Age of Heroes (14 page)

The room reeked of the woman’s perfume. There was also a mustier undertone, the aroma of sweat and effort. The bed had been made, though not as neatly as if a chambermaid had done it.

“It was Del Karno,” Roy said.

“Straight to the point, eh?” Badenhorst uncapped a miniature of Famous Grouse and downed it at a gulp. “I presume Sean told you, or Hans or Gunnvor?”

“No. Haven’t seen them yet. I worked it out for myself.”

“Well done, you. Yes, it
was
him. Del Karno was the target. So what? You a fan of his?”

“And the team set a fire afterwards to cover their tracks, yes?”

“They put a frying pan full of cooking oil on the gas stove, lit the gas ring, left it. I think they placed some dishcloths and a roll of paper towel nearby, to help speed things along when the pan caught alight. It’s a pretty standard method for making arson look like a domestic mishap. You may have used it once or twice yourself. Within forty minutes the whole kitchen was in flames. The rest of the house followed soon after. Again, so what?”

“Did they know about the women who were staying at the house?”

Badenhorst’s smile remained in place, but his face hardened around it. “Ah, so this is what’s bugging you.”

“Were they targets too?”

The Afrikaner weighed his reply carefully. “They weren’t what you might call ‘on the list’. But, Roy, think about it. What else were the team going to do? Leave the guy’s body lying there with a dirty great stab wound in it, for those women to find in the morning? We’re about making these deaths as inconspicuous as possible. That’s our prime directive. Which, if it means a few others have got to die, it’s a pity, but...” He shrugged. “Unavoidable.”

“There must have been some other way. Whose idea was it to start the fire?”

“Sean’s. He was leader, and he made an field decision. They’d caught Karno in the kitchen. A kitchen fire therefore seemed the logical solution. But don’t blame him. Sean ran it past me over the comms and I gave him the go-ahead. The buck stops here.” Badenhorst jabbed a stubby thumb at his own chest.

“How very noble of you.”

“That’s how chain of command works, Roy. And don’t you forget it. I must say, I’m a little surprised you’re being so squeamish all of a sudden. You’ve been an outcomes facilitator how long? Three years? In that time you’ve got to have had some byblow from one of your jobs, surely.”

“Never.”

“Never?”

“I’ve never killed anyone I wasn’t being paid to kill.”

“What, you’ve never blown up someone’s car and there were passengers in it besides the target?”

“Never.”

“You’ve never had to take out bodyguards who’re standing between you and the target?”

“Never.”

“You’ve never eliminated witnesses?”

“Never.”

Badenhorst whistled softly. “Well, it’s no wonder you’re so highly thought of in the circles we move in, Roy Young, even after such a short career. You’re a
blerrie
human smart missile, you are. You only hit what you’re aimed at.”

“I don’t like mess,” Roy said. “I don’t like overspill. I especially don’t like harming innocents.”

“Depends on how you define innocent, doesn’t it? Targets don’t necessarily have to be bad people, after all. They can just be a business rival, a political opponent, a union agitator, a spouse’s bit on the side. They don’t have to deserve to die; they only have to stand in the way of someone who has money and probably
is
morally corrupt. Do you ever consider that? That maybe it’s the person paying you who’s the one you should be killing, not the person you’re being paid to kill?”

Roy had indeed considered it. Long and hard. All too often.

“Yeah,” said Badenhorst, seeing his expression. “Thought as much. You can get up on your
fokken
high horse, Roy, but it’s no higher than anyone else’s. You just think it is. You’re compromised simply by being in the business you’re in. Pretending you still have ethics is fooling no one, least of all yourself.”

“There could have been another way.” It sounded lame and Roy knew it. “Those women didn’t have to die too. At the very least they could have died more cleanly. Being burned to death is a horrible way to go.”

