Dead Heat by James Patterson

Don’t weep too hard for Meyer, Detective Carvalho. He was a big man, but he liked little girls.’
    I have no reason to doubt Jaffari.
    ‘And the others?’
    ‘Over time, Meyer’s coach recommended me to other athletes. I began to collect them. Not all of them were susceptible, but I wanted to prove that I could force normal people to do terrible things. Just like the Americans did in Abu Ghraib. Just like the Nazis at Auschwitz. This week I’ve pushed the button and sent them off on their missions. Throw your javelin through the heart of the President. Kill yourself with drugs. Shoot the athlete you’re secretly having an affair with . Or wait for them to shoot you.’
    He looks particularly satisfied with this last accomplishment, and his eyes glint nastily from behind Felipe’s slumped torso.
    ‘What have Carvalho and I got to do with it?’ Paz asks angrily from the shadows. ‘What has Felipe got to do with it?’
    ‘This is a lifetime’s work. Universities will not sanction this kind of research. There is no other way for me to prove to the world that people are so easily manipulated. Think of the implications. This will help us to understand how terrorists convince suicide bombers to blow themselves up. How armies control their soldiers. How state atrocities are performed. The world needs to see my research. And you came very close to ruining everything. Too close to my athletes.’
    ‘Not really,’ Paz says. ‘They’re all dead.’
    Jaffari smiles again.
    ‘So how did you do it?’ I ask him. ‘How did you convince them to sacrifice themselves?’
    His cold eyes flick back to me.
    ‘Simple. I made it their best option. Everyone has a weak spot. Take Paz, for example. For Paz, her weakness is her son. This is why Paz is going to shoot you. Right now. Right between the eyes. Because if she doesn’t, I’ll shoot little Felipe here.’
    The words hang heavy in the air for a moment.
    ‘You see, she likes you. But she likes Felipe more. Just like I said before, pressure is a button. And I just pressed it.’

CHAPTER 22
    PAZ’S ANGER TURNS to horror, but as Jaffari pushes his gun hard against her son’s head, she lifts her own weapon and points it slowly towards me. Buying time, maybe. In the shadows she lifts herself to her feet and, despite everything, I’m forced to cover her with my own gun. I have spent a lifetime on some of the world’s most dangerous streets. There’s a reason that I’m still here. I play the game pretty simply: if someone points a gun at me, I point mine right back at them. Even if it’s Paz. I watch her down the barrel. She’s like a marionette, fighting against her own strings. Every move is laboured, reluctant and inevitable.
    ‘Drop your weapon,’ Jaffari tells me. ‘You’re spoiling all the fun. Drop it now, or I will kill the boy.’
    I have no choice. I lower my gun to my side and reluctantly drop it onto the wooden floor.
    ‘You are one twisted son of a bitch,’ I tell Jaffari, as Paz walks from the shadows into the gloomy light. Her eyes are suddenly dull and lifeless, submitting to the task ahead.
    ‘Science is everything,’ Jaffari says, ‘and pressure is just a button. Paz shoots you, or I shoot the boy. There’s the pressure. You knowshe’s going to do it, Carvalho. What choice does she have? She’s a cog in a system, just like the soldiers at Abu Ghraib. Soon people will understand the human machine, and the people who can manipulate us into doing terrible things.’
    I realise that Jaffari is no longer talking to me, but delivering a sermon to the camera. The tiny red dot is still glowing in the dark, filming over Paz’s shoulder.
    ‘You have become the exact thing you are fighting against,’ I tell him. ‘A perversion of your original idea. You are enjoying this power. The thrill has corrupted you. Don’t you see the irony? You might as well be working in Abu Ghraib. You’re an insult to your brother’s memory.’
    Angering Jaffari is my