The Omicron Kill - An Omega Thriller (Omega Series Book 11)

by Blake Banner

  I didn’t wait for Njal to answer. “I approach the ministry of scientific development with a proposal that will appeal to Omega. It might be the development of some form of green energy, cyborg technology, something of that sort. We let it be known that it is highly confidential and that Argentina is especially well placed to help us develop it in Latin America. We also let it be known that it has the private support of Senator McFarlane, who is known for her green credentials. Her sanction—and ideally an introduction—will also ensure we get an audience. We request a private, non-official meeting outside Buenos Aires, intimating that this way it will be financially more beneficial for Narciso Terry himself. We book him into a luxury hotel. On the way to the meeting he has a car crash. Meanwhile we have also booked a high-class hooker into his room so it looks as though he crashed on his way to a rendezvous with a woman.”

  Njal nodded. “Sounds good. We need to make sure the card used to book the room is untraceable, and that the initial communications regarding the meeting are also strictly confidential and untraceable. We approach him initially by confidential telephone call, via McFarlane, so there is no record of what the contact is about.”

  “Agreed.”

  Jim said: “What about the accident itself?”

  I said: “We’ll have to select a stretch of road, look at the features—ditches, undergrowth, woodland, distance from town, all that stuff—and decide the best way to set it up. We don’t want to tamper with his car, the risk is too high, and with forensic techniques they can detect it. What we need is to interrupt his journey, either with an obstacle on the road, or with another vehicle. Maybe a rendezvous.”

  “OK. What about Rocha in Brazil?”

  I thought for a moment and Njal said, “Similar sort of thing. We make an appointment with him in the same way, using Senator McFarlane. Like Narciso Terry in Argentina, we inform him it is confidential and we suggest that if he keeps it quiet there can be benefits for him financially, a bribe. We arrange a meeting with him somewhere quiet and private, maybe at an hotel, like Terry. Maybe use a woman’s name, yuh?”

  I nodded. “That’s possible. Makes him feel safer and provides a red herring for anyone investigating his disappearance.”

  “When he shows up, you approach him and tell him you gonna take him to meet with whatever her name is—Dr. Elizabeth Strada…”

  I shook my head. “Let’s not get bogged down in details at this stage.”

  “OK, whatever, you take him to the kill site. We get whatever information we can from him about Omega 3, kill him and hide the body.”

  I glanced at Jim. He was nodding slowly. I said, “We need to get access to his personal computer and his phone, send messages to his wife and kids that he’s been called away on business.”

  Jim said: “Buy some postcards, get him to write them out. You provide the text. Send them from Mexico.”

  “Again, too soon for details. On the ground it doesn’t always play out the way you plan it. Let’s keep it simple and use the same basic plan for both.”

  Njal sighed. “OK, so we approach them both in the same way, lure them to a quiet spot and kill them. We godda choose the kill sites for both, and a way to dispose of Rocha’s body.”

  Jim watched him write some notes and asked, “How do you want to tackle Gonzalez, Zapata and the General?”

  I spoke before Njal had finished writing. “We time it for one of their visits to the ranch, where they have the lab. We execute it like a military assault. We insert undetected, recon and then take the place by surprise. We kill everyone except Omicron, we photograph and film the lab, then we destroy the whole place and we bring Omicron here. We interrogate him and then eliminate him.”

  Njal narrowed his eyes at me. “You want to kill a prisoner?”

  “Yeah, Njal, but I don’t want to kill his wife.”

  They both raised their eyebrows at me.

  I sighed. “He’s not a normal prisoner. Right now he is the most dangerous human being on the planet.”

  Jim spoke the thoughts I knew were in Njal’s mind. “Right now, Lacklan, I’m thinking that person might be you.”

  My belly was hot but I kept my voice level. “He has to die, Jim, and we also need the information he has.”

  “Do we?” He gave me a moment, then went on: “Once Omicron is dead and that lab is destroyed, Omega will wither and die too.”

