by Samson Weld
This was precisely the opportunity Melanie had been looking for.
The man was completely occupied. Still naked and not giving it a second thought, her flawless figure covered with rivulets of sweat, Melanie slid off the bed and tiptoed out of the room.
As quietly as possible, she went over to Aylward’s work area in the living room. She sat on the couch and started to go through his paperwork. All the while, she stole glances at the bedroom door to make sure she wouldn’t be disturbed unexpectedly. Cries of joy—fake for the most part, she knew—told her she had nothing to worry about.
She scanned the files with her eyes. English was not her mother tongue, but she knew what to look for. She saw words such as Hozalex Solutions and Lars Moultrup. Quickly, she went to her clothing and handbag near the sofa.
She grabbed her phone and began to snap pictures of the documents.
~ ~ ~ ~
Nick was still in bed and, despite the late hour, he felt more alive than ever. His idea of outsourcing crucial work to Melanie had been a stroke of genius. He had her on the phone right now.
“All right, that’s great news. Thanks, Melanie. I owe you one. I’ll meet you tomorrow for your fee.”
He hung up as Anne-Marie, now dressed in one of her sister’s oversized T-shirts, topped off his glass. They deserved a celebratory drink, even if it was Drambuie.
“So? Did she find anything useful?” Anne-Marie asked with anticipation.
Nick nodded and drank. “Several documents mentioned a deal with Hozalex and Lars Moultrup’s name is everywhere. She’s e-mailing everything to your office.”
He didn’t want to use his personal e-mail for fear that it was being monitored. Same with hers. He didn’t want to make it easy for the assassin, not before this thing was over. Naturally, she could use her phone to check her email, but again a half-decent killer would be able to trace the IP address to their hiding place. They couldn’t afford the risk.
“We should go get it before somebody finds out. It’s night now. We can be in and out in a matter of minutes.”
“I can go alone, Anne-Marie.”
Her hand sought his. “We’re in it together now. I don’t want to leave you.”
He was touched by that more than he would’ve believed and pressed his lips against hers.
~ ~ ~ ~
Fullerton’s mission wasn’t over yet and he was staking out Hozalex Solutions. The trail had gone cold, but it was the one location where he was confident that target would visit again.
Instead of chasing around the city to locate his prey, he had decided to keep an eye on the one place he knew Nick Eversull was going to go sooner or later. Stakeouts were not his favorite part of the job. He sat in the roomier passenger seat of his Toyota which he had rented behind three layers of fake identity papers.
He had been doing this for so long that he had stopped perking up every time a car drove by. He ate very little and drank even less to avoid having to answer nature’s call. He passed the time by daydreaming about what he would do in his retirement. He had his designs on a property in Bora Bora, but he was still a few millions short.
Another car drove by, but this time it came to a halt in front of the building. When he saw it was a Mercedes, the assassin straightened up. Sure enough, Eversull and the woman came out and made their way to the building.
He pulled out a Tanfoglio Force which was a modified clone of the famed Czech CZ-75 pistol. The sleek black handgun seemed to have been molded for his hand and this was why he preferred it. He screwed in a four-inch sound suppressor and exited the car.
It was straightforward now. Approach, point, and shoot. This time, Fullerton decided, he wouldn’t fail his mission.
Chapter 32
In the conference room, Nick sorted out some of Helmbold’s secret files as well as what he took for the forgeries he had been given to work with.
“I got them,” Anne-Marie said as she came in, carrying printouts from the files Melanie had e-mailed to her work computer.
Nick gave her a fleeting glance before heading to the fax machine against the far wall.
“Is that a New York number?” she asked as he dialed.
“God knows what can happen here. At least my office will have a copy of all those incriminating documents. Nothing on a hard drive to hack and delete. These pages will be in my office.”
On top of that, he intended to email everything just after this was done to a freshly minted Google account. You couldn’t be too careful, he judged. Backups needed backups.
The machine chirped annoyingly, almost like nails on a chalkboard. It made Anne-Marie look away. Right then, she glimpsed a shadow from the corner of her eye.
She turned around just in time to see through the lightly frosted glass that someone was coming toward them. This was highly irregular considering they were in the middle of the night.
“Nick…”
As he turned around, following her lead, the door burst open and Fullerton stood in the frame. He raised his weapon and took aim.
The first two shots went off, but Nick and Anne-Marie ducked just in time. More rounds rang off and the assassin entered the room in pursuit. He hurried down along the long table, hoping to corner them.
Operating on instincts, Nick grabbed a chair and flung it over the table at the man. It was heavy and barely got there, but it was enough to distract him, deflecting the following two shots.
Anne-Marie followed Nick and managed to dash out of the conference room unscathed. They went as fast as his injured leg allowed them to go, which was nearly not fast enough. They only had a slight lead.
Fullerton was seething. This should have been a turkey shoot.
Coming out of the conference room, he leaned against the door frame in an attempt to steady his body. Shooting at moving targets after running was one of the most complicated things one could do. He squeezed the trigger, but only managed to make drywall explode.
