Читать книгу Angel of Death - Christian Russell - Страница 4

PROLOGUE

But see, amid the mimic rout,

A crawling shape intrude!

A blood-red thing that writhes from out

The scenic solitude!

It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs

The mimes become its food,

And seraphs sob at vermin fangs

In human gore imbued.

—Edgar Allan Poe, “The Conqueror Worm”

Clyde Daschner was changing. His excitement had reached its climax. All his senses were powerfully active again. He was able to see, hear, and even feel through every pore of his skin. And all this was happening while he was thinking that he would turn into a flame again, that he would become Thanatos again.

Although he had never read Maxim Gorky, for the younger of the Daschner brothers there were only two ways of living: burning and rotting. After having been burning like a torch for many years, he had lately entered a phase of slow decay. For more than two years now his world, the world where he had been living and which he had considered his only habitat, had disappeared leaving room for another. A world in which the monotony of daily life and the wantonness of social relations seemed to be crying to heaven, begging for a change. To this pathetic corner of a cold sad world he was going to add a little dynamism.

First he would turn New York into a huge hunting ground. The trophies he was after belonged to a single species called the Whellers, that is the four members of a wealthy clan: Senator Henry Wheller, his brother, Ralph Wheller the actor, and his two daughters, Sarah and Dorothy. This was a matter of personal revenge and he would not need anybody’s help to complete it.

At Christmas, however, the hunting ground would expand to six big cities in the States. He had been planning this operation carefully for the past few weeks and he was going to supervise it. He would personally take care of the operations here, in the city.

In each of the other cities there was one loyal member of the organization. All of them had received the necessary materials and he would soon send them the plans of the attempts proper. The five men were all that was left from the ‘Rebels of the Light’ organization, beside the Chink and Eddie Druller.

The hits on several American cities had been ordered by a powerful Arab businessman. Thanatos had worked for him before, in 1995 and 1996. He had organized bomb attempts and shot some Afghans who were seen as anti-Islamic. And all this for good money. Like before, the tycoon had contacted Druller by e-mail. He had asked him whether he knew someone who could cause America massive bleeding on its own territory. He seemed to be very angry on account of the American missile attacks on several military bases in Sudan and Afghanistan. The computer specialist had asked Clyde what to tell him. “Tell him you’ve got someone, but don’t tell him it’s me. Not even he must know Thanatos is still alive.”

Eddie had looked at him puzzled. “And how much should I ask for a thing that big?” he had asked him. “Let the Arab set the price,” came the answer. Druller had told him that he behaved like Ronin.

“That’s what I am,” Thanatos had explained to him, “a mercenary who’s lost his Master not being there to protect him, and now has to expiate by serving others and thus prepare his revenge.” Fortunately, the Arab had been extremely generous and paid in advance. With that money he had updated his electronic equipment and makeup kits and purchased large amounts of explosives. More than that, he had been able to finance Eddie to build the ‘Island.’

He wanted the first version ready before killing Dorothy Wheller. It was absolutely necessary to take her to the ‘Island’ right before she died, to bring her face to face with the one she had betrayed and whose death she had caused, his brother Daniel.

Thanatos was aware that while doing away with the Whellers he would be vulnerable too. He would be the hunter and the prey at the same time, cornering his victims and enjoying the moment of their making the Passing while trying to escape the piercing eyes of the other hunters, who were so many and so dangerous: the cops and the FBI agents. It was a game he knew all too well, whose rules and strategies had no more secrets for him and whose scenario he himself had written most of the time.

Until the summer of 1996, in his good years when he really lived, he had felt the hot breath of the others on the back of his neck all the time. Sometimes he had even guessed their triumphant smile but every time he had managed to slip through their fingers. Moreover, many times he had turned his frowning face to them and struck them like lightning, decimating them. Now, however, things would be even more interesting for they thought him dead. He had a new identity, a new job, and a new life even if that made him extremely sick. And his new look had been Daniel’s good-bye present: plastic surgery and a full set of papers in the name of Roy Hussel, a lawyer specialized in minors’ rights. How many times had he looked at that strange face in the mirror? Two years had passed and he still hadn’t grown used to it. Anyway, it had been worth waiting for the moment of great revenge had come at last. And when all the accounts with the Whellers were settled he would spend most of his time on the ‘Island.’ Yes, that was the best compensation for all the sacrifices and all the deprivations of the past two years. Last night he had let himself be carried away by that hunter feeling again. He had been forced to get rid of the Chink who had been his 481st victim.

Lately the guy had grown nosy, started asking more and more questions. A couple of times he had caught him whispering something to Druller, stopping abruptly each time he showed up. Besides, he was of no more use to him. He couldn’t help Eddie either for he couldn’t tell a computer from a TV set. So.... To his surprise, he had felt some sort of regret seeing him fall to the floor with that hole in his head. It was odd, for in this trade there was no place for regret. He had experienced that once, years before, but since then....

