The woman didn’t look up from the screen. “We thought so too,” she whispered. “This one is for certain. Spook Horowitz. She’s a top score this weekend. Her capture for the ceremony has put Ms Clarkson in the lead.”
“So where’s her friend? I’m confused.”
More swiping, more frowning at the screen. “Acid Vanilla. Currently, we have her down as unaccounted for. Presumed dead.” Her face dropped. “Oh.”
“Balls. What now?” Engle hissed through a fixed toothy grin sent Sofia’s way.
“It’s nothing, sir.”
“Dalilah? Out with it.”
“One of the clean-up team has gone offline. An hour ago.” She narrowed her eyes at the screen as Engel leaned over to look. “It’s probably nothing. A signal error.”
“Either way, we need everyone accounted for,” Engel rasped under his breath. “If there’s prey still out there, they need taking care of. There’s been too many problems already this weekend. I’ve got the narrative team working overtime covering for all the fallen guests. Get it sorted. Now. I want clarity, but keep it on the lowdown. I don’t want any of the guests getting wind of this. The ceremony is in three hours, for Christ’s sake.”
He turned his attention back to Sofia and Spook, hitting them with a bright, all-American smile.
Sofia met his gaze square on. “Sounds like you got a few problems, slick?”
She didn’t take her eyes off Engel as he twisted his mouth from side to side. A show of mock worry. “Nothing we can’t deal with.”
The blonde with the tablet left the room as two more women appeared, wearing the same white robes as the others. One was holding a bowl of water with two sponges bobbing on top, which she placed at Sofia’s feet. The other had armfuls of large green leaves and bits of foliage.
“What’s going on?” Sofia asked.
“You’ll see.” Engel smirked, walking backwards towards the door. “I’ll leave you to prepare.” He gave her a lascivious wink as the two women moved over to Spook and began to undress her.
“Get the hell off of me,” Spook yelled.
Sofia watched, open-mouthed, as they tore the clothes off her and began washing her with the wet sponges. “You fucking sick creep,” she called after Engel as he backed out of the door.
“There’s no use fighting it, my dear,” he cooed. “You must look your best for the ceremony. You don’t want to meet your maker covered in all that mud and grime, do you?” He closed his eyes, smiling that toothy smile of his. The one which made Sofia want to be sick. “Don’t be mad, ladies. The closing ceremony is always such fun, and you’re the main event. The stars of the show.” With one last grin and a wave of his hand, he disappeared around the side of the door.
Thirty
Acid was imagining herself on a beach somewhere. Above her a wash of cloudless azure, spanning all the way to the horizon. She could almost feel the gentle waves lapping benignly at her bare feet as she sipped on something long and colourful and incredibly alcoholic. She screwed up her face, desperately trying to hold on to the imagery, casting herself in this idyllic setting, free from worry and pain. Difficult when you were sitting on the hard bonnet of a jeep with someone pulling sharp wire from out your flesh.
“Bloody hell. You almost done?” She opened her eyes and peered down to see Andreas Welles remove the last of her makeshift stitches.
“Worst is over,” he grumbled, not looking up. “Just keep your shirt held up so I can clean it.”
“You know what you’re doing?”
“Yup.”
Acid raised her eyes to the sky, focusing her attention away from her injury. “So what’s your story, Andreas Welles? What brings you to this little piece of paradise?”
The man sniffed. “I’m FBI. I was investigating one of the people involved in this weekend. Guess he decided he wanted rid of me in the most fucked-up way possible.”
“FBI? I see.”
“Don’t like cops, huh?”
Acid rolled her head to one side. “To be honest with you, I’ve never had much to do with them. I’m a good girl.”
She watched Welles as he moved over to the first aid box and selected a small vial of brown liquid. Iodine. What was he saying about the worst being over?
“Well, well,” he mused, unscrewing the cap. “I guess my journalist friend back there must have been mistaken.”
“You mean Sofia?” Acid asked, throwing up an eyebrow.
“Yeah. We were together for a while.”
