The Raven
by
Kate Brown
Disclaimer: The Equalizer and all its characters are the property of Universal. No copyright
infringement in intended.
The man slumped over onto his desk. A small puddle of blood stained the papers littering the desk. His killer leaned over his handiwork and placed a raven feather next to the body's head. The dead man wouldn't be discovered before the beginning of the next business day. The killer didn't worry about either betrayal or detection as he silently left the elaborately decorated office. The blood made an ever-widening pool on the desk. The victim's name was Walter de Vries.
*****
When Robert McCall had first read about the bizarre murder on Wall Street, he hadn't thought too much about it. It seemed like just another hit, albeit with a strange twist, but each hit man had his own trademark. This guy was just more weird than most. But when De Vries' widow had contacted him because she felt that the police were giving her the runaround, he’d had to think more about it. The surreal aspect was only equaled by the lack of evidence. Who ever had done the job was a real pro.
There was no obvious or even devious motive. McCall had pulled Mickey Kostmayer in on this one. The Company had nothing on the guy, except a couple of shady deals with South Americans. They hadn't been illegal, just unscrupulous. This case was driving him nuts. Anna Harris, soon to be Mrs. Robert McCall, kept telling him to drop it. He began to wonder if she weren't right.
"Robert, are you still going over that case?" Anna looked at him with annoyance mixed with concern.
He smiled. "Yes. I suppose you're right."
"You know I'm right. Can you at least drop it for tonight. My brother Francis is coming for dinner in about an hour, and I don't really think you would make a great impression on him if you were gloomily pondering this idiotic case."
The exasperation in her voice chastised him. With seemingly husbandly submission, he answered, "Yes, dear." That always irritated her.
Anna's green eyes narrowed, and her cupid's bow mouth flattened. "Robert McCall, I wonder if I shouldn't call this wedding off." She was only mock-threatening. He'd scored, and he knew it.
He was quietly surveying her as she walked into the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Damn, he thought, Anna looked devastating in that sea green silk dress. He'd been enjoying the view, and somebody had to be at the door. He got up to answer. Hopefully, it would be brother Francis. It was Mickey Kostmayer.
"I've got bad news, McCall."
"Evening to you, Mickey." Robert sighed. This was not how he'd planned to spend the evening. Mickey walked past him into the living room. "Well, what is it?"
"You know I couldn't tell you much about the guy?"
"Right. Please get to the point."
"I'm getting there." Mickey sat down and pulled a raven feather from the right-hand pocket of his field jacket. "This should blow you away. This little calling card is the trademark of a former agent gone into business for himself. When he worked for the Company, he was codenamed Raven. I had Jenny pull this out of the computer, and you should have seen her blanch. I thought she was going to lose it then and there. Most of it was classified top secret, so you might consider taking this to Control. If he'll tell you anything that's true, that is."
Robert understood Mickey's reticence about using Control as a source of information. The man, unfortunately, had a tendency to lie. He had done it consistently over the years, especially when he had reason to cover the Company's tracks. Robert snorted. "When I give him the feather, he will say something. Raven apparently is an unpopular subject. Control will tell me more by what he doesn't say."
"Hello, Mickey. I thought I heard your voice." Anna was standing just inside the living room. As Mickey handed Robert the raven's feather, she muttered, "Oh, God, do you have to have that macabre thing in the apartment?" She shuddered delicately.
"Sorry, Anna. It's our only clue. A professional hit man with a bizarre side."
"He's crazy-weird," she muttered as she returned to the kitchen.
Mickey got up. "McCall, catch you later. Anna obviously doesn't want me hanging around. Enjoy your dinner." He saw himself out.
*****
Katharine Weber was working late in her office. She was the high-powered in-house counsel for a major international corporation. A slim, attractive woman in her early forties, she was a barracuda in the boardroom. But Walter de Vries's death had shaken her up. He'd been part of the corporation, and she'd worked closely with him before he'd decided to set up his own practice in international law. They'd almost been friends. She slammed her file cabinet shut and tried to forget about Walter. Weber turned slightly, thinking that she heard something. The file cabinet rattled as she fell against it and then slid to the office floor. Her killer left a raven feather beside her body.
*****
The doorbell rang. Fast losing patience, Robert sincerely hoped that it was Anna's brother. The man was already twenty minutes late. Not that he really enjoyed the ritual of meeting the family. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the thought that he was really too old for this. Scott would certainly laugh at him. Robert opened the door, only to be greeted by the ice blue eyes of Control. "What the hell are you doing here," he snarled at his former comrade in arms.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Control snapped in return. He had two wine bottles with him.
"In case it has slipped your mind, I live here. Now, what are you doing here?"
Control was saved from having to respond by Anna's slightly annoyed voice issuing from the kitchen. "Francis, you're late. If the chicken is tough, it's your fault."
Closing his eyes in supplication, Robert, with less than good grace, waved Control in. Was it too late to call off the wedding? Control as a friend was one thing, but as a brother-in-law? Oh, God, he thought, how did I get so lucky?
Control poured the wine as Robert walked into the dining room. Anna had already placed the meal on the table and was looking meaningfully at her brother. "I'm sorry, Anna, I got tied up at the office." Not too far from the actual truth, considering that one couldn't tell the Senate majority leader to call back later.
