“And you thought that destroying everything I’d worked for was the best way to recruit me?”
Ribaldo didn’t answer, so Jürgen did.
“He objected strenuously, Steed.”
“My opinion didn’t matter,” Ribaldo said.
“Then whose did?” I demanded, rising, teeth gritted for a fight. Then I knew whose idea it had been. “Cynthia! This was all her idea.”
“The assistant director made the final decision, yes.”
“But why the elaborate drama? Why not just ask me?”
“Would you have voluntarily given up your franchise?”
“No.”
“There you have your answer. SAD accepts no private contracts, and we do not reveal that the Special Activities Division even exists, much less that we are its operatives. The duties are quite different from those of a Shooter. We clean up everybody else’s messes and take out the trash.”
“Trashmen.”
“Correct, but we operate in the shadows.”
“And I had no choice in the matter?”
He didn’t answer.
“What about after Guatemala?”
“That we didn’t anticipate. We believed Miss Delvin would flee to avoid being targeted again, even after her father and stepmother died. After all, she wasn’t aware of our interest in recruiting her, plus we had Walter as the man on the spot. He took for granted that his mastery of kaval was enough to overcome her strong but untrained talents, that he could hold her in Guatemala long enough to convince her that joining us was her in her best interest. He was wrong. Despite his training and experience, Miss Delvin’s untrained command of kaval proved too strong. Then when she showed up at LEI Corporate in Dallas, threatening to make a public stink, we had to take drastic action.”
“Let’s say that I get why you didn’t ask me; I had a franchise at stake, but she didn’t. Why not simply make her an offer?”
“It was discussed.”
“Cynthia again. Goddamn that woman.”
“Keep in mind, Steed, that prior to her father hiring you, Miss Delvin lived a privileged life and believed that she stood to inherit quite a fortune. We had no leverage to convince her to join the company, and while her stepmother had spent much of her father’s money by that point, would Miss Delvin had trusted us if we revealed this to her? I think not.”
Jürgen chipped in at that point. “Do not overlook that she already had a contract in place should anything happen to her. Miss Delvin was then, and is now, a clever and devious woman. Her gatandi skills may include the power to cloud men’s minds beyond what we already know.”
“How do you know all this, anyway?”
“We’re running out of time.”
A sudden, ugly thought came to me. “What if I hadn’t deflected her attempt to force me to commit suicide? What then?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer before continuing. “That would have given you leverage, too, wouldn’t it? You threw me to the wolves, is what you did. Which makes no sense if you wanted me for SAD, too, unless you wanted Dawn even more. And franchises cost the company revenue, even with their commission coming off the top, because otherwise LEI would get the majority of the fee instead of the Shooter. This was a win-win for the company.”
“We had confidence you would live,” Jürgen said.
“Thanks for that. So, this whole thing was a setup, and I’m going back now to what, recruit Dawn again?”
“No, Steed, you’re returning to Jamaica to keep her alive long enough for us to bring her into the fold with an extraction team. Dead people may have their uses, but their magical talents die with them.”
“An extraction team? Why? Why don’t you two join me, and we’ll all bring her back?”
“We cannot go, and three isn’t enough to get her out of the country.”
“How many do we need?”
“A lot more than three.”
“That is our enemy,” Ribaldo said, using a laser-pointer to indicate a hi-res photo on the display. The old woman’s form reminded me of the letter G, twisted with age-related deterioration. Whatever she might have looked like in younger days, now she stood no more than four and a half feet tall and walked bent nearly double, skittering along like a gnome. Her dark skin had a leathery quality, like an iguana’s, and liver spots covered her arms. Her black hair was cut in a page-boy style and glinted in the sunlight, but not with a lustrous sheen like you’d see on a young Iranian or Italian girl, more like a reflection off shiny plastic, or an old lady whose brittle hair had absorbed too much dye.
“She’s my target? If I’m going to execute a contract on her I’d better hurry, she won’t last another week.”
