True Conviction (7 page)

“What? No it wasn’t, it… screw you!”

“I’m just saying…”

I lower my gun. “Well, just don’t. If it wasn’t you following me, then who was it?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “What did they look like?”

“Like you—head to toe in tight clothing, almost certainly a woman. They were on a blue and white motorcycle wearing a black helmet.”

Clara falls silent. I can tell by the look on her face she’s figured something out and isn’t happy about it.

“What?” I ask.

“Natalia Salikov,” she says.

“Gesundheit.”

“This isn’t a joke!” replies Clara. “She’s one of the Colonel’s top assassins. If she’s on to you, you need to leave town… now. Forget everything you’ve seen or done and just go.”

I raise an eyebrow. This Natalia Salikov seems to have Clara spooked a little. And she doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who scares easily.

I tuck my gun in my waistband and cover it with my jacket. I’m happy there’s no threat here now. I step toward her and extended my hand.

“Hi,” I say, confusing her. “We’ve not been formally introduced. I’m Adrian Hell.”

She goes quiet for a moment and looks me up and down. Then she bursts out laughing. She holds her stomach as she properly laughs until she’s gasping for breath.

“You know, a guy could develop a complex...” I say.

“
You’re
Adrian Hell?” she asks when she’s calmed down. “
The
Adrian Hell?”

I smile sheepishly and shrug. “You’ve… heard of me?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of you. You’re a legend in the killing business. I just didn’t expect you to look like, well, like you do.”

I stand there in silence, feeling my self-confidence nose-dive and crash into a huge ball of fire. “Well,” I say, recovering quickly. “I’m just gonna go right ahead and assume that’s a compliment.”

Clara rolls her eyes, which I ignore.

“The point of me introducing myself, and unknowingly leaving myself open to a verbal bitch-slapping, was to point out that I’m not fazed by a woman on a motorcycle who’s
supposedly
a good assassin. I’m going to see this thing through to the end and fix it. I’m not sure how, but I will.”

She smiles, softer this time, more genuine and less insulting.

“I believe you. I do. But don’t underestimate what you’re up against.”

“I never do. For a start, I need to know how they knew about me before I’d even found out they existed.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I have my ways. But seriously, Clara, get the hell out of here, okay?”

Before she can say anything else, I pick up the keycard to the suite off the desk and put it in my pocket. I take out a handkerchief and wipe down the briefcase and the tray. Then I walk over and do the same with the table and the sofa. I haven’t touched anything else, so I’m confident I’m not leaving any incriminating forensic evidence in there. I turn and walk back over to door.

Clara’s looking at me somewhat bemused. “Erm, Adrian?”

“Yeah?”

She nods at Jackson’s corpse, still tied to the chair on the other side of the room. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” I say. “He’s not going anywhere. I’ll sort it later.”

I open the door, taking the Do Not Disturb sign off the inside handle and placing it on the outside one. I step out into the hall and turn back, grabbing the handle. I look back at her one last time.

“Trust me, I’m a professional,” I say with a wink before closing the door and walking off toward the elevator.

“URANIUM!” SHOUTS JOSH down the phone. “Are you kidding me?”

After I left the Four Seasons, I made my way back to my motel, taking a very roundabout route back in case anyone was following me. Once I got there, I had a proper read through all the documents I’d taken from Jackson’s briefcase. They were definitely the deeds to the land that Pellaggio is paying me to retrieve. All sorts of legal crap I didn’t understand over a dozen or so pages, with space for a signature on the last one. Thankfully, Jackson hadn’t got round to signing it.

I grabbed a quick shower and thought about how I was going to handle Jimmy Manhattan in light of recent events. I was quite open with him before, but I know a lot more than I did this morning and there’s no way in Hell I’m giving the mob access to this land. As things stand, I’ve only got to deal with
one
crazy group of extremists. If the mob knowingly got their hands on a Uranium deposit, they’d sell it to all the other crazy groups of extremists as well, which would be a devastating turn of events.

I’ve concluded there’s no easy fix here, so I gave up trying to find a solution for the time being. Instead, I rang Josh and brought him up to speed on the day’s developments.

“That’s right, Josh,” I say. “Uranium.”

“Oh my God!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad.”

“I can’t believe it!”

“Okay… Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“You need to calm down.”

He takes a deep breath. “Got you.”

There’s silence on the line for a few moments.

“You good?” I ask.

“I’m good,” he replies.

“Okay, so, riddle me this: who are Dark Rain and how did they know to tail me before I’d even made a move against Jackson?”

“Well, the only people you’ve interacted with are the mob, correct?” he asks, thinking clearly again.

“Yeah,” I reply, sensing where he’s going with this. “You thinking there’s someone in Pellaggio’s crew who’s working for Dark Rain?”

