Avenger (18 page)

Fran and Mick had found Pointer's imposing, Gothic-style mansion in The Hamptons.

As they did a drive past, their car headlights picked out the two-metre-high chain-link fence surrounding the house and gardens. The fence would be no barrier to them.

The house stood well back in the grounds, and as they drove by, it appeared to be in total darkness. But then, when they were almost past, Mick looked back and saw the slightest chink of light coming from a ground-floor room on the east side of the building.

'He's in there,' he said as the vehicle moved on. 'Looks just the place for a recluse.'

A little more than half a mile further along the road, they came to a small shopping parade and Fran parked up close to a Food Lion supermarket. Nearby was a Blockbuster and a scattering of gift shops and galleries packed with souvenirs and scenic water-colours for weekend visitors to the area.

Fran and Mick were in a hurry to get the job done, but that didn't mean cutting corners. SOPs still had to be followed as part of the Emergency Response.

First they both took a good look at the online photograph of Pointer they had been provided with; they had to make certain they killed the right man. The photograph was more than five years old, taken at the last shareholders meeting Pointer had attended. It was good enough.

Next they began emptying their pockets: they had to be sterile of anything that might be dropped and discovered later – there must be no traces to lead back to them, or even to the hotel where they were staying. A single fingerprint could link them to Pointer and the house, so short-term precautions had to be taken, just in case they got away with the attack but were then lifted as they tried to leave the country.

If they were killed – and that was always a possibility – there would be no trace of them on any records; the US police would have two unidentifiable bodies, because Mick and Fran were deniable operators.

They were ready to leave the vehicle but there was one more thing to do. Fran hit the dial of her Xda and Deveraux answered immediately. 'Yes?'

'We're sterile,' said Fran, and then gave her the details of the vehicle's location. 'If we don't call within two hours, the vehicle will need a pick-up.'

It was an SOP. If neither of them made it back to the car, couriers from the British Consulate would come out to collect it.

'Change of normal procedure,' Deveraux told her. 'Take your mobile and cache it close to the target house. I need to know the second the job is done, and I need it done quickly.' She hung up.

Mick had shoved his Xda into the glove compartment of the hire car, but Fran's now had to go with them and be cached, just in case they didn't leave the house alive. In that event the Xda would remain hidden and the operation would still be deniable. They couldn't use Black Star's home phone or mobile because calls from those would eventually be traced back to Deveraux.

Mick saw Fran tucking her Xda into her jeans. 'What you doing? Bad drills, Fran.'

'She's flapping. Wants to know he's down ASAP.'

They got out of the car and went round to the boot to collect the ready bag, which Mick slung over his shoulders. It wasn't the normal type of ready bag they would carry back in the UK, which would have been task-orientated and packed by them.

This was prepacked, the ready-bag version of an oven-ready meal. It was called Packet Oscar, a one-bag-fits-all-jobs kit. There were many other prepacks, such as Packet Tango, a trauma pack, and Packet Victor, which contained safe-cracking equipment.

They had a trek of half a mile back to the target house. Plls in one jacket pocket and spare barrel in the other, they began to run through the shopping parade and into the darkness, only slowing to a walk when car headlights approached.

The Emergency Response plan had, of necessity, to be simple. They had decided on what was known as their 'rolling start line', which would begin the moment they climbed the fence surrounding the target house.

They had no idea what, if any, security measures Black Star had in place and they had no time to find out. If they got over the fence and approached Black Star without tripping alarms or security lights, it would be a bonus. If they did trip an alarm system and lost the element of surprise, they would just push forward with speed and aggression until they reached him and took him down. There wasn't time to faff about.

They covered the half-mile quickly and walked along the high fence, looking for the best place to climb it. The house sat about two hundred metres back, surrounded by neat lawns and conifers.

They reached the end of the fence line on the western side of the house. Fran was leading the operation: she was the boss and she would make the decisions. 'We climb here.'