“Famous last words,” Jürgen said. “Do not let her looks fool you, Steed, not if you wish to live past this assignment. We call her Dona S., and her full name is Maria Ginevra Regio Salvatorelli.”
“Obviously Italian.”
“Sicilian, as befits her family’s generational business.”
“Oh,” I said. “She’s Mafia.”
“She’s not simply ‘Mafia,’ as you put it, she is the Mafia. World law enforcement agencies all agree that she is the single most powerful Mafia figure on Earth.”
“But is the Mafia still a real thing? A big thing I mean. I know it still exists, like the KKK, but those idiots are more of a thing the media drags out when they need ratings.”
“A Shooter in New York is putting three children through college on Mafia contracts alone. That is, contracts carried out on their behalf by LEI, although the company does get the occasional reversal of that. We do so many, in fact, some of the families get a volume discount. It’s mostly other crime figures, with the occasional mistress or wife’s lover.”
“Then why are we hitting this Dona Salvatorelli?”
“This is far more than a simple hit; it is more akin to a war. Her organization is called the Red Nail. We are not certain exactly what they want, aside from ever more power. What they want to use that power for is the mystery. They have been around for generations as a force within the Honoured Society, a name the Sicilian Mafia uses for itself, yet as secretive as that organization has traditionally been, the true nature of the Red Nail seems hidden, even to other Mafioso. In particular, we don’t know why they tried to kill you five times yesterday, and we fear they will soon try to kidnap Miss Delvin again.”
“Again?”
“They tried last night and failed. We lost our last two agents on the scene, but they lost their last four. Our sources indicate they are bringing in large numbers of operatives to try again, this time a small army. Thus, you are going back to Jamaica to help get her out, by whatever means necessary.”
That brought me to my feet again.
“Why are we still sitting here?”
“Because Cevdet won’t touch down for another hour, and you running off willy-nilly to get yourself killed won’t solve a damned thing. If it makes you feel any better, we added One Shot and Carlos to her security detail.”
“Added?”
“Yes, to replace the two agents lost last night. You and she were heavily protected your entire time in Jamaica. Now sit down and stop acting like a damned fool. Discovering the Balance re-patterns the brain, but it doesn’t instill impulse control. It cannot make you act like an adult and not a love-struck adolescent!”
It was a good point. I hated him in the moment for making it but had to admit he was right. I sat back down.
“Thank you. All of those people you thought you’d hired to kill her, and her to kill you, were actually there to keep you safe. Eventually, most got called away to other duties, but at no time were you ever alone. Once Dona S. became bold enough to lure you to your death using that Slivveron—”
“The lizard-man?”
“—the assistant director acted to pull you out without also revealing the rest of the security crew’s identities. We thought you were the target all along. Until last night, that is. Dona S. wants Miss Delvin for her side. That
is why you had to chance discovering the Balance without proper training. To be perfectly honest, I thought you would be a blubbering mass of useless flesh about now.”
“He bet me ten grand on it,” Jürgen said.
“Thanks for the confidence.” I let both of them wonder who I was speaking to. “Tell me what happened.”
“A simple snatch and grab. Miss Delvin checked into a new resort and four of the Dona’s men, disguised as attendants, tried stuffing her into a waiting car. Our two agents were on hand but were killed without firing a shot. That left it up to Venus, who took care of them by herself.”
“Venus?” I said. “Another Shooter?”
Ribaldo nodded. “Venus is many things, very dangerous, and, if past experiences are any indication, she’s the next great love of your life.”
“I like her already. How will I know her?”
“There’s no mistaking Venus for anyone else, but as for recognizing others like us—that is, those who have discovered the Balance—I want you to concentrate on my left cheekbone, right here,” he said, pointing to the knob of his cheek. “Stare at it and let your eyes dilate. Then tell me what you see.”
I did as he instructed, suffered an instant of double vision after blurring my vision, and saw a shape emerge through his skin. Not a tattoo, more like a birthmark, that hadn’t been there seconds earlier, of a silver, four-pointed star.
“Do you see it?”
Any other time in my life my voice would have reflected astonishment, but after the last 24 hours we were long past anything shocking me. “I do.”
