From Manhattan With Revenge Boxed Set

by Christopher Smith

  “Where?”

  “Honestly? I don’t remember. It probably was at a party. I used to go to a lot of them back them. Several a week. It’s something we McAdoos were supposed to do. Go to parties. Attend the right social events. Show up at the right showings. We’re part of New York society’s old guard, as they say. Before my father died and I became free to do as I pleased, he expected all of his children to follow the rules or be left out of the will. So, we lunched, we brunched, we went to church, we took to the country to hunt, we went to suppers, we spent our summers in Northeast Harbor, we mixed with our own kind here, there and everywhere.”

  “Laurent was your own kind?” Jake asked.

  Babe laughed. “Hardly. He was an upstart. I can’t remember what party I met him at, Jake, but it doesn’t matter. He likely was someone’s guest at some random event. Same with Katzev. There always are going to be those with new money who want to be one of us. Those two were no different.” She raised her hands in frustration. “But how is this helping our situation now?” she asked. “We need to focus on that video and on Chloe.”

  “What confuses me is that you’ve said that you’ve met him and that you know him. There is a divide there.”

  “A very small one.”

  “How well did you know him, Babe?”

  And Babe McAdoo of the McAdoo family, who was no fool when she knew she was being pressed for a solid reason, as she was now, resigned herself to coming clean. “Well enough to have had an affair with him,” she said. “Again, that was twenty years ago. But we did have a little tryst.”

  Incredulous, Jake looked at Carmen, then turned back to Babe. “A little tryst?”

  “That’s right. A tryst. It began at that party. I was tipsy. He wasn’t. And I have to tell you, he’s very good looking. He took me to one of the upstairs bedroom and we had a go of it. Smallest penis I’ve ever seen—it was like a red berry resting in a nest—but everything else was good. His hands. His tongue. His aggression. We met two times after that, but then I cut him off. He was just using me and while he had a good build, the sight of him naked from the waist down was revolting. It ended uglier than you could imagine, but who cares? The affair, if you even want to call it that, meant nothing. I should have told you, but I was too embarrassed to bring it up.”

  “You should have,” Carmen said.

  “Who told you?” Babe asked. “Somebody did. You pressed for a reason.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Probably Gelling,” she said. “Gave him another reason to take another breath. Disappointing, really. I thought I could trust him.”

  “I never said it was Gelling.”

  “My dear,” Babe said, her gaze falling on Carmen. “You didn’t have to.”

  “When did you hear?” Jake asked Carmen.

  “A moment ago on the phone. I also was surprised.”

  “Gelling,” Babe said. “Dear, sweet Gelling.”

  “Babe, I hope you see how this information makes us question whether we can trust you,” Jake said.

  Babe nodded. “Of course, I do. I didn’t come clean with it. My mistake. I keep large parts of my life private, as we all do. I, for instance, know practically nothing about you, Jake. You just sit there and judge, but what do we know about you really? Who are you?”

  “Just an assassin, Babe. You know how we work.”

  “I do,” she said. “And I get it. I see why you’re upset. You can trust me. I’d like nothing more than to see Katzev dead.”

  “Why?” Carmen asked.

  “The reason our little fling ended so quickly? I’ve never told anyone this, but I suppose I owe you an answer. Katzev beat me. I made the mistake of giggling at how small he was down there. I said it while we were showering after our final romp. I thought he’d have a sense of humor about it because he was so marvelous in ever other way, which I told him he was. But it turns out he didn’t like that giggle at all. He didn’t like me calling it ‘Little Willie.” And because he didn’t, he let me have it in such a way that I warned him that if he ever came near me again, I’d have him killed. We were a lot younger then. He wasn’t as powerful as he is now. He was just starting out. But back then, he saw my family as powerful and so well-connected that my threat carried real weight. He knew he made a mistake. We were at a hotel when he did it. Some out-of-the-way place on the West Side where I knew I wouldn’t run into any of my people. Those things still mattered to me then because Daddy was alive. Katzev gathered his things, left, and I’ve never heard from him since.”

