The Assassin's Gift

by C. P. IRVINE, IAN

  "I don't know."

  "You're crazy."

  "You're repeating yourself." She paused.

  "... Shall I just say, that my life is not as simple now, as it was, when I first decided to kill you."

  "My heart bleeds for you. What's your problem? Do you want me to be your counsellor now? After all, you've already been mine."

  "Perhaps, but what I have to say to you, is rather serious, and rather bizarre."

  "And all this isn't?" McKenzie butted in.

  "Bizarre as in quite unbelievable."

  "Try me."

  "I will, but I want you to first promise that you will never ever repeat a word of what I am going to say to you."

  "Are you serious?"

  "Totally."

  "Of course, I'm going to say yes. If I don't, you'll kill me."

  "I want you to say it, because you mean it. Not because you have to."

  "Can I have some more water first please? In a glass, not over my face?"

  Alessandra stood up and got the water.

  When she returned, she could see McKenzie immediately relax, and it was obvious he'd been trying everything he could to loosen the ropes and see if he could escape, or if he had any hope of doing so.

  "So, what do you reckon? Do you think you could escape from the ropes?" Alessandra asked.

  "Nope. You've done a good job."

  "I'm a professional. Or was. I could be giving up."

  "And so, I could be the last person you kill? Excellent. Good timing on my part... So, if I am going to go along with this...why could you be giving up?"

  "Actually, maybe we won't bother about this after all. Perhaps I should just kill you?"

  "Is that an American or a Canadian accent you have?" Campbell immediately tried to redirect and continue the conversation.

  "It's an accent. I live in America."

  "So what brings you to Scotland?"

  "Silly question. You, of course. And your future death."

  "You're morbid."

  "No, just undecided. Listen, Campbell, maybe it's better if you just listen to me, and I'll do the talking. You have every justification in thinking that I'm completely crazy and that I'm insane..."

  "I never mentioned insane, but thanks for the reassurance..."

  "But actually I'm not. Did you read about the woman and the boy in the newspaper who were involved in the car accident recently in the village of Doune?"

  "No. I was probably drunk. I’ve done a lot of drinking recently. Reality’s been a distraction I’d rather avoid."

  "Well, there was an accident. The boy was almost killed. He was trapped in the car. A stranger, a passer-by... a 'good-Samaritan' passed by, pulled the boy out of the wreckage of the car, and miraculously cured him. Or so the papers and the boy's mother, and a witness claimed."

  McKenzie said nothing for a moment.

  "And?"

  "And that person who passed by was me. I cured the boy. Saved his life. Healed him."

  "You? Why? You're a murderer."

  "Actually, not a murderer. I'm an assassin. I kill people for money."

  "Like I said, you're a murderer."

  "Perhaps it's all just semantics."

  "No. You're a murderer."

  "Not just an ordinary murderer, as it would seem then. Also a healer."

  "You are definitely, definitely crazy."

  "Please, be quiet? The problem is just that. I am probably not crazy. But 'God', though I'm not admitting that He exists, but something, somewhere, has decided in their ultimate wisdom to 'bless' me with the Gift of healing. And now, against my will practically, I find that I have to heal people, or cure people, ... to make them better from whatever is afflicting them, no matter how serious or trivial it is."

  "I have a sore throat and my head hurts."

  Alessandra stood up, walked across and put her hand on his head. She was angry now. She closed her eyes. Thought of McKenzie's hangover, and willed it to go away.

  This time when she willed it to go away, it wasn't like previous times. This time she bloody meant it. She didn't just will it, she FORCED it to go.

  So intense was her determination to stop McKenzie moaning and make him listen to her, that Alessandra was not surprised when almost spontaneously she felt a surge of heat rise up from within her, overflow down her arms, into her fingers, and out and across from them into McKenzie's head.

  "Whoa..." McKenzie gasped aloud. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

  "Curing you of your pathetic self-induced misery and your hangover. And taking away the pain you have in your back."

