Julie cut through the pancakes, raising the small pieces to her mouth. “What about this organization? How long has Infernum been around?”
“Not really sure, but we have records going back to the end of the Cold War.”
“Why is the Agency so interested in this group?”
“The Agency keeps the balance and that's a balance Dante disturbs,” said Christian. “Infernum's actions have destabilized regions, overthrown governments, and turned little problems into massive cluster fucks.”
“What was Travis' connection?”
“Not sure exactly, but he was a pretty big player in the mob around here, so he probably had something Dante wanted. As a reward, he was brought into Infernum. He hadn't met Dante personally, but he knew enough about him that we could use him to possibly get to some higher-ranking members. Unfortunately, one of Infernum's assassins got to him first.”
“How can we have nothing on him?” asked Julie. “How can they have people everywhere? This doesn't make any sense. And no one knows anything about this Dante?”
“The guy's downright Blofeldian.”
“Blofeldian? What are you talking about?”
“You know, Ernst Stavro Blofeld,” said Christian. “The head of SPECTRE in the old Bond films.”
“Never really watched any of the Bond films,” said Julie.
“You're kidding,” said Christian. “Here you are, a government agent, and you've never seen a Bond film?”
Julie shook her head before sipping her coffee.
“Just don't tell Chandler that,” said Christian. Chandler was the Director of the Agency and quite a Bond fanatic in his own right. Had all the novels signed by Ian Fleming himself and always bought the new box sets of the films on the day they were released.
“It'll be our secret,” said Julie. “Where does Dante recruit these assassins from?”
“Anywhere and everywhere you can imagine,” said Christian. “Police, military, intelligence agencies, terrorist organizations, probably the goddamn Boy Scouts, too. Anywhere he can find talented people. Money makes the world go 'round, and money can convince even the most ardent believer to change his ways.”
“What about this assassin?”
“Good question,” said Christian, biting into his bagel once again. “My guess is he's someone good. Very good. Probably government-trained.”
“One of ours or someone else?”
“No way to tell. Could be anyone. But whoever it is, I don't think we've seen the last of them.”
CHAPTER 3
Angela stood on the roof of the apartment tenement, the morning sun glinting off the face of her silver watch as she checked the time. The watch had been Jeff's and whenever she looked at it, she was reminded of his face when she gave it to him two years ago for Christmas. A few months ago, she was clearing out some of his things and she found it and discovered she didn't want to part with the watch. She had it resized and kept it for herself.
Quarter after seven, that's what the watch told her. He was late. Probably did it just to irritate her. He had a habit of doing that but she took some solace in the fact that after tonight, she'd never have to see him again.
In her head, she ran down the list of reasons he chose this place for their meeting. A run-down area of the city, so no security in the building, the kind of place where neighbors never opened their doors. Easy to get in and out without being seen. She pulled her jacket closed and zipped it up. The wind carried a chill and she wished she was at home relaxing.
The click of a lighter broke the silence and the scent of smoke quickly followed. She turned around and faced the rooftop entrance stairwell. A tall man leaned against the door. He had a swimmer's build, lean yet muscular. His unnatural blond hair slicked back, but the ends of it began to curl at the base of his neck. Further enhancing the unnatural hair color were his eyebrows and facial hair—a dark brown, almost black. He had a Fu Manchu type of mustache, except with an additional strip of hair running from the middle of his bottom lip down his chin. His ethnicity was impossible to determine, his facial features the result of either mixed heritage or extensive plastic surgery. Angela wasn't sure which it could be, as both were equally likely with this man.
Just as strange as his appearance was his clothing—a reddish-brown leather jacket that reached to the top of his thighs, which were covered in dark red leather pants. And beneath the jacket he wore a bright, shiny pink shirt. He held the cigarette between the ring and pinky fingers of his left hand and eyed her with light-colored blue eyes, so light that they almost seemed turquoise. His pinky itself was clad with a gold finger guard, hinged at the knuckle, that came to a sharp point. Rings of various garish intensity lined the other three fingers and the same situation existed on his right hand, which hung loosely at his side.
“You're late,” said Angela.
“I like to make an entrance.” He spoke with an accent, something that seemed vaguely British, but Angela could not be sure. The man called Dante kept the details of his life a closely-guarded secret. There were many rumors about him, but nothing ever substantiated by more than hearsay.
“Here.” Angela tossed the ring. Dante snatched it from the air in his right hand, opening his fingers to examine it in his palm. He smiled once he saw the familiar gemstone, the exact same ring resting on the third finger of his right hand.
“Good work,” said Dante, dropping the ring into one of the pockets of his jacket. “Bit of a messy situation, I hear.”
“I could have made it quiet, only wound up with one casualty as opposed to four.”
“This sends an even bigger message,” said Dante. “Mess with Infernum, not only do you die, but you end up with quite a bit of collateral damage. We've shown them that wherever you go, wherever you hide, we can get to you.”
“It was a sleazy peep show, not like we're talking about the Witness Protection Program.”