  “Is that it?” Carmen asked, knowing the truth when she heard it.

  “That’s it, Carmen.”

  “You should have told us,” Jake said.

  Babe turned and gave him a tolerating look. “When a woman is beaten, Jake, it’s not exactly something she wants to relive. I’ve apologized. I know I should have divulged. I understand if any trust between us has been compromised. Whether we go forward as a team is something for you two to decide. It’s simple. Either we’re going to work together to bring down that son of a bitch, or you both should leave now and forget that we ever met.”

  CHAPTER TW

  ENTY

  “We send him the video,” Carmen said. “Together.”

  “Carmen—”

  “She told the truth, Jake. I agree she should have come clean earlier—and I’m disappointed that she didn’t given the circumstances at hand and her knowledge of how these things work—but the truth is out and I believe her. If you’ve ever been beaten by a lover, and I doubt if you have given your size, you’d understand the shame that comes with it. You would have recognized that shame in her voice when she spoke about it.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  She looked at Babe. “I’m sorry for what Katzev did to you.”

  “As I said, that was years ago. I went through it, I learned from it and I’m over it. Mostly.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I wouldn’t mind watching that bastard take a bullet in the face, just like Laurent.”

  “Laurent took a few bullets.”

  “All the better. I could put a spare one between his legs and have a good giggle at the loss of ‘Little Willie,’ though my aim would have to be immaculate, which it isn’t.”

  Carmen smiled at her. “Mine is.”

  Babe edged forward in her chair. “So, can we plan this and get it over with? Or am I out?”

  “You’re not out,” Carmen said. “We end this together.” She took out her cell and wrote a detailed note to Katzev before pushing the button that emailed it to him along with the video.

  “What did you write?” Jake asked.

  “What Katzev’s mother said in that video could be interpreted any number of ways. He’ll see it as a cry for help. I told him that if he didn’t contact me in an hour with plans on letting Chloe go, his mother and the rest of his family would be dead. I told him that if he contacted them, we would know and they would die immediately.”

  “You typed more than that.”

  She nodded. “I also said that if he bothered either of us again, we know that he lives in a penthouse on Fifth, that his real name is Iver Kester, and that truths about him and the syndicate would be released anonymously to the police. His childhood home would be burned, along with the barns and all of the sheep. I told him that if he tried to hide his family anywhere, we would find them and slaughter them. Then I told him we’d do the same to him.” She paused and caught a smile on Babe McAdoo’s lips. “Essentially, I told him not to fuck with us.”

  “It’s video against video,” Babe said. “Words against words.”

  “That’s right,” Carmen said. “So, let’s see whose video and whose words carry more weight.”

  CHAPTER TWEN

  TY-ONE

  In the warehouse surrounded by his car collection, which wasn’t there only to look at and to touch but also to remind him how successful he was, Illarion Kat
zev leaned against his prized three-million-dollar Bugatti Veyron Super Sport Vitesse, watched the video twice, read Carmen’s note three times, and then he watched the video again.

  He was incredulous.

  Somehow, Carmen Gragera had tracked down where his family lived. She only ever knew him as a Russian. How did she learn the truth that he was a Scot named Iver Kester from some backwater farm in Aberdeen known for its cheese and that, in the States, he lived in a penthouse on Fifth Avenue, for which she provided the exact address?

  Did Alex tell her this before he was murdered? He must have, which proved that the intelligence they thought Alex had on the syndicate ran as deep as they imagined.

  But did it run deeper?

  Just how much information had he gathered and shared with her? How much did he know about him? The syndicate knew about the security breach, but they weren’t exactly sure how much information he came away with because of that breach.

  Had he learned the names of the other members of the syndicate and shared them with Carmen? What they did, where they lived? He closed his eyes and willed it not to be true, hoping that the odds were on his side if only because of the stringent safeguards they had long since put into place to protect each member’s anonymity via encryption software.

