Two Songs This Archangel Sings m-5

by George C. Chesbro

  "I'm coming down now, Frederickson," the man said evenly.

  "You do that."

  Gripping the strut with both hands, the big man swung down to the floor, landing easily on the balls of his feet just in front of the corpses of his two dead companions. Now he was all business, without a trace of the effeminacy he had displayed on the plane. Even standing still, and despite his formidable size, he gave the impression of someone with grace of movement, unexpected speed, and great strength. His face with its broad forehead was impassive, the pale eyes revealing nothing. If he was worried about what I was going to do to him, he didn't show it-and that worried me.

  The big man gestured disdainfully with his thumb at the bodies behind him. "I told them that what they wanted to do wasn't such a good idea. You're pretty clever, Frederickson. I believe I've underestimated you. I won't do it again."

  "I don't give a shit what you do, pal, as long as you're doing it hopping on one leg," I said as I aimed my Beretta at his right kneecap and fired. It was an accurate shot; the problem was that the big man didn't stay where he was supposed to, and the bullet smashed into a computer console behind him.

  With quickness matched in my experience only by Veil Kendry, at the moment I had pulled the trigger the man had grabbed the strut above his head, swung up and out of the bullet's path. As I started to turn the gun on him for a second shot, I saw him release his right hand from the strut and flick his wrist. I knew enough to duck, and the star-shaped shuriken whistled through the air just above my head, slashing open my parka across the shoulder blades. I came up ready to fire, then had to fall to the ground as pieces of electronic equipment came hurtling out of the mouth of the van and crashed all around me. Something sharp and heavy hit my right shoulder, sending a spasm of pain up into my neck. I pushed the tape recorder off me and jumped to my feet, firing blindly into the mouth of the van. When I'd emptied the Beretta, I crouched, dropped it into my pocket, and whipped the Seecamp out of my ankle holster. Then I slowly straightened up, peered around the edge of one of the doors into the van.

  The big man was gone.

  I spun around, gun shoved out in front of me, and looked for footprints leading away from the van. There weren't any. I suddenly realized where he was and started to turn back, but it was too late. There was a soft thud just behind me as the man leaped down from the top of the van. I was halfway around when steel-hard knuckles hit me squarely on the spine, at the base of my neck. All strength and feeling abruptly vanished from my body, and I toppled forward on my face into the snow.

  With that single blow the man had snapped my spine, I thought, too much in shock to release the scream that was building in me. The only sensation I had was the cold of the snow on my cheek and in my mouth; in an instant I had become nothing more than a head on a useless body. I didn't know if I had the courage to spend the rest of my life strapped in a wheelchair, and I hoped the man would finish the job and kill me.

  "It's true what they say about you, Frederickson," the big man said casually. "You're a real pain in the ass."

  I tracked him with my eyes as he walked to the front of the van, climbed up into the cab. The van started up, rumbled forward and over the rocks that served as a border around the parking area. It kept going through a snow fence, across the park toward the edge of the cliffs. The van never slowed as it crashed through the last barrier separating it from a three-hundred-foot drop and disappeared from sight.

  The gunfire might have been muffled by the snow and trees, but the sight of a van toppling off the Palisades into the Hudson River was certainly going to attract attention, and probably cause a monumental traffic jam, on the George Washington Bridge, just below. I wondered how long it was going to be before a squadron of police cars came screaming into the park.

  For a few moments I thought the big man had missed his timing and fallen into the ice-choked river along with the van. I had not seen him jump out, but after a few seconds his imposing figure rose from the ground. Casually brushing snow from his coat, he started to walk back toward me.

  The big man was quite a magician, I thought. One of his tricks that I particularly appreciated was the one in which he apparently hadn't crushed my spine after all, but only struck some particularly sensitive nerve cluster to paralyze me temporarily. I still wasn't ready to do any polkas, but a blessed chill was beginning to creep along my fingertips and palms, and emanate up into my groin. Also, like oases in a desert of numbness, there were patches of what felt like prickly heat over the rest of my body.

  The butt end of the Seecamp poked out of the snow a few inches from the fingertips of my left hand; if feeling continued to return, I was going to have a trick or two of my own to show the magician.

  The big man walked up to me, crouched down, casually resting his forearms on his knees, so that I could see his face. He seemed totally unconcerned about the gun, although it was closer to me than to him. "Where the hell is Kendry?" he said distantly, looking around him as if he half expected Veil suddenly to materialize from the snow or surrounding trees-a prospect I found most inviting, if improbable.

  "You're asking me?"

  "It was a rhetorical question."

  "Who are you?"

  "Ah, I don't think I want to tell you that, Frederickson. Knowing my name would only distract you and your brother from your primary job. In fact, I've already become an unfortunate distraction to you, and I regret that. I want you to find Veil Kendry for me, and after that matters will take care of themselves. You can forget about me now, because you probably won't ever see me again; as I said, I won't repeat the mistake of underestimating you."

  "I may not see you, but you'll be around."

