Killer of Killers (31 page)

Trent crossed the human corridor and
witnessed people singing with deep-rooted sincerity. They were
white people, black people, brown people, and Asian people,
immigrants from every corner of the globe, each and every one of
them pouring their soul into this, their song. Trent was a broken
man at that moment, but it was also at that moment he started to
heal.

When Trent reached the rear door, he stopped
and turned to the crowd one last time to finish what he started.
“Oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave, o’er the land of
the free, and the home of the brave.”

The chorus became cheers, and many in the
crowd threw their hats to the ceiling, but as they did, wailing
sirens pierced the air and grew ever louder. The deafening shrills
abruptly ceased when an ambulance parked at the very spot where the
limousine of assassins had pulled up.

By this time, officers were taking statements
from witnesses, and Trent saw one of them pointing in his
direction. He about-faced and exited through the back door just as
the paramedics entered through the front.

* * * *

The bystanders cleared for the medical crew,
and as the waiters turned to leave, something caught David’s eye.
He looked back into the room and studied Samantha’s still body. He
was sure he saw the rose move, as if her hand had twitched. As he
stared, however, there was no further movement. The medics hustled
in and urged him to step aside. They would care for her now, so he
lowered his chin and walked away.

Chapter
Fifteen

Family Ties

Trent joined in the
company of giant trash bins, buzzing insects, and half-eaten
entrees. Small spaces between the big buildings granted refuge with
the rubbish, so he wandered through the sun-blocked alleys to
remain unseen. The compounded tragedies forced an instinctive
disconnection from his feelings. He was in no mood to grieve,
because it was time for payback, and he was more determined than
ever to put Soriah out of business. For that, he had to meet with
Manoukian in Minnesota as soon as possible.

Resolute, Trent stepped toward the main
boulevard when he happened to see the front end of a limousine
jutting out from the shadows. Little more than a bumper lay in
view, but he knew the limo to which it belonged was the very same
limo that delivered Samantha’s murderers.

Trent felt his anger unravel while crossing
the width of the adjacent building. He snuck to the rear of the
stretched vehicle. From there, he spied the driver through an open
window. He was wearing the typical black suit and at the moment was
peering through the limo’s windshield, no doubt watching for his
partners to return.

Trent crept low so as not to be spotted in
the vehicle’s rear view mirrors. Within inches of the door, he
stood upright while the black-suited man strained his eyes in the
opposite direction. He was oblivious to Trent’s presence less than
an arm’s length away.

Trent visualized the various nerves on the
back of the man’s neck. He had his choice from which to choose.
There was the lesser occipital nerve at the base of his skull and
the greater auricular nerve below that. Then again, he could strike
the transverse cervical nerve in the center. Trent decided he would
strike the supraclavicular nerve in addition to the adjacent
phrenic nerve. Crushing both nerves at once would effect a very
painful death. But he hesitated. Why kill him now? If he applied a
simultaneous depression, the man would still experience great pain
followed by a brief paralysis.

Trent shot his hand into the open window and
applied the grip as he envisioned it. The driver’s hand, which held
a pistol, jerked upward, but the movement was a reflex. The gun
flew from his grasp, and his body lurched backward against the
seat. Trent’s grip remained firm. Then, like a ventriloquist with a
dummy, he turned the limp head to face him.

“Hey scumbag,” Trent said in a low gritty
voice. “You wouldn’t mind if I bummed a ride, would you?”

Trent shook the man’s head sideways.

“That’s very nice of you,” Trent hissed. “How
’bout we leave right away?”

Trent made the head nod.

“Why, thank you.”

Trent set the man’s face forward and released
him, knowing the paralysis would last another minute. Once in the
passenger’s seat, he reached into the man’s coat pocket, removed
the stiletto he knew would be there, and sprang the silver blade.
Bracing it against the dashboard, a single jab broke the steel at
its base, and he tossed it out of the window. The pistol followed.
“Guns and knives,” Trent uttered under his breath.
“Weapons of
cowards.”

Trent fastened his seatbelt and glared at the
motionless man. “No use waiting for your buddies,” he said.
“They’re dead. All of ’em.”