“Point still stands, we've sent a message,” said Dante. “Those who know Travis was involved with us will also know he did something to make us unhappy.”
“You keep saying 'us.'”
“Do I?” he asked with a grin.
“Just give me my money so I can get out of here.”
“Suit yourself.” He reached inside his jacket and produced an envelope, tossing it to her. Angela tore it open, but nothing more than a bank book sat inside. She took it out and it had the name and address of a bank in the Cayman Islands printed on it.
“What is this?” she asked.
“An account set up in your name,” said Dante.
“Our agreement was cash.”
“Then I'm giving you an option. Just call that number and have the bank transfer the funds to an account of your choice. Or—” he paused long enough to take a drag on his cigarette, “—or you use that book and keep track of new deposits made.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Angela.
“I'm talking about keeping you on, making you part of Infernum.”
“You want me to be one of your assassins?”
“I prefer to think of them as my honor guard, but yes, that's the gist.”
“Not interested.”
“Why don't you hear me out before—”
“Not. Interested.”
“So what are you going to do now?” asked Dante. “Skip off with your winnings to some tropical island, spend the rest of your days lying on the beach with a book in one hand and a fruity umbrella drink in the other?”
Angela crossed her arms. “The thought did occur to me.”
“And just who are you fooling?” asked Dante as he slowly approached her, cigarette gripped tightly between those bottom two fingers.
“We had a deal,” said Angela. “I do this for you, and you get me away from the Agency's radar.”
“And it worked splendidly, so much that I want you on my team.” He began to circle her, never pulling his eyes away for a second. “I know you'd never admit it, but you enjoyed this assignment. The rush
of it all, the thrill of battle, having to analyze a situation, work out several potential scenarios, select one and then dismiss the rest in a fraction of a second. It's what you live for, it's what you were made to do. And more than that, you like the way you feel when you put a bullet in a piece of shit like Travis.”
“You don't know anything,” said Angela, not even looking at him.
“Don't I?” asked Dante, leaning in close over her shoulder, exhaling smoke from his nostrils. “Face it, love—the Agency turned you into a weapon and you love it.”
Angela spun on her heel, drawing her Desert Eagle and pointing it at Dante's head. He stepped back, offering his hands up in a mock surrender. “A bit feisty, aren't we?” he asked.
“Fuck you, Dante. I'm taking my money and I'm retiring. No more assassinations, no more wet works, no more playing chess with people's lives. And if I ever see you again, I'm putting a bullet in your head.”
She walked for the stairwell. Dante sat on the edge of the building, one foot resting on the ledge and his arm draped on his knee. “One year,” he said. “That's how long it's been, hasn't it?”
Angela froze.
“One year since someone killed him in your home, lying dead in a pool of his own blood,” said Dante. “And the Agency—with all their resources—couldn't find out who killed him. What does that tell you?”
Angela peered over her shoulder, strands of hair falling in her face. “That maybe one of Infernum's untouchables pulled the trigger.”
“One theory, and certainly valid,” said Dante. “An even better one is that the Agency couldn't be bothered.”
She turned her body to him. Her gun still hung at her side, but her muscles tensed and she would raise it at an instance's provocation.
“I know the Agency, and I know they're more concerned with nabbing me than anything else. Your husband's death had nothing to do with me or my organization. That means the Agency couldn't be bothered.”
“I know all this. That's why I left.”
“But what you don't know is that I can help you,” said Dante. “I may not know who killed your husband, but I can find out. My organization has a global reach. I know people. If I want to find someone, I will. But the question you have to ask yourself is, are you willing to do something for me in return?”
“You're testing my patience.”
“And like I said, you have options,” said Dante. “You can take that money and run, go off to retirement, only to have it eventually run out and leave you with no closure about your husband.
“Option number two is to take that gun and shoot me, like you're so tempted. You do that and every hit man I employ will come after you. One or two you could probably take out, but all of them at once? Not a chance.
“And the third and final option is you accept my offer. You kill some very bad people, make some very good money, and sooner or later, I'll find the man who killed your husband and you will have your well-deserved revenge.”
Angela raised the gun, although not pointing at Dante. She weighed her options, considered his words. Even though the thought of shooting him gave her a bit of joy, she hadn't actually intended to. Reflex made her draw the gun. And she knew he was right about her plan for retirement. That left only one option. There was a part of her that wanted the peace and quiet retirement would bring. But another, bigger part of her told her that Dante was right—she wouldn't be satisfied with retirement. She needed the rush, she needed the action. If she survived long enough, that was an even bigger nest-egg. And if snake eyes came up on her roll, then that just meant a peace of a different kind. Seemed like a win-win situation to her.
“For argument's sake, let's assume I say yes. What guarantee do I have that you'll find the killer?”
“I don't make guarantees.”
“Then you don't hire me.”
“I could just lie at this moment, tell you what you want to hear,” said Dante. “But that's not what you really want, not unless I'm certain.”
“I want the truth.”
