From Manhattan With Revenge Boxed Set

by Christopher Smith

  He found himself unexpectedly fascinated by her.

  He stood and looked her over. There certainly wasn’t much to her. Maybe a bit over five feet tall. Probably one hundreds pounds. Pale skin that looked as if it probably turned pink in the summer sun. Pretty blue eyes now narrowed and looking hard at him.

  When they followed her yesterday on her walk home from school, there were students in front of her and students behind her, but Chloe Philips walked alone, her back straight, stride determined, mouth set, cheap shoes clicking on the pavement.

  When they reached a point that one of his men was able to walk alongside her and ask her to get into the car parked ahead of them or she’d die, she hesitated for a moment, glanced at him, but then offered no resistance when he led her to the curb. It was the most peculiar thing Katzev had seen in years. She simply got in the back of the car, no questions asked.

  “Yesterday,” he said. “When we picked you up. Why didn’t you put up a fight?”

  “Why would I?” She nodded toward the man at her left. “Roid boy here told me he’d kill me. He also had a gun. I could feel it when he pressed his jacket pocket against my back. I would have been a fool to put up a fight, so I did what I was told.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “But you’re so calm now. Defiant.”

  “I didn’t sleep last night. Instead, I tried to figure out how this was going to end. And there’s only one answer. You’re going to kill me. That’s what your two brutes are for and that’s what that camera is for—to capture it all on film. This is what happens to people like me. It’s not going to end well. It never has for me, so why should I give you the satisfaction of seeing me squirm? It’s not going to happen. And frankly, at this point in my life, when I’ve been beaten up in ways you can’t imagine judging by your flashy cars, your nice suit and your expensive shoes, it’s not worth it.”

  “What isn’t it worth it?”

  “Life isn’t worth it.”

  “That isn’t true.”

  “Oh, please. So, now you’re going to lecture me on the value of life when you’re about to take mine from me? That’s classic, man. That’s genius.”

  “I also came from nothing,” he said.

  “And look what that did for you. It shaped you into the terrific person you are today. Are you proud of how you turned out? Would your parents be proud about what you’re about to do? What you’ve probably already done a hundred times in your life?”

  “None of this is personal, Chloe, so stop behaving as if it is.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? My life is on the line. It doesn’t get more personal than that, dude.”

  “You’re just the lure. That’s all.”

  “Bullshit.”

  It had been years since anyone stood up to him like this. Usually, when he put someone in her situation, they were filled will pleas, apologies, empty promises and tears. They begged until they ran out of words. They cried and they shouted and they asked for another chance. But not this one. This one was pissed off and it came from a place of not caring because of the life she’d been dealt. She confused him and she intrigued him.

  He came around and faced her. “We’re going to do something, Chloe.”

  “Really? What’s that?”

  “You’re going to talk directly into that camera. Then I’m going to send the video file to Carmen. Please don’t trust my patience and tell her that you’re in a warehouse. We’ll just end up doing it again and again until you get it right. If you refuse, your friend Roid Boy, as you called him, won’t make things pleasant for you. You’re a smart girl. Just tell her that you’re frightened and that you need her help.”

  “But I’m not frightened. I told you that. I fully expect to die here.”

  “Then act frightened.”

  “This isn’t about me,” she said. “I’m the lure, remember? You’re trying to get to Carmen. Why?”

  It hardly mattered if she knew, because in spite of the fact that he admired her spunk, he still was going to kill her because she’d seen his face and could identify him. “Carmen was involved with a man named Alex Williams. Did she tell you about him?”

  “She didn’t.”

  “Do you know she’s an assassin?”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Actually, it isn’t. But she loves you, so try to forgive her. It’ll be tough, I know. But you’ll manage.”

  He watched Chloe’s face turn to stone. Finally, he touched a nerve.

