We Are Death (36 page)

‘This isn’t going to last too long,’ said Jericho. ‘I thought perhaps there’d be a lot of wrangling, back and forth, but he’s gone straight for it. He’s not wasting time here, getting rid of the no-hopers right from the beginning.’

He looked at Markussen.

‘Your men ready to go?’

‘Have been from the start.’

Jericho nodded.

‘On my signal.’

*

T
here were four blank faces looking back at Geyerson, two expressions of incredulity.

‘I have one question,’ the Brazilian said finally, his head still shaking. ‘I hope you will pay me the honour of a truthful answer. Mr Geyerson, are you serious?’

Geyerson held his gaze and nodded.

‘If the book remains in my hands and I am the beneficiary, then so be it,’ he said.

The Brazilian nodded and got to his feet.

‘Then I have no further need to be here,’ he said. ‘Thank you for your time and your hospitality.’

He pushed his chair back, nodded around the table, although none of them did him the courtesy of returning the nod, then his guard opened the door for him and the two men exited. The door closed.

The five remaining bidders all stared down the table at Geyerson. The Russian in particular found himself in a difficult position. He had been told that under no circumstances should he return home without the book. On the other hand he’d been given a budget of two million dollars, 0.004% of the asking price.

‘Perhaps there is some other accommodation we could come to?’ he said. ‘Russia is a very rich country. We have many things to offer.’

‘Just not money, obviously,’ said Geyerson.

The Russian smarted, but he wasn’t leaving. Not yet. He needed to see how this played out. He didn’t doubt for a moment that there would be someone around the table with the required budget. Fifty billion dollars might sound a colossal amount of money, but in terms of government budgets, when most of the countries represented were likely trillions of dollars in debt, it might barely register.

That, of course, was if all these people actually represented their home countries. He understood why Geyerson would have had no one from the Middle East bar the Israelis around the table, but he wondered if anyone there perhaps represented them, and if Geyerson had been hoodwinked.

Another chair was pushed back, and the Indian got to his feet. He felt humiliated, but there was nothing he could do, and there was little point in sitting there listening to the Americans and the Chinese try to outbid each other.

He looked no one in the eye, said nothing, made no gesture to the table. At a quick pace, his two henchmen in his wake, he was gone, the door was closed, and there were four left, sitting in a small arc, with Geyerson and the book at the other end.

Still, there had been no offer. Two were gone, and the Russian had made his position quite clear. There were three left, and Geyerson was also pretty sure that the Israelis had already been priced out of it. If they ever wanted fifty billion dollars to spend on anything, they’d likely need to get it from the Americans.

He wasn’t a man to have doubts, though. That was why he was where he was, sitting there, with this artefact before him, selling it to the highest bidder. Or not selling it at all. You set targets in life. If the targets weren’t met, you went away, you examined what went wrong, and then you returned to the fray with a new plan or a new set of targets. There was never failure, there was just necessary readjustment.

‘I thought perhaps we might be able to transcend money, my brother,’ said the Israeli, who had been unable to hide his astonishment at the asking price. ‘You know we cannot hope to match the Americans and Chinese. Why else am I here? You asked me here to listen to this? You asked me here to humiliate me in front of these people?’

‘I didn’t ask you,’ said Geyerson. ‘I told you what was for sale, and you said you’d come. Just because my grandfather very possibly died beside your grandfather, does not make us brothers. I owe you, and I owe your country, nothing. If you want this, you have to pay for it. That’s all.’

‘That thing,’ said the Israeli, gesturing dismissively at the book, ‘more than likely came from our country. It belongs there. It was stolen from there.’

‘See you in court,’ said Geyerson contemptuously, and he kept the scornful look on his face, as the Israeli quickly pushed his chair back, got up and walked to the door, one of his men slamming it on the way out.

Geyerson turned back to the table, his eyes having followed the last man out the room. He quickly wiped the scorn from his face and replaced the look with one that was almost whimsical, as if this whole business was all stuff and nonsense, and why didn’t they just get it over with as quickly as possible.

‘This bores me, gentlemen,’ he said, words to accompany the dismissive hand gesture. ‘You can all walk out, you truly can. Do not think for one second that I will accept less than what I have demanded. If you care to become engaged in business, then I ask you to state your case. Otherwise, we might as well all go home.’

‘We pay fifty billion dollars,’ said the Chinese quickly, his eyes only briefly resting on those of Geyerson.

‘Crap,’ muttered the American. ‘You had to start.’

‘That’s good,’ said Geyerson.

He looked at the other two and made a small gesture.

‘You know what’s at stake, gentlemen. We all have things to do, so I’d ask that we conclude this business as quickly as possible. If either of you have any advance on fifty billion, then please... If not, then let me thank you for your attendance today and ask that you vacate the room to allow us to complete our business in private.’

The Russian remained stone-faced at the end of the table. He was going nowhere until the American moved. The American checked his watch, shook his head. He knew there’d been discussion back in Washington about just taking Geyerson out of the game, and the decision had been made to let things play out.

If they let the Chinese away with this, then that decision was something they would come to regret. It was one thing taking an individual businessman off the streets. Making a Chinese government official disappear however, was an entirely different type of Hollywood movie.

‘Fifty-five billion,’ he said, not lifting his eyes to meet Geyerson’s.

––––––––

M
orlock was ready. He too had been listening, the words from inside the room coming through quietly into his earpiece. No one had died yet, but it was time. He would have to start with the gate guard, the two men at the front door, and then he could begin with the attendees as they left in their ones and twos and threes. The numbers mattered little to Morlock.

