Double Deal

by John M. Green

  She kicked them away.

  ‘Oh,’ said the woman, touching her ear like she was adjusting a comms earpiece. She tapped the watch on her wrist. ‘It’s time for a newsflash from the BBC, Tori. This is live, by the way.’

  An announcer’s voice came through from behind the curtain.

  ‘Eyewitnesses at Barcelona’s El Prat Airport report that a jet has just exploded during take-off. Airport sources have told the BBC that the plane is Russian President Maxim Tushkin’s.

  ‘At this stage casualties are unknown but the BBC can confirm that Mr Tushkin was not on board.

  ‘This feed streaming live from the Sagrada Familia shows Tushkin as one of the five hundred people terrorists are holding captive—’

  The Voice tapped her wrist again and the broadcast stopped. ‘The BBC is wrong about one thing. Tushkin was on that plane.’

  Tori was befuddled. ‘The newsreader said—’

  The woman laughed, her teeth flashing like tiny orbs, and held out her hand. ‘My name. It’s Hermes.’

  Tori kept her weapon up. ‘Why Hermes? Because you’re dressed to kill?’

  The assassin raised her arms to the side and curtsied. ‘Sorry to disappoint you but my name has nothing to do with the fashion chain, though I’m sure the designer who made this glorious outfit will be flattered.’ She did a little twirl on her toes. ‘For the record, my name is pronounced Herm-eez. The clothes brand is French and that’s Air-mezz. Surely a modern woman like you should know that.’

  ‘Do you think I give a fu—’

  ‘A girl like Tori Swyft should always give a fu, whatever a fu is, so let me enlighten you. In ancient Greece, Hermes was the divine trickster, the god who ushered mortals into the afterlife, like what I do for a living. Homer was quite poetic about him, you know: bound on my glittering golden sandals with which I fly like the wind over land and sea / I take the wand by which I seal men’s eyes in sleep or wake them just as I please.’

  ‘Hence gluing my eyes shut. And how impressive, quoting Homer to justify your demented stunts. If my hands weren’t committed to holding this pistol I’d give you a slow clap.’

  ‘I wouldn’t seem so demented to you if you saw my client list. Tori, I operate in a simple world, a marketplace where demand looks for supply. When people want to buy, I’m happy to sell, provided the price is right and the buyer meets my standards.’

  ‘Standards? If you turned up at a freak show, they’d offer you top billing.’

  ‘Tori, you completely misread me. We’re actually kindred spirits, two former CIA girls out to smash the patriarchy. Peas in a pod.’

  ‘Us? The same? What the hell are you smoking? And do you really expect me to believe you’re ex-Agency? If you were, how could you ever threaten your president’s life? You’re the only traitor around here, not Casals.’

  ‘To be a traitor, you need a country, and when those CIA pieces of shit sent me packing, they took mine away.’

  Unexpectedly, the curtain swept open and Tori flinched, suspecting she’d pushed Hermes too far and she might have decided to let her goons loose on her. If this was how it was going to end, so be it. She pulled the trigger.

  117

  From out of nowhere, a thin white cord whipped towards Tori, so fast that it wrapped itself around the muzzle of her gun and tugged at it before her bullet had a chance to leave the chamber. Instead of hitting Hermes, the shot went into a wall. ‘What the …?’ Tori yanked the weapon free.

  ‘That’s just me checking if your reflexes are up to scratch,’ said Hermes casually, as if someone trying to kill her was little more discomforting than finding a pebble in her shoe. ‘Maybe I should sing that Elton John number for you, “I’m Still Standing”. It’s quite catchy, don’t you think? Like my lasso.’

  ‘How did you do that, with the cord? And before, with the roses? What are you, a witch?’

  Hermes shrugged. ‘The divine trickster, remember? To slightly misquote Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire, reality sucks, magic is better. So to honour my ancient namesake, I’ve trained myself to be quite a dab hand at most of the magical arts. Skills of dexterity and misdirection are pretty useful in my profession. So, the roses? They’re just ornamental fripperies, one girl’s gracious welcome to another. The lasso, clearly, is more functional. But it’s also a bit of fun. How about this for a bit more? You’ve heard of sawing a woman in half?’

