The Final Hour (Victor The Assassin 7)

by Tom Wood

  Niven was trying to process the situation he was in and what had led to it and he was struggling. Victor helped him out:

  ‘All of your guys are dead. You’re concussed. You’re not going anywhere. And I want answers.’

  Niven said, ‘You need to let me go, Ben. You need to let me go right now. If you don’t let me go, then other people will come for you. They’ll kill you. They’ll kill Suzanne. You need to think about what you’re doing. You’re making a terrible mistake. You need to fix it before it’s too late.’

  The barn was cold. The only heat was provided by a wood-burning stove. It was an old bulbous thing made of cast iron, almost a relic of another era. Victor fed it another piece of wood. He held his hands before it.

  ‘You’re out of your depth,’ Niven said, adjusting his seating position on the floor. It was hard without use of his hands. ‘You’re stepping into a world you can’t hope to understand. If you could, you’d run. You’d be running now. You should run while you still can.’

  Victor opened a large leather sports bag he had found in the Ford Explorer. ‘Let me see… a multi-tool, claw hammer, belt sander, pliers, nail gun, morphine, and epinephrine. Quite the collection.’

  ‘They were just to scare you if you didn’t comply.’

  Victor said, ‘Do they scare you?’

  ‘Don’t do anything you’re going to regret.’

  ‘Trust me, I won’t.’

  Niven said, ‘If you let me go, I’ll tell you anything you want. I can tell you who I was working for, what they want with your sister. Everything.’

  ‘You’ve got that right, but the wrong way around. You’re going to tell me all of that first.’

  Niven managed to get up to his knees, but it made him grimace. ‘Ben, listen to me. You have no idea what’s going on here. I’m just a guy doing a job. The people I work for are the worst of the worst. It’s your sister they want. They’re just using you to get her to do what they want. Let me go and I can help you, and I can help her. I know things.’

  Victor said, ‘You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?’

  Niven was silent. He was confused. Maybe it was the concussion. Maybe he was dumb.

  Victor ran a hand over his fresh buzz cut. It was enough to make Niven understand.

  ‘You’re not Mayes.’

  ‘Finally,’ Victor said. ‘So, maybe this realisation will help expedite this conversation. I’m an associate of Ben’s sister. You know, Raven. She asked me to assist in resolving this matter. She’s not very happy you came here to kill her little brother and his wife.’

  ‘I was following orders,’ Niven was quick to say. ‘We were only threatening him. We were never going to kill either of them. We’re not barbarians. We’re not monsters.’

  Victor said, ‘It takes a monster to know another monster.’

  Niven was silent. Victor warmed his hands on the heat from the stove.

  ‘The people you work for,’ he began, ‘the people who are doing this to Raven, put out a contract on me. It’s been quite the nuisance.’

  Niven stretched out his arms so the rope binding his hands was braced against the vertical beam. He used that leverage to stand up. ‘You’re the hitman. I’ve heard of you.’

  ‘I’m really not fond of that term,’ Victor said. ‘There’s no need to romanticise what I do. I’m just a killer.’

  ‘Whatever you are, you’re messing with the wrong people by siding with Raven, but it’s not too late to back out. It’s not too late to pick the winning side. Let me go and I can get you a seat at the table.’

  Victor stared into the flames. ‘Men with a seat at the table don’t end up captive in an isolated barn in the Scottish countryside.’

  ‘I’m a man who gets things done. That’s why they use me. That’s why you can use me.’

  ‘It’s in your best interest to tell me everything you know as succinctly as possible.’

  Niven said, ‘No way. I know how this shit works. I’m alive because of what I know and what you want to know. I tell you what you want, I lose my bargaining power. Ain’t gonna happen, pal. I’ve been in your shoes too many times. I know exactly how this goes.’

  ‘Ignorance is bliss.’

  Niven stared at him. ‘You don’t have any idea who you’re dealing with.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Victor agreed. ‘I don’t know who you are and I don’t care who you are. But you need to start caring about who I am, because, whatever you’ve done, whatever you’re capable of, I’ve done worse.’