“That is lub hnub qub ntawm kev ua khawv koob,” he said.
“The Star of Magic,” I said, contradicting my previous statement by being shocked that I knew that. “That language is…Hmong?”
“Yes, it is the language of magic, of kaval. Much of what we know comes from the writings of the great Hmong gatandi, Blong Cha, who was born in the 18th Century. We call it lunuqu, an English bastardization of the Hmong word for star. By its presence do we know each other, because only those who have discovered the Balance bear its mark.”
“I don’t remember getting it put on.”
“It is not something external that is applied to your skin, rather, it is something that already resides within you that is then brought to the surface.”
Jürgen held up his left wrist and tapped the face of his watch, a Rolex Submariner with a blue dial.
“Time to go?” I asked, more than ready to get back above ground.
“As your former sergeant likes to say, it is time to gear up,” Ribaldo said. “Then we will turn you loose on the world again, Trashman.”
I rose, anxious to get moving, but Ribaldo stopped me. “Ah, one more item you may need to know about Dona S. We are not certain she’s human.”
Chapter 18
Shooters with a First Class license were few and far between. LEI never made statistics public, and communications about the company’s internal workings were specifically exempted from Freedom of Information Act requests, so guesses by journalists and conspiracy theorists were just that, guesses. Insiders who revealed any such information could expect a life in federal prison or a slow death, whichever might torment that particular individual more. In my own opinion, I estimated the number at less than 1,000 worldwide.
Special Activities Division protected the identities of its Trashmen with even more draconian measures, which were not spelled out in the contract I’d signed but could be imagined. Enduring the process of discovering the Balance, for example, without end, forever, would qualify as extremely cruel and unusual punishment, the kind that kept otherwise corrupt people quiet. I did wonder whether such a character flaw would be exposed during the trials of discovery.
Regardless of the protocols, there was nothing to prevent speculation on the number of Trashmen, which I put at less than 100. Given that I knew very little about our work, I still knew that was a tiny number, which explained the extravagance of our equipment. I also understood that we had non-Shooter agents, such as One Shot and Carlos, to assist our missions.
Having my own wardrobe back allowed me to travel ready for action. I even had the same LEI-issued Sig Sauer P320 back, the one I’d had rebuilt by the legendary Gunsmith Jack, with the grip custom modified to fit my hand, slide upgrade, laser sight, the best barrel in the world, and a compensator designed by Jack himself. The 21-round magazine was also mine, but the ammunition inside it was not. Black-tipped, I searched my newly repatterned memory for any knowledge of such cartridges and came up empty.
“Ribaldo, what the fuck kind of ammo is this?” I said, not bothering to hide my annoyance. Knowing you can depend on your ammo was the single most important aspect of being a Shooter. It was Merkus who answered, however.
“I loaded your magazines, Mister Steed. Those are DARPA EXACTO homing rounds. I thought you’d rather have HE than AP, but I can switch ’em out if you want.”
“DARPA developed a homing round?”
“That’s right.”
“Son of a bitch…” I picked up my dinner jacket, which had pockets for magazines lining the interior. “How many magazines do I have with that load?”
“Five, counting the one in your weapon. But do be careful, Mister Steed, won’t you? Demand is high and production is low. The cost of each magazine would pay for a new Toyota.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said.
Merkus lowered his voice when Ribaldo drifted out of earshot. “Be as profligate as you need, sir. They’re only bullets, you know, and any man who prefers real food to that pretentious French shite is all right in my book. You come back safe and I’ll have a nice steak waiting.”
I gripped his shoulder. “That’s a deal.”
Forty minutes later, the same jet that brought me the previous day touched down on the concrete runway and taxied toward us. It defied belief that only one day had passed. As I climbed the fold-down stairs, a sudden thought made me to turn toward Ribaldo and Jürgen standing on the tarmac.
“Louisiana, right?” I said.
“Kòrèk tirè,” he said. Somehow, I knew that was Creole, and it meant Correct, Shooter.