  I shook my head. “No. Omega III must be using some kind of back up computer network that was not linked to the primary one. That’s how they survived. All the data from this lab, whatever it is, must be on that network. They must also have bank accounts, money laundering networks, distribution networks—all connected to that back up computer system. All of that needs to be accessed and destroyed.”

  Jim shrugged. “Or simply destroyed.”

  I flared, “We can’t destroy it without accessing it, Jim! We need to interrogate him and get access to their computers, the same way we did with Timmerman.”

  Njal shook his head. “I don’t agree to another neutron bomb. The risk with the last one was huge. As it was, it caused massive damage to the European stock market. A lot of innocent people lost their business and their livelihood because of that. Also, Lacklan, I godda tell you man, I am not cool with torturing people. OK, with Timmerman it was necessary, but with Ochoa…”

  “Do you know what the Sinaloa cartel do to their enemies? Not just their enemies, anyone who gets in their way…”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I don’t wanna become like them.”

  The burning in my belly turned to cold. “What the hell is wrong with you, Njal? You are going to jeopardize the success of this mission because you’re feeling squeamish?”

  Jim came out and said it. “I’m worried about you, Lacklan.”

  “Why?”

  “Because murdering the members of Omega seems to be becoming more important to you than eliminating what they stand for.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it!”

  “I don’t know it, Lacklan, and I think you need to examine your behavior over the last six months.”

  There was a pressure in my head and my breath was coming short. My voice came out too loud. “What is this, a damned intervention?” I stood. “You invited me on this jaunt, remember? If you think I’m not suited to the job, what the hell am I doing here?”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “Getting mad, by the looks of it, and losing perspective.”

  I hesitated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that for the last six months you’ve been on a short fuse. How many bars did you say you were kicked out of? How many times arrested? This is the most important hit you have ever made in your life, or are ever likely to make again. You need to be clear and you need to be sharp. I don’t believe you are either right now. And more serious than that, Lacklan, your motivations are not clear. I am not sure why you are doing this job, and neither are you. How much of this is about anger and revenge and how much of it is about putting an effective end to Omega? You don’t want that kind of uncertainty going into this operation.”

  He waited, watching me. I didn’t say anything. I knew he was right and I had nothing to say.

  After a moment he sighed. “Njal said you wanted to talk to Cyndi McFarlane. I think that’s a good idea. Go to D.C., discuss the operation with her, get her support for the introductions. Make her understand it goes no further than her. Like you, I know Cyndi and I trust her.” He spread his hands. “Meantime, Njal and I will be gathering more intel, preparing the groundwork, doing some initial recon of the areas. I’ll get your documents ready, tickets, the rest of it.”

  I nodded. “OK.”

  “But do me a favor, Lacklan, give this some thought: what’s motivating you? We don’t need to torture anybody, and we sure as hell don’t need a loose cannon.”

  I nodded again, and said again, “OK. Agreed.”

  I left the study and climbed the stairs to my room. There I started putt
ing things in my bag. There was still a hot rage in my belly, and I wasn’t sure who that rage was against, or what. I was vaguely aware that I had gone there in Jim’s truck and that my own car was back in L.A. That made me dependent on Jim, put Jim in control, which somehow made the anger worse. I was struggling to remember that Jim and Njal were not the enemy.

  I was zipping up my bag and I heard a footfall behind me, then Njal’s voice.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like, Njal? I’m packing. I don’t see any point in hanging around.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “You better stop telling me that. You made your point, I got it.”

  “We still got a lot of details to discuss. You can go tomorrow. Nobody is asking you to leave, Lacklan.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Njal.”

  “Is what you’re doing right now.”

  I squinted at him, like I couldn’t see him clearly. “What?”

