Karpov nodded. ―Now it‘s starting to make sense. This Goya is payment to Yevsen for supplying the Kowsar 3.‖
At that moment, Karpov spotted one of his men jogging along the hallway toward him. He stared at Bourne for a moment, then handed his commander a sheet of curling thermal paper—clearly a printout from a portable printer.
―Get Lirov,‖ Karpov said as he scanned the document. ―Tell him to bring his full kit. I want this man checked out from stem to stern.‖
The soldier nodded wordlessly and sped off.
―I told you I didn‘t need—‖
Karpov held up a hand. ―Hold on, you‘ll want to hear this. My IT man was able to salvage something from Yevsen‘s servers after all—apparently they weren‘t completely wiped.‖ He handed Bourne the sheet of thermal paper. ―Here are Yevsen‘s last three transactions.‖
Bourne did a quick scan of the information. ―The Kowsar 3.‖
―Right. Just as we surmised, Yevsen acquired an Iranian Kowsar 3 and sold it to Black River.‖
Where are you going?‖ Humphry Bamber said, twisting around in his seat. ―And why are you holding a gun?‖
―Someone knows you‘re here,‖ Moira said.
―Dear God.‖ Bamber moaned and began to get up.
―Stay right there.‖ Moira held him down with a firm hand. She could feel the chills running through him in waves. ―We know someone‘s coming and we know what he wants.‖
―Yeah, me dead. You don‘t expect me to sit here and wait for a bullet in the back.‖
―I expect you to do what you‘ve done before, help me.‖ She looked down into his pinched face. ―Can I count on you?‖
He swallowed hard and nodded. ―Okay, now show me the bathroom.‖
Dondie Parker liked his work—almost too much, some said. Others, like his boss, Noah Perlis, appreciated the almost religious fervor with which he committed to his assignments. Parker liked Perlis. It seemed to him as if the two of them occupied the same gray space at the fringe of society, the place where both of them could make anything happen—the one with his command, the other with his hands and his weapons of choice.
After Parker got through the rear entrance to Humphry Bamber‘s building, he considered his life‘s work, which he privately likened to a polished wooden box filled with a collection of the most expensive and aromatic cigars. The climax of each assignment, the death of each target, lay in that box for him to revisit anytime he chose. To take out, one by one, smell, roll between his fingers, and taste. They took the place of military ribbons—
medals of valor—commemorating actions necessary, as Noah had said to him time and again, to the welfare and security of the homeland. Parker liked the word homeland.It was so much more powerful, more evocative, more virile than the word nation.
Parker removed his shoes, tied the laces together, and, slinging them over his shoulder, climbed the stairs. When he reached the second floor, he went down the hallway to the far end, where a window overlooked the fire escape. Unlatching the window, he threw it open and climbed out, making his way up floor by floor, like a fly climbing a wall.
Noah Perlis had found Dondie Parker in one of the local ghetto gyms.
Parker was part of a boxing club, the leading contender in the regional welterweight division. He was an exceptional boxer because he learned fast, had tons of stamina, and had found a way to channel his murderous aggression.
On the other hand, he wasn‘t crazy about concussions and fractured ribs, so when Noah showed up and expressed an interest in him, Parker was only too happy to listen to his proposition.
To say that Dondie Parker owed Noah everything would not be overstating the case, a fact that was ever on Parker‘s mind, never more so than when, as now, he was carrying out an assignment that came directly from Noah. Noah reported to only one man, Oliver Liss, who was so far up the Black River food chain he seemed to be in another universe altogether. Parker was so accomplished that every now and then Oliver Liss would call him in and give him a personal assignment, which Parker carried out immediately and without telling anyone, including Noah. If Noah knew about these extracurricular assignments, he never said anything to Parker, and Parker was happy to leave those horrific sleeping dogs lie.
He‘d reached the floor of Humphry Bamber‘s office. And now, after one more recheck of the building layout Noah had sent to his cell, he crept down to the other end of the fire escape, where he peered in a window. He saw all manner of electronic equipment, most of it up and running, so he knew Bamber had to be there. He untied his laces and slipped on his shoes. Then, taking out his jimmy-picks, he forced open the window with minimal difficulty.
Drawing his custom SIG Sauer, he climbed through.
He turned as he heard the sound of someone urinating. Grinning to himself, he made his way toward the sound of urine striking porcelain. The only thing better would be to drill Bamber while he was on the throne.
The door was ajar and, peering in, he could see a wedge of light, Bamber spread-legged in front of the toilet. He could just make out a corner of the sink and, against the rear wall, the bathtub with a shower curtain of gaily dancing fish so cute he had to resist the urge to puke.
He peered into the space between the door and the jamb created by the hinges. Seeing no one hiding behind the door, he nudged it open with his free hand while he leveled the SIG at Bamber‘s head.
―Hey, pussycat.‖ His chuckle came from deep in his throat. ―Noah says hello and good-bye.‖
Bamber flinched, just like Parker was expecting him to, but instead of turning to face him, he collapsed as if poleaxed. As Parker was goggling at him, the gaily dancing fish folded up like an accordion. Parker had a split-second look at a woman staring at him. He just had time to think, Who the fuck is this? Noah didn’t tell me—when the eye of her Lady Hawk spit flame and he spun around in an ungainly pirouette from the bullet fracturing his cheekbone.
He screamed, not in pain or fear, but in rage. He emptied his gun, squeezing off shot after shot, but there was blood in his eyes. He didn‘t feel a thing—the burst of adrenaline and other endorphins made him for the moment immune to the pain. Ignoring Bamber, curled up in a fetal position under the toilet, he leapt at the woman—a woman, for chrissakes!—swinging the butt of his SIG at the curve of her chin. She retreated, only to slam against the tiled wall and slip on the treacherous curve of porcelain, falling to one knee.
Parker took another vicious swing at her with the SIG. She ducked away, but not before the front sight laid a gash across the bridge of her nose. He saw the glazed look come into her eyes and he knew he had her. He was just about to plant the thick sole of his shoe in her solar plexus when the eye of her Lady Hawk spat fire again.