  Tori stiffened, tightening her grip on the pistol. This was no idle threat. Tori had already seen a man sawn in half today. Two of them.

  Hermes noticed. ‘Relax. It’s not you, it’s me. Watch this rope cut right though my body.’

  Hermes passed the rope over her head until it was behind her back, the ends held between her hands.

  ‘Tori, one minute, you see the rope behind me and then … you’ll see it moving through my clothes, through my spine, through my stomach … don’t blink.’ Then, keeping the rope firmly in her grip, Hermes snapped both hands forwards and the rope, to Tori’s astonishment, sliced right through her waist like there’d been nothing to stop it.

  Hermes hadn’t let go of the cord, not for a second. Or that’s what Tori thought she saw. The witch had somehow yanked it through her body, effectively cutting herself in half.

  ‘That’s impossible,’ was all Tori could say.

  ‘In case you think you missed something, I’ll do it again, slowly this time,’ said Hermes with a smirk. ‘Watch and learn, Tori.’ For a second time, Hermes passed the rope over her head so it was behind her back, still between her two hands. ‘One, two, three,’ but this time Hermes added a half-twist of her body, and the rope stopped partway through her, flowing from one hand into her stomach, the rest sticking out of her back and into her other hand.

  ‘What the f—’

  ‘But enough of that,’ said Hermes as she pulled the rope out of her body. She turned her back to Tori, apparently satisfied that the rope, or some other trickery, would prevent Tori trying to send another bullet her way. ‘The thing is, you’ve caught me at rather a busy moment. I’ve got a captive audience down the street who are literally dying to hear what I’ve got in store for them next, and they can only keep hearing my rantings on auto-repeat for so long.’

  By now, the curtain had pulled across completely, revealing two tables set up with five, no, six computers, and no goons, nobody at all. Of the two screens facing Tori, one was scanning the street in front of the building, probably from a camera set up on a vantage point on the roof, and the other was showing a feed from inside the basilica.

  Further back, the balcony doors were open and the orange trash chute she’d seen snaking up the building’s facade was poking in through a window.

  After Hermes tossed the rope into the trash chute, she tapped on one of the keyboards. ‘The congregation’s probably getting a bit tired of chanting Long live Endz of the Earth with my baby birds flitting around their heads. In case you’re wondering, they’re darling little exploding drones I got from Mr Tushkin before they killed him. And your friend Casals, too. Oh, dear, I see the German is at it again. Well, let’s show him, Tori.’ She started typing and Tori heard what she assumed were the words coming through a speaker.

  ‘Hey, Chancellor Brinkmann, if you ever want to eat a slice of Helga’s kirschtorte again, stop your fidgeting.’

  Hermes patted one of the computers. ‘Tori, this marvellous box here is translating that into German for me. Helga is Brinkmann’s mistress, by the way, a woman who Frau Brinkmann, back home with the kids and the dogs in Berlin, has no idea exists, not until now. We girls do have to stick together, right?’

  As Hermes lifted a bottle of water from the table and took a swig, Tori noticed that the Congolese flag outside was picking up a gust. The balcony doors swayed and the breeze came inside to lift a few sheets of paper. Hermes placed the bottle on the pages and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. ‘Tori, you do know that if you hadn’t quit the Agency when you did, those pricks would’ve booted you out a
nyway? But look at what you’ve done with yourself, a big-time hired gun just like me.’

  ‘Except I don’t kill people.’

  Hermes laughed. ‘Not that you haven’t tried. And how’s your game plan of working for the rich and famous actually working out? What have you got out of it? Your shitty little apartment in Boston. A few bucks in your bank account. A loveless life. Whereas me … I’ve built an empire, I’ve got contractors all over the world working for me, significant investments in Silicon Valley and Switzerland, and a few other places. Hey, here’s an idea. Come in with me. You’re a fugitive. What else are you going to do with your newfound free time?’

  Tori shook her head in disbelief. Hermes was either kidding herself or high.

  118

  Hermes kept jabbering. Tori brought her hands close to her body, her elbows thrust to the sides – a cramped pose for holding a weapon but the best stance she could manage to protect herself from another lasso.

