by Frank Stein
SEVENTY
Next up was Charter Capital—the Southern contingent. Since there were three of them, things would be slightly more complicated, though not by much. The plan would stay pretty much the same. We’d ask them to leave their phones by the door and then come in and sit. Chances were that all three wouldn’t sit on the couch, which meant that one of them would be on an armchair and would be able to see us dropping the plastic chokers over the other two.
Mo was betting that Caitlin, being the boss as well as the only woman, would take the armchair. James and Robert, the two men, would probably claim the couch.
We’d still drop the plastic ties over the men’s heads from behind, but we’d have to move fast, since we’d expect Caitlin to start shouting and run for the hotel phone—which was disconnected—or the door.
Caitlin was probably in her early forties. She was slim, but didn’t appear to be particularly strong or athletic. Mo wanted to handle Caitlin herself, with me blocking the path to the door in case something unexpected went down. The plan was to use a plastic tie for Caitlin as well, although there would probably be a struggle before Mo got it over her head. Still, I had seen Mo handle people far bigger than Caitlin, and I didn’t expect it to take very long.
Mo and I didn’t say much for the rest of the hour. It was a comfortable silence, with each of us adrift in the semi-trance that I had come to recognize as a key element in the buildup to a kill. Although the window was sealed shut, I could imagine the sounds of the surf breaking gently against the Manhattan shoreline, the soft purr of the speedboats racing up the Hudson, and the comical horns of the tugs and barges and miscellaneous other watercraft that filled the blue space twenty-three floors below us.
As if part of the dream, a gentle knock appeared at the door. I snapped to attention and stood up in an instant. Game time.
Mo took her place by the bar so it would look like she was getting herself something from the small fridge. I went to the door and opened it, making sure to step back so that no one would offer to shake hands.
Of course, I had underestimated the warmth and politeness that had been bred into the two Southern gentlemen, and both Robert and James moved briskly towards me with outstretched hands. I greeted them both with vigorous handshakes, and prepared to answer the obvious question about my gloves. To my surprise, neither of them commented on it. As I said, I had underestimated their politeness.
I smiled and asked them to place their phones on the table near the entryway. Now, this did seem to offend them, and perhaps even concern them a bit. Caitlin’s expression made it quite clear that she neither understood nor expected to understand the reason for my unusual request, and Mo stepped in to save me.
“Caitlin, please don’t be offended. As you’re aware, today’s conversation could easily be taken out of context by anyone outside this room, and we just don’t want to take any chances.” Mo smiled. “I don’t know if this ever happens to you, but sometimes when I think I’ve hung up or ignored a call, I find that the other person has been on the line for God knows how long.”
That settled the issue, but the exchange had introduced a small amount of tension. I hoped the expansive view of the sea and sky and statue would smooth things over, but the group barely noticed. I felt myself getting a bit nervous, and I took a few deep breaths to bring my heart rate down. It didn’t work, and I looked at Mo, my eyes widening. She was calm. Her expression calmed me a little, and as I saw Caitlin lean back in the armchair while Robert and James dropped into the corners of the couch, I exhaled and smiled. Things were falling into place after all.
Caitlin looked up at Mo and smiled. “May I ask what you use those plastic ties for? I noticed them on that table behind the couch.”
I saw that Caitlin was staring at Mo’s gloves, and I began to panic. Then I reminded myself that although Caitlin may have noticed the odd details surrounding our meeting, there was no way she could seriously think this was a setup to kill all three of them. This was the beauty of what we did, the beauty of the Network. We brought violence to the people who never in their wildest dreams expected to confront it.
Mo glanced at me ever so subtly and I moved forward in tandem with her. Our advance was casual, and we were both smiling.
“They’re props for an ice-breaker exercise,” said Mo. “We consultants have a lot of little games we use during conferences and in break-out sessions for people to get to know each other.”
Robert and James had both turned to look at us. We were almost at the table behind the couch, and I looked at Mo for my cue.
