by David Archer
“Please, please don’t kill me,” she said. “I know who you are, I know you’re with the police, I can give you information...”
“Can you tell me the name of the Director?” Noah said coldly.
Deanna’s eyes looked confused for a moment, but then she shook her head. “None of us know his name,” she said. “But I can...”
“Then you have nothing I want,” Noah said. He squeezed the trigger and blew her brains across the wall behind her bed. Her face went slack as she fell backward.
He turned and walked out of the room and stepped directly back into the elevator. Moose followed, and Noah pushed the button for the garage level. They stepped out and moved along the walls, staying in darkness until they got close to the exit. The attendant was still staring at his phone with his back to them, so they quickly turned the corner and were out of sight within seconds. Neither of them spoke until they got into the truck and pulled away from the curb.
“That was easy,” Moose said then, but Noah could tell that he was pumped with adrenaline.
Noah shrugged. “Sometimes it is,” he said. “The operation, I mean. I’ve been watching you, you’re trying to act like killing these people doesn’t bother you at all, but it does. You don’t have to be like me, Moose. You don’t even want to be like me, trust me on that.”
Moose was silent for a few seconds, then he looked over at Noah. “When we’re in a firefight, it doesn’t bother me a bit when I put someone down. When we have to go in and just put them down, though, like tonight, I can’t help wondering if it’s any different than regular, cold-blooded murder. I’ll be honest, it eats at me, but I get over it. I know it’s our job, but right now I’m just feeling like it’s going to come back to haunt me someday.” He turned his eyes back to face the road. “Sometimes, when I’m not even thinking about any of the people we’ve killed, I’ll suddenly think I see one of them staring at me. It happens in the street, sometimes, sometimes in restaurants—it’s just a fleeting glimpse, like a ghost looking at me and asking why I killed them.”
“I’ve heard that from others,” Noah said, “guys I served with. Some of them said they could see the faces of the soldiers they killed everywhere they looked.”
“But you don’t.” Moose was quiet for a moment, and then turned to look at Noah once again. “Yeah, Boss, sometimes I wish I was just like you.”
TWENTY-FIVE
They got back to the house and Noah walked straight past Neil and Sarah to his bedroom. Sarah followed him and found him stripping off his clothes to get into the shower. She stood in the door without saying anything, but at last he turned to look at her.
“That part’s done,” he said. “Now we wait for word on the man in Damascus. As soon as we have confirmation, that’s where we’re headed.”
“What about Adrian?” she asked. “Do we do anything about him?”
“Hopefully the bullet Moose put into him will take care of that problem,” Noah said. “If he turns up while we’re still here, then we’ll see what we can do. Otherwise, I’m ready to put him behind me.”
He turned and walked into the bathroom, and a moment later she heard the shower running. By the time he came out, she was already in bed waiting for him. He slid in beside her and snuggled up close, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
“Noah,” she said softly, “you’re acting like something’s bothering you. Want to talk?”
“It won’t make any sense to you,” he said. “What’s bothering me is that nothing is bothering me. Everyone else feels some kind of remorse or guilt or something when they have to kill somebody. I just looked into the eyes of a woman as I blew her brains out, and felt nothing.”
Sarah rolled toward him and put a hand on the side of his face. “That’s not your fault, you know,” she said. “It’s just who you are. After what happened when you were a kid, it’s what your mind had to do to survive.”
Noah looked into her eyes quietly for several seconds, then stroked her cheek with his fingers. “I look at you, and I see all the emotion, all the feelings you have for me, they glow in your eyes. I want to know what that feels like. I want to know what everything feels like. I want to feel love, I want to feel guilt, I want to feel every emotion—but the closest I can come is those brief moments when desire takes over.” He kept his hand around the back of her head and pulled her toward him, kissing her lips gently. “Right then, I wanted to kiss you. It just seems like there should be more that I feel at a moment like that.”
Sarah extended her pinky and rubbed it over his lips. “Sometimes, I think—I think that it’s not that you don’t have the emotions, it’s just that you don’t let yourself feel them. They’re not gone, they’re just blocked, and to be honest I’m a little afraid of what will happen if they ever come back.”
Noah pulled her close and kissed her again, and then they stopped talking.
* * * * *
The car came out of the rooftop ramp and stopped, and Adrian aimed the scope down at it. He couldn’t see through the windshield, but there was almost no doubt in his mind that the imposter was sitting behind the wheel. He released the safety on the rifle and took careful aim, centering the crosshairs on the spot where a driver would be sitting, and squeezed down on the trigger.
The first shot was high, puncturing the roof of the car but missing the driver’s head. He worked the bolt to chamber another round just as the car lurched in reverse and shot back into the enclosed ramp. His second shot struck the concrete and ricocheted off into the night.
So, it would come down to a fight between the two of them. It never occurred to Adrian that the imposter would simply turn and run; they were both professional killers, and neither could simply walk away at this point. He stayed where he was, waiting for his opponent to make the next move.
