Veil paused as I rose and leaned across the table to wipe tears from Harper's cheeks. He reached out and touched her hand, raised his eyebrows slightly in a silent inquiry as to whether she wanted him to continue.
"Go on," Harper said in a steady voice. "I'm all right. I'm not crying for the man she killed, and you're not really upsetting me. I was just thinking of the horrible physical and mental pain this woman must have suffered to cause it to change her from a healer to a monster like the one she was killing."
"Precisely," Veil said quietly. "But Krowl was only interested in getting her to function at some level, not in healing her emotionally. This latest experience had not only turned her into a torturer but bonded her to Krowl, whom she now viewed as her savior. When his activities were discovered, he was thrown out of the academic and medical communities, and when he proceeded to set up shop on Torture Island, he took Feather with him. Because of the terrible combination of both pleasure and pain she'd learned how to excite using nothing more than a feather, she became Krowl's most effective interrogator, his chief torturer.
"She was there when Sinclair was brought to the island, strapped into a stretcher on a rack in a helicopter. It was Feather who took the first pass at breaking him down, and on the first night she left him unconscious and bleeding from every orifice in his body. What neither Krowl, Feather, nor any of the student-torturers on that island understood was that everything was going according to Sinclair's plan, and he had come carefully prepared. He'd hidden various tiny lock-picking devices inside his body before his capture, and within a few minutes after regaining consciousness and finding himself alone, he was out of his cell, on the loose, and free to kill—which is precisely what he proceeded to do. He began making a circuit of the island, breaking the necks of the various guards posted around the place. He came upon Feather—who never slept more than a half hour or so at a time—alone, standing at the edge of a precipice and staring out to sea. He probably wouldn't have had any compunction about killing a woman if she were just a torturer, but Krowl had told Sinclair her story before setting her loose on him, and he chose not to kill someone who had been a torture victim herself. Instead, he just knocked her out, reasoning that he'd have taken care of his business and would be in control of the island by the time she regained consciousness.
"On his way to the building where Krowl and his staff slept, Sinclair stopped in Krowl's offices to pick up two things he had come for in addition to the revenge he was exacting: a fortune in black pearls Krowl had amassed by forcing prisoners to dive for him in the shark-infested waters, and Krowl's records."
"I can understand his wanting the pearls," Garth interjected, "but why bother with the records?"
"He was finishing Harry Gray's work for him," I heard myself saying, instinctively sensing the truth of it, but not knowing exactly why. "He planned to shut down Torture Island simply by killing Krowl and the other torturers there, but he also wanted to make sure the names of the governments and organizations that had financed and used it were made public. It was his way of trying to keep another such place from starting up."
"That's correct," Veil said. "However, when he scanned the records and other papers in Krowl's office, he came across information that caused him to change his original plan. A memo he found indicated that in three days a well-known Russian dissident and his wife were being flown there for a little gentle persuasion and brainwashing to get the man to recant certain statements he had spoken and written before he and his wife were sentenced to internal exile. If Sinclair went ahead and put Torture Island out of operation that night, there would be nobody to take delivery, as it were, of the couple, and they would be returned to internal exile—perhaps even death—in the Soviet Union. If, on the other hand, Sinclair were to postpone his plans, if he could manage to somehow survive three more days in captivity until the Russians were delivered, he would also be able to rescue them. Obviously, there was going to be additional pressure above and beyond more torture he would have to endure. There were the dead guards he was leaving behind as evidence that something was seriously amiss; many of the torturers on the island knew him by reputation, and that reputation was such that he'd be suspected even if he were still locked in his cell. There would be demands to kill him outright, and, at the least, additional security precautions would be taken.
"Despite the fact that he was home free if he just continued on that night with his original plan, and despite the certainty of more pain and the possibility of death—certain death if Feather had glimpsed his face before he'd knocked her out—Sinclair headed back to his cell and chained himself up again, just to buy time in order to try to rescue the Russian dissident and his wife.
"Well, he pulled it off, obviously—and the second time he escaped from his cell, he did it with Feather's help. He killed every torturer on that island, freed the prisoners, escaped from the island in a Russian helicopter with the pearls, prisoners, and Krowl's records. He turned the prisoners and half the pearls over to Gerard Patreaux, who was waiting on a hospital ship at a prearranged site off the Chilean coast. Sinclair had saved the lives of all those people, and he had swelled the coffers of Amnesty International by a hefty amount, and all he asked in return was that the people involved not reveal what had happened, not talk about him or what he had done. End of story."
"Maybe a ninja bullshit story," Garth said, and from his terse, dismissive tone of voice I could tell that was exactly what he considered it.
"Maybe," Veil replied easily. "But I've seen the scars left on Feather's body by Somoza's torturers, and those were not part of any fairy tale. Neither was her love for, and total devotion to, Chant Sinclair. Somehow, he managed to heal her soul. Whether that story is true or not, he was a tough act to follow. I loved her, and she at least seemed content to be with me, but my knowing that I was constantly being compared with him is the reason Feather and I are no longer together."
