by Blake Banner
I might have had him right then, but in that very moment the sound of an engine came to us, the crunch of tires on gravel, the slamming of a car door like a gun shot in the night. And then there were feet climbing the stairs, heels walking across the terracotta patio, and a moment later Epsilon was standing in the doorway looking down at me. I held his eye a moment and seized the initiative.
“Hello, Epsilon. It seems as though you have really fucked up this time.”
He went pale, and both the captain and the Hulk saw him go pale. He swallowed hard and said, “Who the hell are you?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Beta told you he was going to talk to Pro Levy, remember? He did, and he talked to the families in New York. Nobody had sent anybody called Franklin to L.A. to talk to Ahmed Musa. It didn’t make any sense that this was one of Gibbons’s operations. It didn’t have his finger prints on it. So Beta got worried and talked to Alpha. And they both talked to me. And we looked at Intelligent Imaging Consultants’s accounts, Epsilon, and you know what we found? You do know what we found, don’t you, Epsilon?”
Fenninger had gone white, but in my peripheral vision I could see the captain. There was real rage in his face, because as far as he was concerned he was seeing the confirmation of everything that I had told him. Fenninger kept trying to speak, but every time he drew breath he just swallowed again. Finally he said, “That’s not possible. It’s just not possible.”
I snarled, “I asked you a question, Epsilon! Do you know what we found when we examined Intelligent Imaging Consultants’ accounts?”
“No! I don’t!”
“You’re lying!” I shouted and he jumped. “Is it or is it not true that it was you who advised Intelligent Imaging Consultants on their investments?”
“Yes!”
“Then how can you not know what we found?”
“I don’t know…”
“Do you seriously expect me to believe you did not know that Musa was using Omega money to support ISIS?”
“He was not! I swear he was not!”
I had him. He had stepped right into the trap and confirmed my story. I looked at the captain, then at the Hulk, like a prosecuting counsel who has just proved his case. Then I turned back at Fenninger. “Do you also deny that on your instructions Elena Sanchez was whitewashing Sinaloa money?”
He looked like he might burst into tears. “But we have always done that.”
“So it seems, but believe me, Epsilon, those days are over and Alpha is calling you to account.”
“Why? Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because you fucked up, and you fucked up big time. We are going into Iran and Saudi in a matter of a few months and your research is nowhere near ready, and the R&D company you were supposed to be supervising is bankrupt! You are incompetent! God knows it’s hard enough without Gamma, but with your incompetence and stupidity hampering operations, before long you will have brought Omega One to the verge of ruin!”
His mouth was sagging open and his eyes were bulging. “Who are you?”
I had no idea how to answer him. I held all the cards in that moment. I had them all believing me, but I was still tied up and unarmed. As I had told the Captain only a little earlier, the most expensive commodity on Earth is violence, because violence is the source of all power. At the moment I had them because I had them believing that I controlled, through Omega, more violence than they did. But the true power was still firmly in their hands. What I did and said next would be crucial. If I got it right the captain would cut me free. If I got it wrong, they would torture me and kill me.
An image of the document Gamma had given me just before I killed him flashed into my mind. It had intrigued me at the time. There were five divisions of Omega, each with a geographical jurisdiction, and five members of the cabal overseeing it. But above them all there had been another division, with only three members, and its jurisdiction had been over cities and a couple of states: London, New York, D.C., California… It had been designated Omega Alpha.
I spoke on a sudden inspiration. “I am Ares, the right hand of Omega Alpha. Now, Captain, if you have seen enough, would you kindly untie me? At this point I think you’ll agree that any further delay would be unjustified.”
The Captain pulled my Fairbairn & Sykes from his belt and stepped toward me. I noticed that the Hulk had Fenninger covered with his revolver. Fenninger was staring at me with narrowed eyes. His mind was racing. The captain knelt and cut through the ropes that held my ankles, then stood and walked behind me. Fenninger suddenly snapped, “Wait!”