  If only because of those precautions, there was a chance that Alex didn’t know everything when he died. He may have been on the cusp of learning more, but his death would have robbed him of that. As slight as it seemed to him now, there still was a chance that his intelligence ended with Katzev. Illarion prayed that was the case because if it wasn’t, he knew that Alex would have told Carmen everything.

  He lifted his head to the high warehouse ceiling and considered the situation. Certainly, at this point, if she did know everything, she would have used that knowledge in an effort to get Chloe back. Or was she holding back, waiting for the right moment to use it for a greater purpose? He wasn’t sure. What he did know is that whether Carmen knew everything or not, the fact that she had tracked down his family and knew so much about him proved she knew enough to be more dangerous than he imagined.

  Somehow, he had to take her out. Fast.

  There were a few ways he could handle this. He thought them through, knowing that within an hour, if he was going to save his family, he’d need to come through with an answer.

  The question is whether he wanted to save his family.

  Katzev, who was raised knee-deep in sheep shit by a strong-willed family who broke every child labor law known to man while he was growing up, didn’t feel much of anything for them, with the exception of his mother, for whom he felt a tug of something. Love? He wasn’t sure. Did he even know what love was? Wasn’t sure. But there was something there. Love? Damned if he knew.

  When he went home each year, it was more to see his mother, with whom he had an emotional connection that, he supposed now, upon reflection, might as well be love. As for the rest of them? They could go to hell as far as he was concerned. He’d never been close to his brothers or sister, uncles, aunts or cousins, and while they feted him for his successes in the States when he did go home, he nevertheless sensed a strong undercurrent of jealousy from the men, which is one of the reasons he refused to give them any assistance.

  If Katzev wanted to, he could put the Kester cheese in markets all over the world. With a phone call, he could set things into motion that would improve his family’s lives. Through his connections, they could be wealthy beyond their wildest dreams.

  But he’d never do it.

  The only reason they celebrated him when he came home was because he knew that one day, they hoped he’d share his money with them.

  It’s nothing they’d ever ask him directly—the Kesters were a proud lot and they’d lose everything before they ever sank so low as to ask for a handout—but if Iver ever offered, he knew they’d leap.

  He played the video again and watched his mother’s face when she spoke. “You should be here now, Iver. Take this man seriously and come home. Things aren’t good here. Things are desperate. We need you now. Not tomorrow. Now. Before it’s too late.”

  She looked frail to him. Thinner than he remembered. When he was young, she was strict, but never cruel. She protected him from his father, who could be brutal, if she felt her husband was being too hard on him, which was often. Because of her, he’d been spared many beatings. Should he return the favor and save her and thus the rest of them?

  He didn’t know the answer.

  If he didn’t get to Carmen immediately, there was no telling what she’d do with whatever information she had on him and the syndicate. His mother did mean something to him. He did remember good times with her. He remembered once, when he came home from school with one of his many stellar report cards, that she hugged him and praised him. She often told him she thought he could go far, well beyond the farm, and that he should live his dreams in spite of the farm. She was one of the first to encourage him to reach beyond. He appreciated that, but the syndicate was his and Laurent’s child. For years, they built it together and they, along with its members, prospered wildly because of it. So, which was it? Mother or child? What would a mother do?

  Save the child.

  He looked across the room at Chloe Philips and saw her looking straight back at him. In Carmen’s case, what would a mother do? Same thing. Save the child. He knew her skills as well as her vast amount of contacts and he couldn’t underestimate them in this area. If she came for him, he knew she’d bring everything she had. He also knew she’d die for that child.

  He needed advice, but not from the syndicate. They’d just bicker and complain that they’d been taken away from their lives again and then a cluster fuck of in-fighting would ensue about how best to deal with the situation now.

  So, he wouldn’t use them. He was, after all, their leader.