After all, the Chink had been a useful tool to him for more than eight years. Anyway, killing him had drawn Thanatos’s attention toward himself. The sweat waves, the dry mouth, and quickened pulse were definite signs, parts of a message his nervous system was sending to remind him that two years of inactivity had already passed and that his agility and self-control needed training.

Now there was only one man left who knew what Thanatos’s face looked like: Eddie. Actually, until that fatal day of August 18th, 1996, when his identity was revealed and he was forced to feign his own death, only five persons had known Thanatos’s real identity: his brother and mentor, Daniel, Eddie Druller, the Chink, Ayash the ‘Engineer,’ and one of the Awdallah brothers. But Daniel had been executed and Ayash’s skull had been blown away by a mobile phone full of explosive. Adel Awdallah was also dead now and so was the Chink whom he had been forced to finish off because he had become ambitious and was bad company for the computer specialist. Thinking of Druller, Thanatos realized something had been wrong with him lately. Yesterday, for example, he had asked him how much he wanted the destruction of the Whellers. Was he going to pry into his business by any chance? Oh, no, he wasn’t, Thanatos had tried to convince himself. Eddie was a real computer genius but not at all an enterprising man. Besides, he was his only link to the life he had led before 1996. No matter what mistakes he might make he wasn’t even considering getting rid of Eddie. On the contrary, he had to protect him at all costs. He needed Druller now more than ever. At least until he built the final version of the ‘Island.’

He forgot the computer specialist and started thinking of the things he had to do in the following weeks. He didn’t even want to think of the Christmas attempts for now. The time to avenge Daniel had come at last, the time to face the Wheller clan. These past months had been filled with them. They had been haunting his nights; he had been feeling them in every sip he took, in every drop of his sweat. Thanatos had already set the place and the time when each of them was to leave this world. Druller needed all these data for his work on the ‘Island.’ Thanatos’s heart throbbed with joy thinking that they would all get where they deserved to be.

Sometimes at night, when he couldn’t fall asleep, he imagined the four of them sitting at a table, putting their heads together to plan the murder of his brother. He could picture their worried faces, read their whispering lips, and even sense the smell of conspiracy that was filling the room.

Dorothy, her sister Sarah, the senator, or the old actor, each had their share of guilt and for each he had a punishment in store. The first to die was the guiltiest of them all, the senator, for, after all, he had been the supreme judge to seal Daniel’s fate. Thanatos had decided to kill him on November 3rd at the Frick Collection Exhibition where the senator was going to make a speech upon the presentation of a series of expensive paintings brought from the Louvre.

Ralph Wheller, the old actor, was to die on November 15th during his farewell performance at the Royal Willis Theater. Sarah, the elder sister, would leave this world on November 23rd in her dressing room at Little Carnegie Theater.

Finally, the dessert: on December 7th he would commemorate in his own den two years since Daniel’s death and, after many days of suffering and humiliation, Dorothy would beg him to kill her. And so would he, but not before taking her to the ‘Island’ to face his brother.

He had planned everything to the last detail. At first, while raging, he had thought of killing them all at the same time even if that meant sacrificing himself. They might all be at the Frick Collection Exhibition on November 3rd. He only needed to wear a vest full of RDX and detonate it close to them. But he couldn’t do it for two reasons. First, it was best for the Whellers to leave the stage one by one, with Dorothy last. Thus, her fear and pain would increase with every day gone by. Then if he were to blow himself up together with them he would become a ‘shahid.’ He had nothing against the ‘shahids,’ of course. On the contrary, he respected them for their courage. In 1994 and 1995 he and Ayash had even trained several dozens of them. He had helped them put on their vests full of explosives. He had seen them take a traditional last photo holding the Koran in one hand and the gun in the other. They were smiling at the camera thinking that Allah was waiting for them in Paradise to offer them seventy-two women each.

But Thanatos could not become a ‘shahid.’ He couldn’t make the Passing together with his victims. It would be ungodly of him. And that because, like his brother, he was one of God’s chosen ones. His Passing had to be graceful. The problem, therefore, was how to kill only the senator while he was with his men and get away with it so that he could complete his revenge. Killing a man surrounded by eight or maybe ten guards, yes, that was a challenge for him which increased his excitement.

Thanatos wondered whether the period of inactivity had affected his ability to analyze and solve the most complex problems. The only way to overcome his fears was the hunt itself. He thought of Henry Wheller again. He had to plan it all very carefully. In the old days he would just improvise the details of some executions. But that was the case with politicians from ‘banana republics,’ of course. This time the target was a senator protected by clever, experienced guards. The only way he could leave the premises unnoticed after the execution was to make the guards not suspect it was murder. They had to believe it was natural death and tell him to go away themselves.