Dinner was remarkably silent. Anna desperately tried to make small talk, but she failed. Neither Control nor Robert had much to say to each other without spilling the beans to Anna. Robert knew almost immediately that his fiancée hadn't a clue about what her brother did for a living. She didn't really need to know. And on Control's part, he was trying to fight down an urge to get his old friend shipped off somewhere, preferably some place far away like Siberia. Finally, Anna couldn't take it any longer. "What the hell is the matter with you two?" She glared at both of them.
There was a pounding on the front door. Robert got up to answer. He'd leave Control to deal with his sister. It was all his fault anyway. As he reached for the door, he could hear Control trying to pacify her. Mistake, thought Robert. That only makes her madder. At the sight of Mickey Kostmayer, he groaned, "Oh, Lord."
"There's been another Raven murder, McCall."
There wasn't much distance between the dining room and the living room, and both Mickey and Robert heard the chink of crystal on china. They both moved swiftly back to the dining table and saw Control's ashen face. Anna hovered nervously. "Francis, are you all right?"
Control didn't say a word as he got up from the table. He gave the two men a piercing glance, and said, "Be in my office at ten tomorrow morning." He left, slamming the front door behind him.
Mickey looked at Robert. "Francis, huh?"
II
The telephone rang loudly in Anna's ear. She had been sleeping so peacefully. Groggily, she reached for the receiver and looked at the clock. It was ten fifteen. Robert had left almost thirty minutes ago. Whoever you are, go away, she thought, as she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hello, Anna." The voice was fairly deep and masculine.
Anna sat bolt upright in bed, sheet and blanket falling haphazardly around her. She recognized that voice. It wasn't one that she'd heard in a long while. "Edgar?" she queried nervously. Her middle brother was not a nice person, and she had always been slightly afraid of him.
"Yes, love. I read in the paper that you're getting married to Robert McCall. Fine man. I used to work for the same Company as he. I would like to see you before the wedding."
"Of course, Edgar." Heart pounding, Anna didn't want to convey her apprehension. She tried to sound relaxed. "Why don't you come for dinner tomorrow night. I'll invite Francis as well. He lives here now."
"If you must." There was silence for a few moments before Edgar said, "Shall we say 8 o'clock?"
"That would be fine, Edgar. Is there anything that you would particular like for dinner?"
"Steak tartare."
Anna groaned inwardly. Same old weird Edgar. "You've got it. See then tomorrow at 8 pm."
"And make sure your dim-witted son is not there."
Anna bristled. "Sam is not a dim-wit." Her tone was distinctly chilly. "And furthermore, he is off in summer school."
"I'm so happy for him. It beats reform school."
"You should know," she shot back.
"Good-bye, Anna." Click.
*****
Control sat behind his desk and nursed his third espresso of the morning. He was not in a good mood. His secretary had just declared that he was the biggest manic-depressive the Company had ever put in charge of a division. Had he considered Prozac? She'd ranted and raved some more, but Control hadn't paid much attention to what she'd actually said. He was too worried about Raven. He shuddered and emitted a low sigh.
Mickey, with McCall behind him, entered the office full of good humor. They had obviously charged passed the poor secretary who had attempting to head them off, or at least, warn them. She had been unsuccessful. Mickey joked, "Good morning, Francis. Isn't it a wonderful day?"
Control slowly turned around in his chair. Robert rolled his eyes heavenward as the demitasse gently came to rest on the desk. Control stretched languidly, as if he hadn't a care in the world. "My dear Michael," he began. Involuntarily, McCall took a step backward. "You do know that we are establishing a listening post on Madagascar?" His voice was silky smooth. "You do know where that is, don't you?"
Mickey whispered, "I think I said the wrong thing."
Robert responded, "Your perception of the obvious is exceeded only by your mastery of understatement."
Control continued. "Since I have made my point, you will never call me Francis, except around Anna. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
"Crystal, Control."
"Good. Now, we can get down to business. Robert, what the hell are you doing with Raven?"
"I was rather hoping you could fill in the blanks, Control."
Control threw his glasses on his file-littered desk and began to pace around his office. He stopped in front of his aquarium and stared for a few moments at the placidly swimming fish. Finally, he spoke, picking at his thumbnail as he did so.. "Raven is the most dangerous man I know, Robert, even more so than you. He left the Company, on very bad terms, and killed the assassins we placed on him. We have never attempted to go after him again. He is now a free-lancer who works for the highest bidder. Ideology, scruples, morality mean nothing to him. The only thing that matters is money, and he only works for cash. Lots of it." He dropped into silence before adding, "He is also my brother."
Robert dropped heavily onto the sofa. Mickey, looking and feeling dumfounded, sat down in the first chair in front of Control's desk and muttered, "I wonder what damn fool name he's got?"
"Edgar Allen Coopersmith, hence his codename Raven." Control's voice would have cut steel.
"And what flower shop does this guy run?"
Robert thought that Mickey was just dying to go to Madagascar. Control's response was laconic. "Man-eating."
"Just bloody marvelous." Robert ran his hand over his face.