  "Of course-but there'll be nothing you can do about it. I'm not a threat to you and your brother, unless you again choose to make me so. My only interest is in flushing Kendry, and I believe you have the best chance of doing that. He seems to be leading you along a trail, at the end of which he-through you-will have accomplished whatever it is he wants to accomplish. The sooner you reach the end of that trail, the sooner he'll come out of hiding."

  I could feel cold in both arms now, but the rest of me was lagging behind. I knew I wouldn't have more than one chance to get the gun, and I wasn't ready to take it yet. "Why did you have to kill those people in Seattle?"

  "I didn't. I was on the plane with you, remember?"

  "You ordered it done. It's the same thing."

  "I didn't order it done. The fee for my performing that sort of service is far too high to warrant using me for that kind of relatively simple operation. In fact, I didn't even know about the killings until I overheard your conversation with the florist. Those killings were performed by someone else."

  "But you reported on where I'd been, and the people I'd talked to."

  "Yes. That I did."

  Now I could feel cold spreading along my belly and up into my shoulders. I grabbed for the Seecamp. With the speed of a striking snake, the big man's hand shot out and snatched the gun out of the snow a fraction of a second before my hand got there. He ejected the clip, removed the round from the chamber, then flipped the gun back to me. "Here," he said quietly. "Put that in your pocket with the Beretta. I certainly don't want you to be defenseless."

  "Fuck you," I said, struggling to work myself up into a sitting position. "If you're so anxious to get to Veil Kendry, and you're using me to do it, maybe I'll just stop looking."

  "That would be a mistake, Frederickson, because then you would be pitting yourself against me instead of doing your job." His voice, a soft, almost soothing baritone, suddenly took on sharp edge. "The chances that you and your brother will eventually survive this business are, in my opinion, nil. However, the only chance you do have to survive is to keep going. There are others who want to kill you now, so in a very real sense you and your brother are on a rapidly spinning treadmill; try to stop, and you'll be broken. You already know far too much to suit these people, and the only reason you're alive right now is beca
use I've been able to convince them of your usefulness. But I didn't say you were the only way to find Kendry. Still, you're obviously the key player in a game Kendry's chosen to play. Therefore, I want you to keep playing. If I decide that you're only going through the motions, or are taking steps to protect Kendry from me, then I will retaliate by killing your brother as quickly and easily as I killed Colonel Po."

  "An intriguing threat," I said, trying to get to my feet. My nervous system still wasn't ready to handle that, and I slumped back down into the snow. "Why don't the two of us hop into a cab and go down to his station house right now? Then you can deliver that threat in person. Garth will get a big kick out of it."

  "I don't deliver idle threats, Frederickson."

  I believed him. "You killed Po?"

  "Yes. That operation did require my skills."

  "Look, if you're so damn anxious to find Veil, why don't you help me? Give me information I can use. Who are you working for?"

  "The names of the men who actually hired me and take my reports would mean nothing to you; they're just fronts. For you to try to untangle all the blinds and double blinds in this chain of command would be a monumental waste of time."

  "All right, you untangle it for me. You have a very good idea of who's behind the whole thing, don't you?"

  The big man's thin lips curled back in a quick, disdainful smile. When he spoke, there was scorn in his voice. "Of course. It's a man I've done special assignments for in the past. He never felt the need to hide his identity then; now he thinks he's being clever. Actually, he's a cretin who's well equipped for certain kinds of work, but not for what he's doing now. He's way out of his depth. A man should know his limitations, and this one doesn't. This man fights best in dark places; in the dark, he's a savage and efficient alley fighter. But he doesn't do well in the light; not well at all. That's why, in the end, his whole strategy was doomed to failure from the beginning."

  "Why do you work for a cretin?"

  The big man looked genuinely surprised. "For a great deal of money, of course. Also, in this case, I'm looking forward to meeting Mr. Kendry. I've heard a great deal about him."

  "I'd love to have you meet him, pal. You may be bigger than he is, but he's better. He'll shove your head up your ass."

  The big man laughed. "Spoken like a loyal friend."

  "You expect me to play Twenty Questions? Give me the name of the cretin."

  "I think not."

  "Why the hell not?! Why should you play games with me? You say you want to find Veil, fine. You want me to get to the end of the trail, fine. Help me. The name of the man who wants Veil dead is the key to the box of secrets Veil wants me to open."

  The big man shook his head. "What you say is probably true, but knowing the name would only be another distraction."

  "Let me be the judge of that. Just give me the Goddamn name."

  "No."

  "Damn it, that's insane!"

  "Frederickson, there's absolutely no doubt in my mind that, if I gave you the name, you'd go after that man instead of tracking Kendry. That would accomplish nothing, except to quickly get you killed for your efforts. If you're killed, then Kendry will abandon the game and simply do what he could have done in the beginning-hunt the cretin himself. Kendry could get to the man and kill him, but not without being killed, or captured, himself. That scenario is not at all in my interest."

  "What the hell are you talking about? You want Veil dead; according to you, that's how he'd end up. What other interests do you have? What the hell difference does it make to you what I do with the information you give me?"

  "It's not important, Frederickson. Don't worry about anything but following the trail Kendry has laid out for you."

  "Some trail. Why the hell did you kill Po? He could have given me a lot of the information I need."