He sat perfectly still, his sights trained on the entrance to the ramp. As soon as anything appeared in that opening he planned to put a bullet through it. He knew the scope was just a little off, a little high at this range, so he lowered it a bit to compensate. If the imposter stepped out, he was dead.
Suddenly there was a burst of light, high and to his left. He instinctively raised his eyes to see what it was, and bright white light ruined his night vision for the moment. He turned the rifle and fired, jacking the bolt to get off three shots as quickly as he could, and he was rewarded when the lights went out and whatever that thing was went crashing onto the garage below.
The sound of shots from the garage roof made him spin, but he was on his feet rather than sitting. He raised the rifle and aimed back at the entrance, determined to bring this to a conclusion, but then something tore through his left forearm. A bullet, he knew, he’d been hit! He squeezed off one shot that went wild, and then another bullet grazed his hip. He fell to the surface of the roof and knew that he had lost all advantage.
The flesh wound on his hip wouldn’t slow him down, but the throbbing in his arm meant that it would be useless for a time. He dropped the rifle where he stood and bolted for the access door that led into the stairwell. He’d left it slightly ajar, so he smashed it open with his good right arm and rushed down the stairs. These were service stairs that went all the way down, six flights that took him to the main floor. He had come in through a back entrance and had security from the inside with a simple hook. He threw it open and hurried down the alley, grimacing in pain as his injured left arm brushed against the door.
The imposter would be on the way, he knew, hoping to catch him before he could get away. He had a pistol, but didn’t dare try to make a stand at this point. His arm was bleeding profusely and needed to be taken care of. Survival was more important than victory at that moment, so when he rounded a corner in the alley and saw a trash container, he leapt inside and buried himself in the garbage.
He heard footsteps circling the building he had just left, but they didn’t come close to the container. Two men were talking, and he realized that the imposter had not come alone. He should have expect
ed it, but it was too late to worry about it now. Luckily, they decided to leave before the police could be called in. Adrian waited a couple of minutes, then climbed out of the trash container and walked as quickly and calmly as he could to where he had left his own car.
His arm was throbbing as he got into the vehicle. He had chosen an automatic transmission, so he was fortunately able to drive with only one hand. He made it several blocks away before he heard the first police siren.
He came to a traffic light and stopped, then quickly took out his phone and punched in a number with his thumb. He put the phone on speaker and tucked it back into his pocket so that he could drive while he talked.
“Hello?” came a sleepy, female voice.
“Oi, Judy,” Adrian said, reverting to a cockney sound. “It’s Arthur, you remember me?”
“Arthur? God, yeah, it’s been a while.” She seemed a bit more awake.
“Yeah, well, been a bit busy, luv. Listen, I’ve got a bit of a problem, the kind that needs your help. Can I come round?”
“My help? You’re hurt, then?” Judy sounded exasperated. “Why’s it men only call me when they’ve got hurt?”
“It’s because we know you’re the best, luv. Come on, then, I’ve got a bloody hole in my arm, and I think it smashed the bones a bit. Just need you to patch me up so I can get back on what I got to do.”
She snorted into the phone. “Fine, come on round. Back door, off the alley. I’ll come down and let you in.”
“Right, see you then.” She hung up her phone without another word, but Adrian didn’t care. He was beginning to feel weak and worried that he was losing too much blood. A couple more turns brought him into the alley behind her building, and he found a spot to park.
Getting out of the car and standing left him feeling a little dizzy, so he leaned against the car for a moment to get his balance. Despite the fact that he left a fair puddle of blood on the ground, it wasn’t so much blood loss as shock that was affecting him, he knew. He pushed off the car and staggered toward the door. She opened it as he got there and pulled his right arm around her shoulders as she helped him up the stairs to her apartment. Neither of them spoke until they were inside with the door shut. She helped him take off his jacket and laid it on the table as he settled into a chair.
“Let’s see what you’ve done,” Judy said. She cut his sleeve away with a pair of scissors. “Ach, this is a mess!” She took hold of his arm and tugged on it gently, but Adrian hissed with the pain. “The radius is okay, but the ulna is broken. The bullet passed through, that’s good, and the artery isn’t severed. You really need surgery.”
“Yeah, well, not today. Can you patch me up?”
“Yeah, but it’s gonna hurt. I got to clean this thoroughly, then try to set the bone the best I can. I can manage a splint, but not a cast.”
Adrian nodded. “That’ll do,” he said. “I still got things to do, can’t be laid up right now.”
Judy looked at his face, which was sweating. “You’re in a bit of shock,” she said. She went and got a blanket and wrapped it around him, then brought him a cup of tea. “Drink that,” she said. “It’ll make you sleep, but at least you won’t feel everything I got to do.”
He nodded again and picked up the cup with his good hand, then drank it down all at once. “That’s good,” he said. “Just don’t let me sleep too long.”
The drug hit him quickly, and he was out cold less than ten minutes later. Judy set to work, and finally got everything cleaned and stitched and wrapped and splinted by the time the sun came up. Her patient was sleeping peacefully, so she put the arm in a sling and sat down to watch over him.
