The nameless dead mw-4

by Paul Johnson

  ‘Why, thank you, good sir. Modesty prevents me saying how you look.’

  There was an uneasy silence.

  ‘Now what?’ the Soul Collector said, her eyes on the gray water below.

  ‘Now I go back to Elena and-’ He broke off, his eyes wide. ‘Jesus, woman, don’t…do that.’

  Under the table, she dug her fingernails harder into the denim above his knee. ‘Give me another job. Now.’

  The broker wiped sweat from his brow. ‘All right,’ he said, in a loud whisper. ‘Let me go.’

  The Soul Collector squeezed hard once more and then sat back. ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘All fuckin’ fingers, you mean,’ Havi muttered, taking an envelope from his pocket. ‘I don’t know what you’re so fired up about. I got you what you wanted.’

  His client opened the envelope and ran her eyes over the sheet of paper inside. ‘Well, well,’ she said. ‘Not before time.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘Thank you, Havi. As so often, a pleasure to do business with you.’ She got up and left without looking back.

  Xavier Marias drained the rest of his margarita and called urgently for another.

  I woke up feeling like I’d been run over by a tank. I sat up, my mind in a swirl. Then I remembered what I’d seen on the mortuary tables-the inert remains of my family-and realized I was a lot worse off than an accident victim. For a start, I was still alive.

  I looked around the room, taking in the hospital fitments and plain decor. There was nothing I could use to self-harm, unless I twisted the sheets and hanged myself. That wasn’t such a bad idea. I got up, my knees almost giving way, and started to pull off the bedding. I had only got as far as the top sheet when the door opened and a big guy came in.

  ‘Put it down,’ he ordered.

  I thought about that, then launched myself at him. I had a flash of doing combat training with a tall soldier, but whatever drugs I was on had seriously compromised my skills. The gorilla grabbed my wrists in one hand, spun me round and pushed me back to the bed.

  ‘I can give you another sedative, Mr. Wells.’

  I looked round. Colonel Jimson had come in. Behind him, a male nurse was holding a metal tray, on which lay a full syringe.

  ‘But I don’t think you really want that,’ the medic continued.

  He was right. They had me cold, no matter what I tried to do. I relaxed and the auxiliary let me go. I sat down amongst the demolished bedding and lowered my head. Karen and Magnus weren’t there anymore. I couldn’t see them. That was some kind of relief, but I immediately felt guilty.

  ‘Would you like something to eat?’ Jimson asked.

  Initially, the idea of eating seemed so trivial, so irrelevant given what had happened, that I almost laughed. Then I realized that I was ravenous.

  ‘Bacon and sausages,’ I said, swallowing a rush of saliva. ‘Scrambled eggs, toast, coffee.’

  The doctor nodded to the male nurse, who walked out. ‘The drugs have that effect. Apart from that, how are you feeling?’

  ‘How do you think?’

  He glanced at the soldier, who was still near the bed. ‘All right, Corporal, you can go.’

  When we were alone, Jimson came closer. ‘Are you up to receiving visitors? Mr. Sebastian told me to inform him the second you were awake.’

  I looked at him. It seemed not all military men were by-the-book assholes.

  Then again, remembering my trainer’s name, Quincy Jerome, I realized I already knew that. ‘Thanks. I appreciate it. I want to see him, too.’

  ‘Okay. Have your breakfast first.’

  I did and, to my surprise, I felt better after it. Then I was stricken by remorse again. Karen and our son were dead and all I cared about was filling my stomach. Human beings were nothing more than animals.

  Actually, they were much worse. Animals didn’t experiment on each other. Animals killed to eat, not for specious religions and ideologies. Animals weren’t immoral and malevolent.

  Peter Sebastian came in and expressed his sympathy. If I hadn’t suspected that he was a highly devious operator, I’d have bought his performance. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel sympathy, I knew that. But I also knew he had other reasons to see me. That didn’t bother me-in fact, it could work to my advantage.

  ‘Food okay?’ he asked, inclining his head toward the tray.

  ‘You think that matters right now?’

  ‘I imagine not. Christ, Matt, it’s an awful thing.’