“Here, I’ll show you,” said Mo. She pointed at the window. “Look straight ahead, you guys.”
Robert and James smiled politely and turned to the window. Perhaps they were worried about being put on the spot and being asked to answer some dumb questions about their backgrounds or do some silly team-building trick.
And as Caitlin watched us, Mo and I placed the loops around the two men’s heads, looked at each other, and in perfect unison pulled the ties tight. Then we politely stepped back to allow the Southern gentlemen enough space to react to the plastic cutting into their throats, squishing their vocal cords, airways, and oesophagi into single condensed tubes like how you might squeeze a large amount of tertiary pig matter into a slender string of sausage.
As Mo bounded over the couch to drop the stunned Caitlin to the floor, I stepped away and took up my position near the passage to the door and watched the proceedings.
Robert jerked back and forth on the couch while James threw himself forward, hitting the coffee table with his shin, and then slamming his head into the wooden base of the unoccupied second armchair as he went down hard on the carpet. Robert’s rocking motion became more pronounced, and I saw him wildly look around the room, briefly making eye contact with me before turning his rapidly dimming eyes back to his immediate surroundings.
Then for an instant Robert seemed to regain his Southern composure, and I could see him trying to slip his fingers under the plastic tie to relieve the pressure on his neck. But Mo had pulled the tie tight and his stubby fingers couldn’t get in there and soon he was out of air and then it was over for him. He slowly lay down on the couch almost as if he were going to sleep. And so he did go in a reasonably graceful manner.
I looked at James, who was also motionless by now, and was politely lying face-down on the carpet. Text-book perfect.
Meanwhile, I could see that Mo was having no trouble with Caitlin, who had mouthed a silent scream before standing up and backing away towards the window. Given more time, perhaps she would have gotten over the initial shock and run for the phone or the door, but as it was, she had less than five seconds from the time the plastic nooses went tight around her colleagues’ necks to when Mo’s strong arms were pulling her to the ground.
Caitlin struggled at first, but Mo had her on the ground in a headlock. I had some idea of the power Mo’s petite body could generate, but was nonetheless startled when suddenly Caitlin’s neck snapped and she went limp in Mo’s arms.
“Damn,” I said. “Is that what you call an ice-breaker?”
SEVENTY-ONE
Eleven minutes. That’s how long it had taken to clean up Charter Capital. We now had five bodies in the bedroom. We placed Caitlin and James on the bed to clear the floor space for the four bodies that would be coming through in the next fifty minutes.
We went back out to the living area. Mo straightened the couch cushions while I turned off the orphaned cell phones and dumped them in the bedroom. When I got back out, Mo had turned on the TV. As she pumped the volume, I looked at her in surprise.
“This one could get noisy,” she said, and sat down on the couch.
I joined her, expecting that we’d sit quietly and wait for the last round of kills. But Mo wanted to go over the plan. She had apparently thought of a couple of changes since that conversation with Hildebrand after lunch.
“Hildebrand is obviously the wildcard. It’s risky to go after her fi
rst, because it may take too long and the others would have a chance to run,” said Mo.
I nodded. “And it’s also risky to leave her for the end, because then she’d have time to stop us or get help. Or both.”
Mo went into the bedroom. She came back out holding a thick metal pipe that was probably two or three feet long. I recognized it as a curtain rod, a makeshift weapon that Mo had taught me to use in my solo practice routines. She walked over to the bar area and placed the rod just behind the counter.
She stood at the bar and looked at me. “Start off the same way: invite them in and ask them to leave their phones near the table. Then walk back towards the couch. Don’t shake hands, even if it seems rude.”
I nodded. Even Hildebrand couldn’t possibly guess what we had in store, but there was no reason to arouse any suspicions that something out of the ordinary was going on.
Mo continued. “I’ll call Hildebrand over to me near the bar and talk to her until the other three sit down. When they do, you immediately choke one of them—preferably one that’s on the couch.”
