Honorable Assassin (27 page)

The scotch was good, but the time dragged.
By four o’clock he was about to leave when the bartender handed him
the phone saying it was for him.

“You have been a very bad boy, Randy.” The
speaker had an American accent.

“Who is this and why am I talking to
you?”

“I am the man who just shot two thugs
outside the clubhouse.” The cell phone in his pocket rang. He held
it to one ear while he held the house phone to the other. Both
lines said the same thing though there was a bit of a lag on one.
“Do you have the money?”

“No, I was unable to raise it on such short
notice.”

“Then what is in the briefcase?”

Randy swore under his breath. “All right,
you have me. The money is in the briefcase.”

“You’re lying to me. What’s really in the
briefcase? A bomb? A gun? Have you got a midget with a knife
stuffed in there?”

Randy said nothing. He had known the
American was shrewd, but he was starting to feel like a stupid
little boy.

“Walk out on the first green with the
briefcase. You had better be alone out there as well.”

“There’s no possibility of my walking out
into that field.”

“Perhaps you had better reconsider your
position. If your death was what I wanted, then you would already
be as dead as these two shvances.”

“Why can’t you just meet me in here?”

“You really don’t get it, do you? I have the
upper hand. I can reach out and crush you like a bug. You’re
nothing to me, a spider under my heel. The photographs are merely
the icing on the cake. What you are paying me for is your life. You
are paying me not to kill you. Now walk out on the first green with
the briefcase, open it, and show the money.”

The line went dead. Nobody exited the
clubhouse. Randy was making phone calls. He had brought four men
with him and it seemed at least one of them was dead already. Ten
minutes later a Rover with two men in it pulled in the parking lot,
hopped the curb and drove to the front of the clubhouse. The door
opened and two men exited the clubhouse with their heads low and
dove into the vehicle which tore out of the area. Neither of them
carried a briefcase. Gordon and Terry were already gone by that
time. The two men hiding in the trees waited for anyone coming out
of the woods but they saw nobody. An hour later the bomb squad
showed up to investigate the briefcase that had been left inside.
The briefcase was empty. The newspapers ran the story.

The last thing Randy Arganmajc wanted to see
was the police or anyone else finding dead men with a link to him
in the woods at the country club. He went to a safe house and sent
every man he could spare and contact to search for the two men he
had been told were dead. Those two men were found handcuffed around
a tree in a drug-induced stupor. The tree had a printed note stuck
to it.

Mr. Arganmajc

I did not kill these men. I will not be so
generous again. I have been extremely patient with you but my
patience has now run out. Your treachery has again doubled the
price. This is the last chance I will be giving you to save your
life. If you attempt to play with me again I will kill you, every
man with you, and both of your mistresses, your sister in Brisbane
and your half-brother in Walla Walla. Then I will go after Abel and
Adam Troy, your employers, and I will kill both of them. I believe
I have demonstrated my willingness and capability sufficiently. You
will pay me or I will let you watch and save you for last.

The note was unsigned but the fact that it
was printed out on a computer printer before anyone had gone to the
clubhouse came as a revelation to some of the men. Almost half of
the enforcers and wheel men disappeared that night. Some of them
came back later and others moved to different towns and found
alternate employment. Some even got real jobs.

When Terry reported to work the following
day, the remaining men in the warehouse were frantic. Some of the
older members of the crew had mentioned that they planned to take a
hiatus. Some of the others did not. There were shipments they could
not move and money they could not collect. The network was breaking
down.

Randy was seriously rattled by now. He could
have paid the extortion fee in the beginning, but the current price
tag was more than he could raise by himself. He could not go to
Adam and Abel with this or they would see him as weak and
ineffective and he would be ruined. He stopped trusting those
around him, suspecting that there was an informant in his dwindling
number of employees. He got drunk and slapped his women around and
threatened his managers. He was still conducting business but his
return was dropping slightly and his remaining faithful were doing
double duty. Every time the phone rang he jumped. The thing that
hurt him the most was that the extortionist seemed to know what he
was going to do before he did it.

For the right price, there will always be
men willing to put their lives on the line. The three ex-Mossad
agents that had formed a bodyguard service did not come cheap but
they were extremely effective. They formed a living wall around him
during the times he still dared to leave his apartment. They
assured him that the next time the American tried to make the
trade, they would eliminate the threat. Arganmajc trusted them
because they had not been part of the team when the trouble
started.

Terry Kingston was working himself ragged.
In addition to his regular runs he was driving additional loads,
some legitimate. The word was spreading and as leather-tough and
immovable as Australian truckers can be, there was always another
job for them if they decided to transfer employers. The remaining
members of Randy’s team were making money hand over fist, a
powerful incentive at any time.

The other thing that changed was that people
were watching each other more. Keith Harrison, the man who had
replaced Victor Wellington after the latter’s unfortunate demise,
had actually approached every member of the team with the same sort
of confidential request. He asked that they not say anything to the
others. He told each of them that he only trusted them and that
they needed to watch someone else. Some of them kept their mouths
shut, others did not.

Then came the September 11
^th
attacks on the World Trade Center in New York City and the whole
world sat up and took notice. Then they went back to business as
usual with a little more trepidation and heartache than before.

Gordon MacMaster had not made contact for
what seemed like a terribly long time. He had been fishing and
hiking and generally enjoying the countryside as only a man who has
no schedule can do. He had also been thinking. He spoke to Terry
about once a week and was pleased at the reaction from the
lower-class members of the organization. Together the two assassins
tried to map out a plan of attack.

