Where Death Meets the Devil

by L. J. Hayward

Jack gave him the finger. “I’ve been ill, all right?” Now it was pointed out, it had been rather obvious.

  “Fine, Jack, I’ll give you this one. Meeting places are signified by the left arm, be it gesturing with it, or stretching, or adjusting your clothes. Understood?”

  “Yes. Just get on with it. I know what you’re up to now.”

  What followed was several hours of instruction involving hand gestures, tapping fingers and feet, leg nudges, coughs, sneezes—though Blade despaired over Jack’s fake sneeze, advising him to keep to coughing—and even eyebrow quirks. They followed it with practice conversations.

  Finishing a story about fishing in the Amazon, Blade sat back. “Where, when, and how?”

  “Rio, in two weeks, on a Tuesday at four p.m., and . . .” Jack hissed, trying to remember the sequence of taps and nudges. “Um . . . by goat?”

  Blade laughed. “Goat? Honestly, Jack. Why would I want you to travel to Rio de Janeiro by goat?”

  Waving his hand towards the great outdoors, Jack snapped, “You’ve got us assaulting a paramilitary compound on a camel! Why wouldn’t you do something as crazy as hitching a ride on a mountain goat?”

  “Please, I am not crazy. Just practical. If you’ll recall, I rubbed my chest when I told you about the train ride across Colombia.”

  Which had diverted Jack’s concentration for a moment. Scowling, he muttered, “I thought you were itchy.”

  “When having a circumspect conversation relying on hand gestures, best not to randomly scratch anything, don’t you agree?”

  “Shut up.”

  Blade smirked. “Your turn. Tell me something you think I need to know.”

  Eyes narrowing, Jack considered him for a moment. Blade sat with his back to the open night, his pale skin and white shirt picked out in stark lines against the blackness. The Milky Way, thick and creamy across the sky, haloed his dark hair. It was an entirely distracting image.

  “Right,” Jack said gruffly. “A story imparting something I think you should know.” He closed his eyes to think, but mainly to eradicate the sight of Blade from his thought processes. “Okay, try this one. I’d just been accepted into the SAS, and my first deployment was part of a training exchange program with a couple of commando units from the 911 Special Forces Regiment of the Royal Cambodian Armed Forces. We were on manoeuvres in Sre Ambel, in the southwest of the Cardamom Mountains, when we heard about several girls being taken from a village nearby. The mountains used to be a safe haven for the Khmer Rouge, but it had been years since there was any trouble. The locals said the girls had probably been taken for sex slaves. Our CO thought it would be an interesting training opportunity, so we went after them. Straight into some of the wildest rainforest I’ve ever experienced.”

  Blade leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, expression intent. Whether he was just looking for Jack’s signals or actually interested in the story, Jack wasn’t sure, but he found it scary to have the assassin’s undiluted attention. Scary and . . . thrilling.

  “I was on point, scouting ahead, when I got the sense I was being watched. Don’t get me wrong; there were millions of eyes in that jungle. Birds, monkeys, insects, snakes, spiders the size of your head. But this was different. The feel of it was . . . heavy. Aware. Like there was a definite purpose behind it, as if whatever it was could understand what I was, and that I didn’t belong there.”

  The memories rushed forwards as he spoke. The heat of the rainforest, the cloying moisture thickening the air. The constant rattle and hum of the insects, the eerie screeching of monkeys he couldn’t see. Golden-green sunlight punching through the solid-seeming canopy. The scents of damp rot and verdant life. Towering tree ferns alongside delicate orchids. The hidden funeral site they stumbled across, a cache of ancient ceramic jars filled with the remains of the deceased, the atmosphere sacred and sombre, isolated from the chaos of the jungle by a sense of quiet eternity.

  And the awareness of being not the hunter, but the hunted. Stalked by an invisible, silent predator. Knowing he wouldn’t see it when it finally struck putting a near-constant shiver down his back.

  Looking at Blade sent the same shiver along his spine.

  “You know what I mean?”

  Blade nodded. “I do.”

