The Final Hour (Victor The Assassin 7)

by Tom Wood

  Bankers, Raven could handle. They were all the same, pretty much. But Cornish wasn’t a banker in the same way no one in the whole bank would qualify as a banker. Cornish was a lawyer, or a solicitor as he would be called in his homeland. British by birth, but holder of an Italian passport, he had been in Italy almost the whole of his adult life. He had an Italian wife – ex-wife – and his kids spoke English only because of Hollywood movies and their favourite singers. Cornish was nationalised, and integrated.

  He was also huge, in width as well as height. His face was so round and his jowls and chin so distended that he seemed to have no neck at all. His torso was the shape of a barrel. His elbows were flared because his arms could never hang straight at his sides. He wore a pinstripe suit. Which had to be custom-made, because Raven doubted anyone produced clothes so big that weren’t made to order. It must have taken half a cow to make his shoes.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Coney,’ he said, standing up from his desk.

  He spoke to her in English because she wasn’t disguising her own nationality. He had a British accent. Not the classical aristocratic one nor from Landan but one of the many others she couldn’t hope to identify. She once read that there were more accents per square mile in the British Isles than anywhere else on the planet.

  She looked up as he approached to shake her hand.

  ‘Jeez, they build you guys big in England, huh? Must be all that rain making you grow like a plant in a pot.’

  He responded with a stilted smile. ‘Take a seat, please.’

  She did, crossing her legs and resting her hands on one thigh. Cornish returned to his chair behind the desk. She felt sorry for the chair.

  In the same way that Cornish wasn’t a banker, the room didn’t look like the soulless room where a mortgage would be discussed or repayments on a loan negotiated. There were no veneers, no plastic, no grey carpet or magnolia walls. The office was more akin to a study in some grand old villa. The desk was oak with a leather protector. The lamp resting on it was solid brass, as were all the fixtures. He even had a brass letter opener. Neoclassical paintings and sculptures added tasteful, if unnecessary decoration.

  This was a room where tax evasion, secret wire transfers and money laundering were the order of business. She could smell it in the air the same way she could read it in Cornish’s smug, fat smile.

  ‘How can I help you today?’ Cornish began.

  ‘Hard to get a sit down with you guys,’ she said in return. ‘You’ve made me wait my turn and then some, haven’t you?’

  The stilted smile returned. ‘We are very busy, yes.’

  ‘I’ll say. Took several large deposits just to get through the door.’

  ‘We have an exclusive clientele. What may I do for you?’

  ‘Your website says your aim is to make me as much money as possible.’

  ‘I believe it says that we will endeavour to assist your goal of growing your assets.’

  She nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s it. By helping me evade tax.’

  ‘We describe it as mitigating your tax liabilities. We can do that by assisting with the creation of offshore accounts, investments and other strategies.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Other strategies. That’s what I’m mostly interested in. What are those, exactly?’

  ‘Miss Coney, I’m afraid we don’t really offer such services. We merely help you make the most of the services you require. We help you choose wisely and assist in the implementation, but it has to be your own choice.’

  ‘You’re telling me you can’t show me a list of what you can do, but if I tell you what I want you to do then you’ll do your best.’

  He nodded. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I get it. You can’t offer an illegal service, because that would be, well, illegal. But if I bring you dirty money then you’ll provide the soap to give it a good old-fashioned washing.’

  He shrugged with his palms. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Thing is, Sam, what I’m really after is information. To pay for it, I’m going to leave that money in my account and never take it out again.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘A year ago, give or take, you had an arrangement with a banker who works at Roma Investimenti.’

  Cornish, like a good lawyer, had a great poker face. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Of course you don’t, but I can help you remember, don’t worry. We’re starting off at the legitimate end of your operation, and you’d already made deposits with this bank on behalf of one of your clients. Now, said client was due to give you another few mil of dirty money that was supposed to be deposited like the rest. Only, this cash was traceable, and it was going to bring down the bank when the authorities received a juicy tip-off. Well, that never happened for reasons you don’t want to know, but let’s just say it involved a bone saw.’ She paused while Cornish’s eyes widened. ‘I know, right? Messy. Anyway, I’m doing a little bit of private eye work. I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes in high heels. I want to know the name of your contact. I want to trace the money that you never received. I want to know where it came from.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You already said that. Word for word, in fact. I imagine it’s your go-to line for when someone quizzes you on your work. I call it work, but let’s face it, you’re a criminal. Criminals don’t really work, do they? They lie and cheat and steal, but not work. I know this because I’m a criminal too. They say don’t bullshit a bullshitter, but I say don’t scam a scammer, don’t fight a fighter. Capisce?’

  Cornish took a moment to respond. She had a bet with herself: if he sat back in his chair she could wear him down, make an offer, bribe, lie, or negotiate an answer; if he sat forward then he was going to take some more… convincing.

  Cornish sat forward.

  Raven said, ‘And here was me thinking it was going to be another boring day. Glad I opted for the sports bra.’

  He frowned in confusion, but ignored the comment and said, ‘You need to go now, Miss Coney.’

  ‘Done already?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘I don’t believe I can help your money grow.’