I smiled and nodded again. “Hildebrand will turn away from you.”
Mo took a few practice swings with the curtain rod. “I’ll drop her quick and then come and help you. By the time I get to you, one guy should be down and you should be in control of a second. So there’ll just be one more for me to handle. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
I went to the desk drawer and pulled out a couple of new plastic ties and began to loop them in preparation. Mo stopped me.
“You’ll only need one. For the first guy,” she said.
I looked up, but Mo had gone back into the bedroom. She returned with two glistening chef’s knives. I took one without saying a word. At least my last kill would be done the old-fashioned way.
“Okay,” I said. “And I assume you’ll go back and finish off Hildebrand.”
Mo nodded. “At my leisure.” She turned up the television volume some more.
I wondered if I should say something, but then decided against it. I wasn’t sure what she was planning, but I couldn’t believe Mo was capable of torture. Besides, we had talked about her feelings towards Hildebrand. This last assignment would be handled professionally. Mo wanted it that way, didn’t she?
There was no time to discuss it, anyway, because just as I slipped the knife into my belt and dropped my jacket over it, a loud knock came at the door. I checked the clock—it was four in the afternoon. NationFirst was on time.
SEVENTY-TWO
Henri, the founder and managing director, was the first to enter. I stood back and held the door open. I nodded, but was careful not to make eye contact until they were all inside. I didn’t want to invite a handshake. Henri introduced the rest of his team to me. Andy and Mickey were the other two besides Hildebrand.
All of them were dressed in formal business attire. Henri was in a dark blue suit and an orange tie, Andy and Mickey were in black, and Hildebrand wore dark red. Mo smiled and called them in while loudly apologizing for the television.
“I’ll turn it off in a second,” she said, pretending to look for the remote behind the bar. I knew Mo had hidden the remote in a drawer.
Andy and Mickey took seats on the couch, and Henri took an armchair. It was funny how people chose their seats relative to their standing in the company. Henri, being the boss, gravitated towards the single-seater armchair, while Andy and Mickey, both junior partners, were happy to share the couch.
So far things were panning out. No one had balked at the request to leave the phones near the door, and I wondered if it was perhaps not such an unusual request in the secretive world of hedge fund folk.
Mo had subtly invited Hildebrand over to the bar. She was quietly—and genuinely, it seemed—apologizing to Hildebrand for the awkwardness of their earlier conversation. Hildebrand was all smiles, and I wondered if speaking with Mo had taken a load off her shoulders as well.
I turned my attention back to the three men in the seating area. Andy and Mickey were staring out of the window and muttering to each other. From their bobbing heads, I guessed they were talking about the view. Henri, on the other hand, was glaring at the loud and offensive television set that hung on the wall to his right. He did not look pleased, even when accounting for the general French expression of disapproval at all things American.
As I walked towards the back of the couch, my attention shifted from Andy to Mickey. Andy was slightly taller, and had a thick mop of red hair. Mickey looked stronger, and had short hair that highlighted his bald spot. Since Mickey was on my right and Henri was to Mickey’s right, I decided to go that way.
There was no need to look at Mo. She’d be paying attention. With cold focus I snatched up the plastic cord and slipped it over Mickey’s round head and pulled it in so hard that his entire body slammed back into the couch cushion. He immediately stood up and reached out his hands at nothing in particular. As he turned, I could see the confusion in his bulging eyes. To my amusement, Henri and Andy seemed equally confused. The blaring sound of the television was adding to the chaos, and since it was drowning out any cries of pain or alarm, the entire scene looked comical, like when you walk past the glass window of a nightclub and you can see people twisting and shaking as they dance to music that you can’t hear.
I must have hesitated, because I heard a metallic clunk followed closely by the dull sound of a heavy body hitting the carpet, and then I felt Mo push me towards Henri as she ran at Andy.
