by Shah, R D
Sloan flicked her finger towards the opening and covered Munroe from the corner of the counter while he moved over to it, each of his footsteps delicately placed in total silence. With one hand he slipped his fingers between the centre beads and slowly pushed them to one side and while he moved up on to the first step Sloan took over and held the beaded drape in place before following him closely.
The steps were solid, and with no creaking it was easy to navigate silently. Upon reaching the top, Munroe waited for Sloan to position herself beside him and then he lightly gripped the doorknob and slowly turned it.
It wasn’t locked, and instead of storming into the darkened room Munroe allowed the door to swing open on its oiled hinges. The only light came from a closed window on the right wall, opening up onto a fire exit and casting a thin shard across a wooden desk. As he approached something twitched from behind it.
“Don’t move,” Munroe ordered sharply, and he rushed inside to take a position on the right side of the room as Sloan moved to the opposite wall. Apart from the shuffling sound of movement Munroe could make out a faded silhouette, someone standing face front and pressed flat against the wall.
Sloan was having a tougher time seeing through the pitch black and with Munroe holding his gun on the murky shape she reached back and slid her free hand along the wall until she found the light switch.
The bulb above flicked on and as its brown rectangular lampshade directed light across the desk, Munroe found himself staring at the shifting body of Michael Hanks. His eyes rolled in and out of consciousness and his complexion, a near paper white, was understandable, considering his wounds and the amount of blood he had lost. Both his arms were stretched out above his head and each palm had sturdy metal spikes thrust through them, attaching him firmly to the wood frame behind the plasterboard, along with nylon rope ensuring he remained in place. Brown metal coat hangers had been clipped and straightened to fashion foot-long pins which had then been inserted into certain parts of his body, above the knees and elbows, and four of them dug deep into areas of his chest and groin. Around his neck a Motorola radio hung from a piece of thin knotted brown packaging string which had been tied in a bow, and as Sloan shot Munroe a look of disgust the walkie-talkie crackled into life.
“Welcome, Ethan. I knew you’d come.”
Munroe edged to the window and looked outside but seeing only empty rooftops he ventured closer to Hanks. With Sloan still covering him he placed his gun back in his holster and lightly slid his fingers around the string hanging from Hanks’s neck. As far as he could tell, there was no booby trap, but to be sure he motioned for Sloan to throw him something and, without any need for further instruction, she retrieved her flip knife and threw it over to him.
Munroe caught it and then clicked it open before setting about delicately cutting the fibrous brown string in half. Then he pulled the Motorola away and pressed its side button. “Hello, Icarus.”
Although only semi-conscious, the very name caused Hanks to convulse momentarily and his muscles contorted in a twitching mass. The man was terrified, but it only took a few moments of squirming and, likely due to the immense pain, he quickly passed out and slumped, the spikes and bindings the only thing keeping him from dropping to the floor.
“Ignore my voodoo doll, he’s just an acquaintance of mine whom I owed some of the same hospitality he recently showed me. You can’t blame me for getting creative, Ethan. I’ve been here awaiting your arrival for hours.”
“You could have just tied him up,” Munroe replied as he looked at Sloan who lowered her Beretta and joined him beside the wall, remaining out of view from the window.
“Perhaps I did go a little overboard, but it seemed suitable given we are in Dr Bute’s House of Voodoo. I’m not one for boredom, and you know what they say about idle hands. What you’re looking at is tradecraft. Each one of those pins placed in just the right position so as to cause maximum pain without damaging any of the organs. So long as they’re fed, watered and infection is kept at bay the patient may survive indefinitely, experiencing the excruciating pain only the most delicate nerve clusters can induce.”
Munroe leant over to Sloan and whispered, “He must be close. Why don’t you take a look outside while I keep him talking?”
Sloan nodded and then she hugged the wall and ducked out into the stairwell, keeping out of the window’s line of sight.
