Blake tapped record and let Ibrahim babble on, creating the video that explained the reasons behind the tainted Selzucaine: “We will use the vile hunger of the infidels against them, as we allow them to destroy themselves. We are The Brigade of the Prophet’s Sword.”

He had a flag of the group draped beside him. Very emblematic. Very jihadist.

The Matchmaker stood by and watched the whole time.

Blake would post the footage after Ibrahim was dead, and then he’d deal with the Matchmaker. The Selzucaine needed a new distributor; he would take that over himself.

And once the quantum encryption research came through, everything would be set.

When they were done with the filming, Blake asked Mannie, “How are the preparations coming?”

“Almost ready. One truck is loaded. We’re finishing with the other one now.”

++++

As Christie and Agent Greer neared his car, a man called to them from a nearby row of vehicles. Somewhat overweight and unkempt, he looked vaguely familiar, and Christie had the sense that she’d met him before, but she couldn’t recall his name.

“Bill?” he said, walking in their direction. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Dr. Werjonic.”

The man looked at Christie curiously, and Greer said, “This is Patrick Bowers’s wife, Christie Ellis.”

The guy introduced himself as Assistant Director DeYoung. “You can call me Peter,” he told her, then he turned to Greer. “I came to visit Calvin myself and to pick up the paperwork that he was going to fill out regarding his help with the case. He called me earlier to tell me that it was ready.”

“He’s in surgery.”

“I didn’t know that. Is he going to be alright?”

“They’re not sure. It’s serious.”

Greer glanced at Christie somewhat uneasily, then said to DeYoung, “Sir, could I speak with you in private for a moment?”

The assistant director looked confused but agreed.

They walked behind a nearby minivan, and Christie overheard DeYoung say, “Bill, you’re on administrative leave.”

Administrative leave? Christie thought. Why didn’t he mention that? Why didn’t he—?

Greer said something to him in reply, something that she couldn’t make out, and then the sound of a gunshot ripped through the parking garage, its staccato echo reverberating harshly off the concrete walls.

One of the men grunted heavily, and then there was the sound of a thick thud behind the minivan.

75

Christie gasped and stared in the direction of where the men had gone.

“Agent Greer?” Her voice didn’t even seem to be coming from her. “Peter? Are you okay?”

She heard the shuffling of feet behind the minivan.

Heart hammering, she edged around the side of the vehicle to see what’d happened.

Agent Greer lay crumpled on the ground with Assistant Director DeYoung standing over him, holding a handgun.