I was met at the top of the stairs by the friendliest face I’d seen in years: Nathan. Tail wagging, tongue hanging, ready to lick something. I couldn’t believe he was the same dog.
“Lookin’ righteous, dude,” I said, rubbing his head as I entered the aircraft. It felt odd being the only human passenger in such a cavernous space. Once again, I sat in front, near the cockpit. As Cevdet powered up the engines, Isra ducked into the cabin for a moment. If anything, she looked better than the day before.
“You good to go?” she said.
“What did you do to Nathan?” I asked. “He doesn’t even look like the same dog.” I lost myself staring at her until a lunuqu materialized on the apple of her left cheek. “You, too?”
She smiled. “Once we’re in the air I’ll bring some coffee, and we’ll map out a plan.”
I half expected there to be some type of rocket-powered pod on board so they could release me over the resort and I could land on the 18th green. It would have been a very James Bond thing to do, since the location of Goldeneye, Ian Fleming’s home, was on that very stretch of the Jamaican coast, but no such luck. Instead we landed the old-fashioned way and taxied to the terminal from where we’d barely escaped on the previous day. The same constables stood waiting for us inside, only now they were there to drive me to the resort, not arrest me. Further evidence that nothing talks louder than money.
“I’m glad they’re on our payroll,” I said from the jet’s exit door.
Isra grunted. “Do not fool yourself that we are the only ones paying them, Steed. Other people’s money spends the same as ours.”
“But our business is killing people.”
“Don’t be naïve. The Red Nail is a ruthless, vicious, well-funded criminal organization with a long track record of eliminating threats. They outnumber us a hundred to one. The
only difference between us and them is that we have licenses and the rules that go with them. They have no such restrictions. Be careful.”
“So why are we bothering with them instead of Interpol or the FBI?”
“Didn’t Ribaldo tell you? We have a contract to kill Dona S.”
“He implied it,” I said, “but he didn’t state it aloud. I guess it slipped his mind.”
She chuckled as I descended into Jamaica’s steam bath of a climate. “Don’t kid yourself; nothing ever slips Ribaldo’s mind.” She tapped her ear and said, “Test.”
We had a communication system with dedicated satellites in geosynchronous orbits to ensure we were never out of touch with each other or, failing that, SAD headquarters. Nor did I believe headquarters was Keel’s mansion in the swamp; that had the feel of theater. If everything went to shit, as I had a premonition it would, Isra and Cevdet were the only Quick Reaction force on the island that might ride to the rescue, and at least one of them had to stay and guard the plane.
“How long before reinforcements get here?” I said.
“ETA six hours.”
“Roger that. Take care of Nathan for me,” I said into the microphone hidden in the hair on my left temple. The receiver was in my right ear.
Nathan appeared beside her, barked, and took a step toward the ladder. Isra tried to grab his collar but he side-stepped and slipped away, picking his way down the steps. I held up my hand to stop him, and then froze. An aura surrounded him.
I was still new to understanding my talents, but I’d grown up with auras and didn’t know animals could have them. Nathan’s was bright green surrounded by medium gray. What the hell could that mean? I didn’t know, but my mind told me to bring him along. So I did.
I loved Jamaica. No BS, no sarcasm, just truth. It must have been paradise before humans showed up, and, even in the 21st century, enough of the old magic survived for me to adore the place. I knew all about the crime, from the low-level drug-runners and street gangs to world-class pieces of shit like you find in every country, and I could see with my own eyes the endless tourists slurping down pink and blue drinks while getting spritzed with rosewater at some 5-star resort. But I also knew about the other Jamaica, the real Jamaica, where kids played cricket on rocky slopes after school, where whole pharmacies’-worth of medicinal plants grew in a single untended acre of jungle, and that the best Ackee and salt fish on the island was served at a tiny shack perched on the edge of a cliff, cooked in a 55-gallon drum by a guy missing most of his teeth, who chugged warm Red Stripes one after the other, while inside a tiny shack his buddies played authentic reggae and meant every note.
The Trashman Page 17