Arthur was a strange one. She’d known him for about five years, by then, and every time she saw him it was because of another injury of some sort. The last one had been a year back, when he’d supposedly gotten stabbed in a row at the pub. She patched him up, but something about the wound had bothered her.
No, face the facts, she thought to herself, it was Arthur that bothered her. She’d always been one of those girls who went for the bad boys, and something about him told her he was about as bad as they could get. She’d tried flirting with him, even tried outright seduction, but he’d only smiled and driven away each time. The simple mystery of him had been driving her crazy, and she’d been thinking about him almost daily ever since that last time.
Who are you, really? she asked mentally, but of course he didn’t respond. She stared at him for a few moments more, and then her gaze fell on the jacket. Watching carefully in case he might wake and catch her at it, she reached over and picked it up, then went through the pockets.
There was a wallet, and she pulled it out carefully. She glanced at his face once more to be sure he was still asleep, then opened it. The driving license had his picture, but the name on it said William Hensley, not Arthur. With her eyes narrowed in curiosity, she began looking through the rest of the wallet.
There wasn’t much in it, not the sort of things you’d normally find in a man’s wallet. Old pictures, scribbled notes, business cards—none of that was present, but tucked in the hidden pocket was a photo of himself with a blonde lady. Judy felt her face go red as she looked at it, realizing that this was the reason her attempts to win his favor went unrewarded. She put the picture back and slid the wallet back into the pocket she’d taken it from, then carefully laid the jacket back exactly where it had been. After a few minutes, she decided to get a little sleep and went to her bed. A few dozen tears later, she finally drifted off.
She was up again at eight, shortly before Adrian woke. She gave him another cup of tea, this one without any drugs, and sat down at the table with him to drink one of her own.
“Care to tell me how this happened?”
Adrian shrugged his right shoulder. “Wrong place, wrong time,” he said. “One of my mates decided to rob an express shop, and the bloody clerk started shooting.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a wad of money, peeled off a thousand pounds and handed it to her. “I appreciate the help,” he said. “I’ll be getting out of your way, then.” He struggled to his feet.
“You’ll be careful, then? You’ll need to change the dressing at least once a day, and you should get yourself some antibiotics. I’m afraid I don’t have any to hand.”
“I can do that. My thanks once again,” he said as he walked toward the door. “Like always, best you forget I was here. Don’t wanna be associated with the likes of me.”
Judy said nothing, so he went on out to the car and drove away back to the flat he used whenever he was in London. He had made his way to it immediately after his escape, fairly sure it hadn’t been discovered. There were things he kept hidden there that he surely would have been questioned about if it had been.
He let himself in when he arrived, then opened a kitchen cabinet and removed the pots and pans inside it. That done, he reached to the back and pulled out the false panel that hid one of his many secret compartments. He was always prepared for just about anything, and the prescription pad inside bore the signature and drug control number of a well-known physician. He scribbled out an order for some heavy antibiotics that he would pick up from the druggist later, then sat down to begin planning.
It was Monday, and there were only three days until Prince Charles would make his appearance at Albemarle, but Adrian had not yet heard from Eddie. He didn’t feel a need to worry just yet; he’d give it another day and hopefully everything would be arranged.
Meanwhile, there was the problem of the imposter. Broussard needed to know the man was still running loose, so he took out his phone and dialed the old man’s number.
“Hello?” Broussard said.
“You know who this is,” Adrian said.
“Yes, of course,” Broussard said.
“My encounter last night ran into difficulties. The imposter is still at large. Should he contact you, I want to know about it immediately.”
There was a slight hesitation in Broussard’s voice
, but Adrian had become accustomed to it. It came from the man’s innate terror at dealing directly with the assassin. “Of course,” Broussard said. “I shall notify you immediately if I hear from him.”
“Now, as for the assignment I accepted,” Adrian went on. “It will be completed on Thursday. The method is one that will be immediately connected to certain known enemies of the UK. Let your people know that I shall expect the balance of my payment within twenty-four hours after it is done.”
“Of course,” Broussard said. “That will be no problem at all.”
* * * * *
Noah had slept until almost 11, and was wakened by the sound of his phone. He reached across to pick it up from the nightstand and saw that it was a call from the E & E headquarters.
“Camelot.”
“Camelot, this is Allison. I’m reporting to you that Hercules was able to handle the situation in Damascus, and the CIA has confirmed your assessment on Abdul; he was definitely running the IAR. From the news reports coming out of London this morning, I gather the Council has also been terminated?”
“Yes. Parker said to go ahead, so we did. It all came off without a hitch as far as I know right now.”
“Good work, then. You can wrap this one up and come on home whenever you’re ready.”
“Ma’am, with your permission I’d like to stay a little longer. We still got one loose end to tie up. The real Adrian is on the loose, and I’ve got a hunch that he and I are not done with each other. We had one little confrontation last night, but he got away with a bullet wound, not sure how serious. I’ve turned Pierre Broussard into an intelligence asset. He was blackmailed into his cooperation with IAR, and with them gone, he’s a free man again. I’ve got him in a position to work with me on Adrian, because Adrian is trying to complete the assassination of Prince Charles.”