by Mark Nolan
Yet when he replied to the text message, he re-framed the facts of the situation to impress upon the mind of Chairman Banks that he should be pleased with this recent development: You wanted to cause fear. This will help to cause far more of it. You should pay me an extra bonus for these extra results.
Banks didn’t reply to the text. The Artist gave a fatalistic shrug of his shoulders and said in Russian, “Pej do dná,” which meant “drink to the bottom.” And he tossed back the rest of his vodka in one practiced gulp.
He stood up and looked out the window at the city. The news hadn’t shown his vehicle license plate, but the police might have it. He would have to get rid of his SUV and switch it out for one of the backup vehicles. There were several cars parked nearby in a hidden location, ready to be used when needed.
His next challenge was how and where to deal with this troublesome investigative photojournalist Jake Wolfe. The man would not simply lose interest and go away on his own behalf. His kind never did, they believed in the freedom of the press and the First Amendment and all of those American ideals that The Artist didn’t understand.
Wolfe had to be eliminated with surgical precision and forcibly retired. It would also send a message to all of the other journalists that they should not get too close. In his home country of Russia, journalists were killed under mysterious circumstances every month. The reason he knew this was because he’d killed many of them himself, and made their deaths look like an accident or a routine crime such as robbery that had gone badly.
Perhaps he should just kill the bothersome man right now and get it over with. If he was lucky he might find Wolfe at his office, and since luck favored action he would take action immediately.
He got dressed and left his room, took the elevator to the ground floor and exited the hotel through a different side door than the one he’d used to enter. He walked a circular route to his car, to make sure he wasn’t being followed by anyone, then drove the car to a dark alley and parked. The alley was deserted and nobody saw him open the back hatch, reach into a duffel bag and take out a new pair of license plates.
The Artist quickly applied strips of thick, double-sided permanent mounting tape to the back of the new license plates. He pressed one of the new plates on top of the original plate at the back of the car, and then repeated the procedure for the plate at the front. The heavy-duty all-weather tape quickly molded itself between the plates and held the new ones on tight.
Next, he got out three adhesive plastic signs, peeled off the backing and stuck one sign onto each of the two rear passenger door windows of the car. The third sign went onto the back hatch window. Now the vehicle had new license plates and it advertised a non-existent tech company on three windows. Hopefully, the disguise would work long enough for him to make the short drive to the hidden location where he would switch cars. Then he’d drive to the offices of the television station that had broadcast the video. If that bothersome man Jake Wolfe was at work, he would kill him. If he was not, he’d hunt him down. One way or the other, the man would die before the end of the day. This was personal. Nobody challenged The Artist so boldly and lived to tell about it.
Chapter 19
Jake arrived at the news station, and he parked in the lot across the street. Before getting out of his car, he used his camera’s telephoto lens to look around the area for any signs of the killer. He checked windows and rooftops and parked cars, but he didn’t see any threats. He got out of his Jeep and quickly walked across the street. And as he walked he felt as if there was a target painted on his back.
He entered the building and cut through the lobby, then went down a hallway to his cubicle and sat down at his desk. On one of his cubicle walls was a framed book cover from a Dilbert book titled, “14 Years of Loyal Service in a Fabric-Covered Box.” It showed a drawing of Dilbert in a cubicle similar to the one Jake was in at the moment. It was a reminder that one of Jake’s goals in life had been to avoid getting stuck in a cubicle like this. Where had he gone wrong?
Jake’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard Norman ranting and raving somewhere nearby. The voice of doom seemed to be getting closer and louder. Jake decided it was time to grab the notes and papers he’d come for, head in the other direction and leave the building. His grouchy boss really did fire people on a regular basis, and Jake was probably next on his list of people to let go. But he moved too late, Norman spotted him and yelled, “Wolfe, in my office, now.”
Jake sighed and began walking in that direction. Norman went into his office and started yelling at someone on his phone. Outside of the office door in a reception area, a female senior citizen secretary named Debbie sat at a desk. She and Jake were best buddies. Debbie had an unlit cigarette in the corner of her mouth. The filter was red where her lipstick had rubbed off onto it.
Up on the wall behind Debbie’s desk was a huge stuffed buffalo head that had been mounted there as a trophy on display. Jake stared at the dead head in surprise. Debbie nodded sadly at him.
“That must be new, I’m pretty sure if I’d seen a giant animal head above your desk before I would have remembered it,” Jake said.
“Nothing gets by you Sherlock,” Debbie said. “That’s why you’ve got a corner cubicle.”
“They’re all corner cubicles, in four-part quads.”
“Good at math too. Such a smart boy.”
“I don’t suppose that’s your buffalo head on the wall?”
“No it was just hanging there when I came in to work this morning. I was so surprised I almost dropped my cup of complicated coffee mocha latte frappe vanilla foam what-the-heck drink.”
“Is it some kind of prank?”
“Norman called it his trophy. He went to a bison ranch and paid money to shoot one of the noble beasts, and then had a taxidermist preserve the head and ship it here in a giant box via FedEx.”
“And now you get to sit under it all day.”