*****
The elevator was stopping at every floor. Alexander Pappas started tapping his Gucci-shod foot. God, he thought impatiently, this is taking forever. Some smart-assed kid must have punched all the buttons. He fingered his well- tailored, Pierre Cardin silk suit jacket. He was on his way to consult with the CEO of Fruittecque, an international computer company. Pappas was an outside consultant, and he wasn't looking forward to this meeting. The CEO had lost his in-house counsel the night before, and was not in a particularly business-like mood. The elevator stopped on the 14th floor, and the door opened. Oh, good, thought Alexander, company. A slight pop, and Pappas hit the back of the elevator as the doors closed again. There was a raven feather lying just inside.
*****
Robert walked into his apartment only to find his kitchen littered with groceries and open cookbooks. He wondered what had possessed Anna. Just as he was about to call for her, she came bounding into the kitchen. She was obviously preoccupied; she pulled out a bottle and handed it to Robert, saying, "Here's a Stout, go watch the boob-tube or read or something, but just get out of the kitchen."
He started at the bottle of Tabasco sauce. "Um, Anna, this is not a Stout. This is Tabasco sauce. What on earth has possessed you?"
"What's the matter? Don't you like Tabasco?" She whipped the bottle out of his hand and threw it back into the refrigerator. Robert winced as the bottle cracked. He could envision the interior of the frig. It probably looked for all the world as if another murder had been committed in there. He decided to just get out of her way. It was safer.
As he was leaving, Anna called over her shoulder, "Oh, by the way, we are having another family dinner tomorrow. My brother Edgar is coming. Since you know Francis, I'll leave it to you to call him." She didn't see Robert grip the wall for support. He was going to have to have dinner with the world's most expensive and weirdest hit man. Oh, charming, he thought. Control is going to love this.
"What are you planning to have for dinner, Anna?" He hoped he sounded calm.
"Steak tartare, Edgar's favorite."
As turned to go to the telephone, he muttered under his breath, "Bloody flippin' marvelous. Not only is he an assassin, he's a bloody cannibal as well."
*****
La Guardia was extraordinarily busy. Control paced around in the waiting area at Gate 3. British Airways Flight 813 was late in arriving from London. Clearly, the pilots had had to stop for tea. The two female counter clerks were staring at Control whose Royal Stewart Tartan bow tie, a gift from McCall, was askew. They wondered if they should call security or not. The tall, perky one with short, curly black hair, `Stephanie', cocked an eyebrow, thinking this old geezer was some kind of trouble. She leaned over to the petite, athletic one with honey-blonde hair, `Joni', and asked, "Do you think he's a terrorist?"
Her companion shook her head in the negative. Just at that point, the loudspeakers broadcast the news that British Airways Flight 813 was now arriving at Gate 3. They heard the object of their contemplation mutter, "It's about time."
The first one to escape the aircraft was a tall, skinny, sandy-haired young man who had a triangularly-shaped face and ice blue eyes. He wore a black suit, a black shirt and the collar of a priest. Control waved to him. The priest headed over and set his carry-on down. "Hullo, Dad."
Joni turned to Stephanie. "`Hullo, Dad'?" Stephanie just made a strange noise, crinkled her nose and shrugged her shoulders.
"Hello, Alastair." Control picked up his son's bag. "Come on, we've got to hurry. Things have gone to hell in a handbasket."
Alastair was a little befuddled, a rather common state of affairs for the stereotypical Anglican vicar. "What's happened now?"
"Your Uncle Edgar is in town."
"I take it this is not a family reunion?"
"Not by design."
"Oh, good. I think I'll book the next flight out of here."
"Coward."
"Too bloody right." Alastair had no illusions about his Uncle Edgar, or his ability to stand up to him. "Why don't you come with me?"
They were exiting terminal when Control responded, "Only the thought of running into your mother prevents me from taking up your generous offer."
Alastair wisecracked, "Still on the outs with Mum, heh?
Control flashed his son a nasty look. "You remind me of a young man who works for me: You both have an incredible grasp of the obvious."
Alastair wisely said no more. His father was really flustered, and he was not in the mood for any attempts at levity.
III
Anna fussed with the fully-laid out dining table. As she reached to adjust the position of a wine glass, Robert reached an arm around her and nuzzled her neck. She put the wine glass down and then swatted gently at Robert. Softly, she whispered, "Stop that, Robert. Do you want me to drop your crystal?"
"I don't give a fig about the crystal."
"You'd much rather play with my neck." To prove the veracity of her words, he placed little kisses along one side. She tilted her head to the left. As he continued, she finally stamped her foot and said, a little more emphatically this time, "Will you stop that?"
The doorbell rang, saving Anna's neck from more delicious torture. With a sigh, Robert released her and went to answer the door. It was Mickey Kostmayer, and he was dressed neatly and with some panache, too "Evening, McCall. Did you hear the news tonight?"
McCall shut the door behind him. "Yes, I did. Alexander Pappas was murdered in the Fruittecque building this afternoon. .45 calibre slug to the heart and a raven feather in elevator. It was definitely work of Raven." His voice was dry.
"So, what's for dinner? Us or the food?"
Anna came out to the living room and nearly dropped her jaw. She had never seen Kostmeyer look like a human being before. "I'm impressed, Mickey. You can look decent when you try."
