The Curse of Medusa

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Vincent Reno cracked his knuckles and walked toward Agent Kevin Novak. Not for the first time today he’d found himself thinking about his ex-wife Monique and their twin sons Léo and Louis. He hadn’t seen his kids for weeks, but he worried about them all the time. The world was dangerous enough without scumbags like Kevin Novak adding a spark to the fuse. “Okay, mon ami, we need to talk.”

Novak struggled against the ropes binding him to the kitchen table and blinked in the harsh strip-light shining in his eyes. “I don’t know anything… I swear it.”

Vincent powered a fist into his face, splitting his lip open for the second time tonight. “Not good enough. We know more than you think, but we need you to help us with some of the details, or… this is going to be a long night, n’est-ce pas?”

“Jesus, Doyle, who the hell is this guy?”

Vincent leaned forward and rolled up his sleeve to reveal a large tattoo of a burning grenade. “Légion Étrangère, mon ami.” He gave a broad grin and nodded his head with pride. “You can call me Reaper.”

“Just tell us, Novak,” Doyle said. “Right now you’re going down for the rest of your life. If you help us out you could get some leniency.”

“Look, I meant what I said…”

Vincent coiled his fist back.

“No!” Novak turned his head away in a vain attempt to dodge the punch. “Please — wait… let me finish. I’m just the little guy, all right? I shouldn’t have helped them, I know it now, but they offered me a lot of money, plus they said they’d kill Karen if I didn’t go along with them.”

Vincent turned to Doyle. “Who is Karen?”

“His kid sister.”

“Ah, le chantage…”

Novak was now almost hyperventilating with fear. “I mean it, and now I’m in deep shit.”

“I’ll say you are,” Doyle said. “You’re part of a conspiracy to kidnap the President of the United States, Novak. They killed the Vice President and the Speaker.”

“I had no idea they were going to do that. All they asked me to do was get them some information about the President’s car, I swear it.”

Vincent’s eyes widened. “Ah — now we get somewhere, non?”

Doyle frowned. “Keep talking, Novak.”

“This is a big operation, Doyle — bigger than you can imagine. The guy behind all this is one evil bastard and I’m not kidding. He owns people all over the world — and I’m not just talking about drug-dealers and small time cons, I mean he owns politicians and bankers. And the people who work for him — he has some kind of weird hold over them because they are scared shitless of him.”

Vincent sighed. “Sounds like Monique…”

Doyle leaned over him. “Where can we find this son of a bitch?”

“I swear I don’t know, and maybe you don’t want to find him in case of where it leads…”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I got the feeling that maybe he wasn’t at the top of the tree, if you catch my drift — like maybe he was following orders.”

Vincent pulled the PAMAS from his belt and disengaged the safety. He ripped one of the cushions from a kitchen chair and held it down on Novak’s chest.

“Woah!” Novak turned to Doyle for help. “What the fuck, man?”

“Where do we find this man?” the Frenchman repeated with steel-cold eyes.

“I already told you both — I never even met the guy…”

Vincent was losing patience, and glanced at his watch. “We’re running out of time, Secret Service man. You give me what I want to know right now or I just kill you comme ça.” He released the pressure on the cushion for a second to snap his fingers.

“I never even met him!”

“Okay,” Doyle said with resignation. “Kill him.”

Vincent nodded once and gripped the gun tight.

“All right — all right… listen. Maybe I can still help you guys out, just please, don’t kill me. Karen needs me, you know?”

“We want names and addresses, not bullshit.”

Novak sighed and stared at the ceiling. Blood poured down the sides of his face from his split lip and ran onto the table. He looked deflated and beaten. Vincent thought he was probably considering how a bullet would be preferable to life in a federal prison.

“I dealt with a couple of guys — one was an Australian — name was Pauling.”

“And what was his part in all this?”

“I don’t know exactly, but I think he was their technical guy. He asked me a lot of questions about computers and wanted the IP address of the President’s car.”

“And who did he work for?”

“An English guy. His name is Nick Collins, a real weasel of a guy.”

“And how does the weasel fit into all this?”

“He’s some kind of middleman with contacts in the arms industry.”

Vincent pushed the gun harder. “That’s all you’ve got, really?”

“All I know is he greases the wheels, you know? He’s the link between the arms suppliers and the guy running this crazy show.”

“You mean he supplied this loon with the weapons currently attacking this city?”

“He facilitated it, yeah.”

“You have a real way with words, Novak,” Doyle said in disgust. “I bet if you tried hard enough you could convince yourself you’ve got nothing to do with any of this.”

“I’m not proud of what I did.”

“Listen,” Vincent said. “You believe this Collins guy can tell us where we might locate the people behind this attack?”

Novak nodded reluctantly.

“Where can we find him?”