“He must have committed a terrible crime. It takes time to perform what you’ve done, and I saw you didn’t afford the same attention to the three people downstairs.”
“The shop owner was just collateral, I’m afraid. You may or may not believe me when I say that I don’t enjoy killing people without a reason… of course, there are times when I don’t feel like I have a choice. As for the two Daedalus goons, it was only a matter of time before they showed up. I’m wanted on both sides, as you probably know.”
The mere mention of Daedalus gave Munroe an insight into what Icarus already thought he knew about him, and he now played into it. “Daedalus’s goons. I saw the blonde hair and it was dark, but I assume they had blue eyes as well.”
“You’d be correct in that assumption, but they weren’t built for this kind of work. Not like you and me, Ethan.”
There was a strange wavering in Icarus’s voice, a Jekyll and Hyde quality. Some sentences were said with almost pained emotion, while others were spoken with little if any, and given what Munroe had learnt at Ferreira’s ‘school’ in Brazil it all made sense. “Icarus, may I speak to David?”
There was now nothing but static on the Motorola and Munroe waited for a few seconds before trying again. “I met with Tobias Kessler. He told me about your training. In fact he said you were his best student.”
Still there came no reply. Munroe decided to throw caution to the wind and take a punt. Since first meeting Icarus the man had shown opposing behaviours. He wanted to meet with Munroe, then kill Munroe. He’d wanted him to find his house, yet he set booby traps for him, and now he’d invited him all the way to this location in New Orleans and all the man wanted to talk about was his tradecraft and murder credentials. It appeared that Ferreira’s experiment of fracturing the psyche to create the perfect assassin had been a success… partially.
“I know what happened to you, David. I’ve seen the school in Brazil where you grew up. I know the experiments they did on you. To do that to a child is unforgivable. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through – and to do things that you were compelled to do as if you had no free will…”
Of course Munroe only half believed what he was saying. The man was a vicious killer, and too dangerous to not spend his life behind bars or in a psychiatric ward, but all that being said, Icarus was just as much a victim as any of the other people Daedalus had tightened their grip around. “You asked me to come here for a reason. Something you need to tell me about, and here I am, willing and waiting. If you despise Daedalus as much as I think you do, then come with me. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, David. Haven’t you suffered enough?”
He waited for over ten seconds, and just when he was about to try again he heard a faint sound. It was difficult to hear over the noise of the street party outside but it grew louder until it was unmistakable. It was the sound of crying. Icarus was crying, and then in an instant it cut off and the cold, monotone voice was back.
“I brought you here to show you something, but I’m not a fool, Ethan. You’ll have me wrapped up in chains or put a bullet in my head the moment you lay eyes on me, so… I’m going to show you something, after which I’m hoping you’ll join me in my quest.”
“And that would be?” Munroe asked, even though his gut was telling him he didn’t really want to know, and he felt apprehensive as Icarus gave him his answer.
“I want Daedalus destroyed, and all those associated with it.”
“I thought you were part of Daedalus. Even without the blonde hair and blue eyes.”
There was a pause, and then Icarus came back on the
line, sounding annoyed by the observation. “Dyed hair and contacts are part of the trade, Ethan. We’re all pretending we’re something were not, aren’t we?”
“I suppose we are.” He took another peek out of the window but still couldn’t see anyone there. “But I’m here now, at your request, and I have nothing to pretend about.”
“Oh, that’s not true, Ethan. You’re the most dangerous pretender of all. Someone who doesn’t even know he’s pretending… but I do understand why you accepted my invitation. Your family, or dead family, I should say.”
The gentle poke had no effect on Munroe and he replied calmly, “You seem to know more about it than I do, so I’m asking. What can you tell me?”
There was another pause, and when Icarus came back on the line any playfulness in his voice had vanished. “I’m offering you a chance to know the truth. About your family. So why don’t I show you why you’re here, and we can get on with it. On the table before you is a monitor. I want you to take a look. And watch out for Mr Hanks, you don’t want to get blood on your clothes.”