  ‘It’s down to Rothmann, isn’t it?’ I said, clenching my fists without thinking about it.

  ‘It’s too early to say. The pathologist is-’ He broke off, suddenly ill at ease.

  ‘I know what he’s doing,’ I said, with more bravado than I felt. Fortunately Karen and Magnus didn’t appear before me. ‘Is Rivers working on it, too?’

  Sebastian nodded. ‘And Dr. Brown. I gather her process was effective.’

  ‘So they said. Let’s hope it put paid to the Rothmanns’ shit once and for all.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The way he was looking at me made me suspicious. ‘What’s going on? What are you keeping from me?’

  ‘Nothing, Matt,’ he said, a shade too quickly.

  ‘What’s going on? You’re working some scheme, aren’t you?’

  ‘It’s…it’s a bit unusual,’ he said, with an unusual lack of confidence.

  ‘You’re going to let me out, aren’t you? All the training I’ve been doing, the extra sessions with Rivers, Dr. Brown’s process. What’s the catch?’

  ‘I don’t know if it is a catch, judging by what you said earlier.’ He was more composed now, back on home ground. ‘We want you to find Heinz Rothmann.’

  I had to laugh, though I wasn’t even mildly amused. ‘That would be the Heinz Rothmann who tried to turn me into a killer? The Rothmann whose sister I killed and who would like to cut me to pieces in return?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, that same Heinz Rothmann whose conditioning program may have robbed you of Karen and your son.’

  ‘Despite the fact we were assured by you people that it wouldn’t affect them.’ I blinked hard before going on. ‘I used to write crime novels, remember? What’s important is the characters’ motivation. Why has the FBI changed its story on Karen’s pregnancy risks and become suddenly so keen on finding that German piece of shit?’

  ‘Actually, he has an American passport,’ Sebastian said, like a teacher correcting a pupil.

  ‘Maybe he does, but that doesn’t mean shit.’

  ‘In any case, your question is besides the point. The Bureau has been looking for Rothmann ever since he disappeared.’

  ‘Uh-huh. You wouldn’t recently have come to the conclusion that he’s behind these Hitler’s Hitman murders, would you?’

  ‘Obviously the presence of his confederate Gordy Lister at the scene in Philadelphia was suggestive.’ He smiled slackly. ‘Good catch, by the way.’

  ‘Your people would have got it when they went over the footage.’

  ‘I wish I had your faith.’

  ‘Any further sign of Lister?’

  ‘No. We’ve circulated details to the investigating teams at the other locations, but there have been no positive hits.’

  I went over to the wardrobe.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Sebastian asked.

  ‘Getting dressed. I want to be out of the camp today.’

  There was a pause. ‘Matt, I’ve no idea how long this might last. What do you want to do about…’

  I stopped fastening my shirt buttons. ‘About Karen and Magnus? Nothing for the time being. Can…can they be kept here?’

  ‘I imagine so. But what about the funerals?’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying to you, Peter. Afterward. Until I nail Rothmann, I can’t think about that.’ I pulled on my jacket and turned to face him. ‘You haven’t asked about my terms.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘You tried to kill the President and you’ve got terms?’

  ‘Fucking right I have,’ I sai
d, losing my cool. ‘I want a lawyer. Right now!’

  Sebastian stepped back as if I’d spat in his face.

  ‘Just kidding,’ I said, without a trace of a smile. ‘Sergeant Quincy Jerome. I want him to watch my back.’

  ‘But he’s regular army.’

  ‘Fix it. You weren’t planning on putting Arthur Bimsdale on that detail with Sara Robbins out there, were you?’

  He shook his head vaguely. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘I’ll need to be armed.’

  ‘Even with the sergeant in tow?’

  ‘Yes. Fix that, too.’ I headed for the door. ‘I have things to pick up from the apartment.’

  ‘Matt,’ Sebastian said, ‘Wait.’ He was fumbling in his jacket pocket. ‘I got this for you. I understand you might not want it now…’

  I opened the blue velvet box and looked at the ring.

  ‘Platinum and three diamonds,’ he said. ‘As per instructions.’

  ‘It’s good. But you keep it ’til this is over.’ I managed to suppress the tears until I had passed him.

