Raymond Benson - 2012 - Hitman: Damnation (7 page)

 
          
It
made good politics.

 
          
Wilkins
continued the interview. “In another month, Americans will go to the polls to
elect our next president. I understand you have a heavy campaign schedule.”

 
          
Linder
nodded. “You know how it is, Charlie. As we approach the finish line, it just
gets more intense. But you know, Charlie, I have you to thank for all this.”

 
          
“Me?”

 
          
“It
was you who suggested I run for public office when I was younger. Your
influence spurred me on. And I’m going to do you proud.”

 
          
“That’s
a wonderful thing to hear, Dana. Is there anything you’d like to say to the
American people?”

 
          
“Yes,
there is.” She looked straight into the camera. “All of you out there, I know
and understand your frustration. President Burdett is completely out of touch
with what’s happening. His foreign policy is a disaster. He actually tried to
make peace with terrorist groups and nations considered to be America’s enemies
in an effort to influence gasoline prices. That failed. Our economy and
unemployment rate are worse than ever. We have militant groups wreaking havoc
on government property. President Burdett has turned the National Guard into
storm troopers. In an effort to control the militants, the National Guardsmen
are hurting innocent civilians. Well, I’m fed up, and I know you are too. I’m
fed up with the Democrats and the Republicans and their constant bickering.
They never get anything done. Two years ago, the people spoke and placed many America
First Party candidates in office. I believe that’s going to happen again on
Election Day. If I’m elected president, I promise to bring America back to the
people and not into the hands of big government, which is squashing
you
all like insects.”

 
          
Wilkins
raised a finger to attract her attention.

 
          
“Yes,
Charlie?”

 
          
“How
do you answer critics who say your candidacy is really an advertisement for the
Church of Will? Everyone knows you’re a member and you believe in our tenets.”

 
          
“I’m
glad you asked that, Charlie. I just want to point out that more and more
people are turning toward these tenets, as you call them, whether they know it
or not. But let me make it clear that my following the Church of Will is
personal. Past presidents had their religions. I have mine. And while the
Church gives me values to follow and practice, it doesn’t mean I’ll be bringing
the Church into the White House. That said
,
I refuse
to be a hypocrite. Much of what the Church teaches can be applied to the
running of a country. The Church asks its members to act on our inner Will.
Well, I’m asking the country to act on its inner Will too!”

 
          
Applause.
Hoots and hollers.

 
          
Helen
smiled. She was definitely on the same page as Dana Linder. There was no
question that the woman had her vote.

 
          
Before
the next commercial, Wilkins said, “In the interest of fairness, I invited
President Burdett to be on the show next week, and he accepted.” The audience
greeted this statement with boos and catcalls. Wilkins held up his hands.
“Now, now.
Let’s be respectful, folks. The president has as
much right to be on Will You?
and
to speak his mind as
Dana Linder does. I look forward to welcoming him.”

 
          
Helen
finished her soup, drank the last sip of wine, and took the bowl and glass into
the kitchen. She’d clean up later. The recruitment center opened at seven
o’clock. One never knew who might come to Greenhill to sign up, especially
after Linder’s rousing speech.

 
          
She
spent a few minutes in the bathroom reapplying her makeup and brushing her long
brown hair. Yes, she was pretty. There was no reason in the world why she
couldn’t attract a decent man. Who cared if she’d had some … problems in the
past? That was exactly what it was.
The past.

 
          
Helen
turned off the television, put on her jacket, and left the apartment. The
evening was young.

 
          
If
it turned out to be uneventful, tomorrow was another day.

 
          
FIVE

 
          
Roget
paid me my fee. One perk was that Roget offered me a ride on his private plane
to Rio de Janeiro. I thought that might be a nice place to visit and hunt for
work, so I took him up on it. It was also convenient, because I could bring my
briefcase on board with me. It contained my handguns. They’re AMT
Hardballers
, but I call them
Silverballers
because of the pearl handles.

 
          
It
was a Lear business-class jet, so the cabin was small. It held twelve
passengers, but I was the only one aboard. There was no flight attendant. I
never saw the pilot, but a voice over the intercom told me to fasten my seat
belt and all that. We took off from Montego Bay in the afternoon and I was on
my way.

 
          
The
Jamaican news was full of
Corado’s
death. Emilio
Fernandez was taken in for questioning. The States sent an FBI agent down to
interrogate him as well.
Corado
was wanted in a few
countries. I guess I saved a lot of taxpayers’ money, since the guy would never
have a trial.
Corado
was scum, and I had no problem
extracting him from the planet. I wasn’t sure exactly what Roget’s beef with
Corado
was. Maybe
Corado
was
muscling in on Roget’s territory. Roget didn’t seem to be the most up-and-up
kind of guy either. For all I knew, his business was human trafficking.

 
          
Not
that I cared.

