The Paris Betrayal by James Hannibal (the dot read aloud .txt) 📗

broken glass, Jupiter raised a hand. “Who likes hunting?” He pointed at Hagen and the courier one at a time. “You? You?”

They both just stared at him.

“Terrance, get the cart.”

The assistant pulled up with his cart moments later. The courier moved to get in, but Hagen caught his arm.

Jupiter chuckled. “The cart is not for us. It’s for Terrance. The three of us will walk.” He reached into the small cargo box at the back and drew out a short-barrel rifle with a four-round magazine. “Here, have a gun.”

They strolled along a flagstone path winding its way through lush grass, while Terrance rolled silently behind. Jupiter shouldered his rifle and glanced at the courier. “Forgive my outburst earlier. But all of this.” He waved his hand over the green expanse. “Our work. It is personal. What I’m trying to accomplish for the world is a mammoth task, made harder by rejection from those who should have embraced me. Many years ago, I was one of them—part of their club. But when I brought my mentor an ultimate solution to all his labors, he turned his back. He has no stomach for true sacrifice.”

By the pallor of the courier’s skin, Jupiter could tell the man dared not ask the identity of his mentor. And Jupiter did not offer it.

The green lawn faded into the sage of a natural range. The path became gravel, sloping upward toward a rocky outcropping. Jupiter paused to track a Spanish partridge and fired. The gun made no more noise than a sharp click. The bird dropped from the sky. Terrance set off overland in the cart.

“Silent rifles,” Jupiter said, answering the question in the courier’s eyes. “Piston-launched subsonic rounds. Two technologies, each more than a decade old, finally combined into one ideal package. A subsidiary of ours is close to a conversion for pistols.” He shifted his gaze to Hagen. “Where was I?”

“True sacrifice, sir.”

“Right. No stomach at all. I showed him the route to a prosperous, unified world. Complete control over every outcome. And he fired me—had me followed, hounded, wire-tapped.” Jupiter fired again. Another bird fell. Terrance chased after it, disappearing behind a knoll.

“To escape my oppressor, I had to die. I had to fall into darkness and reemerge an entirely new creature. We keep in touch, now and again. But I am safe from him here. Safe to follow the route he should have taken. Understand?”

The courier nodded.

He didn’t understand. Jupiter could tell. Too bad. He brought the rifle up once more. A small antelope buckled. Terrance reappeared with the cart, but Jupiter waved him off. “Leave that one for my beauties. Just dig out the round. We wouldn’t want them to ingest it.”

Terrance offered a thumbs-up.

The path spiraled into an aluminum and concrete platform built into the rock outcropping. A valley spread out below, with the remnants of its former roads and half-built homes still visible in the fading sunlight. Jupiter had bulldozed the few houses left standing after the developer went bankrupt. But he’d kept a small playground near the center. Call it art. Call it a trophy. A forlorn playground in the wild represented the failure of a world system with far too many uncontrolled variables.

At the platform, he kneeled on a cushioned bench and positioned his rifle barrel on a sandbag draped over the rail. He waved the other two over to kneel beside him. “I’ve built an empire, all without his help or his resources—much to the contrary. And look at the results.” Jupiter tapped the courier’s scope, indicating he should use it, and looked through his own to show him where to aim.

Down on the playground, a tiger walked free, softly padding through the gravel between the swing set and the merry-go-round.

“Do you see him?”

For the first time, the courier spoke. “Y-yes, sir.”

“You are looking at a myth, a legend—a Maltese Tiger.” The big cat stretched, and portions of its slate-gray flank glinted blue. “The name refers to its color, not its origin. They’re native to Southern China, hunted near to extinction for use in worthless medicines. But my people found two, and I’ve built a new family—a streak, as they’re called. Something like a pride.” He took his eye away from the scope and bent closer to the young man. “I have enough now that I could release some into the wild, but the world would only squander my gift. So, I maintain control. Occasionally, I must trim our population.”

The courier bit his lip, tracking the animal but not firing.

Jupiter touched his shoulder. “Go ahead, son. Pull the trigger. Every man should experience the thrill of taking down a majestic creature before his death.”

Click.

The tiger fell. A growing blotch of red stained his blue-gray coat.

“Well done, young man. How’d that feel?”

The kid backed away from the bench, letting his rifle hang from his right hand. “Amazing.”

“I’m glad.” Jupiter lifted his rifle and fired one round straight into the young man’s chest. The courier dropped, stammering, to the aluminum grate platform.

Hagen’s features remained placid.

Jupiter appreciated his calm. “They’ll be looking for him, wasting time and resources. No sense in leaving him running around to be captured.”

“Yes, sir.”

Did Jupiter detect a touch of exasperation in his operative’s tone? “You think my former employer treats his people any different? I gave this man a fair chance.”

No answer.

Jupiter nudged the body with his toe. An arm jerked. Probably a postmortem response. “I told him I planned to kill him. Twice. And I placed a weapon in his hands.” He racked back the bolt of his rifle and showed Hagen the empty chamber. “And I left myself only one round. The Director is never so just with his victims. He never plays on a level field.” He went quiet and looked out at the tiger, at the red stain on the beautiful blue. A necessary sacrifice. Many more were coming.

“You have another mission for me, sir? The woman?”

“No. She’s taken care of. Right now, the Director is learning that one of