Rogue Wolves

by James Quinn

  “Are we ready?” he asked Eunice.

  Eunice nodded. “I think so, yes.” She turned to Thallia and smiled. “Miss Dimitriou, first of all can I assure you that you are in no danger. I'm sorry you had to witness the unpleasantness in the car park. Events did rather overtake us and my friend here was forced to take extreme action. But we are friends. We mean you no harm. We are here to help if we can.”

  “So I am free to leave?” said Thallia defiantly, testing them.

  Eunice smiled. “Alas, for the minute, we hope that you will stay seated and listen to our proposal. So let's just say that you are our guest and we would like to buy your company for the next few hours.”

  Thallia shrugged. Eunice took that as acceptance that she was willing to listen. “We understand that you receive a monthly income. The source of the money originates from an account in Switzerland. Is that correct?”

  Thallia stared at them both, her face betraying nothing. “I cannot talk about that.”

  Eunice led the pitch. In this respect, it was more her area of expertise – Eunice the talker, Gorilla there to do the manual labour. “Thallia, look, we know the source of it. We have a few questions that we want to ask you. Nothing that would compromise you in any way, you have my word.”

  Thallia smiled. “Then if you know the source of the money, what do you need me for?”

  Eunice shrugged. “We need some background information. We have been instructed to offer you a cash amount for information – twenty thousand US dollars. Here, now, tonight.”

  “Background information? About the money?”

  “About the source of the money, about Caravaggio,” said Eunice.

  Thallia caught herself, took a breath and calmed down.

  “I think you at least owe us for saving your life? If whatever that kidnapper had planned for you had happened… well, my guess is that you would be dead by now, rather than him,” said Gorilla. “Plus, we are offering you some serious money just for a few hours of your time.”

  The Greek woman turned and glared at them. “You wish to know about Caravaggio, yes? I would urge you to turn back now. Forget this. Forget that you ever heard his name. There is only death in that name for you.”

  Gorilla and Eunice glanced at each other. Even though her words sent a chill down their respective spines, they knew that turning back was never an option.

  Thallia sighed. “Very well, if you will not, that is up to you. I will tell you what I can.”

  “That is all we ask, sweetie. Tell me about him.”

  She nodded, steeling herself, unsure where to begin. In the end, she just spoke plainly, with no embellishments, only the truth. “Caravaggio was an enigma to me, a mystery to most people. He was a man of many faces. He was also the best lover that I ever had. I was his lady and I was treated as such. Monte Carlo, St Moritz, Bermuda. We travelled everywhere together. We lived the lifestyle of gods. Nothing was beyond our reach, no experience, no taste, no pleasure was unattainable. “

  “Did you know who he was, what he was? What he did for money?”

  She shook her head. “Not at first, no. To me, he was just my Caravaggio. That is the only name that I knew him by. He was wealthy, influential, and confident. He said that he was a businessman, that he had inherited his wealth from his family.”

  “What does he look like?” asked Gorilla, keen to put a face to the name.

  Thallia smiled. “He is a man, as a woman expects a man to be. He was like a Greek god, tall and blonde and beautiful. He found me alone and sad on the Island of Kos. I was escaping from a failed romance and I was lonely and scared. He romanced me and made me believe that I was the centre of his universe… and, for a while, I was. He even bought some of my paintings. He said they were beautiful and that he admired them.”

  Gorilla nodded to himself. It was the perfect recruitment pitch. Take a target when they are at their most vulnerable, say the right things and then whisk them away in a whirlwind of action so that they don't have time to think, or consider that things might not be as straight up as they seemed. It worked notoriously well with agents and beautiful women, it seemed. Always had, always would. It's what made them so bloody easy to recruit.

  “It sounds perfect, too perfect,” said Eunice, flicking a glance at Gorilla.