  “Anyway, she and Alex became lovers on a job we hired them to do, which was her first mistake. Somehow, Alex had gathered intelligence on us. Until this morning, we didn’t know how or even why. Now at least we know how. Williams worked with us on another job that led him to sensitive information about the organization I now lead. He never should have had access to that information, but he found a way to get to it and he stole it. We’ve now seen the breach. Because they were lovers, we think he shared that information with Carmen. We think she now has enough information to compromise us, which is why we targeted each for elimination.”

  “Who is ‘us’?”

  “The syndicate.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A group of people like me.”

  “There are more people like you?”

  “The world is filled with people like me.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Someone who will go to any length to get what he wants.”

  “When is enough enough?”

  “There never is enough. Not for any of us.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s not how we work. We want it all, regardless of how we go about getting it. We’re no better than any government or political leader, so don’t judge us.”

  “Like you did my cheap shoes?”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Whatever.” She paused. “You know, it’s kind of pathetic that you justify your actions by comparing yourselves to what likely are corrupt leaders and governments. It’s laughable. You’ve got to see that. The keyword is ‘corrupt.’”

  “What I need to see from you right now is a performance. You’re going to look into this camera, you’re going to put on your ‘terrified’ face, and you’re going to tell Carmen that you’ve been abducted, that your life has been threatened, and that if she doesn’t come in, you’ll be murdered.”

  “You’re already going to murder me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Then you think I’m a fool. I love Carmen. She means everything to me. And I highly doubt that she’s an assassin. You’re full of shit. If there was any reason to live, it would be for her. I won’t sell her out. I won’t do your video.”

  “No, actually, you will do it.”

  “No, actually, I won’t do it.”

  “Sure about that?”

  “I’m certain. I’m not going to be part of this. I won’t be associated with bringing down a woman who has been there for me unlike any other. Kill me if you want. As I said, other than Carmen and maybe a couple of friends, I don’t have much to live for. I’m reminded of that each time I’m treated like a worthless piece of shit at school, which is pretty much every day. So, just do it. It’s not like I haven’t thought of taking my own life in the past. What’s the difference? Either you do it or I’ll eventually do it. So, do it.”

  “In time,” he said. He looked up at the man she called Roid Boy and nodded at him. With one swift move, the butt of the man’s gun slammed against Chloe Philips’ temple and knocked her unconscious. Her head slumped toward her chest. Her blonde hair hung in front of her face, concealing it. Katzev studied her critically and decided that the hair had to move so it revealed her face. Looking at her, he felt that they also needed a bit of blood to send home the message that they meant business.

  “Hit her in the mouth,” he said.

  The man who struck her in the temple did so—hard—and a bloody lip revealed itself.
From the sheer force of the strike, the blood splattered onto her chin and then dripped onto her gray sweater.

  “Get her hair out of her face.”

  The man did so.

  Katzev walked over and positioned Chloe’s head so it was tilted just slightly down and to the right. Now, there could be no mistaking who she was when the video was viewed.

  He went behind the camera, turned it on and brought Chloe Philips into focus. Satisfied, he began to speak off camera, delivering to Carmen his own message, which was underscored with the bloody sight of one young woman he knew she loved dearly.

  When he finished, they compressed the file and sent it in an encrypted email to Carmen’s cell phone.

  CHAPTER FIFTE

  EN

  Babe McAdoo entered her grand gilded parlor just off the foyer while Carmen, seated across the room in one of the uncomfortable red Victorian chairs, looked at Jake, seated across from her.

  No matter how many times she was told that she could trust this man, her gut told her she couldn’t. She didn’t like him. She had a bad feeling about him. She thought he was duplicitous and, worse, unscrupulous. She didn’t want him here. But she knew that if she was going to see this through, she couldn’t insult Spocatti or Babe, who urged her to listen to them and trust him.

  So, she would watch him. Closely. If he made a wrong move, just one step that gave away his true intentions, assuming he had any, she’d take him out and be vindicated for doing so.

