The Final Hour (Victor The Assassin 7)

by Tom Wood

‘If you had such a statement, if I was there, then I was following orders.’

  ‘That’s my point, Kevin, and that’s something you didn’t tell me. I’m giving you that one pass because I like you. I feel sorry for you.’

  Sykes didn’t respond.

  ‘The thing you need to remember about Procter is that he’s been getting away with this kind of thing his entire career. I’m going to bring him down for what he’s done and he knows it, so he’s doing exactly what your first instinct is to do: deny everything. Which means he’s not going to back you up about what happened in Poland because that’s only going to expose him more than he is already. He’s not going to admit to sending you there because he’s got to explain why he sent you there. Are you following where I’m going with this or do I need to spell it out?’

  ‘I got a C in English.’

  Alvarez smirked. ‘I can’t come after you about your association with the killer or what you did while you were “undercover”, but those bulletproof documents of yours do not protect you from what happened since then. Only Procter can do that, and you’re just about the last person on this planet that he would risk himself to protect. So, if I come after you about what you did in Poland, then you’re all on your lonesome when it comes to the unauthorised rendition and torture of an American citizen. A piece of shit, granted, but still a citizen. He still had rights that you violated the hell out of.’

  Sykes said, ‘What do you want from me to leave me alone?’

  ‘There’s the Sykes I know. That Sykes gets a gold star for interpretation. You know what I want: I want Procter and I want the killer.’

  ‘Not me?’

  ‘Maybe I was premature giving you that gold star. I don’t want you, Kevin. I don’t care what you did. I don’t even care you pointed a gun at me. You were just an errand boy. You’re a no one. You were nothing then and you’re nothing now. You’re less than nothing.’

  Sykes looked away.

  Alvarez said, ‘I want you to think. I want you think real hard. If there’s anything else you know, anything that can help me, now’s the time. If I find out you’ve not been honest with me then I’ll ask Procter about Poland just to get my revenge. I’ll record him so I can play you his denial. I think he’ll say something like…’ He lowered his tone in imitation of Procter. ‘“I have no knowledge of Mr Sykes’ activities in Poland at that time. Anything he did, he did without my orders.” That sounds like him, right? That sounds like something he would say.’

  Sykes said, ‘I don’t know anything else. Like you said, I’m nothing.’

  ‘Okay. I’m going to believe you because I want to. I want to believe you’ve changed. You’ve made a lot of bad choices, but you’re capable of doing what’s right too. I hope that’s who you are now.’

  Sykes answered with a weak nod. ‘I’m trying to get back on the right track. I really am.’

  ‘I know,’ Alvarez said. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance. Even you.’

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Tiger stripes of colour filled the sky above Rome – the clouds forming thin strips of black silhouetted over the orange sunset. Not twilight, Victor thought, but not yet night either. The slim period between, only visible when facing what was left of the sun, where it could still colour the sky, darkness elsewhere. The rooftops blurred together to form a jagged horizon between. A glimmer of light from a faraway aircraft was almost star-like. He tried to imagine the passengers on board, their lives and relations, connections. Impossible to understand, beyond his experience and comprehension. He could smell perfume on the air as she neared.

  Raven looked the same as Victor remembered. She was tall and slim, but not weak. He knew, again from experience, that she could handle herself and handle herself well. Like Victor, she was deceptive in her strength. She carried herself with grace and poise, her posture straight yet relaxed; always ready to explode into action. Unlike his, her clothes were more stylish than practical. The cut of her suit was a little too flattering to offer the best manoeuvrability. The heels of her shoes were a little too high for running at maximum speed.

  He understood the reasoning. She was a woman, an attractive woman, and if she dressed down too far it would draw her the wrong kind of attention. Why didn’t she make the most of herself? She didn’t want potential threats identifying her that way. She would rather turn all heads than only the wrong ones. There were changes, though, from when he had last seen her. The hair was different. It was shorter than it had been. Then, shoulder length. Now, it reached the nape of her neck. Her skin had a darker tone too, nearer the colour of caramel than the cappuccino shade he remembered. Her eyes hadn’t changed. They were as black as his, if not more so. Even in the dim light it was hard not to stare at them.

