A drawer slid open from the wall. "Deposit all weapons please."
Racine slid the pistol out of his shoulder holster and dropped it in the drawer. He carried a Desert Eagle, a massive gun made by the Israelis and chambered for .44 magnum cartridges. It made a solid thump as it hit the bottom of the drawer. He did the same with three knives from various hidden spots in his clothing along with the garrote secreted on the inside of his belt. He pushed and the drawer slid shut. A red light flashed and he knew a magnetic sensor was being activated. The light flashed green, then went red again, as a puff of wind from the grating below blew up and explosive, chemical and biological sensors in the ceiling sniffed the air. The light turned green and stayed that color.
"Proceed, please."
The far door slid apart and Racine entered Nero's office. He took the chair in front of the desk and waited. As long as he’d been coming here, the room had not changed, nor had Nero’s discourteous manner of greeting. The damn lights were pointed right at the seat and Racine took a pair of cheap plastic sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them on.
Nero pulled a pack of cigarettes from his inside breast pocket and made a gesture of offering it to Racine. The pack was withdrawn before Racine had time to say no and Nero was inhaling before Racine could completely wipe the distaste from his face.
Racine waited and watched the old man smoke. When the ritual had ended, Nero capped the hole in his throat and reached for the voice box.
Nero's voice through the wand made the computerized one in the hallway sound like Greta Garbo. Racine took no notice of how the old man sounded. He was interested in only one thing: Why had he been sent for?
"I'm so pleased that you could make this appointment on such short notice, Mister Racine."
Racine felt a bead of sweat on the back of his neck slowly roll down. This place was always warm. Or was it the lights?
“I understand you visited Baltimore last week,” Nero said, his empty, scarred eye sockets staring over the desktop as if he could see into Racine’s soul.
Racine finally spoke and his voice was tenser and more rushed than he would have liked. "Look, Mister Nero, I'm sorry about what happened in Baltimore. Trust me. It was just bad luck. No harm, no foul, right?"
Nero straightened and continued turning the smoldering butt of his cigarette against the glass edge of his ashtray with his free hand. "Mister Racine, surely you can imagine my dilemma in trusting anyone, least of all you. It causes me concern when a government contractor does freelance work. It causes me to consider a possible conflict of interest.”
“But there’s no conflict, I — ” Racine shut up after only five words.
“Interesting,” Nero said. He shifted in his seat ever so slightly. “But we're not here to discuss the unfortunate incident in Baltimore."
Racine smiled with relief. "Mister Nero, it won't happen again."
Mr. Nero returned the wand to his throat. "Let's not push, Mister Racine. Let's agree that you have made your mistake for this year."
The younger man didn't bother to respond. He could see the fog of smoke wafting through the beams of light directed at him.
The metallic voice continued. "I've asked you here today because I have a new and delicate assignment that requires a man with your specialty."
Racine leaned forward. He waited through a thirty second tortuous coughing spasm until Nero could continue. "It seems we can no longer rely on the stability of Mister Anthony Gant's position. As a matter of fact, Mister Gant has truly retired. He's dead."
Racine couldn't hide his surprise. His immediate frustration at the display of emotion made him clench the arms of his chair. Even though Nero couldn’t see, Racine knew the man had an extraordinary ability to discern things in other ways.
"I know," Nero continued, "we are all shocked and saddened by Mister Gant's untimely demise, especially the circumstances. It appears he died a natural death, quite ironic if one takes into account the shocking rate of violence in his chosen profession."
"How do you know he’s dead?"
"Let's just ignore your impertinent question. Chalk it up to grief, yes? More importantly you should ask why you are here. I'm well aware of the animosity between you and the late Mister Gant, and even more so with his brother over the years."
"I'm sorry, sir, you're right. I must be overcome." Racine was making an extraordinary effort, for him at least, to control his voice and words.
Nero nodded his acceptance of the apology, ignoring the sarcasm of the second sentence. "Mister Gant's death potentially upsets a rather delicate balance of secrecy that has been maintained over the years. I myself feel the balance can be maintained but there are others, people in positions of importance, who feel that this should not be left to chance. They want what Gant has held all these years to maintain his end of the balance. We looked for the object in question. Mister Bailey paid a call and found a sterile cabin and a dead Mister Gant." Nero's voice broke and he took a long pause.
Racine was having a hard time taking it all in. He was still trying to accept that Gant was dead. After all these years, to have it end like this. He had never imagined such a thing. He decided to cut to the chase and work through it all when he was alone.
"What about this thing Gant had?"
"We must assume that Gant gave it to someone or if it is hidden, as is most likely, gave someone the means to find it." Nero coughed. “After all, someone had to bury him. And sterilize his place.”
“Who? His brother, Jack?”
“Not his brother. It has been many, many years since the two have spoken. Let’s call this person Gant’s ghost for the moment.” Nero slid a picture across the desktop. "There was someone else who held part of the balance. Another old player who retired lone ago. Gant's piece works in concert with his piece. That is John Masterson.”
Racine stiffened and didn’t look at the picture right away. “Who is he?”
Nero was perfectly still, head cocked as if staring at Racine. Finally he spoke. “Mister Masterson only ran one mission for us years ago. A mission with Gant. He’s been a civilian for over a decade with a new life.”
“There’s no such thing as a new life,” Racine said.
“There is if the old one wasn’t real,” Nero said, almost to himself rather than Racine.
Racine frowned. “So what does Gant have? Or had?”
“Mister Gant’s piece of the puzzle is a videotape.”
“What is the tape of?”
“Of a meeting we would prefer not become public.”
“I’ll get it,” Racine promised.
“Don’t forget Masterson and his piece,” Nero said. He slid a picture across the desk. “This is Masterson’s wife.”
Racine took the picture. He looked at it and was careful to control his reaction to the woman. Very nice. "I'll take care of the Masterson's. What does John Masterson have?" he asked. "Do I need to get that too?"
"No. His piece of the puzzle is relatively unimportant without the other two parts.”
“Other two parts?” Racine’s tongue snaked over his lip nervously.
“Focus on your job,” Nero ordered. “We must assume Gant passed on his piece of the secret to whoever buried him; after all, even our redoubtable Mister Gant couldn't hop in a grave and cover himself up after he is dead, no? So, whoever has Gant's piece will most likely also go to John Masterson to try to reconstruct their balance and therefore you can do the proverbial killing of two birds with one stone by going to St. Louis where the Masterson’s reside."
“And the third piece?”
Nero shook his head. “Not your concern at the moment.”