“Do you think Mac’s still alive?” Vertesi asked.
Swetsky cleared his throat. “Brothers and sister, what you have in MacNeice is someone with a kinda other level of understanding. I don’t know exactly what that is, but I wish I did. Maybe someday he’ll pay the price for it, but in my heart, I don’t believe that day is today.”
[64]
MacNeice was reaching for the screen door when he caught sight of Venganza — not much more than a large shadow. He should have expected it but hadn’t. It stopped him in his tracks. He withdrew his hand as if the door handle were hot. He inhaled deeply and waited. Venganza raised his right hand and, with a cupping motion, signalled for him to enter. MacNeice swallowed hard and took hold of the handle.
As MacNeice stepped inside, the screen door slapped against his back. For a moment he felt ridiculous, and that seemed to amuse Venganza, who was already studying him. There was a trace of a smile on his face, and though his hand rested on the weapon strapped to his thigh, he gave no indication that he felt concerned enough to remove it from the holster.
“You’re not with the wannabes, MacNeice. And I assume that’s your ragtag bunch out by the road.” Venganza cocked his head to one side. “Let me guess . . . You’ve gone rogue and they’re just following your lead.” He focused on him the way scientists do when they come across a new species of dragonfly or tree frog.
“Something like that, though I didn’t know they were there.”
“What about the wannabes?”
“In what sense?”
Venganza stepped closer. “It’s going to get a lot hairier. So, if they wanna be heroes, they’ve come to the right place. Though I believe you’re the one who found me.”
“Do you want it to get hairier?”
“Not my call, sir. But I’m sure the genius who commands them is feeling humiliated right now. He might want to even the score. So far they’ve just messed up their nifty uniforms and snapped a few bones. Didn’t you try to stop this?”
“I did.”
Venganza nodded. He understood how command structures worked — and how, somewhere down Valens Road, the guy running the show was wondering what to do with his failing plan. “You want a coffee?”
MacNeice’s jaw dropped. “You’re not concerned about what’s unfolding outside?”
“Not in the slightest. Everything’s wired, set to blow — including this place, with you and me in it. That team out by the dam? You know, where you had a spotter camped last night.”
“You noticed.”
Venganza cocked an eyebrow. “They’d best stay where they are. The distance between there and here is . . . very unfriendly. But then, you don’t actually have any sway with them, do you.”
“No.”
“So, coffee? If we’re going to talk, I’d like a coffee.”
“Black. A single or double shot.”
Venganza smiled and led him into the kitchen. He went over to the counter and picked up something that looked like a large cellphone, pushed a button, and set it down. Immediately Sadler’s voice came on; he was speaking to Washburn.
“Wash, any sign of MacNeice or the perp?”
“No, sir. It’s quiet.”
“What’s his team up to?”
“They’re just standing at the end of the road like they’re waiting for a bus — or for MacNeice to come out. Maybe they got weapons, maybe they don’t. I can’t tell.”
“Roger that. DC Wallace just arrived. I’ll get back to you.”
Venganza smiled, poured the coffee into mugs, and handed one to MacNeice. “Wallace is the head boss?”
“He’s their commander and mine.” The coffee was brewed and very strong.
“Smart?”
“You mean Wallace?”
“Yeah. Is he smart?”
“I think so . . . but we’ll see.”
“You mean he’s got office smarts but you’re not sure he’s got field smarts.”
“Accurate.”
“Why are you here, MacNeice?”
MacNeice looked hard at him. “On my way down your lane, I honestly didn’t know. When you started popping the trees, I was even less certain. And when those men got torn up out there, I was convinced I’d misjudged you.”
“And now that you’re in front of me?” He put the carafe back on the stove.
“Now I’m climbing back to hopeful.” MacNeice needed time to think; he wasn’t sure where the conversation was going. He picked up the mug again. “In spite of the considerable evidence to the contrary, I think you are an honourable man, Venganza. I don’t think you kill for sport.”
