“And you’re right, of course. Well, the scroll will be there once the bazaar begins, of that I am certain. Our terms though — they have changed.”
Webb allowed his entire body to puff up, it seemed, from his cheeks to his chest and probably to his toes. “I think not, Ramses. We have a deal, thrashed out many months ago. One suitcase nuke and one scroll. I am here, right now, prepared to take part and offer my support to this… this enterprise of yours, this bazaar¸ but I will not be hoodwinked.”
Ramses sat back in his chair, then pressed a discreet button. “Coffee,” he said, thinking hoodwinked? What a quaint old term.
Beside him he felt Akatash shift, the almost palpable fury coiled within him squirming to be set free. Akatash didn’t take it well when other men and women questioned his prince.
Ramses considered unleashing the demon right now, but was well aware of Beauregard’s fearsome reputation. So much so that he wasn’t entirely sure of the outcome, though the conflict would surely be epic. But not here, not inside his home.
“It is a small matter,” Ramses said evenly. “But an important one.”
Webb sighed, clearly torn. Ramses could feel how much the other man desired that scroll. The need washed off him like stale sweat. At that moment the door opened and a suited man appeared, carrying a tray with two small cups, spoons and sugars. With a deft skill he sidestepped Beauregard’s watchful bulk and left them in the center of the table. Ramses indicated that Webb could choose his own cup.
“No, thank you.”
Ramses shrugged, the gesture shaking the table that separated them. And of course, the cup looked tiny in his immense paw of a hand, something that was not entirely lost on Tyler Webb.
“What is it that you want to amend?”
“As I said, it is a small matter and related to the suitcase nuke. The one your colleague — I can’t remember his name — has a plan for.”
“Yes. His name is Julian Marsh and he’s as committed as I am.”
Ramses paused for one moment. “Really? The word is that the Pythians are dead.”
Webb stiffened. “I am the Pythians. Me. I will say when they die.”
“Very well, then. This man, Julian Marsh — he is well travelled?”
“Every week or so,” Webb said. “DC. Tokyo. Israel.”
“Good, then he will not be too obvious.”
“He’s not flying the nuke into the US.”
“I realize that. But still, there is much travel involved is there not?”
“Yes. I guess.”
“Your man’s plan is to travel by circuitous route to America’s greatest city and then ransom your puppet government for, umm, shall we say — precious goods? Eh?”
“You can say that if you like.”
“But the whole exercise is a bluff, nothing more. The nuke is real; it has to be real to make the whole plan work, but he will never detonate. If they call his bluff he walks away with his tail between his legs.”
Webb prickled a little. “They will never call the bluff of a man holding a nuclear weapon in the heart of New York City. Are you mad?”
“A little, yes. I find it makes life much more interesting. But listen — that small change I asked for? I want the nuke detonated. For real.”
Tyler Webb stared as if all the blood-soaked nightmares of hell had just risen before his eyes. “What… are you… are… you can’t do that.”
Ramses enjoyed the spectacle for a minute, then sighed. “Then I’m afraid there will be no scroll. Not for you, at least.”
“But we made… we made a deal!”
Ramses was aware of both bodyguards shifting a little, most likely to achieve optimum attack positions.
“Marsh would never agree to it!”
Ramses allowed a sly smile to creep across his face. “But I thought you were the leader of the Pythians?”
Yes, yes, but we’re talking a nuke. In New York! Only a fucking monster would condone that! You could be starting Armageddon.”
The smile that then transformed Ramses’ face was entirely genuine. “I know. And thank you.”
“I need time…” Webb blustered.
“It’s easy,” Ramses said. “Do you want the scroll or not?”
“Of course!”
“Then it’s settled. Let’s shake on it.”
Ramses leaned forward, hand outstretched. Webb regarded it like he might a predator’s claw. At that moment Beauregard Alain coughed.
“I think it’s better that you two stay apart, don’t you think?”
Webb fought to think. Ramses could see multiple emotions warring inside the man’s deviant mind — from complete acceptance to hard persuasion and from pretend ignorance to actual deception. Ramses knew even now that, in the end, both Webb and Marsh would try to betray him.
But that was fine. They were merely the dupes he needed to get the weapon inside the US.
Webb ignored his bodyguard, clasping Ramses’ hand. “If I agree to this barbarity I get the scroll. No more changes?”
Ramses inclined his head. “In a few days after the bazaar has started. No more changes.”
Webb shook.
Ramses gripped the man’s pasty white, limp-wristed limb hard enough to grind bone. “You will not betray me, Tyler Webb.”
Beauregard moved but Ramses sat back quickly, leaving Webb gasping but no worse for wear. Tears stood out on the Pythian leader’s eyes but he waved Beauregard back. “No, no, I must have that scroll. Must. Do you hear? Everything depends on it.” Then he closed his mouth, aware that he’d spoken aloud. Ramses wondered about the scroll in that moment, wondered greatly, but quickly decided that a scrap of paper was a madman’s folly. Only power and force and immense weaponry could defeat the infidel and all its machinations.
“We are agreed?” he said.
“Yes, we are agreed. I will inform Marsh. But not too soon.”
“Then I would start — quietly — to withdraw any holdings or connections you might have down the east coast.” Ramses grinned. “Just a thought.”
Webb shrugged it off. “When should I arrive?”
“At the bazaar? Oh, from the very start of course. Enjoy. There will be live entertainment, food, banquets twenty four hours a day. Only the best. Slave auctions, dancing men and women, shooting ranges, drug boutiques. Private tents, Sky TV and sports channels so you need not miss a single minute of your… favorite wickedness.”
“You have got to be kidding.”
“Of course not! And there’s more,” Ramses was enjoying himself now. “There’s athletics. A daily hunt for crocodiles and other predators. Designer clothes stalls. Designer sunglasses and watch shops. Tents for secret meetings. Jet skiing down the river. Free Wi-Fi, of course, and secure connections. Any form of alcohol you might enjoy on a whim. And one extra special type of hunt — involving a live human.”
Webb’s face was a picture. Ramses wished he could take a photo, but that would just spoil the moment. Instead, he spread his hands. “Sound good?”
“So long as I get my fucking scroll you can keep your live hunts and jet skiing. But I will be there,” he added quickly, “from the beginning.”
“Excellent!” Ramses smiled. “In two days then.”
Webb rose, and made a point of looking out at the startling Peruvian landscape. “This place complements you, Ramses. The cold and wet tempers whatever searing madness stirs within your black heart. You should stay.”
“I might just do that. I do find it… soothing. Oh, and I guess certain parts of America will be a little muggy for at least a thousand years, eh?”