Eglov was looking at him without fear. 'There is a deal to be had here. My organization could use men such as yourselves.'
Jason snorted. 'Swell. I'd be afraid to sleep, afraid I'd wake up with a knife between my shoulders. No, thanks. It isn't my thing.'
Eglov's eyes narrowed, making them appear even more slanted. 'You are a fool if you think you can kill me and not pay for it. I command a virtual army of loyal followers.'
Eglov's megalomania was becoming tiresome.
'I say we put th' man's disciples to th' test,' Adrian said, gesturing to the gore-drenched floor. 'Bit of a bother explainin' all this t' th' local constabulary if we turn 'im over to 'em.'
'My cause will survive to see the capitalist-industrial complex crumble.'
Jason literally saw red as a wave of rage surged through his consciousness.
For Laurin.
For Paco.
For three thousand Americans killed on a warm, clear September morning.
For the victims of all zealots who advanced their causes by killing innocents.
He nodded slowly. 'For once, Eglov, you are not calling the shots.' He ripped off the Russian's shirt. 'We'll see how long the viper survives without a head.'
Eglov watched with growing consternation as Jason began tearing the shirt into strips. 'So, you will kill me.'
Jason nodded. 'Your lieutenants will have an opportunity to struggle on without you.'
Eglov abandoned any pretext of unconcern. 'What are you doing?'
Jason gave him a malicious smile. 'Things are a little different when you are the one about to die, aren't they, Eglov? This time you're not slitting the throat of some unarmed fisherman or lumberjack. Makes you a little uncomfortable, doesn't it?'
'You are a fool to pass up the money you could make working for me, even more of a fool to bring the wrath of my followers down upon you.'
Jason ignored him. Using the strips to bind the Russian hand and foot, Jason slung him over his shoulder. 'Open the door for me, will you?'
Adrian did as he was asked. 'But what…?'
'We'll send our pal Eglov to meet his much-loved natural world in fitting style.'
Jason headed for the back of the house.
Adrian and Eglov guessed what Jason had in mind at about the same time.
'Surely you're not…?' Eglov said.
What false confidence Eglov had left vanished as he began to howl for mercy in English and Russian.
'Surely you would not kill a fellow human this way!'
'You'd rather I cut your throat?' Jason said, shifting the burden of the man's weight. 'You're getting about as much of a chance as you gave your victims. Besides, letting nature's own creatures take care of you seems… well, appropriate.'
The pigs grunted in anticipation.
As Jason returned to the house, the squeals of delight were becoming louder than the anguished screams.
Maria, pale and haggard, was leaning against the bedroom doorway. 'I saw what you did.'
'Fitting end, I thought,' Jason commented. 'By the way, brilliant move, mixing water with the dry ice.'
'Huh?' Adrian asked.
Jason explained. 'Carbon dioxide, when mixed in confinement with water, forms a gas. When the gas has no more room into which to expand, it explodes its confinement-in this case, the water bottles. Like gunshots.'
'Bonny good!' Adrian applauded. 'That little prank saved our lives.'
Maria shook her head slowly. 'Had I known what would happen, I don't know if I could have done it.' She examined her hands. 'I killed someone.'
'If you hadn't, we all would have been dead soon,' Jason said.
'And you…' She was pointing an accusing finger. 'I saw what you did. That was… was… inhumane!'
'Inhumane? Like gassing unarmed workers so they could peacefully be murdered? Like planning to assassinate the president? And what do you think they would have done to you when they tired, of raping you?' Jason asked. 'If you hadn't stabbed that man…'
She was wringing one hand with the other as though washing them. 'Whatever they might have done… I cannot live with killing someone.' She glanced at the door. 'I want to leave. Now.'
'Maria,' Jason reasoned, 'give it a few days. We can-'
'No!' she almost shouted. 'There is no more 'we.' Because of you, I killed another human being. I watched you literally feed a man to pigs to be eaten alive. No, Jason, I cannot be around someone whose business is violence.'
'But-'
She was unconscious of the washing motions, Lady Macbeth. 'I love you, Jason, but I cannot live with what you do. The sooner I start trying to forget you, the sooner I will.'
It was then that Jason realized that, quite possibly, he, too, was in love. The thought surprised him. After Laurin, he hadn't thought he was capable of it.
'Look, Maria, I don't have to keep doing this. I can…'
She shook her head. 'No, Jason. I can never forget the things you have done, even though I suppose you had to do them. I will find some quiet college-professor type, get married, and have a dozen or so children. I could not live with a man who killed for a living.'
'A college professor like Eno Calligini?' Jason asked bitterly.
'Perhaps similar to him. They seem all similar. It is none of your concern.' She turned to Adrian. 'Would you take me to the nearest place I can get a bus to the airport?'
Adrian looked at Jason.
'Go ahead,' Jason said dully. 'I can't make her stay.'
Maria followed Adrian out the door, then reappeared. Crossing the room with quick steps, she threw her arms around Jason and kissed him. 'Do you understand, Jason? I cannot live with what you do or what your duty requires. Even if you quit, you would resent me as the cause.' Then she was gone.
Epilogue
Ischia Ponte, Islade Ischia
A year later
Jason stood on the second-floor loggia of his villa as the triumphant clamor of Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyries' boomed from carefully placed speakers. He was concentrating on a group of buildings sloping up a hill a half a mile away. Brush in hand, he squinted as he tried again to catch in acrylic the exact hue the sun tinted the gray-white stone Cathedral of the Assnta, a golden sheen that seemed to radiate from within the stone of its craggy heights itself. The electric blue of the sea beyond looked more painted than real. Transferring these colors to canvas was a Sisyphean task; they changed by the minute. The challenge, though, was one too beautiful for any artist to decline, and his previous efforts had sold well in the artists' market in town.
His new house was an Italianate walled compound situated on a small hill. White with a red tile roof, it possessed little other than size to distinguish it from other island homes nestled among the rugged terrain. He loved the way the sun recolored its stucco every hour with a glow he had no hope of reproducing with mere earthly equipment.
He put down his brush and inspected the canvas in front of him.
Beyond the piazza enclosed by his own walls, he could see the sole approach to the tiny village of Ischia Ponte, a causeway dating back to 1438, joining it to the volcanic island of Ischia. The Argonese Spanish also built a castle, a monastery, and the cathedral, all protected by a shoreline too steep to harbor ships or land a hostile army.