  “We would fly around the world together. He would work on what he said were business deals and I would be given free time to spend money. I wanted for nothing. We lived in grand style in his houses and apartments around the world. I never asked where the money was coming from or where it was going. But over time, I missed my family. I wanted to see them, talk to my mother and father. But Caravaggio said that we would make time to visit them soon, after his work was done. But 'soon' never came. I became distracted. I chose to lose myself in money and my art.”

  “Friends?”

  “Only those he chose for me, people he did business with and their wives. Most weeks, the only people I spoke to were the servants, and then only briefly. I was watched constantly by his bodyguard, a man called Chang. It was as if he didn't wish to share me with another human soul. He chose what clothes I would wear, what I would eat, who I could talk to. I was weak and I let him, because I thought that was how love was meant to be in our world.

  “Soon, several years had gone by and, aside from my artwork, I had nothing to do but sit around and feel bored and unfulfilled. Then one day I snuck out from our villa in Malaga and drove into town. I found a payphone and called an old friend of my father's. I explained who I was and asked if he could pass a message to my patéras, my father.

  “The man told me that my parents had died in a car crash in Cyprus a year earlier. My parents where dead and I didn't even know about it! I had become blinded and isolated. I was a fool.”

  Gorilla knew that was another aspect of successful agent recruitment; isolation. Starve them of a support network so that the agent relies on the handler completely. It was a sordid and dirty world that they operated in, taking advantage of and manipulating weaker human beings.

  “When Caravaggio found out that I had contacted people from my old life, he became angry. He raged and spat at me. I had never seen him like this before. He was like a violent maniac. He smashed up the bedroom in the villa and stormed out. I did not see him for two days.

  “I cried all the time. I felt even more alone. I had no parents and now my lover had abandoned me. When he returned, he was apologetic and we sat and talked. He said that he had something important to tell me. It was a great secret. The reason that he hadn't told me this secret before was because he wanted to protect me.”

  “From what?”

  “His enemies. Dangerous people. He said that his business activities, all the wealth, the cars, the houses, the travel… it was all just a cover, a front for his real work.”

  “What was that?”

  “He said that he had been recruited to work for several intelligence agencies… that he was trained to carry out special operations for them. He was committed to fighting tyranny and injustice. When he looked into my eyes, I could see he was sincere and honest.

  “My mind was dizzy with what he had just told me. My lover, the man that I had spent all these years with was a spy, a secret agent? It could not be, surely? How fortunate was I, as a woman, that he had chosen to share this secret with me. To give me that level of trust!”

  That was a facet of successful source recruitment, thought Gorilla. Embody in them that level of trust, that they have been admitted to a great secret, that they are working for a higher calling. Gorilla knew that it was all crap. This beautiful and intelligent woman had been deceived by a fraud and a liar. Caravaggio, if his files were to be believed, wasn't a moral crusader. When you boiled it down to basics, he was just a grubby little killer.

  Thallia continued. “He took me to a secret room in the villa that held the tools of espionage. Weapons, knives, guns, secret cameras, code books. He let me see everything, he shared it all with me, and he said that he wo
uld never withhold anything again. We made love there on the floor of that room… we lost ourselves in our passion.

  “Eventually, he included me more and more in his conspiracies. I met some of his people, his network. I became his personal forger, making documents, travel passes, passports. I was trusted with his work, so much so that eventually I would know when he had killed.”

  “How would you know that?” asked Gorilla.

  She looked at each of them in turn. Eunice noted that there were tears in her eyes

  “Here, let me show you,” said Thallia.

  She stood and slipped off the shoulders of her black dress, allowing it to fall to her feet. She was naked underneath. She was an incredibly beautiful woman and Gorilla, even Eunice, could not fail to notice her sensuality. But her nakedness and beauty were secondary to what was on display.

  The tattoos that stretched across her body began just above her pubic area, across the flat of her stomach, over her breasts and over onto her back. Most were symbols, but some had writing next to them, Asian, Sanskrit, Arabic. Most had dates attached. She turned, twisting her body so that her audience could see the artwork from every angle.

