‘What are you going to do to us?’ she asked, at last.
‘That really depends on your friend Noah. By noon, the day after tomorrow, we’ll know if he’s been cooperative or not.’
‘Cooperative, in what way?’
Hubert Tocsin approached her and took hold of the lapels of her Chinese bathrobe between finger and thumb, stroking them.
‘You really are a stunning woman, Ms Davis, but you have such inner tension. You always remind me of an animal, about to pounce.’
‘Cooperative, how?’ Adeola repeated.
‘You’ll soon find out. Ha! One way or another.’
Rick and Leon had been sitting in the dark for over an hour and a half before headlights swivelled across the ceiling, and a vehicle drew up outside the house.
Rick went across to the window and parted the blinds. ‘Buick sedan. Hard to tell in this light, but it looks like grey.’
He lifted his SIG-Sauer automatic out of its holster and cocked it. Leon came up and stood close behind him. ‘You said they’d come back for us.’
‘They know we know all about Nakasu, that’s why. They’re not going to let us get away that easily.’
They waited. After almost a minute, the Buick’s doors opened and two men climbed out. One was blond and wide-shouldered. The other, to Rick’s surprise, was Abdel Al-Hadi.
‘It’s Noah,’ said Rick.
‘But that fair-haired dude who’s with him,’ said Leon, ‘he’s one of the dudes who tried to kill us.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure. He’s the one who was going to cut my throat, until Silja kicked him.’
‘So what the hell is going on? What are they doing here?’
They watched as Abdel Al-Hadi came up the steps towards the front door. The blond man was close behind him, although it didn’t look as if he were holding a gun.
‘Quick,’ Rick hissed, ‘out the back – into the yard.’
Crouching low, the two of them hurried through the darkened kitchen and out through the back door. They crossed the veranda and knelt down beside the veranda steps. The moon was up again, bone-white and bright, but the bougainvillea that hung down over the veranda roof gave them a deep, inky shadow in which to conceal themselves.
They heard voices, and then the kitchen light was switched on.
‘First thing you gotta do, call your make-up guy.’
‘It’s late. He’s probably in bed asleep by now.’
‘I don’t care if he’s in bed pronging his old lady. You heard what the professor said. Call him. Tell him it’s a matter of life and death.’
They couldn’t hear the answer to that. It sounded as if Noah had gone back through to the living room, and the blond man had followed him. They stayed in the shadow for another ten minutes, listening, and then the blond man came back into the kitchen.
‘You won’t mind if I help myself to a beer?’
Indistinct answer.
‘You want one, too? Shit, man, it’s your beer.’
Another indistinct answer, then the snap of a beer can being opened.
Another five minutes passed. Inside the house, somebody switched on the television, very loud. Then they heard the kitchen door swing. Footsteps crossed the veranda, and somebody leaned on the railing right above them, and lit a cigarette.
Rick looked up. ‘Noah?’
‘Rick? Leon?’ Noah had pulled off his beard, and peeled the latex bump from the bridge of his nose, but his hair was still black and curly and his face was still spattered with moles.
‘What’s happening, man?’ Rick whispered. ‘They took Adeola and Silja. We saw them do it.’
‘I know. They’re holding them hostage. They got Hong Gildong. They tortured him, I think. Anyhow, he told them all about the video and where we were hiding out and everything.’
‘Shit! What’s that blond dirtbag doing here?’
‘Keeping an eye on me. They want me to shoot the President, day after tomorrow.’
‘What? The President? You’re putting me on!’
‘He’s coming to LA for some economic summit. But he’s going to make an appearance when they sign that Ethiopian peace agreement that Adeola was working on. I’m supposed to black-up to look like one of the Ethiopian security guys – shoot the President, and Adeola’s boss, too.’
‘That’s, like, lunacy.’
‘Maybe it is, but so was killing JFK, and they pulled that off. They’ve got it all worked out.’
‘So they’re holding Adeola and Silja why? To make sure you do it?’
‘That’s right. As if they’re not going to kill us all anyhow.’
