Broker of lies, p.1
Broker of Lies, page 1
Praise for Steven James
“James delivers first-rate characters, dazzling plot twists, and powers it all with non-stop action.”
—JOHN TINKER, Emmy Award-winning screenwriter
Synapse
“A complex and riveting thriller that invites you to ponder the deepest questions of existence while at the same time leaving you on the edge of your seat.”
—JAMES L. RUBART, five-time Christy Award-winning author of Blood from a Stone
“Animated by themes of hope, love, and belief in the afterlife, James’s thrilling story of greed and corruption will win over readers.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY STARRED REVIEW
“A groundbreaking, mind-bending adventure. Synapse is next-level suspense that keeps the pages turning combined with next-level writing on par with the great literary masters.”
—JAMES R. HANNIBAL, award-winning author of The Paris Betrayal
“Steven James once again delivers a perfect amalgam of character and plot, totally immersing the reader in an irresistible narrative.”
—SIMON GERVAIS, international bestselling author of The Last Sentinel
“James . . . delivers a thought-provoking look at the definitions of humanity, belief, and faith in this timely near-future sf thriller.”
—LIBRARY JOURNAL STARRED REVIEW
“Suspenseful and profound. A mind-bending thriller with a taut storyline filled with the added tension of existential questions and ethical dilemmas we have no answers to today—but may find ourselves wrestling with in the all-too-near future.”
—TOSCA LEE, international bestselling author of A Single Light
Every Deadly Kiss
“James brings complexity and intrigue to his latest Patrick Bowers thriller, layering plotlines and unfolding characters in a way that keeps readers on the edge through the very end. . . . Fans of the Bowers Files will not be disappointed.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS
“Unnerving and laced with breathtaking suspense, Every Deadly Kiss is a surprising and complex thriller that will keep readers obsessed to the final page.”
—FRESH FICTION
Checkmate
“A perfectly crafted hard-hitting, intense thriller that takes readers to the top of the cliff and dangles them over the edge. James is an author that every thriller reader should have on their bookshelf.”
—SUSPENSE MAGAZINE
The King
“His tightly woven, adrenaline-laced plots leave readers breathless.”
—THE SUSPENSE ZONE
“With a multidimensional quality, Steven James writes with a confident, assured ease. Just good old-fashioned, gimmick-free storytelling that pushes the envelope to the edge and beyond.”
—STEVE BERRY, New York Times bestselling author of The Kaiser’s Web
The Queen
“A masterpiece of a thriller.”
—SPECIAL AGENT R. WAYNE SMITH, FBI (retired)
“With a brilliant strategy, James manages a checkmate, and he seems to have many more moves in store.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
The Bishop
“Breakneck speed doesn’t even begin to describe the pace . . . Absolutely brilliant.”
—JEFF BUICK, bestselling author of The Krubera Conspiracy
“Steven James’s The Bishop should come with a warning: Don’t start reading unless you’re prepared to finish this book in a single sitting. An intense, intelligent thriller with characters as real as your next-door neighbors, The Bishop goes beyond the exploration of good and evil to what it means to be human. Riveting!”
—KAREN DIONNE, #1 international bestselling author of The Marsh King’s Daughter
The Knight
“Page after page, the suspense never ends. This book is highly recommended.”
—MIDWEST BOOK REVIEW
“I’m continually in awe of Steven James and his mastery of story. If you are looking for top-notch thriller writing laced with suspense, action, mystery, and emotion, then look no further. Steven James is your guy.”
—FICTION ADDICT
The Rook
“Fans of CSI and Law & Order will enjoy the police work and forensics, but this jacked-up read feels more like an explosive episode of 24; it’s a wild ride with a shocking conclusion.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY STARRED REVIEW
“Readers will be on the edge of their seats.”
—ROMANTIC TIMES TOP PICK
The Pawn
“An exceptional psychological thriller.”
—BOOKSHELF REVIEW
“Riveting.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
“Seriously intense.”
—POP CULTURE TUESDAY
“Steven James writes at a breakneck pace, effortlessly pulling the reader along on this incredible thrill ride.”
—ARMCHAIR REVIEWS
“An exhilarating thriller that will keep readers up late into the night . . . In a word, intense.”
—MYSTERIOUS REVIEWS
Opening Moves
“Opening Moves is a mesmerizing read. From the first chapter, it sets its hook deep and drags you through a darkly gripping story with relentless power. My conclusion: I need to read more of Steven James.”
