The Executioner

Hundred and Twenty-Seven

Garcia could barely believe what he was hearing. It was because of Hunter’s stubborn attitude that he was alive today. If Hunter thought Garcia would simply turn and walk away, he had another think coming.

‘Well, knowing that you can’t properly fuck up if I’m not with you,’ he joked, ‘I’m coming with, partner.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Who knows? Traffic duty might be a blast. Let’s fucking do this.’

Hunter smiled and handed Garcia a pair of latex gloves before elbowing the door. There was a muffled crash and shards of broken glass hit the floor. They both looked around instinctively.

Hunter slipped his hand through the glass, unlocked the door and pulled his pen flashlight from his gun holster.

Garcia did the same and gingerly followed him inside.

The first room was a spacious rectangular structure with black marble floors, a few seats and a bar against the east wall. Definitely a party room, Hunter thought. Opposite the bar, a new set of double doors. These ones were hand carved in dark wood. Hunter carefully tried the handle – unlocked. They stepped through into a large and rich foyer decorated with antiques, fine porcelain, silver objects and a few paintings, no photographs. An imposing crystal chandelier hung above the split-level staircase that led up to the next floor.

‘This place’s too big. We’d better split up,’ Hunter whispered, leaning towards Garcia. ‘You stay down here, I’ll check upstairs.’

Garcia nodded. As Hunter cautiously took the steps to the next level, he took the door directly in front of him.

The main sitting room was as ostentatious as the rich foyer he’d just come from, filled with expensive furniture, oil paintings and sculptures. Garcia crossed the room silently and made his way through the French doors at the far end of it. They led him into a sprawling den, warmed by a black marble fireplace on the east wall. The white carpet was lush and spotless. The north wall was framed entirely in full-length windows. On the opposite side of the room Garcia noticed a strange wooden door, not as high as a regular house door. Faint spots of light were coming from underneath it. Tentatively, he walked over, put his right ear against it and listened for a moment – some sort of distant hum. He looked back at the den’s entrance as if debating whether he should go back and get Hunter. He decided to check it out by himself first.

As Garcia twisted the doorknob, he felt his blood warming and his pulse race. Every bone in his body was telling him something was wrong. He reached for his gun.

The door opened soundlessly, revealing a long and narrow flight of concrete stairs dimly lit by a single bulb that hung from a wire. At the bottom, another closed door. Garcia took the steps one at a time. The air was damp and heavy with a musty smell. His left foot caught the edge of a worn step and he slipped. His body was catapulted forward awkwardly, and he reached for the dirty walls, desperately trying to stop him from tumbling down. It worked, but he smashed his flashlight. His heart went into overdrive. Despite the cold, Garcia was sweating.

His eyes quickly moved from the door at the bottom to the one at the top several times, his finger tight at the trigger of his semiautomatic. He took a moment to calm his breathing and reassess the situation. He was sure that if the house wasn’t deserted, his clumsiness had given away his position.

‘Smooth, Carlos, very fucking smooth,’ Garcia whispered between clenched teeth. He stood still for a while, listening for footsteps, waiting for somebody to come from one of the two directions – nothing. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his gun hand and descended the last few steps. At the bottom he pressed his right ear against the door once again. The humming sound was coming from inside.

Extra-cautiously, he tried the handle – unlocked. He pushed the door open just enough for him to be able to take a peek inside. It was a large basement room. Garcia observed from the door for a long moment but saw no movement. Satisfied, he took a deep breath, steadied his trigger finger and stepped inside. A series of brass lanterns mounted at uneven intervals on each of the two long side walls lit the room with a pale glow. He walked forward slowly, giving his eyes time to get accustomed to the poor light. Something caught his eye on the north side of the room and he stopped dead, his gaze fixed on the display in front of him. He knew exactly what it was.

‘Oh God!’ He shivered.

At the edge of his peripheral vision he saw a smudge of movement, too fast for him to be able to react. The first blow hit him perfectly across the face. He heard something crack and blood spurted from his nose. Out of balance, Garcia stumbled backwards, but not far enough. The second blow was delivered a split second later, hitting the tender spot on the back of his head with military precision. Garcia’s world faded to darkness.