THE JUDAS HIT

by W. D. Gagliani

  He rejoiced whenever he heard them again. He began to welcome their company.

  Once he’d accepted the voices and started to listen, really listen, things had begun to turn around for him. And while one part of him understood that he was losing his mind, the rest of him celebrated all the changes in his life and outlook.

  At home, he had gotten used to the stench. Eventually it was just a smell he associated with home. The mummified bodies of his wife, Marina, his evil mother-in-law, and the old woman’s sister—his aunt, who was similar enough to the others to give him hives—attested to how the voices had improved his life.

  Now the three crazy women who’d given him not only hives but diarrhea and other stress-related ailments sat quietly, listened to what he had to say, and never complained about the hatchet he’d been forced to use to drive home the point—he was his own person!

  His job also caused stress, of course, but once he had convinced the three women to leave him alone he was free to focus on his duties.

  And on what the voices first suggested—but later ordered—that he do.

  Now he lived to serve them.

  He entered the cubicle at the end of the grim tunnel that had become his life. He turned the second key to switch over control and command of the guard squad, checked all lights on the old board, then waved at the outgoing shift. The men waved back or ignored him, all happy to be leaving.

  But he was different. He loved this place. He pretended to hate it, so his men would not suspect his new attitude.

  He pitied them their pathetic lives, knowing that his life was only just about to begin.

  The voices told him so.

  He nodded in agreement.

  

  When I glimpse myself in the mirror, I see a handsome slightly Semitic male frozen in the body of a thirty-year-old. My dark eyes blaze forth under a strong brow and I’m told I could pass for almost any nationality, almost any race. Perhaps it was part of the Deal, I don’t know. To help me with my eternal mission. I keep my hair on the long side of average, although I have been through many phases. Sometimes my likeness has been rendered with red hair, so over the centuries there are times I’ve dyed it to fit that look. Soon I think I’ll try “modern hipster” and see how it plays in today’s Village coffeehouses. Just for laughs. I’m told my smile is infectious, my laugh hearty. My body was in the prime of life and strength on that day and now requires no major upkeep, which is fine because I loathe exercise for its own sake. With my flake of silver, I will remain a prime specimen indeed. Thus I was destined to be attractive to women—and perhaps even men—but that fact may have sealed my destiny, for I am forever falling in love. It may not last long, but it is love, although when it has run its course I find it easy to move on to other pastures. The only one who has not easily passed from my thoughts is the one I know as Caterina. Perhaps she is the one I cannot have. The one I will have, because I decree it. My life is regimented in many ways, but I have been given extraordinary freedom as well. I will have her, and somehow I will learn a way to grant her the same Deal I have made.

  

  Chapter 53

  Greenwich Village, Manhattan

  New York City

  Another bartender friend of Simon’s brought their drinks, trying to size up Cat without being too obvious. Her tag said Ariane, but her rebelliousness was symbolized by the fact that she wore it upside-down.

  “Thanks,” Cat said with amusement.

  The redhead nodded. “I’ll start a tab.” She glanced around, clearly looking for Simon.

  “He stepped out to make a call.” Cat answered the question Ariane hadn’t asked.

  “Oh.” She seemed crestfallen.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Cat wasn’t accustomed to chatting up bartenders, but Simon was and she was learning more about him than she ever had before—working in the field for once had some advantage over the usual long-distance routine.

  “It’s just…it’s been a while since I’ve seen him around.” Ariane checked to make sure he wasn’t nearby after all. “He looked so intense just now, I hope everything’s all right.”

  She wore some ink along her right arm and above her breasts, mostly colorful animals and one long python coiled around the bicep, but her only piercing was a tasteful, thin nose ring through the left nostril. Cat figured she was starting to pinpoint his “type,” if there were one. She knew Simon was popular with women, but she couldn’t help wonder about it. Was he using his pushing, as he called it, to sway them?

  “What do you see in him?” Cat asked before she could stop the words from tumbling out.

  Shit, is this what jealousy feels like?

  Ariane actually blushed. The redhead tilted her mane of lustrous hair and Cat realized part of one side of her head was shaved close to the skin, but the hair had hidden it. “It’s hard to explain,” she began. She opened her mouth again, looked around for eavesdroppers, then continued: “I know he sees all sorts of women, but there’s something different about him from other men who do that. They’re pigs, most of’em, users and exploiters, and I even know some real abusive types—some women get off on that, no doubt, but I don’t—but Simon…Simon just loves women. I mean, there’s something so real about him, you know? He’s probably dating four or five at once, and they all know it, and they don’t care because he makes each of’em feel special. It’s like he treats them as if they matter, but he also really thinks they do…”

  Or he makes you believe he really does, Cat thought. Okay, a bit snarky.

  Cat smiled widely. “I’m sure he does.”

  Ariane wasn’t dumb. She picked up on the sarcasm and frowned. “No, I mean it. There’s a great sadness in Simon, and even though he’s this strong, good-looking guy with, like, infinite knowledge in his eyes, somehow you feel his sadness and you want to comfort him. And—before you jump to conclusions—it’s not all about sex, either! I think he’s lonely and he needs company, and I’ve been with him on nights when all we did was talk and walk, and smell flowers in summer, or kick snow around in winter…”

  She wound down. “Geez,” she said, “I sound like something out of a romance novel.” She was blushing heavily now. “He really is special, and I think most women get it.”

