Page 166 of Hush

Tom nodded, blinking fast. The marshals, like all law enforcement agencies, had systems in place, procedures to take care of their people. Mike was being taken care of. He’d be all right.

Tom had to believe that. He had to.He’s not going to dieBallard had said.

After everything, after all that they had been through, after finding the love of his life—

He couldn’t lose it all now.

Taking a slow breath, Tom forced his mind to switch tracks, like a giant train engine lurching from one rail line to another.

“What’s going on?” He almost didn’t want to know, didn’t want to face the way the world had completely and totally unraveled.

“What isn’t…” Ballard muttered. “The FBI processed your cabin. They found Pasha Baryshnikov with a knife in his chest. Your prints on the blade.”

“Is he dead?”

“No.” Ballard eyeballed him. “But he’s not talking. Won’t say a word about what happened. Rob Villegas is our only witness right now, and he didn’t see everything.” Ballard held out his hands, defeat in the lines of his shoulders and the deadness of his eyes. “Why is Lucas Barnes dead, Tom? Why did he drive out to your cabin with Pasha Baryshnikov? What the hell happened?”

If Ballard was in on it, he was covering his tracks well. Tom hesitated, but started talking, starting from him and Mike heading out for the weekend and going to his cabin. He skimmed the first day and skipped to the second, when they were coming back from their hike and found Barnes’s SUV parked in their driveway.

Mike, staying outside. Him, inside with Etta Mae—

“Where’s my dog?”

“They brought her back from the cabin. She’s fine.”

Worrying, wondering. Waiting. Pasha showing up. Shock, and then the horror of realizing just how they’d all been duped. Betrayed. The sickness, the agony, the raw hate and sheer dread he’d been washed in when Pasha told him Mike was gone. His desperate escape and flight through the woods, Barnes on his heels. Villegas, appearing out of nowhere. Mike, aided by his crazy old neighbor and a gang of domestic terrorists, who wanted more than anything to kill all three of them.

Ballard hung his head as he listened, his hands laced behind his neck. He stared at the floor, letting Tom’s story wash over him in wave after wave of death and despair. “Jesus Christ,” he finally muttered.

“How far does this go? Barnes was working with Pasha. He offered to turn Villegas, bring him into their operation. He was a double agent for the Russians. Did you know?”

“No. I had no fucking idea.” Ballard heaved a sigh, like his lungs were cracking in half. “We knew there was a mole, though,” he said slowly. “That’s why Villegas was following you. We thought someone might try and take a shot at you, especially since you were sticking to your guns with this trial. Making it so damn hard for everyone.”

Tom frowned. “Now it’s my turn, Dylan. What the hell is really going on here?”

“We’re still trying to put it all together. Figure it all out. I…” Ballard spread his hands, helpless. “I only know my part. The White House didn’t know what the hell was going on, after the shooting. We all really thought it was Kryukov. The evidence was there, Desheriyev was righteously pissed, and his confession stood up to scrutiny. We thought we had it nailed. But… the Russian documents.” Ballard shook his head. “Weknewthose were fake. The White House, the president, everyone knew. But how did the Russians know the details about our Russian operations? How did they know exactly what they did to be able to create that forgery? So many details about the Russian CIA station, the embassy, hell, even the bank accounts used for clandestine operations. We knew we had a mole. But who? Were the arrests of the three officers just a cover for extracting a double agent? Or was it someone here? How deep had we been penetrated? We had a CIA team on the ground, trying to find out more.”

“I know about the CIA team. I’m friends with one of the guys who went over there”

“You? Friends?” Ballard smiled, pathetically, at his weak joke. But then he winced, as if preparing to deliver bad news. “We realized if the Russian documents implicating Kryukov were fake, then Kryukov must have been innocent.” Ballard winced. “It was the only logical answer.”

“You prosecuted an innocent man? You forced an innocent man to endure a trial, when you knew he didn’t commit the crime?”

“I never claimed to be an angel, Tom. That’s your specialty.” He clasped his hands together, wringing his fingers. “You needed to be clean. You needed to be above everything. We can’t mix intelligence operations and the judicial system. But… I knew I could wind you up. Treat you like shit, and turn this trial into a disaster. I knew I could build in openings for Kryukov’s appeal, if I just acted like a monster.”

“You certainly did that.”

“I know.” Ballard looked down. Stared at the floor. “I know, Tom. I’m…” He shook his head. “We were trying to find the mole, and trying to make it look like we weren’t onto them. Trying to keep the prosecution of Kryukov going, so they might slip up. Jesus, Barnes was in on it. He was helping to find the mole. He was throwing the investigation from the first moment.” He shook his head, chuckling at himself, darkly. “Winters thought you might be a target, since you were being so damn unimpeachable through the whole thing.” He looked up. “You never once buckled. Never once compromised your principles.”

“That’s what judges do, Dylan. They uphold the law, no matter what. They respect the Constitution, and due process.”

“That’s whatgoodjudges do. Fink… he would have folded.” Ballard wrung his fingers again. “It’s a Goddamn blessing you got this trial, Tom. You’re the only one who could have done this.”

Silence. “You mean, identify Pasha? Because he and I were lovers, a lifetime ago?”

He thought there’d be something when he finally said it out loud, finally admitted that he was gay, that he loved men. Some split in the sky, some rend in the earth. Some reaction, somewhere. Ballard rearing back, at least, or staring at him like he had three heads, or running from him in disgust. He’d always girded himself for the worst.

For twenty-five years, he’d been his own monster in his mind. Of course the world would react the same. He’d known that, like he knew the sky was blue, and he needed air to breathe. And, like he knew he loved Mike, every inch of the man, inside and out.