Page 113 of The Session

“I’m going to save you a lot of trouble so you understand everything,” Mark told him. “I was flying back to Miami, then I got shanghaied and brought here. Some guy started asking me some questions—some things I had answers to—then they asked me things I had no idea about, and I realized I’m in the middle of a Session.”

“Dumbass, this isn’t a Session. This is very, very real. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I know about the girl. Everybody does. We just need to know who she is, what you told her,” Blaise insisted.

“She met me in front of the condo in Miami. She said her name was Diane. She wanted a selfie. Then she invited me out to meet her and a friend for some drinks. I declined,” Mark explained.

“But then you spoke to her again in Exuma,” Blaise added.

“She was sniffing around the executive retreat, trying to find things out while I was studying.”

“Then you flew to Nassau, disappeared for a few hours, then got on a flight to Albuquerque. That’s the part that has them worried. What happened then?” Blaise asked.

Fuck, Mark thought. They’d been paying closer attention than he realized. Was this some sort of mindfuck to get him to admit what he was doing in Nassau and then on Eleuthera? But Blaise didn’t mention that. Neither had John, but he could have.

When Mark first came into the room, he had been prepared for that line of questioning, but it never came.

“The flight wasn’t for a few hours, so I walked around, killed time,” Mark replied.

“By yourself?”

“Yep.”

“You have to admit that it looks bad,” Blaise said. “Some hottie comes up to you in Miami, wants to hook up. You say you didn’t. Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. We know you spend a lot of time walking around the beach. Things happen out there. I know. Not my favorite place, but it works. You go to Exuma, which you know we have eyes on. You meet her, exchange words, then you disappear for six hours. You have to be honest, Mark. It looks like what it is.” Blaise leaned forward. “Did you tell her about the Vault? Did you mention something you maybe didn’t realize you shouldn’t have? Maybe the name of somebody in security or internal affairs?”

“This is pointless,” Mark snapped. “I’m out of here.”

Blaise glared up at the camera, then back to Mark. “You walk out of here, you’re done. It’s fucking over for you.”

Mark paused a beat, then smiled. “Hey, you gave it a good shot, but we both know it’s not over for me. I’ll tell my dad you tried.” He started to stand up.

Blaise darted to the corner of the room, grabbed the cable connected to the camera, and yanked it out of the wall, disconnecting it, then blocked the door. “You don’t fucking understand!”

Mark walked around the table and stood nose to nose with Blaise. “Out of my way,” he said calmly.

“You don’t understand what they will do, Mark. You have no idea. I am not fucking around,” Blaise whispered, leaning in closer.

Mark stood fast. “I’m not afraid of them.”

“I am,” Blaise said hoarsely.

Mark saw Blaise’s right hand reaching for something inside his jacket.

He grabbed Blaise by the wrist and yanked it high into the air, smashing it against the wall.

A gun clattered to the floor.

Mark kicked it backward with his foot before Blaise could reach for it.

Blaise tried to pull his hand back and shove at Mark with his other arm. Mark’s right fist flew up into his jaw in a hard uppercut.

Blaise’s head jerked backward, and he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Mark kept his eyes on him as he stepped back and picked up the gun.

He could tell from its weight that there was no magazine in it. Mark pulled back the slide, checked the chamber. Sure enough, empty.

“Goddamn it.” He tucked it in his back pocket, walked over to where Blaise was slumped, pulled him upright, and slapped him across the face.

“Wake up!” he shouted.