Honorable Assassin (29 page)

When his victim passed out from pain and
loss of blood, the torturer whimpered in his throat, the only sound
he had made during the entire operation. He threw a pitcher of
water on him but could not revive him. He stepped back and cast his
glittering eye on Terry. It was that look that haunted Terry’s
dreams, that feral blood lust. He took a step toward the younger
man and stopped when a speaker in the ceiling crackled and a man’s
voice told him to keep his distance. Somebody was watching from a
remote location, a guardian angel in a pit of Hell.

Terry was removed from the room and taken to
a shower before the torturer was finished with Randy. He had been
covered with sweat and the dust of the road and it was cathartic to
stand in the hot deluge. His thoughts were spinning madly. Torture
was something he accepted as a necessary evil, but he had never
actually seen anything like tonight’s performance. He was horrified
and fascinated, revolted and terrified. His resolve began to waver
until he realized that it was the will of the brothers that he be
broken by the sight. It was their desire that he become so
concerned with what might happen to him that he remain loyal
forever.

Dressed in a robe and some shorts, Terry was
taken to a dining room where a fine meal had been laid out. He
could not eat. There was beer and wine to go with dinner and liquor
and coffee for afterwards. Terry drank sparingly. His stomach was
not up to the alcohol.

“You may wonder why we have invited you into
our home to watch this little ordeal.” Adam Troy was dressed in his
usual silk suit. “Pardon me, would you like a cigar?”

“A cigarette if you have one,” Terry
replied, still feeling a little ill at ease.

“Of course.” Adam clapped his hands and a
butler appeared with a tray of cigars and cigarettes. Terry took a
pack, opened it and took one out. There was an ornate lighter on
the table in front of him. It was a dragon and the flame came out
its mouth, but it was no cheap piece. It was hand crafted
silver.

“You have a strong stomach.” Adam
commented.

“Not that strong. I cannot eat and if I
drink any wine I’ll probably throw up.”

“The fact that you did not throw up tells me
that you have a strong stomach.”

Terry smoked his cigarette and watched his
host. He had no idea what was coming next. He was certain he was
being watched remotely but could not pinpoint the camera. He was
not tied or cuffed but he was also unarmed.

“We need men with strong stomachs, Mr.
Barber. We need men who can maintain a good front. We need men who
are not afraid to do what is necessary, whatever that may be. Are
you such a man, Mr. Barber?”

“You know I am.”

“That is why you are here. You have no
family, no woman?”

“No. I find it best to be alone.”

“That is good. Too many men say things to
women. Women are weak. They cannot be trusted to keep their mouths
shut.”

“I agree.” Terry butted out his cigarette,
considered lighting another but refrained.

“Mr. Arganmajc was weak as well.”

In his mind’s eye, Terry saw Randy Arganmajc
pleading for his life even after his lips had been cut off. The
vision was nothing he wanted to remember but one difficult to
forget. “It may have been difficult to be strong under the
circumstances.”

“We speak of different circumstances. He had
all the benefits and privileges of wealth and power but he turned
his back on us. He tried to slither out of the country like a snake
when things got tough. He did not have the stomach for it.”

“Let’s assume I have the stomach. What is it
you are suggesting?”

“Most of the men employed outside these
grounds are lazy or stupid. You have proven to be neither. You
comport yourself well under stress. You keep your body in good
shape and practice regularly with your chosen weapons. Why did you
choose to walk the path you have?”

“I was looking for a job. A man does what he
must.”

“Ah, yes. But there are many jobs out there
that do not involve personal risk. You could have done any number
of things, yet you chose a more dangerous route.”

“I was looking for a job.”

“Are you a leader or a follower?”

“We all follow someone or something. It is
not the sort of question one can ask without qualifying.”

“You are a follower then?”

“No, I… Once again, that is a question for
posterity. I can lead those I have the authority to lead. When
something needs to be done, I can do it or I can order it done. Are
you offering me Randy’s job?”

