exit wound, either. It was a furrow. Like a glancing blow, that shreds flesh but only cracks bone, instead of piercing it. Maybe an unlucky ricochet.
It was not a new wound. Far from it. I could practically smell it through the paper. I had seen wounds like that before. It was between twelve and twenty days old. That was my guess. And it hadn’t healed. Hadn’t even begun. It looked like it had gone septic early, and gotten messy, and no doubt the infection had caused a raging fever, and it looked like the guy had fallen for it hard, racked and sweating, tossing and shivering, losing weight, getting pale, becoming nothing more than glittering skin wrapped tight over jutting cheekbones, and then finally getting his picture taken by a bored government clerk. Rest in peace, wherever. It was impossible to say what the guy had looked like three weeks before, other than he was probably white, and his skull was a normal size.
I said, ‘So?’
Bennett said, ‘That’s one of the retired snipers we keep an eye on.’
‘And?’
‘He got hired all the way to Venezuela. But things went wrong over there. You know how it is. Everyone betrays everyone else. Our boy got in a gunfight with the police, and he got away, but not before getting hit in the head. Which he didn’t get treated, because now he was on the run. He holed up in a chicken house somewhere, and tried to gut it out. He ate raw eggs and drank from a hosepipe at night. But the infection was bad. A woman found him delirious, and took him to the hospital in the back of her pick-up truck. By that point his blood work looked like toxic waste. He died a day later. He had no name and no ID. But he looked foreign to them, so they put his fingerprints on the Interpol system.’
‘And?’
‘That’s William Carson.’
FORTY-NINE
BENNETT SAID, ‘KOTT is the only one not accounted for now. Which raises two possibilities. Which throws them into a panic, obviously. Because now they have to choose. Either you’re wrong, and the same guy could make both shots, or they’re wrong, and there are more snipers in the world than they know about.’
I said, ‘Which way are they leaning?’
‘I’m sure they’d like to blame you, but they’re supposed to be rational. The truth is they just don’t know.’
‘Not even the psychological subcommittee?’
‘Not even.’
‘It’s option one,’ I said. ‘Kott is on his own.’
‘What tells you that?’
‘A toothless hillbilly in Arkansas.’
‘Are you admitting you were wrong?’
‘I’m admitting I was misled.’
‘By what?’
‘Doesn’t matter yet. Doesn’t change what we have to do next.’
‘Which is what?’
‘We have to get Little Joey out of his house.’
‘How?’
‘We’re going to negotiate with him. Face to face, because of the size of the deal.’
‘Which is what?’
‘We’re going to sell Charlie to him.’
‘Like a ransom?’
I shook my head. ‘Like a purchase price. All anyone knows so far is that Charlie was snatched up by persons unknown, so now we can sell him on, under the table, and Joey can beat whatever kind of information he wants right out of him, and no one will ever be the wiser. Done deal, right there. Because now Joey’s got the account numbers and the passwords and he knows where the bodies are buried. He’s the new boss, automatically.’
‘Will he go for that?’
‘Are you kidding?’
‘I mean, will he understand the logic?’
‘It’s a DNA thing. Like rats. He’ll come running. Which is what we want.’
‘Why were you not more surprised by Carson?’
‘Just a feeling.’
‘About what?’
‘Joey doubled his guard. He didn’t triple it. Yet he likes to put on a show. There were only two people in the house. Joey and Kott.’
‘Why not Joey and Carson?’
‘It was Kott’s bullet in Paris. Chemistry says so. Trust me. This is all about John Kott.’
‘No, this is all about the G8.’
‘The G8 is safe. Trust me on that, too.’
‘It can’t be safe until we get him. He’s the last one.’
‘The G8 was never the target,’ I said.
‘So what is?’
‘I need my information about the glass.’
‘You’ll get it. What’s the target?’
‘Something that doesn’t change what we have to do next.’
‘We’re not doing anything next. They’re still talking.’
‘Who’s talking?’
‘The committees.’
‘John Kott is in Little Joey’s house. That’s all they need to know. Tell them that from me.’
‘They’ll say your credibility is damaged.’
‘Then I’ll do what my mother told me, whenever I got mad. I’ll count to three.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Can you count to three?’
‘Of course I can.’
‘Show me.’
‘One, two, three.’
I said,