  She smiled at him.

  ‘My, my,’ she said as she stopped before him, ‘if it isn’t the man who killed me.’

  ‘You look good for a corpse, Constance.’

  The smile disappeared. She sighed. ‘I’m more annoyed about your insistence on using my given name than the whole killing me. Please, call me Raven. Call me anything but Constance. I’ve told you I don’t like it. I’ve never liked it. I don’t mind Connie. Call me that, if you insist on ignoring my wishes.’

  ‘You’re not a Connie,’ he said.

  She blew out some smoke. ‘And is that a good thing or a bad thing?’

  ‘It’s no thing,’ he explained. ‘Connie is a nice name, but it’s not you.’

  ‘Neither is Constance,’ she said. ‘But that doesn’t stop you. Why here?’

  It was a small square, with few people nearby, but lots of ways in and out. There were bars surrounding it. A hot-dog stand in one part.

  Victor gestured at it. ‘These are hard to find in Rome.’

  She turned up her nose. ‘With good reason. Just seeing it here is an insult to Italian cuisine.’

  The young guy serving the hot dogs was dressed in red, white and blue. He handed Victor his order – extra onions, extra mustard, extra ketchup.

  Victor took a huge bite from the hot dog. Raven looked on with untempered disgust.

  He chewed for a short moment – between the soft dog and softer bread it didn’t take long – and wiped his mouth with a serviette.

  He said, ‘What?’

  ‘Do you actually know what’s in one of those things?’

  He nodded. ‘I do, and I choose not to think about it.’

  ‘You spend your entire life just trying to stay alive, and yet you’re happy to kill yourself a little at a time. I don’t get it.’

  He gestured to the hot dog, said, ‘This may not be good for the body, but it’s great for the soul,’ and took another bite.

  He smiled at her as he chewed.

  She looked away. ‘I think I’m going to vomit.’

  He swallowed and motioned to the young guy. ‘I’ll have a second one of these when you’re ready.’

  Raven said, ‘Cancer and heart disease aside, you should be more careful. I think you’ve put on some weight.’ She glanced at his midriff.

  Despite himself, Victor glanced too, and before he could utter a hasty defence he saw she was smiling, not because she was right but because she had made him look, because she had made him doubt himself.

  ‘Still annoying then,’ he sighed.

  She grinned. ‘And you’re as boring as ever.’

  ‘That must be why we get on so well,’ he said without inflection.

  She ignored the irony. ‘Yes, indeed. Imagine what it would be like if I were as humourless as you? We would never need to worry about our various enemies. We’d kill each other with dullness.’

  ‘We would be more successful with more professionalism, I agree.’

  She laughed. ‘See how well we bounce off one another.’ She paused and her eyes sparkled.

  ‘Just don’t,’ he said before she could speak.

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘So you were thinking the same thing I was.’

  ‘Only because I know you.�
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  ‘Oh, but you could know me so much better.’

  ‘You’re relentless.’

  ‘You have no idea.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘This is exhausting.’

  ‘Hmm, if you’re tired already, perhaps I’ve been giving your stamina too much credit.’

  ‘My level of endurance is exceptional, I assure you.’

  She chuckled, pleased with herself. ‘Despite the emotionless persona, you’re still human, still very much a man. Can’t let even the slightest slight to your masculinity go unchallenged, can you?’

  ‘What are you hoping to achieve with all this?’

  ‘I think it’s safe to say that I’ve achieved it.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘We can finally get down to business.’

  He realised what he’d said and grimaced before she had begun laughing.

  Victor didn’t respond. There were some fights he couldn’t win, so he concentrated on finishing his hot dog. He paid for the second one the young guy had wasted no time in assembling. Raven looked away while he ate.

