The Reapers

“Tell me,” said Louis.

Gabriel shifted uneasily.

“Ballantine disappeared on the twelfth. He was under investigation by the SEC. His assets were about to be frozen. Someone, it seems, sent the authorities details of insider trading by companies of which Ballantine was a director. He was facing a series of indictments. It was assumed that he was in hiding, or had fled the jurisdiction.”

“Is there any evidence to suggest otherwise?”

“He has a wife and three children. They have been interviewed, and they seemed genuinely at a loss to explain his absence. He hasn’t been in contact with them. His passport was found in his desk at home. There was a floor safe in one of his closets. His wife didn’t have the combination, or said she didn’t. A court order was obtained to open it. There was nearly one hundred thousand dollars in cash inside, along with almost twice that amount in negotiable bonds.”

“Not the kind of baubles a man on the run would leave behind.”

“Hardly. Especially not so conscientious a family man as Mr. Ballantine.”

Sarcasm dripped like snake venom from Gabriel’s words.

“Too clean to be clean?”

“He owned a house in the Adirondacks through one of his companies. A place in which to entertain clients, one assumes. And to be entertained in turn.”

“Did you find the entertainer?”

“A prostitute. Quite upmarket. She had been advised to keep quiet, even though she knew little enough. Men came. They took Ballantine. They left her.”

“Did you know that he had disappeared before I asked you to look into this?”

Gabriel met Louis’s gaze, but it was a calculated effort.

“I don’t keep up with the activities of all my former clients.”

“That’s a lie.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Not entirely. Some remain on the radar for good reasons, but others I let slide. Ballantine I did not concern myself with. He was an intermediary, nothing more. He used me. On occasion I used him, too, but so did many others. You, of all people, should know how these things work.”

“That’s right. It’s why I’m trying to figure out how much you’ve been hiding from me.”

For the first time since he had arrived, Gabriel smiled. “We all need secrets. Even you.”

“Was Kandic one of yours?”

“No. After you left me, my interest in such matters ceased. There is a new breed of independent contractor out there now, some of them veterans of the conflicts in Chechnya and Bosnia. They’re war criminals. Half of them are on the run from the UN, the other half from their own people. Kandic was ru

“Was he any good?”

“I’m sure that he came highly recommended.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see the reference. It probably didn’t mention that he was prone to decapitation. Is that all you have for me?”

“Nearly.” Hoyle had confirmed what Milton had told Gabriel: there was a link to Leehagen. Now Gabriel explained what he knew of the man named Kyle Benton, and his co

“I’m looking into the rest,” he concluded. “These things take time.”

“How long?”

“A few days. No more than that. Did you believe all that Hoyle told you?”

“I saw a head in a jar, and a girl being eaten by hogs. They both looked real enough. Did you know that Luther Berger was really Jon Leehagen?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“Would it have made any difference?”

“Not then,” Louis conceded. “Did you know who his father was?”

“I was aware of him. He was a creature of contradictions. A hoodlum from the sticks, and an astute businessman. An ignorant man, but with low cu

“And the enmity with Hoyle?”

“True, from what I can find out. They have long been rivals in business affairs, and were once rivals in love. She chose Leehagen, and gave him his two sons. She died of cancer, perhaps the same form of the disease that is now killing Leehagen himself. Their mutual antagonism is well known, although its precise roots appear to be lost in the past.”

“Did his son deserve to die?”

“You know,” said Gabriel, “I think I preferred you when you weren’t so scrupulous.”

“That’s not answering the question.”

Gabriel raised his hands in a gesture of resignation. “What does ‘deserving’ mean? The son was not so different from the father. His sins were fewer, but that was a consequence of age, not effort. A believer in God would say that one sin was enough to damn him. If that is true, then he was damned a hundred times over.”

For a moment, Louis’s features, usually so impassive, altered. He looked weary. Gabriel saw the change, but did not comment upon it. Nevertheless, in that instant Gabriel’s opinion of his protégé altered. He had, he supposed, entertained hopes that Louis might yet prove useful once again. He had been good at what he did, good at killing, but to maintain that edge required sacrifice. Call it what you would-conscience, compassion, humanity-but it had to be left bloody and lifeless upon the altar of one’s craft. Somehow, a little of the decency had been left in Louis’s soul, and over the last decade it had prospered and grown. Yet perhaps Gabriel, too, had failed to smother all of his natural feelings toward the younger man beneath a blanket of pragmatism. He would assist him in this one last matter, and then their relationship would have to come to an unconditional end. There was too much weakness in Louis now for Gabriel to be able to risk keeping the lines of communication open. Weakness was like a virus: it transferred itself from host to host, from system to system. Gabriel had survived in his various incarnations through a combination of luck, ruthlessness, and an ability to spot the flaws in human beings. He pla

“And Bliss?” asked Louis.

“I have heard nothing.”

“Billy Boy was driving the car on the day that we took out Leehagen’s son.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Now he’s dead, and Ballantine’s gone-dead, according to Hoyle. If those killings are linked to Leehagen, then only you and I are left.”

“Well, then, the sooner we clear this whole affair up, the happier we will both be.” Gabriel stood. “I’ll be in touch when I have more to offer,” he said. “You can make your final decision then.”

He left the same way that he had entered. Louis remained seated, considering all that he had been told. It was more than he had before he arrived, yet it was still not enough.

From his perch on a garage roof, Angel followed Gabriel’s progress, watching as the sinister old man walked slowly up the alley, watching as he reached the street and looked left and right, as though undecided about which path beckoned him, watching as an old Bronco with out-of-state plates passed slowly, watching as flames leapt in the darkness of its interior, watching as the old man bucked and clouds of blood shot from his back as the bullets exited, watching as he folded to the ground, the redness pooling around him, the life seeping from him with every failing beat of his heart…