“Do you have any idea why you were sent to kill me?”
The boy only smiled. Gabriel recognised the bravado for what it was.
“Yes, of course, you aren’t going to say anything. Tell me: does he still bring in his friend Mr Wakefield to do the counter-interrogation training?”
The smile fell from the boy’s lips, and despite his best attempts to disguise it, Gabriel saw a flash of real incomprehension. He would have been expecting many things, but that this priest could know anything of his world would have never occurred to the boy.
Wakefield was a sadist of the worst kind. Abraham let the man take his time, trying to extract information from each of the family members in turn. Gabriel still remembered that part of his training in his dreams. In hindsight, its purpose was less to teach resistance methods and more to instil firmly into the children the belief that death was a better option than capture.
“Don’t worry,” continued Gabriel, “I will not torture you. I don’t even need to ask you any questions. I don’t need to know who you are, because I used to be you.”
The expression on the boy’s face indicated that he didn’t believe that.
Gabriel held up the knife he had taken from the boy. “A strider CPM S30V steel combat knife, considered by your leader to be the finest combat knife available. They armed you with it and only it because last night was your initiation. Abraham does so love knives. It is important to him that the first kill be up close and personal. He needs to know you have the stomach for it.”
The boy’s eyes widened.
“I had my initiation seventeen years ago.”
“That’s bullshit,” said the boy, breaking his vow of silence.
“Really?” said Gabriel. It had been a while, but the training never really left you. Without looking, he tossed the knife and heard the thunk as it embedded itself into his bedroom door on the far side of the room. “I was OK with a knife, but my specialties were hand-to-hand, fencing and sniper. Is Martin still one of the seven?”
The boy said nothing, but there was a flash of recognition in his eyes.
“Yes. I was a better sniper than him. He has the technical skills but lacks the patience.”
The boy’s curiosity trumped his training. “What was your name then?”
“Daniel.”
The boy shook his head. “Daniel is dead. His name is up on the wall.”
“Ah,” said Gabriel, “you still have that? The names of every family member who died on a mission. Paul. Mark. Connor. James. Simon. Matthew. Stephen. Then, there would be me, of course. I don’t know who came after that.”
The boy opened his mouth and closed it again.
Gabriel gave a sad smile. “You don’t need to tell me. I would imagine there are several more now. Some I knew well; some I never met. Such a waste. You, of course, won’t make that wall – failed initiates never do.”
“If you are who you say you are,” said the boy, “then you betrayed the family.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Why? Because I escaped? Because I didn’t spend my life killing on Abraham’s command?”
“It’s a better life than this.”
“Do you think so?” said Gabriel. “Here I am helping people. In a small way, I am trying to make the world a better place. I am trying to atone for the sins of my life with the family. I killed eighteen people. Eighteen! That’s eighteen lives stolen; eighteen families robbed. Eighteen marks against my soul. Do you have any idea how heavy a load that is to carry around?”
“It’s a cruel world.”
“And now, you’re just parroting what Abraham says to you, over and over again. I remember it. You can’t see it now, but you’ve been indoctrinated, brainwashed. He has made you his weapon. You don’t have to be that. It’s not too late for you – you still haven’t taken a life. You can be someone else.”
The kid sneered. “I seek only to fulfil my destiny.”
Gabriel walked over to the door to his bedroom and pulled the knife from it, then he opened it slightly and took out a small rucksack he had packed the night before. “Your only ambition in life is to join the seven, isn’t it?”
“It would be an honour.”
Gabriel sighed. “I remember that feeling so well, I really do. Abraham has you so convinced that he has your best interests at heart.”
“He is our loving father.”
Gabriel turned away for a moment and then he marched across the room and kneeled down to look directly into the boy’s eyes. “Are you the best?”
“What?”
“Of the current batch of initiates waiting for their chance to rise to join the seven. Are. You. The best?”
The boy said nothing, a peculiar look on his face.
