The Executioner's Game (4 page)

Alex Deavers had brought Luther into E-1, had trained him and eventually become one of his best friends. When Alex was reported to be dead, Luther had taken the news hard. But that was the life, he'd told himself. He was prepared at any time for the
death of any of the men and women he knew in the business. Still, he had never worried much about Alex. He was one of the agency's best operatives and had cheated death many times. Apparently he'd done it at least once more.

“Where is he?” asked Luther in a measured tone.

“That's part of why you're here. I want you to go after the wolf. Will you?” “Wolf” was the agency term for a rogue agent.

“Yes, sir,” said Luther. He did not hesitate. If Kilmer sensed any reluctance, he'd refuse to give him the assignment. Kilmer had obviously thought about the fact that Luther and Alex had a close relationship and the duality it created. Luther was emotionally invested, but he also knew the man well and would be good at anticipating Alex's moves.

Kilmer pushed a button on the lip of his desk, and a two-sided flat-panel monitor popped up. The monitor showed the mission file.

“‘Alex Deavers, E-1 agent, was blown from the transport of the now-deceased secretary of commerce, Donald Howard, on February fifteenth,'” Kilmer began reading. The official story was that the secretary was killed by terrorist sympathizers and that everyone involved had died. “Deavers's cover had been established six months before with the Secret Service. Another Secret Service agent named Gorman was unaccounted for that day,” Kilmer continued. “We had first believed that Gorman was dead. But we were mistaken. We then assumed that Gorman was paid to assassinate the secretary. Deavers beat us to that assumption and landed in Germany. He found Gorman in a private home, then tortured and killed him. We got a security photo of Deavers from a train station in Berlin.”

“Did he get information from Gorman?” asked Luther.

“Again, presumably,” said Kilmer.

“So whatever Gorman knew, we'll never know,” said Luther.

“Yes. Deavers is now in possession of that information, too,” said Kilmer. Then his brow furrowed, just for a second but long enough for Luther to take notice. His eyes opened a little wider and then returned to their usual half-closed position. “From there he made it to London, where he contacted and killed MI6 agent Lisa Radcliff.”

“Lisa,” said Luther under his breath.

“Yes, I believe you knew her.”

“Alex introduced us, many years ago when I was just starting.”

“He contacted her, and then we assume he asked for her assistance. Presumably when it was refused, he resorted to his training.”

Luther envisioned a battle between the two agents. Lisa and Deavers had been lovers at one point. No good agent would have been caught off guard, he thought. Lisa was a black belt in tae kwon do. He saw Alex disabling her formidable style and crushing her with his greater power.

“He snapped her neck, in case you're wondering,” said Kilmer. “And she put up a fight. His blood was found in her flat. Following this little incident, British authorities came after him. Deavers easily eluded them. One man was killed and two others hospitalized. He killed an agent named Victor Jansen with a mini-stress charge that blew off the man's foot. We believe that it was an item from Radcliff's utility pack.”

This was Kilmer's clinical name for what E-1 agents called a “goodie box,” an arsenal of weaponry.

“The other two men were beaten badly,” Kilmer continued. “We believed that Deavers bribed his way onto a freighter that
went into Canada, or at least that
was
what we thought. When we caught up with the man on the ship, he turned out to be an illegal immigrant from Norway.”

Kilmer turned off the display panel and then added, “I'm almost proud of him.”

“So where do we think he might be?” asked Luther.

“That's where you begin,” said Kilmer. “We lost him. He left no ordinarily readable trail—nothing.”

“And ‘nothing' means an agent is on the case,” said Luther, remembering something that Alex had taught him. In the normal discharge of life, people leave evidence that they've been present in a place. There's no reason for a normal person to cover his tracks or otherwise obfuscate the fact of his presence. But the only trail an agent leaves is no trail at all. When it's examined closely by another agent, though, there's always something there.

“This mission is nonrecourse,” said Kilmer. His eyelids seemed to close all the way for a moment.

“Why?” asked Luther. He had been thinking that Deavers was to be captured. But for a kill mission, he didn't mind asking Kilmer this.

The director was smart enough not to tell Luther it was a kill mission until he'd given him some information on what his old friend had done. Kilmer would not think of his question as weakness or hesitation. It was a request for more information.

“Deavers is clearly a loose cannon,” said Kilmer. “If he was injured in the explosion, he might be mentally imbalanced. We don't know what he's planning, but it can't be good. We can assume that when you catch up to him, he will try to eliminate you just as he has every other agent he's encountered. I will not send
an agent after him without teeth in his orders. So do you accept the terms?”