“
Ach
, they were most likely knocked unconscious in their sleep by the smoke. They wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

“No, but I’ll tell you what: I can believe it, and that’s enough. Means I don’t lose a wink of sleep about it. You and this conscience of yours, Roy. Is it making you have second thoughts? Would you like to back out of the project?”

Roy wanted to say
yes
. He really did.

“Because you’re welcome to.” Badenhorst made an ushering motion. “Feel free. You won’t get paid for services rendered, of course. It might put a dent in your professional reputation as well. I mean, if someone were to come to me for a reference further down the line, I could hardly give them a glowing one, could I? ‘Roy Young? Bit of a
moegoe
, if you ask me. Can’t handle pressure.’ That’s what I might tell them.
Moegoe
means ‘coward’, by the way. Pussy.”

“I gathered that,” Roy said, tight-lipped.

“Not everyone is familiar with Afrikaner slang, that’s all. And I know how much you need the money, my friend. Don’t think that I don’t. I know about your daughter. What’s her name? Josie. I know she’s the reason you got into this line of work in the first place. Poor little Josie.”

Roy felt his fists clench. “Be very careful what you say next, Badenhorst.”

Badenhorst grinned. “Oh, I’ll say what I like, and you’ll have no choice in the matter. Because I hold the purse strings, don’t I? And you want what’s in the purse. You need it. For Josie. Who’s a pretty young
bakvissie
but who’s also a bit crazy. A bit wrong in the head. A bit...” Badenhorst twirled a forefinger at his temple and rolled his eyes. “That’s why she’s at that Swiss booby-hatch and you’re paying a fortune to keep her there.”

Roy glared at him.

“Oh,
ja
, Roy, I know about that. I know about you. About all of you Myrmidons. I do my
blerrie
homework, don’t I? I do my background checks. That’s my thing. I’m thorough. Your Josie has severe bipolar disorder. I’ve read her case notes and psychiatric evaluations. Doctor-patient confidentiality, my arse; it’s amazing how easily doctors forget the Hippocratic Oath when you wave a wad of cash under their noses. She’s had manic-depressive episodes since puberty, repeated and acute, resulting in self-harm, anorexia, bulimia and attempted suicide. She is, in layman’s terms, one
fokked
-up young lady.”

Roy’s fists clenched tighter. He heard his knuckles crack.

“Such a shame,” Badenhorst went on, “because she’s a
choty goty
. I’ve seen a picture of her. I’d tap that like a shot, if she weren’t a nutter and likely to cut my balls off with a pair of scissors.”

The Afrikaner had gone from taunting to openly goading Roy. His round, meaty face was almost bursting with smug contempt, challenging Roy to react, inviting him to take a swing. And the instant Roy snapped, Badenhorst could fire him. He’d be out on his ear, without a penny in wages. The three months he had spent in training under Badenhorst, and the two operations he had so far carried out, would all be for nothing. Those were the terms of the contract which Roy and the other Myrmidons had signed. You either saw it out to the end, or you were in breach. No non-refundable downpayment. No stepped increments. Take it or leave it.

As deals went in the wetwork trade, it was an unusual one. Normally you were paid something even if the mission failed or had to be aborted. A retainer, expenses. You were never completely out of pocket, whether or not the end-result was a successful kill.

Roy had gone along with it, despite his misgivings, because the final fee was so fantastically huge. An average one-off job netted him fifty to a hundred thousand US dollars; in this instance, each Myrmidon stood to receive a lump sum of ten million. It was too tempting an amount to say no to, in spite of the unorthodox conditions attached.

Ten million, properly invested, would yield enough interest to cover the bills at the Gesundheitsklinik Rheintal amply, for as long as was necessary. Josie’s continued treatment would be assured. This in turn meant that Roy would not have to work as an outcomes facilitator ever again. He could quit and do something else – anything else – for a living. Drive a bus. Stack shelves at a supermarket. Sweep streets.
Anything
. He would not have to take one more life in order to save his daughter’s. He would no longer have to buy her future with the blood of others.

