Apocalypse

25

Olaf Jorgenson had not expected any problems during his assignment. Katherine Abell was one of the finest lawyers in Florida, and though she rarely spoke to him he held her in the highest regard. He could not have predicted that he would hear the name that Macy Lieberman had spoken, as she airily waved a thick wad of files in her hand.

Charles Purcell.

Olaf watched from the public gallery as Katherine stared in disbelief at Macy Lieberman. The very fact that she was as stunned as he had been suggested that the defense of IRIS might not go according to plan, and the knowledge bothered him immensely.

‘Charles Purcell is your whistleblower?’ Katherine stammered. ‘That’s ridiculous! You couldn’t have found a less reliable witness!’

Macy smirked across at Katherine.

‘Would you like to share with the court your reasoning?’

Katherine turned to the judge as Olaf watched, willing her on.

‘Charles Purcell is currently the subject of a manhunt,’ she reported confidently. ‘He is wanted for the murder of his wife and child, and any testimony from him can be considered null and void.’

The judge raised an eyebrow and looked across at Macy Lieberman. Olaf’s muscles tensed beneath his shirt as he waited for the prosecutor’s response. She did not look at all bothered by the revelations regarding Charles Purcell’s murderous tendencies, and in fact the smile did not fall from her face as she responded.

‘That is absolutely correct, your honor,’ she agreed. ‘However, these documents were received this morning and were posted yesterday afternoon, long before an arrest warrant was issued for the arrest of Charles Purcell.’

Katherine Abell laughed out loud.

‘Are you serious?’ she stammered. ‘The man’s a wanted killer. His word means nothing, no matter when this supposed evidence was sent or delivered.’

Macy turned to face Katherine across the court.

‘I should hardly have to remind you, Ms Abell, that the law in this country clearly states that an accused citizen is innocent of any crime until proven guilty. Charles Purcell is wanted for the murder of his own family, but that does not mean that he is responsible for the crime.’ Macy Lieberman raised the file in her hands. ‘This, however, is most definitely the work of Charles Purcell, and regardless of what he may or may not have done elsewhere since, this file proves beyond reasonable doubt that the case being presented by my client has its basis in solid financial facts and constitutes a viable cause for this case to go to trial.’

Olaf watched as Katherine Abell turned to face the judge once again.

‘And I say again, your honor, that this case is based upon a combination of one family’s desire to profit from the generosity of IRIS and one prosecutor’s determination to gain professional satisfaction from a high-profile case that has no substance in the eyes of any unbiased observer. This case is reliant upon legal-precedent cases involving military and industrial firms working in warzones, not the work of a charity on home soil with a long record of philanthropic success.’

The judge leaned back in her chair and looked out across the faces of the Uhungu family for a long moment before finally speaking.

‘The court will adjourn until this afternoon,’ she said. ‘All rise.’

Olaf stood with the rest of the court and watched as the judge filed out of sight before looking down at Macy Lieberman and the blue file that she slipped into her bag. Olaf turned and strode out of the gallery. Joaquin’s orders had been clear. Despite Katherine Abell’s confidence, Olaf knew that the papers stolen by Charles Purcell would almost certainly be enough to bring Joaquin Abell to the stand, and that was the one thing that Olaf did not want to see happen.

Joaquin Abell was like a brother, a father even, and he owed him his life.

Olaf stepped out of the court into the muggy Florida sunshine, watching the traffic flow by as he lit a cigarette. Pedestrians cast disapproving glances in his direction but his huge physique and stony expression stalled any complaint. It had been many years since anyone had dared threaten Olaf, a far cry from his childhood.

As he turned and walked along the sidewalk he reflected not for the first time how fortunate he had been to have encountered Joaquin Abell when he did, as a skinny, nervous 15-year-old. An orphan, he had been sent to a small school in Loen, nestled deep in the fjords of western Norway, where his companions had proved themselves every bit as cruel as the bitter winters that enshrouded his homeland in their icy embrace. After years of torment Olaf had become a virtual recluse within an already isolated community, taking any opportunity to avoid school and the torment of his peers.