Munroe looked over at the unconscious body of Hanks and then carefully moved around the table to face the dimly lit monitor screen.
“What you are looking at is Daedalus’s private communications platform. Only a select few have total access to it, and Mr Hanks is one of them. It’s why I followed him back here to New Orleans. It’s a closed system, but as you can see you now have access to it. Don’t worry, they have no idea we’re even logged on, I’ve seen to that.”
On the screen was nothing but a search engine window, and Munroe rested his hands against the protruding keyboard as Icarus began to deliver his instructions.
“The search window will take you directly to Daedalus’s database. I want you to type in the name of your wife and your daughter.”
Munroe said nothing but did as he was instructed. He typed in the name ‘Natalie Munroe’ and gently tapped the return key.
The monitor went blank and then a single document flashed onto the screen and Munroe began to read it, his own lips muttering the words, line by line.
Captain Ethan Munroe (29) sanctioned for termination.
Assets: Real Irish Republican Army (RIRA)
Action: Clandestine shadow operation DA1731. Section Chief Hans Bauer. Approved by High Command.
Result A: Target survived
Collateral: Wife Natalie Munroe (29), Lucy Munroe (4). Additional 5 civilians dead.
Result B: Filed as terrorist attack. Daedalus involvement unknown by authorities.
Review: It has been determined that any additional actions would bring unwarranted scrutiny to the organisation. File stored but open for revisiting further actions at a later date.
Section Chief
Hans Bauer
Munroe’s hand slipped off the keyboard and he placed both his palms on either side of the desk. With his shoulders hunched he swallowed deeply. Instead of feeling anger or emotion he only felt numbness throughout his body.
“Bauer.” He had questioned the familiarity of the man’s tone in Brazil, but now he realised the killer had known him all along. “They were trying to kill me,” he said in a whisper, and the words ‘collateral’ blazed in his mind as to why his own wife and child had died. It was because of him.
“I’m sorry, Ethan,” Icarus said, his voice crackling over the radio, his soft tone of voice having now returned. “I had nothing to do with it. But I did tell you that once your eyes were opened you wouldn’t want to stop me… you’d join me.”
Joining Icarus was the furthest thing from Munroe’s mind and he picked up the Motorola and held it close to his lips. But then he hesitated. He’d noticed something while Icarus had been speaking, and he chose not to reply as the sound of trumpets blared out from the mini parade passing the shop front. He waited in silence and then the Motorola crackled back into life.
“Ethan?” Icarus asked, and at that moment Munroe now knew exactly where the killer was, because above the sound of Icarus’s voice the same loud trumpets rang out, and he looked up at the ceiling.
The son of a bitch was on the roof above him.
Chapter 27
Munroe slid open the office window and stepped gingerly out onto the fire escape, before making his way up the single flight to the roof. He covered the walkie-talkie with his jacket in an attempt to dampen the sounds of celebration and cheering and spoke into it. “We need to meet,” he said as he stealthily crept up the steps, pulling out his silenced Beretta with his free hand, “face to face.”
“If we meet face to face, Ethan, then one of us is going to get hurt. And it won’t be me, so let me tell you how it’s going to work.”
Munroe was already at the roof, and as he peered over the brickwork to see a man wearing a knee-length overcoat crouched next to a large silver air-conditioning unit, Icarus continued with his list of requirements.
“I’m going to provide you with an address. An address to the place where it all began. The birthplace of Project Icarus. And once your little band of Disavowed have taken it I’ll be in touch with more information. That’s how we will play our game.”
Munroe had heard enough and he now raised off his haunches so his body was above the brick roofline and aimed his gun directly at Icarus’s silhouette. “Icarus! Don’t move. Time to play the game my way.”