  ‘Hermes, bad luck that cord of yours didn’t get my gun, because I will make you pay for your crimes.’

  ‘Not with all those fairy lights zipping and zapping over those scrappy sneakers of yours, you won’t.’

  Tori’s peripheral vision told her something was indeed happening at her feet and she dropped her gaze to see a dozen red laser dots dancing at her toes. But when she looked back up, damn it, Hermes was pointing an automatic assault rifle back at her. A Colt M4 Commando. With a three-round burst on a single trigger-pull, Hermes would be able to cut Tori down before she got off a single shot.

  She was unable to hide her astonishment. ‘You literally had that thing up your sleeve?’

  Hermes kept a lock on Tori’s eyes. ‘Sleeving an M4 isn’t easy when a jumpsuit’s hugging a body as glorious as mine.’

  ‘You’re both a narcissist and a deranged psychopath.’

  Hermes slapped her weapon. ‘That’s not what the unicorn I share my bed with says.’

  Tori tipped her head towards the red laser sights at her feet but kept her eyes on the madwoman. ‘The lasers …’

  Hermes shrugged. ‘Maybe they’re just fairy lights, maybe they’re not.’ She stamped her foot and the lightshow shifted from Tori’s feet up onto the walls. ‘Take a look up there … and there,’ she pointed her muzzle at two spots on the ceiling.

  Tori didn’t look, guessing it was another misdirection. If Hermes was about to shoot, so would Tori, even if she was outgunned.

  ‘Fine, don’t look. If you did, you’d see a couple of tiny cameras up near those video projectors. If you’d been more diligent earlier, you’d have noticed the camera inside the elevator shaft. I loved your performance in there, by the way. Great effort. I suppose it was my Freddie Mercury card that put you off taking the stairs. But back to these two cameras, dear girl. You’re probably thinking I’m trying to distract you with them, so know this: if my two guys watching you via those cameras detect your finger inching towards your trigger, they’ll unsheathe a very sharp blade and carve it across the throat of a very close friend of yours.’

  ‘Sure they will,’ said Tori, fronting a confidence she did not feel. She moved her finger well away from the trigger, just in case.

  ‘I can tell that you don’t believe me so here, catch,’ and a phone that Tori would’ve sworn wasn’t in sight a second before flew out of Hermes’ hand towards her and started ringing. ‘Answer it.’

  She caught it. A video call was coming through. The caller’s head was covered in a black hood, not like those of Hermes’ video goons, more like a balaclava but with no holes. The fabric completely covered the caller’s face and draped down onto the shoulders of his jacket.

  Tori’s stomach clenched into a tight ball. It was a tweed jacket.

  She looked back at Hermes, but what she could see of the face behind the mask was blank. The man’s muffled grunts drew her eyes back to the small screen. A gloved hand was pulling the hood off his head revealing that he was Frank. A dirty rag was stuffed into his mouth, gagging him, one eye was swollen shut and blood was dripping down from a gash on his temple.

  Tori was on the knife-edge that separated terror and rage, even more eager to shoot Hermes – except she knew what would happen to Frank if she did.

  ‘Stay calm, Tori, unless you want Frank’s death to be the first today that you’re truly responsible for.’

  119

  Tori tried to convince herself that what she was seeing on the screen wasn’t really Frank. After all, this was Hermes the trickster, the mistress of misdirection, the doctor of deepfakes. She’d tried to fool Tori using Frank’s voice before. Who was to say this really was Frank and not more lies? But was Tori going to let herself risk that? What if, this time, what was in front of her was real?

  She had no tricks up her own sleeve. All she could exploit was time, dragging this out somehow to expose some gap in the psycho’s agenda. ‘Look, Hermes, if you release Frank … as a sign of good—’

  ‘Not happening.’

  Buying time to take Hermes’ attention off Frank was one task, but she was also keen to gather evidence that she, or Frank, could use if one of them did manage to get away. Hermes was a narcissist, clearly, so she was going to play that since she didn’t have much else. ‘Your video this morning, which I admit was—’

  ‘Brilliant?’