  "How do you know about that?"

  "I just felt it. I've taken it away. Now I've got it. And thanks to you for the next few minutes, I've got to deal with your hangover and back pain. Anyway, point is, I just cured you. You're feeling fine now. And you're going to listen to me."

  McKenzie blinked. He couldn't quite believe it.

  He'd felt the warmth enter him, spread down through his head, and then continue down through his body.

  It was like as if a cloud, a painful, dirty, sick cloud had just lifted off him. He felt lighter. Clear headed.

  Actually, quite amazing.

  "Bloody hell... do that again!"

  "No. You don't need it. But listen to me. The point I'm trying to get across to you, is that for some reason I've been cursed with something, or given a gift ... the monk who blessed me and gave it to me calls it the 'Gift'... and suddenly nothing makes sense anymore. I'm confused. Really confused."

  "You're serious aren't you?" McKenzie asked, quietly.

  "Never more so. I've already been paid to kill you. I know who you are. Talking to you just now, about this, is insane... yes, I am insane, I have to be, to be doing this,...just talking to you and not killing you. But all of a sudden, I've realised that killing you would itself be crazy. And I'd have to be crazy to do it. I can't be a killer and a healer at the same time. The healing ability makes a mockery of everything else I do. If I continue to kill people, my life would become a joke."

  "Who else have you healed? What else have you done?" McKenzie asked. This time, without any mocking edge to his voice.

  Alessandra had to bite her lip to prevent her from replying, "Your wife."

  Instead, she said. "Three or four people. The power is growing within me. Rapidly. Each time it happens, it's more powerful than previously. Just now, for example, was the first time I've been able to do it at will. Simply because I wanted to. Which proves that I can control it now. Which also makes things harder. The whole concept of killing some people and curing others is ridiculous."

  "To whom? To you? Why?"

  Alessandra stared at him.

  "Because it just doesn't make sense."

  "And killing people for a living does?"

  "People who live in an abattoir kill animals every day. In their hundreds."

  "They're animals. Not humans."

  "So, all life isn't precious then? It's alright to kill some things and not others? Who decides? Do you have any vegetarian or vegan friends? Do you want to call them and ask them their opinion on that? Or maybe we should call some Buddhists? I think you could find millions of people, possibly billions, who might think that the people who work in abattoirs are mass murderers or serial killers just like anyone who might kill humans. It's just a matter of definition. Killing is natural to us all. Perhaps the discussion should more be around how you kill, and why?"

  "It's not the same."

  "It's not clear cut either. You know, when I was at school, in one of my final exams I was asked to write an essay. The question said, "An American soldier who has fought in the Second World War and killed people almost every day for four years, is told the war is now over. He is starving. He knows he won't live much longer if he doesn't eat. He sees a man, a German soldier, with a loaf of bread and asks the other man to share it with him. The man refuses. The soldier fights the other man to take the bread off him so that he can eat. In the battle to obtain food to
survive, he kills the German. The police come. They arrest the American soldier and charge him with murder. Please discuss!" What could I write? I was only sixteen. But I learned one thing that day. Murder is an arbitrary description applied to events by those who want to control them. Today's decorated hero is tomorrow's murderer."

  "And so what are you? What are you trying to say?"

  "Only what I've said. I'm confused. I'm struggling to make sense of my life. And I have to figure this out. Now. Soon. I need to decide what to do. Do I kill you, or walk away?"

  "How about the walk away option? I like that one."

  "And if I do, the people who paid me upfront to kill you, will come after me. They will have me killed, or at least, they will try to, if they can find me. That's how it works."

  "And if you kill me?"

  "To some, I'm a respected hero. And I earn a lot more money. But..."

  "But what? At this stage, 'buts' are good."

  "But why kill you, when tomorrow I'll probably end up healing someone else?"

