It was about an hour past sundown when we arrived at our target’s location. As we pulled up to a large line of cars in front of his mansion, a valet opened the door for Lucita, and the two of us stepped out onto the finely tended walkway leading up to the front doors.
Luigi’s “fundraiser” was already in full swing and honestly was one of the more impressive gatherings I’d attended. Everything from the surroundings to the guests was a remarkable sight. The estate was, in simple terms, a palace. Lucita hadn’t been understating things when she’d called it that. The front doors alone were at least four times the size of a normal mansion entrance, emphasizing the sheer scope of the palace. There were hundreds of guests as well, perhaps as many as a thousand.
Walking in, arm in arm with Lucita, I immediately noted that security was being provided by J5R Securities. The world’s largest private military contractor (PMC) had public agents stationed at every entrance and interspersed among the guests and staff. My IRD conjured little golden circles in my vision that identified the make and model of their armaments as well as which ones were wearing body armor.
While useful information, it was rather distracting, and I wondered how long it would take me to engage and disengage scanning mode. I was also a little put off by knowing plenty of information about the people around me that hadn’t been included in my briefing—they were just things I knew. I had the suspicion I was a guinea pig for Fourth Generation cyberware, and I did not appreciate it one bit. Not that my opinion mattered to the Society.
The estate’s interior was just as disgustingly opulent as the exterior, with a grand marble staircase heading up the middle of the front hall, polished gray flagstone floors, statues of Michelangelo-inspired angels along the corners of the ceiling, and an enormous crystal chandelier.
“It seems a lot of people want to see him become president,” I said, watching a security guard scan the barcode inside Lucita’s engraved invitation. She’d been keeping it in her purse the entire time and I was surprised there wasn’t blood on it.
“Most of them, yes,” Lucita said, causally scanning the crowd. “The rest are here for the tax write-off.”
“Tax write-off?”
“Speak Russian. Few people understand that here,” Lucita said, switching languages. “Luigi is officially raising money for the refugee crisis. He’s getting his final push into office by trying to get private enterprises to donate hundreds of millions in Euros to construct housing for the poor brown people on territories well away from proper Italians.”
“Ah.”
“Not that most of the money will ever be seen by them.”
“All for an election that’s already fixed,” I replied in Russian.
“Italian politics are much more honest than American. There, they do some truly despicable things.”
“You’re right,” I said, sucking in my breath. “I’ve done some of them.”
It seemed Marissa hadn’t been understating things when she said Luigi Mondo was dirty. Stealing millions meant to buy food and shelter for starving refugees made him lower than Redmond, who was one of the more repellent people I’d killed.
“Any updates from your people and their mission?”
“Don’t talk about it here,” Lucita said, putting on a pair of sunglasses. “Also, keep an eye out for my father’s men.”
“You think they’ll be here?”
“We survived, didn’t we? He’ll send another set of assassins to finish me off soon. Probably under the guise of protecting you from the International Refugee Society.”
“Not a very good cover story.”
“It only has to last until we’re dead.”
I didn’t expect there to be any assassins threatening us here. After all, the Caesar wasn’t trying to kill his daughter. He might know the Black Tide was responsible for attacking her, but the only people who might know who hired them were dead now since they operated in cells. Marissa had chosen a very good set of mercenaries for my plan.
At least as deniable expendable assets.
I wasn’t about to abandon my probing Lucita for information, though. I needed to control the situation and that required a firm understanding of what was going on. Lucita was running on emotions and adrenaline, which did wonders for my plan to manipulate her but very little for my belief we could pull this off. Emotions were the enemy of any artfully planned hit and inevitably resulted in things becoming sloppy.
I hated sloppy.
“I need to know what our status is,” I said, sighing. “It’s the only way I can help you.”
A waiter brought us both champagne as we moved through the crowd as if we belonged witht t them. I’d made almost a hundred thousand dollars for each of my hits and sometimes more, generating a fortune of almost ten million dollars. But none of that money was even a drop in the bucket to the fortunes present here.