  ‘Truth be told, yes. What I don’t get is why you deepfaked me into—’

  ‘Great guess, but not so great since you have the advantage of being the only other person still alive who’s been inside Bar Canona.’

  Tori instantly thought of the little girls but shook them out of her head. Stay on track, she told herself. ‘Why did you make me the assassin? Why would a megastar like you want to share the limelight?’

  ‘You’re wondering why I didn’t kill you as well. But don’t you see? You’re the hare everyone is hunting, not me. And besides, I so love to watch a good chase.’

  ‘Then why show me Bar Canona? I’m impressed, of course. Your incredible attention to detail …’

  Hermes yawned. ‘And your point is …?’

  Tori could hear Frank grunting, trying to speak.

  ‘Take off his gag. Please,’ said Tori.

  ‘Yeah, nah, as you Aussies like to say. Ooh,’ said Hermes, her eye catching a movement on the street-cam, ‘we seem to have visitors.’

  Two motorcycle cops were pulling up at Akono’s bike. One powered up his radio mic. ‘This is Officer Virella and Officer Cardona. We’ve located the bike at Plaça de Gaudí, on Provença near Marina. We’ll be commencing our search for the offender. Send backup.’

  Cardona swung his leg over his bike and looked across the street, his eyes following the line of an orange trash chute as it snaked upwards from the dumpster into the sixth-floor window.

  ‘Tori, if you’ve been trying to buy time – which you have, right? – then parking that cop’s bike down there screwed that little strategy right up. You couldn’t have done a better job of leading the cops to my door. I’m not happy with you, Tori. If you don’t want me to end Frank’s life right now, and yours for that matter, you better give me a good reason.’

  Frank was grunting, shaking his head, trying to spit the gag out of his mouth.

  ‘We both know what he’s trying to say … Shoot the witch, even if they kill me. Frankie,’ she said, lifting her voice, ‘am I right?’

  Tori saw the light drain out of his one good eye. She was definitely seeing Frank in real-time.

  ‘Swyft, if I’m a witch, I’m a generous witch, so I’m going to give you a choice: to sacrifice one life to save many, or many lives to save one. It’s your call.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Tori asked, afraid of the answer but needing to hear it.

  ‘Just give the word and my boys will kill Frank but you’ll save all the people in the church. I’ll let them go home – after I extract a huge ransom from the Yanks and the Europeans to drop into my – I mean Endz of the Earth’s – coffers. It’s a pretty fair trade, no? Frankie for the f
ive hundred?’

  Hermes turned her back on Tori, plainly confident that with Frank in custody Tori wouldn’t be shooting her any time soon. The woman coolly placed her weapon on the desk and swapped it for a tablet computer. ‘Your other option,’ she said, turning back, ‘is that Frankie gets to live, you and he can make kissy-kissy and move into some charming three-bed walk-up where you’ll have babies and grow old together, and all you have to do to win that prize is press your pretty little finger up against this button.’ She held up the tablet and showed Tori a red icon with a large white ‘90’ displayed on it.

  ‘And what happens if I do that?’

  ‘For ninety mind-numbingly slow seconds, nothing. But then, boom! My little birds go nuts, zooming around the church and blowing up the people, the building – everything and everyone, including the leaders of pretty much everywhere. The world’s political and financial system collapses, though conveniently I’ve set myself up to make a small fortune out of that.’

  If it wasn’t for the blade at Frank’s throat, Tori definitely would have shot Hermes. ‘They’re innocent people,’ she said, her voice low, calm.

  ‘Most of them, sure. But we all die some time. So, Tori, what’s it to be? One for all, or all for one? Like in The Three Musketeers, except not boring.’

  ‘If I refuse to play your sicko game?’

  Hermes shrugged. ‘Everyone dies: lover-boy, the five hundred, those cops downstairs – and you.’ The red laser dots were back, whizzing in circles, but this time they were playing on Tori’s chest.

  120

  The assassin put a finger to an ear and began nodding. ‘You’ve just had a bit of luck, Swyft. My newest deepfake is hitting the airwaves. It’ll answer a few questions for you, it might even help you play God and make that decision about who lives and who doesn’t.’