Avenger (15 page)

Elena finally returned to the hotel after her shopping expedition, carrying two bulging carrier bags and the new sports bag, which was full to bursting. She had moved beyond any normal concept of tiredness now and felt strangely but distantly alert. Detached from everything except what she had to do. It was the feeling she'd had in Dolce & Gabbana, but now it was there all the time.

Black Star had warned her that there would be further items for collection at the hotel reception. She trudged up to the desk and gave her name and room number. 'I think there's something for me to collect.'

'Gee, that's a lot of souvenirs to take back home,' said the receptionist, looking at her shopping bags as he handed over a carrier bearing the Dolce & Gabbana logo, along with another brown padded envelope with Elena's name typed on the front. 'You're gonna have to pay big time excess baggage on that.'

Elena couldn't even be bothered to reply. She smiled weakly, slipped the envelope into one of her shopping bags and continued over to the lifts. She was expecting Black Star to come straight online as soon as she entered her room. And he did.

U done good, Gola, real good, & I no ur tired.
But dont worry, a few more hours & this will all b over. I need u 2 do
exactly wot I say from now on and be REAL careful as u work. OK?????

Watching her from his desk many miles away, Pointer was tempted to tell Elena to switch off the television set, which was still tuned in to the C-SPAN channel, but he had more to think about than his Angel's viewing habits. It was possible that Elena suspected he was somehow watching her, but he wasn't going to confirm that. Not yet. Not until it was necessary.

As he considered this point, Elena seemed to realize for herself that the TV was still on, blaring out unwanted news. She walked over to it, giving Pointer a close-up view of her exhausted face, switched it off and then went back to the BlackBerry.

Yes, ok.

Good, now 1st i need u 2 get everything out of the
bags and lay it on the bed. Make sure the do not disturb sign is on yor door.

Already is!!

Pointer had instructed Elena to buy everything that was necessary to make mix thirty-nine. She looked at the strange assortment of ingredients: aspirin tablets . . . tubs of Vaseline . . . bottles of rubbing alcohol . . . packs of candles . . . even a jar of sulphuric acid, which she had obtained from a hardware store. She had also bought a set of kitchen scales and electric rice cookers.

When everything was laid out on the bed, with the rice cookers and scales on the floor, Pointer was ready for Elena to begin preparing the instrument of her own death, and the death of many others.

He had to work quickly; the device would take around three hours to complete but could not be rushed. One wrong move could end in disaster, and the years of planning and preparation would be wiped out in an instant.

Ok, lets go. First, this stuff is gonna smell bad
and its gonna get hot, so i want u 2 put the aircon on cold – full blast.
Close the curtains, then get a spare blanket from the cupboard and shove it
in the gaps around the door so the smell dont get outta the room. We dont
wanna give no warning of wot we're doing.

In her room, Elena suddenly went cold. So this was it.

Her heart pounding, she thought quickly. She knew she had to concentrate and follow her instructions methodically, almost robotically, obeying Black Star's orders to the letter. Not giving away for one moment that she knew anything about PE.

Ok, Gola, put on the rubber gloves. We gotta crush
all those aspirin. Take around 50 to start with and fold them in a sheet of
newspaper and I'll tell u wot 2 do next.

Elena reached for a tub of aspirin and a sheet of newspaper.

Fergus and Deveraux were in the suite at the Four Seasons, and they had just received news of a vital breakthrough.

No attempt to trace the identity of the owner or hirer of the Winnebago could be made through US Security Services because the entire operation was deniable.

But MI6 officers back in London had been working overtime to find the missing details. And they had struck gold.

They had traced the vehicle back through the number plate and discovered that it was one of five purchased recently and registered to an address on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

The vehicles were registered in the name of a film company at that address. But further checks had revealed that the film company had never made a single film, or been in any way involved in one. All the company had ever done was buy the Winnebagos.

The company secretary was listed as a man called Herman Ramirez, who apparently lived at the same address. Further undercover searches had revealed his driver's licence. Fergus and Deveraux were now staring at a photograph of Ramirez, which had been lifted from the licence, on Deveraux's laptop computer screen.

'Perhaps I should have had a little more faith in Danny,' said Deveraux as she looked at the face on the screen.

'What do you mean?' said Fergus.