  He clicked over to his cell and knew that when he dialed the number he was about to dial, it would cost him upwards of five millions dollars or more for the guidance and assistance he needed.

  Still, Vincent Spocatti was the best. They understood each other. For years, they’d had a great working relationship. And unlike any other assassin Katzev had worked with, only Spocatti valued money more than anything, including personal relationships, which was critical because Katzev knew Spocatti had worked with Carmen. Would he kill her for him?

  Absolutely.

  All Katzev had to do was let Spocatti name his price and then wire half the money to his account, which he was prepared to do, and then the other half when the job was done.

  He dialed the man’s number. A moment passed before Spocatti answered.

  “It’s Katzev, Vincent.”

  A beat passed and Spocatti laughed. “What took you so long?”

  “What does that mean? You’ve been waiting for me?”

  “Of course, I have. You’re screwed without me.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “There’s very little I don’t know, Katzev. You know that. I’m fully aware of the situation you’re in. When do you need me there?”

  “Immediately.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “What’s that sound I hear?”

  “I’m on a plane,” Spocatti said. “Just a few hours outside of New York. And here’s a tip—until the other airlines catch up, fly Singapore. Wireless. Telephone access. Lovely private cabin to call my own so I can do my work and my life doesn’t get held up. Air travel is finally as it should be. I’m assuming you want me to handle Carmen?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And what would that involve?”

  “Her death.”

  “What about Jake?”

  “We’ll take care of him.”

  “Poor Jake. Ruled unworthy.”

  “He’s a concern, but not like Carmen is.”

  “Still,” Spocatti said. “Just to be brushed off like that. As if he doesn’t matter. It’s so cold. So...Russian.”

  Katzev didn’t a
nswer. He knew Spocatti knew he was a Scot. He knew he was messing with him and ignored it.

  “The price is twenty million,” Spocatti said. “Half up front and wired to my accounts at once. Spread the money out unevenly. Once I see it deposited, you can consider me committed to the job.”

  “Twenty million?”

  “That’s the price.”

  “You’ve never charged me anywhere near that before.”

  “That’s because you and the syndicate have never been in such trouble before, especially against Carmen, who nearly is as good as I am. It’s all unravelling, Katzev. Carmen is seeing to it as we speak.”

  He thought about it for a moment. He thought about saying to hell with his mother, letting them murder his family and bringing in Carmen through Chloe. But he feared he didn’t have time. He didn’t know what she was planning next, but he knew Carmen well enough to know that she already was planning something and it could be disastrous for him and all involved if he didn’t act now. He heard what sounded like ice rattling against glass on the other end of the phone and new that Spocatti was impatiently waiting. “All right,” he said. “But we finish it tonight, Vincent.”

  “Great. That’s actually a better fit for my schedule.”

  “Are you able to contact Carmen? Put her off until you arrive? She’s given me a deadline of one hour to respond to her requests, or she kills my family. If it’s possible, we’ll save them. If it’s not, I won’t lose sleep over it.”

  “Such a kind son,” Spocatti said. “You’re willing to off your mother?”

  “I’d prefer not to, but I will.”

  “So professional of you, Katzev. So removed. I can call Carmen and put her off. She trusts me implicitly, which I’ve never understood, but she does. She’s never understood that our relationship is business and only ever will be business. I’ll tell her I’m on a plane to New York and that she should wait for me before she does anything else. I’ll tell her I’m coming to help. We’ll agree on a neutral place for all of us to meet. You’ll bring the girl and one of your men. Come armed, but bring no one else beyond the three of you. That’s the agreement. Carmen and I will come together, but we’ll also bring no one else. She’ll see that as a fair arrangement, since you and your guard will be armed. In exchange for Chloe, she will promise not to harm your family. Ever. You give her the girl. When we start to leave, when she thinks we’re about to go outside and that we’ll be safe, I’ll shoot them dead. Does that work for you?”