“Definitely Sofia? Sofia Swann?”
“Pretty girl, about your height. Same hair. In fact, you’ve got a look of each other.”
“Yeah. I don’t see it.” Acid sniffed. “But you were with her? What happened? Is she…?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. A security team showed up and took her back to the resort. I was on my way to find her when I bumped into you.” He positioned himself beside her and held up the vial. “Brace yourself.”
She puffed out her cheeks as Welles poured the unforgiving liquid into the laceration. Not the kind of alcohol she’d been hoping for. “Bloody bastard shit.”
“Now the worst is over,” he said. “Here, hold this to it.” He handed her a pad of cotton wool gauze and returned to the first aid box.
“Did she tell you she ran off on us?” Acid asked.
“Sí,” Welles said, not looking up. “Told me why, too. Unless, like I say, she was mistaken about it all.”
Acid nodded to herself. He knew who she was. What she was. Not a great mix, an ex-assassin and an FBI agent. But here they were.
“So you think she’s still alive?” Annoyed at how shaky her voice sounded, she coughed. “I mean, is it even worth trying to get up there?”
Welles stared at her with an expression half-way between disdain and disappointment. “You serious? Of course we have to try. Why do you think I’m patching you up? Sounds to me like you’re a lady who might help me.”
“I’m no lady.”
“Apologies. Old habits. You know what I mean.” He stood, holding up a tube of Dermabond and an open pack of Steri-Strips. “These should do the trick.”
He got to work, squeezing the sterile glue into the wound before closing it up with the Steri-Strips. Acid watched him work, tilting her head to one side to keep her hair out of his way.
“I let my friend down,” she told him. “She wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.”
There it was again. The F-word.
Welles finished off with the Steri-Strips and glanced up at her. “You can still make this right. Help me.”
“Do you really believe they’re alive?”
“I don’t know,” he growled, standing upright and squinting up at the resort complex. “But if they’re not, I want to get up there and take some of those assholes down.”
Acid fought back a bitter laugh. Sure, the guy was talking her language, but a heaviness had descended on her shoulders these last few hours. “If I’m going up there, I’m going alone,” she told him. “I appreciate the patch-up, but I don’t work well with others.”
“I see. So, what? It’ll be you against all those hunters? Not to mention the security teams. I don’t know if you saw the dude who attacked you just now, but they all look the same. Like fucking Olympic athletes.”
She shrugged, a hint of petulance twisting her pout. “I’ll take them out or die trying. We aren’t getting off this island, are we? Got to accept that.”
“No. I don’t accept it. There’s got to be a way. What’s up with you, kid?”
“Kid? You’re calling me kid? I’m thirty-four years old.”
Welles beat a fist against his chest. “Try sixty-five. I’m an old cop, a few months away from retirement – means I’ve got a target on my back – but I’m not giving up. Together we can do this. We’ll rescue the girls and kill those motherfuckers.”
Acid slipped down from the bonnet of the jeep. “Sorry, my head’s all over the place. It wouldn’t work.”
“What the hell,” Welles yelled. “You’re not serious?”
“Yes. I am. So leave me alone and let me do what I need to do.”
“You won’t a stand a chance. But together we—”
She spun around. “I can’t work with a bloody cop. Are you serious?”
Welles stepped forward, pointing a finger at her. “Bullshit. You think I’ve spent forty years as a high-ranking officer to not know when someone’s lying to me?”
“Forget it,” Acid yelled, throwing her arms up. “I don’t need this shit.” She reached into the jeep and lifted out the AK-47, gave Welles a wide, manic grin.
“You’re crazy,” he scoffed.
“Now you’re getting it,” she told him. “I am crazy. I’m fucking crazy. So stay away from me, okay? Or I might… You’ll…”
“What?” he yelled back. “What might you do?”
“I might get you killed. All right?”
“You kidding me?”
“That’s what I do. I put people in danger, and they die. Which is why I have to do this alone. I can’t trust you, and you certainly can’t trust me. I promise you that.”