I looked at Harper, who had grown very pale, and said, "That certainly doesn't sound like a man who would sanction random killings, or torture to death a bunch of servants."
Veil slowly turned his coffee cup in its saucer. "I don't believe he did either of those things. The gunman at the hotel was an Asian, and Sinclair always works alone. And he couldn't have kidnapped Neuberger and killed his servants if he's still running around here in Switzerland."
Garth made a derisive gesture with his hand and started to say something, but Veil cut him off. "Extreme violence is certainly Sinclair's signature," he said, speaking directly to my brother, "but I suggest there's more to that signature if you closely examine his behavior and past record." He paused, looked at Harper and me, continued, "Discounting, for the moment, all of the incidents connected with this Cornucopia business, consider who all his victims have been. In every case I've ever read about, his victims were scum of the earth, people whom everyone at this table would agree got what they deserved. Check it out; I have. Sinclair scams corrupt, criminal people and outfits—child pornography rings, drug cartels, terrorist networks, the Mafia, rogue government operations. To a man, the people he's killed have been killers themselves, like the good doctor on Torture Island. He may be a butcher, but his victims have butchered tens, hundreds, even thousands, of innocent people. I read of one incident where his victim was the owner of a Dutch pharmaceutical concern. What Sinclair did to the man and his colleagues got all the headlines, but when you got down to the fine print at the back of the better newspapers, you found out that this man had decided to increase his company's profits a bit by watering down all the medicines he had contracted to deliver to an African nation where a plague was raging. The medicines were worse than useless, because the doctors who prescribed them, and the people who took them, had every reason to believe they would work and that there was no reason to take any further medical action. Before Sinclair exposed the wholesale adulteration scheme, hundreds of men, women, and children had died of disease. These are people who might have lived if the medication they had be
en given had been the proper dosage."
"How did John Sinclair kill the man?" Harper asked quietly.
Veil smiled grimly. "By forcing him to drink a glass of water contaminated with a heavy concentration of a certain type of microscopic worm that eats its way along the optic nerve into the brain. There is no cure. It was a cruel act, to be sure, but I suggest there was more than a trace of poetic justice to it. Other cases fit the same pattern—victims deserving what they get. It's another reason, Mongo, why I—and presumably Mr. Lippitt— tried to warn you off this one. If Sinclair had targeted Cornucopia for one of his scams, I considered the chances very good that Cornucopia was something more than the paradigm of philanthropic benevolence you obviously believed it to be."
"Well," I said with a small sigh, "I think even the village idiot in our midst can now begin to figure that one out. Assuming Cornucopia distributes any funds at all to the causes it claims to support, which I think it unquestionably does, its primary function has always been to serve as a vast money-laundering operation. Duane Insolers told me money has been continuously siphoned off from the foundation since its inception decades ago, and I have to assume he knows what he's talking about. Neuberger's grandfather set up Cornucopia, but only after he had already made a fortune legitimately. He didn't need to set up any criminal operation, because he certainly didn't need the money."
"Greedy people never have enough money," Harper said.
"You've got that right. But even if the elder Neuberger was the biggest crook who ever lived, I just don't believe Emmet P. Neuberger has the necessities, as it were, to run a big criminal organization. He certainly knows everything that's going on in Cornucopia, but as an administrator I see him straining his talents to the limit just to be a figurehead for the family foundation. You agree, Garth?"
"Yes," my brother replied simply. He appeared thoughtful, and had obviously been thinking about what I said. "The money-laundering operation exists for a person, or persons, unknown. It's probably some crime cartel that's been around for a long time, and that may have bankrolled the grandfather, and performed other services, while he was amassing his otherwise legitimate fortune."
Veil had been listening intently, but also tapping his fingers impatiently on the tabletop. Now he said, "Let's shift the focus back to Sinclair, because he's the puzzle we have to solve. The point I was trying to make is that Cornucopia, it now seems evident, is typical of the kind of organization Sinclair targets. It's corrupt at its core, and that's what made it vulnerable. Torturing to death Neuberger's servants? Yes, he's a killer, and he takes no prisoners, but, again, he's never done anything like that to anyone who wasn't richly deserving of his attention—not to my knowledge anyway."
I grunted, said only half jokingly: "That could serve as a description of both you and big brother here. I'm thinking the three of you might actually get along just fine."
Veil laughed, but quickly turned serious again. "The shooting at the hotel, the murders of the Interpol people and others, appear atypical of Sinclair's usual M.O. I say Sinclair has demonstrated a streak of altruism, although, for some reason, he goes to considerable lengths to disguise it. Consider the story about Torture Island: He got what he ostensibly went there for—revenge and a fortune in black pearls. And he'd already suffered considerably for his troubles. Feather told me what she'd done to him. He could have been out of there in twenty-four hours. He certainly didn't have to subject himself to three more days of torment just on the chance he might be able to rescue the Russian couple; he didn't have to concern himself with any of the other prisoners. He spared the life of his chief tormentor, Feather, because she had once been a torture victim herself. Finally, he certainly didn't have to turn over half the treasure he'd gained with his blood to Amnesty International."