There was no need for further discussion – it slowed things down, and they both knew exactly what to do.

Quickly Fran kneeled by the base of the upright post where the fence changed direction and began to pull away the loose topsoil with both hands. She dug a small hole and then slipped her Xda into a couple of spare surgical gloves she had brought from the car. The Xda was covered and hidden within a few seconds and would be waiting for them if the mission was a success. If not, it would hopefully remain underground for many years.

Fran stood up and began to scramble up the fence. Mick had the bag handles over each shoulder, wearing it like a bergen. As Fran scrambled over the top of the fence, Mick followed her up. They hadn't seen any alarm systems on the fence – no motion detectors or cameras. But it made no real difference now; the attack was on.

Pointer was looking at Elena, who was dressed in her black designer suit and crisp white shirt. She looked as wonderful as he had imagined. There was absolutely no sign of the fisherman's vest packed with the PE she had made. He had calculated that it would fit perfectly beneath the three-quarter-length jacket. And it was there, ready to detonate the moment Elena tugged on the length of fishing line that dangled from her right sleeve.

It was a crude but effective device. The small cylindrical detonator was pushed into the PE, which was in the long poacher's pouch at the back of the vest. Coming from the det were two long thin steel wires; each ran to and around a terminal of the slim twelve-volt battery, which was held in one of the many small pockets at the front of the vest.

In normal circumstances this would allow the electrical current to complete the circuit, which would trigger the det. The power of that small, but still potentially deadly explosion would then instantly detonate the PE. But, under instructions from Pointer, Elena had made a break in the circuit before connecting the det wires to the battery by using the sliver of plastic, the clothes pegs and the two drawing pins.

She had cut one of the det wires, and then wrapped the end of the length coming from the det around the shaft of one of the drawing pins. The pin had then been pushed into one inner side of the clothes peg, at the end, where the two halves of the peg usually snap together to hold clothes on a washing line.

Elena had then repeated the process with the second length of cut wire, pushing the second drawing pin into the inner side of the other half of the peg. When she released the pressure on the two halves of the peg, the two drawing pins snapped together. If the two det wires were connected to the battery now, the circuit would be completed as the current passed through the two drawing-pin heads, which were touching. But Elena had prevented that. For now.

This was because of the thin blue sliver of plastic. It was about the size of a fifty-pence coin, with one end of the fishing line tied securely to it. Elena had opened the peg, slid the plastic between the two drawing pins and released the pressure on the peg. The plastic was held firmly between the two pins and would now prevent the circuit from being completed when the det wires were connected to the battery.

When Elena dressed, she had run the fishing line down the right sleeve of her jacket. Finally she had connected the two detonator wires to the battery.

She was ready. Everything was totally hidden, ready to fulfil its devastating task at a single sharp tug of the fishing line. The sliver of plastic would then be pulled free, the two pegs would meet, the circuit would be completed and the device would detonate. Instant revenge.

Pointer spoke softly to Elena.
'You look wonderful, Elena. Ready to go?'

'Yes, I'm ready.'

'Good. Just open your jacket so I can see our device.'

Elena did as he asked. Pointer looked closely, straining his eyes to ensure the det leads were securely wrapped around the battery terminals and were running to the det. They were. Elena was a walking bomb.

'That's fine, Elena. Now do up your jacket and turn around so that I can check it doesn't show.'

Elena turned slowly in front of the blank TV screen, and as she did so, Pointer's eyes switched to the bank of small CCTV monitors on a shelf behind his computer.

Each monitor showed a light green picture from the night-viewing cameras dotted about the house and garden. The screens were covered with small see-through dots: motion detectors. If anything crossed two or more of the dots, the monitors set off their alarms. The alarms had begun to sound.

'Time to leave now, Elena. Don't forget the invitation, but leave the BlackBerry. You won't need that any more.'

Elena picked up the invitation from the bed and held it in her left hand; she was ready to leave.