  ‘Thank you for the flowers,’ she said, now genuine instead of glib. ‘They were beautiful, even if you only sent them so we could establish a means of communicating. But they helped me to forgive you.’

  ‘It was the least I could do.’

  ‘Do me a favour and tell me what you poisoned me with? It’s been driving me insane not knowing. Tedrotoxin?’

  He said, ‘A synthetic variant that I picked up on a job a while back. I was saving it for a special occasion.’

  ‘I’m flattered you felt so threatened by me.’ She looked him up and down. ‘Have you got taller?’

  ‘People always ask me that.’

  ‘People? You make it sound like there are those out there who actually know you.’

  ‘No, but there are those out there who believe they know me.’

  ‘Had you been anyone else, that would be one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.’

  He finished the second hot dog and cleaned his hands.

  Raven said, ‘Feel better now?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Walk with me. There’s a fabulous little bar nearby. They do excellent pudding wine.’

  She winked at him, and he did as she requested and they made their way out of the square, side by side, but with more distance than the couple they appeared to be from a casual observation.

  She said, ‘I take it you came here to cash in on your IOU.’

  He nodded again. ‘I saved your life so I want you to do the opposite for me.’

  ‘You’re not making any sense.’

  Victor said, ‘I want you to kill me.’

  TWENTY-NINE

  Samuel Cornish had a suit for every day of the week. Navy was the colour that saw him through Monday to Friday, two pinstripes, a three-piece, one double-breasted and a single; he had two stone browns for the weekend, when he could relax. He had a black suit too, for ceremonies and funerals. He was a very tall man, once in shape in an almost forgotten prototype version of himself, and had never worn anything but an XL. Now, he didn’t know what size he wore. It’s like ironing a tent, his dutiful sister remarked on a recent visit, when trying to get the creases out of one of his custom shirts. All his clothes were hand-made, not because he was so tall, but to accommodate his ever-expanding breadth. He was scared to check, but feared the circumference of his waist wouldn’t be far off his height.

  He had been called handsome in his youth, though he could never see it himself, and in middle age, no one called him handsome. His hair was thin and grey and not even a sky-blue tie could bring out the colour of his eyes, now pale and lost in the red around them. His cheeks were sagging into jowls and his forehead never stopped frowning despite all the fat to plump out his features. He would look ill if not for the pinkish tinge of health in his cheeks, but it was a sign of high blood pressure. He didn’t feel stressed, but he hadn’t worked up a sweat by choice in decades. He sweated all day long just in his skin. Exercise was for the vain or those afraid of mortality, and he was neither. His doctor implored him to take better care of himself. Too late now, he always retorted. He would rather live another two decades eating cheese and drinking wine than three spent miserable on a treadmill.

  He popped a couple of painkillers on his way to pick up his evening coffee. It was awkward opening the bottle with one hand pretty much out of action, but he had adapted fairly fast to the injured wrist. He had bluffed his way through the conversation with his doctor, claiming he had fallen, he had been clumsy, a silly accident, being stupid, just give me some pills, okay?

  The doctor, a good and decent little old Italian who wasn’t averse to patching up the occasional mafioso, had fixed Cornish a wrist support. It was badly hyperextended and swollen. Keep it elevated. Rested. Be careful.

  Yeah, yeah. Cornish wasn’t stupid. He knew how to be careful.

  Which was why Paolo Totti wouldn’t be hearing of Cornish’s encounter with the bitch from hell. No one had, in fact, and no one would. He hadn’t told his colleagues at the bank. His ego, though as bruised as his wrist, had nothing to do with that. It was bad for business for word to get around that Cornish’s lips could be prised open with little more than a letter opener. He had binned the letter opener. He couldn’t bear to look at it any longer.

  Whoever she was, whatever she wanted, it was someone else’s problem now.