“This way!” Anne-Marie ordered, knowing fully well that she could be living her last moments if they didn’t do anything soon.
She led Nick through the first door on their right. It was the wrong choice. They were in the copy room. A dead end. The place was eight feet square. Much of the space was taken up by shelves brimming with office supplies, as well as a massive Xerox machine.
They were trapped.
Without wasting a second, Nick unplugged the copier and pulled it against the door, using all the strength he could muster because it was a heavy beast.
If they came out again, they would surely be shot dead. They might as well protect themselves as much as they could while they had the chance. Anne-Marie understood what he was trying to do and grabbed a folding chair. She wedged it between the copier and some shelves for reinforcement.
“That should give us some time,” he said.
But not too much time. The killer reached them and after wiggling the doorknob he set out to bang on the door furiously.
“Time for what? He’ll just wait for us on the other side.”
“Not if I can help it.”
Nick had been determined not to use his cell phone anymore as to not be tracked down, but now the point was moot. He pulled it out of his pocket and searched through his numbers. He dialed one he never thought he would use.
“Hey, how’s it going? It’s Nick. I still haven’t got around to it yet, but I want to make it up to you, swear to God.”
“Is that right?” the man on the other end barked.
Nick grinned as he listened to the grumbling reply. “Do you have a pen and paper? I want you to see me right now at this address.”
He winked at Anne-Marie. She had no idea what was going on.
~ ~ ~ ~
Fullerton didn’t let his inability to break down the door get to him. He would try something else.
You can always try something else when Plan A goes wrong, he told himself. That was what had made him such a good special operator in the military, his ability to improvise
.
In no way frazzled, he got down on his knees in front of the door and put his handgun on the ground. He inspected the doorknob; it was held by a couple of screws. Maybe he could disassemble the knob completely? This would give him either a porthole to shoot his mark through or, at the very least, some leverage to break down the door.
He produced his Swiss Army knife, flipped out what passed for a screwdriver, and went to work on the first screw. It was tight and the knife’s grip was awkward, but after a minute he managed to get the screw out.
Now for the other one. He scooted sideways for a better angle and began twisting out the remaining screw. It wouldn’t be long, the doorknob was already loose. He felt excitement and hope once again.
That was a mistake.
Chapter 33
At the end of the hallway, Xavier the pimp appeared.
He wasn’t especially pleased at having been called by that son of a bitch from New York, especially at this late hour. Still, if they could settle matters once and for all, he was willing to do anything. The future of his business was on the line.
He walked forward cautiously on the carpeted floor and spotted a man kneeling twenty feet away. Most of the lights were off and the corridor was bathed in shadows. Why was Eversull fooling around with a doorknob in the middle of the night?
When Xavier was three feet away he said, “You said something about making it up to me?”
The assassin was caught off guard, the doorknob having held his attention. He turned around in surprise though he didn’t feel panic. He never did.
Xavier was stunned by the man spinning toward him and, mostly, by the fact that it wasn’t the New Yorker.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Fullerton reached for his gun. He was being paid to kill Nick Eversull only, but he was prepared to do anything to make sure there were no witnesses or loose ends, such as that Stanley guy.
His hand curled around the grip of the pistol and his index finger swiftly found the trigger. He raised the gun toward the newcomer.
At the same time, the pimp’s instincts took over. He kicked the firearm out of the killer’s hand, making the Tanfoglio fly out. It landed ten feet away. Too far to be an issue. He steadied himself to kick him once more when Fullerton thrust his knife at him.
“Ugh!”
Xavier hesitated, but only a fraction of a second. He bent forward and bit his hand. One thing he’d learned in his stint on the streets was that there was no such thing as honor in a fight. Fighting dirty was the only way.
“Aaah!”
The assassin screamed in pain as blood appeared. He instantly dropped the knife.
Still, he wasn’t down for the count. He lurched ahead and tackled the pimp. Both men fell to the ground.
Xavier grappled with him, trying to gouge his eyes out, anything that would make him live just one more minute. However, Fullerton had more experience, more training. He parried the blows and within seconds he was on top of the other man.
“Who are you?” he asked through clenched teeth though he didn’t expect an answer.
Both his hands gripped the pimp’s throat and squeezed. Strangulation wasn’t the cleanest or fastest death, but it would do in a pinch.
Xavier felt as if he was drowning, with the added bonus of feeling tremendous pain. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His arms and legs were flailing haphazardly.
Was this retribution for the life he’d lived? Praying for a miracle, something he hadn’t done since before puberty, he let his hands feel the carpet around him.
Out of the blue, he made contact with a small object. He was almost completely out of strength, his brain almost completely out of oxygen. Everything was getting darker, his eyes just wanted to close.
But there was that object. He needed to do something with it. Mustering all his energy, his will to live, he wrapped his fingers around the thing.
It was the pocket knife!