Despite his paralysis, the driver’s face
beaded perspiration. He was another black-haired, dark-skinned
Mediterranean. Even when seated, Trent saw him to be tall and wide,
like the others. He guessed they were related—brothers or cousins,
perhaps.

“In a few moments you’ll be able to move
again,” a contemptuous Trent said. “If you want to stay alive, all
you gotta do is drive me to JFK.” He hoped he sounded convincing,
because after he reached the airport Trent had no intention of
sparing the man’s life.

* * * *

It was a painful flight to Minneapolis. All
Trent could think about was what he might have done differently
that would have kept the two women alive. Before departing JFK, he
used Samantha’s cell phone to inform Manoukian and Josh he was on
his way. He didn’t say what happened to Samantha, revealing only
that she was indisposed at the time. Trent planned on dropping the
hard news in person. He was intent on looking both men in the eyes
when they learned of her fate.

After arriving at MSP and disembarking from
the plane, Trent easily spotted the lofty Josh Jones. He wore a
dark gray sports coat and stood a full head above the waiting
crowd. But the first words from Samantha’s brother were not in
greeting. He asked, “Where’s Samantha?”

“She’s still in New York,” Trent told him.
“But there’s some bad news, and you’d better be sitting down when
you hear it.”

“Whataya mean, ‘bad news’?”

“If you want, I’ll give it to you straight
up, right here and now.”

“Give it to me,” Josh insisted.

“Soriah sent men to kill us,” Trent began. “I
killed them, all four of them. But they got your sister.”

Josh took a step back and swiped the air with
both of his arms in an apparent effort to maintain his balance. His
face turned pale, his expression forlorn. “So, is she dead or
what?”

“She’s dead.”

“How do you know?”

“I was there, remember? I went to her side.
The ambulance was on its way, but before it got there, she was
gone.”

Josh’s face contorted. Water filled his eyes,
so he closed them and rubbed them dry. “You’ve got to be wrong,” he
growled. “She’s got to be all right.”

Trent reached into his pocket and pulled out
Samantha’s police wallet and cell phone. He handed them to Josh and
said, “I thought you should have these.” He decided not to present
the black Eternity case, because Josh wasn’t aware Samantha used
the drug, and Trent thought he should respect her privacy—at least
for the time being.

Josh flicked open the wallet, exposing the
photo of Samantha’s smiling face and her shiny golden badge. After
placing the items in his coat, he said, “Let’s go,” and led Trent
to a waiting Karl Manoukian, seated at a table in the side bar of a
small airport restaurant.

Manoukian exhibited an astonished face when
he saw Trent approaching. “Where’s Samantha?” he asked.

Josh glared at Manoukian and snapped, “She’s
dead!”

“
No!”
Manoukian blurted in a voice so
loud it seemed to surprise even himself. “How can that be?” He
became jittery and almost fell from his seat. “What happened?”

“Like I told Josh,” Trent said, “your Soriah
Specials, or whatever you call them, attacked us while we were
eating breakfast. They opened fire with semis and got Samantha with
the first shot. She didn’t have a chance.”

“And then? What happened then?”

“What do you
think
happened then?”
Trent retorted. “After their first shot, it was
them
who
didn’t have a chance.”

Over the next minute, Josh and Manoukian
remained speechless. Trent examined their eyes, deciphering
Manoukian’s as no less devious than on the day when they met.
Josh’s, on the other hand, were tormented and brimming with sorrow.
Trent didn’t doubt that his own eyes were those of a man bent on
killing, because it’s exactly what he had in mind. But he also had
questions, and before he proceeded, they had to be answered.

Josh put his hands over his face. “It’s my
fault,” he cried. “It’s all my fault.” He folded his arms on the
table and rested his head on them. He wasn’t bawling, nor was he
whimpering, but tears soaked his sleeves, nonetheless.

Trent scrutinized him. “Why is it your
fault?”

Josh sat up and took a deep breath to collect
himself. “Because I was supposed to kill Soriah after you did in
Stiles. Samantha was trying her best to get
you
to do it, to
keep
me
out of danger.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s your fault,”
Manoukian said.