'There's just one more thing I have to tell you,'
said Pointer softly.
'And I'm sad that you have to learn this from me rather than from the people who told you they were your friends.'

He could see the questioning look in Elena's eyes but she said nothing.

'They've all been keeping a terrible secret from you, Elena.'

'Secret . . . ?'

On the CCTVs Pointer could see two shadowy figures as they reached the western side of the house, having deliberately avoided the dim light coming from the study on the eastern side.

Pointer knew he had only minutes left as he revealed the final secret.
'Your dad is dead, Elena. Marcie killed him. I heard her talking about it with Watts. They all know but they chose not to tell you.'

For a second he almost panicked as he saw Elena's right hand clench into a fist, and he thought that she was about to explode the device. Her face was etched with pain and her legs seemed to almost give way as she sat down on the bed and stared at the blank TV screen.

Pointer spoke gently.
'They lied to you, Elena, they all lied, but I can't keep secrets from you. You deserve the truth. We've both lived with our pain; we'll both have our revenge as we die. I'll be with you through this, Elena, watching you all the way.'

Elena's fist relaxed its tight grip on the fishing line. When she spoke, her voice was deep and almost unrecognizable. 'Thank you,' she breathed.

'Thank you?'
answered Pointer after a moment.

'For telling me. They're evil. All of them. Evil.'

'Yes. And there's so much evil in this world, Elena. It's time to go now. If they try to stop you, if anyone tries to stop you, you must detonate the device.'

Elena nodded. 'I will.'

'Goodbye, Elena. Very soon we'll both be at peace.'

Pointer watched his final Angel walk to the door and leave
the room. He heard voices from the corridor; then the door closed and there
was silence.

Outside Elena's room a large group of tourists were milling around, talking excitedly, some clutching
Phantom of the Opera
programmes. They were evidently gathering for a Broadway outing, but had just realized that two of their group had not turned up.

In the stairwell Fergus and Danny had ducked down beneath the window again to avoid being seen. Fergus cursed silently, counting the seconds, looking at his watch as he was forced to wait. He bobbed up to peer through the window, but his view was obscured by the mass of people. There was nothing he could do.

The tourists stood and chatted while the group leader went
off to rouse the latecomers from their room. No one took the slightest notice
of Elena, as she stepped into the corridor and started walking towards the
lift.

Watching the CCTV cameras, Pointer could see the two figures checking windows and doors as they attempted to find a way into the house. Their faces were quite clear now and Pointer recognized them from the attacks on his Winnebagos.

Quickly he sent another message to Elena's Black-Berry, which was still in her room. He wanted to keep Marcie Deveraux guessing for as long as possible.

Great goin. Ur doin well!!! Need 2 wait 30 mins
now. Take a rest. U need it!!!

On his computer, Pointer watched Deveraux pick up her own Xda and punch in a number. He heard her voice clearly: 'He's making her wait for thirty. You can stop flapping now, Watts; it'll all be over before then. Wait out.'

Pointer smiled as Deveraux cut the call. 'Not quite over, Marcie,' he said. He clicked a link on his computer and closed down the connection to the Xda at the Four Seasons. 'No more clues for you,' he said as he looked at the CCTV monitors and saw that the two intruders were approaching the main door at the front of the house.

He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out an old .45 revolver, thinking again how impressive the operation to hunt him down had been. He opened the chamber to reveal six rounds. The weapon felt comfortable in his hands, even though he himself had never been a military man.

His grandfather had used it during the First World War, and his father had carried it during the Second. When he returned home at the end of the war he had handed it over to his son, confidently predicting that it would never again be used in a conflict and telling him to keep it as a family memento. The Pointers were businessmen and industrialists: they would never have any use for weapons of war.

But Charles Pointer II had a use for the .45 now.

He watched as the man and the woman pushed against the top and bottom of the front door and realized they were checking to see if it was bolted from the inside.