“It’s funny but you just missed him…”

Doyle moved closer. “You mean..?”

“He was the guy in the Viper?” Vincent asked.

“Sorry, but yeah.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know much about him. I only met him a couple times. He just came tonight to give me my tickets out of here.”

Doyle sighed. “We need more than that, Novak.”

“I know that he was spending some time in Brown’s on Capitol Hill.”

Vincent looked at Doyle for clarification.

“It’s an up-market cocktail lounge. A lot of the senators go there.” He turned to Novak. “What was he doing there?”

“He sang cabaret in a cocktail dress, Doyle, what do you think?”

Vincent pushed the muzzle of the gun into the cushion, hard. “Don’t get smart, mon ami. I move my finger a millimetre and your chest explodes.”

“Sorry… he used the place to meet senators and that’s all I know. That should get you started.”

“I don’t think so,” Doyle said. “Brown’s closed last week. Try harder.”

Novak squinted with the effort of thinking with a gun pushed into his chest. He knew better than many what a nine mil round could do at point blank, and right now there was one with his name on it in a chamber ten inches from his heart. “All right, you could try Ivy City.”

Vincent and Doyle shared an optimistic glance.

“What’s in Ivy City?” Doyle said.

“A warehouse. I went there once to meet him. He was testing some chopper drones there because he used to be a helicopter pilot for the British Army or something. You need to hurry because he just told me he was moving out.”

Vincent snarled. “Address, now.”

Kevin Novak knew the game was up, and gave the men the address of the warehouse.

Vincent put the gun in his belt and made a call on his cell phone. A few seconds later Joe Hawke was on the line.

“You find anything?”

“Oh yeah,” Vincent said. “Son of a bitch was packing his bags all ready to go on holiday. He has a ticket for Ecuador in his pocket.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s just the little guy, et cetera, et cetera…”

“Thought he might say that — but you charmed some information out of him, right?”

“Naturellement. There’s an arms dealer named Collins, an English guy like you, Hawke.”

“What are you trying to say, Frog?”

Vincent laughed. “Listen, this English guy has provided the fireworks for this party, and we have his address. He also told us about their tech guy, a man called Pauling who wanted to know all about the President’s car.”

“That explains how they pulled off the kidnapping.”

“Right… but he also said this Collins guy mentioned something about moving out so we need to get going if we’re going to catch him. According to Monsieur Novak this guy’s a little weasel who knows where we can find the men behind this attack. He has a warehouse full of goodies.”

“Where is this warehouse?”

“Ivy City.”

“We can be with you in a few minutes,” Hawke said and then paused. “Hang on just a second…”

“Joe, what is it?” Vincent said.

“A video just came up on YouTube — I think it might be our guy… whoever he is, he’s about to play his first hand.”

Mikey O’Sullivan walked them to the rear of the workshop and through a sliding door. In a small yard now, the big Dubliner pulled a key fob from his pocket and padded over to a car parked up beside a dark blue four-yard bin. The bin was covered in rust and so full of junk the lid couldn’t shut, but the car was something special. It was a classic Audi, white with yellow stripes and a faded number ‘5’ on the door panel.

“Meet my baby,” Mikey said with pride. “A 1984 Quattro, redesigned instrument panel and new steering wheel design. This little baby right here won the Monte Carlo rally back in the early eighties.” He stroked the hood as if it were a faithful pet, but snapped out of his daydream when Devlin coughed.

He turned to face them. “Of course, since then I’ve done a lot of work on her. I call her Ciara. If any one o’ youse so much as scratches her, I’ll blow your head off, okey dokey?”

He gave them a warm smile and opened the driver’s door.

“Sure thing, Mikey,” Devlin said.

Mikey cranked the seat forward to allow Devlin to climb into the back of the two-door rally car. Kyle strode out of the workshop with a shotgun over one shoulder and the gun-stuffed red leather sports bag in his hand. “Just some extra treats in case we get hungry on the way.”

“Good job, Kyle, now hop in the back like a good lad so Miss Donovan can sit up front with me.” Mikey winked at Lea as they all climbed in the car.

“All ready for a nice quiet drive to the coast?” Mikey said, turning the key in the ignition. The two liter engine roared to life with a retro rasping sound and the old instrument panel lit up. “There’s my good girl,” Mikey said, gently tapping the top of the vinyl steering wheel.

They drove through Dublin Port toward East Wall, turning left and driving down to the River Liffey before swinging right at a roundabout and moving west again. Ahead of them the outline of the Convention Center Dublin rose against the black Irish sky.

Mikey switched the radio off and sighed. “Terrible, this America business. I have a cousin in Boston — I hope she’s all right.”

Lea leaned forward in the passenger seat to check the mirror.

Devlin saw the look of concern on her face. “What do you see?”

“I think we have company,” she said.