  Cat caught the subtle dig and was about to retort, but she spied Simon returning grimly.

  “Looks like bad news.”

  He smiled at Ariane and took her hand. “Thanks for the drinks, my dear.” They touched for an extended moment, then she smiled back shyly and stepped away. He took his drink, raised an eyebrow, and sipped. “That obvious?”

  “Well, you have deep knowledge and I could just sense it,” Cat muttered, perhaps a little petulantly.

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind. What’s wrong?”

  “Remember that SUV that tried to kill us?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Martin says their clean-up crew got there before ours. Got rid of the wreck, every tiny bit of debris swept up. Bodies gone, no DNA or anything else. And some security cameras that might have caught something were wiped as clean as babies’ behinds. We got no good intel from it, not even a micro-ounce.”

  “They have good intel. And capabilities.”

  “Right, there’s definitely money behind them.”

  “Wait, how did Martin know about the clean-up?”

  Simon nodded. “You tell me. You work with him.”

  “He doesn’t tell me everything, Simon. He plays things close, you know that.” Cat’s hand went to her lips. “I bet he’s brought the drone program on-line. Maybe arranged for the legal permissions, or maybe he’s using American drones?”

  “More likely Israeli. Monica was Mossad, wasn’t she? She must still be connected.”

  “I’ll ask him when I check in.”

  “You do that.” Simon drank, smiled as he tasted the drink. He winked at Cat. “So, have a nice chat with Ariane?”

  Cat tur
ned red. She could feel it. “Did you—did you hear us?”

  “Lip reading,” he said, and she sputtered. “Relax,” he added. “I won’t tell.”

  “She’s nice,” Cat said. A change of focus was in order.

  “No doubt. Now, care to tell me what you think happened at that construction site? How did you get targeted without my bracelet scorching a hole in my wrist? And how do you feel, by the way?”

  She drank and let the smooth taste of the Old-fashioned she’d ordered play in her mouth a few seconds. “I feel okay, now. Right then, I thought I was dying. All I can think of is that the enemy adept was close by, targeting me. Specifically me. And the proximity and focus was enough to almost injure me. Maybe even kill me. Simon, I think a few more minutes and he—or she, probably it’s a she—would have asphyxiated me. It was personal. You saved my life by getting us away from the attack focus, and her strength wasn’t enough to follow.”

  “This time they weren’t after me, strictly speaking.”

  “I think not,” she said. “Since I’ve…intervened before, they might think taking me off the board will allow them to go for you more easily.”

  Simon drank his Manhattan, eyed Ariane from afar. “That’s a mistake.”

  Cat snickered. “It’s actually good strategy. They know you’re difficult, and my back-up makes their job harder. They might think I’m the easier target. That doesn’t mean they’re not trying to get us both.”

  “That’s why the SUV. They were a plan B. Or they were meant to do clean-up.”

  “I think so.”

  “Ariane, my dear, we’re in need of sustenance. How about another round?”

  The bartender smiled, nodding. “Coming up.”

  Simon gazed at Cat. “You said you’re okay. But are you really? What do you need to recover fully?”

  Cat shrugged. There’s a way, but I can’t ask for it.

  “I have rituals that will replenish some of my energy.”

  When the new drinks came, he paid the tab and tipped generously. Ariane beamed.

  She really is attractive, Cat thought. So was Lissy.

  So what am I, jealous?

  “This is my ritual,” Simon said, sipping contentedly. “Drink up, I think you’d better get some rest. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Possibly the only cop I’ve ever met who seems almost immune to my little skill. Certainly the only one of New York’s finest I would trust right now.”

  Chapter 54

  The Hotel Lombardy

  Washington, D.C.

  They’d walked for hours through the tobacco, which—though it was no longer the high-volume crop it had once been—seemed endless. They’d reached a small town, found a quiet street on the outskirts, and Straker hot-wired a fairly old and inconspicuous Ford minivan. Then he replaced the front and rear plates with two different plates he took from vehicles parked in a lot. It was nearly dawn by then and he didn’t think they could get any more clever than that.

  As he drove, Bella slept.

  He thought he saw the signs of trauma in her features, but there was no chance for him to stop the whole ridiculous flight and seek some sort of help. Right now he assumed he and Bella were fugitives and considered armed and dangerous, although he had heard nothing while monitoring local radio.

  He drove carefully, following all laws without any erratic behavior, and no squad car they passed seemed to get jumpy. The van was just too harmless. But Straker drove with the Magnum in his waistband and the SIG tucked under his leg.

  The fucking statue was in its duffel on the seat behind him, and damned if he couldn’t feel its presence—mocking him with its evil aura.

  Or maybe he was just tired and impressionable. But who wouldn’t be when a bunch of silent fanatics tried to slice you to ribbons with those bizarre obsidian blades. He’d kept one.

  Never know when a super-sharp glass dagger might come in handy.