  “All right,” Babe said, coming around and taking the seat next to Carmen. “We know where Katzev lives. We know that somewhere, he has Chloe Philips, one of the young girls Carmen takes care of through her philanthropy.”

  “Philanthropy?” Jake said. “That’s a bit a stretch.”

  Babe leveled him with a glance. “In my world, Jake, we call the millions Carmen has given to St Vincent’s Services philanthropy. In your world, and with your public education and middle-class background, it’s probably called charity. I assure you, with the amount of money Carmen has given over the years, what she’s done is nothing but philanthropy. But let’s not get hung up on words. We have a situation at hand and we don’t have long to figure out how best to resolve it.”

  She turned to Carmen. “Do you have any idea where he might have taken Chloe?”

  “None.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Very little. That’s how it’s always been. The same with Laurent, whom I only met briefly. The syndicate is an enigma to me. It’s how they’ve designed it.”

  Babe turned to Jake. He was a big man, muscular. Wore jeans, black sweater, black shoes. He was too large for the chair, which likely is why he was leaning forward now because his broad shoulders wouldn’t fit easily into the narrow, curving back. His hands were clasped in front of him and Carmen noticed on his right hand that the top of his third finger was bluntly cut off. She hadn’t caught that before. She stared at it now and wondered how he lost it.

  “And you?” Babe said to him. “Your dealings with the syndicate?”

  “Same as Carmen’s. You only speak to them via a secure line or through secure email. You’re offered a job, the details are spelled out for you, you decide whether you want to take it and then you negotiate the money.” He looked over at Carmen. “Whenever she wouldn’t kill a child, I usually got the job. So, thanks for the business, Carmen.”

  “I’m sure you enjoyed the work.”

  “A life is a life.”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  “What would you say to Spocatti?”

  “What I’ve already said to him. I don’t kill children. I don’t approve of it. There are other ways to handle a situation.”

  “Anyway,” Babe said, determined to stay focused. “Gelling was able to find out where Katzev lives. Or, at least one of the places where he lives. But this is his Manhattan address and the location is so prime and the apartment so large, I’m certain that it’s his primary residence in the city. Once, years ago, before I had the good sense to eschew society once and for all, I think I might have even been at a party there.”

  “Where is it?” Carmen asked.

  “He lives in a penthouse on Fifth and Seventy-Seventh Street.”

  “Way up in the sky,” Carmen said. “Presumably, more difficult to reach. But not for me.”

  “Or for me,” Jake said.

  Carmen ignored him. If this arrogant son of a bitch got in her way when it came to getting Chloe back, she’d cut off his balls.

  “Gelling also did some additional research, which I confirmed through my own contacts,” Babe said. “Apparently, his real name is Iver Kester. Hails from Aberdeen, where the majority of his family remains, including his mother, who is in her seventies. Kester has four brothers and one sister, all of whom live within a mile of their mother. They own a farm in Aberdeen. Most of the family works there, including several cousins. Their main source of income comes from the sheep’s milk cheese they produce and sell, though none have become wealthy from their efforts. It’s sold throughout the UK, even at Harrods, and it does well enough to allow each a modest living, though not a significant one.”

  “Do we know exactly where they live?”

  “We do. But this is what’s going to make your day, Carmen. I spoke to Spocatti this morning. A friend of his—a fellow assassin based in London—is now on a plane headed for the airport in Aberdeen. It’s a one-hour trip from London, so he should be there shortly. There, he has contacts who will give him the gear he needs should he need to use it. He also will receive various cameras and video equipment. We’ve asked him to get surveillance photos to us STAT. What we need to show Katzev, or Kester, or whatever the hell we’re going to call him—”

  “Katzev,” Carmen said. “Easier.”

