28 STAND DOWN

Ben walked the few blocks to the Chinese Hospital on Jackson Street, the morning sun low in the sky, the glare enough to make him wince. His head was throbbing from where it had stopped the flying Glock, and his emotions were roiled from everything that had happened just before, but he still took precautions along the way.

Alex throwing the gun had caught him by surprise. It was a reminder of how dangerous an amateur could be. Because no operator in the world would think to hurl a pistol, at least not one that was fully loaded and functional. It was just… counterinstinctual.

Of course, this one wasn't loaded, although Alex hadn't known that. While Alex was on the floor sucking wind, Ben had pulled the magazine and emptied the chamber. He knew Alex wouldn't spot the difference. And while he was only trying to shame and humiliate the little prick with his taunts, and was sure he wouldn't have the guts to pull the trigger, there was sure and there was sure.

He grimaced at the pain in his head. He had some QuikClot hemostatic bandages in his bag and could have used them to dress the wound and stop the bleeding, but he was this close to a hospital… might as well have it disinfected and closed up properly, and save the bandages for a real emergency.

Yeah, he'd been right about Alex's guts, or rather his lack of them. But he wasn't sorry he'd stacked the deck in his own favor just in case. What was that saying? The stupidest last words ever spoken are “You don't have the guts.” No sense taking that kind of chance.

The real chance he'd taken was putting his hands on Alex in the first place. Because when Ben was that angry, starting was a hell of a lot easier than stopping. Already, he couldn't remember all of it. Alex had accused him of killing Katie, he'd finally said it out loud, just what Ben had known he'd been thinking for all these years. Ben heard the words and then… what had he done? There was a red mist, and then he was choking him, wasn't he? Yeah, choking him.

Choking? Say it. You were killing him. You knew it. You felt it. You wanted it.

But he'd stopped himself. He didn't know how, but he had stopped. That had to count for something.

He walked into the hospital emergency room and filled out a form using a fake name and ID. He was lucky-no emergency cases ahead of him. They sat him down right away and went to work on his forehead.

Unbelievable. He'd been through two firefights in as many days- plus the thing in Istanbul a few days earlier, why not count that, too?- and he'd walked away from all of it without a scratch. It took his brother, who apparently couldn't tell the difference between a Glock 26 and a fucking rock, to do him some damage.

He almost laughed at the thought. Despite how pissed he was, he had to give Alex credit for showing some balls. At least he'd fought back. And he'd tried to use the gun, even though Ben had seen him reaching from a mile away and easily stopped him.

Five stitches and two ibuprofen later, he walked out of the hospital and picked up his car where he'd left it the night before. He thought about what he wanted to do. No new orders, and after Istanbul, he didn't expect to receive any for another couple of weeks at least. Maybe go to Bragg, use the range, stay sharp. Or fly to Cabo for a few days. Yeah, Cabo, do some diving, lie around on the beach, see what happens. That would be good.

He would just swing south on the way out. To see if he could find that Volvo. Not for Alex-fuck him. Just to satisfy his own curiosity, that was all.

Forty minutes later he was cruising the quiet morning streets of Ladera. It took him a long time to find the guy's car-a silver S80. He'd parked in a clever place, Dos Loma Vista Drive, only a half mile from Alex's house as the crow flies, but several miles away by car. The guy had clearly studied a topographical map and understood that with the night-vision goggles he could easily hump the short distance to Alex's house by cutting through yards, while keeping the car in a place where even someone searching for it wouldn't immediately think to look.

When Ben saw the Volvo's lights blink in response to the key remote, he parked and got out. Dos Loma Vista was a heavily wooded cul-de-sac. No one was around. No one was going to see him.

He checked the underside of the car for IEDs. It was clear. Then he examined one of the back doors. If someone had booby-trapped the car, most likely it was the driver's door that would be wired, but they'd out-thought him once already, and he wasn't going to let it happen again. The back door was okay. He got in the car and did a quick search. The inside of the car was empty. No registration, not even any rental-agency materials. There was just one thing, in the glove compartment. A cell phone.

Gotcha.

Ben pocketed the phone and paused to write down the vehicle identification number from the dash under the windshield. Unlikely it would lead to anything other than the legend the guy had used to rent the car, but you never knew.

He drove away in his own car and parked in the Ladera shopping center. The phone was a Samsung T219, an entry-level model, probably a throwaway He checked the log. There was a single incoming call entry-a 650 area code. Local. The call had come in just fifteen minutes earlier. Nothing else. The guy must have purged the phone before leaving the car for Alex's. Smart. But he couldn't stop someone from trying him after.

Ben pressed the Return Call button and raised the phone to his ear. There were two rings on the other end, then a man's voice: “I called you, just like you said. I still haven't seen him.”

Ben's heart kicked harder. Goddamn it, the voice was familiar. But he couldn't place it.

“I know you called,” he said, keeping his voice at a near whisper to disguise it.

“Where are you? Why are you talking so quietly?”

“I'm in a public place. I don't want anyone to hear. Where are you?”

“I'm at the office, where do you think? He's not here.”

Son of a bitch. The office. That's why he knew the voice.

It was Osborne.

Thinking fast, improvising, Ben said, “There was a minor problem. I need to meet you.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Go out to the parking lot and stand by your car. I'll be there in five minutes.”

There was a pause. Osborne said, “I don't think this is a good idea.”

“You will once you meet me and hear what just happened. Five minutes. We'll iron this out fast and you'll be good to go.”

He clicked off, not giving Osborne a chance to reply. Ben had been making up the whole thing as he went, and had probably stumbled into a half dozen incongruities, maybe more. Right now, Osborne's unconscious was telling him something wasn't kosher. The trick was to make him feel under pressure, to give him no time to listen to that little voice telling him something was off. And if he did listen, if he did realize something was wrong, Ben didn't want him to have a chance to call in reinforcements. Five minutes was perfect both ways.

He took 280 to Page Mill and pulled into the Sullivan, Greenwald parking lot. If Osborne wasn't waiting, he'd get to him another way, it wasn't a problem.

But there he was, standing next to a shiny black Mercedes sedan, looking nervously left and right, absurd in his T-shirt and cowboy boots. Ben pulled into the spot next to him. Osborne watched him, his expression completely confused. Before he had a chance to process any of it, Ben was out of the car, the Glock in his hand. Osborne saw the gun and his eyes bulged.

“Don't say anything,” Ben said. “Just unlock your car and get in the driver's seat. Do that, and I'll assume you want to talk to me. Don't do it, and I'll assume you want to be dead right there.”

“I… I…” Osborne stammered.