Luther took just a moment, but in that instant he relived his history with Alex, an exceptional man who had introduced Luther to the world and his role in it Alex was a friend, but Luther was a creature of duty. E-1 was not unlike a sports team, a place where personal achievement never outweighs a common cause. The goal of the team was to win at all costs, and in that regard Luther had no choice.

“Yes, sir,” said Luther. “I do.”

“You start today,” said Kilmer.

“I need to know what Alex was in Africa for.”

“He was protecting the secretary and making sure the country's covert positions were being held. The secretary didn't know anything about that.”

Luther waited a second for Kilmer to keep talking. When he didn't, he asked, “And his E-1 assignment…?”

Kilmer's look didn't waver, and neither did Luther's. Luther had as much as said to the director that he knew he was holding back vital information. Operatives always had multiple assignments. They received their cover, their stated assignment, and beneath it all there was usually a task specifically for E-1 that came from the director himself.

Kilmer looked at Luther with the blank stare of a man who'd been raised in the agency. It was a look that told nothing but spoke volumes to Luther, who knew Kilmer was measuring his response and the value of the information. Then Kilmer did something Luther wouldn't have thought possible—he laughed.

“If you hadn't asked me, I'd've thought I'd selected the wrong agent,” said Kilmer.

Kilmer went back to the screen and hit a button on his desk. The screen flashed
E
-1
MISSION FILE
:
DIRECTOR'S EYES ONLY
. The file appeared, showing a picture of an African military man.

“Alex's E-1 mission was to eliminate this man, Supreme Commander Ngamu Behiddah of the Congo region. Behiddah was planning a coup and was allied with several other strongmen known to be hostile to the U.S.”

“Behiddah was also rumored to be a terrorist sympathizer,” Luther added. “But he was killed by one of his own men, I thought.”

“Deavers is an expert in elimination,” said Kilmer. He smiled ever so slightly.

Luther admitted being a little jealous. He had checked that story when he saw it, thinking it was an agency hit. But there were no telltale signs of E-1 on it. All the evidence pointed to Behiddah's subcommander as the killer.

“So I assume it wasn't Behiddah's people who paid Gorman,” said Luther.

“No. After Alex's elimination of Behiddah, all Behiddah's men were rounded up and killed by his successor.” Kilmer looked at Luther with his unreadable stare again, but this time Luther knew what he was thinking.

“Was Alex clean?” Luther asked. “Did we try to backwash him?”

“Backwash” was a field term for the elimination of an assassin after he's completed his mission, in order to clean or “backwash” any witnesses. This was done when an agent was dirty and the agency was onto him.

“No,” said Kilmer. “I think Alex might be insane, and right now he may believe that we tried to kill him. Under this delusion he might be allying with our enemies.”

“You think he's a traitor?” asked Luther.

“I think he's sick and extremely dangerous,” said Kilmer, looking gravely serious. “There are a lot of secrets in that head of his. We need to keep them there by eliminating him. Good luck.”

Luther said goodbye, stood, and left the director's office. When he stepped outside, he was immediately met by Thomas, who had an envelope in his hands.

“This is the file and your instructions,” Thomas said, handing the thick packet to Luther. “Mr. Hampton is your tech and weapons adviser as usual, and the director will expect contact at all key junctures by the usual channels.”

“Thanks,” said Luther.

Luther took a few steps and then almost bumped into Frank Hedgispeth, a fellow E-1 agent. Frank was a good agent, but he and Luther had never had an easy relationship. Frank stuck close to home when he could and worked the system for advancement, while Luther did fieldwork. They'd been rivals throughout training, and they'd probably be rivals for power within the agency one day.

“Hey, Luth,” said Frank. Luther hated being called “Luth.” It was an asinine nickname, but that was Frank's way, always too damned friendly.

“Hey, Hedge,” said Luther, remembering Frank's E-1 academy name.

“Back in the old U.S., huh?” said Frank.

“Yes, good to be back.”

Thomas had been standing nearby through all of this. Luther shot him a glare, and Thomas scampered off to his desk.

Luther turned back to Frank, who was looking cocky and smug as usual. Luther was sure mat Frank wanted to brag to him about something.

“So what you been up to?” asked Luther.

“Nothing much,” said Frank. “Hey, did you hear about the Terrorism Task Force in South America? It was coordinated to foster U.S. antiterrorist policies. Some radical political leader opposed it, but he died a month before.”

Luther knew in an instant that Frank had headed up that effort and taken out the leader. An agent didn't speak directly of his prior missions. He talked about them as if they were news stories.