“
It is
,” Josh snarled, combining his
anguish with a sudden burst of anger. “I’m her big brother. I
protected her all of her life. Now, she was trying to protect
me
, and it got her killed. I should have shielded her from
all of this.”

Trent had enough of the babble. “Let’s clear
the air,” he said. “What I want to know is how did Soriah find out
that I was coming after him.”

Neither Josh nor Manoukian answered. They
merely stared, each with a straight face. Trent glared at
Manoukian. “You’ve got a stoolie somewhere, and whoever it is keeps
Soriah informed about everything.”

“What do you mean, ‘everything’?” Manoukian
asked.

“I mean when you were bringing in Stiles for
the job, it turned out Soriah knew about that, too.”

“Impossible. No one knew about that.”

“No one?”

“I mean besides Samantha and...” Manoukian
looked at Josh.

“It’s true,” Josh bemoaned. “It was me.” He
cast a woeful gaze to Trent. “After Samantha heard your message,
she called me to let me know. She was so happy for me, and what did
I do? As soon as I was off the phone with her, I called Soriah. If
not for me, he wouldn’t have sent his killers.”

Manoukian slapped the tabletop. “But why
would they kill Samantha?”

“It was a stray shot,” Trent said.
“Unless...”

“Unless what?” Manoukian pressed.

“Unless the Specials got the job, after
all.”

“What job?” Josh blared. “What are you
talking about?”

Trent shifted his glare to Josh. He pulled
out Samantha’s black case and slid it across the table. “This is
what I’m talking about. Your sister was using the damn drug, just
like the rest of you idiots.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“I saw her, if you really want to hear me say
it. I got
that
from her purse. It was right next to her
badge.” Trent returned his glare to Manoukian. “You said yourself
that women were excluded from using this stuff. Can you tell us
what happened to the ones who refused to stop?”

“Well, they weren’t killed for it!” Josh cut
in. To Manoukian, he added, “Were they?”

Trent looked back at Josh. “I know another
woman who was killed for it just yesterday.”

“But they don’t
kill
for that.”

“Oh, yeah? They asked
me
to kill for
that. But I’m no one’s lackey. I told Charles Morgan I wouldn’t do
it.”

“Charles Morgan?”

“He’s the one who gave me a hit list.”

“A hit list?” With eyes perplexed, Josh
turned his head toward Manoukian. “Since when does Abraham Soriah
have a hit list?” He turned back to Trent. “Well, is Samantha’s
name on it or not?”

“No,” Trent replied. “The list contains the
names of Eternals they no longer deem worthy of their Utopia. But
it doesn’t mean they didn’t have an alternate plan if I refused to
cooperate. It seems they have a new list now, and I’d say my name
is right there at the top.”

“Let me see it,” Josh demanded as he reached
across the table.

“What for?” Trent sneered. “It’s old news.
Are we going after Soriah or not?” He looked again at Manoukian.
The bespectacled executive appeared to be lost in his thoughts.
Trent asked, “What’s your take on all of this?”

Manoukian eased out of his reflection. “We
stick to
our
plan. Soriah must die. My jet is waiting to
take us to Bemidji, and then—”

“Then what?” Trent snapped. “If Soriah knows
I’m there to kill him, why would he let me inside his lab to do
it?”

“Because he thinks you have something he
wants,” Josh answered.

Trent responded with a scowl. “Like
what?”

Josh shook his head. “Forget it. All I care
about now is taking Soriah down. Are you in or not?”

“I’m in,” Trent said, “but they’ll grab me as
soon as I show my face. How do you suppose that’ll work out?”

Josh’s eyes seethed. “Perfectly,” he hissed.
“When Soriah and his people are busy worrying about you,
I’ll
be able to take him out.”

“So you expect me to walk into a trap and get
caged like a dog?”

“It’s the only way.”

“Really.” Trent narrowed his eyes. “Are you
sure you can kill a man?”

“If I can’t kill a man, now...” Josh spoke as
if carrying out his plan was the only way to redeem himself. Trent
was damned if he didn’t agree.

Manoukian nodded. “Josh is right. It’s our
best chance, Mr. Smith. Soriah will let us in, and most likely, his
security team will confine you. Thinking he’s out of danger, he’ll
let his guard down, and Josh will have an opportunity.”