Dourado

CHAPTER 16

The knife struck the post dead center, its razor tip piercing the soft wood and burying itself a full three inches into its target. Stefan smiled a wicked grin. He never missed. He retrieved the blade with a deft yank and held it up in the afternoon sun, admiring the way the sunlight played off the razor edge. It was a KA-BAR knife, the style used by United States Marines. The weight and feel of it in his hand was perfect.

He flexed his bicep and drew the knife point across the muscle, drawing a faint trickle of blood. He no longer felt pain, and the cutting reminded him of killing. He loved killing with a knife; it was so… personal.

Sheathing his knife, he returned to his training. Placing his palms on the ground, he flipped into a handstand, put his heels against the post from which he had taken his knife, and began his regimen of inverted pushups. One-hundred repetitions, and then time for his run.

He was on ninety-seven when his phone vibrated. There was no need to check who was calling. He already knew. He ignored the phone while he finished his exercises, then waited for the next call, which he expected would come in short order. He was not disappointed. The phone buzzed again almost immediately, and he answered on the first ring.

“I have been waiting for your call,” he said.

“Stefan, you are needed.”

The voice on the other end sought to carry the weight of command, but Stefan could read vocal inflections, and the man was agitated. It pleased him.

“Angelo has failed, as I told you he would.” They had been foolish to entrust an important mission to that buffoon. Angelo was good for bullying wayward priests and holding the door for his betters. Nothing more.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. The man on the other end of the line had already lost whatever advantage he thought he had. They needed Stefan, but Stefan did not need them.

“The operation was not a success.”

“Obviously, or you would not be calling me,” Stefan said.

“We… should have entrusted this to you at the outset. We need you now. God needs you.”

That admission was all Stefan would get. It was enough.

“Give me the details of the operation.”

He listened to what the caller told him, asking an occasional direct question. He wrote nothing down. He would remember everything. He was about to hang up the phone when the caller actually surprised him.

“They claim to have found what?” Stefan asked, his head abuzz with surprise. He set his jaw and let the information sink in. “This cannot be. It is heresy. You absolutely should have called me first.”

He snapped the phone closed and laid it in its place atop the antique rolltop desk. Dropping to the oak floor, he sat cross-legged with his hands in his lap. He gradually slowed his breathing, and willed his heart to slow. He instructed his mind to slow as well, the whirling cacophony of disconnected thoughts and images coalescing into a single ball, which he crushed and discarded. He had one focus: the mission.

He visualized his enemy. He envisioned stalking him, looking him in the eye before killing him. He could not allow this artifact to come to light. The man was obviously a fool, and now he would die for his folly. Stefan would not fail in this quest.

The orphan rescued from the streets of Venice had risen to a unique standing. Important men begged for his services. He named the price and set the terms. His was an uncanny knack for anonymous killing. Many had died by his hand, but suspicion had never fallen upon him. In fact, he did not officially exist. He was a phantom, a product of the organization that had raised and trained him. He owed his life to the order, and his service to it was always free.

He fingered his crucifix, the symbol of his order, feeling the sharp blades that formed the cross on which his savior claimed the victory. Anticipation welled up inside of him as he envisioned the hunt. He forced himself to remain calm. This assignment was not for sport; it was a grave responsibility, a holy quest the like of which he had never undertaken. This would be his finest hour. He would recover the relic, kill the heretics, and claim the head of Dane Maddock as a trophy.