To her fiancé, Mickey mumbled, "Remind you of someone?" Anna shared a few traits with her brother Francis, and a sharp tongue was one of them. Mickey turned back to her. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
The return of the doorbell forestalled any further attempts at wit. Control, followed by the gangly and priestly-clad Alastair, sailed in. Robert could tell from the brilliance of Control's eyes that he'd already had had a couple of drinks. Alastair went immediately over to his aunt, kissed her cheek, and gave her an enormous hug. "Aunt Anna, you're looking marvelous."
"Aunt Anna?" Mickey whispered.
Sotto voce, Control replied, "My son, Mickey."
"Your son. Who's a priest. What went wrong?."
Robert groaned audibly. Antagonizing Control now would not be a good idea, but Mickey was starting out on the right foot. All the way to Madagascar and beyond. At the rate he was going, he would be in Vladivostock before the night was out.
"Michael, you have managed in the course of two days to truly peeve me...."
Robert interrupted. "Would anyone care for a cocktail?" He sought to save Mickey's life by diversion. It worked. Control accepted with alacrity.
*****
Fanny Enright smoothed down her dress carefully and checked her coiffure again in the mirror. She was leaving business and the God-awful news behind her tonight. Her long-time gentleman friend was taking her to an exquisitely expensive restaurant and then they were going dancing. She needed a night out after the seemingly senseless murders of three people whom she had known. The raven feathers gave the whole scene a touch of the warped. The murderer was a real wacko, she thought as she answered her apartment door. Miss Enright hit the floor with a decided thud. A bright pool of blood seeped from under the body to stain the beige carpet. A raven feather floated down to land gently on her bosom.
*****
"You're a what?" Anna shrieked.
Control closed his eyes and sighed deeply. His face was drawn and more pale than usual. He hadn't wanted his sister to find out what he did for a living, but his sometimes utterly brainless offspring had let it slip. He downed his Scotch in one gulp. He pressed his rather thin lips together before answering. "I work for the CIA, Anna."
"You're a spy." Anna's eyes were blazing; her voice, accusatory.
"Yes, and I have been for more than thirty years." He gave his son a dirty, you-will-get-yours look. "Robert and I used to work together, and Mickey still does work for the Company." Control was not enjoying any of this. He didn't want to have to defend his profession to his sister who was not inclined to understand.
Alastair attempted to intervene. "Aunt Anna, obviously he's good at what he does, or he wouldn't still be alive." He'd succeeded in putting both feet in his mouth. All he did was engender strong reactions from brother and sister. Robert and Mickey kept their mouths shut.
"Alastair Malcolm Coopersmith, I will thank you to keep your damned mouth shut! You've already caused me more grief tonight than I've had to suffer in several weeks."
"You mean to tell me that you've been shot at?"
Sometimes, Anna could be so remarkably naive. Robert spoke quietly, after sharply jabbing Mickey in the ribs to silence him. "Not just shot at, Anna, but actually shot. We all have. It's a dangerous business, and there is always some unfinished piece just lying around waiting for you." He had more reason than most to know this. "You were safer when you didn't know. And I'll tell you something, Anna," he cut her off, "that I didn't know you were his sister until two nights ago. I didn't know he had a son until tonight. So you both are well-protected by him." He looked directly at Alastair. "I would have left it that way."
Anna fumed a few moments before asking, "What about Edgar?"
"Yes, indeed, what about me?"
The silky smooth voice gave everybody a near heart attack. Robert, with outward and visible calm which covered inward and spiritual distress, asked, "How did you get in here?"
"Oh, just through the back." Edgar was dressed totally in black--leather bomber, turtleneck, trousers, even his shades. This was definitely Raven, reasoned Robert. He was both a little taller and a little thinner than his brother. The face shape was the same. Physically, he and Control were brothers, but that's where it stopped. Not even when backed into a corner did Control ever exude such an aura of restrained violence. Robert wouldn't have wanted to meet this man in a dark alley. Even across a dinner table wasn't an appetizing thought.
Edgar moved silently on crepe-soled shoes. As he entered the dining room, all fell silent. Mickey surreptitiously gave Raven the once over. He was carrying a piece, and a big one, too. As Edgar removed his shades slowly and deliberately, Mickey noticed that the only thing that Control and Raven truly had in common was ice blue eyes. But whereas Control's could communicate all sorts of feelings, and even soften up on occasion, Edgar's seemed to have a perpetual lack of emotion. He gave Mickey the creeps, and from the undercurrent at the table, the same could be said for everybody else, as well.
"Hello, Annabelle." The object of Edgar's scrutiny blanched. Raven's voice was soft, smooth, and oh, so, deadly. "Congratulations." He pulled a small package out of his jacket and handed it to her. She tentatively took it.
"What is it?" She looked at it as if it would bite her, while Robert wondered if they should throw it into the sink.
"How nice to see you, Uncle Edgar."
Edgar turned to Alastair. "Too bad the same can't be said for you, Stupid." Alastair huffed. "You're only marginally better than your cousin Sam." Anna stiffened. "You, at least, aren't dangerous stupid like he is." Control set down his refilled Scotch. "What's the matter, Francis? Aren't you going to defend your own child?"
"He's old enough to take care of himself," came the terse reply.
Alastair grumbled, "Thanks, Dad."
"It's your own fault. You should know better than to antagonize wild animals."
"Better to be wild than both domesticated and neutered."