  Totti’s, to be specific. But regardless of her jiu-jitsu or whatever it was, she wasn’t going to be able to do that with a proper gangster and get away with it. Those guys were all about ego, all about reputation. Totti being bent over a desk by a girl would bring down his whole outfit. He’d never live it down. He’d rather do a stretch than take that kind of hit to his street cred. The bosses would never trust him with anything again.

  Not. My. Problem.

  Cornish slurped from his espresso, after blowing away steam. It took a triple shot to get Cornish’s motor running in the morning, and he liked to have the same later in the day to ensure he didn’t fall asleep the second he flopped onto the sofa. Since he had moved to Italy all those long years ago the popularity of proper coffee had exploded back in his homeland. There were more coffee shops in London than pubs by a factor of… well, he didn’t know. It would be a lot, he was sure, if anyone bothered to count. But the best Italian coffee in London wouldn’t touch the worst of Rome. It was something beyond the beans, beyond roasting and grinding. Maybe it was the water.

  Whatever, it was good and he made the espresso last while he strolled home from the office. He lived a couple of miles from the bank and walked every now and again when the weather was nice but not too nice and he had a low-hassle morning. The espresso bar at the midpoint gave him a chance to rest and recharge for the second leg, which he needed to do.

  He saw an old man approaching on the pavement. He was well dressed, and had an innocent, almost juvenile, smile – the kind that arrived with ease and lingered long after the moment had passed – as if he took humour in all things, because life was a gift and every experience could be positive if only the person allowed it to be so.

  Cornish smiled too, despite the soreness in his wrist. Considering he laundered mob money for a living, which carried plenty of dangers worse than he had suffered, life was indeed a gift. He should be more grateful.

  ‘Excuse me,’ the old man said in English as they neared, ‘Do you happen to have the time?’

  Cornish stopped and extended his left arm to reveal his platinum Rolex and looked at the watch face. ‘Three minutes after eight.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the old man said. He was an American.

  Cornish said you’re welcome but made no sound. He felt faint.

  There was a tickle on his neck and he realised the old man was holding a hypodermic syringe. Cornish rubbed at the source of the tickle and saw a smear of blood on his fingertips.

  He would have fallen had two sets of strong hands not steadied him. Two men he hadn’t even seen gu
ided him to a parked SUV and into the back seat.

  The last thing Cornish saw before he blacked out was the old man’s innocent smile.

  THIRTY

  The evening air was warm and dry. They waited until there were no passers-by before they continued their conversation.

  Raven said, ‘You’re joking, of course.’

  ‘I’m not suicidal, Constance,’ Victor said, ‘if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

  ‘So you’re saying that you want me to appear to kill you?’

  He nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, I can’t pretend that I’m not surprised. I never expected you’d want out. I never thought you would be the one to retire first. I never thought you would retire, at all. Ever.’

  ‘I’m not retiring,’ Victor explained. ‘I’m resetting. My life is becoming more complicated than I can manage, so a simple way for it to become less complicated is if certain people out there were led to believe I’d met with an unfortunate, but deserved, end.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘I see. Reset. Unburden. Start again.’

  ‘It’s a temporary solution, perhaps. I don’t imagine it will fool people for long, but for a good head start, at least. Long enough for priorities to have changed, promotions and demotions to have taken place, maybe the odd heart attack. It might be a different world before anyone realises what really happened.’

  ‘Why now? What’s happened in the last year?’

  ‘New York is part of it, of course. That’s kicked up plenty of fallout, as is to be expected. There’s also an open contract out on me, brokered by someone named Phoenix, presumably at the behest of your pals in the Consensus. I’ve been trying to track him down, but it’s a long process. I’m not sure how close I am.’

  ‘I know of Phoenix. The Consensus have used him before, so I can’t say I’m surprised by this. They know me personally, so they’ve never needed to go via third parties. You, however, are a different case. Why not lie low for a while? It’s good policy every now and again. I wish I had that luxury. But that still doesn’t explain what’s happened recently to make you want to disappear, especially if you’re still trying to find Phoenix.’