  "I was asked to kill the man, and I was paid my fee."

  "You afraid you're not going to get your money if somebody else kills Veil?"

  "No. I have already been paid my full fee. But I take pride in my work, and I have a certain reputation to uphold if I expect to continue being paid my customary fees in advance. The kinds of people who hire me listen to reports of how assignments like this are carried out."

  "Then it's future earnings you're worried about?"

  "Now I think you're beginning to understand. I don't want anyone else doing my job for me."

  "All right, if you won't give me the man's name, at least tell me why it's so important to him to have Veil killed. What does Veil have on him?"

  "I haven't the slightest idea."

  "You're full of shit."

  "It's the truth. I really don't know what the man's problem with Kendry is, and I don't care. For me, it would be irrelevant information. My only concern is with finding and killing Mr. Kendry."

  "And, I assume, Garth and me when this is over?"

  "The cretin doesn't need me for that, Frederickson. He can have the two of you killed any time he pleases-the reason, as I said, why you have to keep moving, so as to demonstrate to him your usefulness to me."

  Suddenly there was the sound of sirens, very close. The big man straightened up, then reached down and lifted me to my feet by the back of my parka. The feeling in my legs was returning now, and I was able to shuffle along as the big man guided me firmly across the parking area and into a copse of trees, heading toward the street.

  "You're walking on the edge of a razor, Frederickson," the man continued. "Obviously, the cretin will not tolerate you learning too much-the reason he had me kill Po before you could talk to him.

  I'd much prefer that he continue to let you live, but he could change his mind at any time. Watch yourself."

  "Your concern is touching."

  "What can I say? I find I rather like you."

  "The information I have doesn't mean anything unless I get this man's name to go along with it!" I said, thoroughly frustrated.

  "Just keep going, Frederickson. And don't forget that I'll kill your brother if I think you're jerking me around."

  The big man pushed me into a row of bushes on the edge of the sidewalk just as two Fort Lee police cars, sirens screaming and lights flashing, went speeding up the access road into the park. An officer who had unhooked the chain got into a third car, raced after his colleagues.

  "You're just chasing after your own death, pal," I said as I was lifted by the back of my parka out onto the sidewalk. "I'm betting Veil knows you're on his trail, looking for him."

  "That may be."

  "If and when Veil does choose to come out in the open, the very first thing he'll probably do is kill you."

  "Good hunting, Frederickson."

  The big man tossed me back into the bushes, and I momentarily lost sight of him. By the time I extricated myself and looked around for him, he was gone.

  12

  When I came marching into Garth's station house an hour later, a lot of heads turned in my direction. I knew a number of the detectives and uniformed officers, but no one said a word to me; they just stared.

  "Well, well, well," Garth said in a dry tone that failed to hide the relief he obviously felt at seeing me alive. His flesh was pale under its greenish pallor, and there were dark rings of weariness and worry-and possibly sickness-under his eyes. His shirt was stained with perspiration. "It seems you're not at the bottom of the Husdon River after all. A minor errand?"

  "Ah, you've heard," I said, going directly to the coffeepot on a warmer standing in a corner of his office. I poured myself a cup of the brackish-looking brew, grimaced when I tasted it.

  "The NYPD has heard a lot of things, and we're trying to sort out what it means. About three hours ago we got a call from some guy on the street claiming that a dwarf, of all people, wearing a brown parka just like yours, of all things, had just stolen a Con Ed van from in front of the apartment building where you and I currently reside, of all places. How about that?"

  "Will wonders never cease? Listen, if that van is really
registered to Con Ed, I pledge to personally paddle my way to the bottom of the river and bring it back up." I took a slip of paper out of my pocket, tossed it on the desk. "Here's the plate number."

  "What happened to your coat, Mongo? That looks like a knife cut."

  "Something like that. While you're checking the registration, see if you can find out which city official or agency issued the work permit for that location; ask for a copy of the papers."

  Garth gave a curt nod, picked up his telephone. While my brother spoke with Motor Vehicles, I sipped at my coffee and stared at the front page of the newspaper on Garth's desk. The photograph of Liu Sakh Po, head askew, stared back at me. Again, I had the haunting feeling that there was something important in the picture that I was missing.

  "There's no such registration," Garth said as he hung up the phone and tossed the slip of paper into the wastebasket. "Not for Con Ed, or any other vehicle. It doesn't surprise me. I called Con Ed right after we got the report of a stolen van, and they told me all their vehicles were accounted for. Also, there's no record of a work permit being issued for that site."

  "That doesn't surprise me."

  "In the beginning, before we heard about the van going off the Palisades, a few of the cops around here thought it might be a hoax."

  "You knew damn well there was no hoax."

  "Sure," Garth said, lowering his voice as he rose, walked around the desk, and closed his door on the staring faces outside his office.

  "I just wasn't sure what to do about it. Whatever you were doing, you seemed to have the situation under control." He paused, smiled wryly as he sat back down behind his desk. "You were in the driver's seat, so to speak, and nobody called to report their van stolen. Then the report came in of the van going into the river. I'll admit that caused just a tad of concern."

  "When they bring the van up, they'll find two bodies in the box."