“Truth is, I don't know but I can find out,” said Dante. “I'm going to review your husband's file, have my people go over the incident of his death, as well as start asking the wrong kinds of people the right kinds of questions. It won't be long before the killer pokes his head out. I'll get you what you want to know, I'll get you the truth. What you do with it becomes your own prerogative.”
“How does this work?”
“When I have an assignment, you will be contacted.”
“Contacted by who?”
“My people.”
“No,” said Angela. “You. I work through you and you alone.”
“I don't make special arrangements.”
“Then you don't get me.”
Dante took a final drag on the cigarette, now down to the filter. He flicked it with his thumb and forefinger, launching it over the edge of the building. Reaching into his jacket, he drew a silver cigarette case, with the Chinese character for fire engraved on the front. All Dante's cigarettes were custom and to prove it, they were stamped with that same Chinese character at the filter. Dante took a cigarette out and lit it with a gold Zippo.
“You drive a tough bargain, Lockhart,” he said.
“You going to meet my demands?”
“Sure, some...personal attention may be nice,” he said.
“That's one,” said Angela. “Second, I want a guarantee about the assignments I get. I'm not killing any good people, okay? If you want someone dead, it better be a scumbag like Travis. No children.”
“I wouldn't greenlight a kill of that nature anyway,” said Dante. “Done.”
Angela slid her gun into the holster hidden beneath her jacket. “You also keep the Agency off my back.”
“That's taken care of,” said Dante. “The Agency won't give you any trouble when they believe you're dead. That means you have to stay off their radar as well. So I want clean kills from you without a shred of evidence that can be traced back to you.”
“It's like you said, the Agency trained me well,” said Angela.
“I don't recall saying that,” said Dante with a grin. “I just said they turned you into a weapon. And now you're my weapon.”
Angela crossed the distance between them, staring into Dante's eyes. The two were at about the same height, give or take. “Let's get this straight—you do not own me. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement, nothing else. I can leave whenever I choose.”
“And I can terminate our contract whenever I choose,” said Dante.
“Anything else?”
“Yes, there are a few rules I want you to keep in mind.”
“Such as?”
“The first rule is I do not exist. Infernum does not exist. Should you be captured, you will be provided with the best defense money can buy. But if you go against me, I will take you into my own custody and no torture they perform on you will even begin to compare to what I will put you through. I'll make it last for weeks, give you a blood transfusion if I have to. Are we clear on rule number one?”
“Crystal.”
“Good. Now rule number two. For the most part, your missions will be open to interpretation. If you wish to make a public spectacle of the murder, that's fine. If you want to make it look like natural causes, all the best. Provided you are not identified and provided I am not identified. The exception to this is that when I have a specific way I want a job done, you are to execute the assignment to the letter. Should you deviate from this, see rule number one.”
Angela nodded and Dante took a drag on his cigarette before continuing. “Now the third and final rule is a bit simple—keep your emotions in check.”
“Excuse me?”
“Emotions fog up your head and they are a detriment in the field. Make you second guess yourself, cause you to take stupid chances. So in the field, your emotions are to remain firmly in the off position.”
“You don't have to worry about any of that with me,” said Angela.
“I hope you mean that, for your sake.”
“Anything else?”
Dante offered his hand. “Just this.”
Angela glanced at the hand before she gripped it in her own and they shook, sealing their deal. “So what happens now?” she asked.
“Now, you go home,” said Dante, turning away from her. “When I have an assignment, I will be in touch. Or, to put it another way...”
He sat on the ledge once more and turned to her with a smile.
“...don't call us, we'll call you.”
CHAPTER 4
The apartment door opened to a small corridor that ended at the kitchen. A few feet from the door to the right was an entrance to the living room. To the left, a small alcove with three doors—one to the bathroom, one to the bedroom and the third was a linen closet.
Angela kept her jacket on, walking directly to the bedroom. She pushed aside the sliding mirror door and stepped into the closet, moving the hanging clothes to the side. Reaching at the side, she found the hidden switches and pushed open the false wall, revealing a hidden weapons rack against the true wall, a small ledge jutting out.
Various guns and knives were stored here in slots molded specifically for them. She removed the Eagle from her holster, ejecting the clip and placing it into its spot. The clips which were empty or close to it went on top of the ledge beside a box of ammunition. She filled each clip with bullets and then set them into their spots. The full clips, still stored in the pouches sewed into her jacket, were removed one by one and placed back on the rack. She closed the hidden door and removed her jacket, hanging it in the closet beside several others.
Other than the weapons and clothes, Angela seemed to have no other personal possessions in her room. Not a single photograph framed nor a poster on the wall. The closest thing to a clock was the watch she wore. Not even a landline telephone, as she relied exclusively on her mobile.
In the bathroom, she stripped her clothes and stepped into the shower, closing the fogged door behind her. The hot water stung the bruises and welts that covered her body after last night's activities. She hadn't eaten anything since before the hit, over twelve hours ago. She could hear her stomach rumble as she carefully soaped her body, moving the cloth lightly over her sores. She thought about her deal with Dante, to work for him and wondered once more if it was the right decision.
Infernum Omnibus Page 2