Acid gasped as tears fell from her eyes. Welles looked away, uncomfortable, but that made two of them. The unexpected rush of emotion startled Acid, but she was on a roll. It was a release, of sorts.
“My friend Spook, she thinks I’m angry at her,” she went on. “That I blame her for us being here, but I don’t. I just let her think that way because I was angry. At myself mainly. You see, I’m not a good person. I should be the one being used for whatever grim shit goes on at the ceremony. I should be dead.”
“C’mon. Don’t talk this way.”
“It’s true. Look at me. I’m fucked. My eye won’t open. I’ve got this rip in my side. Plus my head and heart feel like they’re going to explode. So, forgive me, Mr Welles, if I don’t feel too confident we’ll save the day and all live happily ever after.”
He shook his head. “I never said that. But we have to try, goddamn it.”
“It’s a suicide mission,” she hit back. “So let me go alone. I don’t care anymore. I’m no good for anything else. I—”
Acid shut up as Welles stepped close, the tip of his nose centimetres from hers, his breath on her face as he balled her out. “Stop that. Now,” he scolded. “I imagine, doing what you do, you’ve got a lot of experience in these high-risk, high-pressure situations. But guess what? So do I. I’ve done bad things. Real bad things. And I’ll tell you something else. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what you do, or did, or even if I live or die. All I care about is taking out as many of those rich punks as I can. So let’s be a team. Let’s get up that mountain and kill those evil motherfuckers.”
Acid rubbed her thumb into her palm. She didn’t look up, but in her peripheral vision she saw Welles straighten his back. He didn’t take his eyes off her.
“How? We’ve got one AK with half a magazine left,” she whispered, when the silence between them had grown too heavy. But then it struck her. “Hey, wait a second, you were using one of their hunting rifles. But they’re locked.”
She turned to Welles to catch him grinning proudly. He held up his hand, and she noticed for the first time the glove he was wearing was made of human skin. Blackened and crispy and gnarled at the edges, but skin all the same. Complete with fingerprints.
“You bloody genius. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“See?” he told her. “Not just a pretty face. I got skills, baby. You don’t have to worry about me. So, are we doing this?”
Acid squinted up through the trees at the resort complex. The morning sun had now found its place over the far side of the island, reflecting off the glass and metal structure. It was going to be another hot day.
“All right, you win,” she said, throwing the AK-47 over her shoulder. “We’re doing this.”
Thirty-One
House rules in Engel’s resort complex clearly stated that no one, guests and staff alike, should run anywhere. To even walk at pace was frowned upon. The way the enigmatic billionaire had explained it to his guests at the elaborate drinks reception, was the resort offered a tranquil and serene experience. Free from bluster and stress. The perfect antidote to the madness and gore of the hunt. It was, he told them (employing that flawless smile of his), like experiencing heaven and hell all at once. Damnation and paradise. They could spend the day living out their most base animal instincts and at night castigate their sins in the various spas and saunas on offer, and even, if they so wanted, receive a visit from one of Engel’s famous Pleasure Maidens.
These rules, of calmness and composure at all times, endured throughout the entire complex. The corridors of the upper floors were the same as the grand entrance hall and the lounge areas. No running. Minimal noise. But that didn’t stop Raaz Terabyte from panting loudly as she raced from her own meagre room, down two flights of stairs, and along the lengthy corridor that wound around the side of the complex towards her boss’s vast suite.
She banged on the door with the heel of her fist. “Caesar?” she whispered, remembering the house rules at last. “Are you in there?”
There was no response, but she could hear movement. Finally, the door opened ajar and the boss’s bloodshot eye peered around the side.
“What time is it?”
Raaz swiped open the tablet in her hand and checked. “A few minutes after ten.”
Caesar let out a groan. “Wait there a moment.”