  Fourteen

  Dr. Lester Rivers wasn’t the kind of man who hit things when he was angry, but the conference room table nearly received a pounding.

  ‘No, Mr. Sebastian, this is not acceptable. I cannot agree.’

  The FBI man stared at him stonily. ‘Your professional opinion is noted, Doctor,’ he said. His hands stayed away from the open laptop in front of him.

  Rivers noticed that and wondered exactly what was going on. The Bureau paid his salary and funded his research center, but he had never been treated like a junior employee before. Usually a team of scientific officers reviewed his work and the atmosphere on their visits was cordial. Copious notes were taken and he was later sent copies of their reports. But ever since Matt Wells and his unfortunate partner had arrived, Peter Sebastian had run the show, despite the fact that he was a violent crime investigation specialist, not a scientist. Many things, it seemed, weren’t written down.

  ‘Mr. Sebastian,’ Rivers said, glancing across the table at Alexandra Brown. ‘My work with Matt Wells has shown that the conditioning he underwent was complex and profound. Although we have been able to access many of the trigger sequences, it is very likely that he is still subject to control.’

  Sebastian raised a hand. ‘You used the word we, Doctor. Let me bring in Dr. Brown at this point.’ He turned to the female scientist. ‘What’s your feeling about releasing Wells?’

  Alexandra Brown kept her eyes off Rivers. ‘Extrapolation from trials suggests that my process has been highly effective. I consider the Rothmann conditioning no longer operational.’

  This time Rivers did bring his hand down hard on the table. ‘Extrapolation from trials? Wells was the first human subject you treated. You can’t extrapolate from rats and monkeys or computer simulations. Besides, you were brought in here over my head.’

  ‘Yes. By me,’ Sebastian said firmly. ‘Dr. Brown’s work has been well received by other scientists.’

  ‘But its long-term effects are unknown,’ Rivers countered. ‘What if there are triggers at a deeper level of Wells’s subconscious? He might turn into an even more deadly killer.’ He glared at the FBI man. ‘And recently you’ve allowed him to sharpen his combat and firearms skills, again without my approval.’

  Peter Sebastian stood up and closed his laptop. ‘Your approval was not necessary, Doctor. I am responsible for Wells.’ He turned to go.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’re at all concerned about his state of mind after the death of Karen Oaten and the baby. Grief and the associated emotions can have a major effect on rationality.’

  ‘On the other hand,’ Dr. Brown put in, ‘it can increase empathy and certain forms of acuity, which may actually enhance the subject’s efficacy.’

  ‘Will you listen to yourself, woman?’ Rivers scoffed. ‘This is a distressed human being we’re talking about, not some automaton.’

  Spots of red appeared on Alexandra Brown’s cheeks. She looked to Sebastian for support.

  ‘Please calm yourself, Dr. Rivers,’ the FBI man said. ‘That kind of language is inappropriate.’

  ‘Is it?’ the scientist shouted. ‘Well, try this for size. I’m going to send a formal complaint about your handling of Matt Wells to the Office of Professional Responsibility.’

  Peter Sebastian sighed and walked back to the table. He opened his laptop and tapped on the keys. ‘Please come here,’ he said, eyeing each of the scientists. When they stood on either side of him, he hit the keys again. ‘This is a confidential authorization. You are at liberty to check its authenticity by calling headquarters and quoting the reference number at the top.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘You understand there may be disciplinary consequences if you do so?’

  Doctors Rivers and Brown read the document in silence, the document that authorized Sebastian to determine the status of Matthew Wells as he saw fit, signed by the Director of the FBI.

  I was lying on the sofa in the apartment, my face buried in the cushions. Karen’s scent was still on them. I breathed it in over and over again. Then I caught a glimpse of her. She had her back to me and was wearing a white surgical gown. She was in a narrow passage and she started to move downward, the lower part of her body disappearing.

  I heard myself call her name and she stopped. When she turned, I could see that she was carrying a bundle in both arms. It, too, was shrouded in white. Our son. Karen looked at me sadly but she didn’t speak-she had lost that ability, it seemed. Then she continued walking and was gone.