To my left, I noticed Solomon “The Grocer” Ginsberg, a man who smuggled NATO weapons to various groups in Africa and the Middle East on behalf of the Syndicate. He was talking to Marcus Wellington, a member of British House of Commons whose son was deeply involved in both the slave trade as well as blood diamonds. In the corner of my eye Mahad al-Malik, good friend to the late Marshall Redmond, was arm in arm with a Turkish crime lord named Jasmine. I had my suspicions that Mahad’s presence here was less about any connections he had to Middle Eastern terrorists and more about whatever deal he’d managed to cut for rolling on his friends back in Chicago.
Luigi Mondo had some very interesting friends.
Lucita took a sip of her champagne. “Very well. I’ve already sent my people to start dealing with my father’s associates. I’m keeping the information circle small and doing it on the orders of my father through the codes he’s prone to using. After we deal with Mondo, I’ve set up a place for my father and brother to meet us. A restaurant he believes to be lucky because the old woman who runs it covers it in folk magic charms. I’ve hidden weapons there for us to retrieve and deal with the issue. The staff will also include outside contractors.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
I nodded. “Sounds good. I can deal with him if you’re conflicted.”
“No,” Lucita sat, finishing her glass. “This is my kill.”
I nodded. “As you wish.”
“We’ll take you to Gordon afterward. He’s in the laboratory underneath the palace, a converted dungeon from the days our home belonged to the Pazzis. There’s a private elevator in the library that leads right down to him. There, is that enough?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll need you, of course, to convince him to help me get my memories.”
Lucita snorted. “As well as get down. The elevator is rigged to only respond to our family’s voices.”
Little did she know how many samples the Society had of her and her father’s voices on file. I now had all the information I needed to accomplish my primary mission and, should things turn south, to simply leave the current premises and make my own way to the Palace of Miracles. I wasn’t about to abandon my current plan, though, especially since it would hopefully diminish the amount of resistance I’d face from the Carnevale’s people.
“Do you see Luigi?” I asked, switching topics.
“Not yet,” Lucita said, giving the crowd a once-over. “If he’s smart, he’ll play along and greet me as if I was his sister.”
“I rarely find assuming people will react in an intelligent manner to be beneficial.”
“The worst thing he could do would be to sic his people on us. In which case we have to kill them, then him, and get away.”
“Just like that.”
“Just like that. We should try not to die, obviously.”
“I have some equipment that might help.” I had my modular pistol, a set of poisons disguised as chewing gum, my cellphone with its garrote wire, and a pen grenade. Ever since the Shin Bet (the Israeli FBI) killed Yahya Abd-al-Latif Ayyash with an exploding cellphone, assassination had become an ever-increasing array of strange gadgets. However, the pen grenade felt like something from a movie.
“I don’t need weapons to kill people,” Lucita said calmly. “Though I’d prefer to make it look like an accident.”
“That’s my specialty,” I said, looking up at the chandelier before dismissing it as too cartoonish.
A part of me was contemplating making an adjustment to my plan. Knowing Luigi was planning to turn on the Carnevale left me with the option of saving his life. Only the Carnevale wanted him dead, after all, and if I could prove to him they were after him now, I might be able to exert his influence to launch a direct assault on the Palace of Miracles. Lucita’s plan had the potential to eliminate her father and brother but left the Carnevale intact, which was standing between me and Marcus Gordon. Certainly, there was enough wealth on display here that Luigi could grease a few palms to get the army moving. That was a lot of ifs, ands, buts, and maybes, though. A good assassin should be willing to improvise on a mission, but I preferred things to work like clockwork. I would also have to kill Lucita, and while that was the plan, I found it wasn’t a part I was looking forward to. She was charming, if murderous, company.
Of course, who wasn’t in my social circle?
“Found him,” Lucita said, switching back to Italian.
“Hmm?” I said, faking taking a sip of my champagne. I wasn’t about to risk being poisoned, even if it would take a hefty solution to put me down.