  "You're struggling with an abstraction that frankly doesn't make much sense, given that you've already come to terms with the fact that you're a serial killer, and that in your world, that's just fine."

  Alessandra laughed.

  "Big words. So... , you want me to kill you and walk away? And learn to live with the duplicity of it all?"

  "Actually, no. That would be a bad plan... come to think of it. Forget what I said, I was just entering into the spirit of the discussion, perhaps far too much."

  "No. That's good. I want this to be a discussion. It's exactly what I want."

  "Are you seriously telling me, that by not killing me, you put your own life in danger?"

  "That's exactly what I'm telling you. Once you accept the down payment for a mission, you have to carry through or run the risk of becoming the target of the next."

  "That's a tough one. But can't you just disappear, so that no one could find you?"

  "Isn't that what you just tried to do?"

  McKenzie said nothing for a while.

  "You're snookering me into a corner. Obviously, in that case, you're going to kill me, and this whole 'discussion' is pointless... There's no way that you're not going to kill me, is there?"

  Alessandra stood up and walked towards McKenzie.

  She didn't recognise who she was anymore, or who she was becoming.

  She already knew it, - she'd known it since she'd seen the photograph in his pocket -, that she couldn't kill McKenzie, but now she was slowly coming round to accepting it.

  She held a syringe in her hand. It was full of the poison she was originally going to kill him with.

  She saw McKenzie's eyes fly wide open when he saw the syringe, and he realised what it was for.

  "You're right. When I broke into your cottage, I was going to use this to put you to sleep, permanently. I would have got away with it too, given that you've been drinking heavily, and the drug mimics a natural heart attack. But, don't worry. I'm not going to use it now."

  She put the syringe down on the table beside his legs, and started to loosen the ropes around his chest and legs, but leaving his ankles and wrists bound.

  "So you can sit up," she said, "And we can talk some more..."

  What happened next caught Alessandra and McKenzie both by complete surprise. A man rushed into the room, waving a gun, and shouting at Alessandra.

  "Get down! Now! On the floor!"

  Even before Alessandra could turn around, a gun was being pushed into the back of her skull, and a foot swept Alessandra's legs out from underneath her.

  She went down hard.

  "Where's Salvador?" the man demanded. "WHERE IS HE?" he shouted, pushing Alessandra violently with his foot.

  "Who? I don't know any Sally Door." Alessandra pleaded, looking up at the man with the gun.

  "SALVADOR! Not Sally Door."

  "I don't know him either."

  "Put out your hands!" he shouted at Alessandra.

  She put them out.

  "Put this on!" the man insisted, passing her a plastic wrist tie, not too dissimilar to the one she'd put on McKenzie. The man pushed the barrel of the gun against her head, and she complied. As soon as both hands were in place, the man leant forward and pulled the straps tight.

  "If you're not Salvador, why have you kidnapped McKenzie?" he shouted, waving the gun, a P365 Sig Sauer, at McKenzie on the table.

  "I don't know what you're talking about? Who are you?" Alessandra asked.

  "You can call me Copernicus. You won't remember it for long though. Because I'm going to blow your brains out in five seconds, unless you tell me where Salvador is?"

  "And how can you be sure that I'm not Salvador?" Alessandra asked, looking straight into Copernicus's eyes.

  Copernicus laughed.

  "Because you're a woman, and everyone knows, Salvador is a man!"

  "Can you let me free?" McKenzie asked, lifting his hands and showing the man his wrists, bound tightly together by the strap.

  Copernicus laughed again.

  "You're a cop, right? And you expect me to set you free? What? So you can arrest me and get all the credit for arresting the most famous assassin in the world?"

  "Are you Salvador, then?" Alessandra asked, innocently.

  "No, I'm Copernicus."

  "But I thought you said that you were the most famous assassin in the world? Everyone knows that Salvador is! I'm really confused now..."

  Copernicus lashed out at the woman on the floor, smacking her on the side of the face.

