Storm Front

It was not the usual you’re-probably-wondering-why-I’ve-gathered-you-here-today tone that Whitely Cracker ordinarily used. It was humble. Sincere.

“I know I don’t deserve your help,” he added.

“Yes, that’s true,” Storm said. “And just so we’re clear, Mr. Cracker, I’m not here as some personal favor to you and I’m not here because I like you. I’m frankly disgusted by you. Your actions and decisions have resulted in the deaths of dozens of innocent people all over the world. I believe you ought to spend the rest of your life in prison for what you’ve done. I don’t know what the U.S. government will have to say about it. But if I find the opportunity to voice my opinion, I will.”

He was thinking of all Volkov’s victims when he said it, but Ling Xi Bang most of all. No, Cracker hadn’t pulled the trigger on the bullet that severed her femoral artery, nor had he deposited that slug in her gut. Volkov had done that. And Storm recognized that he himself bore responsibility for her death as well. But the fact was, if Whitely Cracker had never come into Storm’s life, Ling Xi Bang would still be alive. Storm would always despise him for it. The only reason Storm wasn’t consumed with finding a way to make sure Cracker was properly punished was that stopping Volkov mattered more.

“I understand,” Whitely said, evenly. “But I want you to know, it wasn’t supposed to—”

“I don’t have time for your excuses,” Storm cut him off. “We have to go. Come on.”

Storm turned his back and began taking long strides toward the exit. Cracker left his donut half-eaten and scrambled after him.

“I’m not trying to make excuses. Believe me, I’m not. But I want you to understand what happened. I’m not expecting your forgiveness or… or your sympathy… or anything. But I would like you to at least know the truth as I see it.”

Storm pushed through the double doors into the parking lot, where he spied Cracker’s Jaguar.

“We’re taking your car,” Storm said, without looking back. “And I’m driving.”

Storm had first seen the Jaguar in Cracker’s garage when he had taken the Maserati. The Jaguar’s V12 engine might come in handy.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Cracker said. “Anyhow, as I was saying, I… Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but, in all seriousness, no one was supposed to get hurt. Volkov was pitched to me as a mercenary who was an expert in surveillance. He was supposed to spy on these people, steal their codes, and give them to me. Killing was never something we discussed.”

They had reached the Jaguar.

“You seriously expect me to believe that?” Storm said. “You hire a man like Volkov for one reason, and that’s to kill people. It’s what he does. And he does it efficiently and without remorse. I find it hard to believe that a man who does research for a living wouldn’t have been able to learn just a little about who Volkov is. Keys.”

“What?”

“Give me the keys.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Whitely said, fishing them from his pocket and tossing them to Storm. “Look, I know what you’re saying, and I know how this must sound, but I’m telling you the truth. You have to remember, I do research on companies, not criminals. There was never any mention of bloodshed when Volkov and I first talked. I was even paying him extra because he said the way I wanted the job done made it harder. But it was also an important part of my plan. No one was supposed to be aware this was happening. I wanted this done quietly, without attracting any attention at all — not from the finance community, not from law enforcement, not from anyone. Then the next thing I knew, he was leaving bodies all over the place and I couldn’t control him.”

Storm had settled into the driver’s side, scooted the seat back, and fired up the engine. Much as he hated to admit it, Cracker’s version of the story actually sounded plausible. And, much as he hated to engage Cracker in conversation, his curiosity was getting the better of him.

“But why, Cracker? Why? Why even kick a plan like this into action? I’m pretty sure I know, but I need to hear it from you.”

“Because I’m broke,” Cracker said.

“So I’ve heard. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I thought my trades were all good. Most of them anyway. I’m not saying every deal I did ended up being a win. No one in this business has a perfect batting average. But I was winning at least eight times out of ten. Or I thought I was. But I guess… Look, I know this sounds ridiculous, but I’ve always been very process-oriented. I’m all about drilling down very deep, paying attention to the details of each trade, and then letting other people deal with the big picture. I never really paid attention much to the bottom line. And the next thing I knew, my accountant was coming to me, telling me I was broke.”

“Your accountant. As in Theodore Sniff?” Storm said, merging into the southbound traffic and accelerating until they were well over the speed limit.

“Oh, you know Teddy, too? Yeah, him. Good guy. Wrinkled suits.”

“As you were saying, he tells you you’re broke.”