“It’s cold,” Keller said reassuringly. In answer to Halovic’s questioning look, he explained, “it’s not traceable. A dealer at a gun show traded it to us years ago. He doesn’t keep records.”
“That is very good.” Halovic slid the clip into place, worked the action, and screwed the silencer into the pistol’s muzzle. He nodded, satisfied by what he saw. The weapon was in excellent condition.
He looked out the window again. There were more houses and stores lining the highway. A sign informed him they were nearing the outskirts of Richmond.
Burke watched him closely. “You got any idea of how you want to do this thing, Karl?”
“Ja.” Halovic thumbed through the dossier until he came to a map showing Malcolm’s movements. Then he leaned forward and jabbed a finger at the spot he wanted. “Drive here, to Elkheart Road. We will go directly to his office.””
Burke nodded slowly after studying the map himself. “Okay. Do what the man says, Tony.”
McGowan complied.
Ten minutes later, they were in a quiet, suburban section of Richmond. The small professional building that housed Malcolm’s office lay a few treelined blocks from a large shopping mall. A parking lot surrounded the two- story brick and glass structure on three sides.
“Pull in here,” Halovic ordered. He pointed to an empty space near the exit to the street. “There. Back in.”
Sweating now, McGowan cranked the wheel over hard and carefully backed the Chevrolet into place between two other cars.
Moving slowly and methodically, Halovic donned the gloves Keller had given him and began to carefully wipe the metal surface of the pistol with a handkerchief. He was aware that all three men were staring at him. Burke seemed pleased. McGowan was wide-eyed and looked increasingly nervous. Keller was poker-faced.
The three Americans exchanged quick glances and then nodded to each other.
“We’ve seen enough,” said Burke. “We believe you.” “Excuse me?” Halovic said. He tucked the pistol under his jacket.
“I said, we’ve seen enough,” repeated Burke. “That’s it. You were ready to go through with it. That’s all we wanted to know.”
Halovic frowned inside. His first contemptuous suspicions had been right. All of Burke’s talk about waiting for the right moment, his elaborate plans, their stockpiled weapons, it was all just a fantasy.
He stared hard at the older man and shook his head. “No. It is not enough.”
“Huh?” Burke was clearly bewildered. “What do you mean, Karl?”
“This was a test, true? To see if I would kill?”
The older man nodded rapidly. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Halovic smiled coldly. “Very well. I accept that.” He pointed toward the office building. “Now I will test you. This black man will die and you will be a part of his death.”
He glanced at Keller, the man he judged the toughest and most reliable of the three. “You. You will come along as my lookout.”
The younger man stared at him for a moment, plainly taken aback.
“Hold on just a minute, Karl,” Burke interrupted. “There’s no need to go off half-cocked. I told you that we’re satisfied you’re one of us. We don’t need to take any unnecessary risks here today.”
A pale, terrified McGowan mumbled his agreement with his leader.
“Risks? You fear risks?” Halovic said scornfully. “And yet you call yourselves soldiers?” He shrugged. “My people will not deal with cowards or shirkers. Either this black man dies, here, today, or you will see no advanced weapons from me. Is that clear?”
He waved a hand toward the office building. “I tell you that your plan is-good. This man can be killed with ease. But you must act not sit and dream.” He turned back to Keller. “Decide. Will you come with me?”
The younger man stared first at Halovic and then at Burke. “Jesus, Jim … what do you think?”
Clearly torn, the older man chewed his lower lip. He wanted those grenade launchers and explosives. He just hadn’t expected to be asked to help kill anybody to prove his own good faith. Finally, he shrugged.
“It’s up to you, Dave. We need those guns.”
“You are afraid,” Halovic said flatly, forcing the issue. “Stay behind, then.”
“Hell, no!” Keller flushed, unwilling to admit his fear. “If you really want to kill this nigger, I’ll help you do it.”
Halovic popped open the car door and got out quickly, before the stunned Burke could say anything else. The Bosnian worked hard to keep his expression neutral. These American fools were about to learn the difference between fantasy and deadly reality a reality he already knew all too well.
Keller followed him without evident hesitation.
That was good, Halovic decided. He had no intention of trusting his life to this man, but at least he showed some backbone.
The office building’s glass double door led into a small lobby. He checked the building directory, reconfirming the information contained in the dossier. Malcolm’s offices were still on the second floor suite. Nobody else was in sight.
With Keller at his heels, Halovic walked down a short hall to a door marked “Stairs.” He ignored the elevator.
Two flights of bare concrete steps led up to an unlocked steel fire door. Halovic paused long enough to make sure that it could be opened easily from either side. If anything went wrong in the next few minutes, a rapid exit might prove to be the difference between life and death.
The door opened up on a long hall that ran the length of the building, widening in the middle for the elevators. John Malcolm’s office was down at the far end of the hallway.
With Keller still following him, Halovic walked briskly past a series of other offices. The sounds of typing and soft music filtered out from behind closed doors. The hallway was empty.
He stopped just outside suite 215. Painted lettering on a frosted glass door identified it as the offices of Malcolm Accounting. After checking the hallway again, he slipped the bulky Smith & Wesson out of his jacket. Then he turned toward Keller, measuring him one last time.
— The American licked his lips, clearly nervous, but still in control of himself. Halovic knew the look well. He’d seen it on dozens of men just before their first real action.
Readying his automatic, he commanded softly, “Do not let anyone in behind me.”
Keller nodded quickly.
With the pistol held out of sight, Halovic opened the door and walked through it into a reception area. Dark wood furniture, soft carpeting, and original oil landscapes on the walls conveyed a reassuring air of stability and success. A middle-aged black woman with snow-white hair sat behind a desk.
She looked up with a polite smile. “Good morning. Can I help you gentlemen?”
Halovic smiled back. “I certainly hope so. Is Mr. Malcolm in?”
“Yes, but he’s with a client…”
Good enough. Halovic brought the Smith & Wesson up in one smooth motion and shot the woman in the chest. Blood spattered across the painting hung behind her. Even silenced, the pistol’s report seemed shockingly loud, like someone dropping a heavy telephone book on a tile floor. He worked the slide rapidly, chambering another round, and fired again.
The woman slumped forward across her desk, scattering papers and a bound appointment book onto the carpeting.
“Oh shit.”
Halovic glanced behind him. Keller’s eyes were wide, almost white with shock. He stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the carnage. He had clearly completely forgotten his duties. The Bosnian had expected that. The American’s only real function was to act as a witness.
“Shut the door and be silent.” Halovic swung away toward the entrance to Malcolm’s inner office.
He knocked twice and went in without waiting for a reply. There were two men inside, one seated behind a large mahogany desk. The other occupied a Queen Anne chair in front of the desk. The furniture looked expensive, the men prosperous.
Malcolm, his primary target, was the one behind the desk. He matched his newspaper photos perfectly. A