“You’re thinking I’m not going to kill you, is that it?”
“I said ‘hopeful’ . . . and that’s one of the things I’m hopeful about.”
Venganza laughed and raised his mug as if to say cheers. The radio beeped to life again; this time it was Sadler. Venganza appeared relaxed. He drank his coffee just as he might on any other day.
“T-3, can you cross the distance to that house from where you are?”
“Negative, Lieutenant. We’d need an ATV for that, and we’ve got a loaded Yukon.”
“Then double-back to the command unit. Pronto.”
“Roger that.”
Venganza finished his coffee, washed the mug, and dried it. Putting it back on the shelf, he turned to MacNeice. “Looks like we’re opting for hairy.”
“Is your radio one-way or can you communicate through it?”
“That’s not going to happen, Detective. I’ll let you leave right now or you can stay and watch the show. I’m not gonna get all cozy with the wannabes.”
“No one else needs to get hurt here. Just tell me what you want.”
“Too late. Besides, I don’t want anything . . . Actually, I do. I want to finish my last piece — and I will.” He reached into the pantry and pulled out an assault rifle. “But just so you know, it was never about running. I’ll admit, I didn’t think you’d work it out as fast as you did, but this last piece is my most ambitious.”
“Show me.” MacNeice put the mug on the counter and followed Venganza into a darkened room.
“There you go.” He stood aside and waited as MacNeice’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light and he took in the bizarre tableau. After a few seconds, the detective turned to him. It was the form of it that spoke to him. Even in the gloom, he recognized it at once. “La Pietà.”
Venganza broke into a wide grin and shook his head with delight. “You’ve got some serious chops, MacNeice. I am impressed.”
“It’s not me alone. DI Fiza Aziz — that’s her on the road — she worked out that you were going to mine Catholicism.”
Venganza went to the laptop in the corner and zoomed in on an image. “That her?”
“Yes. That’s the homicide team.”
“Good-looking woman.” He looked up at MacNeice. “These people obviously love you. Why don’t you go back to them before it’s too late.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Actually, chief, I wasn’t asking.” Venganza levelled the rifle at MacNeice’s chest.
“Let me leave with the woman.” MacNeice nodded towards Mary.
The device came to life again. “Washburn, this is Deputy Chief Wallace.”
“Washburn, sir.”
“We haven’t met, Sergeant, but I understand you’re closest to that farmhouse.”
“Roger that. Thirty yards or so. Stuck behind some trees.”
“I’m going to ask you a question and I don’t want you to give me the party line. You know what I mean by that?”
“I think so, sir. You want me to speak the truth as freely as I see it.”
“Exactly. What’s the truth as you see it?”
Everyone who still had headsets — plus Venganza and MacNeice in the
farmhouse — waited for Washburn’s answer.
“Sir, this man’s a professional. I believe whatever aggression we bring to the situation will be met by overwhelming aggression in return. Look at us. We arrived here not long ago and we’ve got four men down and two tanks that ain’t goin’ nowhere. Hell, one of ’em is all smoked up.” He left some time for that to sink in before continuing. “Venganza’s had months to plan how to defend this place. I honestly believe we’ve seen just the tip of this fucker’s iceberg. Pardon my French, sir.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
“I like that sergeant.” Venganza was cradling the rifle in his arm. “So Wallace is smart. A commander who listens to a sergeant . . . as I live and breathe —”
“Ah, T-3 here. Do we stay in our vehicle or come over to you, sir?”
“Come to Command. A new strategy’s in the works.”
“Oops,” Venganza said. “I spoke too soon. I knew it was too good to be true.”
“The woman, please?” MacNeice knew Sadler wouldn’t give up on the operation.
“No. But I have an idea about what to do with you.”
Venganza took MacNeice by the arm and led him to a barstool. He told him to sit down and then went off to close the kitchen door, throwing the room further into darkness.
