Vince Flynn - The Last Man

“Why, thank you.” Durrani stopped outside the closed door and said, “Give me a moment alone with him and then I’ll call for you.”

“Of course.”

Durrani slid into the room and closed the door. He approached the bed, still not used to the ugly sight before him. “Are you awake?”

Rickman was lying with three pillows beneath his back. He let his head fall to his left and said, “Yes.”

“Good… I see you can barely open one of your eyes.”

“The nurse has been making me ice every hour. It’s torture.”

“But that’s good… isn’t it?”

Rickman ignored the question and said, “You’re going to kill her, aren’t you?”

“Why must you always assume the worst in me?”

“Because you have a history of killing people when they no longer serve your plans.”

“Oh, that,” Durrani said with a smile, refusing to let Rickman’s sour mood spoil this special moment. “And you are such an angel, my friend. We both do what we must do. That is why we work so well together.”

“The nurse?”

Durrani sighed, “What about her?”

“Why do you have to kill her?”

“Stop it. We have more important things to discuss. I need to show you something.”

“What?”

“You will see.” Durrani was back at the door. He opened it a foot and signaled for Lee to join him. He held his finger to his lips and said, “We must speak softly.”

Durrani walked back to the bed with Lee at his side.

“My God,” was all Lee could manage to say.

“I know… it’s horrible.”

“Kids did this?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that. Grown men, really.”

Lee’s face was a combination of shock and revulsion. “Who is he? Have I met him?”

“I’m fairly certain you have never met.” Durrani looked at Rickman. “Joe, have you ever met this man?”

Rickman craned his head back and through a narrow slit in his right eye, he took in a blurry image of the man. He gave his answer through his swollen Vaseline-laden lips. “No,”

“Was he in a bad neighborhood?” the Kansan asked.

“You could say that. That is why I’ve warned you that you must be very careful.”

“This is horrible. Have you contacted the police?”

“No.” Durrani shook his head. “We don’t need to get them involved. My men will handle things.”

“And his family?”

A devilish smile creased Durrani’s lips. “Ah… like you he has no family.”

“Where is he from?”

“Denver, I think. Is that right, Joe?”

Rickman sounded bored. “Yes.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Lee asked with genuine concern.

“As a matter of fact there is,” Durrani said with a huge smile. He glanced over his shoulder and gave the signal to Kassar. Looking back at Lee, he made an apologetic face and said, “If you would die, it would be a huge help.”

Lee’s face twisted into a confused frown.

Kassar had put on his gloves while they were talking and had casually unfolded the plastic bag. In one fell swoop he yanked the bag over Lee’s head and yanked it tight around his neck. Kassar had learned this little trick many years ago. The key was to wear gloves, because the victim always scratched and clawed at your hands. One time, though, a very uncooperative victim had been smart enough to shred the plastic covering his face. It had turned out to be an ugly, lessthan-professional kill, as they ended up rolling around on the floor. Kassar had used the remnants of the bag to strangle the man but had not walked away unscathed. His slightly crooked nose was a constant reminder that he needed to continue to refine his craft. The trash-bag manufacturer Glad solved his problem when they came out with their tear-proof ForceFlex bags.

This particular American was easy to handle. He was neither violent nor physical, and all Kassar had to do was keep him from breaking some of the furniture. He kept a firm grip on the bag and danced the man around in the ample space between the bed and the door. The script was nearly identical every time; the wild arms swinging, the body twisting, both hands clutching to pry his hands loose and then one hand dropping as fatigue set in, and then the other until the victim was spent and simply collapsed.

Kassar lowered Lee to the floor gently, as if he was laying him down for a long nap. He knelt beside the body and kept the bag tight for a ten count. When he was confident that Lee wasn’t about to jerk back to life, he yanked on the two red strings, tied them off and stood.

“Well done,” Durrani said with respect.

“Thank you.” Kassar was pleased with his steady heart rate.

“What do you think?” Durrani said, turning to Rickman.

Rickman was no stranger to murder, but this little orchestrated event seemed particularly absurd to him. He stifled a cough and said, “I have no idea what you are up to.”

“He is a gift to you. He is your new identity. Look at him.” Durrani pointed at the floor.

Rickman didn’t bother lifting his head. “He has a bag over his head.”

“Hmm,” Durrani rubbed his upper lip and then said, “Never mind. He is the same height as you and he has same hair color. I found him over a year ago and made him a business partner on several very lucrative deals. I am building him a house on the property next to this one. It is beautiful. It is where you will stay.”

Rickman’s head hurt and he could sense that OxyContin he’d taken four hours ago was beginning to wear off. “So I will assume this man’s identity?”

Durrani clapped his hands together. “Exactly! You will have to hide. You will have a life and you will be hiding in plain sight. The Americans will never figure it out.”

“The plastic surgeon?”

“He will be here in two days.”

The scope of Durrani’s new twist was starting to sink in. “You will make me look like him?”

“Yes,” Durrani said excitedly. “You will study his past. I have compiled a detailed dossier for you, with photographs and every imaginable detail. His parents are dead and his only relative is a sister in Hawaii whom he has no contact with. He is, what do you call a fellow American who leaves your country?”

“An expatriate.”

“Yes… that is it. He is an expatriate. For the few people who know him I will let them know that he was set upon by thieves in Rawalpindi and suffered a savage beating. It will explain your surgery and the swelling for the next few months, but best of all you will now have a past.”

“A legend.”

“Excuse me?”

Rickman was thinking. “In the business, we call it a legend.”

“Yes… well, whatever you call it, this will give you more freedom, and if your former employers ever digs into your new identity, they won’t find anything suspicious.”

Rickman had to admit that it was a very good tweak to their plan. The plan had been for him to get a new face and take on a fake name. They reasoned if he kept a low-enough profile the CIA would never notice, but this was even better. “I must applaud you, General. This is an improvement.”

“You are welcome,” Durrani said with a short bow. Then, directing his attention to Kassar, he said, “Bring him through the tunnels to the garage and then when it’s dark out, take him to the incinerator.”

“Hold on a minute,” Rickman said with a sinking feeling. “I thought Vazir was supposed to be handling my problem in Zurich.”

“He is. He will leave first thing in the morning.”

Rickman was gripped with panic and began cursing himself for taking the pain pills. “I told you the banker had to be dealt with immediately.”

“Calm down. Vazir needed to take care of this first, and now he is going to rid you of your problem.”