The captain paused and looked at him. I said, “Cut me loose, Captain. This farce has gone on long enough.”
Fenninger had started to smile. “You’re not Omega. There is no Ares…”
I exploded in anger. It wasn’t hard to simulate. I needed my hands free and Captain America seemed to be sleep walking. “Do you know that for a fact, Epsilon? Are you privy to Omega Alpha? Do you know anything about how we operate?” He hesitated. I snapped, “For crying out loud, Captain! Cut me loose!”
I felt the knife cut through the bonds on my wrists. That left only the rope around my arms holding me to the chair. But Fenninger was shaking his head. “No, no, no, no…” He pointed at me. “I know who you are…” His eyes went wide. His jaw went slack. I felt the captain go very still behind me. The Hulk’s eyes wavered from Fenninger to the captain and back again.
I sneered, “What are you talking about?”
“I have to contact Beta. And Alpha. They won’t believe it. You son of a bitch. We thought there was a truce. You’re that guy, Gamma’s son, Lacklan Walker.”
The captain was like a man watching a ping pong match at high speed. He spluttered, “What the hell is going on here?”
I barked at him, “Wake up, Captain! He’s stalling! Can’t you see he has confirmed everything I said?”
Fenninger turned and pointed at him. “Listen to me! You have no idea what’s going on here, Bob. You are out of your depth. This man is not who he says he is. He is an imposter! I am not going to tell you anything about Omega because we are sworn to secrecy. But I can tell you that if he were who he says he is, he would never in a million years have revealed what he has revealed in front of you! He has murdered the partners at Intelligent Imaging Consultants because he is on a private crusade to destroy us. He will stop at nothing—nothing! to achieve his ends, and believe me, he will not think twice about cutting your throat.”
We were at an impasse, but I was tied up and Fenninger was free to move about and make a phone call. If he called Beta or Alpha I was screwed. I nodded several times, slowly, then looked at the Captain.
“He’s right. I would, and will, kill you…” I glanced at the Hulk. “Both of you, without hesitation, if you stand in my way. This man has been sentenced to death by our mutual employer.” I turned to Fenninger and spoke quietly. “You are right, Alpha and Walker reached a truce, an understanding. I am not Lacklan Walker. But by all means, go and call Alpha, or Beta, let them know what has happened, and that you have me tied to a chair, threatening to kill me. Please, you’ll be doing me a favor.”
That threw him. He was disconcerted. He muttered, “There is no signal up here…”
I said, “You have a landline.”
He hesitated a moment longer. I made a question with my face and showed it to the captain. “What’s it going to take, Bob? Get off the fence and back the right horse.”
Fenninger snarled at me, pointed at me with a trembling finger. “Fuck you!”
With that he turned and marched out of the room. I raised an eyebrow at Captain Bob. “You’re going to let him go?”
I struggled to my feet with difficulty, leaning forward with the chair legs projecting out behind me. They watched me, frowning, as I stretched my arms down my side and backed toward the wall. As I rammed the legs against the tiles, stretching my arms down and out, loosening the ropes around my shoulders, I spoke through gritted teeth.
“Serious brownie points go to the man who cuts these ropes, guys. We are running out of time and you are running out of credit!”
I rammed the chair legs again and heard something creak. The ropes were beginning to ride up onto my shoulders. The Hulk took a step toward me. Captain Bob said, “No, wait…”
I shouted, “What for? Goddammit!” I rammed again. “Do you realize…” I rammed again, heard a leg crack, “…how much trouble…” Another ram and a coil of rope came loose over my shoulder. They stared, transfixed. “…you are going to be in…” Another ram, the rope started to come loose and the Hulk was there, pulling it over my head, allowing the chair to drop, broken to the floor.
I said, “Thanks,” glanced at Captain Bob and said to the Hulk, “I need my Sig and my knife.”
He turned and looked at the captain. The captain stared back at both of us, paralyzed by indecision.
I said, “Chose your battles, Captain, and only choose the battles you can win. This is your last chance. Get off the fence and join the right side.”