  ‘You can’t scare me,’ Niven said.

  ‘Fear is but one aspect of what I can do, but I understand why I can’t scare you. You don’t really know me. But you know your employers. You know what they’ll do to you if they find out you’ve talked.’

  Niven’s arms were locked out because he was trying to get as close to Victor as possible. ‘You’re right about that. And it’ll never happen, because I won’t talk. I don’t know much about you but I know who I’m dealing with. I can see it in your eyes. You can’t scare me because you’re not going to do anything. You’re trying to make me think you’ll do it. All the talking is just that: talking. You’ll get frustrated eventually and slap me around a bit, but torture? Are you kidding me? You don’t have it in you.’

  Victor said, ‘In a way, you’re right, because the best torturers enjoy what they do. That gives them an edge over me because I take no pleasure in hurting people. I am, however, very, very good at it.’

  ‘You think I can’t take a beating?’ Niven spat at Victor. ‘Try me.’

  ‘Pain, like fear, is one aspect of what we can achieve here. The fear of pain is as effective as the pain itself. Usually, you’re restricted. Time, facilities, pressure all affect the process. Here, we’re all alone in the middle of nowhere. There are going to be no interruptions. I am, however, on a limited time frame. I have to be on a plane in the morning. We don’t have all that long.’

  Niven didn’t respond because he thought he had been given an advantage. He thought the limited time frame helped him.

  ‘We’ve mentioned pain,’ Victor said, ‘and we’ve mentioned fear. As a man who is experienced in these matters, you will know the third, and arguably most powerful, aspect of what I can do to convince you to be veracious with me.’

  Niven said nothing. He was confused. He didn’t know.

  ‘Horror,’ Victor said. ‘If pain doesn’t work, if fear won’t work, then horror will.’

  He pointed to the wood stove. ‘That fire has been burning for a while now. It’s about as hot as it’s ever going to get. The stove itself is like a cooking plate right now. I bet you could fry bacon on that.’

  Niven couldn’t help but stare.

  Victor approached a pile of logs and picked up the axe that had split them. It was a well-used tool, heavy and marked. He approached Niven.

  Niven hadn’t blinked in a long time.

  ‘I understand the problem,’ Victor said. ‘You’re not like the guy who thought he was watching Ben, or the others I killed tonight. You’re the boss. You’re in charge. You’re the one who knows about your employers. You’re the one who knows the price of failure. More importantly, you know the price of betrayal. So, your will is hardened right now because you think, whatever I threaten you with, whatever I do, they’ll do worse. Right?’

  Niven didn’t answer, but his eyes answered yes.

  ‘Which is the problem I’ve mentioned. But it’s not my problem. It’s yours. I don’t have all night to explain to you, to convince you, that you’re wrong. I need to prove that you’re wrong. I need to prove to you that, whatever you’ve done, whatever they might do, I’ll do worse.’

  Sweat was dripping from Niven’s face despite the cold.

  Victor said, ‘I’m going to take this axe and I’m going to hack off one of your hands. The blade is dull and I couldn’t find a whetstone so it might take a couple of blows to do the job, so you’ll need to be patient. The pain and the fear will be like nothing
you’ve ever experienced, but the horror of watching the stump where your wrist used to be spray blood everywhere is going to be like nothing you can even imagine. At that point you won’t be worried by what your employers might do to you. You’ll bleed to death in about two minutes. Which is why I’m telling you now: don’t forget the stove. When I sever your hand, you’re going to be free of that post. It’s only 20 feet to that stove, but it’s going to feel like a mile. Focus on it now, because you’re going to be in shock. When you cauterise the wound against the cast iron, you’re probably going to pass out, but I’ll wake you up again. If your heart stops, I’ll use the epinephrine you brought to bring you back. If you don’t talk to me then, if you don’t give what I want to know about your employers, I’ll take your other hand. After that, I’ll start improvising. Are you ready?’