“I’m looking online at job listings right now. I can’t work for this crazy man any longer.”
“You can’t leave us. This place will fall apart. I’ll have to come up with a creative scheme to get Bison-Zilla out of your office.”
“Thank you, you’re a good boy, no matter what Norman says about you.”
“Can you tell our great headhunter that I had to leave the office and go follow up on a hot news tip?”
“Yes and I won’t mention that you actually went to your branch office at the Irish pub,” Debbie said, and she waved goodbye.
Jake walked quickly down the hallway and toward the front entry of the building. When he reached the front door, a young woman opened it and rushed in as he was hurrying out. At the moment before they collided, Jake noticed that she had long silky dark hair, a beautiful smile, and cute eyes behind a pair of black horn rim glasses. Her outfit suggested that she might be a doctor or nurse. She had on black slacks, rubber-soled shoes and a dressy blouse with a white, medical-type, knee-length coat worn over it. The woman seemed distracted, maybe even worried as she and Jake crashed into each other. She dropped a file full of papers and a paperback book on the floor.
“Oops, let me get those for you.”
He went down on one knee to gather up the file and the book. The woman bent down at the same time, and they bumped their heads together.
“Ouch,” she said, and stood up and held a hand to her head.
Still on one knee, Jake held the file and book up to her, and she reached out her hands for them. She looked down over the top of her glasses, and then got an amused look on her face. Jake realized that he was on one knee like he was going to propose marriage. He was holding out the file as if it was a box with a ring inside, and she was reaching out for it.
Jake smiled at her, stood up and said, “Sorry about the head butt, I usually just say hello when I meet someone.”
She smiled and said, “That’s okay, but now you’re on my list, that’s all.”
“Oh, is it a long list or am I special?”
&
nbsp; “No, it’s not a long list,” she said. “Not the head butt list segment anyway. So I guess you’re pretty special.”
Jake looked into her eyes and without thinking he said, “Thanks, I think you’re… pretty… special too.”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment. She felt that his eyes burned with worldly experience. It was difficult for her to look away.
“Uhm, well, sorry I ran into you,” she said.
“No worries, I hope we run into each other again sometime soon. And I promise, no head butt next time.”
She laughed and her eyes sparkled, and a dimple appeared on one cheek.
“You have a wonderful laugh,” Jake said. It was the truth, and it had just popped right out of his mouth.
She blinked at him several times. And she was silently thinking that this hot boy appeared to be genuinely sincere, interested in her, and hella good looking. She started to say something but then a cloud seemed to pass across her eyes. She took a deep breath and nodded regretfully at him.
“Thanks, it was fun bumping into you, literally, but I’m late for an appointment and I’ve got to go,” she said.
She turned away and walked purposefully into the building toward the reception desk. Jake watched her walk away, and he wished she’d said whatever it was that had been on the tip of her tongue. He found her intriguing. Although at first glance many people would judge her appearance as somewhat average, like the cute girl next door, not what society trends currently considered “celebrity beautiful.” But he found her very attractive in a geek girl kind of way that he’d always liked. Women who wore glasses and read books were his kryptonite.
Jake turned around and walked out the door of the building. Once he was outside he looked at nearby buildings for any signs of a sniper. He didn’t notice that the cute woman he’d met had just then stopped, turned and looked back in his direction.
The woman stood there looking out through the big front windows at Jake as he walked away. She was feeling conflicted emotions, but then she heard the receptionist say, “May I help you?”
“Yes I’m Sarah Chance,” she said. “I have an appointment with Jennifer in the advertising department.”
“One moment and I’ll page Jennifer for you.”
While Sarah waited for the sales person to arrive, she turned and took another last look at the man she’d bumped into, noticing the sexy and confident way he walked. Sarah was thinking that it wasn’t every day she met a hot guy with dreamy dark sensitive eyes, a lean muscular body and a fun sense of humor. The way he’d gazed into her eyes, like he could see into her soul, had made her heart beat faster.
Sarah heard Jennifer call her name, and she saw the woman walking toward her. It reminded Sarah of her sense of purpose and her reason for being here. She was facing a crisis; an attorney had filed a lawsuit against her. The legal proceedings were scaring away customers and destroying her new business right when it had been starting to grow.
She had her back to the wall, so she’d decided to try advertising on television. She would not give up. She’d fight for her career and her future, avoid bankruptcy and turn her life around. Having a boyfriend would just be a distraction right now. She was a woman on a mission. She had to succeed and she would succeed, no matter what.
With that strong feeling of resolve, Sarah took a deep breath and tried to block the charming guy out of her mind. Meeting him wasn’t fate, it was just a random encounter that didn’t mean anything. Nothing could distract her or stop her from achieving her goals, nothing and no one. Not even that hot guy. But damn, his jeans sure did fit him nicely.
Chapter 20
Chairman Banks sat in the back seat of his limousine. He pressed a button to make the privacy window rise up out of the padded divider between the front and back seats and quietly slide into place. The window appeared to be made of a similar thick, darkened glass as most were. But this one was also a high tech flat screen television. The vehicle was equipped with added soundproofing and extra dark windows. It was a good place to conduct private meetings, in person or on a conference call.
