Iris Johansen - Eight Days To Live

“One of Venable’s informants, Ted Weismann, sent him a copy of this article. Your photo was circled. And a date was inserted beneath your picture.”

“What date?”

“April 1.”

“So?”

“According to Venable’s informant, it was the date that you had to die.”

Shock. No time for shock. She had to recover quickly and go on, “But April 1 is eight, no seven, days away. And it’s Celine who died.” She shook her head. “It’s all crazy.”

“Venable didn’t think it was crazy. He respected this particular informant. He’d been working with him and trying to round up a group of killers for hire called the Sang Noir, who specialized in murdering political figures. He hadn’t been very successful. No proof. They’re careful and seemed to have enough money for bribes to skirt the law. It’s headed by Jack Millet. Very lethal. Very nasty. The group is responsible for at least two assassinations of world leaders in the last year. Jorge Ralez, President of Colombia. Kim Thai of South Korea, Head of the Parliament.”

She shook her head. “According to the media, Ralez’s death was drug-cartel related.”

“And Kim Thai was supposedly targeted by North Korean secret police. Neither of their killers was caught. High-profile cases and still no one brought to justice. Very strange.”

“Yes, but it has nothing to do with me.”

“It didn’t until Venable’s informant, Weismann, sent him this newspaper with your photo. He’d copied it from one that Millet had in his possession.” He paused. “He also said that Millet had been sent the photo by a businessman who was closely involved with Millet and the Sang Noir.”

“What kind of involvement?”

He shrugged. “Weismann wasn’t sure. It wasn’t unusual for Millet to negotiate hits with anyone who had the money. Murder is murder. The payout would have had to be spectacular to get him to agree to any deal.” He paused. “But he was on the phone ranting and raving with the man who sent him that clipping the moment he received it.”

“And who is this businessman?”

MacDuff shook his head. “Millet kept his arrangement with him very hush-hush. Only a few people knew about it. It took a lot of digging before Venable’s informant, Weismann, could tell him the little he found out.”

Jane impatiently shook her head. “Look, none of this has anything to do with me. Even if Millet had a copy of this article, it couldn’t be considered very high priority. I’ve no connection with any of those people. Which could mean that the whole idea of my involvement was a fluke.” A horrible mistake, a dreadful fluke. “For God’s sake, I’m an artist. I stay as far away from politics as I can get.”

“I don’t think that it was a mistake. They went to a great deal of trouble to zero in on your location here. And your friend, Celine, was murdered. Crucified.”

She flinched. Crucified . The word was as ugly as the act itself. It took a moment for her to regain control.

Then she shook her head wearily. “I don’t know. All I know is that it doesn’t make sense.”

“It has to make sense. We just have to find out how. Because it’s not only you on the line now. Jock killed one of their men tonight. I told you, Millet is very nasty. He’s not going to forgive and forget.”

“Jock shouldn’t have even been here,” she said bitterly. “Damn Venable.”

“He justified it by saying there had been several leaks, and he couldn’t afford another one in a sensitive operation. He went after Jock because he knew that he could trust him to get rid of any threat to you. He sent him to Rome, where the main branch of the Sang Noir is located, and told him to see what he could find out. There wasn’t any question of his completely infiltrating the group. They’re very tight. But he was able to cruise along in the shallows and be on hand to pick up information as it became available.” He smiled sardonically. “They weren’t suspicious of him. Venable got Weismann to spread the stories about Jock’s background. After all, he had excellent credentials in their field of expertise. Word does get around.”

Their field of expertise. Death.

Yes, no one could say Jock wasn’t a prime expert in that field. And he’d added another body to that reputation tonight, and it had been for her sake.

MacDuff shrugged. “Anyway, Jock had been aware of something stirring about you for the last few days. But he only found out late yesterday afternoon that Millet had left Rome for Paris. He called Venable and told him to make sure you were protected, then headed for the airport. It appears he got here just in time.”

“Not for Celine,” she said dully. “Such savagery. Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But Jock is no fool, and he thinks that Venable is right and April 1 is your death date.”

She tried to smile. “April Fool.”

“I don’t regard it as a joke.”

“I know you don’t. Because Jock killed a man tonight because of me.”

“Yes.” He met her eyes. “And because you’re family, and no one threatens my family.”

She pulled her gaze away from him. She had told him several times that she had no connection to his blasted family. But he had gotten the idea into his head and wouldn’t let go of it. “I’m no MacDuff. I’m an illegitimate street kid, and I like it just fine that way. Joe Quinn and Eve Duncan are the only family I need or want. And I’ll take care of my own threats, MacDuff.”

“Whatever you say.” He smiled. “Cousin. But the portrait of Great-aunt Fiona MacDuff on my wall at home makes me wonder. There’s no discounting the resemblance.”

“She lived during the late eighteen hundreds and everyone looks like someone. We’re a homogenized race.”

“You don’t believe that, and neither do I. We both have egos that tell us we’re unique.” His smile disappeared. “And someone has put you on a list that definitely makes you stand out.”

“Not that you didn’t stand out before.” Jock stood in the kitchen doorway with a huge cup in his hand. “I found a souvenir mug on one of the top shelves.” He came toward her. “Much better than those little cups.” He gave her the mug and took the other cup away from her. “Now drink that down. I’m sure MacDuff has told you enough to make you need another jolt of caffeine.”

“You should have come to me, told me.” She shook her head. “MacDuff says there’s no mistake, but I still can’t see any connection that would make sense.”

“There was a connection. No one mentioned your name, but I saw that newspaper article in the possession of at least three of the members.” He made a face. “It was pretty frustrating not to be able to learn more. They welcomed me on a very tentative basis. I wasn’t privy to any crucial information, and they watched me as much as I watched them. But they definitely thought I might be useful to them at some point.” His lips lifted in a sardonic smile. “Why not?”

“Did you know anything about Folard, the man you killed?”

“No, he was never in Rome. But if he was sent after you, then he was probably one of the core eight.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I gathered that there are eight who are considered the core or most important members. They’re the only ones that Millet trusts and allows to travel with him.”

“How many people belong to this Sang Noir?”

Jock hesitated. “I’m not sure. The Sang Noir has twenty or thirty members in Rome. But I understand he gets phone calls from all over the world. Of course, they could be clients.”

“But you don’t believe that?” MacDuff asked.

“I don’t know what I believe. I was only concentrating on getting information that pertained to Jane.” He paused. “I didn’t give a damn about anything else. Let Venable track down all Millet’s dirty business. If I’d run across something about this deal Venable’s so concerned about, I’d have told him, but it wasn’t a priority. I knew he was using me.” He added, “In fact, he suggested rather bluntly that he wouldn’t be opposed if I took out Millet.”