  Niven’s gaze flicked between the axe and Victor’s eyes. ‘You… you can’t be serious.’

  Victor raised the axe.

  FORTY-NINE

  Ben Mayes looked a little older than Victor but Mayes spent his days working in the elements and didn’t seem the kind who bothered with sunscreen and moisturiser. They had a certain similarity in appearance because they had the same buzz cut, pale skin and comparable physiques; Mayes was used to hard labour. He was used to a physical, but simple, life. In every sense, he was a civilian. An innocent by any standards. Victor couldn’t help but note how their lives had played out to the most extreme conclusions.

  Mayes was a reasonable man put in an unreasonable position. He had taken Victor’s explanation of events in the way any reasonable man put in an unreasonable position would: with resistance. It was expected, and Victor had given the man no choice but to do as he was told. At first light, Victor unlocked the doors to a stone steading and heaved them open. Mayes was awake, and squinted as the dawn found his eyes. He looked tired, but alert. He hadn’t slept. Victor removed the gag and untied him.

  ‘You can come out now.’

  ‘What happened last night?’

  He had a curious accent, sounding more English than Scottish, but still American too. Not mid-Atlantic, though. Something else. Something different. It made Victor wonder what his own accent might be, if he ever again elected to speak in his own voice. Did that voice even exist any more?

  ‘Some things are best left unsaid.’

  He offered his hand and Mayes took it, using it as a brace to climb the short, crooked steps and out into the dawn.

  Mayes attacked him.

  He was strong and pretty fast, but he was an amateur. A civilian. He was on his back and winded before he understood his mistake.

  Victor offered his hand a second time. Mayes hesitated and took it and Victor heaved him up. Mayes grunted as he came to his feet and swiped soil from his clothes.

  This time Mayes didn’t try anything. The lesson had been learned.

  ‘I’ve never been in a fight before,’ Mayes said. ‘Does that count?’

  ‘I’m not your enemy,’ Victor said.

  Mayes shrugged as he rubbed at his back where he had struck the ground. He was wary. He was unsure. He had probably spent all night in the steading trying to make sense of something that made no sense.

  ‘Why do you smell like bleach?’

  Victor didn’t answer.

  ‘I heard gunshots. Screams.’

  ‘I expect you heard a lot of things.’

  Mayes sniffed the air, smelling smoke, and turned to where Victor had made a small fire pit. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You don’t have an incinerator. I had to burn things. Clothes, mostly.’

  Mayes said, ‘What happens now?’

  Victor explained: ‘We have some things to sort out here that I need your help with, and when we’re finished you need to collect your wife and go on a road trip. It’s a surprise, you’ll tell her. You want to whisk her away and be spontaneous. Away from phone reception and distractions. Say whatever you have to say. Tell her whatever you need to, so long as it isn’t the truth. Take plenty of clothes. Withdraw as much cash as you can and drive three hours before spending a penny of it. Stay moving. Don’t pay for anything with a credit card. Don’t show ID. Try to avoid CCTV cameras. You might be gone for a week, maybe two.’

  Mayes squinted into the dawn. ‘You want us to go on the run without knowing why. Who are we running from? I don’t understand any of this. How am I meant to believe anything you’ve told me? You held me captive. I can’t trust anything you say.’

  Victor said, ‘Come with me.’

  Mayes hesitated.

  ‘It’s not an order, Ben. It’s a recommendation.’

  He led Mayes to a pickup truck. It was Mayes’. An old, rusted workhorse of a vehicle. Faded paint. Mud-caked tyres.

  ‘That’s my truck.’

  ‘Do you have a heart condition? Any history of heart disease in the family? Blood pressure issues?’

  Mayes shook his head.

  ‘Then take a look under the tarpaulin.’

  Mayes hesitated.

  Victor said, ‘I’ll wait here.’

