Page 35 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
“How can you be sure this tip you received was credible?” Min said to Thirteen, trying hard not to glance at Jahad. It was like trying not to look at a car accident on the freeway. You wanted to see a glimpse of a bloody corpse, yet hoped simultaneously not to.
“Certain details were given that proved credibility beyond a doubt. I wouldn’t be here if there was any question of authenticity,” replied Thirteen, his one eye glittering icy blue, cold as an arctic sky. His voice held a strong German accent that, in addition to his missing parts and that lone, frigid eye, made him seem like something straight out of a folktale by the brothers Grimm.
“And just to be perfectly clear, your organization is willing to underwrite the entire cost of this operation? If this tip proves accurate, and we move forward with your plan, we’re likely looking in the hundreds of millions, including reparations to the Brazilian government, and any affected farmers or indigenous tribes. The cost of reforesting alone will be astronomical. Destroying an entire section of the Amazon rainforest—”
“Money is no object to the Chairman,” Thirteen interrupted, sneering. “You of all people should be aware of that.”
A flush crept over the Secretary-General’s cheeks. The Chairman had given generously to his election campaign. He’d never met the man—he remained an enigma, a faceless entity represented only through third-parties such as Thirteen—but his influence, and bank account, were definitely real.
For the first time, Jahad spoke. His voice was deep and somehow soulless, matching the empty look in his pale eyes. “We’re not looking for money. What we want is a guarantee.”
The Secretary-General finally looked directly at Jahad. Blinking behind his large glasses, he waited for the albino to continue.
“The UN will not interfere in any way. You will sanction this action, and allow us to proceed in whatever way we see fit.”
Min’s brows lifted. “I can’t give a unilateral guarantee that there won’t be a call for some kind of accountability. The Security Council will want to get involved—”
“There will be no interference.”
The threat in Jahad’s tone was obvious. It had Min sitting up straighter in his seat, the flush in his cheeks deepening. His voice went up an octave. “It’s my duty to report any matter that threatens the maintenance of international peace and security. Can you imagine what Brazil might have to say about this? Let alone the international conservation communities—”
“You can convince them,” Thirteen interrupted, sounding absolutely sure of it.
Min looked back and forth between the albino and Jahad, his outrage growing. Who did these two hooligans think they were, ordering him around? “The General Assembly can override me. They have veto power, regardless of what I recommend. The United Nations isn’t a monarchy, gentlemen. There are one hundred ninety-three member states, each of which gets a vote.”
Thirteen’s lips curved upward, but it was grim and ugly, a mockery of a smile. He set a leather briefcase on the table, clicked it open, and withdrew five manila folders, each with a name neatly typed in the upper right-hand corner.
/> “The five permanent members of the Security Council who hold veto power are the only ones who really matter. In these folders you will find information about those five members that might . . . motivate them to agree with whatever you suggest.”
Min was almost afraid to touch the folders Thirteen pushed across the table toward him. He glanced at Jahad, who sat stone-faced and shark-eyed at the end of the table, then back at Thirteen. He lifted the flap on one of the envelopes and withdrew a black-and-white photograph from within.
With a sick twist in his stomach, he shoved the photo roughly back into the folder.
In a tone so hissed it was nearly reptilian, Thirteen said, “Our friend Mr. Drake certainly does enjoy those underage boys.”
The Secretary-General said stiffly, “This is not the way to go about convincing people your plan is correct, gentlemen.”
“Im gegenteil,” said Thirteen. “On the contrary, this is exactly the way to convince them. Self-preservation is the strongest basic human motivation, even beyond that of procreation or the need for food or shelter. Every man has a flaw, a secret, or a regret he will go to any length to hide. Uncover it, exploit it, and there’s nothing he won’t do for you. This is the key to politics, Mr. Secretary-General. This is the key to gaining consensus. Surely you must know that by now.”
The satisfied smirk Thirteen sent him told Min he had underestimated the lengths these two men would go to get what they wanted. It also told him he’d made a terrible miscalculation when he’d accepted money from the Chairman.
He sat stiffly back into his plush leather chair and gazed at Thirteen with new respect, and new animosity. He chose his next words carefully. “Blackmail will not be necessary, gentlemen. These creatures slaughtered twenty-six of the world’s most important religious and political leaders in a coordinated attack that left no question about their disposition toward the human race. Or their ability to bypass our defenses. Public opinion is already on your side. A few well-timed words are all that will be needed to ensure your operation moves forward without incident.”
“But backups are always good, too,” said Jahad, smiling like Thirteen. On him it looked even more unnerving, the grin of a crocodile as its jaws snapped closed over your head.
The Secretary-General abruptly stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “My housekeeper will show you out. If you need to contact me again, I suggest you do so on a secure line, and not at the UN where a record of all calls are kept. My private cellular is off-grid. Use that.”
Thirteen and Jahad stood as well, acknowledging the instructions with matching expressions of disdain.
No one shook hands. The Secretary-General turned and hurried from the room.
Like a rat nibbling the toes of a drunkard lying unconscious in a dark alley, something was worrying the edges of Jack’s sleep.
It was a slipping, sliding, ambiguous sort of unease, a presence that took a shadowy form beneath and behind the surface of things, ghostly and teasing and altogether unwelcome.
What was it?
Or who?