  He jerked his head at me, but spoke slowly and calmly. “You think I need to walk on fuckin’ eggshells with you? You think I’m scared of you? If I thought you was no fuckin’ good you wouldn’t be in this fuckin’ house, and sure as hell I would not be talking to you. In my opinion you are the best damn warrior I ever met, and coming from me that means something. I don’t want nobody else on this job with me. I want you to get your fuckin’ shit straight and do the job. But I don’t need to fuckin’ patronize you or walk on fuckin’ eggshells. I ain’t scared of you.”

  I sighed. I had my bag in my hand and dumped it back on the bed. “What do you want to talk about?”

  He crossed his arms and leaned on the doorjamb. “How about women?”

  I gave him a look that said if he wasn’t scared of me, he should be, and walked to the window. The desert evening was closing in fast and stars were starting to wink over the horizon. I pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it, then turned and sat against the windowsill. “We going to play psychotherapy now? You going to be my counselor?”

  He almost smiled. “Believe me, I don’t want to look inside that shit hole you call a head. But you and me, we both know Marni fucked you up on the Timmerman job. That is still burning in you, man. That’s not psychotherapy, that’s common fuckin’ sense.”

  I threw him the cigarettes and the Zippo. He caught them left handed and lit up. I didn’t say anything. He inhaled and as he blew out the smoke, he said, “But that ain’t everything, Lacklan. Marni is just the surface.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He tossed the cigarettes and the lighter on the bed. “I’m talking about your father and your mother. Your dad was Omega! That’s a lot of betrayal, man, going back a long way. You don’t need to be Freud to see what’s goin’ on there. And Marni wasn’t just the straw that broke the camel’s back. She was more than that.” He pointed at me with the smoldering cigarette stuck between his fingers. “You got some dark shit going on, and you need to understand that and get a grip on it in the next couple of days.”

  I watched the red tip of my cigarette burn for a moment, then I said, “How do I get from here to D.C.?”

  “Take one of my cars to Barstow airport. Is an hour west from here. There you get an air taxi to D.C. We can book it online.” He paused. “Call Cyndi. Go in the morning. Then come down. We’ll have a drink before dinner.”

  He left and I heard his feet on the stairs. After a moment, I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Cyndi.

  “Lacklan, this is a nice surprise. I suppose it’s not a social call.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not. I need to see you tomorrow. Can you squeeze me in? It’s important.”

  “You have such a sweet way with words. How long do you need? Will ten minutes do?”

  “Let’s make it dinner. Are you free in the evening?”

  “I am dining with Judge Henshaw and his wife. They have set me up with an oil billionaire from Texas because they think it’s time I should start dating again.”

  “Cancel. This is more important.”

  “You know, masterful behavior in men is frowned upon by right-thinking people these days, Lacklan.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “You are, and no fun. Fine. I’ll cancel.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight thirty. I’m sorry to have spoiled your evening.”

  “You haven’t spoiled it yet, Lacklan. You can still make it right. Remember Route 66? That was fun, right?”

  “The Carolyn Inn, in Bristow. You took us to that cute Mexican restaurant. You wore a black leather jacket and no makeup.”

  “My goodness! You remember!”

  “How could I forget?”

  “You see? You can be romantic.”

  “It was a careless oversight. Don’t get used to it.”

  “You were nice that night. You didn’t kill anybody, at least not in the restaurant.”

  “Noted. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I look forward to it, I think. Black tie.”

  “You’re on.”

  I hung up and stood looking at the darkness outside the window for a while. Then I crushed out the cigarette in the ashtray on my bedside table and made my way downstairs, feeling like a child returning from the naughty mat.

  SIX

  The flight took five hours and we touched down at Ronald Reagan National Airport in D.C. at four PM. From there I took a cab and crawled through the late afternoon rush hour to the Willard, on Pennsylvania. On the way, I passed by Gieves & Hawkes on Rhode Island Avenue and picked up an off the peg evening suit, while the cab waited. At the hotel I showered and dressed, had a martini in the bar and took another cab to Cyndi’s apartment on New York Avenue.