  A sheet was stretched across the truck’s load bed, but one corner had been left unfastened. Mayes approached, looked to Victor for reassurance he didn’t receive, and lifted the flap back. He looked beneath.

  The colour drained from his face and he turned fast to throw up.

  Victor waited until the man had composed himself. He offered Mayes a rag to wipe his mouth with.

  After he had, Mayes said, ‘They’re dead?’

  ‘If they’re not, they’re incredible actors.’

  ‘Who are… were they?’

  Victor said, ‘I don’t know all of their names and you don’t want to know any more than you have to. All that matters is they were sent to kill you and your wife. Your sister will find out who sent them, and make sure this can’t happen again. Then you’ll be able to come home.’

  ‘You and my sister… you said you guys are friends.’

  ‘I said we’re acquaintances.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Even Victor wasn’t sure. ‘It means we have a complicated relationship. But at the moment we’re on the same side.’

  Mayes grimaced and glanced back at the truck, as if he wanted to take another look under the tarpaulin, as if he needed to see again to make sense of what he saw. He’d moved from shock to denial, but he stopped himself because he wasn’t sure what he hoped to achieve.

  ‘They’re… That’s all your doing?’

  Victor nodded.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Why?’

  Mayes was perplexed. ‘I don’t know why I asked that. Jesus.’

  Victor frowned but said nothing.

  ‘I don’t know whether to laugh or throw up again.’

  ‘Maybe try not thinking about them. Be glad it’s those men in there and not you and your wife.’

  ‘I am,’ Mayes insisted, still pale. He looked again towards the dawn and took a few steps. He turned to face Victor. ‘Man, go on the run? Is this for real? I should just wait until you’ve gone and call the police. I’m friends with the local PC. They’ll be here within the hour.’

  ‘That’s not a good idea, Ben.’

  ‘Why? Because you’re worried they’ll find out what’s going on? Because you don’t want them on your ass for killing all those guys?’

  ‘There are two equally good reasons, neither of them having anything to do with me worrying. The first is that if you value your friendship with the policeman then the last thing you want is for him to catch up with me.’

  Mayes understood, even if he didn’t want to understand. ‘What’s the second thing?’

  Victor said, ‘In a life-threatening situation, whether terrorism or a rockslide, what kills most people is slowness to react. Regular lives are so safe, so eventless, that there is a lack of comprehension when faced with death. It’s not necessarily shock. It’s disbelief. It’s dismissal. Civilians say to themselves: I’ve got this wrong; this isn’t what I
think. But it is, and by the time they’ve realised, it’s too late. And, of course, sometimes they do in fact have it wrong. They’ve misread the situation, and they’re left embarrassed, maybe ashamed. But…’

  ‘But they’re alive,’ Mayes finished.

  Victor nodded.

  ‘I know what you’re doing.’

  ‘You’re a smart man. So do the smart thing. When you’re back from your road trip with Suzanne, if you still feel angry, call the cops. You can tell them everything. You lose nothing by waiting. But you could lose everything by acting hastily.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Mayes said.

  ‘Does anything I’ve said or done make sense if I mean you harm?’

  Mayes was silent for a long time. Victor said nothing further.

  ‘When we were kids, Constance always wanted to see the world. She was never settled. Never happy. Me, I like home. I don’t like travelling.’

  ‘You don’t have to like it,’ Victor said.

  ‘You never told me your name,’ Mayes said. ‘I’m guessing that was deliberate.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Assuming everything you say is true, then thank you for saving my life and that of my wife.’

  Victor said, ‘There’s no need to thank me. This is no act of altruism. I had my own reasons for coming here.’

  Mayes didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet for a moment. ‘You’re a hard guy to like, you know? And I’m taking it into consideration that you saved my life.’

  Victor nodded. ‘There are many things I aim to be, but likeable is not one of them.’

  ‘It shows, man. It really does.’ Mayes pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. ‘You know something? I’ve never learned to surf. I hear they have good waves down in Newquay. Now seems like the perfect time to try, don’t you think?’