He closed the door, leaving Raaz bouncing from foot to foot. She was excited and had been awake since before eight. She had news. Good news. Annihilation Pest Control would finally be rid of those meddling women. And all without Caesar having to get his hands dirty. Raaz had long suspected the boss still harboured a soft spot for Acid Vanilla. This was one reason why - when she’d heard about the it from a contact in the US - she’d thought the hunt to be the perfect way for them to kill three birds with one stone. Acid and Spook being the first two birds, the third being the fact that bringing them here reaffirmed Annihilation Pest Control’s position as the go-to organisation for the rich and powerful who had troublesome pests they needed rid of.
Because whilst the finger of blame had never been explicitly pointed Caesar’s way, Raaz had seen the jobs dry up somewhat since Kent Clarkson’s death and the chaos surrounding Acid’s defection. But not for much longer. After this weekend all would be forgotten. Acid Vanilla and Spook Horowitz would be dead, and Caesar would once more take his place as the head of the most elite assassin network in the world.
Raaz paused, hearing movement behind the door. Voices. “Hey boss, I… Oh.”
She stepped back as a tall blond Adonis-like security guard scuttled past her and headed off down the corridor. She watched Caesar watching the man leave, his well-defined eyebrows twitching wantonly.
“Sorry about that,” he purred. “Just making use of the facilities one more time before I get ready for the ceremony.”
He stepped aside to allow Raaz to enter, his silk kimono (floor-length, she was glad to note) swishing elegantly as he beckoned her into his suite. One step inside and Raaz was wishing she’d asked to meet downstairs in the lounge. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and sex and spilt alcohol. Empty bottles and brightly coloured sex toys, along with various knives and other bits of weaponry, had been strewn around the room. Raaz headed for the couch over on the far side of the room, averting her eyes as much as possible.
“Sit down,” Caesar told her, positioning himself on the opposite end and crossing one leg over the other. “What have you got for me?”
Raaz brushed a questionable-looking magazine to one side and perched on the soft cushion. She held up the tablet. “We’ve got them,” she said. “Best of all, they’re going to be part of the ceremony. You know what that means.”
Caesar’s face didn’t move, but Raaz noticed a slight tremor at the corner of one eye. She’d been watching for it.
“
Both of them?” he asked.
Raaz nodded, brushing past the boss’s hesitance. “Yes, sir. What a day it’s going to be. It’s been a long time coming.”
For Raaz, this was the understatement of the year. She bit her lip, thinking of her fallen colleagues. Those Acid had killed since she screwed the organisation over and went rogue. Banjo, Barabbas, Hargreaves, even. Not to mention Davros and Spitfire. Why the boss wasn’t absolutely ecstatic over the news got to her. But it was what she’d come to expect whenever Acid was involved. Which was why she’d orchestrated it so her imminent demise was no longer Caesar’s call.
“Didn’t Karen say Acid was at the bottom of a cliff?” he asked. “I did wonder. I told Engel he should be careful. That he underestimated Acid at his peril. But he just shrugged it off. Thinks he’s untouchable. Well, we both know how that turns out.” He looked away, out the window.
“You’re not regretting this, are you?” Raaz asked. “You do understand we need them dead. It’s the only way we can rebuild, both in terms of our reputation and future recruitment. I had some strong contenders lined up for our vacancies. But they’ve gone elsewhere. Because of her and her vendetta against us.”
“Yes, I am aware, Raaz,” Caesar bellowed. “Don’t confuse my thoughtfulness with weakness. Or me going soft. Don’t you forget it was my idea to blow Acid up that night. I wasn’t simply sending her a message. I wanted her dead and I still do.”
Raaz sat upright. “Apologies, I spoke out of line. But don’t worry, by the end of today she’ll be no more. Look.”
She tapped on the tablet screen and brought up a video. Footage she’d ripped from Engel’s closed-circuit camera system. The camera angle wasn’t great, and the quality grainy, but she’d recognise that leather jacket anywhere.
“And there she bloody well is,” Caesar growled, leaning closer. “Along with Spank Hornybitch, or whatever the pissing fuck she’s called. Where is this?”
“Engel has cells on the lower level,” Raaz told him. “They’re being held there before the ceremony. This footage is from earlier.”
The Acid Vanilla Series Page 67