young man. Mr. Kurtz and Mr. Beck have told me so much about you.’
‘Like what?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘What have they told you?’
‘Well, for one thing, that you’re quite the athlete. Mrs. Gabriel, perhaps you can call your other son in, there are a few new procedures I need to go over with all of you before you go to bed.’
‘Manny’s probably in the SOSUS lab.’
‘No,’ Jacob says. ‘I saw him playing basketball.’
‘Okay, I’ll be right back.’ Dominique heads outside, leaving her son alone with the government-trained killer.
‘Jacob, I have something for you, a little gift from the CIA.’ Solomon Adashek removes the small cigar-sized canister from his jacket pocket, popping open the seal on the pressurized lid as he aims it at the boy.
‘What… iz… zit.’ Jake hears his words echoing hauntingly in his brain as the room spins, and he falls into the psychopath’s reptilian-cold embrace.
Mabus Estate 8:47 p.m.
Mike Renyze, Peter Mabus’s 260-pound ‘personal assistant’ greets Mitchell Kurtz at the front door. ‘Who da fuck’re you? Where’s Maurice?’
‘Maurice got sick on some bad X. I’m covering his shift.’ Kurtz hands the larger man the thermal pouch.’
From his thermal scanner, Beck watches with amusement as a white-hot spark ignites at the front door, and the hulking form collapses. He taps his communicator. ‘That’s twice you’ve used the same gimmick. What do you have in mind for our man?’
‘He gets tonight’s special.’ Kurtz drags the unconscious assistant into the bushes, then enters the mansion. He follows the polished marble floor to the back of the house and out through the kitchen to the back porch. ‘Mr. Mabus?’
Peter Mabus looks up from his lounge chair. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Maurice’s cousin, Phillip. The chef at Le Vielle Maison sent something special for you tonight to go along with your entrees. Your bodyguard said he’ll take it if you can’t finish it.’
Mabus approaches, intrigued. ‘So? What is it?’
Kurtz reaches into his thermal pouch and removes a fifteen-pound lobster, holding the animal by its tail. ‘Is this a beauty or what?’
Mabus’s mouth waters. ‘I like it, give it to me.’
Kurtz squeezes a trigger hidden in the lobster’s belly.
Two darts shoot out from the claw openings, puncturing Mabus’s chest.
The billionaire’s eyes roll up as he collapses to the wood deck.
Kurtz shoves the lobster-gun back inside the pouch, then bends over Mabus. Checks his pulse. ‘Pep, he’s out.’
‘Better move fast, the kid’s left his room.’
Kurtz removes the two darts and tosses them in the pouch. Removes the hypodermic needle from his belt.
‘He’s coming down the steps.’
Kurtz removes Mabus’s sandal, then injects the clear elixir between the big man’s toes.
‘First floor, heading for the kitchen.’
Kurtz replaces the sandal. Gathers his thermal pouch.
‘Five seconds… move!’
Kurtz hurries out the back porch, hustling silently down the walkway to the beach.
Twelve-year-old Lucien Mabus stubs his cigarette out in an ashtray, then heads outside. ‘Hope dinner’s ready, I’m starving. Dad? Oh, shit-’
The boy bends over his prone father. Presses his ear to his chest. ‘Rempe, get in here, Dad’s having a heart attack! Walker? Maurice?’
Peter Mabus’s pulse ceases long before the ambulance arrives.
From the sundeck of their rented yacht a half mile offshore, Beck and Kurtz feast on lobster and fillet tips, the light show provided courtesy of the Hampton Police Department.
Gabriel Compound 9:02 p.m.
Jacob’s head throbs in pain. His arms are pinned behind his back, his wrists and ankles in handcuffs.
He forces his eyes open, bile rising in his throat as he takes in the scene.
His mother is seated across the room, bound by duct tape to a wicker chair. Her hair is tousled, her eyes wild above the gag as the slight, middle-aged predator methodically finishes taping her ankles before turning his attention to Jacob’s twin brother.
Manny is bent chest down over the kitchen table, his arms splayed and bound over the granite top, his lower body dangling free.
Solomon Adashek pulls up a kitchen chair and sits beside the boy. Liver-spotted hands gently probe the unconscious youth’s hairless muscular legs, savoring the moment before pulling down the boy’s boxer shorts, exposing his bare bottom.
Jacob and Dominique grunt and groan as if jolted by electricity, thrashing within their bonds.
Solomon looks up, his eyes cold and twinkling, his thin mouth grinning like a snake.
Jacob’s heart beats like a timpani drum, his adrenal glands pumping like a river – as the room seems to brighten, and time suddenly slows to a crawl.
Through waves of invisible energy, he forces himself off the ground, balancing within his shackles. He struggles with all his might against the steel handcuffs.
No use… I can’t break free!
Eyeing his mother, he bunny-hops toward her as Solomon Adashek’s head slowly turns toward him, his eyebrows raising in surprise.
Jacob jumps off the ground and double-kicks the man as hard as he can in the chest, sending him headfirst over the kitchen table.
Lactic acid washes over the boy’s muscles as he bends to his mother, the fingers of his shackled hands tearing at her bonds, ripping apart the duct tape.
Freed, Dominique springs out of her chair, pulling the tape from her mouth. She rushes toward the mantel and grabs the Katana, the larger of the two Japanese swords on display.
Jacob collapses to the floor, his exhausted muscles quivering, his body bathed in sweat.
Solomon Adashek shakes the cobwebs from his brain. He rolls over on the kitchen floor – gazing up at Dominique Gabriel, who stands over him, her eyes breathing fire.
Raising the Katana high above her head, she rasps out a command, ‘Jacob, look away. Mommy doesn’t want you to see this.’
Jacob stares, his azure-blue eyes widening in glee as his mother’s Katana loops downward in one magnificent slash, separating Solomon Adashek’s head from his body.
PART 5
Nothing in life is to be feared, only understood.
