Chapter nineteen
'Tell me he's dead.' Papa Doc spoke calmly into the phone, keeping the anger from his voice. There was hesitation on the other end.
'The woman is gone.'
'The woman was a buzzing fly. An annoyance. Of course she has gone. But what of the assassin? What of him?' Papa Doc paced along the carpeted hallway in the law firm.
'He is not in the hospital. I think he escaped.'
'You think he escaped?' Papa Doc held one hand over the receiver while he swore in Haitian. He paused and caught his reflection in a mirror. 'Ok,' he said. 'Come to the Duvalier & Rose offices. Arrangements are to be brought forward.'
'Also . . .' the voice cracked.
'What?' Papa Doc squeezed the receiver against his ear, prepared, in that moment, to smash it against the wall.
'Yvonne is dead. There are police and secret service everywhere. Was this forecast?'
'Yes,' the lie slipped easily through gritted teeth, 'Come to the offices.' The phone snapped shut.
He stared at the mirror, looking at the shadows gathering in the background behind him. He cast a sign and the dark figures wavered, but refused to disappear. He knew he did not have much time.
Papa Doc flipped open the phone and punched in a quickdial. 'Finn?' he said, before the other end could speak. 'Ready the Macoute. We begin the rituals tonight as soon as the monies are transferred.'
'Yes, sir.'
'And Finn.' Silence on the other end of the phone. 'Don't you let me down too.'
'No sir.'
Papa Doc walked down the corridor and into his office. He sat behind the desk and flipped open the laptop. He opened his email account and proceeded to send the email orders to each of the twenty or so contacts on his list.
Each was a purchase order. Each of the suppliers had been contacted and specifications hammered out to an exacting degree. Each of the suppliers were the absolute expert in their field and commanded the resources to supply the requested orders.
Computer hardware, software, knowledge base and personnel were all ordered with the click of a button. No order was below one hundred million. And with those sort of figures the response would be immediate.
Papa Doc waved distractedly at a shadow in the reflection of the laptop screen. The constant reminder of the terrors that awaited him when he died. The multitude of demons waiting to seek their revenge.