  "Toss, your weapon over to me. I know you must be carrying one."

  Alessandra just stared at him and did not react.

  "Now!" Copernicus shouted at her, lashing out at her again, but quickly stepping back, correctly anticipating that Alessandra was about to lunge for his outstretched arm. She missed.

  Copernicus pointed the gun at her head.

  "Your gun. Now! And slowly. Very slowly."

  Copernicus leant forward, the gun angled straight at Alessandra's brain.

  For a moment there was a stand-off. They both knew that in retrieving the gun, there was an opportunity for Alessandra to shoot Copernicus. But both also knew that Copernicus would most likely be able to put a bullet straight through her skull even faster.

  Alessandra responded the only way that was sensible.

  Slowly.

  She stretched her bound arms around her side, and using the fingers of her right hand retrieved the gun, but instead of dropping it in front of her, she tossed it over and behind Copernicus. It skidded across the ground and ended up just in front of the table behind him.

  Copernicus stepped slowly backwards to retrieve it.

  As be bent down to pick it up, he spoke again.

  "I'm going to ask you one more time, where is Salvador? If you do not tell me immediately, I promise, I will shoot you. You have only seconds to live."

  McKenzie, now fully alert and functional, knew the danger he was in. He spotted the opportunity and he had to think fast. The man was just about to kill the woman. The woman could already have killed him if she'd wanted, but for some strange reason, she seemed reluctant to do it.

  In spite of the bizarre circumstances of their meeting, McKenzie believed that the woman did have something special about her. He had just experienced something very strange and personal, at her hands.

  As a detective that had extensive experience interviewing people, he knew when people were telling the truth or lying. He had a good gut instinct.

  That same instinct was telling him now that the woman was genuinely battling with some sort of inner conflict. In that moment, he no longer felt threatened by her. On the contrary, bizarrely, there could be something very special about her. Even unique.

  No, the woman was not an immediate threat, but if the man killed her, he would be. After killing her, he would almost certainly turn the gun on McKenzie.

  Unless he acted fast, McKenzie may only have seconds
to live.

  Decision made, McKenzie went into action.

  As the so called Copernicus bent down in front of him to pick up the gun, his back turned to McKenzie having wrongly assumed he posed no threat to him, McKenzie edged gently towards the syringe beside his legs, cupping his shackled hands over it.

  Adjusting his grip, he lifted the syringe out and over the unsuspecting Copernicus.

  It all happened very fast, but as Copernicus stood back up, now holding a gun in each hand, McKenzie drove the point of the syringe down into his neck.

  As the poison flowed into his blood, death was almost instant.

  Copernicus fell to the ground, dropping both guns, his eyes wide open and staring.

  Chapter 43

  Crianlarich

  Tuesday

  04.30 a.m.

  McKenzie stared at the body of Copernicus lying on the floor beneath him, the syringe still sticking out of his neck.

  For a moment, neither Alessandra nor he spoke.

  McKenzie was the first to break the silence.

  "How lethal was it? Is he definitely dead?"

  "Very. The syringe is empty. There's no way he could survive."

  Alessandra shifted across the floor towards him, flicking one of the guns away from the body and behind her, but grabbing the other with her outstretched, bound hands.

  She knelt towards him, examining his open eyes.

  "He's dead."

  Then, she spoke again.

  "Thank you."

  McKenzie shuffled closer to the edge of the table, then dropped down onto the floor.

  Kneeling beside the prone Copernicus, he pushed out his hands and felt for the pulse in his neck. Finding none, he searched on his temple and then his wrist. Lastly he knelt forward, turned his head to the side and listened for the sound of a breath or to feel his breath upon his cheek.

  Nothing.

  "I've never killed someone before." McKenzie admitted quietly.

  "He would have killed you after he killed me."

  "I think I'm going to be sick..."

  McKenzie turned to his side, and retched a few times, but nothing came up.

  "You did the right thing."