badass Jake Keller never fires less than two rounds.”

The two men slowly circled the desk, with Pickens in pursuit.

“I know the gun is empty, Jake. Even by one goddamned candlepower I can see there’s no magazine in it.”

Jake holstered the pistol.