up with something.”
“I need to speak with the others.”
“Do that,” Wolfe told him.
The line went mute. Wolfe found himself staring at his reflection in the silver plate on the payphone. The tattoo on his neck had intensified in color. The tattoo was like a homing device which let the elders keep track of him. The day Wolfe had the tattoo removed, he would have to tell the doctor to cut very deep.
“Are you still there?” BBC accent said, coming back on the line.
“I’m here,” Wolfe replied.
“We wish to make you a new offer in recognition of your present situation. This offer should more than compensate you for your trouble.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Wolfe said.
“If I’m not mistaken, you are presently in a bar with several large-screen television sets. Walk to the nearest screen, and stare at it.”
“Why the hell should I do that?”
“Major-just do it!”
Wolfe dropped the phone, the receiver banging against the wall. The nearest screen hung directly over the bar. He crossed the room and gazed up. A basketball game was showing, with men flying through the air like they had wings on their feet. In the blink of an eye, the picture changed to a tranquil bay with deep blue water, and a fishing boat tied to a dock. A sunburned man wearing a straw hat was cleaning the deck, while whistling to himself. The man looked happy, without a care in the world, and Wolfe’s face grew warm as he realized that he was looking at himself, the picture on the screen his dream of one day retiring to the Seychelles. It upset him to know that the elders knew such intimate details about him, but that was the price you paid for working with men who practiced dark magic. He went back to the pay phone.
“No thanks.”
“But-”
“I’ve got all the money I need to buy my boat and start my charter fishing business,” he said. “You can’t dangle that carrot in front of my face.”
“You’re a hard man to please, Major. You realize we could crush you like a bug, if we so choose.”
“But then there would be no one to kill Peter Warlock and his friends.”
“We could find someone else.”
“Who can kill psychics like I can? Good luck.”
“Perhaps we can sweeten the offer.”
“Go right ahead,” Wolfe said sarcastically.
Again the phone went mute. Wolfe could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times in his life he’d been in a position like this. He caught the waitress’s eye, and mimicked chugging a beer. She got him a perspiring Heineken from the bar, and slapped it into his hand with a knowing wink. The elder with the BBC accent returned to the line.
“We have something else we’d like to put on the table,” the elder said.
“I’m listening,” Wolfe replied.
“Go back to the large screen TV you were looking at a moment ago.”
“What for?”
“It’s part of our offer.”
Wolfe crossed the room. A commercial with a talking lizard was showing on the flat screen. Before his eyes, the reptile turned into a ravishing woman sitting on a prison cot in some godforsaken part of the world. It was Rita. He walked back to the pay phone.
“Where is she?” he said into the receiver.
“Turkey,” the elder said.
“Don’t tell me she’s in Diyarbakir.”
“It’s a rather nasty place, isn’t it?”
Diyarbakir was a hellhole. Torture by the guards was common, with prisoners dragged behind cars across a concrete courtyard until they died.
“How did they catch her?” Wolfe asked.
“Your girlfriend attempted to kill an Arab terrorist who was in Turkey on vacation. It seems she’s employed by the Israeli Mossad. How ironic that both of you are in the assassination business.”
“Shut up, you dirty swine.”
“Now, now, Major, we didn’t put her there, but we can get her out.”
“You can? How?”
“Leave the details to us. Our offer to you is this. Stay in New York and finish your job. Rita will be sprung from prison, and flown to a city of your choice. First class, of course.”
Wolfe took a swig of beer. Rita was the only woman he’d ever loved. Like him, she had no family or friends. He was the only person who cared about her, and she him.
“You have a deal,” Wolfe said.
“You’ll kill the rest by tomorrow?” the elder asked.
“You have my word.”
“Tell me how.”
Wolfe hadn’t thought that far ahead. Killing the others in such a short amount of time would be hard, unless he set a trap. He had not forgotten the old witch and her niece going out for dinner, even though they knew their lives were in danger. They were naive, and he would use them as bait to draw the others in.
“I’ll have to get them all in the same room,” Wolfe said.
“Is that possible?” the elder asked.
“They’re a close-knit group. It shouldn’t be difficult.”
“When will this take place?”
“Right now.”
“Splendid. I look forward to speaking with you soon.”
“What about Rita?” Wolfe asked. “When will I know she’s safe?”
“Don’t worry about Rita. We’ll take care of everything. Farewell, Major.”
The phone went dead. Wolfe crossed the room and stared at the flat screen. The elders had left Rita’s image there, just to torture him. His dream of running away to the Seychelles had always included her. Without Rita, the dream would die. He would not let that happen, even if it meant killing half the people in New York with his bare hands.
“I love you,” he whispered to the screen.
His beloved began to fade away. A pitiful sound escaped his throat. Once during a mission he’d been captured and tortured in the Congo, and it hadn’t been as painful as this.
He left the bar knowing what he had to do.
38
Nothing ever died on a computer. Every file left a history, even if had been erased. It was all there, recorded like a giant footprint for posterity, if you just knew where to look.
Garrison knew where to look. The FBI agent worked the keyboard on Zack’s laptop, a study in concentration. Peter sat beside him, and tried not to look at Zack, who lay on the floor fifteen feet away. His assistant’s neck had stopped glowing right before the FBI arrived.
“So what am I looking for?” Garrison asked.
“A file on me and my psychic friends,” Peter replied. “Hopefully, it will help us figure out what Wolfe’s mission is.”
Garrison resumed his search. “I’m still having a hard time believing you killed Zack with a screwdriver while he had a sword. How does that work?”