“That’s what I thought. You see, I am Daniel. Abraham likes to use the folklore of the family as part of his training. I bet you have heard stories of my missions.”
The kid shook his head.
Gabriel gave a mirthless laugh. “Yes, you have. The general in Somalia who died of a heart attack while surrounded by his troops. The arms dealer in Dubai who was killed when his own prototype malfunctioned. I was very good at what I did.”
“And?” said the boy.
“And,” repeated Gabriel, looking directly into the boy’s eyes, “I was very good at what I did. A cold-blooded killing machine. Abraham used to call me his finest creation. Why do you think he sent you, not even the best of his novices, to kill me?”
The boy’s face was a mask of rage. “No.”
“No what? Come on, I know he teaches you to think. To assess the situation. Assess it!”
The boy looked away.
“Yes,” said Gabriel, making an effort to lower his voice again, to try and regain control over his emotions. “He didn’t expect you to kill me. He doesn’t want you as one of the seven. He is trying to force my hand. To force me to kill for him again. He wants me back. My leaving – my escaping – it wounds his all-consuming ego. He was willing to sacrifice you just to get to me.”
The boy shook his head, but Gabriel could see the hint of wetness in his eyes.
“If Abraham is your loving father, then why did he send you to your death, just to try to prove a point?”
“Shut up!” screamed the boy, his tear-stained face making him less and less like the grown man he was trying to present to the world.
Gabriel leaned forward. “I know this hurts, but believe me, it is better than the alternative. Don’t let that man turn you into a killer. It is not too late for you. You can still have a different life and save your soul. You can go to the authorities.”
The boy straightened his back. “Never. My loyalty is to the family.”
“But you failed. Look where you are; you have been captured. If you return to them now, you know what it will mean for you. He wanted me to either kill you or send you back, knowing it was the same thing. Why would you let such a man rule your life?”
Gabriel leaned further forward. “There is another way. I know some people. I can run and you can run with me. Together, we can try to find a new life.”
“He’ll find you,” said the boy.
“Maybe not.” Gabriel pointed at the bag sitting at his feet. “I’m going right now, and you can come with me. I can get you away from him.”
The boy shook his head again. “He will find you. He found you the first time, when you were supposed to be dead. He will never stop.”
“But you, you’re still a young man. You can…”
Gabriel was so focused, he hadn’t heard the door to the basement opening.
“Father.”
“Please – not now, Bunny.”
“Sorry, but… we’ve had a phone call.”
Gabriel turned to look at him, only then seeing the ashen expression on Bunny’s face.
“It’s Emilio and Bianca…”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“What about them?” asked Gabriel.
Bunny didn’t answer. He stared at the bag
at Gabriel’s feet.
“Bianca and Emilio? What about them?” He failed to keep the panic from his voice.
“Were you off somewhere, Padre?” Bunny pointed at the bag.
Gabriel moved towards Bunny. “Brother McGarry, what has happened to the two of them?”
Bunny looked directly into Gabriel’s eyes. “The phone in the office rang. It was Emilio.”
“Is he OK?”
Bunny snapped back. “Yeah, he’s fine, that’s why I came rushing down here, shot arse and all. I just wanted a chat.”
Gabriel bit his tongue.
Bunny glanced at the boy, still tied to the radiator, and then back at Gabriel. “He didn’t say much. I mean, he didn’t answer me when I asked if he was OK. He sounded scared – I mean really scared. And what kind of sick bastard makes the kid with the stammer deliver the message, I mean—”
“What message?” Gabriel resisted the urge to grab Bunny and shake him.
“He said, ‘Come for a family fun day,’ and then the phone went dead.”
Gabriel closed his eyes and turned away. He should have gone sooner. Before Abraham had the chance to take hostages. Why had he not gone sooner?
“I assume that means something to you?” asked Bunny.
Gabriel said nothing. He felt like he might throw up.