Even Mickey groaned at that one. Suggesting that Control had no testicles was really a low blow.
Anna cut through the sibling rivalry. "Too bad you missed the salad, Edgar. You'll just have to go straight to the main course."
"I always do," was the calm reply. Five people shivered uncontrollably.
As she set the steak tartare in the middle of the table with the raw asparagus off to the side, Alastair bowed his head to indicate that he was about to say grace. Edgar shook his head and mumbled, "I have always wondered about people who talked to thin air."
Alastair took this personally and made his rebuttal during grace. "`O God, the Father of all, whose Son commanded us to love our enemies: Lead them and us from prejudice to truth; deliver them and us from hatred, cruelty, and revenge; and in your good time enable us all to stand reconciled before you; through Jesus Christ our Lord.’" Alastair paused a moment as Edgar hissed. He continued, "Bless, O Lord, thy gifts to our use and us to thy service; for Christ's sake. Amen."
No sooner had Alastair finished, than Edgar mockingly said, "Let's attack."
Dinner progressed silently. Edgar and Mickey actively ate while the others just picked at their food. Robert watched Mickey and wondered how he could do it. Edgar was understandable; he had a stomach of iron and absolutely no conscience. Anna, he noticed, was as white as the linen table cloth. She'd have a monster headache by the time everybody left. He shook his head over his soon-to-be brother-in-law. Control was just about drunk and angry beyond words. God only knew what he was thinking. Robert figured that it was probably an elaborate fantasy involving hanging Edgar. Pity it was only a nice dream.
Edgar finally broke the silence. "Excellent meal, Anna. As usual, you've excelled in the domestic art of cooking."
Unexpectedly, Anna exploded. "Edgar, get out! I am tired of putting up with your complimentary insults. If you cannot conduct yourself as a civilized human being, then leave." Her voice was painfully high-pitched, and she was near tears.
Edgar stood up. "As you wish, my dear sister. But I will be at the wedding."
Robert moved from his chair to Anna's side. He looked up from her to Edgar. His features were set in a hard, menacing fashion. "Over my dead body."
Control forestalled Edgar. "Poor choice of words, Robert." He got up, as did Alastair. "I think that my son and I will take this opportunity to also leave." He looked pointedly at Edgar. "You are coming, aren't you?" He motioned for Edgar to go before him. He turned back to Robert and Anna. "I am sorry about this evening."
Anna sniffed. "Thank you, Fran."
IV
Control had no sooner opened the door to his apartment than he lit into his son. "How in hell could you do that?"
Alastair was innocent. "Do what?"
"Oh, you're hopeless." Control went straight into his kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He was mumbling incoherently under his breath. Alastair was moving aimlessly about the living room.
He yelled across the room to his father. "Oh, by the way, we missed you at the christening."
"What christening? You do hundreds of them a year. Which one in particular did you have in mind?" came the disgruntled reply from the kitchen.
Alastair took a deep breath. "Obviously, you didn't get my message."
"What message? Would you quit talking in circles?"
"Your granddaughter Christabel's christening."
There was dead silence in the kitchen, not even the sound of cups being rattled. Finally, Control emerged from the kitchen. "Would you care to run that by me again?" He knew his son was going to go tell him that he was a grandfather, but he just needed to hear it again.
Alastair smiled gently at his father. This was going to make him feel old, the young man figured, not unreasonably. Softly, he said, "Yes, you heard me right. Mary and I have a daughter now, Christabel, and she will be four months old tomorrow." He reached for his wallet. "I have pictures." The picture section of his wallet fell out in a long stream of plastic and Kodak film.
After Control had seen all the pictures of baby Christabel, he muttered, "God, I feel elderly." No response. "Well," he went on, "I guess I am going to have to take a vacation to England soon."
Alastair yawned before responding. "Yes, I think that would be a good idea. Oh, before I forget, Mary and I are expecting again in December."
"Thank you, Alastair. Just rub it in." Control got up and went into the kitchen. The coffee had been ready for some time. He called out to his son, "Do you want some coffee?"
Alastair made a face. His father made coffee that was capable of doing a British quick march. "No, thank you." It was equally capable of tearing out the lining of one's stomach. "I think that I will go to bed, instead." He left the living room.
The doorbell rang. Control set down his coffee cup on the counter and muttered, "Who in the devil can that be at this time of night?" He looked at his watch. "God, it is
midnight." The bell sounded again. "I'm coming, damn you," he mumbled. He reached the door and looked cautiously through the peephole. He whipped open the door with alacrity.
A tall lady clad in an indigo Chanel suit stood in the doorway. Her bobbed chestnut hair with a white patch over her left eye bounced as she cocked her head and growled, "Where the hell were you two hours ago? When you were supposed to pick me up at Penn Station?"
"Oh, hell, Felicity. I’m sorry." He pulled to one side as she walked passed him. "It’s been just one lousy night." He’d completely forgotten about her return from Washington. Oh, for once, why couldn’t she have been held over?
She set her small case down next to the sofa and turned around to face Control. "So what's the disaster?" Felicity Carmody, a SEC examiner, crossed her arms over her chest. This had better be good.
Control sighed. He was in the doghouse. "A rogue agent turned freelance assassin has surfaced in New York." His expression was grim.