“That’s one logical scenario that springs to mind, yeah.”

“I agree. Which leads us nicely on to my next problem... What do I do about Jimmy Manhattan?’

“Well, you can’t give him the land.”

“I know
that
. But I can’t tell him why, either.”

“Can you not just say that Jackson didn’t have the documents with him?”

“No, because he would’ve expected me to keep him alive long enough to find out where they were—that’s partly what he’s paying me for.”

“Ah, good point.”

“I’ll think of something. The priority now is Dark Rain. I need to know where they are and what they’re planning. Can you look into this Roman Ketranovich guy that Clara mentioned?”

“I have been while we’re talking.”

“Show off.”

“Whatever. Adrian, this guy is hardcore. He served in the Russian military and was a member of the Spetsnaz Special Forces for nearly fifteen years. He was in the thick of it back in the 80s, when Bin Laden was over there fighting and killing Russians on the C.I.A’s payroll. He fought against the Afghans, and was known for his brutal torturing and relentless killing, apparently.”

“Well, he sounds delightful…”

“Seriously, this guy is up there with Hitler, Stalin and Simon Cowell! He was badly injured in a firefight and left for dead by his comrades. He survived and has been underground ever since. There’s very little on him after they declared him K.I.A. in the early 90s. Dark Rain must be his revenge.”

“So he’s pissed at America, pissed at Russia and is after some nuclear material? Well, this couldn’t possibly end badly...”

“Exactly... Plus, if this guy is working with GlobaTech Industries, he’s got some serious backing. It’s conceivable that he could infiltrate the local mob.”

I sigh. I’ve been sighing a lot since I arrived here. Probably because, so far, everyone I’ve spoken to in Heaven’s Valley is either trying to kill me or other people. You could argue I bring this shit on myself by doing what I do, but there’s no denying how astonishingly screwed up this situation is, even by my standards.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” I say. “I have to tell Manhattan that he probably has a rat in his midst and that he can’t have the land, despite Jackson being dead.”

“And I’m sure both bits of news will go down a storm,” says Josh.

“Oh yeah, like a proverbial lead balloon, I’m sure… Next, I need to track down this Dark Rain outfit and find a way of neutralizing them before they can get their hands on any of the Uranium.”

“Have you given much thought about how you’re going to stop an entire army on your own?” he asks, flippantly.

“Short of knocking on their front door and asking them nicely to stop... no, I haven't. I’m open to suggestions though.”

“You never know, that might work. We rarely try the ‘asking politely’ route.”

“There’s a good reason for that…”

“Very true.”

“Right, I need something to eat. Then I suppose I’ll have to go and see Jimmy Manhattan.”

“I’ll keep my eye on the local news channels for any updates,” he chuckles.

“Oh, ye of little faith. I’m sure it will be very civilized and he’ll be understanding and sympathetic toward our situation.”

“Really?”

I pause. “No, not really.”

I hang up and strap my holster to my back before putting both of my custom Berettas in it. I pick up the deeds and hide them under the mattress. I don’t want to keep them on me in case there’s any security at Manhattan’s club, and they decide to search me. I put on my leather jacket and head out the door.

My spider sense is tingling big time. This whole thing is going to get much worse before it gets any better, and I'm going to be far behind enemy lines when it does.

I walk down the street, heading toward the Neon district. It’s pleasantly warm outside and the sky’s clear of any stars. The half-moon is making its steady climb; its greeny-white glow getting brighter as the sun sets.

The streets are busy, although not as bad as they were during the day. There are just as many pedestrians though—dressed for a night out instead of a day at the office. The guys I pass are typically wearing expensive shirts with jeans and shoes. Women of varying ages are wearing dresses that look to me like they were put on sale halfway through production.

I pass by a burger joint I remember seeing earlier. I head inside and take a seat at the back, facing the door. The waitress who comes over after a few minutes is young and friendly. I order coffee and a burger with everything on it and a side of fries. She leaves with my order just as my phone rings. I clip my Bluetooth headset in place and answer.

“Yeah?” I say, knowing the only person who ever rings me is Josh, so there’s no need for pleasantries.

“You on your way to The Pit?” he asks.

“Just stopped for some food.”

“Ah, okay. Well, keep your line open. Here’s a little something to help pass the time.”

He falls silent and a moment later the opening guitar riff from
Highway To Hell
by AC/DC sounds in my ear.

I sit alone, smiling as I wonder what the hell I’m going to say to Manhattan when I see him.

I took my time eating and when I’d finished, I headed into the first bar I came across for a drink. I wasn’t ducking Manhattan or anything like that. It’s just been a real strange twenty-four hours, and I needed to shut off for an hour, just to give my head a rest.