—MICHAEL CONNELLY, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Desert Star and executive producer of Bosch
“Steven James has created a fast-moving thriller with psychological depth and gripping action . . . Full of twists and enjoyable surprise, Opening Moves is a blisteringly fast and riveting read.”
—MARK GREANEY, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Gray Man
Also by Steven James
SCIENCE FICTION
Synapse
SUSPENSE
THE BOWERS FILES
Opening Moves
The Pawn
The Rook
The Knight
The Bishop
The Queen
The King
Checkmate
Every Crooked Path
Every Deadly Kiss
Every Wicked Man
THE JEVIN BANKS EXPERIENCE
Placebo
Singularity
YOUNG ADULT
THE BLUR TRILOGY
Blur
Fury
Curse
Visit Tyndale online at tyndale.com.
Visit Steven James online at stevenjames.net.
Tyndale and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Ministries.
Broker of Lies
Copyright © 2023 by Steven James. All rights reserved.
Unless otherwise noted, cover and interior images are the property of their respective copyright holders on Depositphotos.com, and all rights are reserved. Smoke © Ed Zbarzhyvetsky; skyline © Paul Rommer; metal © kokoroyuki; redaction background © Sergey Nivens/Shutterstock; brush strokes © Olga_C.
Designed by Ron C. Kaufmann
Published in association with the John Talbot Agency, Inc., a member of The Talbot Fortune Agency, LLC, 180 E. Prospect Ave. #188, Mamaroneck, NY 10543.
Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.
Matthew 24:28 is taken from the Christian Standard Bible,® copyright © 2017 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission. Christian Standard Bible® and CSB® are federally registered trademarks of Holman Bible Publishers.
Broker of Lies is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Tyndale House Publishers at csresponse@tyndale.com, or call 1-855-277-9400.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4964-7330-1 (HC)
ISBN 978-1-4964-7331-8 (SC)
Build: 2023-03-27 10:33:06 EPUB 3.0
Contents
Part I: Fresh Corpses Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part II: Chloroform Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Part III: The Deep End Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Part IV: The Children Arrive Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52<
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Part V: Damp Earth Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Note to Readers
About the Author
Facilis descensus Averno.
VIRGIL
The Aeneid
PART IFresh Corpses
CHAPTER 1
PROVIDENCE MEMORIAL HOSPITAL BURN UNIT
WASHINGTON, DC
Zoë Hughes eyed the door. “He’s in there?”
A nod from her supervisor, a nurse who’d been working in the burn ward for nearly twenty years. Kathleen Capron had seen it all. More than anyone should see.
“Is it true?” Zoë asked. She was just one semester out of college. Still adjusting to it all.
“About?”
“His wife.”
Neither woman moved toward the room. Kathleen shuffled one foot. “You mean that she was still alive?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what they’re saying.”
Zoë caught herself swallowing hard.
Kathleen placed a reassuring hand on Zoë’s forearm. “I know this is your first time, but follow my lead. And don’t look into his eyes when it happens.”
“Why do you say that? Will it frighten him?”
“It’ll frighten you.”
Zoë nodded quietly.
Kathleen rapped gently on the patient’s door and, without waiting for an answer, announced herself. “Mr. Brock? It’s Kathleen, your nurse.” There was no reply from inside. She nudged the door open. “It’s time to change your bandages.”
She angled through the doorway with Zoë behind her. “Today I have Nurse Hughes with me. She’ll be assisting me.”
Zoë smelled the man’s wounds before she ever saw him. The stench of burnt flesh lingered in the air despite the cleaning agents the custodial staff had used in the room.
She knew from reading the thirty-five-year-old man’s charts that the burns covered over a third of his body, from his left leg up and across his torso to the side of his face. Though the wounds were mostly on the left side, both of his arms had been burned when he reached into the flames.
She also knew that with severe-enough full-thickness, or third-degree, burns—when the nerves were damaged—the patient didn’t feel any pain. But this man’s burns hadn’t affected his nerve endings. He would feel it when they removed the bandages sticking to him.
He would feel it all.
They say it’s one of the most painful experiences a person can go through. Like peeling off your skin whenever it’s time for fresh bandages. And debridement—scrubbing the burns when necessary to keep them clean and free from infection—was perhaps the worst part of all.