He took a deep breath, reached behind his back and pulled out my Sig. He stepped forward and handed it to me. I cocked it and slipped it in its holster. I held out my hand, “And my knife, please.”
He handed that to me too and I put it in my waistband. I had put everything into getting this far, but I had given no thought to what I would do once I got here. These two were reluctant allies for now, but how long would they stay on my side? Fenninger was probably on the phone to Alpha or Beta right then, and they would mobilize against me within twenty minutes or half an hour. To cap it all, I had not wanted Omega to be aware that I had broken the truce I’d agreed with Ben. If there was any chance that I could still stop Fenninger from calling, I needed to seize it right then.
Eleven
I had no time to think it through. I snapped, “Where is he phoning from?”
The captain grunted, jerked his head toward the door and walked ahead. I followed and the Hulk followed me. We crossed the patio back toward the main entrance. To the left there was a staircase up to the galleried landing, and over on the right there was an archway that led down two steps into a spacious, modern drawing room with a copper fireplace in the center and sliding glass doors that I guessed led out to gardens or a pool, but now showed only black glass.
Captain Bob stopped on the threshold. Fenninger was sitting perched on a large, overstuffed calico armchair. He had a phone in his hand and was staring at it. I pushed past the captain, went down the steps and crossed to stand in front of Fenninger. He didn’t look up. He just kept staring at the telephone.
“Did you call?”
He shook his head.
I said, “Make the call.”
Now he looked up at me. He looked sick with worry and fear. He obviously didn’t play poker. I pushed the bluff. “Make the damned call!”
I snatched the phone from his hand, gripped it in my left and found the call register with my thumb. He hadn’t called anybody. I threw the phone on the sofa and pulled the Sig from my holster. Fenninger’s eyes bulged. I shot the Hulk in the heart and then took aim at Captain Bob.
Captain Bob was a Seal. He was fast, strong and aggressive. He sprang down the steps and my shot missed him by an inch. Next thing, he had collided with me and sent me staggering back, half-winded. I tried to take aim, but he wasn’t wasting any time. He was hunched into his shoulders like a boxer and delivered two powerful right crosses to my face. I dodged them, but then took two hooks to my ribs, which hurt. His fifth punch was a thundering right straight to my head, which broke though my guard and sent me tumbling over the sofa and onto the floor.
He came after me, vaulting over the couch. I was aware of Fenninger scrambling for the door. I rolled to my right, came up on one knee three feet from Bob and slammed my right fist in an uppercut to his balls.
He went down wheezing, “Jesus…!”
I didn’t have time to go in for the kill. I sprinted after Fenninger. I could not let him get away. I had clawed my way back from the brink of catastrophe. Now Fenninger had to die.
I staggered. My legs were like sandbags, my head was splitting with pain and waves of nausea kept washing over me. I knew I was concussed, but for now I had to ignore it.
Fenninger was through the arch and wrenching at the big, oak doors. I stumbled up the stairs as he pulled the doors open and ran into the night. I went after him. I still had the Sig in my hand. I could make out Fenninger’s form bobbing and weaving along the driveway toward his Jaguar. I took aim in the half light cast by the porch lamps. The Sig spat twice and I heard the whine of the ricochet. He cried out, but it wasn’t pain, it was panic. Then he dodged right, away from his car and sprinted for the vineyards.
I holstered the Sig and ran after him. On my right there was a log fence at the side of the house. In it there was a gate that stood open. In the distance I could see the black mass of the woodland I had noticed earlier, but now I could also make out broad vineyards that lay before it. I paused. A wave of nausea swept over me and made me double up and vomit. The concussion was only going to get worse, but there was nothing I could do about it. I could not let Fenninger escape, and I could not let him contact Omega.