  Great sobs tore from my chest. I tried to stifle them with a cushion, wishing that I could find my way back to them, the ones who had been taken from me. Then I saw another face-the imperious features of the Nazi, Heinz Rothmann. The implication was clear. I had to kill him to get Karen and Magnus back.

  ‘Hey, my friend.’ The soft voice took me by surprise and I raised myself from the sofa.

  ‘Quincy.’ I wiped my eyes with my arm. ‘I’m sorry…’

  ‘Don’t be, man,’ he said, coming up to me and putting his arm round my shoulders. ‘Jesus, you must be suffering.’

  I felt the need to sit on the sofa again to maintain that last link with Karen. I couldn’t speak for a while.

  ‘What’s this I’m hearing? They’re letting you out?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You’re gonna work?’

  ‘There isn’t anything to keep me…keep me here.’

  Quincy Jerome squatted in front of me. ‘You need to take it easy, my friend. Let it sink in. Come to terms.’

  I appreciated his words, but they were meaningless. I had a mission. Peter Sebastian might have thought he was going to use me, but he had that wrong. I was going to take him for all he was worth.

  ‘Listen, Quincy, I don’t know how much you’ve been told about-’

  ‘Jack shit,’ he interrupted. ‘All I know is you want me to watch your back. Which is fine by me, even if my CO’s ass is on fire about it. Your man Sebastian has friends in high places.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s got friends anywhere, but he gets the job done.’ I filled him in on Rothmann and his probable link to the Hitler’s Hitman killings. He’d picked up a fair amount about the latter from the media coverage. ‘I’ve got to do this, Quincy,’ I ended. ‘For…for Karen and our son.’

  ‘Count me in, my friend.’

  ‘It’ll probably be bloody.’

  ‘Sounds like that Nazi asshole deserves to lose every drop of his blood.’

  He was right about that. I got up and started to collect clothes and other stuff. I took the laptop, too. It had a wireless connection, which would be useful. Now all I needed was weapons. I mentioned that to Quincy.

  ‘I was told to go to the armory,’ he said, unzipping one of his bags.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, belatedly realizing what was different about him. ‘You’re not in uniform.’

  ‘That’s what I was told,’ he said, running his large hands over the black
clothes he was wearing.

  ‘You look like a special forces operative.’

  ‘Don’t complain. I’ve got more of the same in your size.’

  It seemed Sebastian had thought of everything. Quincy started laying out weapons on the table. There was a Glock 19 semiautomatic pistol, a combat knife in a sheath, a pair of vicious-looking brass knuckles and a length of plastic-covered wire with a loop at each end.

  ‘I’ve never used a garrote,’ I said, picking it up.

  ‘It’s simple,’ the sergeant said, taking it out of my hands and whipping it round my neck before I could move. ‘See what I mean?’

  I could have buried my elbow in his belly, but I wasn’t up to brawling. My legs were still unsteady from the sedatives.

  When he’d removed the garrote, I went back to the table and picked up the Glock. ‘Where are the clips?’

  ‘I’ve got them. They told me not to hand them over to you till we’re out of the camp.’

  ‘Come on, Quincy. I’m not going to shoot anyone.’

  He studied me thoughtfully. ‘I reckon they’re worried about suicide.’

  ‘After what I told you about Rothmann? I’m going to kill that fucker. What happens after that, I don’t know.’

  Quincy took a clip from his pocket. ‘All right, man. Just don’t get me busted.’

  I checked that it was full and slapped it in.

  There was a knock on the door. It opened before I could say anything.

  Peter Sebastian walked in and immediately focused on the Glock. ‘I hope that isn’t loaded, Sergeant.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Quincy replied.

  Sebastian accepted that. I put the pistol in my belt and started gathering up the other weapons.

  ‘Thanks for having the tracking cuff taken off my ankle,’ I said.

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘You haven’t planted a bug under my skin, have you?’ Rothmann’s people had done that in the Maine camp.

  Sebastian shook his head. ‘Listen, Jerome, we need to stop using ranks when we address each other. I don’t want us to stick out like cocks in a Hamburg nightclub.’

  Quincy and I exchanged glances.

  ‘My friends call me Quincy,’ the soldier said.