The Emerald Scepter

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mirko Marzak, the man who had slugged the friendly retriever with the steel baton, was beyond medical care.

Hawkins’ aim had been true. The sharp blade of the dive knife had penetrated Mirko’s rib cage as neatly as a dart thrown at a target board. Mihovil had rolled his twin’s warm corpse in a rug and stuffed it into the trunk of his car. Although he was anxious to get out of town, he drove with amazing control, keeping his speed exactly at the legal limit.

His brother’s attack on the dog should have telegraphed Mirko’s impatience and it was not surprising that he had detoured from the plan a second time, with fatal consequences. The plan had been to take Hawkins away from his house to a remote location where he could be killed and his body disposed of. But when the lightning flashed and Hawkins looked up, Mirko had started shooting, and Mihovil had to join in.

He had been puzzled at the sudden call for beer, more so at the deadly diversion when the mechanical thing hummed to life. Hawkins had reacted in an instant, altering the equation. Now he would have to follow suit, coming up with a plan to deal with his altered circumstances.

His first task was to get rid of the body in the trunk. He drove toward the Cape Cod Canal and turned onto a highway that paralleled the wide waterway. A number of turn-offs and parking lots offered access to the canal, and he chose a narrow dirt road and drove to the end. He pulled the knife from his brother’s chest, then hauled the body from the car, removed everything from the pockets, dragged the corpse over the stone revetment that sloped down to the water, and threw his brother’s body in to be carried away by the fast-moving current. The rug and knife splashed into the canal a second later.

Back in the car, he drove back onto the main road and headed to the airport. On the way he placed a call on his cell phone.

“The mission has failed,” he said.

“What happened?” responded the computer-altered voice.

“My brother was killed. Hawkins was more than expected.”

“And what does that make you?” the gravel voice said, dripping with sardonic contempt that even the computer couldn’t disguise.

“We should have been warned that Hawkins was dangerous.”

“You should have acted like highly-paid professionals instead of like amateurs. Every adversary should be considered dangerous. Not every person you encounter will let you kill them.”

The voice was right. He and his brother had been sloppy.

“What do you want me to do?”

“You must dispose of all the evidence.”

“I’ve started that process.”

“Good. As soon as you do that, proceed as planned.”

“Even without my brother?”

“It seems that he was not much help when he was alive,” the voice said.

“I can handle it alone,” Marzak said. “I have a score to settle with Hawkins when I see him again.”

“That’s not likely. Forget Hawkins. You’ve had your chance. I already have a backup plan in place.”

“What—?”

The line went dead.

Marzak muttered an oath, then punched out another number on his phone. A man answered. “Yes.”

“This is Gemini jewelers,” Marzak said. “I designed the necklace for your wife.”

“We’ve been expecting your call.”

“Sorry. I had a last minute job. I have some questions regarding the clasp. I would like to discuss them in person with you.”

“Never mind the necklace for now. We’re more interested in the estate items we talked about. We’ve learned that there is another buyer interested in the collection. When can we get together?”

“I can leave as soon as you make arrangements.”

Pause. “I’ll get back to you.”

Marzak called the chartered jet pilot and said he would be at the airport in ten minutes.

As he drove along, he reminisced about Mirko. He and his brother had operated as a single organism, bringing death and misery to hundreds of people since going into the business of mass murder. The killing of his brother was not only a personal affront, it was an insult to his professionalism. And if word of their carelessness got out, it would be bad for business.

It could have been worse. He and his brother had put the final touches on the Prophet’s Necklace plan only days before. They had been working for months on the scheme. Finding a source of sarin had been the most difficult part, and transporting the deadly poison into the U.S. almost as hard. It had given them time, though, to design the dirty bombs that would spread the toxin and figure out where and how to place them.

They had placed the bombs in six major cities stretching across the country from New York to San Francisco. Each city was a jewel in the necklace. They had picked subways, shopping malls, municipal buildings and other close quarters frequented by many people, where the effects of the toxin would be maximized. When the word was given, they would trigger the bombs remotely, one at a time as the sun moved across the country, building a wave of terror and confusion.

The whole thing depended on him now. As he considered the avalanche of challenges that would come down on him as the result of his brother’s death, he could feel the growing rage in his chest. Hawkins. He was angry at his brother for not following the plan. They had underestimated the man, thinking that the 2–1 advantage and the element of surprise would doom their target.

He looked to his right. Like a phantom that is sometimes conjured up by the brain to replace a missing arm, he saw his brother sitting next to him.

The figure he saw in his fevered imagination had substance and sound.

“We’ll know what to expect the next time around,” the phantom said with a smile on its pale face.

Marzak nodded in agreement. He thought of a quote from his favorite poet, William Blake, who had said it was better to murder an infant in its cradle than nurse an unacted desire.

Marzak had murdered infants in their cradles as part of his job, and he had no intention of nursing his desire for revenge, no matter what the computer altered voice had told him about his new assignment.

Marzak would make sure he and Hawkins met again. And when they did, Hawkins would be a dead man.