“Is this stuff legal?” asked Roche.
“Of course. In Vietnam.” Johnny snickered and raised his glass. “To a profitable partnership.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Quartermain.
The men struck their glasses together and threw back their shots. For Johnny, the drink was practically like water now. Quartermain took his liquor the easiest. Stills and Roche cringed as the liquid burned its way down their throats.
“Now, let’s get down to business,” said Quartermain. “Our organization wants to make sure everything is set on your end.”
Johnny gave a simple nod. “Of course. The auction is all set and the appropriate parties have all been notified. As per your orders, we’ve kept all information on a need-to-know basis. All we told them were the barest of essentials. Just enough to entice them to pay the entry fee. The only thing I need is the product.”
“Roche. Show Mr. Venom his early Christmas present,” said Quartermain.
Roche reached under the table and pulled out a briefcase. He set it on the table and released the latches. He raised the lid and reached inside, pulling out a small, metal attaché case. Roche set this metal case flat on the table and slid it closer to Johnny, who just stared at it with his good eye.
“I wasn’t expecting you to bring it here,” said Johnny. “Is it secure?”
Quartermain stood and reached inside his jacket. He pulled a .357 Magnum revolver from the shoulder holster and aimed it at the case.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Johnny, starting up to his feet.
Quartermain fired at the case three times and Johnny cringed with each shot. Quartermain slid the gun back inside the holster under his jacket and sat back down. Johnny carefully looked at the case, seeing that there wasn’t even a dent on it.
“That case is durable as shit, nothing’s breaking it open,” said Quartermain. “Lock is activated via biometrics. Like so.” Quartermain turned the case towards him and pushed his thumb against a smooth strip of black on top of the case. It beeped and Johnny heard the locks disengage. Quartermain raised the lid and turned the case towards Johnny.
The arms dealer pulled the case closer to him and raised the top. Inside were two vials, one filled with a red liquid, the other with yellow. “How contagious is this?”
“Extremely,” said Stills.
Johnny closed the case and heard the locks automatically click into place.
“Don’t worry, Johnny. So long as the compounds remain separate, it’ll remain inert,” said Quartermain. “Just keep it in the case and you won’t have any trouble.”
Johnny poured himself another shot. “I’d like to make one point perfectly clear, Mr. Quartermain. I’ve helped your organization in the past, but I hope you understand just what you’re asking me to do here. The people I’ve called to this auction, they’re some particularly nasty individuals. Are you sure you want me to put this up for sale?”
“Our organization understands the risks, Mr. Venom,” said Quartermain. “In fact, we’re counting on them.”
CHAPTER THREE
Dalton entered his darkened flat in the Westminster area of London. He closed the door behind him and locked it, stripping off his blazer and stepping past the foyer and into the living room. Something caught his eye in the corner and even with the darkness, he got the sense that he wasn’t alone. Almost instantly after he had that feeling, a slender hand gripped his forehead and he felt a knife pressed against his throat. Dalton threw his elbow back and it stunned the attacker enough for him to twist free of the grip.
The professional thief could only see a vague outline of his attacker—slender and fast. A foot flew at his head and Dalton acted quickly to block it with his arm. He swung a punch, but the attacker dropped to the floor. Dalton’s were kicked out from under him and he landed on his back. The attacker was on him again, knees on his arms and the knife pushed to his throat once again.
“I’d say that’s enough.”
The accented voice was followed by the lights being turned on. Dalton looked into the face of his attacker, a beautiful young woman with brown skin, deep brown eyes, and black hair tied into a bun. The voice was too masculine to have come from her, but then he strained to see around her.
That’s when he saw the second invader. A tall man in a reddish-brown leather jacket over a bright blue button-down shirt. His hair was platinum-blond and slicked back, curling at the base of his neck. His eyebrows were black, however, as were the narrow strips of hair that ran from the edges of his lips with a third strip in the center of his chin. He held a cigarette gripped between ring-adorned fingers, which he lit with a gold Zippo lighter. The strange man walked over to one of Dalton’s chairs and sat down without permission, crossing his legs as he smoked his cigarette.
“Let the man up, my dear,” he said. “After all, we are guests in his home. It’d be improper to show him any further disrespect.”
The woman pulled the knife back and stood. She wore a long leather trench coat over her clothes and she stepped behind the chair the man sat in. Dalton got to his feet slowly, eyeing the intruders with curiosity.
“Do you know who I am?” asked the man.
Dalton straightened his shirt and sat in the chair on the other end of the coffee table. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“My name is Dante.”
Dalton’s blood froze at the mention of the name. He looked at the woman and realized who she must be. Tauna, Dante’s right-hand woman, also known as the Tigress.
Dante smirked, resting a hand on his knee. “I take it from your expression that my reputation precedes me.”
“You might say that,” said Dalton.
Dante. A name spoken in whispers. A mysterious power broker who commanded Infernum, an international network of assassins, spies, and other assorted criminals. His presence in Dalton’s home left the thief with just one question.
“What do you want with me?”
Dante removed the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “It’s about a job you pulled a few months back. Tauna.”