'He said he thought he saw a Mexican following Elena. He was right – we have Black Star.'

Fergus was never easily convinced, and he was too concerned about Elena's safety to make any comment about Danny's surveillance skills. He nodded towards the computer screen. 'What else do we know about this guy?'

'Nothing. Nothing at all. Before this, he doesn't appear to have existed – not in the US, anyway.'

As they stared at the computer screen, Deveraux's Xda rang.

It was Fran. 'We've found another Winnebago. Rebroadcaster, same as before. This could take a long time.'

'Forget it,' said Deveraux quickly. 'I have an address for
you. The Penthouse, Wiltshire Buildings, East Ninety-sixth Street. The name
is Ramirez. Herman Ramirez. You know what you have to do.'

Elena reacted like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car when she heard the knock at her door. She froze, her eyes wide with fear.

She had been totally absorbed in following Black Star's instructions, working for over an hour as quickly as she could, following every order exactly. She had been careful to make a few unimportant mistakes, to hesitate occasionally. Black Star had been quick to correct her, repeating instructions until he was sure she had got it.

The explosive was gradually being created, with ingredients measured out in precise quantities and added carefully to the deadly brew.

The air conditioning was going at full blast but the room was still hot and the atmosphere was thick with pungent fumes as the mixtures in the rice cookers were slowly heated and reduced. Elena's eyes were streaming, there were beads of perspiration on her forehead and she was fighting to stop herself from gagging as she breathed in the toxic fumes.

But she worked on, following every instruction to the letter, horribly fascinated now at what she was cooking up.

And then came the knock at the door.

Elena stared, wide-eyed, at her BlackBerry, somehow expecting Black Star to tell her what to do. But nothing appeared on the screen: she had to sort this for herself.

'Hello?' she called.

'It's the maid. I need to do your room.'

Elena tried not to breathe too deeply as she thought of what to say. 'I don't want my room cleaned, thanks. Not today.'

There was a pause as the maid outside the room attempted to weigh up exactly what was happening on the other side of the locked door. 'Are you OK in there? There's a kinda strange smell. Like . . . like cooking.'

Elena stared at the rice cookers with their evil, slowly heating concoctions and said the first thing that came into her head. 'It's a burger. I brought it back with me, but it was horrible, I couldn't eat it. Actually, I don't feel too well.'

'No? You want me to call a doctor?'

'No, really, I'll be fine. I just need to sleep.'

There was another pause. 'And you're sure about the room? I'll have to report it to my supervisor if I don't clean the room.'

'I'm certain. Thank you. And thank you for your . . . your concern.'

'No problem. Hope you're better tomorrow.'

Elena stood up, went to the door and put one ear against it. She could just hear the cleaning trolley moving away down the carpeted corridor.

As she turned back, she heard the BlackBerry ping. She picked it up and looked at the screen.

Well done. Lets get on, shall we??? Time is tight!!!

At that moment Elena knew for certain what she had suspected all along: Black Star was watching her. And listening. She punched some words into the BlackBerry.

Ur watching me arent u??
?

There was a pause and then Black Star came back.

Sure I am. Im looking out 4 u! U ok with that???

Elena smiled. She knew what to say.

Yes. Im glad. Makes me feel better.

Herman Ramirez had never questioned or challenged his master during their long campaign of revenge.

If ever the tiniest seeds of doubt about what they were doing crept into his mind, he would think of Chuck. He would, by now, have been twenty-two, through college and starting out on his career.

Chuck had been a good-looking boy. There would have been girlfriends, parties, vacations. Money would never have been a problem, so the growing-up years of discovery would have been full and exciting.

And then later Chuck would probably have married and there would most likely have been children. And Herman would have been part of it. He had looked forward to it all with huge anticipation when Chuck was alive. He had thought about it often then and he thought about it often now.

Herman had never been part of anything until he had come to be accepted and adopted as one of the Pointer family. He had no recollection of any family of his own, having been abandoned as a baby on the streets of Mexico City.

He had been taken into an orphanage but had run away as a nine-year-old and had lived on the streets, scraping an existence in whatever ways he could.

As a child, a teenager and an adult, he had never encountered very much in the way of kindness. It didn't get any better after he made the decision to cross the border into the USA illegally, where his solitary existence continued to have no real purpose. Until the day he knocked on the door of the Pointers' house in The Hamptons to ask if the family needed a general handyman.

