“Hello, Krell. Long time no see.”
Krell motioned Sahhan’s bodyguards back inside. They retreated subserviently. “I knew I’d get my shot at you if I was patient, McCracken.”
“You’re still waiting, Krell. Today’s not your day.”
The fat man smiled. The men behind him on the steps showed their guns. The area was surrounded by large buildings deserted for the Christmas break, so passersby were not a concern.
“Today is my day, McCracken.”
As if on cue, a black Cadillac sedan pulled around the corner of Alumni House and stopped just before them.
“We’re going for a ride,” Krell said. “You’re on your way to hell.”
“What are they wearing there this time of year?”
“Try something tropical.”
Then Krell’s men were upon him, shoving him against the car and searching him thoroughly. When they found nothing, the fat man seemed disappointed.
“Not carrying today?” he teased.
“I was expecting metal detectors at every door. Didn’t want to go and cause a scene. …”
Blaine had barely finished the sentence, when he was pushed into the backseat between Krell’s two men. The fat man climbed into the front along with the driver, who started the big car around the other side of Alumni House and then swung right onto Twenty-first Street.
“I hear you’ve fallen on bad times, McCracken,” Krell said. “You’ve become a joke in the field. I’m surprised they let you back in the States.”
Blaine fixed his eyes on Krell’s. “I’ve got friends in low places.”
“Someone sent you to assassinate Sahhan, didn’t they?”
“Not at all. It’s you I was after, and I’m going to do you a favor. Have these clowns pocket their pistols right now and talk to me and I’ll let you live. Otherwise, you’ll be leaving me no choice.”
Krell swung enough of his hefty frame over the seat to lash a backhand across McCracken’s face.
“Why, you cocky son of a bitch!” he snarled, eyes glowing.
Blaine felt the blood dribbling from his mouth. The Cadillac turned right onto G Street. “Using big words and everything, fat man. Wouldn’t be going respectable now, would you?”
“You’re in no position to ask questions, McCracken. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”
“Last chance, fat man …”
“It’s going to hurt, McCracken. I’m going to make it hurt.”
Blaine swept his tongue over his back teeth and freed a crown-size capsule that had been lodged in a molar.
“Just promise you won’t sit on me, all right?”
Krell had leaned forward to strike him again, when Blaine bit down on the capsule and fired its contents forward. To the two guards it looked as if he were simply spitting at the fat man and, in fact, the capsule’s contents were projected in saliva. Once they reached air, though, the contents turned into a gas similar in effect to the mustard variety outlawed in World War I. The gas struck the fat man’s face and he howled in pain, clawing for his eyes and mouth. The agony forced his head to slam back, and he smacked solidly into the driver.
The Cadillac careened out of control down G Street. Other cars spun to avoid it as it skidded sideways, tires screeching.
The guard on Blaine’s left was struggling to steady his pistol, when McCracken grabbed his wrist and slammed the steel barrel into his face. He felt the cartilage and bone give at the same moment his other hand shot out and forced the second guard’s gun up as it fired. The bullet cut through the heavy steel roof, filling the small compartment with the sharp smell of sulphur.
The second guard was going for another shot when the Caddy crashed into a row of parked cars on G Street, pitching all of its occupants forward. The driver struggled to regain control, but it was much too late. The Caddy shoved a whole line of cars up onto the sidewalk and then came to a rubber-ripping halt against them.
Blaine saw the first guard’s gun on the floor and grabbed it just as the second guard was recovering his bearings. Blaine pumped two bullets into his head. Blood splattered against the windows. Krell was still screaming. The driver started to reach into his jacket for something, and McCracken didn’t wait to find out what. One bullet tore out the back of his skull and slammed him up against the windshield.
Then Blaine lunged through what remained of the rear door of the passenger side and yanked Krell out after him through the front. He dragged him down the G Street sidewalk until they reached a collection of dormitories off to the right. He pulled Krell onto a narrow cement walk running between two dorms and thrust him to the ground. The fat man was writhing, puking, still clawing for his face. Blaine made sure he saw the gun in his hand.
“Anything,” Krell begged between rasping breaths. “I’ll tell you anything.” Spittle and drying vomit caked the corners of his mouth.
Blaine pressed the pistol against his temple. “What do you know about Sahhan’s army?”
“Nothing!”
Blaine dug the gun’s barrel home until he broke flesh. “Christmas Eve, Krell, tell me about Christmas Eve.”
“I don’t know. I’m just a middleman. I relay orders, arrange shipments.”
“Of arms?”
“Yes.”
“Through who?”
“Deveraux,” Krell rasped. “In France.”
“Deveraux?” Blaine said, more to himself than to Krell. Deveraux was the most successful, respected arms dealer in the world. Why would he be mixed up in something like this? “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“It’s the truth! Nine major shipments so far. One left to go. I coordinate all the activity between Deveraux and Sahhan so there’s no direct link between them.”
“Did Sahhan set all this up?”
“Not at first. … You’ve got to let me live! I’m telling you everything I know!”
“Just answer my questions. Who put you on to Sahhan?”
“I don’t know their names. They sent me to him and handled all the financial arrangements. I was just a middleman, I tell you!”
“Were they black or white?”
“What?”
“The men who approached you, were they black or white?”
“White. All of them. They stressed that Sahhan was never to be implicated in the dealings. I was told to get the best from the best. Price didn’t matter. I went to Deveraux.”
“And Deveraux handled the shipments. …”
“But he didn’t realize to who. I had dealt with him before. He thought the weapons and explosives were bound for South America.”
“How was payment handled?” Blaine realized his hand was going stiff from the pressure of holding the gun against the fat man’s temple.
“Cash, always cash. Delivered in leather attache cases. Sums too impossible to believe … I’m telling you everything!”
“Where were the weapons shipped?”
“I don’t know.”
Blaine shoved the barrel harder against him and Krell tumbled to the side. McCracken kept him pinned there, one side of the fat head squeezed against the cement.
“I swear I don’t know. I’d tell you if I did. Deveraux handled all that. The weapons were gathered in central warehouses, where Sahhan’s men distributed them. The process has been going on for months. Armories have been set up in every major city, all well hidden.”
“Where are these armories? Which cities?”
“They never told me. I never asked. That wasn’t my department. You’ve got to believe me!”
Blaine did believe him. He glanced around. No one was near. The sirens were still blaring. He had little time left before the police would be everywhere.