With a surge of adrenaline, knowing his life depended on what he did in the next half second, he made a last-ditch effort. He raised his arm in a wide arc and brought the screwdriver attachment up to the hitman, stabbing him in the throat.
Fullerton let go of him at once. Shock and pain gave way to blankness. He faintly heard himself gurgle as blood sprayed out. It was a dribble at first before becoming a geyser. He didn’t have time to put pressure on the wound. He was dead before he even tumbled off the pimp.
Xavier wiggled free and looked at the professional assassin. He’d seen enough movies to know that you don’t turn your back to a killer. He stabbed him again for good measure, this time in the chest. He did so a third time.
“Motherfucker,” he mumbled, just above a whisper. “What just happened?”
He finally realized what he’d done. He had killed someone! He had roughed up quite a few deadbeats in his day and honestly he had always been prepared to go all the way. Still, he never had.
A part of him had always wondered if he’d had it in him to go this far. Now he knew the answer, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. He dropped the knife. His eyes were riveted to the bloody corpse while he surveyed the damage he’d done. It was self-defense, wasn’t it?
The door to the copy room opened. Nick and Anne-Marie ventured out slowly as they looked between the dead body and the pimp.
The latter looked at them with a mixture of fright and embarrassment. He recognized the man and for some reason that made it worse.
“He attacked me,” he said as if he was asking forgiveness. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Nick nodded calmly. “I understand, Xavier.”
“There was no other way.”
“I know,” Nick replied. “I saw it. It was either you or him. Let’s just call it even between us, all right? We’re straight.”
“Yeah, okay. Good idea.”
“We didn’t see anything, we won’t say anything. In return, you won’t harass me again. Ever. Deal?”
Xavier nodded nervously. The bad review and his failing business were wholly forgotten now. He could see that, it was logical. In fact, it made his brain start to function again.
He bent down and frisked the assassin until he retrieved his wallet. He went through the rest of his pockets and found a thick envelope stuffed with one-hundred-dollar bills. He grabbed his loot, glanced one last time at Nick, and jogged away.
“This is surreal,” Anne-Marie exhaled.
Nick nodded, but felt no compassion for the dead man on the floor. He had experienced hell this weekend, had been through too much to wallow in self-pity. Rage consumed him like never before.
“It’s time to finish it.”
Exhausted from stress and lack of sleep, Anne-Marie took the American’s hand. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. He had never needed someone’s body against his as much as he did right now.
And there was one thing left to do.
Chapter 34
There was no porn on display this morning in the presidential suite. Instead, the TV was tuned to a financial news show with the volume so low that it might as well have been off.
Aylward, dressed in the terrycloth bathrobe, was back on the couch doing paperwork. He usually got up around five o’clock every morning, but given last night’s sexual acrobatics, he had slept in to the ungodly hour of six.
As he finished pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee, his third, an insistent knocking on the door couldn’t be escaped. Grunting with annoyance, he got up to see who it was. He looked through the peephole and found Sorensen. During the day, he was usually with him, but at night he wasn’t allowed in his presence.
That bodyguard wasn’t fully dressed. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned and even his hair wasn’t completely slicked back like it usually was. Aylward yanked open the door and found two other people were standing with him: Nick and Anne-Marie.
“What the hell is this? You bring me visitors before I even eat my breakfast now?”
“Mr. Aylward, my name is Nick Eve
rsull.”
“Who?”
“I think it’s in your best interest to let us come in.”
“Best interest? Are you kidding me? You want an appointment and you do like everyone else. Take an appointment with my secretary and I’ll meet you in six months.”
He glared at his bodyguard as if he should’ve been savvy enough to keep these clowns from disturbing him. He was about to shut the door when Nick stretched forward to keep this from happening.
“Sir, you don’t want this conversation happening here in the hallway, trust me on this. This can’t wait six months.”
“This is extremely urgent,” Anne-Marie added, her tone all business.
At that, Aylward hesitated and ultimately turned to Sorensen. “They clean?”
Without warning, the bodyguard patted Nick down for weapons, checking his pants and leather jacket. When he didn’t find anything, he confiscated his cell phone. Then, he repeated the procedure with Anne-Marie who was surprised to feel a stranger’s hands on her.
She winced in discomfort and shame, especially when he touched the inside of her legs. He didn’t use the back of his hands like airport security did. No, he felt her everywhere. The silver lining was that he didn’t linger. He was doing his job. He also seized her phone.
“They’re clean.”
The billionaire nodded to Sorensen reluctantly. “Stay close, I may need you later.”
The visitors came in and the bodyguard disappeared, closing the door behind him. Nick and Anne-Marie followed Aylward inside the large suite. The smell of fresh coffee was inebriating. And yet, it made Nick nauseated. As they used to say on West 54th Street when he was growing up, shit was about to go down.
“So now are we gonna have one of my famous occult demonstrations or are you gonna tell me why I need to have company while drinking my Blue Mountain roast?”
Nick took a breath to settle his stomach, keeping his eye on the prize. This was the last round, his last chance to make everything right again.
