"Once there were three of them, the best in their profession.
The Jackal is now gone, leaving only Clerk and The Raven. Men whose services are open to hire. And there are those taking part in the chess game of world domination who do not hesitate to call on them to do their bidding..."
“Anton ought to be in California, by now. He’s got a brother there, no?” the Englishman said in a low voice.
“Plus all the friends, locals, from Argentina, and from the rest of South America,” Marco added dryly.
Damon dug into his coat pocket and came up with a Camel and a lighter. “My informant tells me he isn’t there. And he has no idea when the bastard will move on.”
“How about our man Raven? He’s in place, no?” Charles looked to Damon for confirmation.
“Of course, but we don’t know where Anton will land. I can see many complications. Cops are there, too. He’ll be protected. They don’t know him from Adam.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen, smoking is strictly prohibited,” a passing museum employee sharply reminded them.
“But, of course, of course, sorry.” Damon quickly returned the unlit Camel and lighter to his coat pocket.
Marco turned to Damon. “Raven was instructed to deliver him unharmed. We want him in Europe, before the Court…”
Damon nodded. “Sure, I’ve already told him that. Now, you tell me what he’s going to do if bloody Anton gets twenty-four hour police protection? I haven’t got a clue, have you? Raven will be operating on foreign soil, illegally. What if he gets caught?”
“It’s a real headache. The FBI won’t allow us in, officially. Raven will be okay as long as he’s on his own. And ‘fully responsible for all his actions’. They don’t want to know about the European matters. Furthermore, there’s another complication. The Church is involved—a number of their damn priests and particularly the Franciscans. Hell, Jesus Christ was the greatest man-of-peace, if not God’s son, but His clergy’s damn imperfect…not the fault of our Savior, of course. But we’ve got us a problem. We can’t have the Church implicated.”
Marco looked at Charles. “Sure, but we could get the Sicilians involved. They’d do a perfect job on that swine. More efficient and more appropriate.”
“And he’d end up a martyr.” Charles grimaced in disgust. “No, the orders are to bring him in alive and have him tried. That’s what we’ve got to do. They’ll judge the maniac like a human being for the atrocities even an ignorant animal wouldn’t commit—because we’re civilized. How old is your Hellenic civilization?” Charles looked at Damon.
“Why not use a couple of guys like Raven?” Marco wondered aloud.
Charles shook his head. “Because of too much exposure; more chance for a scandal. No, they discussed that at length and decided on one man.”
“How much does he get?” Marco asked.
“Don’t ask. We’re not supposed to know. It’s not our business, anyway,” Damon mumbled.
Charles looked at Marco, smiling. “A torpedo like Raven? I’m sure that old boy knows how to bargain. He’ll do all right, don’t you worry.”
Marco turned to Damon. “Anyone met him yet? Is he Cuban?”
“No, I doubt it; they just codenamed him ‘Raven’. Could be young. No one’s seen him…the man operates solo, incognito. Those who have seen him probably haven’t lived long enough to tell.
“My assignment’s to keep him informed. Personally, I wouldn’t want to meet him. Hell, it’d be like meeting Mr. Death in person.”
Charles got up. “So, we get together on Monday evening, eight sharp, at the Crazy Horse. A chance to meet Anton’s love. Quite a looker, a South American fire-cracker, they say. I’d love to ask her a few questions.”