The Paper Factory (Michael Berg Book 1) (31 page)

Chapter 102

  “Who is it?” his voice snarling, threatening.

 
It did not cause her any fear. Tereza was beyond any feeling, prepared only to kill, or be killed.
  “A ghost from the past,” she said. “Open the door, we need to talk.”

 
The door opened. Rivello’s eyes betrayed his shock at seeing her standing there.

  “
It was you. How?”

 
Tereza’s eyes burned into his. Right arm at her side, she slid the knife handle from her cuff and into her hand, exposing the blade.
  She smiled at him to throw him off guard. He looked as though he was about to hit her. She brought the knife up sharply, aiming straight for his gut. The image of her father’s blood-spattered head helping her to get over her own revulsion at committing such an act. Rivello was fast, reflexes kicking in and shifting his body sideways. Too late to stop the knife from penetrating. He cried out as the knife entered his midriff. She had no idea where. Not serious. He didn’t double over, instead punching her on the side of the head. She cried out as it cracked against the frame of the door. She felt dizzy, legs weak, but tried to stay upright. She was finished if she collapsed.

 
Tereza thrust the knife towards him. Rivello was ready this time. He dodged the attack and slammed his fist down hard onto her forearm, her hand dropping the knife. Before she had time to pick it up, he’d stepped on it. Tereza noticed the bloody stain on his shirt above the waist. She tried to punch the wound, but wasn’t fast enough. Rivello grabbed her long black hair in a bunch and thrust her head down as he brought his knee up into her face. Lights out.

                              ---

  Tereza couldn’t have been out for more than a minute. If she had, she’d already have been decorating the sidewalk below. The sound of a car horn had brought her round. The traffic sounded close. The pain in her face was excruciating. This concerned her less than the view as it came into focus from ten floors below her. A softly illuminated, tree-lined street, bordered on one side by empty blackness glimmering with occasional light. Panic flooded her senses. Her upper body was sprawled over a brick wall. Upward pressure on her thighs was forcing her upwards and further over the wall.

 
All this happened in a split second and in the next she tried to grasp the top of the wall with her hands. A sharp stabbing pain as a nail split in her desperation to get some sort of hold. To no avail. She had one last chance before she plunged headlong over the edge. She kicked out hard. No use, legs were held tight. Tereza needed to look him in the eye one last time before she died. She needed him to see that if there was something afterwards, she would be there waiting for him and would stalk him in his dreams until he got there. She turned her head and was shocked to come face to face with Michael Berg.

Chapter 103

  Michael knew in the back of his mind that he was a fool for not picking up on it earlier. She’d told him of her desire to kill Rivello. He’d sensed her hesitancy when he’d asked her what she thought of his intention to call the police. He hadn’t pursued it. It had been easier than asking the difficult questions. Inevitably, not trusting his instinct had forced Tereza to act on her own.

 
These were the thoughts that raced through Michael’s mind as he jumped from the elevator and tore along the corridor to Rivello’s apartment. The door was fractionally open. Although he had no idea what was awaiting him in the apartment, he knew he had no time. The door was ajar. He kicked it open and rushed into the hallway. The sight that greeted Michael filled him with dread.

 
He was looking out across a spacious, open plan room whose subdued lighting dimly illuminated two figures on a terrace surrounded by a waist-high enclosure. As Michael’s eyes adjusted to the lighting, he could make out Tereza, unmoving, being hoisted over the wall by Rivello, who was kneeling on the ground, arms tightly wrapped round her thighs, using his shoulder to push her upwards. Rivello appeared to be having difficulty.
Maybe he’s hurt
. Tereza’s upper abdomen already balanced on the lip of the wall.

 
Michael had barely slowed his rush forward and was hurtling towards the terrace. There were no more than a few moments left before she would drop to her death. As he passed a low coffee table in the middle of the room, he grabbed at a heavy looking statue of a female nude, clenched the ornament’s neck with his right hand and raised it over his shoulder as he sprinted through the door.

 
Tereza struggled. Her hands tried to latch onto the wall’s surface. She tried to shake Rivello but his grip was too tight.

Rivello, intent on his murderous task
, hadn’t seen Michael approach. Michael lifted the statue with both hands, swung it downwards, aiming squarely for Rivello’s head. Tereza turned to face him, terror written across her face.

 
Distracted by the sudden movement, the statue missed its target and slammed into Rivello’s shoulder. The man let out a cry, released Tereza and rolled sideways. Rivello jumped to his feet and took three long quick strides to the terrace’s north wall. Michael slid his arm around Tereza’s waist and lowered her to the ground.

  “
Behind me, in the corner,” he told her.

 
Michael and Rivello faced each other, five meters separating them. Rivello reached into the outside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a knife, the blade glinting in the light.

  “
You’re not getting out of here alive. You or my lovely sister.” Rivello, face twisted, mean, full of hatred, his thin lips spitting out the words, the venom in his voice unmistakable.

  “
I’m going to slice you up so badly you’ll wish you’d had the chance to jump.”

 
Rivello moved closer, reducing the distance between them. Michael knew that the other man was trying to intimidate him, goad him. Equally, Michael was aware that it would only take one good shot with the statue to take him out.  

 
The next time Rivello took a step forward, Michael did the same, simultaneously swinging the statue with his right hand at Rivello’s head. Rivello was expecting it and easily dodged the statue by pulling his head back swiftly and countered by lunging his whole body forward, the speed taking Michael by surprise. Michael pulled back reflexively, realizing a moment later that something was wrong.