  “Each one signifies a target, a life that he has taken. I would wear his kills on my body. He was an artist, he said. He was like the old masters who would paint their great imaginings on canvas – though he preferred to tattoo his kills on my body. Caravaggio was a natural artist. I taught him my skills and he would tattoo them himself, using my needles and inks. Eventually, he became my equal.”

  “Oh, my God!” said Eunice in disgust, her eyes absorbing what she was seeing. “And you let him do this to you, willingly?”

  She nodded. “I was conditioned to accept whatever he wanted. I was brainwashed. It is my shame.”

  “So what changed?”

  Thallia pointed to a tattoo on her left breast. The artwork was of a small bear and a date. She covered herself once more with her dress, suddenly aware of her nakedness.

  “This one here was my own work. I was able to do it myself, despite the angle. This is the one that I am both ashamed and proud of. Ashamed because of what I had to do to earn it, and proud because it marked the end of my subjugation.”

  “I was told that I was to fly to Buenos Ares to meet Caravaggio. A suite was booked at the best hotel in the city. Everything was provided – a private jet, a limousine to meet me in Argentina, even the dress and shoes that I wore had been had hand-picked by him.

  “When I arrived at the suite, Caravaggio was not there. I was confused. The only thing waiting for me was a handwritten letter. I opened it. It was from Caravaggio. He said that he was on an important mission and that he would be delayed. He needed my help. He needed me to do something very dangerous to help him with a mission.”

  “What was it, Thallia? We can stop and have a break if it's too much,” said Eunice, stretching out a hand to her.

  “No, no… I have to tell this. I have never spoken of any of this. It helps me.” She composed herself and continued.

  “The letter said that a man was coming to the suite. The man was an enemy, a target. He was dangerous and in order for Caravaggio to complete his mission, the man needed to be distracted. I was to seduce him, get him to lower his guard, but that I was not to worry because Caravaggio would enter the suite and rescue me before things went too far.

  “I was shocked, but what else could I do? I felt sick, but Caravaggio needed my help. I trusted him. I truly believed that he would arrive in time to rescue me. He had promised me.”

  “While I was considering this, there was a knock at the door. I opened it and saw the target for the first time. He was the epitome of the Arab playboy – middle-aged, obese, corpulent, open-necked shirt and too much gold dripping off him. He revolted me instantly. His hands were all over my body. I assume he had been told that I had been paid for, that I was his gift for the night.

  “I let him carry on for a while, hoping desperately that it would provide enough time for Caravaggio to arrive and complete the mission. But the Arab quickly lost patience and began to get rough. He ripped off my dress and pushed me onto the bed. He forced himself upon me. He was too strong. I tried to fight, but I couldn't hold him off. He raped me.

  “I closed my eyes and just prayed that it would be over quickly. But it wasn't, the fat pig took his time. His sweat was on my body, his grunting was in my ear and his hand was across my mouth to stifle my screams.

  “When I finally did open my eyes, I was aware of another person in the room at the foot of the bed. It was Caravaggio! At last, my Caravaggio had come to rescue me! But… but he just stood there watching – watching this animal fucking me… fucking his woman! My eyes bored into him. Why didn't he just kill this pig and save me, and complete the mission? Why?”

  This time when Eunice reached out a hand to her, Thallia took it. It comforted both of them.

  “Caravaggio stood there and watched for another five minutes… watched his enemy raping his woman. He had a strange look on his face, part amusement and partly as if he was aroused. Finally, he pulled out a silenced pistol and shot the Arab in the back of the head. My face was covered with the dead man's blood and brains.

  “I began to cry but Caravaggio never said a word. He just turned and walked out. That was the last time I ever saw him.”

  “Oh my! Where did you go?” asked Eunice, shocked.

