“Times long forgotten.”
“And now, perhaps, skills recalled. We must track these things down before they can kill again.”
“Perhaps they already have, Joe Rainwater.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll show you.”
“You made my day, big fella, let me tell you,” Sal Belamo said on the other end of the line at Gap headquarters in Virginia.
“Thank you, Sal Belamo.”
“Hey, just Sal, okay?”
“Yes. Sal …”
“This gotta be the first time you and me ever talked, McCrackenballs wasn’t around. They got me manning a desk now, you know. Watchdog, overseer — some bullshit job like that. Not my style at all. I like it better out there with you boys. Hey, if you’re calling for McCracken, he left for—”
“No. I’m calling because I need you.”
“Wow, this must be something! What can I do for ya, big fella?”
Wareagle told him about the murder of drug lord Ruben Oliveras in Chicago.
“Yeah,” Belamo said, “I read about that. You ask me, it’s first-class fucking-A weird.”
“I need to know if there have been any other killings like it, Sal Belamo. Anything familiar that’s been reported any time in the recent past.”
“Check it for you pronto. And hey, big fella, just Sal, all right?”
Billy Griggs pulled his car up to the corner and looked at the pay phone he had been instructed to go to. A handwritten out-of-order card was taped across its front, covering the touch-tone buttons. Billy turned to the boy sitting in the passenger seat, reached over, and smoothed his hair.
“I won’t be long,” he said in the gentlest voice he could manage.
Then he grabbed the thick blond locks and jerked the boy’s head backward.
“Make sure you don’t go anywhere. Okay, sweetie?”
Billy let the boy nod.
“Very good,” he said, and stepped out of the car.
Normally he might have used a gentler approach, but he hadn’t been in a very good mood since plunging four hundred and fifty feet off the Golden Gate Bridge. He still ached everywhere. It was the first time, ’Nam included, Billy Boy had ever considered he might die. He had hit the water with legs in a half spread to slow his plunge, but it had still taken forever to claw back to the surface. He’d taught himself how to hold his breath for maybe four minutes in ’Nam; had to, or the gooks would have sliced his balls off and fed them to him. Down in the black of those tunnels they could hear you if you breathed, so you held it. Simple as that. It all came back to him when he hit the water, the tunnels all over again. Don’t panic, never panic. Billy was starting to lose it just before the surface, but he held on, thought of the scores he had to settle. Never mind that McCracken was the best. Billy had had everything in his favor and the big bearded fuck had still bested him. Billy wanted revenge.
He moved to the pay phone and stood by it patiently. It rang within seconds.
“Yes,” he said, receiver pressed against his ear.
“Your failure was regrettable.”
The voice didn’t sound human, because it wasn’t. It was channeled through a digitalized transfer device which totally obliterated all voiceprints. What Billy was hearing was a machine’s interpretation of human speech, only the words remaining the same.
“Hey, I explained all that.”
“Your explanations are meaningless to us.”
“I didn’t know it was going to be McCracken. No one told me it was going to be McCracken.”
“You fear this man?”
“Billy Griggs doesn’t fear nobody.”
“Too bad. Fear can be a worthwhile ally. It prevents overconfidence. It promotes reason. Perhaps if you had been scared of this man, he would not remain at large.”
“I’ll get him. You just find him for me and leave everything else to—”
“No.”
“What?”
“Do not mock me, Mr. Griggs. I have read about this man since your report reached me. He is exceptionally dangerous. He could bring us down.”
“One guy, okay?”
“Mr. Griggs, you are trying my patience. Your work for us has been most acceptable up till now. Please do not spoil it.”
Billy Boy Griggs squeezed the receiver tighter. “Hey, all I’m saying—”
“If you know as much about McCracken as you claim to, then you know what I speak is the truth. We cannot afford to have him on our trail with the attainment of our ultimate goal so close to being realized now.”
“So what do you need me for? You already said I wasn’t up to the job.”
“You are going to coordinate the assignment with some outside contractors who we feel may be the only ones who can get the job done.”
“Who?”
“The Twins.”
“Oh, Christ …”
“You’ve heard of them, I see.”
“I’ve heard they’re not human.”
“Most proficient, yes. That proficiency is needed now.”
“I won’t be responsible for their actions.” Billy wondered how obvious the reluctance was in his voice.
“You are merely their guide and our conduit. We will direct you to them and then point you toward McCracken.”
“You know where he is?”
“His options are limited.”
“Just make sure the Twins understand the score, okay?”
“Your tone disturbs me. I expected as much. Look at this as a second chance. You won’t get another. I could have made your punishment far more severe.”
“What punishment?”
“Do not underestimate the scope of our power, Mr. Griggs.”
“What punish—”
Click.
The line was dead.
Billy Griggs glided from the phone back toward his car.
The Twins. The goddamn fucking Twins….
For just an instant, Billy considered ditching this whole business. Get behind the wheel and take his boy-toy somewhere they’d never find him. Kid was a winner. Last him a few months, anyway, and then he’d find himself another.
Billy climbed into the driver’s seat and locked the door behind him. The boy-toy had slumped against the passenger door, passed out with his head low against the window. Billy had been too generous with the dope.
“Hey,” Billy said. “Hey, I’m talking to you….”
He jostled the boy-toy’s shoulder. Kid slumped like a loose sack of rags. Billy gasped. The only thing propped against the car’s door was the boy-toy’s trunk.
His head was gone, sliced clean off while Billy had been on the phone right here in public. There was blood everywhere. Billy could see it now, splotchy in the darkness.
My punishment, Billy realized, as he lost his breath and stepped from the car. My punishment….
Chapter 10
The guards began swinging open the gate at first sight of the car heading down the dirt road late Wednesday afternoon.
“You’re late,” one said to the driver, as the car inched through the entrance.
“She’s waiting, then.”
“For hours. You’ve thrown off her routine.”
“Couldn’t be avoided. The messenger was running behind.”
The woman drove the car into the kibbutz and parked it next to the memorial to the war that had seen Israel take the Golan Heights. The memorial was an old tank, still functional and well-maintained, but covered with roses, violets, and daffodils. The planters enveloped the entire bulk of its frame. The turret alone gave away what it had once been, and the contrast was intentional. On top of this battle-scarred land, an entire people had built a beautiful nation. Israel would live with the dichotomy of beauty and force forever. The symbol of the tank was enduring.