Bunny turned, startled, when the boy spoke. “It’s the park.”
“The what now?”
Gabriel turned around. “Every year, Abraham brought the family to America and we went to the same amusement park. It was a… tradition. He still does that?”
The boy shook his head. “Not for the last couple of years. It got shut down. Some people got hurt on one of the rollercoasters.”
Gabriel nodded. The Wonderama Park was about an hour outside of the city. Even when he’d last been there, all of fifteen years ago now, the place had been a little run down. It was based around a TV series that had briefly been popular in the eighties, but which had long since faded from memory. It had survived by being the cheap option in a world of slick corporate entertainment for all the family; it had a sort of rustic charm to it. As weird as it sounded, every year Abraham brought a team of killers and killers-to-be for a day out. It was their most treasured occasion. It was the rarest of days: one where the children actually got to be children, and the family actually resembled one in its own messed-up way.
“So,” said Bunny, “this Wonderama place – that’s where he’s holding Emilio and Bianca?”
Gabriel gave a tight nod.
“Right. Give us me gun back, I’ll go get them.”
Gabriel turned on his heel, his anger rising. “What are you talking about? You think you’re going to just wander in there against a team of highly trained assassins?”
“I didn’t say I liked my odds.” Bunny looked down at Gabriel’s bag. “I could also run, I suppose.” The words came out laced with spite.
Gabriel took a step towards him. “You don’t understand anything, do you? I was trying to get out of here because I feared he would…” Gabriel closed his eyes and lowered his head again. “He would do something like this. Damn it! Why didn’t I leave sooner?”
“Well,” replied Bunny, “you didn’t, and you doing a bunk now isn’t going to help. These people being who they are, I imagine that if we inform the authorities—”
“The kids will be dead and Abraham will be gone. There aren’t many people in this life who could go toe to toe with the family, and believe me, none of them work for the police.”
“In which case” – Bunny held his hand out – “I’m going to google the address for this place. Gimme me gun back and I’ll take care of it.”
“That’s suicide.”
Bunny shrugged. “After you’ve died the first time, you sorta get used to it.”
“I don’t have your gun. I flushed it.”
Bunny placed his hands on his hips. “You what?”
“I broke it up and flushed it down the toilet. No guns in the church.”
“Right,” said Bunny. “Fantastic. So I’m up against a team of fecking psycho ninjas, I can barely walk, thanks to being shot in the arse, and now I’ve no gun. D’ye want to tie one of my hands behind my back too or do you think this is enough of a challenge already?”
“This isn’t any of your concern.”
It was purely on instinct that Gabriel pulled his head back quickly enough to avoid Bunny’s swinging left fist. He attempted to follow it with a right, but his injury threw off his timing and Gabriel’s deflection and hip check were enough to send Bunny stumbling messily to the floor.
Gabriel stepped back as Bunny swung a leg, hoping to knock him off his feet. “Calm down, Brother.”
“Stop fecking calling me that, you sanctimonious prick. These kids are in danger.”
“I know that,” said Gabriel. “But there’s nothing I can do. I swore I’d never kill again. That’s what Abraham wants. Don’t you see? He wants me to go in there and kill to get them back. He wants me to prove that I’m not any better than he is. This is all about his power trip.”
“Whatever,” said Bunny. “I don’t have time for this souped-up Charlie Manson or your crisis of conscience. They’re a couple of good kids and they’re caught up in other people’s bullshit, and I’m going to go get ’em. End of story. They’re expecting you; they’re not expecting me.”
“What chance do you have?” said Gabriel, holding his hands out. “I mean, look at you.”
Bunny glared up at him from the floor. “I’m a bit rusty. I’m sure I’ll get my mojo back.”
Gabriel shook his head. “You are so pig-headed. Do you have any idea what these people are capable of?”
Bunny grabbed a chair and messily pulled himself up to his feet. “I do, yeah, but they’ve no idea what I’m capable of. That’s an advantage.”