  He chuckled and drove on, letting Bella sleep despite his own fatigue. The killing hadn’t bothered him. Hell, these assholes were connected to the murders of his brother and partner, so from his point of view their death at his hands was not only warranted, it was deemed.

  About the same time the train would have got them to D.C., their stolen minivan entered the outskirts. Fortunately he had enough cash, and the Hotel Lombardy in the center of the capital was discreet enough not to care. It was probable his prints had been collected and matched to his service record by now and a manhunt was underway, but the sheer number of armed attackers involved also confused the situation to the point where he and Bella were likely considered “persons of interest,” not murderers. At least, not yet.

  Straker understood that if the authorities caught up to them, however, the string of charges would be long and impossible to fight.

  Which meant they had no choice but to keep fleeing. Hopefully he could make the one contact in New York who could help.

  He’d always thought it was sometimes desirable to operate in the gray areas, and when he’d mustered out he had invested some of his ill-gotten gains into purchasing a new identity, complete with passport and credit cards. No one knew about it, no one could have identified him, and even Bella would have been shocked to know he’d even seeded some money in accounts under the fraudulent name. The ID was ready to use now.

  All because I thought “just in case,” he mused.

  Now he saw the surprise on Bella’s face.

  “Maybe I had premonitions about something like this,” he explained. “Or I was always paranoid.”

  After a stop to purchase several rolling suitcases so they could transfer their few possessions, their arms, and the statuette and pass as tourists, they checked into the hotel.

  Their room was small, but for the money it was more than sufficient for their needs. They showered, made love, showered again, and had an adequate meal in the hotel restaurant. They conversed softly, keeping it trivial, but Straker spent the time checking out their fellow diners. No one paid them any mind.

  Back in their room Straker started making phone calls with the burner—a cheap prepaid TracFone he’d purchased at a CVS. After a half-dozen, his face was grim.

  Then: “Yeah, it’s Dev here. Yeah, man, all’s good. You? Been back how long now? Really? Department took you back, huh? Imagine that.” He laughed a bit forcefully. “No, no, I’m just trying to reach somebody. You probably remember him, name of Dalton, or Fulton, something like that. He was attached to Military Intelligence in the Special Battalion…”

  Straker made a face and a ‘come on, come on’ gesture, while listening as his former colleague rambled on.

  “Walton! That was it…sure. Don Walton. Hey, know how I can get a hold of him?”

  More gesturing.

  “Ah, no problem, I’ll figure it out. Thanks anyway, now I got his name at least. Give me a call, we’ll check out some of those brewpubs you’re always braggin’ about. Take care, man.”

  Straker punched a sofa pillow.

  “Like you said, at least you know his name now,” Bella pointed out. “You’re bound to find somebody who knows him.”

  “He was kind of an odd duck, let me tell you. I doubt he had friends at all. But for some reason we hit it off enough that…I don’t think he told me anything classified, but I got the feeling he was a spook. I mean, beyond working for Intelligence, you know? Like he was—”

  “CIA or something?”

  “More like or something…”

  Straker spent another hour racking up calls. He had a good memory for numbers, but he also had a tiny notebook he’d had the good sense to pocket before they bugged out of Vero Beach. Full from their meal, Bella dozed off. When she awoke, Straker was just shutting down the phone with a triumphant look.

  “Got ’im,” he said. “I was right, he’s in government.”

  “Are you gonna call him now?”

  “I have to go out first. That van is a time bomb. It’s not li
kely to be spotted in the hotel garage, but we can’t use it to get to New York.”

  “He’s in New York? I thought he was in government.”

  “He’s attached to the U.N.” Straker said, making a see-I-told-you expression.

  After making sure Bella understood she was to shoot anyone who didn’t text her a certain phrase first, he went out hunting for a new van and plates.

  It was against his code to act like a criminal, but his back was against the wall, and that statue was best out of his hands. The only way he could protect Bella was to get rid of it, and somehow he knew tossing it off a bridge wouldn’t be enough—whoever wanted it would find and torture them to locate it.

  As soon as he stepped outside the hotel lobby, he felt a tingle.

  Was he being watched?

  Chapter 55

  The Pinnacle (Kessler Building)

  Pinnacle Industries International Headquarters

  Manhattan, New York

  Kessler’s office was like the man himself, representing the mogul’s personality in various ways. Mostly it was overdone and over-the-top.

  Double the height of a normal room to barely encompass the great ego, not so tastefully appointed with gaudy accessories, one wall covered with solid mahogany bookcases that held grotesque art rather than books, a long table on which rested a half-dozen computer monitors and virtual keyboards, it was at least graced with a magnificent view of the city.

  Curtis was nervous. He’d brought Dunwood with him, his lieutenant, as a witness who could confirm to the boss that what had happened with the train ambush wasn’t Curtis’s fault. How could he know those two assholes were fuckin’ Bonnie and Clyde, gunning down his entire attack team? And then disappearing again…

  Kessler was standing in front of a wall of windows. Actually the wall was gently curved like a theater screen and encompassed almost two thirds of the room itself. Kessler turned and faced them as they approached the computer-laden desk.