Harold Lake had mesmerized this audience — he even seemed to have Cazaux’s full attention. Tomas Ysidro said, “Hey, Henri, the Drip is paintin’ a pretty smooth picture right now. I see stuff on the news about the feds closing in on us — I don’t see it happening, but, you know, it kinda gets stuck in your brain, you know…?”
“Ysidro is babbling as usual,” Townsend said, “but I share his thoughts. In any previous operation, Henri, we have never stayed in a country as long as we have for this one. Staying on the move, and especially outside the States, has helped us keep out of the reach of the authorities. I feel we’ve overstayed our welcome here, as well. Perhaps it is time to consider taking the cash and laying low for a few weeks.”
To everyone’s surprise, Cazaux nodded — the sense of relief was obvious. “Very well,” he said, crossing his arms.on his chest. “My adviser has indicated to me that the authorities are indeed closing in on us, and so we shall close our operation, disperse, and meet again in a new location— after one more mission.” He turned to Lake and said, “Harold, you indicated that Universal Equity still has two major companies in America untouched — Westfall Air at Dallas-Fort Worth Airport, and Sky Partners Airlines in New York City.”.
“Sure,” Lake replied, “and they’re trying to make a comeback of sorts, using the public’s fear as a marketing tool. Universal Express has moved most of the package stuff to other airports, and the blowhard president, McSor- ley, is promising to fly even if all the other carriers close up shop during the air emergency. We missed Westfall Charter when those dopers failed to attack Dallas-Fort Worth, Henri, but Westfall is small potatoes — Sky Partners is the real prize. The stock is on the upswing — ripe for another fall.”
“Then that will be our objective… our secondary objective,” Cazaux said. “And now I will brief you on our primary objective — and what I demand of all of you.”
After completely destroying a corner of a very expensive Persian carpet in the billiards room, Ted Fell leaned on the pool table, his eyes filled with tears, trying to block out the grisly image of a murdered man’s heart being dangled in front of his face. Cazaux had butchered a man and brought his heart back, obviously as a warning to everyone else. What was really sick was that Mexican bastard Ysidro. Cutting out a man’s heart and stuffing it into a Ziploc bag was one thing — pulling it out and gleefully examining it as if it were a pet mouse or a newly discovered seashell was another thing. Fell thought he had never seen anything as disgusting in his life.
A few guards checked Fell, but they ignored him as the attorney continued to dry-heave in the corner, chuckling at the bean-counter’s cowardice as they walked away. The image would simply not go away — Fell saw that gruesome piece of flesh everywhere in his mind’s eye. He finally stood upright and tried to force fresh air into his lungs, noticing that the front of his suit was stained with vomit. He left the billiards room to find a bathroom and clean his suit, and perhaps get some help in cleaning the room. It was obvious that Henri Cazaux and most of the others were out of place in that big New Jersey mansion — Cazaux looked as if he belonged in a southeast Asia jungle or an African swamp — but he still feared meeting the wrath of Cazaux or Ysidro if they found the mess he had made, so he thought he better clean it up.
Fell heard voices coming from the kitchen, but he decided to avoid that place — the guards, most likely on break or getting dry. He noticed what looked like a broom closet at the top of the stairs, so he quietly stepped upstairs. No guards were nearby to stop him. He reached the top of the stairs and found some towels and cleaning supplies, then went down the hallway to the bathroom to wet the towels. He was about to enter the bathroom when he passed a set of stairs leading up to the third floor — and he heard a woman’s faint sobs coming from upstairs.
At first Fell told himself to forget what he just heard, forget all about whoever was up there. He thought that Cazaux probably didn’t have a wife or girlfriend — who in hell would want a psychopath like Cazaux? Was she a captive? Some kind of sex slave? Was she a hostage? In any case, he didn’t think Cazaux would take too kindly to someone sneaking around his house. Fell heard a groan and a labored cough — she obviously sounded hurt, perhaps recovering from being strangled or hit. Beating up on women was the mark of a coward — and so was terrorism. Henri Cazaux fit both descriptions perfectly. And what was Ted Fell made of? He was either very brave or very stupid, because he found himself quietly tiptoeing up the stairs and pushing open the one door.
The attic had been turned into a very nice little studio apartment — but what else he found was not so pretty. Fell saw a woman lying on her back on the bed in the center of the apartment, her clothing ripped away from her body, her breasts exposed, her dress piled up around her waist, exposing her crotch, her legs dangling off the side of the bed. She was facing away from him, so she could not see him. Her dark hair was a tangled mess, her hands and fingers were stained with…
“It is not safe for you to be here,” she said suddenly. There was a slight pause while she sniffed and let out a painful breath; then she added, “Mr. Fell.”
Fell resisted the urge to run down the stairs and back to the billiards room as fast as he could — obviously he had made a lot more noise than he thought he did, even though he had tried to be quiet. But her shaking voice and trembling hands and shoulders told him that she was in real trouble. “Who are you?” he asked in a loud whisper. “How do you know my name? What happened to you? Was it Cazaux?”
“My name is not important,” she replied weakly. “I know all who come to this place, except you, so you must be Mr. Lake’s assistant, whom I have not met. I…”
She had tried to rise onto her elbows, but a shot of pain had cut her off. Fell darted into the room, closed the door, and sat on the bed beside her. Her face had been savagely beaten, covered with red and black bruises. Her nose was broken, and it did not look like the first time it had been done. He pushed her skirt back down over her knees, but couldn’t help noticing the blood that stained the bedspread under her anus. “My God… the sonofabitch…”
“He is no longer in control of himself,” the woman mumbled. “The dark master controls him.”
“Cazaux? Who controls Cazaux…?”
“I tried to stop him,” she said. “I tried to tell him that he still had a choice, that he can still control his destiny. But his soul has been taken. He no longer listens to human reason.”
“Forget Cazaux,” Fell said. “Is there a way out of here? I think you need medical attention.”
“I cannot leave here,” the woman said. “There is no way out for me while Henri lives — but you can leave.” Her eyes no longer reflected the extreme pain she was suffering, but locked firmly on his, riveting him. A plan came instantly to mind — she just hoped she’d be there to watch it. “You are my only hope. You must stop Cazaux before he flies this last mission.”
“What last mission? What do you mean?” The thought of he, Ted Fell, trying to stop Cazaux from doing anything was both laughable and terrifying. “Hey, I’m trying to help you, miss, but I’m not going to try to get in Cazaux’s way. The last guy who crossed Cazaux — well, there’s a human heart on the coffee table downstairs. I’d like to keep mine for a while longer.”
Vega didn’t know about the heart, and she had to force herself to suppress a smile. My God, Henri really has gone over the edge! She hoped she could see the heart, see the knife that he did it with, maybe listen to him describe how he did it. But she forced a horrified expression on her face. “Ted Fell, listen to me,” the woman said. “You must kill Henri Cazaux.”