She moved from behind the chair over to the coffee table. That confirmed Dalton’s suspicions were correct about her. On the table lay a newspaper that Dalton now realized wasn’t there when he left home earlier that afternoon. She picked it up and tossed it into Dalton’s lap. He saw it was a copy of The Wall Street Journal. The headline on the front page was LOERKE PLUMMETS.
“Not quite sure what this has to do with me,” said Dalton. “Playing the stock market feels a bit too much like gambling to me, but without the fun.”
“A few months ago, Loerke was attacked by an extremely sophisticated computer virus which wiped their systems clean,” said Dante. “This coincided with some of their most valuable software in development ending up in the hands of competitors.”
Dante leaned forward and held his cigarette over an ashtray resting on the table, flicking the end and knocking the ash into the glass. He stared at Dalton with his cold blue eyes. “I had sizable investments in Loerke, Mr. Moore. Your little theft cost me a lot of money.”
“Mr. Dante, I hate to come off as repetitive, but once again I must stress that I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t.” Dante leaned back in the chair. “I’ve had some of my operatives investigate this case. Descriptions given by Loerke’s security—and his assistant, for that matter—match yours. And the virus bears some trademarks of one of your known associates, a computer hacker named Baxter Sutton. I know you stole from me, Mr. Moore. The fact that you didn’t know of my involvement is the only reason you still draw breath.”
Dalton sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils, but maintained his composure. Despite his calm disposition, his heart pounded so loud, he found it difficult to hear Dante’s words.
“What I’m getting at here is that you owe me quite a large debt, my friend. Fortunately for you, however, I have need of a man with your
skills.”
Dalton cocked his head to the side. “I beg your pardon?”
Dante took a drag on the cigarette and then said, “There’s an item I want you to steal for me.”
Dalton smirked and glanced down and his fingers. “I’m sorry, but I don’t work for terrorists. It’s something of a rule I have.”
That comment evidently angered Tauna. She hurled the dagger at Dalton’s chair and it flew right over his head, skimming the top of his hair and striking the wall behind him. Dalton carefully reached a hand up to inspect his head and let out a sigh of relief.
That wasn’t the end of it. She moved towards him, reaching inside her jacket. But Dante held up a hand. “Tauna, please.”
Tauna stopped in her tracks and folded her arms over her chest. Dante rose from the chair and stepped past Tauna, moving closer to Dalton. He sucked on the filter as he walked, and by the time he bent down in front of Dalton, Dante exhaled the smoke into the thief’s face.
“I am many things, Mr. Moore, but terrorist is certainly not one of them.”
Dalton waved his hand in front of his face to waft the smoke away. “I’ve heard of Infernum. Hard not to in my line of work. Heard of the gun-running, the money laundering, the toppling of governments.”
“Then you’ve only heard half the story,” said Dante, rising up. “If that. Every operation my organization undertakes is done in the service of a greater cause.”
Dalton scoffed. “If you say so.”
Dante’s cold eyes became like ice. “Make no mistake, Mr. Moore. What I ask of you is something quite important. And should you refuse, you will see what terrorism truly is.”
Dalton met Dante’s cold stare with one of his own. “Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s a promise,” said Dante, turning his back and returning to his chair. “This item is destined to fall into the hands of some very unsavory individuals. With your help, I can see to it that doesn’t happen.”
“What is it we’re talking about?” asked Dalton.
Dante raised his hand and wagged a finger. “Uh-uh. I don’t give away details until I know you’ll accept the job.”
“So you want me to say yes before you’ll tell me what it is I’m going to steal?”
“That’s right.”
“And what’s in it for me?”
“You get to live,” said Tauna, the first words she spoke since arriving.
“Indeed. This will erase your debt—which would otherwise end in your death. More than that, I’m quite prepared to compensate you handsomely for your troubles,” said Dante. “You eliminate your debt with me, earn some money, and even save the world. What’s not to love?”
Dalton thought about those words. He set his elbows on the armrests and linked his fingers together. “The fact that I’d still be working for you. Infernum has quite the reputation and I’m not so sure I want to be associated with that.”
“What if I sweetened the pot?” asked Dante, before dragging on the cigarette. “Albert Moore.”
Dalton said nothing, just gestured for Dante to continue.
“Your father’s been missing for years, has he not?” asked Dante.
“Fifteen years,” said Dalton.
“We know where he is,” said Tauna.
“Locked up and someone had the audacity to throw away the key,” said Dante. “But with my help, I can see to it that he’s released. Enjoys his twilight years breathing free air.”
Dalton paused to think on the offer. Something told him it was worth the effort. But another part stopped him from acting. “You’re bluffing.”
“Be smart, Mr. Moore. This arrangement is a win for all of us.” Dante stood again and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a small business card and set it on the table. “But please, think it over. If you decide to take the job, call that number and leave a message. We’ll get back to you.”
Dante walked by Tauna. “Come along, my dear.”
Tauna kept her gaze fixed on Dalton for another moment before turning and following her employer out the room. Once they left the apartment, Dalton reached out and picked up the card. There was just a number stamped on the front and beneath it the Chinese character for fire. Dalton flicked the card with his finger and leaned back in his chair, thinking on the strange encounter.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Are you freaking kidding me?”