I slowed my breathing, hunkered down and remained motionless. The moon had not risen yet and at fifteen yards the shadows were almost impenetrable, but some things caught the starlight and showed faintly luminous in the middle distance: the wooden struts that supported the vines, the turned earth of the fields where it was visible between the rows of bushes, the blond wood of a tool shed, less than a hundred yards distant. There was no movement. The only sound was the sawing of the frogs on the night air.
He had to be in among the vines. If he had continued running I would have heard him. I ran the thirty feet to the field and began to move up the side, aisle by aisle, listening. His pulse would be off the chart, his breathing would be ragged; if I didn’t see him, if he was lying in the shadows of the vines, I’d hear him.
I heard him. I heard a rustle, twenty yards to my right. I looked and saw a shape break loose from the bushes and bolt toward the tool shed. His pale jacket was a clear target, but he was running like a hare, scrambling left and right. I aimed, trying to anticipate his movements, fired twice. He screamed, but again it was panic, not pain. I went after him.
I was stronger and faster, but I was also sick and in pain, and he was running for his life. As he drew level with the tool shed he dodged suddenly to his left and scrabbled at the door. I assumed, wrongly, that it would be locked. I took my stance, took aim and fired just as he stumbled back and wrenched the door open. The bullet punched a hole through the wood and he vanished inside the shed. It was good enough for me. The chase was over and Fenninger was as good as dead.
I loped the last few strides to the open door of the hut. I stepped to the far side and flattened myself against the wall. I could hear his breathing, ragged and shaking inside. I told myself, “On three…” and counted down in my head, “One… two…”
He exploded, screaming through the door. He had a hoe in his hands and swung it like a madman. There is nothing more dangerous than a panicking hysteric with no skill. He swung the hoe in a wide arc and smashed it into the side of my head. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but it was enough to daze me, and the next instant he was kicking me and battering me with the stick, screaming and spitting as he did it. I tried to take aim but the hoe crashed into my head again and for the second time that night I tasted my own blood.
There is a simple equation when you are facing that kind of onslaught. If you charge you might die. If you don’t, you will die. Plus I was getting real mad. I roared and charged. I took a good few blows to my ribs and head, but I was too mad to notice. I rammed my head into his gut and we went sprawling. It wasn’t exactly Jeet Kune Do, but it stopped the rain of blows.
As we went down I realized I’d dropped the Sig. I clambered to a sitting position on his chest and tried to hold down his left arm, to get
a clear punch to his head. He clawed a handful of dirt with his right and threw it in my face. It got in my eyes and the pain was intense. I tried to ignore it and hammered at his head with my right fist, but his arms were everywhere. Next thing he was screaming, thrashing like a hooked shark. I fell to the side, groping for my weapon, and Fenninger was running, back toward his Jag.
I found my automatic. I staggered to my feet and made after him, swearing violently and blinking hard, trying to make tears to clear the grit from my eyes. As I ran I cursed myself for my mistakes that night. It only takes one small error, one careless slip, and death can come at you in less than a second.
Ahead of me I saw Fenninger skid to a halt to negotiate the log fence. I knew if I shot and missed I’d just drive him to greater speed, and I didn’t trust my eyes, which were still blurred and in pain. Instead I put on a burst of speed, sprinted and hurled myself at his legs. He went down with a painful grunt. I pounded him twice in the kidneys and he gasped. Then I was on him again, and this time I wasn’t going to let him go.
He rolled on his back. His eyes were wide with terror and he was gasping for air through his mouth. I pulled the Sig and he covered his face with his hands, palm out, like they could stop a bullet. I fought not to feel pity for the son of a bitch and thought of Abi and the kids, and the thousands of children whose death by starvation and thirst he was going to exploit to make himself even richer.
“Why are you doing this?” His voice was a high-pitched squeak. It would have been comical if it hadn’t been so pathetic. “I don’t even know you!”
“Is that all it takes?” I spat the words at him. “Is that all it takes, you son of a bitch? If you don’t know them, you don’t care? Is that why you can sentence a hundred thousand children to die of hunger and thirst and dehydration in the desert? Because you don’t know them?”
