Vince Flynn - Consent To Kill

"C'est зa que tu cherches?" Are you looking for this? asked a low voice.

A gloved hand emerged from the shadows. In it was Abel's PDA. Abel looked past the hand at the man. His eyes had adjusted just enough that he could see his visitor was wearing something to cover his face. The voice, unfortunately, was familiar and it made Abel think of coffee and warm breath on the back of his neck.

Straining to appear calm, Abel said, "I see you have lowered yourself to thievery."

The gloved hand reappeared and flicked the PDA across the room. It spun through the air and landed in the center of the king-size bed. "I have stolen nothing. A man in your line of work should know better than to trust hotel safes."

Abel listened to the man's words and decided he must be American, but he couldn't quite place the dialect. "You have a nasty habit of sneaking up on people…maybe I can return the favor someday."

The man scoffed, "That would be stupid."

"And why is that?" Abel was proud of himself for not sounding too nervous.

"If I returned to my hotel room and found a man sitting in the dark, I would put a bullet in his head."

Abel had been around some very unsettling individuals, but this man was in a league of his own. He was beginning to give Abel a feeling of inadequacy. "What if you didn't have a gun?"

"I always have a gun."

"But if you didn't?"

"I would still kill the man. It just might take a split second longer."

"So what do you think I should do?" asked Abel. "I have just returned to my very expensive hotel and have discovered a burglar in my room. Should I kill him?"

The man laughed in a very low, almost snickering way. "Impossible."

"Please tell me why." Abel folded his arms across his chest.

"For starters…you do not have a gun, and I do."

"How do you know I don't have a gun?"

"I watched you eat dinner. You looked very lonely, by the way," the man added. "I watched you put on your coat before you left for your walk. I can tell if a man has a gun on him. You do not."

Abel conceded the point with a nod. "Continue."

"I am a trained assassin and you are not, Herr Abel. While I know you are not a stranger to violence, you do not strike me as the type of person who gets his hands dirty."

"Don't be so certain." Abel held his ground. "Any other reasons I might be missing?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. One very obvious operational detail. You have registered under your real name and put the room on your credit card. If you were to succeed in killing me…which you wouldn't…you would have a mess to deal with."

"I have many contacts…" Abel paused in search of a name. "What should I call you?"

"We'll get to that later." The man crossed his legs and placed both hands on his knee. "You were saying?"

Abel noticed for the first time that the man was holding a silenced pistol in his other hand. "I have many contacts. I could easily make a phone call and have your body disposed of in a very discreet manner."

The man did not answer right away. "I suppose you could, but I do not see you as that type of a risk taker. It would be too impulsive. You are a man who must analyze every detail before you are moved to action."

"And you?" asked Abel.

"I am a killer. That is what I do for a living, and I live in such a way that the decision to kill or not to kill can be made instantaneously, without having to worry about how it will affect my life."

Abel was starting to enjoy this. With a slight smile he asked, "And how does one live their life in such a way as to be able to make such decisions instantaneously?"

"By any reasonable standard I am a wealthy man, but unlike you I own nothing. I am tied to nothing. You, on the other hand, own significant real estate in both Switzerland and Austria. If you have to run, those assets will be seized…bank accounts will be frozen. You have too many roots to kill a man, where I have none. I am like the wind. Here one moment and gone the next."

"I have taken certain precautions," Abel said with a tight voice.

"I have no doubt that you have, but the vast majority of your net worth is tied up in hard assets that are owned under your name. You are also a very meticulous and prudent man. You will not throw away the fruits of your labor so lightly."

Abel hated being wrong. He conceded the last point with another nod and announced, "I need a drink." He turned for the other room. Over his shoulder he asked, "May I get you one?"

The man followed him. "No, thank you. I never drink when I'm on the job."

Abel opened the minibar. "That's a very American sentiment. Are you American?"

"I am American, I am British, I am Canadian, I am French, I am German, I am Russian…I am whatever I need to be."

Abel grabbed a bottle of Remy Martin VSOP. "How about German?"

Abel poured the cognac into a snifter while he listened to the man talk about the weather in absolutely perfect German spoken with a slight Rhineland dialect. He picked up his glass and turned around. It was the first time he'd actually gotten a look at the man and unfortunately, there wasn't much to see. His head was covered in a black hood with slits for his eyes, nose, and mouth. He guessed him to be about five ten, but couldn't be sure since the man was already sitting on the armrest of the salon's couch.

"How about Russian?"

This time he broke into a scathing rebuke of Lenin and Stalin. He spoke so rapidly that Abel had a hard time keeping up. He was so pleased, however, that the man shared his hatred for two of the last century's biggest thugs and mass murderers that he actually flashed an approving smile. Abel held up his snifter. "I will drink to that."

He went over to the other couch and sat. "I assume I won't be able to talk you into taking that mask off."

The man shook his head. "Trust me…it is as much for your safety as mine."

Fine, Abel thought to himself. I will know what you look like sooner or later. "What should I call you?"

"What would you like to call me?"

Abel was beginning to relax. "Come now, you must have an alias that you use?"

"Never more than once. Pick a name."

Abel smelled the cognac and tried to come up with something significant. He decided to toy with him. "How about Hector?"

The man thought about it for a second. "Bad name. He was killed by Achilles."

"How about Achilles, then?" Abel smiled, proud of himself for trapping the man.

The man shook his head. "Nothing Greek. Far too much tragedy with the Greeks. Let's start over. Who is the target?"

Abel shook his head vigorously. "I need to know more about you before we get to that."

"Fine. I will be satisfied with his or her nationality, and city or country in which I will be operating."

Abel set his glass down. "As I said, I need to know more about you before I start getting into details."

The man hesitated before answering. "I am in the business of killing. Have I ever turned down a job before?" he asked himself. "Yes, but not because I had a moral dilemma over ending an individual's life. I have turned down jobs because I did not feel the person with whom I was dealing was being honest with me."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Long enough."

"This will not work for me," Abel said as he shook his head. "I need to know more about you. This is a seven-figure contract we are talking about. I will not simply hire someone without knowing their history."

The man sighed and said, "Listen, I know this is hard for you to understand. You are a German. You are organized, you are anal-retentive, you worked for the Stasi for ten years, and you like to keep records, but trust me when I tell you…this is as much for your own good as it is for mine."

Abel made a sour face. "I don't see how knowing nothing about you benefits me."