I followed her line of sight to the next room, where I saw a gray-haired, overweight man in his fifties who had probably been quite handsome in his youth but was now on the decline. Wearing a grey pin-stripe suit, Luigi did not look like a criminal or a man deeply involved in assassination. The target was standing beside a depressed but attractive raven-haired woman in her forties, and a ten-year-old girl who was probably their youngest child. Both were dressed in clothing less expensive than the rest of the high fashion around them, which called into question how much of his vast fortune Luigi allowed his loved ones. Combine that with the fact that the girl’s wrist had been broken recently, and I wondered how much Luigi loved his family at all.
“What are your policies on children?” Lucita said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Lucita narrowed her gaze. “Think about it.”
“Ah.”
I’d never killed any, never even thought about the possibility, but now I was being confronted with the question. Were younger lives intrinsically more valuable than older ones? Quite the opposite. A surgeon, for example, has significantly more value than a young girl. Yet there was a strange sensation that this was not the right attitude to take.
Curious.
“I’m a Letter,” I said, deciding it was better not to frame any moral objections at this time. “Life has no inherent meaning beyond the bottom line.”
“I like them,” Lucita said. “We should go talk to him about his daughter in order to arrange for a more private meeting with Mondo upstairs.”
“Assuming he cares.”
Lucita glared at me.
“Just saying.”
“Most fathers do,” Lucita said, walking forward.
I followed.
I attempted to call Marissa in order to get some additional information on the situation, but strangely, I received no response. It was possible her shift had ended and she was being replaced by another Assistant. Unlikely, but possible. Yet there should have been a response.
Which made me wonder whether the home office still existed.
No, it was probably just a glitch.
Probably.
Reaching Mondo and his family, I saw Luigi’s face fall at the presence of Lucita, and his eyes conveyed a look of genuine fear as Lucita leaned down to give his daughter a pinch on the cheek.
“Such a lovely young girl,” Lucita said cheerfully in Italian. “I’m sure she’ll grow up to be a beautiful lady.”
“Ah, could you excuse us for a moment, Maria?” Luigi said to his wife. I couldn’t tell if he was worried about his daughter or himself. Though really, they weren’t mutually exclusive. “Please take Alyssa with you.”
Lucita made a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, don’t be silly, we’re old friends. No need to send them away.”
The menace was entirely understated, but I could tell Luigi was terrified.
We had him.
Lucita gestured to me. “This is my friend—”
“I know who he is,” Luigi said, staring at me. “I know what he is.”
I felt a surge of memories pass through my consciousness, like someone turning on a spigot and then turning it off in rapid succession.
I saw Luigi Mondo among the politicians and financers watching over me. I was fourteen years old, bald, and holding a pistol at a firing range as I shot at the targets that popped up in front of me.
I saw Universiti soldiers, some of the world’s best mercenaries, leading me and two dozen other children on a run across snowy hills. We were dressed like soldiers despite our age and barely felt the cold as we moved up the side.
I saw myself getting married to the brown-skinned, dark-haired woman from my dreams.
I saw the birth of our child.
None of this made sense. Universiti hadn’t changed its name from Black Forest until 2011, yet its soldiers were wearing the modern uniform in my vision. I wasn’t a child soldier, I was certain of it, yet there was the image in my head. What was going on? Was I cracking up? God, did I need to be mind-wiped again?
“We need to speak, Minister,” I said, forcing those thoughts down. It seemed I had much to talk with Luigi about.
Assuming I wasn’t just going insane.
Maria, Luigi’s wife, looked between us, then to her husband. “Luigi, is something wrong? Do I need to get security?”
“No,” Luigi said, taking a deep breath and putting on a relaxed expression. “Nothing’s wrong. These are just some business associates and I’ve made some decisions that upset them.”
“Well, tell them to fuck off,” Maria said. “You’re going to be the president!”
“Yeah, fuck off!” the little girl said, staring up at us.
I smiled. I was starting to like his family.
Too bad I was about to break it up.
Luigi took a deep breath and looked past us before nodding. “I’ll go with you, upstairs. Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
Lucita smiled. “Of course.”
Lucita hadn’t noticed what he looked at, but I did. Turning my head, I caught a glimpse of an extremely tall man in the attire of a security guard.
The Smiling Killer.
Shit.