He had been fifteen when tragedy struck the little village, a particularly severe snow storm producing an avalanche that killed almost half of his class. As others cried, Olaf struggled to contain his joy at seeing half a dozen of his hated tormentors hacked from the compacted ice, their purple faces twisted in the rigor mortis of death.

Days later, a ship had arrived bearing a large blue IRIS logo, and Joaquin Abell had promised money to rebuild the damaged school. Awed by the giant yacht and its charismatic owner, Olaf had seen his chance to escape the miserable little town in which he had been entrapped for so long. He had begged Joaquin personally for a job aboard the Event Horizon, only to be dismissed out of hand. Stricken with grief, for the first time in his life Olaf had taken matters into his own hands and stowed away aboard the giant yacht.

Years of evading his tormentors had given Olaf a primal instinct for survival, and it was almost three weeks before he was discovered by engineers and dragged before Joaquin Abell once more. To his surprise, Joaquin had agreed not to have him returned home. Maybe he had seen something in Olaf’s desperate eyes or had simply taken pity on him, but by that evening Olaf Jorgenson was in his own quarters and sailing away from his homeland forever, into a world he had never seen before.

Over the years that had passed since, Olaf had grown closer to Joaquin. As a wiry little boy, working on the yacht had toughened his muscles and seen him grow stronger. His increasing size and confidence had led him to take up body-building, and that in turn had led him into the use of steroids. His habit financed by his employer, who always seemed to know precisely what he needed and wanted, Olaf grew into a giant. Now, at six foot four and 260 pounds, Olaf was an unstoppable force of nature who knew nothing of the meaning of the word compromise.

Olaf turned and followed the sidewalk around the edge of the court’s parking lot, his cold blue eyes seeking his target. It was clear to Olaf that, win, lose or draw, Katherine Abell was not going to be able to prevent the court from hearing the details on the files held by Macy Lieberman. Therefore, he would ensure that the files simply disappeared.

The parking lot was overlooked on four corners by CCTV cameras. Olaf looked across the lot and saw several cars parked beneath a clump of palm trees that hung listlessly on the humid air. The trees were mature, the fronds hanging six or seven feet long and obscuring the area under the tree from the view of the cameras.

Several cars had parked there, the owners evidently seeking the shade offered by the trees. Olaf worked his way around the edge of the lot, careful to walk nonchalantly and not draw any more attention to himself other than that caused by his impressive physique.

He spotted an old man in a cheap suit shuffling toward a battered old Dodge Polara, its red paint faded by years spent sweltering beneath the Florida sun. Olaf guessed the man’s age as about sixty-five. The car, the threadbare clothes and the nicotine-stained teeth all told Olaf the same story: old, alone, and won’t be missed.

Olaf moved around to the sidewalk in front of the Polara, the palm trees shielding him from the view of the cameras as the old man limped around to the driver’s door and reached out for the handle. As he opened the door, Olaf leapt over the parking lot fence and was directly behind the old man in two giant strides. Even as the old-timer turned his head to squint up at Olaf with rheumy eyes, Olaf reached out with one huge hand that encircled the old man’s jaw like a glove around a baseball. He felt a thick wedge of his greasy, lank hair squeeze against his other hand as it folded around the back of the man’s neck. The old man, his jaw clamped shut and his head pinned, gagged as he tried to cry out. Olaf turned him with unstoppable force and then drove his shoulders downward as he dropped violently at the knees.

The old man’s forehead smacked with a sickening crunch across the top of the open driver’s door. Olaf felt the brittle bones of the neck snap like dry twigs as he caught the old man’s corpse and lifted him bodily into the car and shoved him into the passenger seat. Carefully, Olaf placed the seatbelt across him to keep the body upright as though he were caring for an elderly friend, and then climbed into the driver’s seat. Olaf closed the door and reached into the old man’s pockets, fumbling around until he found the keys to the Polara.

He started the engine and reversed out of the parking slot.

Now, all he had to do was wait for Macy Lieberman to leave the courthouse.