Face of the Assassin

by Bill Brewer

  Carolyn saw the pressure clip from which Pierre had taken the tire iron. It was a thin, rigid piece of metal firmly adhered perpendicularly to the wall. She backed over to the clip and placed the flexicuffs upon the metal edge, exerting as much force as she could. The binds tightened around her wrists, but she ignored the pain as she continued to pull on the cuffs. She slid the plastic strictures back and forth, feeling them weaken. As the men continued fighting, she struggled to get her hands free. Abrading the plastic on the metal edge produced enough fatigue to snap the cuffs. Carolyn pulled her hands in front of her as her binds broke. Ripping the duct tape off her mouth hurt like hell, but breathing deep felt so good. She reached under the driver’s seat.

  Pierre gathered himself as he rose to his feet. Vince scooched across the floor but not fast enough to stop Pierre from using the iron to bash him in the knee. Pouncing on Vince, Pierre straddled his body, choking him across the throat with the tire iron. Vince struggled to get out from under the bar while Pierre put all his weight on the shaft of steel. Unable to breathe, Vince kicked his legs as he tried to roll and struggled to press the bar off his throat. Each effort was less effective as his strength began to seep away. With his hands falling involuntarily to his sides, more and more molecules of carbon dioxide poisoned his system.

  “Get off of him,” shouted Carolyn pointing the pistol at Pierre. With a snarl Pierre only pressed down harder.

  “I’ll shoot you,” threatened Carolyn.

  Pierre said nothing as he held her gaze and continued to choke out the life of Vince Kronig.

  Carolyn’s eyes shifted to look at Vince. Pierre seized the moment, swinging his left hand, knocking the gun out of her grasp and onto the pavement outside the van.

  His return swing slapped her across the face. “You stupid bitch,” he shouted, “You’re too weak to shoot anybody.”

  The reduction of pressure was all Vince needed to draw a breath. He swung his fist as he rolled his body. The punch caught Pierre in the ear with a painful sting. Vince’s second strike hit Pierre’s jaw hard, torquing his head as his teeth clashed. Pierre jabbed the tapered end of the iron into Vince’s abdomen nearly piercing the skin. He then swung the hardened steel bar clobbering Vince in the temple. The strike sent Vince’s right side into an acute neurologic paralysis. He fell to the floor with half of his body in a spastic state.

  Carolyn squirmed over to the van’s open side door and dropped outside on to the ground.

  Pierre, his face contorted and his ear ringing, looked down on the disoriented man who had lost control of half his body. He knelt next to him and raised the tire iron over his head. Vince lifted his left arm in an anemic attempt to protect himself.

  Explosions amplified in the steel walled interior of the van, as one, two, three gunshots sent bullets into Pierre’s torso. The propulsive force knocked Pierre off Vince, plastering him against the closed door of the opposite side of the van. Blood splattered and Pierre groaned as air sucked into his thorax through the wounds.

  Vince, with his right side still in acute paralysis, crawled over to the duplicitous Frenchman. “You betrayed me in the Ambassador Hotel.”

  Pierre’s face broke into a look of shocked surprise. He questioned this confusing message as his life exsanguinated from his chest.

  “You injected me with a sedative. You see me now with a different face, but you know who I am.”

  “Diegert?” croaked Pierre.

  With his left hand, Vince clutched Pierre’s throat with crushing force. He squeezed on the windpipe hastening the inevitable for the fatally wounded man. As he watched the light leave Pierre’s eyes he said, “My name is the last word you will ever speak.” All the tension drained from Pierre’s body as Vince loosened his grip letting the lifeless corpse crumple to the floor.

  Looking through the open side door of the van, Vince saw Carolyn gasping. She still held the gun and looked at Vince with the strangest expression. He realized she overheard the exchange with Pierre and she probably wanted an explanation, but right now, she was in labor.

  With only half his body at full strength, Vince struggled to lift the driver’s body into the van. Both dead bodies lay in the cargo space as Vince closed the doors. While his extremities regained function, Vince put Carolyn in the passenger seat of his heavily damaged, but still operating Porsche. Back on the M4, they sped toward the West Middlesex University Hospital.

  “Who are you?” demanded Carolyn.

  “I’m the guy who just saved your life and you’re the girl who just shot a man to death. I’d say that makes us two sides of equal.”

  “You knew that man, how? What did you mean when you said, you’re seeing me with a different face, but you know who I am?”

  “I wanted him to remember me.”

  “He called you Diegert. Are you David Diegert?”

  The problem with being honest and trustworthy as Vince, was telling the truth.

  “How could you change your face?” she asked.

  He sighed, took in another breath realizing that an honest answer to her question would change everything. She however was someone who helped him recognize the good within himself. She was special to him and he owed her an honest answer. She was also carrying his child. He sighed a second time. “Wireless nanocytes.”

  “So Vince Kronig is David Diegert.”

  He nodded his head.

  “What about the guy who got blown up?”