  “We had no idea what it was or why it was stalking us. We just knew it was always there. This went on for six days while we tracked that group deeper into the mountains. We set traps at night and checked for prints every morning and found nothing. But it was always there, keeping pace.

  “Our stalker stayed with us as we got closer to the abductors. Was right there when we attacked them and rescued the girls. All but one. She was dragged into the jungle by one of the kidnappers. I chased them. Lost the rest of the squad in the process. That was when the predator revealed itself.”

  Blade’s breath caught in a startled gasp. “What was it?”

  “A tiger. I haven’t ever been so close to something that big, that deadly before. It was breathtaking. It just looked right at me with these golden eyes, like it knew me. Knew it could kill me quicker than I could run. It had watched me for days, was familiar with my habits, my weaknesses. Yet here it was, calm as you please, presenting itself to me, acknowledging another hunter passing through.”

  Jack recalled the regard of the tiger, the clear danger it presented, but also the gentle sense of companionship between them, the linked cause of hunting and protecting. The fear of this apex predator hadn’t left him for an instant, but it had been modulated by respect and understanding. They knew each other, understood just what the other was and that they were the same.

  The eyes regarding him now were silver, but the impression was terribly, and excitingly, familiar.

  “The kidnapper lost his shit,” Jack continued roughly. “He started screaming and panicking. He let the girl go free, so I had a clear shot. As soon as he was down, the tiger disappeared. Never saw it again, but I felt it following us all the way back to camp.”

  Jack took a drink to wet his dry throat. Blade was quiet for a long time, expression slightly awed, slightly perplexed, slightly sceptical.

  “Was that true?” he asked.

  “Every word.”

  The assassin frowned. “An animal will always leave behind spoor. If a tiger had been pacing you the entire way, you would have found some evidence.”

  “You calling me a liar?” Jack demanded. “Or just plain dumb?” That edge of thrill peaked when Jack taunted the current predator in his midst.

  Blade jerked back. “No! Of course not. I’m just perplexed as to how . . .” He trailed off when he noticed Jack’s smirk. “Oh, very amusing.” After a moment’s silent contemplation, Blade continued. “Either way, I thought the Cambodian tigers were extinct.”

  “So they say.”

  “Are you saying they aren’t?”

  “No. I’m just saying what I saw. What I felt.”

  Blade threw his hands up. “Then what? Are you saying it was a ghost tiger?”

  “I’m not saying anything. Well, except for the information I thought you needed to know. Did you get it?”

  Sitting back, Blade regarded him contemplatively for a long while, then nodded.

  “So? What was it?”

  Eyes narrowed, Blade recited, “‘I don’t understand you or why you haven’t killed me.’ Correct?”

  Jack stood and grinned. “Perfect. Night, Blade.”

  Sleeping bag around his shoulders, Jack went to bed.

  All the way, he felt those eyes on him.

  Maxwell wasn’t taking any chances of another Tall and Silent incident and put two watchdogs on Jack when he left the sublevels. Thus sandwiched, Jack headed back up to the tenth and wheedled Miller into organising someone to fetch a clean set of clothes from his apartment. By specifying the particular garment bag he wanted brought in, Jack took the first step on Ethan’s crazy plan, but an hour later, he was half convinced he’d made the wrong move.

  There’d been no noise from
either Tan or McIntosh. It was an ordinary day at the Office for everyone but Jack. He sat at his desk and tried to look busy, but was constantly distracted by every memo that flashed up on his screen. Only one had any sort of impact, sending him down to the first floor to pick up the requested garment bag.

  In the toilets he undressed and did his best to wash down with damp towels. It reminded him of that day in the stable, still weak, trying not to reveal how his hands shook while he wiped days of sick-sweat from his body under Ethan’s watchful eye. Of the lesson in subtle communications, the story of the tiger. Of the night that followed, the startling revelations and Ethan’s confusing response to them. Jack still didn’t fully understand it and suspected now neither did Ethan. Not a sociopath, but not given a chance to be anything else. The assassin’s view of the world was fundamentally different to Jack’s, to most other people’s. No one had a chance of ever understanding him.