  ‘I’m not looking for it to grow. I’m offering it to you. Grow it for yourself. Stick it in that plant pot where they grew you.’

  He stood. ‘If you please.’

  Her lips turned upwards. ‘I don’t please easily.’

  ‘Time to go, Miss Coney.’

  She twisted her head around, looking at the walls and ceiling. ‘No cameras in this room, right? That would violate your clients’ privacy. More to the point: no one is going to talk about money laundering if they’re being recorded. All the security is in the lobby.’

  He stepped around the desk. ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘My point is that it’s just me and you here. All alone. Total privacy.’

  ‘I don’t think I understand what you’re trying to do. Are you attempting to intimidate me? Because you would have had far more success flirting with me.’ He smirked. ‘And by far more I mean negligible instead of zero. I think you should leave now.’

  ‘Nah, I’m good.’ She shifted in the chair to get more comfortable. The leather squeaked.

  ‘I’ll call security.’

  ‘For me? You’re three times my size. At least. Won’t that make you look like a big pussy? You don’t want the security boys making fun of you over coffee, do you? Sam’s scared of girls…’

  Cornish stood and rounded the desk. He towered over her, gesturing with his right hand – big and fleshy. ‘The door. Please use it.’

  She stood too. The hand was too big and too inviting to ignore. Be rude not to accept.

  Her own hands snapped out in a blur, grabbing Cornish’s and twisting it anticlockwise and back against the joint into a wrist lock. Savage. Sudden.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘you don’t know how good it feels to have full grip strength back.’

  Given his size and obvious p
ower, she used both hands, but it was unnecessary. He was a civilian. He was untrained and he was slow. He understood what was happening only when the agony exploded up his arm and he was forced over the desk, taking a good hard shot of oak to the gut in the process.

  He was a man. He didn’t want to scream. She kept the pressure on the joint to keep him immobile and compliant, but not enough to induce a noise that would draw security.

  His teeth were gritted and his fingers red and swollen with trapped blood. Raven scooped up the brass letter opener in her left hand while she controlled the wrist lock with her right.

  She had to shuffle her feet to get in position so he could see the blade and Cornish’s other hand, braced flat against the desktop, fingers spread.

  She spun the letter opener in her palm so the point faced down from her grip.

  ‘We’re going to play a game.’

  She positioned the letter opener over the desk, over his braced hand.

  ‘I haven’t done this for a while,’ she said. ‘And I don’t think I’ve ever done it with my left hand, but I like a challenge, don’t you? What could possibly go wrong?’

  She eased the pressure on his wrist enough for him to say, ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Cut me.’

  ‘I’m going to try not to, but I make no promises.’

  He went to speak again but she turned up a notch on the wrist lock, and only a grunt escaped his lips.

  She said, ‘Here goes nothing.’

  She started from outside his little finger, stabbing the blade down to strike the desk, lifting it fast and bringing it down again, this time in the gap between the little and ring fingers, then the next and the next until she reached the outside of the thumb, then back again, each strike faster than the last.

  Raven said, ‘This is harder than I thought. How am I doing?’

  Cornish’s eyes were wide at the blurring golden blade. Panic, fear and pain. He couldn’t speak, even had he wanted to.

  ‘Whoops, that was close,’ she said. ‘Want me to stop?’

  She eased the pressure enough for his grunts to become a single word, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then tell me what I need to know. Who’s the bag man? Who brings the money?’

  He took a breath, composing himself. ‘Paolo Totti.’

  ‘You say that name like it’s supposed to mean something.’

  ‘Mafia.’

  She shrugged. ‘Makes sense. Where can I find him?’

  ‘Anywhere. Everywhere. He’s not the sort to keep a low profile.’

  ‘Are you expecting another delivery of cash?’

  ‘I’ve not been informed.’

  She said, ‘Don’t lie to me,’ and increased the pressure on the wrist.

  His teeth clamped shut with such force she heard a crack.

  ‘I’m not,’ Cornish managed to hiss.

  She believed him. It was a shame there was no delivery to exploit, but not a disaster. She released him.

  For a moment, he didn’t react. Surprise. Fear. Pain. All held him back. He didn’t know what was about to happen. When he had caught up with the idea he was free of the vicious wrist lock, he let out a gasp that became a sigh. He sank backwards off the desk until he was sitting on the floor, cradling his wrist, the fingers of his right hand in a frozen grip he couldn’t open.

  ‘You’re insane,’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘But I’m cute.’

  ‘Totti is not the kind of enemy you want to make.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Someone you would do well to forget,’ she said, and then as she approached the door: ‘Hey, I know you’re divorced, but do you have a girlfriend?’

  Cornish hesitated, unsure, but said, ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Then I really hope you’re ambidextrous.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  It took some effort to meet. Muir wanted it soon, but it had to appear organic. They didn’t imagine Alvarez had a full twenty-four-hour surveillance detail on either of them, let alone both, but precautions had to be taken. Because she ran almost every day, sometimes multiple times a day, it made sense to sync up during one of those. Procter lacked her mobility, but between them they knew how to be discreet. Muir made sure her run took her through a textbook Surveillance Detection Run, that ended up at the right kerb at the right time to get into Procter’s Lincoln unobserved.

