Page 125 of The Prize

“You can have your paintings.” He gestured to the structure. “If you can get to them.”

There was another way. We just had to find it. This man of seventy wasn’t ever getting on that thing.

“How did you discover this place?” Elliot asked.

“I stuck a GPS on a fakeMona Lisa,” Tobias said flatly. “Eli was stupid enough to steal it and generous enough to lead us here.”

“Masterful job, Wilder.”

“Integrity is important. Well, to me, anyway.”

Elliot was unfazed. “I think we’re probably both relieved this is over.”

“Let Zara go.”

“You’ve compromised my privacy.”

“And you might want to revisit your online security. I’m willing to send the message to our accomplice to delete the files I copied off your hard drive. If you let us go.”

“Files?”

“I hacked into your computer and gathered all the intel detailing your illegal activities in the Middle East. Namely, breaking the Geneva Convention.”

“I bend the rules. It’s the kind of specialty that requires a steady hand and the ability to do what must be done.”

“You profit from war, Burell,” Tobias snapped. “Children are dying beneath the rubble of houses your planes bomb.”

“Collateral damage.”

“Let us go,” said Tobias.

“And why would I do that?”

“If you murder us the feds will know.”

“I will bury you both so deep not even the worms will find you.” He pointed his gun at me.

“I’m really hot.” Tobias turned to face me. “Are you?”

I shook my head; my body was too encased in fear.

Tobias ripped open his shirt and I stared in horror at the wire attached to his bare chest. It looked like the one Abby had stuck on me in the Plaza hotel room.

“The FBI is listening in,” said Tobias. “Hearing every word.”

Elliot’s jaw tightened. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You just admitted taking down my parents’ plane in Australia. You also admitted to burning down Zara’s home after stealing her paintings, and then admitted dead children are collateral damage. I imagine the FBI’s popping the champagne as we speak. Think of all those cold cases connected to you they’ll be able to close. Probably half their workload, considering the damage you’ve left as your legacy.”

“And you are Icon,” said Elliot. “You wouldn’t be so damn stupid.”

“If I was I’d be proud of it.”

I was terrified Wilder was about to confess to being Icon and alter the trajectory of our future.

He tightened the strap of his rucksack. “Icon returned the paintings you stole. He reversed the damage.”

Elliot waved his gun at us. “Move.”