“Oh, heavens no. You are nowhere near ready
to accept the responsibility of such a position. I do see in you
something, however. I feel you may be able to do a better job than
some of the men who are now in power. I do question your ambition,
though. You do not seem to care for authority. Could you have
ordered what was done to Randy?”

“Ordered it, yes. Done it myself, no. I
would have killed him long before.”

“Yes, the outsider that eliminated the
Irishman told us you had no scruples when it came to killing. You
do have scruples though.”

Terry reached out and pulled another
cigarette from the pack. He needed a second to decide how to answer
the question. Adam Troy was after something and Terry did not know
precisely what it was. It was a cat and mouse game and if the
younger man jumped he would become the mouse. He had seen too many
dead mice.

“Mr. Troy, I am capable of giving, as well
as following, orders. I have no foolish notions about the sanctity
of human life. You asked whether I am a leader or a follower, what
you are really asking is am I a predator, or prey. The answer is
not simple. A crocodile or shark is predator to all around it, even
man in the right circumstances. Yet baby crocodiles are eaten by
fish and birds. After they get bigger, they eat the same fish and
birds that would have eaten them as babies.”

“You have a good mind as well as a strong
stomach. I think we can safely say there is a place for you in the
organization. Now, is it better to be loved or feared?”

“I have seen women love men they
feared.”

“Because?”

“Because they are weak.”

“But…”

“But love is an unnecessary component. They
are not mutually exclusive, but fear is more powerful. I have seen
men betray the women they love. It follows that fear is
better.”

Adam Troy seemed satisfied by the answer,
though it was not cut and dried. He seemed to have found what he
was looking for.

When his cell phone rang, Gordon saw it was
Terry’s number. He hit the connection but said nothing for a
second. There was no sound from the other end so he said, “Roberts
Pistol Range.” The connection went dead. He closed his eyes and
took a deep breath. If they had Terry’s cell phone, they had him.
There was nothing the Scotsman could do.

The operation had been a success up until
this point. They had secured a huge pile of cash. Nobody had seen
Gordon’s face. He had left no fingerprints and the only fatality
had been the guard, who had been shot with the driver’s gun. He
might have killed the guard he ran down as well. There was no
evidence linking Terry to the operation except that telephone
number.

Sometimes a man needs to cut and run, Gordon
MacMaster felt this may be just such a time. There is no place in
the world for a white man to disappear quite like the Australian
Outback. Of course, everybody there knows the man is there, but
nobody else does. It causes a very localized stir when someone
shows up but the ripples go no further than the town. There are no
cell phone towers and very few telephone lines. A man could
disappear in the Outback forever.

Terry had never met Jimmy Cognac before.
Jimmy had been brought north to take over the Sydney area after the
unfortunate demise of Randy Arganmajc. Jimmy never commented on his
predecessor’s demise.

Henry Cuthbert kept his position probably
due to the fact that the ranks had been so badly thinned. It took
days for the group to be released from custody. The driver was
still under indictment since it had been his pistol that killed the
guard.

Terry took the spot vacated by the late,
unlamented, Victor Wellington. Upon accepting this position he was
informed of the manner of Victor’s passing. He felt certain that
the slightest slip would cause his passing to be every bit as
horrible. Eric Tronquilla, the man who had inherited the position
temporarily seemed relieved to hand it to someone else and it was
soon clear why.

Randy had not communicated the extent to
which recent events had decimated his work force. Between the
pre-Olympic sweeps and the recent desertions, the Sydney underworld
was in shambles. The only groups thriving were those with a
customer base separate from the regular Australians and no ties to
them. The Asians and the Russians had been hit by the police
actions but had been unscathed by the vigilante operations. They
had increased their power base and had begun supplying to their
competition. Their customer base was growing rapidly, especially
among the drug users.