‘We know where they are,’ said Rick.
‘You’re kidding me!’
‘We followed them. They took them down to Escondido, to the Tocsin missile plant. It’s our guess that Tocsin’s been bankrolling Nakasu.’
There was a roar of laughter from the television. The blond man was laughing, too.
Noah said, ‘What the hell are we going to do? I can’t shoot the President.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Rick. ‘We’re a hit squad, remember? You and me and Leon and Silja and Adeola. We decided we were going to go after Nakasu and whack the bastards before they whacked us.’
‘How the hell can we, when they’re holding Silja and Adeola hostage? If I put one foot wrong, if I don’t shoot the President, they’ll kill them. They won’t even hesitate.’
‘Just helping myself to another beer here,’ came the the blond man’s voice from the kitchen.
Noah didn’t turn around but lifted one hand as if to say that he could take whatever he wanted.
Rick whispered, ‘Listen, knowledge is power.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘We know where Adeola and Silja are being held hostage, don’t we? But Nakasu don’t know that we know. That may be the only edge we’ve got, but it’s still an edge.’
‘Hey, you should watch this,’ the blond man called out. ‘It’s fucking hilarious.’
Thirty-Two
At 7.17 a.m. on Thursday morning, Mitchell DeLorean arrived by taxi. He was wearing a peacock-blue satin shirt and tight white jeans, and he was in a seriously irritable mood.
Noah opened the door for him before he had a chance to ring the bell.
‘If I didn’t owe you so many favours, Noah, I swear . . .’
‘This is the last time, Mitch, I promise you.’
‘You’re not pulling another one of those snuff video stunts, are you?’
Noah led him into the living room. The blond man was slouched in front of the television, cleaning out his ear with his finger. Mitchell said, ‘Hi!’ but the blond man simply looked him up and down and said nothing.
‘Come through,’ said Noah, and took Mitchell into the bedroom. Mitchell opened up his case and started taking out pots and tubes of make-up.
‘Who’s your surly friend?’
‘He’s no friend of mine, believe me.’
‘What’s going on here, Noah? First of all you want to be a Palestinian and now you want to be – what?’
Noah picked up the identity card from the dressing table. ‘Ethiopian. This Ethiopian. Kebede Gebeyehu.’
Mitchell peered at the photograph and wrinkled up his nose. ‘Hmm. He’s a very noir young man, isn’t he? But it shouldn’t be too difficult. The main problem areas with a black face are always the eyes and the lips. And the hands, of course. The hands are always a challenge.’
‘Well, the eyes should be OK. I’ll be wearing shades most of the time.’
‘That’ll help. And I use my own blackberry-based dye to colour the lips. What about the hair?’
‘He doesn’t have any hair.’
‘Exactamundo. You’ll have to wear a latex bald cap. Either that, or – no, you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?’
‘Shave my head?’
‘It does give a much, much better effect. Even the best bald caps look like bald caps, esp
ecially close up.’
‘Actually, it’s not going to be me. I’m swapping places with somebody else.’
‘Not Mr Congeniality in there?’
‘No. Wait here a second.’
Noah looked out of the bedroom and made sure that the blond man was still sitting in front of the television. All he could see through the living-room door was the blond man’s elbow, twisting methodically from side to side as he cleaned out his ears, and the lower part of his right leg, and his foot, in a shiny black loafer. He went quietly through the kitchen and out on to the veranda.
‘Rick!’ he called, leaning over the railing. ‘Mitch is here! Come on in!’
Rick emerged from the bushes. Noah led him back to the bedroom and closed the door. ‘I’ve explained to Mitch what you have to look like. He says you’ll look more convincing if you shave your head.’
‘Whatever it takes,’ said Rick. ‘Listen, I can take this from here. You get out of here and hightail it down to San Diego.’
‘I’m getting confused here,’ said Mitchell. ‘You want me to make Rick look like this Ethiopian character – not you?’
‘That’s right. Only blondie isn’t to know.’
‘Listen – by the time I’ve finished, Rick’s own mother isn’t going to recognize him.’