MacNeice’s ears popped as he listened for Venganza’s movements. He strained to see him but couldn’t make out anything in the darkness. He heard footfalls to the left and his heart began to race. He had an urge to run for the door, but he’d seen how quickly Venganza could move and decided to stay put. He was clinging to the theory that Venganza could have killed him at any time, even before he reached the screen door, and didn’t. That he might not was hope on a tightrope. In that awful void, a thought slipped through his neural circuitry: sharks don’t kill for pleasure.
With a pop, a powerful light came on, momentarily blinding him. It was on a high tripod, focused on the pyramidal form. As his eyes adjusted, he could see Mary and Jesus. He held his breath.
Venganza walked past him and lit another tower. MacNeice could see that Jesus was wearing camouflage pants but nothing else. Venganza watched his reactions and smiled as he walked over to the third tower. This light revealed La Pietà in three dimensions. MacNeice kept blinking, trying to remove the three bright dots from his vision. He wasn’t aware of it, but his jaw had dropped.
At the bottom of the piece, where the cloak draped beneath Jesus, was a worn-out pair of boots. Seeing him looking at them, Venganza said, “Standard issue for service in Afghanistan. You can get up now, MacNeice.”
He walked over to examine the tableau. Specifically, he wanted to see if Mary was still alive.
“She’s not dead, if that’s what you’re thinking. She’s only sleeping.” Venganza was placing one-inch brass V’s on the floor beside each lamp stand.
He approached and put a hand on Jesus’s shoulder. “Master Corporal Steven Wozinsky.” He turned to MacNeice. “I didn’t kill him. Drugs did that. After four tours, he came home for good. He was fried and he knew it.” Venganza’s eyes were filled with rage and sorrow. “There’s a tall redhead, wears his hair in a bun and hangs out at the bus terminal. He took this fine man’s life.”
The radio came to life; Venganza walked over and picked it up. He handed it to MacNeice. “Hang on to that; I’ve got work to do. Go back to the stool.”
Venganza picked up a large, box-like camera mounted on a tripod. He placed it directly over the small V on the left, and within minutes he was taking light readings from Mary and Jesus’s faces, each time popping the three flashes that once again blinded MacNeice. He went back to the camera and made several adjustments to the aperture and checked the focus through the lens. After shooting several frames he went over to a small desk, where the images slowly appeared on a computer screen. When he had finished studying them, he returned to the camera and pressed the shutter ten or twelve times, occasionally making subtle changes to the focus. MacNeice closed his eyes to the flashes.
Venganza picked up the camera and tripod and repeated this process twice again, aligning the tripod directly above the other two V’s. He was focused, absolutely calm and unhurried in his work. He’d hum to himself or say something — a correction or an observation — that would lead to a tiny adjustment of the camera or tripod.
Midway through the third position, the radio barked. Venganza didn’t divert his attention from what was in front of him, but MacNeice was certain he was listening.
“Washburn, we’re bringing the team from T-3 through the hedge on your right, exactly ten minutes from now. Get your team out of T-1. The two standing members of Baker’s team will provide cover. Your men will get behind the tank. Meet up with T-3 coming on foot through that hedge. Together you’ll make your way towards the house, using the tank for cover. Split your assets into three assault groups. Fire smoke and stun grenades through those windows. Six will storm the front and four will hit the back door.”
“Roger.” Washburn sounded resigned.
“T-2, copy that,” said someone from Baker’s team.
“Set time: ten minutes from now.”
“Copy set.”
Venganza was still shooting, but he turned to MacNeice. “Sounds like the wannabes have abandoned you, Detective.”
Washburn came back on the line. “Lieutenant, advise. We still have MacNeice and a woman in there.”
“Understood, Wash. They may be casualties by now. Your assets are to use precision targeting.”
Venganza was finished. “Assets . . . oh my. Only an officer who’s never been in combat would refer to combat soldiers as assets.” He moved the camera and tripod to the side and walked back to the computer, where he began loading the files. “Sadler hasn’t considered how his team can use precision firing when they’ve just filled the house with smoke. It’s more likely that they’ll fire at each other through the fog and confusion. Either way, he hasn’t considered you.”