Terry found he was under such scrutiny that
he could not escape for the weekend any more. He could not simply
slip away and head for Orange or Molong as had been his habit. The
Russians and Chinese were eating his lunch, so to speak, and he was
expected to do something about it. But his hands were tied as well
by the fact that the Russians were supposed to be working with the
Australians. The last thing either of them needed at this point was
a turf war. The Troys had hoped to assimilate the Eastern Bloc
immigrants, but the process was slow. The only choice of a target
he had was the Orientals, and they were a very close-knit group.
There was no chance at infiltration because of the cultural,
language and physical appearance barriers. They operated their own
gambling operations, transported their own drugs and worked in a
different sort of world.

Terry’s new position was as an enforcer in
charge of other enforcers. He was expected to be brutal and
uncompromising. There had been so many men holding the position
lately that many of the men paying for protection or dealing
contraband no longer knew who they were supposed to be paying.
Terry was also supposed to locate the American who had caused so
much trouble lately. This was the second time he was charged with
finding himself, but he was only one of several at his level of
management charged with the same tasks.

Terry was on his way to talk to a “client”
when his phone rang. Gretta, the secretary for the Kingston Agency
wanted to retire and wondered when Terry was going to make an
appearance in Orange. There were no problems, but they had not seen
the owner for months. Terry gave Gretta the number for Linda Pierce
and told her to tell Linda that she had been chosen from a limited
pool of potential employees. Gretta was skeptical since it was
acknowledged that she was the glue that held the office together
and not everybody could do the same sort of job she did. She did
however acquiesce to the suggestion and promised to make the
call.

Ginger got the letter a few days
later.

Uncle,

I find it no less than amazing that I have
advanced to the point I have when I have nothing but animosity for
the organization. This cannot continue. I have painted myself into
a corner and cannot wait for the floor to dry. I am now doing
things I would never have expected for people I wish to see dead. I
have no idea how it got this far.

I’m afraid I need to leave. There is no
possibility of staying in Sydney, or indeed in Australia, once I
fulfill my destiny. I will be turning the Agency over to a friend
of mine. You will be mailed a percentage of the profits. If it
looks safe, we will resume communication once I am established
elsewhere.

The letter was unsigned.

If it had been difficult to get to Abel and
Adam Troy in the past, it was considerably more so now. They had
gone into a defensive mode. More and more people were taking swipes
at the business, from within and without. They were planning on
keeping a low profile until their tracking services had located the
most recent danger.

It would have seemed simple to find an
American who had been in the country since before June
1
^st
2001, there are records of such things. There were,
however crowds of people moving through the country’s airports
because of the Olympics. They came from anywhere and everywhere and
while most of them went back to their lives and their families,
many did not. At least not on paper. It was not difficult to access
the records, but more difficult at that point to decipher them and
since their basic premise was flawed, their trackers
floundered.

The police were having no better luck. There
were those who had been paid to find this new threat to the
underworld and there were those who simply tried to do their jobs.
The new Superintendent, Theodore Barlow, had taken an unusual stand
on the assaults to the underworld shipping lanes. Publicly and
officially he had denounced the vigilante nature of the attacks.
Less publicly he had applauded them. He was actually sorry to see
the case closed with the death of Lee Pierce, but he was also
unconvinced. He had some research done on Mr. Pierce and concluded
that there was little likelihood of his having real access to
knowledge of the shipping schedules. There was something that did
not add up, despite the evidence. The fact that the assaults on the
shipping lanes ended with his death seemed proof positive of Lee’s
culpability but it did not convince him. He was certain there had
been a setup. Pierce was a scapegoat, set up and eliminated with
evidence planted.

In his new position, Barlow had a great
number of political duties and not nearly as much investigative
work. He should probably have retired, but the reduction of crime
during his reign as Chief Inspector had made him a celebrity. With
a few notable exceptions, he had kept the public safe and truncated
the drug supply in Sydney. Now he was forced to smile at government
functions and represent the police force to the public without any
real investigative function. He only enjoyed his celebrity for a
little while before it began to gall him. He did not like his role
but found that it allowed him to push through funding that he had
always lacked when he was on the streets. He was instrumental in
getting a $120,000,000 allocated for battling the drug trade in
2001. Another $ 80,000,000 was allocated for compulsory drug
education for children but he had not been involved in that portion
of the program.