  “I just grabbed what was left of my dress and ran from the hotel. I had nowhere to go and very little money. I was lost. I realised that I had outlived my usefulness to Caravaggio. I was now expendable and I needed to be disgraced, so what better way than to see me abused and treated no better than a common whore off the street?

  “Why he didn't kill me, I don't truly know. Perhaps there is a part of him that is still human, but I don't think so. I think he likes to be cruel to people weaker than he. Maybe one day you could ask him.”

  “Oh, I'll do more than ask him, sweetie,” said Eunice, through gritted teeth.

  “I walked the streets of Buenos Ares that night in the rain. I found an alleyway and went to sleep there underneath some cardboard boxes. The next day, I found a café with a telephone, thrust whatever money I had at the owner and put in a call to someone who I hoped could help. I was lucky, he answered the phone. This man arranged to get me to a safe house and then get me out of the country. It was a gamble, but it paid off. Within a week, I was back here in Greece,” she said.

  “And Caravaggio?”

  She shrugged. “I told you, I never saw him again. Six months after the incident in Argentina, I received a phone call from a man. He sounded American, from New Orleans. The man said that his employer was willing to offer a generous stipend in exchange for my complete silence and co-operation.

  “I told him to go to hell. It didn't make any difference. The money has been paid into my bank account every month for the past five years. I have not spent any of it. I give it away every month to charities, the poor, the Church, anywhere, but I will not spend it, no matter how hungry or impoverished I get.”

  “So, where do you think Caravaggio is now?” asked Gorilla.

  Thallia shrugged, as if it was a ridiculous question. “I do not know. If he's not already dead, then he is to me. Men like Caravaggio take their toll, they have no end point. All they do is suck the life from you and leave you like a hollow shell. I just count myself lucky that I was able to be released from that nightmare life.

  “If you wish to discover something about someone, there is no point in asking those close to them, old lovers and friends like me. No, if you want to know the real truth about a man like Caravaggio, then you must go to the ultimate source, find the one person in the world that knows, or has discovered, all of his deepest, darkest secrets.”

  “Is there such a person?”

  “But of course there is! You must go to his oldest enemy. He is the man who rescued me from my ordeal in Argentina. You must find the South African, the man they called the Chirug.”r />
  They asked her a few more sundry questions, but Gorilla and Eunice were both experienced enough to know that the source of information had now run dry. Gorilla put the twenty thousand dollars cash in a leather shoulder bag that he had bought in the market and said that he would walk her safely to her car.

  She had laughed at him. “Ha, my kidnapper wants to protect me. How ironic.”

  Gorilla had insisted regardless. Thallia had collected the bag and left the safe house with Gorilla close behind, just to make sure that she was safe. At the last minute, she turned and looked at him.

  “Will you be the man to stop him?”

  “It's a possibility,” he said simply.

  “And does my new-found protector believe in evil?” she asked.

  The question took him aback. “I've seen enough to know what evil is,” he said cautiously.

  “You have not known true evil, my friend. I have looked into the eyes of true evil, I have made love to true evil, have tasted its breath upon my lips. It is both sweet and toxic.”

  He shrugged, not knowing what to say.

  She smiled at him. “Can I give you one final piece of advice, stranger?”

  “Of course.”

  “If you do get the opportunity to look evil in the eye, when you shoot, shoot to kill. Do not miss.”

  Chang knew the value of patience. It was a necessary skill for the professional assassin. But, even more than patience, he knew the advantage of not acting hastily and of holding back in your actions. That, too, was a lesson he had learned at an early age.

  He had been on surveillance for the best part of the day, watching his Master's former mistress. He had most of it. He had bugged her phone line and had listened to the call with the supposed client, then he'd been in place in the car park of the hotel, waiting for her to arrive. He had seen the incident with the man who attempted to kidnap her, and witnessed his execution at the hands of Gorilla Grant and then the abduction of Thallia Dimitriou by the redhead known as Nikita.

  So he had held back and waited for another opportunity. Patience.