Skender traced the steep, imposing façade with his eyes from the pinnacle down to a magnificent main entrance of bronze-coloured glass and copper and steel supports. As his gaze rested on a pair of massive eleventh-century wooden doors twenty feet high and with heavily inlaid carvings, an import from India to maintain the impression of the ancient shrouded in the modern, Dren Cano stepped through them and into the pillared portico.
Skender headed off through the site towards Cano, followed by his men. ‘Is it gonna be ready in time?’ he shouted to an engin -eer who was perusing a stack of plans laid out on a table.
The engineer looked around and immediately grinned with forced enthusiasm on seeing who had posed the question. ‘Hey there, Mister Skender. You betcha it’s gonna be on time.’
Skender smiled thinly as he continued on without a pause, confident of the answer before he had heard it. Before the first bulldozer had moved in to demolish the old houses and apartment blocks that had previously occupied the site every contractor, supplier and union involved had been subtly warned that it would be most unwise if there were to be any sudden price hikes, cancellations or delays of any nature for any reason, including Acts of God such as weather or accidents. Similarly gilded threats as well as lavish gifts were bestowed upon certain members of the city authority to persuade against any unforeseen problems with the various planning permissions that would be required.
Only one company failed to heed the warnings, one of the two cement suppliers contracted to deliver the thousands of tons of concrete required. It was an oversight on their part: apparently they had not researched the client thoroughly enough to take the threats seriously. When one morning the cement trucks did not arrive due to a reprioritisation by the company concerned in favour of another client across town Skender’s retribution was swift and decisive. The company’s owner happened to be on holi -day in Hawaii at the time with his wife and two sons. The morning following the non-delivery they were all found in their rooms with their legs broken and the arms of the owner himself painfully fractured above the elbows as a bonus. Rumours spread swiftly among the workforce with some help from Skender’s people and there were no further obstructions to the site’s progress. In fact the general cordiality of the contractors and workers increased to a sycophantic level. When, after three weeks, construction was a day and a half ahead of schedule Skender rewarded every worker with a thousand-dollar bonus that sealed their devotion to the task.
Skender stepped onto the marble-floored concourse in front of the cathedral-like entrance and stopped to scrutinise the intricate inside roofing of the portico.
Cano looked like helclass="underline" his left eye was covered by a silk patch and there were stitches all over his face. He had lost the use of the eye, which had been removed, and he was waiting for the plastic surgery on the tattered eyelid to heal before having a false eye put in. Words could not describe the hatred he felt in his heart for the person who had killed his brother and done this to him. It was greater than any he had experienced in his life and was so strong that when he thought of Stratton – Klodi had told Cano of his sighting of Stratton at the restaurant – when the memory of the man’s image loomed in front of him, Cano’s facial expression physically changed and he looked as if he were growling or about to snarl.
Skender had told his senior security manager to take a few weeks off to rest and to heal his body as well as soothe his heart, aching for the loss of his brother. Cano refused. There was only one thing that could come even close to dulling his pain and that was to see – literally – Stratton’s head on a plate.
‘They’re waiting for you in the penthouse,’ Cano said sombrely.
‘Good,’ Skender said without looking at him. He wore an expression of approval at everything he saw until his gaze fell on several workers huddled around a square hole in the centre of the white marble concourse. Skender glanced at the main doors to the building, then back at the hole in the ground, gauging the distance and positioning of it. With the look of approval gone from his face, he headed towards the group.
‘Hey! What are you guys doing?’ he growled as he approached the workers.
They looked around and straightened immediately on seeing who it was.
‘This is where the statue’s gonna go, Mr Skender,’ the foreman said, somewhat nervously, wondering why Skender was looking so pissed off.
‘The hell it is,’ Skender growled.
‘We’re going exactly by the plans, sir,’ an engineer said, suddenly checking the papers in his hands, fearing he had got it wrong.
‘I don’t give a damn what the plans say. I want it here,’ Skender said as he turned around and paced closer towards the entrance until he stood squarely fifty feet in front of the doors. ‘Here,’ he repeated as he faced them, feet wide apart and hands outstretched as if doing an impersonation of Moses parting the Dead Sea. ‘Like this. You got that?!’
The foreman hurried over to Skender, pulled a spray can from a pouch, and scurried around him, spraying a thin red line on the marble.
Skender lowered his hands, looked at the square drawn around him and nodded. ‘It arrives today?’ he asked, although it sounded more like a statement of fact.
The foreman looked instantly worried again. ‘No, sir. It’ll be in place by the opening ceremony. I assure you.’
Skender looked at him coldly, decidedly unsatisfied with the answer.
‘They’re pouring the mould by the end of the week,’ the foreman hurriedly added. ‘I’m told it looks pretty damn good, Mr Skender.’
‘I want it in place no later than the day before the opening ceremony. You understand me?’
‘It’ll be in, sir.’
Skender studied the man for a few seconds before a thin smile grew on his lips. It had far more sinister qualities than the unsmiling look.
Skender disconnected from the foreman who was only too relieved and headed towards the main entrance, Cano alongside him. As they reached the doors Skender paused to look at his head of security. ‘Don’t be so down, Dren,’ he said, using Cano’s real name which he sometimes did but only when they were outside and there was no one within earshot. ‘We will find who killed your brother.’
Whenever Skender addressed Cano by his real name Cano never took it as a sign of affection since he knew that the man did not possess a scrap of any such. He saw the usage as a subtle reminder of who he really was and that Skender had control of his life. On the day when Cano had joined the ranks and given Skender the Besa – a solemn pledge to keep one’s word on pain of death – Skender had warned him that he would pay the ultim -ate price for any form of disobedience.
Skender had a special punishment for those in his employ who crossed him. The technique varied but the purpose was always the same: to keep the victim alive for as long as possible but in a condition of utter agony. This might mean amputating as much of the person as possible, cauterising each removal or applying a tourniquet and adding salt to the wounds. Another method was to direct a blowtorch onto various body parts at intervals, while another involved injecting into the bloodstream various chem -icals that caused unimaginable headaches and burning pains throughout the body, reviving the victim if their heart ceased to beat due to the pain or the chemical poisoning. The methods were limited only by the imagination of the torturer.
And just in case anyone hoped to escape such an end by killing the master himself it was well known that Skender had deposited a large sum of money with a family of infamous assassins, ironic -ally Croatians rather than Albanians, who would carry out such executions of any persons found responsible for Skender’s death, even if it was an accident. The sum was considerable and apparently allowed for the execution of up to twenty persons so that if, say, only one person was involved in the incident, the other nineteen slots would be filled by that person’s most immedi ate family members. The assassins were entirely reliable since they had many such contracts with powerful underworld figures and it would not be good for their business to leave an obligation unfulfilled. The bottom line was that Skender was a deadly man to cross – in any direction.