"God pardon me!" he subjoined ere long; "and man meddle not with me: I have her, and will hold her." Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
Prologue
This is how it ends.
Control lay on the floor of his living room, on his previously spotless and rarely-used white carpet, half-paralyzed, alone, and helpless. Three feet in front of him, his personal safe was open. Inside was a pile of file folders, each neatly labeled with the name of one of his associates. They were empty. Lily Romanov had taken the contents when she'd left him.
On top of the folders was a hand-written note on red paper.
If you harm Control or come after me, I will burn you all.
I'll be in touch.
Romanov
He had been there alone for more than an hour. The floor was probably cold and hard beneath him, but he could not feel it. His entire left side was numb. From face to foot, he felt nothing at all, only heavy numbness and absence. His right leg was also without feeling from the thigh down. He guessed that his lips gaped open, that spittle ran down his cheek onto the rug. He knew that his bladder had released because he could smell the urine; he felt no moisture under his hip.
This is how it ends, he thought again.
It was very possible that his life would end here. He was helpless. His lover had gone, and taken with her all the secrets that protected his life from his enemies. His long-secret romance with an agent had been revealed. His career had probably been over before he'd fallen to the floor.
This is how it ends, waiting alone to be found and killed.
Perhaps it had always been destined to end this way. Perhaps everything that had happened was set in motion on that first stormy night in Budapest, a decade before, when he'd taken a half-frozen young courier into his bed.
He stared again at the safe. It had been his secret pride, the insurance policy that kept his enemies and his co-workers at bay. Now it was empty, ransacked of everything but the ominously labeled folders, an empty jewelry box, and the note. All gone, all gone. Like everything that he'd worked for in his life. Gone.
His upper right side was still perfectly functional. He could have rolled himself over, at least onto his back. But it would have done him no good; the nearest phone was halfway across the room. He had no desire to call anyone, anyhow. The one person he would have reached to for help had left him here and was miles away by now.
He reached across his body and touched the cheap gold band on the third finger of his left hand. His wedding ring. His brilliant farce of a wedding, of a marriage. The little play that had brought Lily here, into his apartment. That had given her access to the safe.
Gone. All gone.
Alone. Wounded. Robbed of his security. Abandoned. Helpless. Broken in a pool of his own piss.
This is how Control ends.