  Leaning on the sink, Jack looked at himself in the mirror. The strain showed in his bloodshot eyes, in the tension in his temples and the straight line of his shoulders, the bunching of the muscles in his arms as he gripped the porcelain so hard it might have creaked under the pressure.

  All this because Ethan said there was a traitor within the Office, someone who’d been protecting Valadian. One of the highest ranks, no less. It was a serious charge, and the consequences were even more serious. Someone at that level, with access to pretty much all of the most sensitive secrets in not just Australia, but within the Meta-State, could do just about anything: sell state secrets, cover up terrorist activity, derail Office investigations, pass on faulty information to the military so some hapless squad of soldiers was sent into a deadly situation dangerously underprepared.

  If it was McIntosh, then it made her moves to get the Valadian op up and running without anyone else knowing understandable. With one of her own assets in play, she controlled the flow of information. She could deal with anything Jack might have uncovered before he possibly exposed her. Likewise, if Tan was the traitor, his ire at discovering the operation after it had been set up made sense. He would have been paranoid that McIntosh suspected him, or that she soon would.

  Right then, Jack was doubly glad he’d lied through his teeth upon his return. If he hadn’t been trying to hide Ethan, he could very well have said something to the wrong person and gotten himself in a tougher bind than he presently found himself in.

  Of course, if Jack went ahead with Ethan’s mad plan, he was effectively signing a death warrant for the guilty director. Ethan wasn’t here to point a finger. He wouldn’t trust any sort of bureaucratic system to do the right thing. He was here to do what he did best. Kill.

  Jack was loyal. To his family, to his country, to the Office, even to the military hierarchy that had chewed him up and spat him out. He’d dedicated his life to making sure the madness in the wider world didn’t impact Australia. A traitor inside the Office was just the latest enemy, and maybe this time, being loyal meant bypassing the red tape.

  Slowly, Jack dressed, making sure each item was precisely the one he’d asked for. With every button he did up, he was confirming his commitment to Ethan’s plan. When he pulled on the jacket and settled it on his shoulders, he let out a long breath.

  This was it. Do or . . . die? Well, he hoped not.

  He was leaving the toilets when he bumped into Maria Dioli. She bounced off him with a distracted curse and hurried past. Then she pulled up short and spun around. She was in the same clothes as the previous day, her normally ordered curls now a frazzled mess, and she had the overcaffeinated twitches common to active-case workers.

  “Jack! I’ve been looking for you. Come on, in here.”

  She dived into a room across the corridor, waving for him to follow. When he didn’t, she poked her head back out and frowned at him. “Hurry up.”

  Indicating Shadow One and Shadow Two, Jack said, “I’m not alone. And”—he pointed to the room she was in—“that’s the ladies’.”

  Maria frowned at the watchdogs. “Why are they here?”

  “To make sure I don’t run away.”

  “Good, they can guard the door while I talk to you.” She disappeared back into the toilets.

  “Well?” Jack asked the Wonder Twins.

  Shadow One sighed and ushered him into the ladies’. Shadow Two stayed outside, guarding the door. Inside, Maria was at a sink, hands cupped under running water, which she splashed over her face. Shadow One did a perfunctory check of the stalls, then settled into rest mode by the door.

  “Can’t this wait until you’re done in here?” Jack asked, mildly amused as Maria did a horrified double take in the mirror.

  “No, it won’t take long. Shit, I look like the bride of Frankenstein.”

  “Frankenstein’s monster, actually,” Shadow One corrected.

  Maria glared at him, then tried to tame her curls. “Whatever. Listen, Jack, I read through the new statements about your time with Blade.”

  She still didn’t look pissed with him, thank God. “And?”

  “And it doesn’t really shed any light on what’s been going on with Valadian’s group since.”

  Jack snorted. “I know. If any of it had, I would have admitted it straight up.”

  “Right, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t interesting in its own way.” Giving up on her hair, Maria faced him, leaning against the sink. “I started looking into Ethan Blade’s movements after he left you in the desert.”

  “Jesus, Maria. Have you been at it all night?”