A couple of beers later and I’m walking through the Neon district, approaching a long line of people lining up to get inside The Pit. At night, the place looks very different. The sign above the door is flashing blue and white. All around me there are people, lights, cars, and the constant, low hum of the bass line coming from behind all the doors.

I make my way toward the front door, walking past the line of people. A selection of the half-dressed women and the over-dressed guys I saw roaming the streets on the way here. A bouncer with a clipboard is standing guard at the velvet rope by the door. I reach the front of the line and get the doorman’s attention. I haven’t seen this guy before. He’s big, maybe a couple of inches shorter than me, but a great deal wider—and he isn’t fat. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that looks three sizes too small for his chest and arms, which are literally bulging with muscle. He’s got on a pair of black jeans, black boots and wears an earpiece.

I don’t get a chance to say anything to him.

“Back of the line, asshole,” he snarls, barely looking up from his clipboard.

I’ll let his attitude slide... I’m not in the mood for unnecessary confrontations. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of necessary ones soon enough.

“Hey, take it easy,
Conan
,” I say. “I need to see Jimmy. It’s urgent.”

He eyes me up and down before speaking into his radio. After a few moments, he unhooks the rope and motions me through, much to the dismay and protests from many of the people still in the line.

I walk into the club and down into the main area, which this morning looked so spacious. Now, there are easily a hundred and fifty people crammed in here. I look around quickly before I enter the throng of bodies all laughing, dancing, and drinking. Behind the bar, at the far end, are seven people serving—three guys and four girls.

In the far corner, standing in front of the red curtain is the big guy from this morning with the fire axe tattoo on his head. I figure that’s where I need to go. I instinctively touch my lower back, checking my guns are secure, as I set off through the crowd.

I glide through the masses, slowly making my way through to the other side. Two guys are standing in front of me blocking my path, seemingly trying to hit on the same girl.

“Excuse me,” I shout, to no avail. The music—if you can call it that—is deafening, and I doubt they’ll hear me.

I tap one of them on the shoulder to get his attention. He looks over his shoulder at me and I gesture past him—a polite way to indicate I need to get by. He partly turns toward me clockwise, giving me a look like he’s just scraped me off his shoe. He shoves my shoulder and turns back to his friend and they both laugh. The girl’s also laughing along.

I stroke the stubble on my chin and let out a heavy sigh. It certainly appears that a large percentage of the population woke up this morning with the sole purpose of pissing me off. And they’re succeeding spectacularly.

I crack my neck. I’m not in the mood for this and I feel I’ve been diplomatic enough already tonight.

I tap his shoulder again. As he turns clockwise back toward me, I can see him getting ready for another shove. I wait for it and catch his right hand with my left as he throws it. This forces him to turn and face me properly. As he does, I place my right hand flat on his chest and use my middle finger to find the little dip at the top of the ribcage, in the center just below the throat. I find it with practiced efficiency and push my finger into him and press down hard. With the right amount of pressure, it’s extremely effective. He drops to one knee almost instantly, crippled with what is a brief but excruciating pain throughout the body.

Seriously, try it. But only on someone you don’t like, because it hurts like you wouldn’t believe!

I push him backward, and he goes fetal on the floor, shocked and short of breath, holding his chest. His friend goes wide-eyed as I turn to him, staring through him with my best ‘dead eye’ look. I can see him think about making a move for all of two seconds, but he soon decides against it and runs off through the crowd. I turn to the girl. She seems to have overcome her initial shock and is now smiling at me. I’m probably twice her age and, at the risk of sounding judgmental, she’s probably half my IQ.

“Hey,” she says. “That was really cool.” She smiles and steps close to me, putting a hand on my chest. “You wanna buy me a drink?”

I gently take hold of her wrist and remove her hand, placing it back by her side.

“I’m old enough to be your father,” I reply, silently hating myself because saying things like that make me sound older than I feel. “And forgetting for a moment you’re most likely under twenty-one, I’m happily married.”

She pouted, clearly not used to not getting her own way. “Fucking asshole!” she shouts, storming off toward the exit.

I shake my head in disbelief and smile at the couple of people standing nearby who overheard.

An image of my wife, Janine, drifts into my head. She would have found that hilarious. I smile to myself. God, I miss her. She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved.

I re-focus and walk on through the crowd, eventually coming through the other side and standing face to face with Axe Tattoo Guy. He looks me up and down, and then looks over my shoulder at the hole in the crowd I’ve just caused. He looks back at me and raises an eyebrow.

I shrug.

Maintaining his expressionless gaze, he steps aside and holds the curtain back so I can walk through. Inside, I’m in a dark, narrow corridor. Ahead of me is a fire exit. On the left are two wooden doors, which I assume will lead me to Manhattan’s office. I move to open them but the big guy stops me.