  ‘No one’s following me,’ he said as soon as she had closed the door.

  She wasted no time. ‘Alvarez isn’t just after Tesseract, he’s after you. And he knows I’m involved.’

  She summarised their conversation, leaving aside a significant part, whilst Procter drove. He listened, concern increasing on his face with every passing mile.

  ‘Pull over,’ Muir said, ‘into that lot.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I said so.’

  Procter did. He stopped the car in front of a strip mall. ‘What’s going on, Janice?’

  ‘Alvarez also claims not only has Tesseract killed active and former CIA officers, but that you knew about it and covered it up.’

  Procter hesitated. That was all she needed.

  Muir said, ‘Go to hell,’ and opened the passenger door.

  ‘Janice, wait. Let me explain.’

  ‘You lied to me, Roland. I told Alvarez he was lying.’

  She began climbing out. Procter reached for her arm.

  She grabbed his hand before it could reach her, and shoved him away. ‘Watch it. You do not want me to break your hip all over again.’

  ‘Please, hear me out. It’s not what you think.’

  ‘Why should I? You used me.’

  ‘Used you? You’re my employee, for God’s sake. Did I tell you everything? Of course I didn’t – and you knew that.’

  Muir paused.

  Procter said, ‘Tell me otherwise and I won’t try and stop you. Tell me you were young and naïve and I exploited you, made you do things you knew were wrong. Tell me that, Janice. Tell me.’

  Muir hesitated, like Procter had done, but then she shut the door again. ‘You have two minutes.’

  ‘Tesseract was – is – a piece of work, and we’ve never pretended otherwise. Can we agree on that? Good. To my knowledge – and I swear to you I’m telling the truth – the only killings of CIA or former CIA agents were in self-defence, barring one: a traitor responsible for all the other deaths, who I helped him kill. Anyone else Alvarez is talking about is nothing to do with Tesseract. I promise you that. Either Alvarez is wrong or he’s trying to turn you against me.’

  ‘Roland, you had better be square with me now, because if Alvarez provides the slightest shred of proof that contradicts you, I will tell him everything I know about Tesseract, about you, about what we have done. I mean it. Everything.’

  ‘I can tell you mean it, Janice.’

  Muir exhaled to relieve some of the pent-up rage and fear. Procter reached to comfort her. She leaned away, shaking her head. ‘I don’t need a hug, Roland. I need you to fix this. Alvarez made it very clear. If I don’t help him and he doesn’t get you, then he’ll be happy to settle for me.’

  ‘I will fix this,’ Procter promised. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

  ‘Afraid? I’m terrified.’

  ‘Don’t be.’

  ‘Don’t tell me not to be scared when I’m being investigated for crimes I actually committed. I’m looking at life without parole just on the charges I can think of, let alone what a DC lawyer out to make a name for himself will drum up.’

  ‘It won’t come to that. I swear it.’

  ‘You can’t swear it.’

  ‘I’ll do everything I can, I can swear that at least.’

  ‘I wasn’t made to wear a jumpsuit. Orange is not a good colour for me and it definitely isn’t yours.’

  Procter said, ‘I can handle Alvarez, but I’m going to need your help.’

  ‘I don’t know right n
ow if you deserve my help, so I’m not going to sit here and lie to you.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to. I just want you to hear me out. I just want you to consider what I propose.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Same as I asked before: meet with Tesseract. Warn him. Convince him to go underground until this blows over.’

  ‘Why? Why me? We’re both in Alvarez’s crosshairs.’

  ‘You know Tesseract better than I do.’

  ‘You were the one who recruited him.’

  ‘And that was the only time I’ve ever been in his company. You, you’ve met him several times. When I spoke to him, he was at my mercy, so to speak. You’ve spoken to him on his own terms.’

  ‘And I was terrified every single time. Not because he was trying to scare me, but because I never forgot who I was dealing with.’

  ‘That’s why I brought you in. That’s why I believed you could handle him.’

  ‘I don’t think I could say that I ever managed to handle him.’

  ‘He didn’t kill you, Janice. That means you handled him just fine.’

  ‘And now? What happens when we do get hold of him, assuming we do? Because this won’t be the first time we’ve put his life in danger. If he wasn’t happy about us putting him at risk before, how unhappy will he be now? The first thing he’s going to think is that the best way to distance himself from Alvarez is to eliminate us.’

  ‘He won’t do that.’

  Muir said, ‘You just told me that I know him better than you do.’

  ‘I know him well enough to know that even if he doesn’t care about doing the right thing, morally, he cares about doing the right thing, tactically. He kills me, you’re going to go straight to Alvarez and give him everything because you know you’ll be next.’

  ‘But that’s not going to happen, is it?’ Muir said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m the one who has had most contact with him. You keep telling me I know him better than you. And I will be meeting him, won’t I? I’ll be the one most exposed. If he feels threatened, I’m the first problem he’s going to solve. If he’s going to kill anyone first, it’s going to be me.’

  ‘He’s not that reckless, Janice.’