“It’s the only one you have.”
They both turned, at the sound of a throat being cleared, to see Smithy standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was looking at the boy tied to the radiator. “Sorry to interrupt whatever the hell this is, but… No, actually, what the hell is this?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” said Bunny. “The kid was sent here to kill him.”
“Right,” said Smithy, looking far from convinced by this explanation. “Well, on a related note, a couple of cars just pulled up outside. If I was guessing, I’d say those Diablos Rojos dudes have come to get back that bullet they shot into your ass.”
Chapter Forty
Zoya smoothed the paper and stood back to once more admire the gift she had received. She gazed up at it with a near reverence as she chewed on her bottom lip. Jackson Diller had a wonderful eye. Yes, it was unusual – ‘quirky’ was probably the word Dionne would use – but Zoya thought it was possibly the coolest thing she had ever seen. Drawn on a simple sheet of poster-sizes paper was an image based on the iconic cover of the Beatles’ second album With the Beatles. Zoya had googled it, as she didn’t know much about them, but even she recognised the image. It was the one where their faces were half in light and half in darkness. Not that Jackson Diller had drawn the Beatles though. No, he had recreated the exact image but replaced them with four chimps, complete with moptop hairdos. Zoya loved it. She giggled and hugged herself a little. It was the coolest present she had ever received, and she had hung it pride of place in front of her workstation. Maybe she should buy a frame? Make sure it was preserved for posterity.
Zoya jumped as there was a sharp knock on her door. Dionne entered. Zoya stood there feeling somehow guilty.
“Hey Zoya,” said Dionne, “sorry to bother you, but…” She noticed the drawing. “Is that the Beatles as monkeys?”
Zoya shrugged in a way she hoped projected nonchalance. “Yeah, I s’pose.”
Dionne nodded. “Hmm, quirky.”
Zoya suppressed a smile – and then didn’t need to when she noticed the look on Dionne’s face.
“I need you to come downstairs.”
> “What is it?”
“It’s Sisters Bernadette and Assumpta. We’ve received a videotape.”
Zoya didn’t need to ask if it was good news. Inexpert as she was at judging human emotions, the pain was writ large across Dionne’s whole demeanour.
Five minutes later, Zoya was standing in Dorothy’s office as she, Dionne and Dorothy looked at the old VCR and TV combo that stood on a trolley. Dionne puffed out her cheeks, the control jiggling in her hand.
“OK, I should warn you – this is pretty upsetting.”
Dorothy nodded. “You’ve already warned us, Sister – just press play. We need to see this for ourselves.”
Dionne nodded and pressed the button. The screen was filled with a snowstorm of static before an image appeared. Someone was holding up a newspaper in front of the camera. It was a copy of El Universal newspaper and it showed yesterday’s date.
Then it was pulled away and a room came into focus. Zoya gasped. Bernadette and Assumpta were sitting tied to chairs. Assumpta had swelling around her left eye, but otherwise they looked unharmed.
Bernadette glared at the camera with such intensity that Zoya found it hard to look directly at her. “It’s…” started Zoya, “it is possible that this is fake. I mean…”
She stopped as a male voice from behind the camera spoke. “OK, Sister, time for you to deliver the message.”
Bernadette raised her chin defiantly, in a way that anyone who knew her would instantly recognise. “Deliver your own message, you pathetic excuse of a man.”
Zoya’s heart sank. You couldn’t fake that.
“Do it,” said the voice, “or you’ll regret it.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
The voice laughed. “No? But tell me, are you afraid of what might happen to your fat friend?”
Assumpta didn’t look at the speaker or at Bernadette. As was her way, she appeared to be more interested in staring at somewhere entirely different in the room. Bernadette glanced at her and then looked back at the camera.
In a slow, steady voice, devoid of all emotion, she delivered the message. Then the video cut off.
I Have Sinned Page 23