Frank's father was a congressman from New York, an ex-military and ex-FBI agent, and his mother was, of all things, an ex-marine. They'd gotten rich working for military suppliers after retiring from the service. They'd brought young Frank into the fold as a full-fledged government blueblood.

“Great. Well, I gotta go. Nice seeing you, Frank.”

“Listen, there are three of us here now. Let's go out and have some fun.”

Luther glanced at the big map and saw the three gold buttons in Virginia.

“Who's the third?” asked Luther.

“Bane,” said Frank, and then he smiled knowingly.

“I'll take you up on that,” said Luther. He really didn't want to hang out with Frank, but he did like Sharon Bane, and he hadn't seen her in ages. “Where are we meeting?”

“X Club,” said Frank.

“It's a meat market.”

“Well, I'm feeling carnivorous today,” said Frank.

Luther smiled and walked out of the director's office. He felt Frank bore holes in his back as he did. He moved into the elevator lobby. There was something on his mind as he got into an elevator and made his way out of E-1. The thought stayed with him
as he went through an exit security check. Kilmer wanted to make sure you were the same person leaving as you were when you came in.

Luther walked into the bright sunshine as the nagging notion pulled itself out of that pool of doubt that lay beyond his loyalty to his superiors. He'd kept this feeling at bay while he was talking to Kilmer and the others at E-1. Agents were too adept at reading people, and what he was thinking was dangerous at this juncture of the mission.

Information, he said to himself.

Kilmer had said that Deavers had executed his E-1 assignment, killed the target, and later killed Gorman and escaped
“in possession of that information, too.”
Then Kilmer's brow had furrowed and his eyes had widened as if he'd made a mistake saying the sentence. The word “too” suggested that there was
additional
information in Alex's possession. If that were true, why hadn't Kilmer said anything about it? Was it information from Deavers's E-1 assignment? Was it just a poor use of words?

These were troubling questions, thought Luther, as troubling as the prospect of killing Alex Deavers.

Luther got into his car and drove away from the facility. It was a mild spring day, and he couldn't remember seeing a more beautiful one. When summer set in, it would get hot and sticky in the D.C. area, and he'd want to be anywhere but here.

Luther didn't head straight home. He went to a nearby mall, where he did some light shopping. He delighted some kids in an arcade while playing a shooting game called House of 1,000 Corpses, where he used two guns to blast zombies to bits. His score had been almost perfect through three levels. When the kids asked what he did for a living, he'd said, “I'm a kind of a cop.”

Luther took in a movie and then had dinner at a sit-down restaurant later, where he flirted with a waitress who gave him her cell-phone number. When he got home, it was going on nine o'clock.

The E-1 condo was a modest place just outside the capital. It was a secure building owned by a retired agent who did daily security sweeps. Luther examined his doorjamb and found his poly
cord seal still intact. Polycord was a transparent spray that hardened into a sealant after application. If anyone had been inside without his permission, the seal would have been broken.

Luther put his electronic key in the lock and heard the series of clicks on the other side, signaling that the computerized security system was disabling itself. He went in, took a quick nap, and then started to get dressed. He put on a hard-driving tune by Tupac. He'd have to listen to whatever crap they played at the X Club, so he'd listen to some good music beforehand.

Luther got dressed in jeans and a black mock turtle that showed off his physique. He glanced at himself in the full-length mirror in his bedroom and was pleased with what he saw. Luther struggled with his handsomeness. It was a good thing at times, but in his heart he felt that too much investment in it might lead to pride, and that was a weakness, something that could be exploited by counteroperatives. A man could be made weak if the right woman came along and the man's belief that he was entitled to her only added to his proclivity to wander away from his obligations.

He put on his leather jacket and was about to go when he was hit by the feeling that he shouldn't. Whenever he was on a mission, he wanted to deprive himself of everything pleasurable, diverting all desire to the intent to succeed. Going out to a club to engage in the sexual rituals of the day seemed like an unnecessary digression. He had to find Alex Deavers, and that was all he would let himself think about.

Luther suppressed this feeling. It was simply a part of the mission mentality, he told himself. In fact, he would have been spooked if he didn't feel this way. He always worked things through in the beginning.

Luther walked out of his condo and engaged the security system. If breached, it would sound an alarm for building security and a corresponding one at E-1, where a strike team would be dispatched to his place. He'd be notified as well. He reseated the door with a layer of polycord and set out.

The X Club was alive with music, bodies, and one-night dreams. The women were beautiful and scantily clad. Luther was again reminded that he hadn't been with a woman in a while, and the admiring stares were getting to him. He ignored the ones from the men.