A single punch to Badenhorst’s face would change all that, and they both knew it. Killing the Afrikaner with his bare hands – and Roy was sorely tempted – would be just as counterproductive. Without Badenhorst there to oversee it, the entire project would collapse. Whoever his employer was would be forced to pull the plug. Badenhorst, as mastermind and liaison, was indispensable. An ugly, gloating lynchpin.

Roy made himself relax, prying his fingers out of his palms and willing his hands to unclench. It took every ounce of self-control he had.

“If you” – his voice was strained and quavering – “if you ever talk about my daughter like that again... If you ever even mention her again... I’ll...”

“Yes?” said Badenhorst. “You’ll do what?”

Roy did not answer.

“I thought as much,” said the Afrikaner.

Roy left the room. He didn’t slam the door behind him. It would have been petty. It would have made no difference. He went straight to his own room and ran through his exercise routine a second time, and then a third for good measure, until his clothes were soaked with sweat and every muscle ached. A full quarter of an hour of
nadi shodhana pranayama
, and he was almost calm again.

Almost.

ELEVEN

Washington, D.C.

“I
STILL DON’T
know whether this is a good idea or not, Chase.”

Theo and Chase were sitting in a rental car across the street from a large federal-style mansion in the Georgetown district of Washington. They had driven down from New York that morning, completing the trip in a shade under five hours, not bad time at all considering there had been roadworks on the I-95 southbound outside Baltimore. Theo had been at the wheel the entire journey while his cousin made work-related phone calls and napped. Theo couldn’t say which he found more irritating: Chase schmoozing television executives or Chase snoozing in the passenger seat.

Now, stationed in a leafy thoroughfare in the capital’s toniest and most expensive neighbourhood, they were weighing up their options.

“I mean to say,” Theo continued, “if he hasn’t returned your calls, what makes you think he’ll let us in when we come knocking at his front door? You left half a dozen messages for him yesterday. I can’t believe he never checked his phone in all that time. No one doesn’t check their phone for that long. He’s stonewalling us.”

“Maybe he is,” said Chase. “Or maybe the number I dug up for him is an old one. Either way, all the more reason we try and see him in person, man to man.”

“What are you proposing? We go up to the gate and press the buzzer?”

The house was set in walled grounds, with an automated gate barring access to the short driveway. There were surveillance cameras, at least three in plain sight, undoubtedly more of them hidden from view.

“Why wouldn’t that work?” said Chase.

“For the same reason phoning him hasn’t worked. He can just ignore us.”

“We can always sneak in round the back.”

According to the images on Google Earth, the rear of the property overlooked parkland. Theo reckoned it was possible they could steal up on the house from there unobserved, using trees and undergrowth for cover, but their final approach would be across open lawn, and if there were cameras out front, there would be cameras out back. The homeowner would see them coming and almost certainly had countermeasures he could implement. It would get messy.

“It wouldn’t help our case,” he said. “It’d make us look shifty and duplicitous.”

“This is Odysseus we’re talking about here,” said Chase. “Shifty and duplicitous are his middle names.”

“Meaning we’d be more likely to ingratiate ourselves with him if we behave the same as he does?”

“Endear ourselves, even.”

“I don’t know.” Theo shook his head. “I’m beginning to think this was a mistake. The whole thing. Perhaps we don’t really need him.”

“Hey, I didn’t drive two hundred miles only to turn around and go back empty-handed.”

“You
didn’t
drive two hundred miles. I did.”

“Whatever. Hang on. What’s this?”

A three-vehicle motorcade was wending its way towards them up the street: two identical black Cadillac limousines, followed by a black Chrysler SUV. All three cars had impenetrably black-tinted windows, and all three slowed as they neared the house.

Simultaneously, a quartet of black-suited, sunglassed security men emerged from the building – a personal protection detail. The gate rolled open. The motorcade turned in. The protection detail waved the limos to a triple garage, the doors of which closed immediately they were inside. The SUV stayed out front. The gate rolled shut.