Dalton shook his head as he stood at the liquor cabinet, dropping ice cubes into two tumblers from a bucket.
“Afraid not.” He placed the lid on top and poured a few drops of dry vermouth into each glass, followed by gin. He’d just finished telling Baxter about Dante’s offer and his partner clearly wasn’t taking it well.
“Dante. The Dante.”
Dalton carried the two glasses to the coffee table and set them on the surface. He sat in the chair across from Baxter. He rested his right foot on his left thigh and sipped his martini. “Yes, that one.”
Baxter hunched forward and picked up his glass, taking a generous gulp. He made a face and held up the glass, inspecting it. “How can you drink this shit?”
“My apologies, I don’t make it a habit to keep that piss-water you Americans call beer in my stock.”
Baxter set the glass back on the table and leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs and his hands clasped together. “Look man, I don’t know how much you know about Infernum, but they’re not the kind of people you wanna mess around with. Ever hear of Carl Flint?”
Dalton nodded. “Sniper, right? Heard he got out of the game a while back.”
“Right, but before he retired he worked for Infernum. Thought he was out and then one day, Dante comes to him with an offer he couldn’t refuse.” Baxter held up an index finger. “One more job, that’s all it was supposed to be.”
“And?”
“And no one’s heard from him since. He ran some bar that got left to one of his employees. But rumor is that last job got him into some real hairy shit. Ended up in some total clusterfuck with the Suarez cartel.” Baxter pointed at Dalton. “That’s what happens when you get into bed with Dante. Sure, the money’s good. So good you’d be an idiot to refuse it. But you end up pissing off all the wrong people in the process and you get on some shit-lists that you do not wanna be on.”
Dalton sighed, swirling the liquid in his glass, the cubes clinking. “I’m not interested in rumors, Bax.”
“Why the hell do you think his jobs pay so well? It’s because of the high risk. And there have been more than a few people who never lived to see their payday.”
Dalton took another sip. “So sell me on this. You clearly know so much about him, tell me what he’s all about.”
Baxter leaned back in the chair. “Rumor has it he’s a former spook, trained by the Dragon himself.”
“The Dragon?”
“Mason Draconi, one of the baddest of the bad. Dante—or whatever his name used to be—was apparently his protégé,” said Baxter. “Dante did a lot of scary jobs and—”
“For whom? CIA, MI6, Mossad, what are we talking here?”
Baxter shrugged. “I’ve got no idea. But whoever he worked for, he was good at his job. Then one day, he vanishes. Poof!” Baxter touched the tips of his fingers together and blew on them, rapidly spreading them apart. “Just like that, he goes off the grid. By the time he resurfaced, he’d already started calling himself Dante. Began building up Infernum around then. Gathering intel on very powerful people—blackmailing some, killing others. Some pretty heinous shit is attributed to his operatives. But then he’ll do something to completely turn the tables, like take out a human trafficking ring and helping the girls get set up with new lives and identities.”
Dalton’s eyes slowly moved from side to side, processing Baxter’s information. “Could be what this is about. He said this item is about to fall into some dangerous hands and that a lot of innocent people would die.”
“Exactly, he said. Who’s to say what’s truth and fiction where Dante�
��s concerned?”
“And if he is telling the truth?”
“So what? We’re not talking about anyone we know. It’s not our problem.”
Dalton rolled his eyes. “Your compassion is overwhelming.”
Baxter huffed. “Oh come on. When was the last time you parachuted into some war-torn country to help the locals? How much have you helped in recovery efforts after natural disasters? Have you ever even given blood or donated to any charities?”
Dalton was silent. Baxter’s point was salient. He’d never really lifted a finger to help anyone before, so why should he care now? Or was he just rationalizing it based on Dante’s offer?
“There’s something else,” said Dalton. “My father.”
Baxter blinked a few times. “Your father? What’s he got to do with any of this?”
“He’s a prisoner somewhere and Dante said he can get him out. But only if I do this job.”
Baxter removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Again, we only have his word to go on. For all we know, your dad could be dead and Dante’s just using his memory to manipulate you.”
“Maybe so, but you said it yourself, Infernum is dangerous. Dante feels we stole from him with the Loerke job. And how forgiving do you think he is of that sort of thing? He made it quite clear what will happen to me—and likely you as well given that he knows your name—if our debt isn’t cleared.”
Baxter put his glasses back on and fell silent. He reached for the glass and took another big gulp.
“Thought you hated that,” said Dalton.
“I do.” Baxter cringed as he spoke the words. “But I really need a drink now.”
“It’s just one job, Bax. And looking past all the positives and negatives, it will clear our debt with him. That alone makes it worth doing. You said it yourself, this man has killed some very powerful people. What chance do we stand?”
Baxter took a deep breath and exhaled rapidly. “You’ve already made up your mind on this, haven’t you?”
Dalton gave a nod. “But I need your help to do this right. I’m going to need support and that’s where you come in.” He set his glass on the table and stood, walking over to Baxter. Dalton extended his hand. “Partners?”
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