The man took off the bag he had on his back, delved inside and pulled out a cylinder of steel about twenty centimetres in length and similar in diameter to a Coke can. From one end protruded a small shaft; from the other, two short lengths of steel, like handles.

Pointer was intrigued. The man passed the cylinder to his partner, who placed the shaft end against the large cylinder lock on the door. As she did so, the man took a metal-headed mallet from his bag and stood back with the mallet head poised.

The woman nodded and the man smashed the mallet into the end of the cylinder. Pointer heard the noise but continued to watch in fascination as his two potential assassins worked quickly and efficiently.

The man dropped to his knees, grabbed the two handles, turned the cylinder and then kicked open the door. His partner had already taken out a strange-looking pistol. As they entered the house, Pointer's scientific brain was working out that the shaft of the cylinder device must be made of titanium so that it was strong enough to smash the keyway of the lock and the pins, obliterating the key code and enabling the cylinder to be turned easily. He was impressed.

But then he turned to look at the .45. He pulled back the hammer all the way so that it clicked into position and shifted the chamber a little, lining up a round to be fired when the trigger was pulled.

He could hear the pair approaching, running down the marble floors towards his study. He turned off the lamp on his desk so that only his computer and the monitors were casting their pale blue light in the darkness.

He was ready.

He thought of Elena, making her way towards her date with death.

As the door to his study burst open and the woman ran in, weapon up, Pointer thought of Chuck, and as the moment of death approached, he suddenly felt more exhilaratingly alive than he had for five long years.

The man was immediately behind his partner, but at first neither
of them spotted Pointer in the dim light. But they both saw the flicker of
movement as he pushed the revolver into his mouth, pointed it upwards towards
his brain and pulled the trigger. Charles Samuel Pointer II had not let assassins
take his life; he had been in control of events until the very end.

The small room resounded to the thunderous roar of the .45 as Fran and Mick dived to the floor, taking cover and firing towards the sound of the weapon's report at the same time.

There was no further noise; the silence told the story.

Cautiously Mick got to his feet and found the switch for the room's main light.

Pointer was still sitting on his chair, his head lolling over to one side, the back of it missing. Blood was splattered on the ceiling, the walls, on the computer and the monitor screens.

As they moved towards him, Fran and Mick saw that Pointer's body had taken three further rounds from their Plls.

Fran went over to the wall behind the computer and pulled off the photograph of Elena, shoving it down into her jacket pocket as Mick checked out the body.

'He doesn't look all that much like the photo but it's definitely him.'

'Saved us a job, anyway,' said Fran as she searched through the desk and shelves for anything that might compromise the mission.

Mick pulled the PC from the desk, smashed it onto the ground and then stamped on it several times until the hard drive was exposed. Fran wrenched it out and then shouted one word: 'Kitchen!'

Her partner knew exactly what to do. In the kitchen he went directly to the cooker and ripped out the gas pipe. He heard the expected hiss of gas and cleared the room speedily, leaving the door open, and then running to other rooms to look for gas fires.

'You got two minutes!' he heard Fran yell.

Mick was closing every door where there was no gas fire, ensuring that the gas escaping from the kitchen would head directly towards Pointer's study.

At the far end of the corridor there was a huge lounge with a log-effect gas fire. He tore out the piping, heard the escaping gas and ran from the room, leaving the door open.

'All done. RV at the door!'

Fran had piled up furniture, paper and anything flammable she could lay her hands on, around, beneath and even on Pointer.

With the lighter she had grabbed from the ready bag she lit the paper and saw the flames spread over his body. With the computer's hard drive shoved into her jacket along with Elena's photograph, she hurtled down the corridor to the front door, the smell of gas making her gag.

As Fran emerged, Mick pulled the door shut and they ran back to the fence. Fran went over the top and jumped down as Mick started to climb. By the time he hit the ground, Fran had dug the Xda out of the mud, pulled it from the surgical gloves and was punching in Deveraux's number.

They started back towards the car and the night sky suddenly changed to daylight as the ground floor of the house erupted in flames.