User Guide

behalf of Sampras Aerospace. Or have
you forgotten the Claws?”
McDonald laughed. “Is this some kind
of joke? Who is this?”
“This is your final payment notice, Mr.
McDonald. You will remit the outstanding
balance plus interest to the surviving
members of the squadron you betrayed,
or I will kill you.”
“I see.” I heard McDonald make a
comment to someone else in the office,
who laughed. “And who are you, then? An
Angel of Death? My worst nightmare?” He
laughed. I laughed with him.
“Nothing so melodramatic, I assure
you. Just a working assassin hired by
some people you wronged to settle a
score. I’m not an angel, or a nightmare.
Just someone who is very good with a
knife, and who knows how ugly skinning
a man alive can be. I’d consider it a
personal favor, Mr. McDonald, if you
would spare me that.”
Anger edged into McDonald’s voice for
the first time. “Don’t you threaten me,
you penny-ante son-of-a-bitch. You
pulled a cute trick getting through on this
line, so consider your fee earned. We did
one swell number on those Claw skags,
and I know for a fact they can’t be paying
you near enough to take the trouble to
kill me. So here’s some free financial
advice, pal. Take the money and walk.
Otherwise, a skinning is the least of what
I’ll spare you.”
“That’s you answer then?”
“That, and this.” He proceeded to
request of me a physically impossible act.
“I see. In that
case, have a nice
day, Mr. McDonald.”
He hung up in
my ear. But the red
light on the line slicer
was still glowing.
Now he could hang
up, make calls, or
dial long distance for
all I cared. So long as I didn’t hang up, I
had ongo. I listened, just to make sure,
but there was no need for concern. I
heard McDonald loud and clear.
“The nerve of that street scram. Where
does he get off, threatening me?”
Where indeed.
I placed the receiver in its ampcradle,
set the recorder and cranked up the
volume. The line slicer would continue to
work through a fraction of the line until I
broke the connection from my end, or
there was a power
surge sufficient to
reset the circuit.
That was always a
possibility, which
was the reason a
remote bug phys-
ically placed in an office location was a
safer bet for critical surveillance appli-
cations. But so long as nothing went
wrong, I’d be able to overhear every call
received, and every word uttered, in
McDonald’s office.
I had penetrated his inner sanctum.
The more I came to know the bastard,
the more personal my outrage became.
It was only a matter of days before I
knew enough of McDonald’s escape
routes from One Sampras Square to tail
him through the streets of Istanbul.
Surrounded by bodyguards and opulence,
he wined and dined up and down
Beyoglu, from the exclusive haunts of the
very rich, rising above the down-at-the-
heel establishments sliding down towards
the Horn, to the gambling parlors of the
high-rise hotels overlooking the scenic
suspension bridge that spans the Bosporus.
The decadence that taunted me from a
distance was astonishing. I was never
admitted to any of the exclusive clubs he
frequented, but I was able to observe one
of his meals up close. This particular
night, he chose to dine at an expensive
restaurant which was open to the general
public. With a bribe I wrangled a table
next to him.
As I gingerly picked over the cheapest
item on the menu, my appetite killed by
the cost, I watched McDonald carelessly
sample a meze, an appetizer comprising
15 separate dishes — tarama, borekler,
artichoke hearts, sheep’s brains. And
SUDDEN DEATH • July 2011
29
“The more I
came to know
the bastard,
the more
personal my
outrage
became.”
“I had a job to
do. I went
about doing it.‘