  “Nanocytes changed that guy’s face to mine and then they blew him up for everybody to see.”

  “So now, anybody’s face can be changed?”

  “Crepusculous is keeping a very tight lid on this technology. But if they want you to have a new face then you will.”

  “All that discussion we just had about David Diegert, was rather facetious since you are him.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Carolyn’s face suddenly became even more tense as she clutched her abdomen.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “It’s a contraction, not too bad, but this baby… your baby, is coming out.”

  “You said it wasn’t mine.”

  “Did you believe me?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want this baby? Are you ready to be a good father?”

  The questions were basic, the kind to which one should have given preemptive thought, and been ready to answer, but Diegert had not done that. He swerved the car around a slow moving van and pulled back into the lane.

  “I don’t want this child to grow up without his father like I did.”

  “Wanting to prevent your child from growing up as a bastard is not the same as taking the responsibility to be a good parent.”

  She used the word bastard. He hated that word and he hated being that word. He did not want his child to be a bastard. He cast a stern glance at her.

  “Aah-yeeh!” screeched Carolyn as a much more powerful contraction gripped her uterus. She threw her head back, clutched the armrest of the door with her left hand, as her right grabbed Vince’s arm. The car swerved to the left. Vince had to fight the strength in her arm to keep the car in the lane. The exit for the hospital was two kilometers away. It looked to Vince like the baby was going to come out and fall into the wheel well. A few moments later Carolyn’s breathing slowed, she released his arm, looked at him and said, “Hurry.”

  “Hang tough, we’re almost there.”

  “This is really not the way I wanted to start a family. You’ve screwed up my whole life, and this baby will remind me of that every day.”

  Vince took the exit, squealing his tires as he accelerated through the streets to the hospital’s emergency entrance.

  Bounding from the car, Vince shouted, “Help, Help, this woman’s in labor.”

  People in blue scrubs pushed through the double doors, quickly loading Carolyn onto a gurney.

  As she was rolled away she yelled, “You did this to me.”

  Vince stood outsi
de slowly shaking his head. Before he could be asked questions by the hospital staff, he returned to his car and sped away.

  CHAPTER 34

  It was almost noon. Vince was beat up, speckled with blood and was definitely going to be late for lunch with Julie and Dean Kellerman. He needed new clothes. It seemed almost too American, but just ahead was a shopping plaza with a TJ Maxx. In the store, he washed up in the men’s room, found a pair of khaki pants and a navy blue polo shirt. He changed in the fitting room. As he exited, he was met by a security guard.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said the muscular young man in a light blue uniform. The badge on his chest read: TJ Maxx Security, Jacob. “You were reported to be covered in blood.”

  “Yes, there was a traffic accident, with injuries. I’m an EMT, off duty, so I stopped and helped. Now I’m late for a date and I have to get going.”

  The young man looked at him, seemingly assessing his story for authenticity.

  Vince continued, “I don’t believe I’ve violated store policy.”

  “No… no sir you haven’t. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Thank you. Yes, I’m fine.”

  He paid for his new clothes, stuffed his old clothes in a plastic shopping bag and headed out to his car. As he approached the battered Porsche, he pulled out his phone to call Julie.

  “Hey, where are you?” she asked.

  “Sorry, I’m going to be late. I was in a car accident.”

  “What? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, but my car is really beat up. A van pulled into my lane, chewed up the front end and bashed in the passenger door. The guy said he didn’t see me as he changed lanes.”

  “But you’re okay? Do you have to go to the hospital or see a doctor?”

  “No… no I’m fine, just running a little late. Is your father there?”

  “Yes. We’re here. How long will it take you?”

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh… okay, then we’ll see you soon.”

  “Yes. Thanks, I’m looking forward to it.”

  This lunch was especially important to Julie. She wanted her father to meet Vince in a place where they could get to know each other without interruption. She knew her father harbored some suspicion about Klaus Panzer suddenly having two sons. To then have his daughter dating one was unsettling. Julie felt if her father got to know Vince, he would like him. She also wanted to discuss her concerns about Michael. She wanted Vince to be there. She needed his support and wanted him to corroborate her story. Dean Kellerman turned a blind eye and deaf ear to Michael’s drug problems. She would need resolve to hold her convictions with him. Vince knew he had to be there for her.

  The Petersham Restaurant was within the hotel of the same name. Tucked in a sylvan enclave on Nightingale Lane, the establishment’s long and distinguished history of serving London’s most well to do patrons made it a favorite place for Dean Kellerman to enjoy lunch. The dining room offered a charmingly bucolic view of the River Thames, despite its convenient location in Richmond. Cars were parked by a crew of valets. Vince smiled when he saw the look of trepidation on the young man who approached his car. Tossing the keys as he stepped out, Vince said, “I don’t want any scratches on this car.” Vince held a deadpan look as long as he could before cracking a smile as he turned and walked into the building.