As she muttered something incomprehensible—probably Gaelic, thought Control--Alastair walked into the living room, in his pajamas and robe. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry; I didn't realize that you had company." With wet hair, Alastair resembled a light brown wood rat--drowned, of course.
"Felicity, you’ve always wanted to meet my son. Here’s your opportunity. This is Alastair."
The latter nodded his head in the lady's direction. "Alastair, Felicity Carmody." She waved at him. "Don't mind us, Alastair. We'll be in the kitchen." He guided Felicity by the elbow.
He reached for the coffee pot. "Coffee?" Grimacing, she agreed. Her eyes, usually so warm, were demanding now. "Okay, Felicity. The truth."
"That’ll be a novelty."
He sighed audibly. She wasn’t going to make this easy. That Irish temper had to have its pound of flesh. His. "This assassin has been plugging people at a rate of about 2 per day."
"What does this matter to you, Francis?"
"Ordinarily, it would absolutely nothing to me. It would be one for the NYPD and the FBI. But this guy, in addition to being a former Company operative, which is really what brings me in, also happens to be my brother."
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!"
"Edgar showed up to pay his respects to our sister who is marrying Robert McCall."
"So you’ve had a family reunion?" Her voice was incredulous.
"You could call it that. If it were the Addams family."
Felicity smiled, and Control realized how much he’d missed her over the past two weeks. She set her coffee cup down, reached out and stroked his cheek. "It’s late. Why don’t we go to bed?"
"My thoughts exactly." He kissed her deeply.
*****
Robert lay awake, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He had excellent powers of deduction, but this time the answer eluded him. Walter de Vries had been an international lawyer; Katharine Weber, a corporate lawyer. Alexander Pappas, aside from being homosexual, had been a computer design consultant. Fanny Enright had been an accountant. The only thing that held them all together was Fruittecque, an international computer corporation, specializing in expensive computer networks, for such things as universities, medical centers, etc. From Mickey's research, they didn't have a tremendous reputation, such as IBM did. And the company had been known to do some rather unethical things. But nothing really illegal. Robert shook his head. Fruittecque had to be at the bottom of this, but why hire Raven? What had the victims known? All this speculation was getting him nowhere. And the day after tomorrow he was getting married. To Raven's sister.
He turned his head as Anna stirred in her sleep. She was having a restless night. And small wonder. Robert smiled gently as she moved closer to him. He reached over and with a butterfly's touch moved a couple strands of reddish-brown hair not yet touched with gray. She was four years younger than he and not a gray hair. It wasn't fair, he thought, pausing to reflect on his own silvered head. Her skin had only a few wrinkles, mostly laugh lines around her eyes and few crow's feet. She didn't look her fifty-two years at all, but if Raven stuck around any longer, she might begin to do so. Robert turned onto his side and pulled Anna to him. He took her hand and tried to drop off to sleep.
V
The church garden was silent as Raven shut the iron gate behind him. He cautiously looked around. With a nod of his head, he slowly walked to the wrought-iron bench by the statue of St. Francis of Assisi. The birds chirped and fought for a perch on the saint's cowl. Raven sat down. The man next to him whispered, "I've set up an account at Chem Bank for you. Raven Enterprises." The old man slipped a card into Raven's hand. "There'll be a bonus if you knock off my wife."
Raven didn't blink. "$100,000 for her." Wives were cheap.
"Done."
Raven rose. "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Anderson." He never even looked the old man in the face.
*****
Robert was nervously pacing around while Mickey ran a finger under his collar. "How does Control wear these damn things?" he muttered irritably.
His companion stopped walking and said, with some asperity, "He's used to them. You only have to endure it for a little while."
"Yeah, right. I'd rather be getting shot at." Mickey watched McCall start pacing again. "You know, you almost look as if you'd like to bolt." He smiled wickedly. "The van's parked out back."
"Mickey...." Robert's voice was weary.
"Hey, just a thought."
As Mickey played a role opposite that intended for a best man, Control sighed in exasperation as Anna primped and fussed over her dress. He leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, and decided that his sister's behavior was a good reason for not going down the matrimonial aisle again. For him, it was too much akin to the Titanic. Anna looked up at her oldest brother. "Well, how do I look?" Her voice was thin. Control sighed again.
"You look fine." He figured he'd said that about fourteen times already and would probably say it another fourteen times. She started to play with her hair; it was pulled into a soft Gibson Girl. He swatted at her. "Stop fussing. You'll only do yourself a mischief." Anna had been worse at her first wedding, and Paul Harris hadn't even been worth it. To take her mind off her nervousness, he asked,
"Where's my nephew?"
"Summer school."
"Well, it's better than reform school."
"Francis Ellwood! You and Edgar both hate Sam, and I don't know why." Her fists were balled on her hips, and her eyes were glinting dangerously.
Control wished that he'd kept his mouth shut. Why couldn't women be more logical. He pushed himself off the wall as he said soothingly, "Anna, I don't hate Sam. I can't and won't answer for Edgar, but Sam doesn't seem to be blessed with an inordinate amount of either brains or common sense."
"And Alastair is a prize example of both?"
Control refused to be baited by his sister. "I never said Alastair was a shining example of either, but he always did have enough sense to stay out of trouble. Which is definitely more than we can say for Sam. Trouble follows him around like a black cloud." Like his father before him, Control thought, but didn't say.