"That could still turn out to be a ninja bullshit story," Garth said in a deceptively soft, even tone. "We all agree he's a killer, and I'm nowhere near ready to concede he's not the one trying to kill my brother."
"As Mongo so perceptively pointed out," Veil replied firmly, "the term 'killer' might well apply to certain other people sitting at this table. And Torture Island isn't a ninja bullshit story; it happened."
I glanced at Harper, then looked back at Veil. "You make him sound like a kind of very bad-ass Robin Hood who pounds on and takes from the victimizers, then gives to the victims—after taking a hefty cut for himself. The ultimate vigilante."
Veil smiled wryly, shrugged. "Actually, that may not be a totally inaccurate description. I've been involved with the martial arts all my life, and I've met with others like myself all over the world. I've been in a position to pick up bits and pieces of information and hear rumors that you don't read in die newspapers. A lot of those things are ninja bullshit stories—but not all. Chant Sinclair may be the greatest all-around master of the martial arts who's ever lived, and I freely admit that he's always fascinated me. He operates in the ancient, traditional fashion of the ninja—as an outcast and mercenary. In this case, he's a mercenary who happens to be self-employed. Also in the ancient tradition is the way he relies on mental and psychological skills, on deception, as much as, or more than, he relies on sheer physical prowess. He's a master of tactics and strategy. He's also a master of disguise—and I'm not just talking about the usual wigs, moustaches, and accents. I'm suggesting that even his use of extreme violence may be a kind of disguise designed to keep most people from seeing him as he really is. He may only kill killers and other victimizers, but the manner in which he does it manages to scare the shit out of everyone, and it's what the media always focuses on. He may calculate that this works to his advantage. Why else ask Gerard Patreaux, Feather, and all the prisoners he rescued from Torture Island not to tell anyone what he'd done there?" Veil paused, looked inquiringly at each of us in turn. "It was almost as if he was afraid the truth might ruin his image."
"You are definitely beginning to sound like a fan," Harper said, unable or unwilling to keep a faint note of disappointment out of her voice. "Even if most of his victims do deserve what happens to them, why romanticize a man who makes a living out of terrorizing and butchering human beings?"
"My point isn't to try to romanticize him, Harper," Veil replied easily. "I'm suggesting a different way of viewing John Sinclair, an alternate perception of reality. Mongo's life, and maybe even our own lives, may depend on just how accurately we're able to determine what's really going on here in Switzerland."
"I'm sorry, Veil. I didn't mean to imply—"
"There's no need to apologize, Harper. If what I'm suggesting has any truth in it, then I guess it's fair to say I'm a fan. I've never thought of it that way, but I have followed his career for a long time, and I'm certainly in awe of his abilities. He's a criminal, yes, and a killer, yes, but Mongo's description of him as a kind of ultimate vigilante may also fit. What he does may not be legal, but there does seem to be a concern for justice—"
"That's nonsense," Garth interrupted. "You and I may have had our differences, my friend, but I've never accused you of being silly. That's what I'm hearing now. Where's the justice in trying to kill Mongo?"
If Veil was offended by Garth's words or tone, he didn't show it. "But I don't think Sinclair is trying to kill Mongo, my friend," he replied evenly. "Obviously, neither does Gerard Patreaux." Veil paused, turned to me. "Did Patreaux tell you the Torture Island story right away?"
I shook my head. "End of the evening—virtually as I was on my way out the door."
Veil grunted, turned his attention back to Garth. "Patreaux was sizing your brother up, trying to determine if Mongo might be Sinclair's enemy. When he was satisfied that Mongo wasn't, he told him that story as a way of indicating that Sinclair wasn't Mongo's enemy either." He paused, looked at Harper. When he continued, his voice was lower, more intense. "You accuse me of sounding like a fan. Okay. But I am telling you that Maria Gonzalez, Feather, would unhesitatingly lay down her life for this man. I suspect Gerard Patreaux might do the same. The man c
ommands loyalty from decent people who have had dealings with him, Harper. If I'm right, Sinclair may have a whole global network of secret friends and allies, good people who know him as a just man, and who are willing to help him keep his secrets. Some of these friends may be in positions of power and influence. I think Sinclair may even have passed on information to some of these people when it would do some good. That's how he'd come to know Harry Gray and Gerard Patreaux in the first place: he'd been feeding them information on various human rights violations."
"Veil," I said, placing my hand on my friend's arm, looking into his piercing blue eyes, "I have to ask you something. Are you one of those friends? If this network of friends and allies does exist, are you a part of it?"
He seemed taken aback by the question. He looked at me oddly for a moment or two, then replied simply, "No. I've never met the man."
Harper asked, "Would you tell us if you had? Would you tell us if you were a part of his network?"
"You'll have to decide that for yourself, Harper," Veil replied evenly.
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