Mitchell demonstrated the commonsense logic and unaffected eloquence of a self-taught thinker; Tim realized he’d underestimated the man’s intelligence at first glance, probably due to his intimidating physical presence.
Robert was nodding emphatically, in aggressive agreement with his brother. “The streets of Singapore look pretty graffiti-free to me.”
Rayner’s chuckle drew a sharp look from Ananberg.
“Correlation is not causation.” Ananberg wove her hands over a knee. “My point is simply that we shouldn’t expect some sort of drastic social impact. We’re acting as the mortar between the cracks in the law. No more, no less. Let’s be frank about what we’re doing. We’re not saving the world. In a few specific cases, we’re serving justice.”
Robert set down his glass with a thunk. “All me and Mitch are saying is, we’re here to kick a little ass and dispense a little justice. And if it trickles back to the motherfuckers that there’s a new sheriff in town…well, hell, that won’t break our hearts either.”
“It beats whining and building memorials,” Mitchell added.
The playfulness gone from his eyes, Dumone turned to Tim. “The twins and the Stork will be your operational team. They’re there merely to provide you support. Use them as you see fit, or not at all.”
Now, finally, Tim understood the hostility he’d elicited in the twins from the first moment, their blatant jockeying with Tim before the others. “Why would I be in charge?”
“We lack the operating skills that someone with your unusual combination of training and field experience brings to the table. We lack a subtlety of execution needed for this first phase of, uh, executions.”
Rayner said, “We need a primary operator who’s extraordinarily levelheaded on the front line.” One of his hands circled, then settled in his pocket. “These executions need to be carefully orchestrated so the occasion of a shoot-out with law enforcement never arises. Ever.”
Dumone freshened his glass at the small bar behind the desk. “As I’m sure you’re aware, there are a truckload of ways things can go south. And if they do, we need a man who’ll keep his head, who won’t gun his way out of trouble. The Stork is not a tactical operator.”
The Stork’s smile was flat and generically curved, like a slice of watermelon. “No, sir.”
“And Rob and Mitch are good aggressive cops, like I was when the sap was still rising.” Dumone’s smile held some sadness; something was hidden beneath it, perhaps the blood-spotted handkerchief. He tipped his head toward Tim deferentially. “But we haven’t been trained to kill, and we’re not Spec Ops-cool under fire.”
“It’s been a long, frustrating haul closing in on a viable and receptive candidate,” Rayner said wearily.
Tim took a moment with this, and they let him. Rayner’s eyebrows were raised, anticipating Tim’s next question. “How do you protect against someone breaking all these elaborate rules you’ve set up? There’s no controlling authority.”
Rayner held up a hand in a calming gesture, though no one was particularly agitated. “That is one of our primary concerns. Which is why we have a no-tolerance policy.”
“Our contract is exclusively oral, of course,” Ananberg said, “as we don’t want to set anything incriminating down in writing. And this contract includes a kill clause.”
“A kill clause?”
“Legally speaking, a kill clause sets forth prenegotiated conditions detailing what will occur should a contract be terminated. Ours goes into effect the instant any member of the Commission breaks any of our protocols.”
“And what are those prenegotiated conditions?”
“The kill clause dictates that the Commission be immediately dissolved. All remaining documentation-which we go to every effort to keep to a minimum-will be destroyed. With the exception of tying up loose ends, there will be no future Commission activity of any kind.” Rayner’s face hardened. “Zero tolerance.”
“We’re well aware that the Commission places us on a slippery slope,” Ananberg said. “So we’re anxious to ensure that there will be no sliding.”
“And if someone withdraws?”
“Go with God,” Rayner said. “We presume that what passes here remains here, as it is equally incriminating to whoever elects to leave.” He grinned a smirky grin. “Mutual assured destruction makes for a nifty little insurance policy.”
Tim did not return the grin but studied the practiced lines around Rayner’s mouth. William Rayner, vehement proponent of the insurance policy.
Ananberg said, “The Commission would go on brief hiatus until we found an appropriate replacement.”
Tim leaned back in the armchair so he could feel his Sig pressing into the small of his back. He gauged his angle to the door-not good. “And if I decide against joining?”
“We would hope that, as someone who’s lost a daughter, you would appreciate our perspective and leave us to our work,” Rayner said. “If you were to contact the authorities, be advised there is no incriminating evidence on site. We will deny ever having had this conversation. And to say our collective words are greatly respected in the legal community is something of an understatement.”
All eyes were suddenly on Tim. The ticking of the grandfather clock punctuated the silence. Ananberg went to the desk, turned a key, then removed a dark cherry box from one of the drawers. Tilting it, she opened the hinged lid, revealing a gleaming Smith amp; Wesson. 357-service make-nestled in the felt interior. She closed the box and set it on the desktop.
Rayner lowered his voice so it seemed he was addressing only Tim. “When people endure such a…bureaucratic betrayal as the one the courts handed you, as the one the U.S. Marshals Service handed you, they contend with it in different ways, most of them bad. Some get angry, some get depressed, some find God.” One of his eyebrows drew up, almost disappearing beneath the line of his hair. “What will you do, Mr. Rackley?”
Tim decided he’d had his fill of questions, so he kept his eyes on Dumone. “How do they feel about taking a backseat? Operationally?”
Dumone’s and Robert’s fidgeting broadcast that this was well-covered ground.
The Stork shrugged and adjusted his glasses. “I got no problem,” he said, though no one had asked him.
“They’ll deal with it,” Dumone said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“They understand the necessity of bringing in a high-demand operator, and they’re reconciling themselves to the change.” Dumone’s voice gathered edge, and Tim could hear the tough Boston cop in it.
Tim looked at Mitchell, then Robert. “Is that true?”
Mitchell looked away, studying the wall. Robert had a slight upper lip, so when he smiled, his mouth was a sheen of teeth and hair. His voice came slick and sharp, like a scalpel. “You’re the boss.”
Tim turned back to Dumone. “Call me when they’re reconciled.”
Dumone’s shoes shushed across the rug as he approached. He stood over Tim, gazing down at him. His face, a blend of wear and texture, held in it a dark-tinted element of calm that Tim thought might be wisdom. “We’d like an answer now.”
“We need an answer now,” Robert said. “Either this proposal strikes a chord with you or it doesn’t. There’s no thinking about it.”
“This isn’t a gym membership,” Tim said.
“Our offer terminates the minute you walk out that door,” Rayner said.
“I don’t negotiate like this.”
Now Mitchell-“Those are our terms.”
“All right, then.” Tim stood and walked out.
Rayner caught him outside near the gate. “Mr. Rackley. Mr. Rackley!”
Tim turned, keys in his hand.
Rayner’s face was red with the cold, and his breath was visible. His shirt had come untucked. He looked less smug out here, away from his first-among-equals reign in the library. “I apologize for that. I can be a little…firm sometimes. We’re just eager to begin our work.” He moved to rest his hand on the trunk of Tim’s car but stopped, his fingertips hovering an inch off the metal. He seemed to have a tough time manufacturing his next words. “You are our top choice. Our sole choice. We took a great deal of care in selecting you. If you don’t sign on, we have to start the search over-a long process. Take more time if you need it.”