 
He felt the warm liquid running down his neck into his shirt before he felt an excruciating pain explode across the side of his face. Taking another step backwards, he put his hand to his left cheek and recoiled immediately, both in reaction to the pain and in horror at the long loose flap of skin that he found there.

 
Rivello came in for another strike, taking advantage of Michael’s severely damaged face. Rivello’s eyes shone with lust for the kill. Michael had no doubt that the man knew exactly what he was doing. If Michael played this straight, he was dead, Tereza too.

 
Rivello deftly swung the knife in the air in front of Michael, intent on distracting him. The movement caused the left front flap of his jacket to swing open. Michael saw blood. A large stain had spread across the man’s lower left side.
Tereza did hurt him
. Before Rivello could make another play for him, Michael swung the statue behind himself at waist level, then brought it forward at tremendous speed and launched it at the spreading stain on Rivello’s shirt.

 
It hit the target head on and the other man erupted in an agonized cry, doubling over. Immediately Michael launched a kick that connected with Rivello’s head and sent him tumbling backwards against the wall. The wall was barely a meter high. The momentum and weight of Rivello’s upper body acted like a pendulum and pulled him over, his hands grasping anything that would stop him from falling. The knife had gone. Rivello’s hands had hooked themselves like claws onto the top of the wall. Michael moved towards him cautiously, wary of being tricked.
  “For God’s sake, what kind of man are you? Don’t leave me like this. Pull me up. Pull me up now.” Rivello’s voice more pleading than commanding.

 
Michael looked down on him. Killing in self-defense was one thing. Allowing another human being to die needlessly was another. Rivello looked scared, the meanness gone from his face. Fear had done a good job of contorting his features. Michael felt her presence behind him. Now alongside. Either could have pulled him back from the brink. Neither made a move.

“You fuckers, I’ll make sure you rot in hell.” His hands, white and weakened by his own loss of blood, sprung open, body silently falling through the air. He disappeared from sight in the ochre glimmer of the streetlights.

Chapter 104

  The newspaper lay unopened. There was no need to turn the page. Everything of any relevance to President Ian Gilmore that morning covered the top half of the front page. Despite the
New York Times
’ generally conservative approach to splashing sensationalist headlines across its cover, Gilmore was taken aback by the headline glaring up at him from his desk.

KENNEDY ASSASSINATION, GOVERNMENT INVOLVEMENT SUSPECTED

  “
From a secret location in an exclusive interview with the
New York Times
, recently suspended Fed chairman, Elisabeth Kennedy, claims that an elitist and secretive group of powerbrokers, the Bilderberg Group, attempted to have her assassinated with the connivance of US Government agencies. Mrs. Kennedy claims that her refusal to provide bailout funding to US investment bank, Beirsdorf Klein, so enraged members of the US government that Bilderberg Group members, with vested interests in shoring up the financial services sector, were encouraged to ensure that she was replaced by a bailout friendly alternative.
Mrs. Kennedy claims to have been the intended victim in the recently publicized wounding of FBI Director Grant Douglas. Her attempted murder at the hands of Douglas a direct result of his close association with Bilderberg. Kennedy’s son Ralph was kidnapped by international career criminal Jay Rivello, who subsequently blackmailed her into going against presidential demands for a soft landing for US banks. Kennedy claims that her refusal to sign up to a taxpayer funded bailout was tantamount to signing her own death warrant …”

 
He stopped. It read worse the second time around. If that was possible. He’d received the copy at six fifteen a.m. Twenty minutes after the call from Ron Bailey. Bailey and Jerome Berger were on their way.

                                ---

  Several minutes later, the three men shook hands, none certain of what was to follow. Gilmore sat down, too preoccupied in thought to offer seats to the others. Bailey and Berger tentatively took a seat on the couch simultaneously, both clutching copies of the
New York Times
.

  “
Jerome, where do we stand on this? What do we need to do to keep this away from the White House?”

 
Gilmore needed to ask the question, even if he already knew the answer.

 
The attorney general was aware of the strong relationship that the US and other Western governments had with the Bilderberg Group. He’d made it a point, though, to remain as uninformed as possible.

  “
That depends, Mr. President, on how close the connection is. The headline mentions government involvement. Is this true?” said Jerome.

 
Gilmore looked at Bailey, Bailey at Gilmore and then both turned to face Jerome Berger.

  “
You’ve got to be kidding me.” Berger’s eyes rolled upwards.  

  “
Ron, you were on the board? While Bilderberg was trying to assassinate Elisabeth Kennedy?” said Gilmore.

 
Bailey nodded slowly, grim-faced.

  “
Ian, you’ll be lucky not to get impeached. You’re only hope is for Ron to carry the can, resign his position as chief of staff immediately and submit to the relevant authorities. Even then, there’s a strong chance that no one will believe that you weren’t involved.”

  Gilmore spoke. “
Ron, I guess you know now what needs to be done. Don’t worry. I’ll see to it you don’t serve any jail time.”

  “
Speak’s also on the Executive Committee.” As Bailey spoke, he couldn’t hide the dismay in his voice on learning that his old friend was prepared to ditch him so quickly to save his own skin.

  “
Dammit, Ian,” Berger said, “what the hell have you been running here? The deputy director of the CIA is part of this too? This is Watergate all over again. Nixon might have made us a laughing stock, but at least he didn’t try to sabotage our relationship with over half the world. I can’t be part of this. I’ve given you the best advice I can, but believe me, it’s nowhere near good enough.”

 
At that, Jerome Berger, somber faced, flushed with anger and disappointment stood abruptly, and without bidding the two other men good-bye, strode from the room.