It was difficult for him to let go of his training in such a place. Even with all the stimuli, he saw things that others might have missed. Two of the waitresses were making drug deals. There were eight bouncers in the place, but only one of them would be trouble to kill. The others he could dispose of in less than five minutes with the proper weapon. In fact, with all the noise and distractions, he could probably kill a couple of people before anyone caught on.

Luther didn't see Sharon Bane or Frank anywhere, so he copped a seat at the bar and waited. He ordered a Rémy martini. The bartender, a beefy white kid with long hair, made a fine one.

Luther caught the scent of perfume coming from his left side. It was subtle and wafted just under the other smells of the place. He could feel her now behind him, moving closer, deliberate in her approach. He was excited, but he didn't turn. That was the first mistake men made with women, giving them too much attention, making them feel that they, the men, were not the ones in control. Even though it could put one's life in danger, the rules of the predator nonetheless applied.

He waited.

“Can I squeeze in?” asked a woman's voice very close to his ear.

Luther didn't say anything. He just shifted his weight and got off his barstool, sliding his drink over. The woman slid in next to him, smiled, and cocked her head to see his face better.

She was pretty and obviously a mixture of several ethnicities—most notably Asian, which was strong in her almond-shaped eyes. She wore a little leather skirt whose top stopped just below her belly, showing off her muscular stomach, which she was undoubtedly very proud of. The swell of her chest caught his eyes, and her dark hair was cut short and feathered nicely.

She was a stunner, he thought, but his face betrayed none of that sentiment. A beautiful woman doesn't want a man she thinks is easy or eager. She wants what she shouldn't have.

If a woman goes through all the bother of getting dressed in sexy attire, fixing her hair, and spending God knows how much on all this, she is not going to hook up with some man who she thinks just wants to put his dick in her and disappear. She wants something more, something special, and if she can't get it, she'll go home alone with her fantasy.

“Thanks,” she said.

“No problem,” said Luther. He looked at her and didn't stop. He stared directly into her eyes and dropped all pretext from his mind. She saw this, and curiosity started to rise in her face. Luther then turned away, just enough to break the connection.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

He waited a beat, then another, just long enough for her curiosity to peak again. Then he said, “I'm the man you came here to meet tonight.”

“Really?” she asked. “Never heard that one before.”

She was about to say something else when Luther took her
hand and led her to the dance floor. She followed him with an amused look on her face.

“I don't suppose it would make sense to resist,” she said.

“It would,” said Luther, “but where's the fun in that?”

They embraced and moved with each other. The song, a bumping, forgettable hip-hop tune, was five times faster than the tempo they were dancing, but they took no notice. Luther was excited and didn't even try to stop the erection building in his pants. He pulled her close to him and felt her hands exploring.

“I'm Tomiko,” she whispered.

“Jordan,” said Luther. It was the name of a good friend he'd gone to school with.

“Black and Korean, if you're wondering.”

“I wasn't, but it's nice to know.” Luther said this to her in Korean.

“Oh! You speak it?” she said, surprised. “I'm not so good. What did you say?”

“That it was nice to know.”

“You are surprising,” said Tomiko. “What kind of black man speaks Korean?”

“Just me,” he said, smiling.

Tomiko looked at him for a moment, seemingly unable to respond to his statement. For a while, they merely felt each other's embrace, and Luther could sense that she got his meaning.

“You don't seem like the kind of guy who would come here alone. Where are your friends?”

“They're late,” said Luther. “You?”

“My cousin and her friends invited me here on my layover.”

They stopped dancing and went back to the bar. It was full, and so they just stood by it, leaning on a bare corner. They talked for
twenty minutes or so about nothing. She asked Luther about himself, and he cleverly avoided telling her anything.

Luther was preparing to start a line of conversation designed to get Tomiko to go to bed with him when he spotted Frank on the other side of the room. Frank saw him, waved, and started to wade through the crowd.

“There's my friend,” said Luther.

“It's okay,” said Tomiko. “My people got here while we were dancing. I gave them the ‘I'm with someone promising' sign.”

Luther smiled dutifully, but in truth he had seen her give that sign, a cute little gesture whereby she tugged at her earring absently. Tomiko wore diamond studs, and a woman might rub, push, or scratch them, but a tug? That was a sign.

She gave him her phone number. He didn't offer his. Tomiko went over to her friends, who bubbled with excitement about the handsome man she was with. Luther watched her go but made sure he turned away when she got to her table.

“Nice ass on her,” said Frank as he walked up. “No need to let it go for me.”

“I didn't,” Luther said.