"You mean like his father."
"I didn't say that."
"But you were thinking it."
"What I think is my business, Anna, and none of yours. I believe that I told you what I thought about Paul when you married him." Control's voice was flat; his lips, thin. "It is indeed unfortunate that you didn't meet Robert McCall sooner in your life. A stable, masculine influence in Sam's life might have curtailed some of his more dangerous proclivities." Like running guns and dealing drugs. He wasn't going to tell Anna that Sam was up to his ass in international gun/drug smuggling. He tried another tack. "Anna, for God's sake, today is your wedding day. Try to look happy."
She smiled. "You're right, of course."
"Big brother always is." He hugged her. And he didn't muss her dress.
*****
Sam Harris was hardly in summer school. He was in the second story of St. Thomas', scouting out a good location for the hit. He fingered his Uzi pistol with pleasure as he waited for the wedding to begin. He wasn't even sorry that he'd be spoiling his mother's wedding. He didn't have much respect for her anyway. Now, both his uncles tended to make him nervous, especially Edgar. Once that bastard was gone, life would be much easier. And much richer, by about half a million dollars. Sam's thin, tuxedo-covered frame moved slowly and aroused no suspicion.
*****
Mrs. Harold Anderson, known to her friends as Bitsy, stood in the graveyard, staring at the freshly dug grave of Walter de Vries, her long-time lover. She was dressed in solid black, including a long black veil. If anyone saw her, he/she would assume that she was the man's widow. She had placed dahlias on his grave; they had always been his favorites. She wiped her tears surreptitiously. She muttered, softly and with a lisp, "Walter, you bastard, how could you go and leave me like this. I loved you so...." She never heard the soft pop of a silenced .45. The body lay fully stretched out on Walter de Vries' grave. A raven feather lay on her hand.
*****
Felicity Carmody walked up the aisle, to take her place in the pew where Francis would be. He was giving the bride away. She thought that Control ought to say, when the minister asked who gave this woman, "Take her, take her, she's yours." As talented a designer as Anna was, Felicity still had no use for the woman. No business sense.
A voice, soft and low, jested, "So what do we have here?" The man leered at her.
Felicity jerked upright. This could only be the assassin Francis had spoken of. One look at him, and her blood ran cold. Frightened stiff, she overreacted. "You bastard."
"Tut, tut, luv, we are in church. And we don’t even know each other." He smirked nastily as he surveyed her ensemble. "The white hat is rather tasteful, even if the violet and white dress does nothing for you." The dress flared gently from mid-thigh, in a sort of Spanish fashion. She was wearing high heeled white pumps. "Trying to add to your Amazon stature?" Edgar knew about Felicity’s long-standing liaison with Control. "I cannot imagine what my brother sees in you. You're such a frump. Hopefully, you're better in bed"
Felicity was shocked. "Just who the hell do you think you are? All you are is some jumped up, overrated murderer."
Edgar shook his head. "With you, I feel as if I’m a bad TV movie. Couldn’t come up with something better?" These accountant types. So dreadfully boring. What did she and Francis do? Read the stock market reports together? "On a sexometer, why do I get the feeling you’re a zero?"
He finished in a yelp of pain as Felicity ground her spike heel into his instep. She smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes as she took her seat. Looking back at Edgar, who was still grimacing, she said, "I don't need your damned commentary." She turned around.
"Bitch," he muttered as the organist began the prelude. He sat down and took the opportunity to massage his abused foot.
The organist finished with the prelude just as Mickey and Robert took their places at the altar with Alastair. When he noticed his soon-to-be nephew-by-marriage, he groaned, "Is any woman worth this?"
Alastair leaned down and whispered, "My Aunt Anna."
"Lovely," muttered Mickey. "You're about to get the weirdest set of in-laws, McCall." The groom waved him to be silent. The wedding march began, and Anna started down the aisle on her brother's arm.
After the opening prayers and the declaration of who was giving the bride away, Sam leaned over the railing with his Uzi to the fore. He sighted his Uncle Edgar and squeezed the trigger. Sam giggled at the resulting chaos. People dove for cover, the bride and groom taking refuge near the altar. Sam kept firing because he hadn't yet hit Edgar. And, besides, it was fun.
Edgar, between the pew and the kneeler, pulled out his .45. Anderson was a dead man when he got out of here, if he got out of here. He attempted to get a fix on the sniper and was grazed by a bullet. Felicity had tried to dive for cover, but a richoceting bullet shattered her left shoulder blade. Edgar hoped it had nicked something more vital
Up at the altar things weren't much better. They were all crowded together. Mickey suddenly rolled off the altar step, screaming, "SON OF A BITCH!" and clutching his ass. Edgar started laughing. It was too funny, even though he almost felt sorry for Mickey. He saw Robert look over his shoulder at his best man. Robert wore a black look, and Edgar decided that this was not a good time to mess with him. Closer, there was a gurgling sound. It was Francis, who had taken a direct hit to the guts. "Too bad.. Maybe next time." The pain in his arm was cutting short his pleasure.