Then his life had changed completely. For the better and for ever. It was good. It was better than good: it was more than he had ever imagined possible.

Until September 11 2001.

Since then there had been only one objective to life: revenge.

There had never been a moment of regret about the bombing campaign, nor the slightest trace of sympathy for the victims. Until today.

Herman had followed Elena all over Manhattan, watching her every move and reporting back to his master at each stage.

She had looked forlorn and lost as she hurried closer and closer to her own death. And something about Elena's vulnerability and isolation had touched a raw nerve deep inside Herman.

After he had watched Elena return to the Pennsylvania, he found himself a diner, where he sat and had a meal. He was off duty for a little while, knowing that Elena was in the hands of his master.

And as he sat and ate, he began to wonder about the strange and unfamiliar thoughts that were troubling him. He made his way back to the penthouse apartment on East 96
^th
Street – where he would change, ready to go and observe Elena's final act that evening – still trying to work out why he felt unsettled.

It was only when he stepped out of the elevator and removed the keys of the penthouse from his jacket pocket that he finally realized what it was that had led to these feelings: Elena reminded him of himself as a small child, alone on the streets.

That was all it was. He felt better now that he had worked out exactly what had been troubling him. There was no room in his mind for anything but what had to be done. He was focused again and could make his regular report to his master and continue with his preparations.

He paused at the door to the penthouse, took out his cell phone and punched in a number.

'Yes?'

'I'm back at the penthouse now, sir, and will be ready in time to make sure she keeps the appointment.'

He slipped the key into the lock, turned it and pushed open the door as he listened to the man he had always admired more than anyone he had ever met. The man he would willingly, even happily, die for.

'Elena will be ready too,' said Charles Pointer II. 'I'm watching her now. Everything is on schedule.'

Herman walked into the penthouse and pushed the door closed. 'I'll call when I am ready to leave. Are there any further orders, sir?'

'No. Just do exactly as we have discussed. Just be there and inform me when she has gone into the building. I anticipate the television news will be broadcasting our success soon after. That is all.'

Pointer hung up even before Herman had pressed the
END CALL
button on his cell.

Herman slipped the phone back into his po cket and decided that he would take a shower to wash away the grime of a day spent walking around the city.

Then, from the rooms on either side of the wide corridor, there were two flashes of movement.

Before Herman could even register what was happening, a man and a woman were standing there, both with strange-looking, wide-barrelled pistols pointed at his head.

'Don't move!' shouted the man, who was closest to Herman. 'Don't move one fucking muscle!'

He slowly edged closer to Herman, making sure that the woman, who was a little further back down the corridor, had a clear view of the target so that, if necessary, she could get a head shot in.

Herman watched the Pll pistol come closer and closer to his head, unafraid but intrigued by its strange appearance. He could clearly see the five chambers at the end of the barrel.

He realized that the end of the pistol somehow reminded him of a tiny version of the Gatling guns he had seen in old western movies, with a US cavalryman operating a mechanical winder spewing out round after round at the enemy as a long belt of bullets was fed through the weapon.

'Who's this "Sir" you were talking to?' shouted the woman, edging forward so that she could take the phone from Herman's pocket.

The man moved the weapon even closer to Herman, until it was jammed hard against his face.

If Herman could have smiled, he would have. He was content. At peace. His only regret was that he would not, after all, see the spectacular events of that night. He wouldn't be there now, but it didn't matter – he was only ever meant to be on hand in case of an emergency. But there would be no emergency. Elena would make her way there, just as his master had planned. She was completely in his control; Herman had seen that for himself throughout the day.

And so Herman was ready, and his attacker had actually made
it so much easier for him . . .

Before Mick could pull back, both Herman's hands went up to his, grabbed them and forced his trigger finger backwards.

One round was instantly fired with a dull thud, smashing completely through Herman's head and burying itself deep in the wall behind him.

The only other sound was of Herman's body being hurled against the wall and slumping down onto the blood-spattered carpet.

'Shit! Shit! Shit!' yelled Mick as he watched the Mexican's body writhe out its final death throes.

'The phone!' shouted Fran. 'Get the phone! He was taking orders from someone else. He's not Black Star!'