Thanatos took his head in his hands and focused his entire energy on finding the right solution. His brain quickly processed dozens of versions, picking and leaving out until there was only one left: feigning a heart attack. For this solution he hoped the FBI didn’t have any remedy. “Above all, don’t let them read your mind,” Baddan, the ‘Tibetan’ monk, had once advised him.

I think I know what weapon to use, Thanatos said to himself, while climbing down to the basement. That was were he kept his rich arsenal of weapons and auxiliary equipment. He had an impressive collection of killing devices in his personal panoply. They were all in perfect condition and he was an expert in handling each of them.

He reached a large room. A funny smell filled the air. He switched on the light. To his right there were several shelves with fire weapons of every type and caliber. There were MP-5 slot machine guns, PSG-1 and HKG-3 shotguns, as well as smaller fire weapons: HP Brownings and Magnums. He affectionately caressed his favorite on the bottom shelf: a sniper rifle used by the elite forces of the American Navy: an M 88 Mac Millan whose .50 mm bullet could pierce the armor of a plane. He had had the proof of that two years before.

On several shelves to his left were over two hundred pounds of explosives: EPH-86 hexafluoridized plastic, M2 plastic, the killing C4, and the latest Czech innovation: Semtex. There were also two special vests with lots of little pockets full of RDX capsules connected to a detonator.

Thanatos moved on to the back wall where there were all sorts of special or hand-made weapons. He pulled away some sort of sheet placed in a corner. It was, in fact, a membrane extracted from the body of a giant species of sea ray. A Nam veteran had given it to him. It was a very dangerous weapon. Stuck to a guy’s face it induced a cardio-respiratory effect killing him within seconds.

Under the membrane he finally found what he was looking for. A perfectly silent pen with a poisonous bullet which he had made years before in Taiwan for an execution ordered by the Triads. The pen could easily be concealed in a camera. Then he began searching the drawers for all the stuff he needed. Half an hour later he returned from the basement with a big cardboard box. He took off his overalls and shirt and wearing only his T-shirt he started to work.

He would use the microcapsule, which was the size of a ballpen refill of the weapon pen, and the special bullet. Some changes needed to be made, though, to serve his purpose. Before the killing bullet he would have to shoot the senator with two fine metal particles smaller than a needlepoint. They would leave two small stings in the target without causing any bleeding. These two micro bullets would induce the forerunning symptoms of a heart attack. Only after a few seconds would he shoot the larger one and cause the death of the politician.

This bullet had the shape of an empty axle with extremely thin walls. It had a tiny hole at one end. Thanatos had to fill it with two mg. of sodium dinitrate and one mg. of Pryzoflen, a gel used especially in the laser industry. It had some interesting properties: at very low temperatures up to ninety-five degrees it remained viscous; at ninety-five it vaporized violently. Working under the microscope with very fine instruments he finally managed to fill the bullet. Then he took a cryogenic spray and sprinkled the metal piece, just in case. Once inside the senator’s body, the bullet would heat up rapidly. When it reached ninety-five degrees (and this would happen in just a few seconds), due to its sudden evaporation the gel would spread its other component, the sodium dinitrate, into the body. Usually this poison paralyzed the breathing centers in ten seconds but Thanatos knew that the old man’s frail circulatory system would give in after only three or four seconds.

This little piece of steel, however, was almost a quarter of an inch long and as thick as a pencil lead. There would certainly be some bleeding. That’s why he would have to aim low, at the ankles, where the cops’ attention was very unlikely to turn to. Thanatos wished that on November 3rd at the museum the senator would wear dark socks or at least dark pants so that he would be sure to get it.

He was hoping that in his dying moments Henry Wheller’s thoughts would go back to that fatal day of December 7th, 1996. He was hoping the man would die bearing in mind Daniel’s face, the way it looked in the newspaper photos: a face bruised and riddled with bullets. Even farmers, when they trap and kill a predatory coyote, treat it less cruelly.

The Whellers’ suffering would be unbearable. Excruciating even. It would take them down one by one like skittles. After each felled target he would send them messages so that the living ones would know where their punishment was coming from. Only that, for they couldn’t know anything about the other part, the most terrifying for them, the ‘Island.’

He would save the best for last: Dorothy, the one who had vowed to Daniel ‘until Death do us part.’ He had prepared something very special for her. It had taken him a long time to find out all her fears so that, when the time came, he would help her face her obsessions.

For her he would turn into a real gardener of her suffering. He would sow it for the actress, tend it, and water it with the tears she would shed for every dead Wheller. When it bloomed, he would tear off its petals one by one. A petal for each tear. He longed for her tears and agony. He would make her wait for her death anxiously, beg for it so that her nightmare would end. The thought that before he killed her he would say to her: “That’s how you’re going to expiate,” warmed his heart. He liked the sound of it and he repeated it aloud.

“That’s how you’re going to expiate, Dorothy!” his voice vibrating strangely as if to increase the sense of threat.