Henri had snapped out of his shocked paralysis, and had reached the hotel phone that sat on the thin table against the far wall. It was disconnected, and when he realized it, he made a dash for the doorway.
I hit him with a classic diving tackle. My arms locked his knees, and my body weight forced his legs to buckle. He went down flat on his face, but turned and started to pump his legs furiously. I couldn’t keep his knees locked, and his black leather dress shoe hit me on the forehead. I reeled, more out of surprise than anything, and that was enough for Henri to kick me once more, this time in the chest.
Now he was on his feet, and I was still down. By the time I got to my knees he was at the door and fumbling with the chain and deadbolt. I whipped out my knife, but I was probably eight feet away from him and still not upright. I took a deep breath, changed my grip on the blade, and flung the knife with all my strength.
Any professional athlete will say that you know how good your stroke or shot or drive is by the smoothness of your follow-through, and I finally got to understand what that meant. My arm had swung all the way back down after my throw, and since I was still on my knees, I fell forward onto my face. I didn’t see the knife tumble through the air, but I knew it had struck gold.
When I looked up, Henri was leaning with his cheek against the door, his right hand desperately trying to reach for the knife that was buried deep in the center of his back. After admiring my aim, I walked up to him and grabbed the rubberized handle.
“Here, let me help you,” I said, and pulled the knife straight out.
Then I grabbed his hair, yanked back his head, and sliced clean and deep across his throat. I let him drop right where he was. He slowly sank to the carpet, one hand against the door, the other hanging limp to one side. The bright red blood oozed over his shiny blue shirt collar and carefully made its way down to the carpet where it pooled in a neat little maroon circle.
“Very elegant,” I said. “You French people look classy even in death.”
After taking one last proud look at my final kill, I turned back to see if Mo needed help.
She didn’t.
SEVENTY-THREE
Andy had taken it directly in the chest, and although his once-white shirt was now crimson, I could tell Mo had only struck once. I whistled when I saw that the knife was still in him. It had been buried so deep, I hadn’t noticed it at first. She had driven it right through the middle of his sternum, probably the hardest entry point in the human body. I made a mental note to write down the
brand of those chef’s knives. They were certainly top quality.
Hildebrand was moving, but she was barely conscious and far from coherent. I didn’t see any blood on her light brown hair. Mo had obviously not wanted to kill her with the blow to the head.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Help me,” she said.
I went over to Mo and helped her lift Hildebrand. We carried the heavy woman over to the armchair and placed her in a seated position. Mo grabbed a few more of the plastic ties, and I silently watched as she bound Hildebrand’s arms and legs.
“Mo?” I said, as an uneasy fear took root in me.
“Shut up,” said Mo. “And get out.”
“What?”
Mo tugged on the plastic lines to test their strength. Then she stood up straight and looked at me. “Get out of here. We’re done. Come over to my house tomorrow evening if you want.” She paused. “Or else this is goodbye.”
I was stunned, and felt myself start to shiver as the adrenaline drained out of me, leaving my overtaxed muscles and nervous system to fend for themselves. I slowly moved to the couch and sat down and began to rub my eyes. When I looked up, Mo was gone.
She emerged from the bedroom with what must have been a long pillowcase. I watched in a daze as she used the white cloth to gag Hildebrand, who was slowly coming to her senses.
“Mo,” I said again.
Now Mo stopped and looked at me. Her expression softened, and she sat on the couch and moved close to me. For a second we both looked straight ahead at the calm blue sky with its little fluffy clouds. Then I felt Mo’s hand on mine. Even through our gloves, the feeling was electric.
“Hey,” she said. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow evening, okay?”
I took another look at Hildebrand. She was wide awake now, and had begun to strain against her bonds. At first her eyes were wide with panic, but now I could see she was trying to assess the situation and find a way out. When I turned back to Mo, her expression and posture had lost their tenderness, and she was all business. No. There would be no way out for Hildebrand.