“What did you tell her your name was?”

“Jordan,” said Luther.

“Nice. Let's get a table.”

Luther and Frank walked over to a raised area up and away from the dance floor and grabbed a little table. There were not many people in this area, as most of the action was focused on the dance floor, the surrounding tables, and the bar. They ordered drinks, and Luther could already tell that Frank was up to something. He was jovial and laughing just a little too much. Frank was very intelligent, but he lacked the one quality that would make
him a great agent. He had no instinct, that innate ability to know behavior and how to behave, to see and to hide. He stank at it, so before Sharon Bane walked in, Luther knew he had been set up.

Sharon Bane was pretty and doe-eyed, with a frame that was deceptively feminine. Underneath her all-American, girl-next-door looks was a hard woman who was trained in the deadly arts and bragged that she could bench-press two and a half times her weight.

Sharon was wearing a pair of tight jeans and stiletto-heeled boots. Her top was thin and airy and showed just a hint of her bra underneath. She wore little or no makeup, but her skin was so smooth that it was hard to tell sometimes. Her hair was neatly tied back into her trademark ponytail.

She was a woman of many contrasts. She came from a family of shit-kickers in Missouri, and you could tell that she'd worked hard to cover up her southern accent.

Frank had been trying to get into her pants with no success. Sharon and Luther were friends, and Luther knew that part of Frank's inviting him out tonight was just to make Sharon feel comfortable while he tried to get some drinks into her and then get himself into her.

“Hey, Luther,” said Sharon. She hugged him tightly, patting him on the back.

She hugged Frank as well, but there was a world of difference in her manner. She seemed to like him but was made uncomfortable by his attraction to her, or perhaps it was the fact that he couldn't hide his attraction. Luther found her alluring, as any man would, but he had instinct, and he turned his attraction off whenever she was around. It seemed foul to like Sharon. It was like dating your sister.

They made small talk for a while, Sharon telling them about a drug cartel in Argentina that had met an untimely demise. Luther talked about a fire in Stockholm.

Frank brought up the Homeland Security Act. The act was a joke, a political trick intended mostly to allow government agencies more power and money to do their jobs. E-1 had gotten a load of cash from the HSA, and so the agency would soon be upgraded in all areas.

“So, Luther,” Sharon began, “I'm sure you know this was not really a social call tonight.”

Luther nodded, and Frank seemed to be taken off guard. Luther didn't look at him as his face fell into a subtly quizzical look to cover the obvious truth Sharon was telling. It was good and would have fooled a layman, but to Luther it was just more evidence that Frank didn't speak the language that he and Sharon Bane did.

“Well, we really wanted to hang with you, Luth,” Frank stumbled.

A very pregnant moment passed; then Sharon sighed a little. “He's way ahead of us, Frank,” said Sharon. “He knows why we asked him here. Don't you, Luther?” She smiled at her friend.

Luther had surmised this a long time ago but was hoping that they would lose their nerve. He should have known better of Sharon. She had once shot herself in the side to avoid blowing her cover. She was fearless.

“You two want to know what the director said to me,” said Luther. “And since we all generally respect an agent's right to privacy, I assume you have some interest in whatever assignment, if any, the director gave me. If that were the case, sadly, I would have to decline.”

Sharon just stared at Luther with intensity. It was as if they were reading each other's minds. Luther stared back, and in that moment something did pass between them, an understanding born of their shared instinct.

“I'm sorry, Luther,” said Sharon. “But we know that the staff has been processing a lot of nationwide intel on local law enforcement, which leads us to believe that there's something big going on.”

“And if it's big,” said Frank, “you might need help.”

“It's cool,” said Luther. He wasn't angry with them. “I understand. “Well, if that's all…”

“Wait,” said Frank. “The discussion can't be over.”

“Thanks for asking me out, guys,” said Luther. “I'll be in touch.”

“Okay, Luther,” said Sharon, and the guilt over trying to compromise her friend's mission was in her voice. Luther hugged her in a forgiving manner, and when he let her go, she looked better.

Frank was ready to protest. Obviously he'd brought this whole thing about. He had come to the X Club to get information on Luther's assignment and get Sharon Bane into bed. In his mind one was linked to the other. He'd crack Luther, Sharon would be grateful, and before she knew it, he'd be between her legs. Now he saw both prizes slipping away. He didn't protest, however. He just remained silent.

Luther finished his drink and then descended the riser back to the bar and dance floor. He searched for Tomiko, but she was gone. He gave the place the once-over, then left. Tomiko's party was still chattering at a table, so he figured she had decided to find some other man interesting and go home with him.