Tom Hinshelwood: The Killer

Having Ferguson killed barely caused a tremor on Procter’s moral compass, broken as it already was. Ferguson was a traitor and a murderer and it was only just that he be executed for his crimes. Procter had ordered far-more-honorable individuals killed than Ferguson and still slept like a chubby baby. Plus, this killing came with an extra bonus: it brought Tesseract on side. Now Procter had his very own pet hitman.

He smiled. It would all work itself out beautifully, though Procter reminded himself not to be too cocky. He was good, that much was certain, but it was always the ones who didn’t realize they weren’t invincible that failed to achieve their fullest potential. He wasn’t about to make the same mistakes Ferguson had made.

Procter knew he was far too good for that.

A gaunt man joined him on the street outside the hospital. He wore a white linen suit and seemed particularly uncomfortable under the Tanzanian sun. Sweat made his pale face shine.

Procter walked alongside him. “How did it go?”

“Nothing recoverable,” the man said. “The frigate is a mess and the missiles onboard are in pieces, corroded, or both. As for the truck, well, the missiles were half-rusty anyway. The fire finished them off. If anything survived it’s been looted.”

“Would have been nice to have brought one back,” Procter said. “But you can’t win them all.”

“No, you never can.”

“What about Tesseract?”

“Our people got here too late to get fingerprints without his noticing, but we have a blood sample from when he came in and, more important, photos. And there are a few other things to follow up on when we get back.” The gaunt man sidestepped a group of laughing children heading the opposite way. “It’s all in here.”

He handed over a slim file, and Procter opened it briefly. “Good job, Mr. Clarke.”

Clarke showed little in his expression. “You don’t really think he’ll stick to the deal, do you?”

“He doesn’t have a choice.”

Clarke looked anything but convinced.

Procter spoke: “When you bring a dangerous dog into your home, waiting until after it takes a chunk from your ass is leaving it too late to establish who’s boss.” He glanced Clarke’s way. “We’ll make sure to let this animal know right from the start he’s at the very bottom of the pack. If he doesn’t stay house trained, there’s a simple solution. We have him put down.”

“If you remember,” Clarke said. “The last time someone tried that things didn’t work out too well.”

“True,” Procter said with a nod. “But we have one irrefutable advantage over our predecessors. With this,” Proctor tapped Tesseract’s new file, “we own him.”

Falls Church, Virginia, U.S.A.

Saturday, three weeks later

22:49 EST

Curtains rippled. The breeze from the open window was light and cooling. William Ferguson lay in his bed, hair damp from the shower, a Scotch and water sitting on the bedside table, a copy of his favorite daily open across his lap. If he hadn’t had the chance to read it fully during the day, he made a point of finishing it before going to sleep.

His house was quiet. It had been a long time since anyone else had lived with him, and he preferred his own company. On rare occasions, though, he missed hearing the noise of others. The small green light caught his attention. It meant everything was okay. Ferguson’s house was fitted with a state-of-the-art security system supplied and installed by the agency. The light would flash red if anything, person or otherwise, broke the perimeter. He’d never yet had to hit the panic button.

It seemed a very long time since Sykes had come back from Tanzania with his hat in his hands. A simple operation had turned into a huge mess, even Ferguson had to admit that, but it was over now. So he wouldn’t get rich, not yet anyway. There was still enough time for one last scheme before he retired. He had managed to prevent his country from getting their fat undeserving hands on Oniks missiles at the very least. It wasn’t much, but it was some small revenge for the way he had been ignored and unappreciated. Ferguson would let things settle down before he considered his next move.

Sykes, lucky SOB that he was, had somehow managed to avoid being murdered by Reed but thankfully had no idea he had ever been a target. Reed had dropped off the grid, and the only explanation for his disappearance was that he had been killed, incredible as that may be. Ferguson had no way of finding out more about events in Tanzania without raising suspicions.

Ferguson knew that he was in the clear, though. Alvarez was no longer hunting for clues, and Procter and Chambers had more-pressing issues to deal with. So long as Ferguson kept his head down, he was safe.

Sykes still needed to be removed. The metrosexual wimp just didn’t have the wits or the stomach for this kind of work, and he was now nothing more than a walking liability. He was the final link between the failed operation and Ferguson and couldn’t be allowed to stay alive. Ferguson would have to find someone else to do the job now that Reed was dead. He would even do it himself if he had to. He would probably enjoy it.

The veteran CIA officer turned the page of his paper and took a sip from the whisky, savoring the taste in his mouth before swallowing. He put the glass back down and frowned, noticing that he was chilly. Blasted open window.

He tried to ignore it, but by the time he’d turned the next page he acted. Ferguson threw back the duvet and marched across his spacious bedroom and into the adjoining annex. Huffing in annoyance, he slammed the window shut, trying to remember when he had opened it in the first place. He prayed to the god he had never believed in that his mind wasn’t going.

Back in bed, he finished off the Scotch and dropped his newspaper on the floor. He settled himself into his usual sleeping position and flicked off the lamp. He searched with his cheek for a smooth area of the pillow. Ferguson sighed, contented.

Cool metal pushed against his temple an instant later.

He gasped.

A man spoke to him from the darkness. It was the last voice he ever heard.

“It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”