 
          
As
the plane left Caribbean airspace, I reclined the seat and tried to relax. I
was hoping to get some sleep on the flight, but I felt a twinge of anxiety. I
had taken my pill earlier, but I was starting to wonder if I needed to take two
at a time. They said people gain a tolerance for the stuff. So far, that hadn’t
happened to me. I guess that was because I’m different.

 
          
We
weren’t in the air ten minutes when we hit turbulence. It was bad too. I looked
out the window and saw that a storm had appeared out of nowhere. The clouds
were dark and threatening. Lightning flashed across the panorama, and the plane
lurched violently. It felt like the jet had gone through a cloud of plutonium.
I expected the pilot to make an announcement or something, but there was dead
silence from the cockpit.

 
          
I
waited in my seat a few more minutes, but I usually could tell when an airplane
was having trouble. We were losing altitude. There was nothing below but ocean.
I didn’t like the looks of it, so I unbuckled my seat belt and moved up the
aisle to the cockpit door, which was closed. I banged on it and shouted, “Hey,
in there! What’s going on?” Again, dead silence. I banged again.

 
          
I
went back to my seat to fetch one of the
Silverballers
.
I opened the briefcase, grabbed the handgun, inserted one of the seven-round
magazines, a .45 ACP, and returned to the door. One blast was all it took.

 
          
Imagine
my surprise when I pulled it open. There wasn’t anyone in the cockpit. No
pilot. No copilot.
Nobody.

 
          
I’ve
had a little experience with planes, so I jumped into the pilot’s seat. If I
just leveled the aircraft and kept it from crashing into the sea, I’d be happy.
But the control column didn’t respond. It was stuck. That’s when I noticed the
black box with the red lights on it. It was attached beneath the dash. The
plane was controlled by remote.

 
          
The
Silverballer
coughed again. The box shattered to
pieces, and at the same time the plane jolted hard. Looking out the window, I
saw that one of the engines was out.
Great.
Flying on one engine in a storm.
The aircraft wouldn’t
respond when I moved the control column.

 
          
Time for plan B.

 
          
I
got up and searched the cockpit for a parachute. If the plane was going down, I
wanted to beat it to the water and, hopefully, with a softer landing. But of
course there wasn’t a parachute in sight, so it was back to the cabin. I
searched the overhead compartments. They were all empty. I looked under the
seats. At least there was a flotation device. I grabbed it and put it around my
chest. I knew I had to blow into the tubes to inflate it. That could wait.

 
          
I
even did a quick reconnaissance of the lavatory.
Nada.

 
          
No
more ideas.

 
          
The
plane veered a little but was still losing altitude. There was nothing else to
do but buckle myself into my seat. I tried to recall where was the best place
to be when a plane crashes. But the Lear was so
small,
I didn’t think it would make any difference where I was.

 
          
I
was going to die.

 
          
Oddly,
I wasn’t afraid. I was prepared to accept my fate. My whole life, I had
expected Death to come calling. The way things had been going the last year, I
welcomed his visit.

 
          
I
closed my eyes. A wave of peace flowed through my body.

 
          
But
then—that ball of angst bubbled up in my chest. That could mean only one thing,
so I opened my eyes and looked out the window.

 
          
Rain
battered the Plexiglas.
In the black clouds—a face.
No, not a face.
The shape of a face.
A familiar one.

 
          
Death.
The same shadowy faceless figure
from my dreams.
Watching the plane go down.

 
          
I
braced myself for the impact. Would the plane survive hitting the water? Would
it float or sink?

 
          
I
was going to die. The last time that thought crossed my mind, I was in Nepal.
In the Himalayas.

 
          
A
year ago …

 
          
SIX

 
          
Agent
47 tapped his earpiece.

 
          
“Diana?
Are you there?”

 
          
If
he wasn’t mistaken, the line had been cut off. Why would she leave him like
that? She gives him some vague instruction, tells him that two hostiles are
making their way toward his position on the mountain, and then disappears?
Perhaps it was a technical malfunction. Surely she would be back online in a
moment.

 
          
In
the meantime, 47 removed the boomer from his backpack. It was a device that resembled
a twelve-inch flashlight, its exterior made of metal. Inside, however, was a
complex transmitter that emitted powerful sonic waves. Human ears couldn’t hear
them, but they would drive any dog within miles completely mad. More important,
the sound waves would upset natural faults within rock, ice, or snow. Placed
vertically in the snow on the
Kangchenjunga
cliff
where the
hitman
now crouched, it could cause an
avalanche after a minute or two. The trick was to plant it on the precise
geological flaw. Only Diana’s computer could calculate the right spot.

 
          
He
had made it to the snow-packed cliff she had indicated, but he had no clue
where to stick the boomer. By now the two Chinese bodyguards would be closer.
How fast could they move down the face of the mountain? 47 was no expert at
mountain climbing, but he could travel ten feet per five minutes. If they were
that good or better, it would take them a little while to reach him.

 
          
47
dared to lie
facedown
on the cliff and inch to the
edge. It was a long way down, but he could see Nam Vo and his party moving
along. They were in the perfect position. He needed to set off the boomer now.