  She nodded. “Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Not when I realised that I’ve pretty much been tracking his movements already.”

  That caught Jack’s attention solidly. “What?”

  “I’ve been tracking the remains of Valadian’s organisation for the past year, and everywhere I’ve found a trace, Blade’s already been there, or visits there not long later. He’s after Valadian as well. Or what’s left of his business, at least. You said he was there to kill Valadian and that you didn’t know if he succeeded or not. I don’t think he did, because Blade’s still after him. He’s got to finish the job. Some sort of assassin’s credo or something, I guess.”

  “Or just a personal one,” Jack muttered.

  She had it wrong. Ethan hadn’t been hunting Valadian. He’d been looking for clues about who had been protecting Valadian.

  “He’s fascinating, Jack.” The glazed enthrallment in her eyes hit Jack like a gut punch. “I mean, I’m compiling data from over a hundred different sources to track Valadian’s group. I have two techs working full-time on this and we’re getting barely anywhere, and somehow, this guy has kept a step ahead of us. I no sooner got a hint of Valadian somewhere and Blade’s already there, or so close it meant he had the information before I did. How is he doing this? Where’s he getting his information? I need to talk to him.”

  Jack was shaking his head from about halfway through her speech. He didn’t need this, not now. Not wearing what he was wearing, not after committing to a course of action he might be starting to doubt. How could he let Maria make the same mistakes he had? She was a good handler, a better unit leader. Tough, smart, dedicated. He couldn’t let Ethan drag her into this, even if he didn’t mean to. Jack had to steer her off this path before she went too far.

  “Maria, don’t do this.”

  She frowned. “Do what? My job?”

  “No. Yes. Look, don’t dig any further into Ethan Blade. Trust me, it’s a one-way ticket to madness.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s not entirely rational. There are . . . circumstances that give him a skewed view of the world. You’ve seen his eyes?”

  Maria nodded. “They’re freaky, yeah, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Are you familiar with the term ‘Sugar Baby’?”

  Sugar—an illegal synthetic dopamine-stimulator— had appeared on the market about forty years ago and quickly proved to be a cheap alternative to other, sim
ilar drugs. About five years after that, a flow-on problem had arisen. Namely, the babies born to female Sugar addicts.

  “Sure, from about thirty years ago? Didn’t they debunk a lot of the . . .” She trailed off as she made the connection. Eyes widening, she stared at Jack. “He’s . . . Really?”

  Jack hedged. “Not exactly, but he’s not what we would call normal. He’s been an assassin for half his life, Maria. That means he was sixteen when he started. At least that was when his kills began being attributed to the name ‘Ethan Blade.’ He doesn’t look at the world and see it full of people. He only sees targets of varying degrees of difficulty.”

  “Even you?”

  “Even me. Especially me.”

  Maria fiddled with her hair. “I watched the video of McIntosh’s interview with him, and yours. He certainly appears to trust you. That would indicate he sees you as something like an equal.”

  “Believe me, he’s a brilliant actor.”

  It sparked a sense of betrayal in him to say it. Ethan did trust him, with an innocent willingness that tore at Jack each time he doubted it. It didn’t help that Ethan’s first declaration of trust had been a lie, and that the second had been all but coerced out of him.

  “You’re saying because he’s unstable, I shouldn’t put any worth in his intelligence related to the remains of Valadian’s group?”

  Shit. “God, Maria, just forget about Blade. He can’t help you. He doesn’t help anyone. He just makes things worse. Look at me. Confined to the building, under suspicion.” He motioned to Shadow One, looming by the door. “Watched even while I take a piss and change clothes. You’re too good to be tarred by Blade’s brush.”

  Maria regarded him with a blank expression that failed to hide the furious workings of her brain. Everything he said would be analysed and dissected, worse than Dr. Granger and her psych evaluations, and applied to Maria’s agenda as she looked for links and insights.

  She nodded slowly. “All right. Thanks for the advice, Jack. If you and your date could leave, I’d like to pee now.”

  Jack hesitated, then said, “I mean it, Maria. Stay out of it. I’m warning you.”