The Brazilian had just walked out of the room. Morlock didn’t have eyes inside the house so didn’t know if the man would be walking straight out, or whether there was anything else to detain him. He had to be ready in either event, and of paramount importance was making sure that word did not reach Geyerson inside before Morlock wanted him to know. He had no doubt that in an all-out firefight he would be the only one left standing, but he didn’t want it to come to that.

He positioned himself in the bushes, darkness having fallen completely over the city. From where he was kneeling he could see the two guards at the front, and had a narrow line of vision to the single guard in the post by the gate.

His original calculations had been based on the glass of the guardhouse being bulletproof. However, at some stage the door of the small building had been replaced, and no doubt for cost purposes the glass was thickened, but not impervious. Morlock recognised the change. His slender line of sight was through a corner of the window frame in the door.

Morlock, completely in tune with everything going on around him, was aware of the drone flying overhead, and while he did not know which other players were in the game, he would be ready for them when they came. If it turned out to be the police officers who were also on his list, then that could make his evening even shorter and easier than he currently viewed it. Not that ease, for its own sake, was something he sought.

It had been one minute since the door had closed behind the Brazilian delegate. It was possible that he would come straight out, likewise that he might linger to attempt to establish who would take possession of the book. Morlock had already calculated the odds and made his decision.

He aimed his Glock at the guard at the gate, paused for one second to make sure he wasn’t moving, and then put a bullet in the back of his head, having allowed for the slight deviation caused by the window and the silencer attachment.

The dull thud of the gun and the crack of the window had the two guards at the front door instantly on their toes, their guns drawn. In the same movement in which he’d killed the first guard, Morlock swivelled and quickly took out the next two, a bullet in the forehead of one, a bullet in the Adam’s apple of the other.

The bodies slumped to the floor, the brief moment of action over. Silence fell once more over the front garden, the night and the trees and the bushes. Morlock paused for a moment, living in the silence. Waiting for the next sound or movement.

In the distance he heard the sound of a van move off, and made the instant decision that the noise, coming so soon after he had killed three people, was likely to be related. The people watching from the drone, and by whatever other means, were coming.

Gun held in front of him, he started to walk quickly towards the front door. It opened when he was no more than four yards away.

He could have shot the Brazilian’s guard that instant, but he needed another moment to play out. The guard did not have his gun drawn, so there was no danger, and he needed the door opened a little further, he wanted clean sight of the Brazilian, before he could run back inside.

The shock showed on the guard’s face. There was a further moment’s hesitation between drawing his weapon and slamming the door shut. The Brazilian moved partially into view, the two bullets were fired from Morlock’s gun, and the two men fell dead in the doorway.

Quickly inside, two more guards running towards the door, and they were dead before they could unload in his direction.

Morlock was quicker than everyone. If someone was going to kill him, they would have to come at him from behind. And even then, they were going to have to hope he didn’t sense them, because that was what had always happened in the past.

There was no question now that the van was on its way towards him. He could hear it as the tyres squealed around the corner.

He quickly looked around the entrance hall, checked the silence and knew there was no one else coming, then put two quick bullets in the entrance system, disabling the doorbell and the communication with the front gate.

He had already gauged that the meeting was taking place in a room at the back of the house, on the top floor. There was a little time yet.

He did not bother closing and locking the front door. When whoever was coming managed to get over the front gate, they were welcome to come in. He would deal with them when he had to.

He took a few steps up the winding staircase on the right, and paused, listening. Made the call that there were no more of Geyerson’s people, other than those in the room with him. He passed no judgement on it, but if it had been him, he would have had about a hundred guards or more.

Geyerson, he thought, may have had a lot of money, but he was still small time.

He heard the door open and quickly ran up the stairs, two steps at a time, his footfalls completely silent. He paused on the first floor, backing off along the corridor to the right, listening to the sound of the footsteps on the upper floor, as the latest man to walk out on Geyerson left the auction with his hired help in tow.

Now that he was a floor closer to the meeting, Morlock was wary of making too much noise with a kill. As he heard the first footsteps on the stairs above, he quickly checked the room opposite. A few comfy chairs, a drinks cabinet. He walked quickly into the room, two sidelights on, main light off, a warmer feel, before stepping back to the door and out into the corridor just as the Indian appeared with his two men.

Morlock, dressed completely in black, his gun tucked into the back of his trousers, did not look out of place.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘if you would like to step in here while we make sure that it is clear for you to leave.’

The Indian naturally hesitated.

‘I can assure you that the other gentleman who recently left the meeting is waiting in a different area of the house,’ said Morlock, as though that might have been the problem.

The first guard stepped in front of the Indian, as his boss nodded towards the room. The guard glanced warily at Morlock, stepped into the room, then appeared a second later at the door, nodding.

‘Help yourself to a drink,’ said Morlock. ‘We should be clear in a couple of minutes.’

‘What’s the hold up?’ asked one of the guards.

They were all in the room now.

‘There are a lot of important people here,’ said Morlock. ‘We just need to be sure there’s no one watching.’

He closed the door, and the gun was in his hands in the same movement. The bodyguards never had a chance to draw their weapons. The Indian never even got to turn around and know that something was wrong. His last thought was to the quality of the whisky.

Three bullets. Two in the heart, and the Indian in the back of the head. The bodies fell to the floor.

Morlock felt the movement as the next delegate left the room upstairs. He was aware of the people who had arrived outside and were now clambering over the gate. There was little sound from the latter, but he could sense it. Morlock was trained. There was only one presence Morlock couldn’t quite place, but it wasn’t a problem yet. He would deal with it when it was necessary.

He put the gun back in his trousers, brought the small knife he held in his wrist down into his right hand. The whole thing was about to explode, but he didn’t want to give the room any more warning – even five seconds worth – than he had to.