They moved on slowly, as they had been doing for the last hour. Or was it longer? Louis was losing sense of time, just as he was losing sense of place and himself. He was shivering, unable to stop it, and his fingers gripping the flashlight were numb. His toes were numb. His mind was growing numb.
He bit down hard on his lower lip, almost drawing blood. Anything to stay alert. He stuck his free hand in his parka pocket. It found the rabbit’s foot. He gripped it, his mind finding a focus again…Jesse.
He stopped suddenly and turned around. It was going to end soon. However it did, whatever was going to happen to him, he needed to know the truth.
“Where’s Jesse?” he asked.
All he could see was the light Gibralter was shining in his face. “What did you do with him?” Louis asked.
When Gibralter said nothing Louis held up the rabbit’s foot. He couldn’t see Gibralter’s face.
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to worry about Jesse anymore,” Gibralter said.
“You killed him,” Louis said.
Gibralter said nothing.
“You killed him. Why?”
“He made the wrong choice.”
“Choice? What choice?”
Louis heard the click of a gun hammer.
“Move,” Gibralter said.
He trudged on, trying to think. What choice had Jesse made? Had he finally turned against Gibralter? Had Jesse been going to turn himself in when he left the cabin?
Louis stopped again and turned. “You killed Pryce, too, didn’t you?”
“You’re wasting time, Kincaid.”
“Jesse’s dead. They’re all dead! It doesn’t matter anymore, that’s what you said!”
It was quiet except for the ping of the tracking device in Gibralter’s hand.
“Did you? Did you kill Pryce?” Louis demanded.
“I made a permanent sacrifice,” Gibralter said.
There. He had his truth. Louis shut his eyes, turning his face upward. The snow was cold and wet on his face. It was a moment before he could bring himself to speak again.
“You coward,” he whispered. “You were afraid and you killed him. You fucking coward.”
“Pryce was the coward,” Gibralter said. “He didn’t have the guts to do what had to be done. He didn’t understand that our strength comes from our unity.”
Gibralter’s chuckle drifted to him. “You’re learning, Kincaid.” He tipped the gun barrel, motioning him to move on.
Louis didn’t’ move. There were still too many questions. “How did you find out he was on to you?”
Gibralter didn’t answer.
“How?” Louis shouted.
“I was lucky. I got a call I never should have got.”
“From who? Who told you what Pryce was doing?”
“Steele’s secretary,” Gibralter said. “She called the station and Dale transferred the call to me. She said she was calling to say she had to change the time of Pryce’s appointment for December third.”
Louis stared, stunned.
“I told her I’d pass the message along.”
“You killed Pryce on the basis of that?”
Gibralter shook his head. “I suspected he was turning before then.”
Louis waited. Gibralter seemed to be trying to decide how much to explain.
“He was looking for a job. I got calls for references,” Gibralter said. “I didn’t think much of it at first. Pryce never seemed to really fit in here.”
“It had to be more than that. What else tipped you off?”
“Dale.”
Louis shook his head.
“It’s not what you think,” Gibralter said. “Dale didn’t know what Pryce was up to. He was just pissed that Pryce was messing up his files. Dale came to me, it was around Halloween, asking if he could put locks on the file cabinets to keep everybody out. He was mad at Pryce, said he never put things back. He showed me a file Pryce had left a mess.”
“The raid file,” Louis said. “Pryce made a copy.”
Gibralter nodded. “I started watching him after that. I followed him one day when he went back to the Eden place. I checked evidence and knew he’d been in there. I saw that the seal on the Hammersmith bag was broken.”
“You knew he found the throw-down,” Louis said.
“Yes, but he didn’t take the gun. He wasn’t as smart as you.”
Louis was shivering hard and clenched his teeth together to keep them from chattering.
“Walk,” Gibralter demanded.
“What about Ollie and Lovejoy?” he said.
“What about them?”
“Did you kill them, too?”
Gibralter stared at him, his breath visible in the beam of the flashlight. “Do you believe in fate, Kincaid?”
Louis didn’t answer.
“’There is no armor against fate. Death lays its icy hand on kings.’”
Louis recognized it as part of the quote Gibralter had delivered at Ollie’s funeral. It hadn’t meant anything to him then. But now, here, the words sounded cowardly, like an excuse.
“Fate?” Louis said. “It was their fate to die?”
“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” Gibralter said. “Things were set in motion that day at the Eden cabin, things that no one could stop. Is that fate? I don’t know. All I know is things must come to their inevitable conclusions.”