  Dusk was turning to evening as we turned into the street. Street lamps and headlamps cast a diffuse, amber glow over the city. I pulled out my cell and called her. She was waiting in the lobby of her apartment block, stepped out onto the sidewalk and waved. We pulled in and I got out into the evening air to open the door for her. She kissed me on the cheek and climbed in the back of the cab. I got in the other side while she was telling the driver, “The Kinship, 7th Street, it’s half a mile up the road…”

  “I know it, lady.”

  I closed the door and we took off. I smiled at her. “Either you were really keen to see me or you don’t want me in your apartment.”

  Her smile was slow. “Both.”

  “Then that’s half nice to hear.”

  “You going to start flirting with me again, Lacklan? I know your heart belongs to another.”

  I raised an eyebrow and grunted. “You haven’t heard the gossip?”

  “I heard something. I wasn’t sure how true it was.”

  I didn’t answer for a moment. Outside, there was a feeling of evening gearing up for the night, with bright lights and thoughts of exotic booze. When I spoke, I didn’t meet her eye.

  “I planted information with Marni. I told her we were going after Emanuel Van Zuydam.”

  “The President?”

  “Yeah. It was a deliberate lie. I was going after Timmerman, the Commissioner.” I turned to check her expression. She was just staring at me. When she didn’t say anything, I went on. “I wanted to see if the information got back to Van Zuydam. It did.”

  “How? And why on Earth did you suspect her?”

  “She told Gibbons, Gibbons told Van Zuydam.” I shrugged. “I always thought she was too close to Gibbons. I never trusted him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “She believed in Gibbons, idolized him. I think she cast him in the role of her father…”

  “And you in the role of yours?”

  It was my turn to stare. “I’d never thought of that.” Then, “Yeah, maybe. Either way, I told her not to pass the information on to him, and she did. So that was kind of the end of it.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “You’re not big on forgiveness, are you, Lacklan?”

  I shifted in my seat so I could look at her. “It depends on what I’m fo
rgiving. Betrayal is a hard thing to forgive.”

  “Are you sure she saw it as betrayal?”

  “Does it matter? Not realizing that what you’re doing is contemptible doesn’t make it less contemptible.”

  “That’s pretty harsh. Are you still in love with her?”

  “I’m not sure I ever was.”

  “Liar.” She smiled and her smile said she hoped I was telling the truth. “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  I shook my head, but we were pulling up in front of the restaurant. I paid the driver and we climbed out. The doorman knew her, as did the maître, who asked if she wanted her usual table. She said she did and he led us across hardwood floors to a booth with a table and two upholstered couches. Cyndi sat and I told him we’d have two martinis dry and he went away with a happy, busy face.

  As I took my seat, she said, “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

  I studied her face, wishing for a moment that I had come to talk to her about something else—anything else: her, us, my divorce from Abi, my empty house that I couldn’t bring myself to return to. I smiled. “You mean apart from wanting to catch up and see how you are?”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  I sighed. “OK, I know.” I hesitated. “I’m going to South America.”

  She sat back and frowned. “Oh…”

  “Brazil and Argentina, then Mexico. I need an introduction to Narciso Terry and Raul Rocha.”

  Her face went hard. “That’s a big ask, Lacklan. I know them both. And Narciso, though he’s not a close friend, he’s more than just an acquaintance.”

  I nodded. “He was a friend of your husband’s, right? They both were.”

  She seemed to sag and looked away. “Yes.”

  “He is Mu, Rocha is Lambda.”

  She closed her eyes. “Jesus…” She stared at the wall for a moment. The lights, the diners, the waiters and the soft background music all suddenly seemed surreal. She asked, “What are you going to do?” I didn’t answer and she turned to meet my eye. I remained expressionless and after a moment she said again, “Jesus, Lacklan. When does this ever end?”