It had not happened immediately but what had
been a trickle was growing to a stream. East Germans and Russians
were arriving in increasing numbers and while most of them were
honest hard-working men, there were also those elements that would
not have been so welcome. They were the former Soviet Bloc citizens
who had managed to wax successful in the hungry economy that
existed before the collapse of their Communist system. Attila the
Hun and Vlad the Impaler had spawned men such as these. They had
slowly been eating into the pie of the Australian black market. At
first they had been ignored as inconsequential, then they had been
marked as minor competition, skilled but unpopular. The current
events made their association seem more desirable, though still
distasteful and untrustworthy.

When Randy approached the Eastern European
expatriates, he was still dealing from a position of power, but as
an Australian he did not have a feel for the history. He should
have brought some of his local talent with him instead of the
Israelis. The German contingent was insulting and refused to
conduct business with Jews, even though they were only present as a
security force. The Russians involved were less abrasive about the
religious differences, but the services they offered were at more
than twice the going rate and Randy was not that desperate. He
could see in their eyes that they were waiting for their power to
grow to the point where they could make a move. They intended to
take over some portion of the illicit trade. He realized that if he
did not address this, he would end up with another financial leak
that needed to be plugged.

Then the call came in. The exchange was
demanded to be made the following day, on the flat floor of a
disused rock quarry south of the city. Every thug, brigand and
self-styled wise guy in Randy’s employ was immediately dispatched
to the quarry. It was a failed operation where about four acres of
limestone had been excavated. There was a deep pool of water in the
middle of the floor and trees ringing the top of the hill to about
270 degrees. The dirt road they used to reach the quarry was the
only one available and it ended at the excavation site.

When the gangsters arrived on the scene,
there was a large chest sitting next to the drainage pit with a
sign on it reading “Put the money in the chest.” The men scoured
the woods around the excavation but found nobody.

Henry Cuthbert remained in his car while his
subordinates searched the area. He had been given no money to
deliver; he was given instructions to kill anybody that was in the
immediate area of the quarry. There were no farms or homes near the
area so unless there were teenagers swimming in the pit, nobody was
expected to be there.

Once the men reported that they had found
nothing, Henry picked out a victim to open the chest. He chose a
young drug addict, a violent and stupid young man who had disgraced
himself before. If he were killed, few would miss him. The man
approached the box as if it were a dangerous beast and opened the
lid from a practically prone position. The only thing inside the
chest was an envelope marked Randy Arganmajc.

Cuthbert tore open the envelope, inside was
a printed letter that read, “You have failed again and your life is
forfeit.” He swore and ordered three men to remain on the scene and
shoot anyone who came near the chest. They were provided with
scoped rifles. Someone had the foresight to bring sandwiches and
they were left with the men.

The road the quarry was on was forested on
both sides with gullies and streams, requiring bridges. The
gangsters heard the explosion that took out the bridge but did not
know what it was until the convoy reached the shattered structure.
Between the trees and the depth of the gully there was no way
around. They were stuck.

Telephone calls were made. Randy Arganmajc
was on the verge of panic. His new bodyguards were with him but the
majority of his team was trapped in the wilds. The road was not
large enough to accommodate a semi as there was no place to turn
one around, so Randy tried to dispatch his short trucks to the
area. Unfortunately, in the middle of the day, his trucks were all
loaded with merchandise or well out of the area.

“G-man?”

“Tarrytown.”

“The cash truck has been dispatched to the
quarry to pick up the men stranded there.”

“Perfect. Is the load secure?”

“Yes. Are you in position?”

“Aye,” MacMaster’s voice reflected his
satisfaction.

“There are two men in the truck. I’m not in
it. I’ll see you on the way back.”

“Perfect.”

It was three hours before the cash truck hit
the half-buried razor strip and blew the two front tires. They were
supposed to be able to drive the truck with a puncture, but the
damage to the rubber was too extensive. First the driver called in,
then he got out to inspect the damage. Terry was not in the van. He
and one of the men who usually rode with the shipment had been
dropped off in Hill Top, a small town about 20 kilometers away. It
changed the operation, but did not cancel it. There was still not
enough room for everybody they had to pick up, but it was decided
that a guard and a driver should be left with the load. It was
against protocol for the guard in the back of the van to exit the
vehicle during a breakdown. Any possible repairs were to be done by
the driver and the guards were to stay inside.

The driver never saw it coming. The twin
taser leads punctured his shirt and the skin of his back. The
voltage seized up his muscles and dropped him to the ground,
shaking. Before he could regain the use of his hands they were in
handcuffs and his mouth and eyes were covered with duct tape. He
never saw his attacker.

The guard in the bed of the van was on alert
but he could not see what was happening outside. He did not know
what was happening but he had no problem discerning that the van
was filling with smoke. He had no choice but to open the back door
and he did so, with his weapon at the ready. He called for the
driver but there was no response. He could not stay in the van, the
smoke was choking him, even with the door open. His natural
reaction was to turn toward the driver’s door when he jumped out.
His eyes were burning and he was choking on the smoke, but that did
not prevent him from hearing the hammer of a pistol being pulled
back. He should have frozen in his tracks but instead, spun around
firing his weapon blindly. It cost him his life as Gordon MacMaster
was forced to shoot him.

Gordon stood for a moment looking at the
prone form of the guard. He had not wanted to kill him and would
not have, given the choice, but the man insisted. The bolt cutters
made quick work of the padlock and the cables locking the money
bags. Working quickly, MacMaster transferred the cash to a small
duffel bag. The securities, checks and bearer bonds were left
behind.

The Jeep Gordon had driven in was two
kilometers away. He ran the distance retaining his hat and gloves
as he ran. When he reached the vehicle, he was thoroughly soaked
with sweat. He had encountered no one on the road.