“Or he has and doesn’t care. Maybe he thinks that if the Virgin Mary and I were smart we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”
Venganza laughed. “Yeah, well, put that way, he would have a point.” He checked his watch. “Nine minutes.” He walked over to La Pietà, lifted Jesus. In the light, the sad arc of his emaciated rib cage fanned upward. Venganza returned him reverently to the table and set the worn-out boots at Wozinsky’s feet, ready for inspection.
He lifted the grey cloak off the framing and rigging that had supported Jesus on Mary’s lap. It was an ingenious rig that had taken Wozinsky’s weight off the slender legs of a still-sleeping Chanel. When he removed the cloak from her body, MacNeice was surprised to see she was wearing only bra and panties. Venganza folded the heavy cloak. “The underwear was her idea. She didn’t want to get overheated and sweat up Mary’s face. She was certain that Mary didn’t sweat.”
“What’s going to happen to those men advancing through the hedge?”
“They’ll experience the true intimacy of pain, but they’ll survive. However, their careers in Tactical will be over.”
With the exception of a static buzz, the listening device was silent. Venganza clicked the laptop mouse several times until, one by one, a quartet of active surveillance video feeds came to life. After a moment, he clicked the mouse and the photographs reappeared.
“Venganza —”
“Call me Vennie.”
“Vennie, let me try to stop this.”
Venganza’s head snapped around. He was angry, but said nothing. Seconds later, his mouth relaxed and he smiled. “They call you Mac. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Mac, you’re probably wondering why I let you in, or for that matter why I haven’t unleashed a Taliban party trick on your five colleagues out there.”
“I have wondered about that.”
“I didn’t know either, until a f
ew minutes ago. He tilted his head towards the computer. “I’m doing the final selects of La Pietà. I am going to add these to the rest of the exhibition pieces and give all of them to you on a high-res memory stick. You’re going to be the official keeper of my work.”
He glanced back at Mary. “Her name is Chanel Bourget. Up until the moment she arrived in Dundurn, she was a Parisian gallery owner keen to exhibit my images. She was convinced they were faked and said they were ‘the finest depictions of man’s inhumanity to man.’” Venganza seemed to enjoy the irony of that comment but kept on working. “She’ll wake up in roughly thirty minutes. You’ll be her keeper as well. Her clothes are in the bathroom; her purse is in the pantry.”
“And you?”
“Don’t worry about me. What’s left of your tactical team will rush the doors. I’ll deal with them. But you and Bourget need to get into the cellar. There’s an airtight safe room; it’s got lighting, water, and some munchies. The air will last for six hours. Take her down and stay there till this is over.” He looked over at MacNeice. “There’s a hard case in there with my exhibition prints inside, except for this one.”
“What about you?”
“Determination is an asset in your line of work and in mine, Mac. But insistent determination in your present circumstances is risky.”
“I can stop this.”
Vennie screamed, “I don’t want you to stop it! Now, have I made myself clear, Detective?”
“Very clear.”
And as quickly as it had come to life, his fury subsided. “I’m sorry, Mac, that was out of line. Now you’re thinking I’m a psychopath. I am, of course, but I’ve never killed anyone when I’m angry.”
“I believe you. At the risk of breaking your tradition, I have to ask again. Let me try to call this off.” He looked at his watch. “We’ve only got six minutes. I promise you, Vennie, I can talk Wallace down.”
Venganza’s chair went skidding away and he moved swiftly across the floor. MacNeice stood up, bracing himself for whatever was coming and sliding his hand under the seat, thinking he’d use the stool to defend himself. It was a desperate and ludicrous idea. Venganza snapped the receiver away from him and then shoved it back — hard — into MacNeice’s chest. The impact knocked the wind out of him. He fell back against the wall, coughing. Venganza waited for him to stop and then smiled. “Make your call, Detective. By my watch, you’ve got four minutes, thirty-one seconds.”
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