“How are you doing today?” Kathleen asked him, a question that Zoë thought could not possibly bring a favorable response.
The man said nothing, but nodded faintly. Only one of his eyes was visible; the other had been bandaged over.
“Good.” Kathleen consulted his chart. “We need to give you something to dull the pain.”
This time, instead of nodding, he shook his head and whispered a single, coarse word, the swelling in his throat no doubt making it hard to vocalize: “No.”
“It’s necessary.”
Now his reply was firmer, more adamant. “No.”
“Don’t worry, it also serves as an amnesiac. It’ll help you forget all this when it’s over.”
“Can’t forget.” His voice cracked as he replied.
“Mr. Brock. It’s protocol for us to give patients—”
“No drugs.” There was steel in his response.
Zoë waited to see what Kathleen would do. With what this man was going through, why would he be refusing pain medication? Maybe he was delirious. Probably that’s what it was. He wasn’t thinking clearly.
Still, they needed to clear this up. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like trying to change his bandages without him being medicated.
Kathleen stared at Mr. Brock for a moment, then signaled for Zoë to come with her and told the man, “We’ll be right back.”
Zoë followed her into the hall, closing the door half-shut behind her.
“He expressly stated his wishes,” she said softly to Kathleen.
“But he’s in no state to understand what he’s asking.”
“How do we know that? I mean, how—?”
“He’s not in his right mind, Zoë. He wouldn’t deny the pain meds, not if he knew what was coming. We give them Veldexin for a reason.”
“Yes,” Zoë said, “to forget the pain, I know, but—”
“That’s not the only reason. It’s also for the next time.”
“The next time?”
“If we didn’t give it to them—if they remembered everything—when we returned to change their bandages, they would fight us off. Believe me, I’ve been there. The last thing you want to have to do is strap someone down while he writhes and screams for you to stop as you prepare to peel the bandages off his burns.”
Zoë gulped. “Then what do we do?”
“We go back in there and we do our job.”
“But—”
“We do it.” Kathleen raised an authoritative finger. “And don’t question things once we get started. Remember who’s in charge.”
“You are.”
“Yes.”
Back in the room again, the man muttered as they approached his bed, his words breathy and forced. “Don’t touch me until I speak to a doctor.”
“It’s time to change these bandages, I’m afraid,” Kathleen told him sternly.
Zoë eased closer to him, and all at once he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “A doctor.”
He stared into her eyes with arrant determination and clutched her with unnerving strength. She wanted to pull away but didn’t want to hurt him, and she knew that if she jerked her arm, it would definitely jar him, maybe rip some of his wounds open again.
At last, Kathleen sighed. “Fine.”
In silence, I watched the two nurses walk away. Because of the bandage covering my left eye, I had to turn my head in order to do so. When my neck flexed, the burns on it sent tight streaks of pain shooting down my spine, and I had to stop and stare upright again, trying to catch my breath and quiet the pain stabbing through me. Beyond the open doorway I heard the incessant beeping of a monitor in another room and the irregular sound of a squeaky cart being rolled down the hallway.
Then the door closed as they left me alone in the room. Sterile and stark. A bone-white tomb. As I lay there waiting for the doctor, my senses seemed to become keener. The charred smell of my burns hadn’t gone away, and I wondered how long it would take before it did, or if the odor would be locked in my memory forever.
Probably locked in.
Forever.
It made me think of the fire, and though I tried my best to forget—something that never worked and seemed to always bring the opposite result instead—I remembered it all as if it were happening right here, once again: Awakening to the smell of smoke. Sitting up and feeling beside me on the bed, but finding it empty, my wife gone. Smooth sheets. Cool to the touch.
“Sienna?”
Instinctively, I’d fumbled for my glasses on the nightstand, but they fell to the floor behind it.
I rushed to the door and felt the wood.
Blazing heat.
Flames snaking in beneath the door.
“Sienna!”
No reply from the hallway, just the crackling hiss of the blaze.
Wrapping my T-shirt around my hand to protect it from burning on the doorknob, I opened the door just enough for a strip of flames to lick in at me, hungry for fresh oxygen.
I pushed it shut, sealing them out.
With the fire trapping me in the bedroom, the only way out of the house was off the balcony beyond the French doors.
I hurried through them and peered down into the night. It had to be at least twenty-five feet to the downward-sloping hillside, but there she was, standing beneath the oak tree in the front yard. Thank God, thank God, thank God.
