The Reapers

“My name is Simeon,” he said. “I’m Mr. Hoyle’s personal assistant. Thank you for joining us. Mr. Hoyle will be with you presently.”

Angel wasn’t sure what Simeon’s duties as an assistant entailed, but he was pretty certain that they didn’t involve typing or answering the phone. Neither was he simply a bodyguard, unlike the men who had searched them. No, Angel had met Simeon’s type before, and so had Louis. Here was a specialist, and Angel wondered why a businessman, albeit a wealthy, reclusive one like Nicholas Hoyle, might require someone with the abilities that Simeon undoubtedly possessed.

Simeon’s gaze moved briefly to Angel, decided that there was nothing there worth lingering upon, then returned to Louis. He retreated into the room behind him, extending his right hand in a gesture of welcome. He did not turn his back on Louis. It came across as a sign of respect as well as of caution.

They entered a large, open-plan living area, dimly lit, with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, occupied by a combination of books, sculptures, and ancient weaponry: blades and axes and daggers, all mounted on transparent glass supports. The room was so cold that Angel felt goose bumps rise. The floorboards were made of reclaimed wood, and the couches and chairs were dark and comfortable, giving the impression that here was the habitation of a man of arms and letters, a throwback to another era. The room itself might even have been from another century, were it not for a glass wall that looked down upon an enclosed swimming pool, the water rippling slightly and casting its patterns on the interior walls. Although the contrast was initially disconcerting, Angel decided that it complemented, rather than undermined, the decor. Unless one was close to the glass, the sunken pool was invisible, so all that remained were the ghosts of the ripples upon the walls. It was like being in the cabin of a great ship at sea.

“Boy, it’s blue,” said Angel, as he stared down at the water, and it was: u

“The pool is professionally treated every week,” said Simeon. “Mr. Hoyle likes his cleanliness.”

There was an edge to his voice when he spoke, a mild under-tone of sarcasm. It made Louis wonder just how committed Simeon was to his boss. Louis had previously met men who were more than bodyguards to their employers, but less than friends. They were like guard dogs who grow to love the men who feed them scraps, doting on moments of affection and viewing any anger directed toward them as evidence of a failure on their part. Simeon didn’t seem like that kind of guy. This was a financial arrangement, pure and simple, and as long as Hoyle continued to put money into Simeon’s account, Simeon would continue to guard Hoyle’s life. Both parties knew exactly where they stood, and Louis guessed that both Hoyle and Simeon liked it that way.

“Hey, is Simeon your first name or your last name?” asked Angel. “Does it matter?”

“Just trying to make conversation.”

“You’re not very good at it,” said Simeon.

Angel looked downcast. “I get that a lot.”

Louis was examining a lance point on one of the shelves. He didn’t touch it, merely moved its glass base carefully in order to view it point-on, as though it were aimed at his face.

“It’s from a Hyksos lance,” said Simeon. “They invaded Egypt seventeen hundred years before Christ and formed the Fifteenth Dynasty.”

“You read that somewhere?” asked Louis.

“No, Mr. Hoyle read it somewhere. He was kind enough to share the knowledge with me, and now I’m passing it on to you.”

“Interesting. You should run tours.” Louis turned to Simeon. “You work for him long?”

“Long enough.”

“That could be taken two ways.”

“Guess so.”

“Where did you serve?”

“What makes you think I’m ex-military?”

“I have good eyes.”

Simeon considered his reply. “Marines.”

“Let me guess: Recon.”

“No. Antiterrorist, out of Norfolk.”

Antiterrorist: that meant FAST, the Marines’ Fleet Antiterrorist Security Team, formed at the end of the 1980s to provide additional short-term protection when the threat was beyond the capabilities of the usual security forces. Simeon would have been trained in threat assessment, the preparation of security plans, guarding VIPs protection. Despite himself, Louis was impressed.

“This must make a pleasant change for you,” said Angel, joining them. “Now you don’t have to lift anything heavier than a wand.” He smiled guilelessly. “It’s like being a fairy godfather.”

Louis had moved on to what appeared to be a dagger and ax combined, with a vicious triangular blade.

“That’s a ko dagger-ax.” Another man had entered the room from a door to the right. He had a full head of silver hair, neatly trimmed, and wore a long-sleeved red polo shirt and tan chinos. His shoes were brown pe

He joined Louis at the shelf, clearly enjoying the opportunity to show off his collection. “Eleventh or tenth century B.C.,” he continued, lifting the weapon so Louis could examine it more closely. “They were all the rage in Pa-Shu during the Eastern Chou, but that one originated in Shansi.”

He replaced the ax and moved on. “This item is interesting.” He carefully moved a curved dagger from its plinth. “It’s late Shang, thirteenth to twelfth century B.C. See, there’s a rattle at the end of its hilt.” He shook the blade gently. “Not for silent killing, I imagine.”

Finally, he moved on to a crude-looking ax that stood on a shelf of its own. “This is one of the oldest weapons I own,” he said. “Hungshan, from the Liao river region of northeast China. Neolithic. Three thousand years old, at least, perhaps even four thousand or more. Here, take it.”

He handed the ax to Louis. Behind him, Angel saw Simeon stiffen slightly. Even after all these years, the ax was clearly capable of inflicting damage. It looked much more recent than it was, a testament to the skill that had gone into its construction. Louis saw that the top of the ax head had been carved to resemble an eagle. He ran the tip of his index finger along the carving.

“It’s religious in nature,” said Hoyle. “The first messenger from the Celestial Ruler was believed to have been a bird. Eagles were believed to transmit human wishes to the gods; in this case, one presumes, the death of an enemy.”

“It’s an impressive collection,” said Louis, returning the ax to him.

“I began collecting when I was a boy,” said Hoyle. “I started with minié balls gathered from the Ke

“They’d stick in the barrel,” Louis finished. “I know. I used to collect them myself.”

“And where was that?” asked Hoyle.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Louis. “It was a long time ago.”

“Well,” said Hoyle. He seemed embarrassed that he had overstepped some mark with Louis by asking about his past. It wasn’t a situation with which he appeared to be familiar. To hide his discomfort, he indicated a pair of armchairs and twin couches surrounding a low redwood table. Louis took one of the chairs, Hoyle another, while Angel sat on a couch. Alcohol was offered, but Angel and Louis declined. Instead, green tea was served, and some Japanese candies that stuck to Angel’s teeth and filled his mouth with a taste of lemon and horseradish that was not unpleasant, merely peculiar.