‘OK,’ said Noah. ‘There’s your suit, laid out on the bed. There’s your shades. Good luck, man. Try to stay safe.’
‘You too.’
Noah opened the bedroom door and looked cautiously towards the living room. The blond man hadn’t moved, so he went through the kitchen and into the backyard, and out through the side gate.
The morning was already hot, and there were only the faintest streaks of mares’ tails high in the sky. The Grand Prix was parked around the corner, in Canyon Crescent, and Leon was waiting for him in the front seat. He was wearing Rick’s brown leather jacket and his hair was tousled.
‘How’s it going?’ Noah asked him, sitting down behind the wheel and starting the engine.
‘I’m OK,’ said Leon.
‘You’re sure? You look kind of frazzled.’
‘I’m OK. I know what to do. Rick and me, we went over it twenty thousand times at least.’
‘Good. Because we’re really relying on you, you know that.’
‘I know. But I always remember what my dad used to say: ninety per cent of being reliable is showing up.’
Noah dropped Leon off at Stars Diner on Sunset. They synchronized their watches, and then Noah took hold of Leon’s hand and gave it a hard squeeze.
‘When this is over, we’ll take a vacation together. How about that? Do some guy stuff. Fishing, or hunting.’
‘Sure,’ said Leon. ‘See you later.’
Noah felt as if he ought to say something momentous and meaningful, considering what they were expecting Leon to do, but he couldn’t think of any words that would effectively sum up their fear, and their tension, and the isolation they felt. There was nobody they could trust, except each other.
Leon climbed out of the car and gave Noah an offhand wave, as casual as if he were going off to nothing more momentous than baseball practise.
‘Later,’ said Noah, under his breath.
Noah drove south to San Diego as fast as he could. By 10.25 a.m. he had reached Balboa Park, and was driving along El Prado, between the palms and the Spanish Revival houses. He turned into the entrance of the Reuben H. Fleet Science Centre and parked.
George Burdaky was waiting for him, sitting in a bronze Explorer. He climbed out and walked across to Noah, grinning. George was a short, stocky man with a grey buzz cut and a bulbous nose, and his eyes were always narrowed as if he couldn’t believe what he was looking at. He was wearing a red short-sleeved boiler suit that showed off his tattoos, including a hula-dancing girl in a grass skirt, and the Seabees bee.
‘Well, well. In like Flynn. Didn’t think I’d see you till the next reunion, you miserable bastard. How’s the stuntman business?’
Noah embraced him. ‘How are you doing, George? How’s Molly?’
‘Me and Molly, we’re kind of having a vacation from each other. But I guess we’ll get back together again. You know what we’re like – Tom and freaking Jerry.’
‘You managed to get the stuff?’
‘When he called me, that friend of yours wasn’t too sure exactly what you wanted. What was his name, Dick? So I got you a variety. We’re doing a big demolition job down at Imperial Beach, all the old administration buildings, so it wasn’t difficult to divert a few kilos of RDX. I got you some Thermite-TH3, too.’
‘That’s great. Thanks, George.’
‘Hey, don’t even mention it. I owe you one. In fact, I owe you several. There’s a Colt .45 in there, too, and half a dozen clips.’
They looked around, but apart from a bus-load of chattering children arriving for a tour of the science centre, the parking area was empty, and they couldn’t see anybody who looked as if they might be watching them. George brought over a large milled-aluminium suitcase and stowed it into the trunk of Noah’s car.
‘I don’t know what you’re intending to do with this stuff, and I don’t want you to tell me, but whatever it is, you miserable bastard, I hope it all works out.’
Noah embraced him again. ‘See you at the next reunion, OK? Remind me to buy you more than one beer.’
George went back to his Explorer and drove off. Noah checked the time. It was 10.43 a.m. He climbed back into the Grand Prix, turned around, and headed out of San Diego on Route 15, towards Escondido.
Rick straightened his necktie and put on his sunglasses, and the bald Ethiopian in the mirror did the same.