Banks was currently using a sophisticated satellite call software program that was encrypted for privacy. It had been created at great expense for the sole use of Banks and his associates. In order to ensure total secrecy, the software developer had been killed after he’d completed the job. No government agency or criminal organization had penetrated this system so far.
He entered a password and logged into a secret conference with the other ultra-wealthy members of their private group known as The Council. No member showed his or her face on the screen, only an outline of their country. The person who was represented by a map of Germany spoke up first.
“Guten Tag, Chairman, how are things going with the wet work in San Francisco?”
“You can see the first results of our cleaner’s work on the local news here right now,” Banks said. “Look at it online and you’ll be pleased with the way our plans are going.”
A princess from Belgium spoke next and said, “And when shall we expect the second event to occur?”
“Our man will perform the three kills as quickly as possible,” Banks answered. “He is methodical in his methods, but he also knows we are on a tight schedule and require quick results.”
A Frenchman asked, “How do we know we can trust this hired gun, The Artist?”
“As I said when I hired him, Ivan Zhukov is one of the most respected and feared killers in the world. His services cost a fortune and for good reason. He is simply one of the best at what he does.”
“Our concern is that we heard a rumor he might lose his temper on rare occasions,” a Russian man said. “And one time in the past year his anger caused a problem. It was in Monaco I think, many people died as collateral damage.”
“That unfortunate event was a one-time thing that has never happened again. I’m keeping a close eye on Zhukov. We are prepared to have him terminated if he goes off track, makes a mistake or crosses us in any way.”
There was silence for a few moments while every person on the call thought about how any one of them could also be killed if they crossed the others in any way. That had happened before and it could again at any time.
A woman from Switzerland said, “I’m looking at an online news report right now, and I see that a photojournalist named Jake Wolfe has somehow obtained images and video of our cleaner pointing a rifle at him, and then pushing a golf cart down a street and driving away in a car.”
There were murmurings of dissatisfaction among the group but Chairman Banks was ready for this.
“That is actually a good thing because it creates plenty of news publicity and causes more fear, which in turn applies additional pressure to the individual we wish to persuade,” Banks said. “And our hired man was wearing a facial disguise at the time so he will not be recognizable in this news coverage.”
A man from South Africa said, “I still don’t like it. If Wolfe gets any closer, we’ll have to deal with him.”
“Of course,” Banks said.
The woman from Switzerland cleared her throat. “Shall we conclude this meeting?”
“Yes if there aren’t any further questions we can adjourn, and meet again tomorrow for an update on the second scheduled event,” Banks said.
There were no questions or objections. The icon of the map of Switzerland blinked and went blank. It was followed by the maps of Germany, France, Italy, Brazil, Japan, South Africa, Russia, China, Saudi Arabia, India, Canada, Mexico, Australia, and many other countries from around the world.
“Cheers,” Banks said, and he too exited the conference, causing the map icon of the United Kingdom to go blank.
With that meeting out of the way, Banks had one more to deal with. He called The Artist and tapped his fingers impatiently on the limousine’s leather armrest as he waited for Ivan Zhukov to answer the phone.
Zhukov was driving his car down a street lined with business warehouses, heading for one
in particular where his backup cars were stashed. His phone vibrated with a unique sequence and he answered and said, “What can I do for you Chairman Banks?”
“Sorry to bother you but I believe you asked me to keep you informed if any problems might arise on my end of this little project.”
“Yes, I did, what is the problem?”
“The other members are worried about this curious fellow named Jake Wolfe who seems to be crossing paths with you and publishing pictures and videos of you for the world to see.”
“Worried enough to want him eliminated?”
“Yes, quite so.”
“If you’re willing to pay me to make that problem go away, I can take care of it right now,” Zhukov said.
“Now would be good; we want the public to know about the lawyer deaths but we’d prefer to control the flow of information,” Banks said. “We don’t need that photojournalist acting like a private investigator.”
“I’ll expect the usual fee for this job, half now and half upon completion.”
“Yes, of course, I was calling to offer you the usual arrangements, and since we agree on it I’ll have the bank gnomes wire half of the funds to your currently designated account immediately.”
Zhukov smiled and wondered if Banks was lying about how he’d been intending to offer the usual payment to kill Wolfe. Lying was like breathing to Banks. But Zhukov had to admit that he was lying too. Now he’d earn another huge sum of money for work he would’ve done for free.
“You are very professional as always, that’s why it’s a pleasure working with you,” Zhukov said.
“Thank you, I’ll leave you to it then,” Banks said and ended the call.
Banks breathed a sigh of relief. This was a dangerous business he was in, where people died if they made one false move. He immediately sent word to one of his offshore banks to wire the funds to the current account Zhukov was using at the moment. A message came back saying that the transaction would be taken care of immediately. Money always greased the wheels of life, and Banks felt better knowing that the large sum was being delivered to The Artist. With that done, Banks lowered the thick glass display screen between himself and his driver.