The silhouette turned towards him and the flash of the first fireworks overhead lit up his face. Munroe could now see it was definitely him, still wearing his black contacts and with his hair still dyed brown. At first the killer looked stunned, but a smile began to creep across his face and he let the Motorola tumble to the rooftop and nodded, seemingly happy to see Munroe in the flesh.
“Can’t do that, Ethan. It’s either my way or no way.”
Munroe remained still. Icarus was definitely armed, and the roof’s brickwork could provide cover if needed. As he considered clipping the killer in the shoulder with a single round, another volley of fireworks exploded overhead and it was now that Icarus made his move. He leapt past the air-conditioning unit as Munroe lunged upwards and out onto the rooftop to see Icarus jumping the gap to the adjoining building. He could have taken a shot but it wouldn’t have been accurate, and he needed the killer alive or this whole thing would be another dead end.
Munroe took chase, following over to the next rooftop and then down the long drop onto the next building. He rolled upon impact and using the momentum leapt back into a full stride as Icarus dove off the edge and down into the crowds of partygoers below.
Munroe reached the edge, jammed the gun back in its concealed holster, jumped down himself and joined the crowd as he caught sight of Icarus some metres ahead, frantically making his way past the sea of people.
It was like trudging through quicksand, and as he barged ahead the flickers of Icarus became less and less frequent until he’d lost him completely as bodies swamped his vision. Munroe pushed his way towards the centre of the street and slammed up against a pirate ship float with a large plastic harlequin head perched upon it. He pulled himself up onto it and scanned the crowd ahead. The ship’s occupants, a band of creepy-looking clowns, approached him with raised hands, unhappy with the stowaway, as a young lady wearing a skimpy silver dress and unbothered by his arrival began dumping beaded necklaces over his head. It would only be a matter of time before one of the many police caught sight of him, and Munroe shoved the red-nosed freaks aside and ran the length of the ship, where he leapt onto the next float full of female cabaret dancers wearing high heels and oversized sparkling headdresses. He was met with the same welcome, and as he ignored the hard slaps being thrown at his chest, courtesy of the float’s furious occupants, he scanned the crowd down below.
The key to tracking someone in a crowd is to look for the commotion which usually surrounds the person scrambling to get away, but as Munroe looked across the hundreds of people all crammed together, each one causing their own celebratory commotion, he struggled to see Icarus. In fact the on
ly person he did notice was the policeman up on the sidewalk who was now angrily demanding he come down off the float, his finger jabbing downwards to the road below.
Munroe continued his sweep as more slaps from the entertainers rained down on him, and then he saw what he was looking for. A man in a brown, knee-length overcoat, and the only face in the hordes of people not smiling or yelling fervently.
Icarus glanced back at him as he reached the junction of the road and then disappeared around a corner as Munroe ran to the far edge of the float and jumped down to give chase. Behind him the policeman’s calls for him to stop were drowned out by the raucous crowd.
By the time he had barged his way back to the kerb the crowd was thinning out, and he reached the junction and flew around it to catch sight of Icarus sprinting down the main road and then down an alleyway on the opposite side. Munroe gave chase, and as he darted through the heavy traffic crawling down the main street at a snail’s pace, an overzealous white Cadillac DeVille clipped him, sending him tumbling across the bonnet and landing on the other side with a thud.
The impact was minor, and without even looking back Munroe hauled himself to his feet and took off again, over and then through the same opening Icarus had disappeared down. He raced down the alleyway and came to a screeching halt at the iron sign arched across the black gates, which read LAFAYETTE CEMETERY NO 1.
The sounds of celebrations were still in the air but the noise had faded, and as he focused all his attention on his hearing he heard the faint sound of shoes scraping upon stone. He looked over at the cemetery gates and noticed the left-hand side swinging back and forth slightly. Munroe quickly stepped over to the metal gates and then with his gun drawn at his side, he stepped over the threshold and began to make his way deeper in to the dark, dank confines of Lafayette Cemetery.