‘Mitch,’ he said, ‘you’re a genius. Even I don’t recognize me.’
Mitchell was washing his hands in the basin. ‘I think Noah and me, we’re quits now. Tell him if he wants me to turn him into a Chinaman, forget it.’
Rick looked down at his hands, turning them this way and that. Mitchell had even managed to give him the pale, sandy-collared palms of an Ethiopian.
The bedroom door suddenly opened, and the blond man looked in. ‘You ready yet? We should be making a move.’
‘I’m ready,’ said Rick, in a mock-Ethiopian accent. ‘What do you think?’
‘I’m not paid to think nothing,’ the blond man told him. ‘Come on, let’s get going.’
Mitchell fastened the clips of his make-up case. ‘Can you give me a ride? I have to be over at Fox by eleven thirty.’
‘Sorry,’ said the blond man.
‘OK, I’ll just have to call myself a taxi.’
He took out his cellphone and started to look for the number, but as he did so the blond man approached him and grabbed his wrist.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Mitchell demanded. ‘Let go of me, will you.’
‘Listen,’ said the blond man, ‘I want you to understand that this isn’t personal, OK? It’s just the way we have to do things.’
Mitchell tried to tug his arm free, but the blond man bent it round behind his back and forced it up between his shoulder blades.
‘Hey, let go of me – that hurts!’ Mitchell shrilled at him.
Rick shouted, ‘Leave the guy alone!’ He took one step across the bedroom floor, but he was too late. He didn’t even see the knife before the blond man sliced it across Mitchell’s throat, left to right, and blood sprayed all across the cream-coloured bedcover.
Mitchell made a gargling noise and his knees collapsed under him. He dropped on to the carpet, quaking and quivering like a fallen horse, one leg kicking at the closet doors.
Rick approached the blond man, both hands raised, but the blond man pointed the bloody knife at his face and said, ‘Don’t even think about it. You know what you got to do, and if you don’t do it, those women are going to get the same.’
A large bubble of blood came out of the slit in Mitchell’s throat, and then burst. He stopped kicking and lay still, staring at the end of the bed as if he was mesmerized by
it.
The blond man pushed him with his foot to make sure that he was dead.
‘You son of a bitch,’ said Rick. ‘I swear to God you’re going to pay for this.’
The blond man looked at him and frowned. After all, Rick didn’t smoke, and his voice wasn’t as throaty as Noah’s. But all he said was, ‘You think so?’
It obviously hadn’t occurred to him that the white man who had gone into the bedroom and the Ethiopian who had emerged from it were two different people. He wiped the knife on the bedcover and pushed it back into the sheath on the side of his belt.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he told Rick. ‘The professor ain’t going to be happy if we’re late.’
Rick looked down at Mitchell, lying on the blood-spattered carpet. But there was nothing he could do, and nothing he could say. The blond man raised his hand to push Rick into the living room, but Rick raised his hand, too, and said, ‘Don’t you touch me, you son of a bitch. Don’t you ever touch me.’
Thirty-Three
When they arrived at the Century Plaza, the lobby was already crowded with police and Secret Service agents and television cameras. The blond man drew the grey sedan up to the main entrance, and a Secret Service man opened the door for him.
Rick got out of the car and showed his security pass.
‘OK, sir. Go in by the side door, please.’
As he pushed his way through the throng of reporters and cameramen and TV technicians on the steps, Captain Madoowbe came out of the lobby to meet him.
‘Sergeant Gebeyehu! I have to say that you are looking very well this morning!’
‘You murdering bastards,’ said Rick, in his Ethiopian accent, smiling as he did so.
‘Now, now,’ said Captain Madoowbe. ‘You have to understand that nobody who knows about Nakasu can be allowed to live.’
‘I suppose that includes me, and Adeola Davis, and Silja.’
Captain Madoowbe led him through the glass doors. ‘Of course not. Professor Halflight has made a deal with you, hasn’t he? And why should we silence you, when you will keep your own silence? What you are doing today, that is not something you are going to shout out to the world, is it?’
Chaos Theory Page 25