The hail of bullets stopped suddenly. Edgar, having spotted his would-be assassin, wasted no time in plugging him. The first shot missed. The second shot knocked the assassin back from the railing. The body hit the back wall and ricochetted off, leaving a large, bloody stain on the stone. The body fell over the railing to land, with a dead thud, on the same two little old ladies who had been gaping earlier. Edgar noticed that they were still gaping. He figured that they were dead from heart failure. Hey, if you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen.
Edgar ran over to the body to make sure that he was dead. Surprised that it was his nephew Sam, he called out in a loud voice, "Hey, Anna, Sam made it to the wedding after all. Well, you don't have to worry about reform school, 'cause he's dead."
Robert, who had been quickly married to Anna by Alastair during the shooting, had an overwhelming urge to shoot Edgar right there. Raven wouldn't have known what hit him, but unfortunately, he didn't have a gun with him. At that moment, he hated Raven as much as he'd hated Randol Payne. He was sidetracked by a motion. Alastair had gotten up and was running, in full vestments, towards the sacristy, to the phone. Robert got up to survey the damage. Anna lay in an incoherent state at the base of the altar. That was a good place for her..
He quickly glanced at Mickey. He was in no immediate danger of dying, but he was in great pain. Mickey expressed his discomfort very vocally, in both Polish and English. Robert gave a little smile. If he could make that much noise, he wasn't that hurt. The gurgling noises concerned him, and his smile dropped off, for they came from Control. A large red stain spread over his once pristine shirt. "Dammit," hissed Robert through clenched teeth. This would happen on my wedding day. He knelt beside Control who was just barely conscious. "Hang on, Control, help is on the way." He’d never be able to call him Francis.
"I should bloody well hope so." Control grimaced. His skin was gray and clammy to touch. He panted, struggling for breath, "Is Felly still alive?"
Robert moved over to the tall SEC examiner. He had no idea who she was or why Control was so concerned about her, but it didn’t look good. Her dress was so stained with red that he almost didn't bother to check her pulse. To his astonishment, there was a faint beat. He called over to Control, "She's in bad shape, but still alive." It fell on deaf ears. Control had slipped into unconsciousness.
Someone touched his shoulder. He looked up, ready for battle. It was only Alastair, who had a nasty-looking flesh wound at his temple. His face was white with fear or rage. Robert couldn't tell exactly which. Quietly, he said, "Ambulances are on their way. Edgar went running out of here, and there was an explosion in the parking lot." Robert hadn't even heard it. "It got two innocent by-standers, Dad's Beamer, and your Jag."
"Bloody hell."
"Is that all you have to say?" Alastair was coming unglued. "After all this bloody carnage in a house of God, no less, all you have to say is `bloody hell'?" he shouted.
Robert stood up. "What do you want me to say?" he asked calmly. "Your father, this lady, and Mickey have all been shot. Four innocent by-standers are dead. Your cousin lies over there." There was a pregnant pause. Then, without warning, he exploded, "God dammit! Alastair, what do you want me to do?"
He muttered, "Create a miracle."
Robert raised an eyebrow. "That's your boss's job, not mine, Father." Alastair straightened up. "Now, if you will excuse me, Father, I'm going after Edgar. You'd better pray for his soul."
"I'll pray for your success, Uncle Robert, but someone else will have to pray for Edgar's soul, if he even has one. Because I sure as hell won't."
VI
Raven was positively incensed. Not only had two people tried to assassinate him, but Anderson had not established the account at Chem Bank. He was trying to get away without paying him. Raven stood outside the Fruittecque building. He looked at his watch; it read 6:00 pm. Anderson should be alone, he mused with much amusement. He entered the building.
He exited the elevator near Anderson's suite of offices. Quietly, with the stealth of a cat, Raven entered the offices. The receptionist's desk was empty, but there was a light under Anderson's door. He opened the door, to Anderson's eternal surprise. The old man asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Good evening, sir. Didn't you expect me to be dead?" Raven smiled, but it didn't reach his emotionless eyes. Anderson shivered in spite of himself. "You sent the two incompetents after me. They're both dead, by my hand. Let me inform you, sir, that there are only two people who would even have the remotest chance of killing me. One is my brother and the other is my brother-in-law." Despite whatever he said about Francis, he was not one to be trifled with or underestimated. And Francis was the one person who, knowing him so well, just might succeed. A terrible enemy, indeed. "You also failed to establish that account you spoke off. I expect to be paid for my work. I do nothing for free."
Anderson reached for his checkbook. "Name any figure." Raven scared him.
Raven cocked his head and began counting on his fingers. "Well, let's see--de Vries, Weber, Pappas, Enright, Madeleine and Raoul, your wife, and the two assassins. That's nine. It'll be ten million. That includes a million for my trouble." He stopped smiling.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Would you rather that I turned you over to my brother, when he gets out of the hospital you put him in, that is? He might be quite fascinated with what you could tell him. Especially about the Russians. Or would you rather push up daisies in Siberia, because the Russians would be very angry, to say the very least, about your nasty little double-cross with Chinese?" His voice was surprisingly soft and caressing.
Anderson gulped. "All right." He scribbled out a check for ten million and handed it to Raven. "Now, beat it. I never want to see your face again."
Raven took it and made to leave. "Oh, you won't."
He whirled around and shot an unsuspecting Anderson in the head. Another raven feather drifted slowly to the desk, to rest beside the shattered CEO of Fruittecque.