  His smile broadened, in spite of the split on his lower lip, as he entered the dining room to see Julie sitting with her dad. Crossing the room toward them, he was surprised when Julie jumped out of her seat and scampered over to him. Dean was also taken aback by her abrupt move.

  Julie rushed to embrace him, kissing him fully on the lips. The sudden public display of affection attracted several pairs of dining room eyes. Vince eagerly received the kiss but winced as the pressure mounted.

  “Hey, you said you were okay,” blurted Julie as she pulled back, inspecting his injuries. “Look at your head and your lip.” Grabbing his arms she continued, “Where else are you hurt?”

  “Stop it,” said Vince with a smile. “I just banged my head as the car was jostled about. I’m fine.”

  He took her hand as they approached the table.

  Dean Kellerman rose from his seat as the couple drew near. His full head of silver gray hair was parted from the right and combed into a classic wave of Anglo handsomeness. At just six feet tall, Mr. Kellerman projected good health even if his athletic days were well in the past. His tailored suit was impressive as it fell into place on his upright frame. He extended his hand to Vince, who had to relinquish holding Julie’s in order to accept the meeting of the palms.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” said Kellerman. “We didn’t get much of a chance to talk at your party.”

  “The pleasure is mine, sir, and I appreciate the opportunity to have lunch with you.”

  All three sat down. Julie wasted no time returning to her inquiry about the car accident. “What highway were you on?”

  “The M4.”

  “The guy just turned into your lane?” she asked incredulously.

  “My car is small and low, but it sure surprised me when he just kept coming over and pretty soon his wheels were knocking the hell out of my car. I beeped the horn and he finally realized, but not before significant damage was done.”

  “He did stop though?”

  “Yeah. We had to wait for the cops to get it all sorted out. His insurance will have to look at the car to assess the damage. The damn thing still runs. The valet was sure surprised when I tossed him the keys,” said Vince with a chuckle. Smiles, all around the table.

  “You’re okay though? You’re not hurt?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” insisted Vince as he reached over, placing his hand on Julie’s forearm. She immediately put her hand over his as she gazed into his eyes. Dean Kellerman’s eyebrows raised at the gushing emotions of his daughter. It was easy to see that she was head over heels about this guy.

  “Do you think the car can be repaired?” asked the elder member of the group.

  Turning from Julie, Vince looked at Dean replying, “No, in spite of the fact it’s still running, I think they’ll total it.”

  “Your father may be upset. I understand he is quite particular about his collection.”

  “Yes, you’re right, but this Porsche was not one of his true exotics.”

  Leaning forward, Kellerman said, “Forgive my forwardness, but how does it feel to learn that your long lost father is in fact one of the world’s wealthiest men?”

  Vince sat quietly as he let his response percolate. Julie and Dean remained quiet while the answer was assembled.

  “The wealth and money are the least of my concerns. Growing up, the whole concept of a father was foreign to me. Some of the other kids I knew didn’t have fathers. Their parents had divorced and dad didn’t come around much, but he still existed. One kid lost his dad in an auto accident, but I just didn’t have one. Never did and had no idea who he was.”

  “Your mother didn’t tell you anything?”

  “That’s right. She was an extremely self-possessed woman. If she didn’t want to talk about something, then no words would be said.”

  The waiter arrived to take their orders. Julie chose the cobb salad. Dean selected the filet mignon, a cut of beef described in the menu as, the world’s most tender and delicious piece of meat. Vince ordered the beef as well.

  As the waiter left, Kellerman continued his inquiry. “So how did we get here?”

  “When my mother died, the lawyer she hired to be the executor of the will informed me that within the document was the identity of my father. My mother had placed his name in the will to be revealed to me upon her death.”

  Both of the Kellermans focused intently.

  “When the name was revealed, I had no idea who he was. As you know, he keeps himself out of the spotlight. Even having studied all the economics I had, he was never mentioned or put forth as a case study.”

  �
�Why did you choose to study economics?” asked Dean.

  “My mom was always elusive about money. As a physician, she had a good income. We lived comfortably, not extravagantly, but we never went without. I just found the power of money fascinating. Seeing some of my classmates whose parents really struggled, showed me how different life is with insufficient funds. I could see its power and influence in the choices they had to make. Studying economics in high school gave me a name for my observations and taught me that the topic was much bigger than the struggles of my friends.”

  Julie interjected, “It’s a fascinating topic.”

  “Yeah, one that most of us don’t bother to understand.”

  “True,” said Dean. “Most people confuse economics with finance and think it’s only about money.”

  Smiling Vince jumped back in. “You’re so right. Economics is as much about power as it is money. Money carries power, but it’s limited. Economics seeks to understand the power that exists between people and amongst people as we all seek to insure access to vital resources. Money is not the only way to acquire what we need.”

  Folding his hands in front of him and closing his eyes, Dean sought his way to saying, “You see I find it quite curious that one who has such a perspective on power and money is now the son of one of the wealthiest men the world has ever known.”