  “Fine,” Babe said. “Katzev. We need to show him that we know who he is and where his family lives. If he’s so damned secretive about his life and who and what that involves, this information should rattle him to the core, especially since we learned that his family only knows him as Iver. They know nothing about the double life he leads elsewhere, which means they have no idea that their little Iver, who speaks fluent Russian under an assumed Russian name, is really a masquerading murderer turned multi-millionaire.”

  “You have a way with words, Babe,” Carmen said.

  “I wanted to be a writer.”

  “Thrillers?”

  “Is there another genre?”

  Carmen’s cell hummed in her pocket, followed by a beep. Someone left her a message. She removed phone and saw it was from Katzev. She stared at it for a moment, secretly worried by what he had to say to her now that he had Chloe, then she told Babe and Jake that it was from him.

  “What does it say?” Babe asked.

  Carmen opened it. Surprised, she said, “It’s a video.”

  Babe and Jake stood and walked behind her—they’d watch it together. Carmen pressed a button and the video, which opened to a black screen, started to play.

  Gradually, Chloe came into view. She was sitting in a chair. Her hands were cuffed and resting awkwardly in her lap. Her head was turned at an unnatural angle. There was blood around her mouth and a bruise just beneath her bottom lip, which looked split. Looking at the girl, whom Carmen had known since Chloe was eight and whom she thought of as a daughter, she felt herself start to seize up in fury. Either Chloe was drugged or she was unconscious. Carmen noted the blood on her sweater and knew it was the latter.

  Focus. Remove yourself from her. Pay attention to the details.

  There was a light shining directly above her, making it difficult for Carmen to get a read on where she might be because everything else was intentionally in shadow. She had no feel for the size of the room, but there was nothing around Chloe. Just her in a chair on a cement floor with a light above her head.

  Industrial.

  Then came Katzev’s voice.

  “Carmen,” he said off camera in his fake Russian accent, “her
e is your Chloe. Sad sight, I know, but she wouldn’t cooperate, so measures were taken and now she’s resting comfortably, I think, until she wakes with what likely is going to be one mother of a headache. I have to say, I see why you’re taken with her. She has nerve, which I admire. Did she get it from you? Hard to say since she comes from the streets. Still, she thinks the world of you, which must be gratifying, don’t you agree? Even when I told her you are an assassin, she defended you. Refused to believe me. It must feel good to be held in such high esteem. To be unconditionally loved, so much so that Chloe asked me to take her life instead of yours. That kind of devotion to another human being is foreign to me, of course, but I still recognize it as something special and rare.”

  He let a beat pass. Carmen felt her stomach sink at the news that Chloe now knew who she really was. Babe put a hand on her shoulder. The frame tightened on Chloe’s face and this time, Carmen saw another bruise, this one at Chloe’s temple. So, they struck her there and knocked her out. The well of revenge rising up within Carmen was growing to the point that she felt like a dangerously fraying thread, something that could snap if any more weight was applied to it.

  I want to kill him, she thought, thinking of Alex and now Chloe. I’m going to kill him.

  “The trouble with Chloe is that ‘special’ and ‘rare’ die in eight-and-a-half hours,” Katzev said. “That’s all the time you have to save her. And saving her is simple. You just need to call me and come in. You’ll be given a designated spot to meet. We’ll pick you up. Then we’ll talk so nothing is unclear to you. You’ll know exactly why you’re being eliminated, although I know with all the intimate canoodling you did with Alex, you already know. Still, on the off chance that there is any confusion, we’ll be clear with you before we kill you. Then, Chloe will be allowed to go free. You have my word on that. So, call me soon. Very soon. As in eight-and-a-half hours soon. I’d hate to have to kill Chloe. Or to light some fires tonight...”

  Carmen clicked off the phone. For a moment, nobody said anything. They just processed. Then Babe McAdoo, who as Gelling noted would become more and more exacting and less flighty as the situation unfolded, walked away from Carmen with her hands pressed in front of her, almost as if she was dividing the space before her as she walked through it. Carmen had seen her do this before. This is how she thought.