Heirs of Cain (35 page)

An hour later, Cain loosened the towel and let it fall into his lap. Slowly, he stood, eyes still closed, and walked into the bathroom. Without hesitation, he switched on the light.

And didn’t blink.

With the flick of a switch, he had gone from absolute darkness to glaring brightness, yet he had not so much as blinked. Others would have. Others would have shielded their faces, covered their eyes, been forced by the abrupt change to wait until their eyes made the adjustment.

But he was Cain, and for him the darkness, that shadowy world where he thrived, contained more light than a hundred suns.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. At his eyes. They were steel gray.

He switched off the light and stood once again in the familiar darkness.

Seneca was close.

So was blood time.

Cain smiled.

He was ready.

Carrying two large paper sacks, one under each arm, Seneca entered the tiny apartment. He moved swiftly to the kitchen, setting the cumbersome bags on a small wooden table. He went back to the door, checking to make sure it was locked. After filling a glass with water and drinking it, he turned on the kitchen light, took off his shirt, yanked a chair away from the table, and sat down.

Now ready to prepare his surprise, he picked up the heavier of the two sacks, then dumped its contents onto the table. Five movies purchased from a Blockbuster on 42
^nd
Street. He quickly opened the large protective jackets, removed the cassettes, and tossed them into a trash can. Taking a ruler, he measured one of the five identical jackets: nine and a half inches by six and a half inches by one and a half inches.

Absolutely perfect for what he had in mind.

Next, he emptied the second sack. It contained a common size D battery, a wristwatch, and a smaller sack filled with ball bearings and nails.

The other two items, the ones at the heart of his plan, he already had: the plastic explosive Composition C-4 and a blasting cap.

He took a block of the light brown puttylike C-4 and began molding it into one of the movie cassette jackets. When the jacket was half full, he took ten ball bearings and three razor blades, carefully placing them into the smoothed-down layer of C-4. Still not completely satisfied, he grabbed his empty glass and went to the sink. Using a hammer, he tapped the glass until it shattered. He sifted out the five largest slivers and placed them on top of the plastic. Satisfied with this added touch, he filled the remainder of the jacket with C-4 and closed it.

Following the same routine, he filled three more jackets. In one he used several large nails rather than glass. In another he used the rusty tips taken from some darts he found in one of the kitchen drawers. Variation always made things more interesting.

When the four jackets met his approval, he took a cloth and carefully wiped them clean. He picked them up, two in each hand, and lined them against the wall. Time now for a memory check.

He looked at the four white identifying labels on the edge of each jacket, then without hesitation arranged them in the proper order, from left to right.

All About Eve, Anatomy of a Murder, Animal House
,
Annie Hall
.

Reaching into his pants pocket he took out a small piece of paper and read the words he had written on it. His memory had served him well. The movies were in the same order as the ones in Daniel Cohen’s library. Third row, numbers thirteen through sixteen.

Head-high and close to those seated at the table.

He couldn’t have asked for more.

Except to be there when it happened.

That’s why explosives weren’t his preferred method of killing. Too distant, too impersonal. Also, the risk of failure was too high, although at this close range that wasn’t likely. Unlike Arlington, where too much distance separated the bomb from the victims. Where a lucky bitch just happened to be in the walk-in freezer when the blast went off.

No, given the choice, he would be in the room, Uzi in one hand, knife in the other, waiting for the distinguished guests to arrive. That way there would be no risk of failure. They would die, up close, looking him squarely in the eye. Exactly the way he liked it.

He opened the fifth jacket, the one appropriately marked
Apocalypse Now
, and filled it half full with C-4. Taking the battery, he taped it to the left side of the top half. On the right side he taped the wristwatch, which had been pre-set for 10:30 a.m. on Thursday, July 28. All that remained was to place the blasting cap securely into the C-4, then run the small piece of wire from the watch to the battery to the blasting cap.

When he finished, he closed the jacket, cleaned it with the rag, and placed it in its proper place. To the right. Number seventeen.

He then took a piece of thin wire and twice wrapped it around the five movie jackets, binding them together. This procedure troubled him—none of Cohen’s movies were bound into groups—but he had no other choice. The five jackets needed to be secured in order to ensure detonation and to provide maximum killing effect.

He stood, backed away, and looked at the containers lined against the wall. From a distance of less than five feet, the thin black wire was virtually invisible. For the wire to be seen, someone would have to be looking for it.

No one would be.

Seneca arrived at the Cohen estate a few minutes before 7:00 a.m. He parked at the end of the street and observed the area around the front gate. After fifteen minutes, he concluded that no military personnel were present. Confident the area was safe, he drove Dr. Ivanovna’s Honda Civic past the vacant guard shack and onto the estate grounds.

Daniel Cohen and a slender white-haired woman emerged from the main house and walked toward the tennis courts. He carried two rackets under his left arm and a Prince tennis bag in his right hand. He grinned and waved when he saw Seneca approaching.

“I was wondering when you’d be back,” Daniel said, putting the bag down. He turned to the woman and put his hand on her shoulder. “Honey, this is the fella I was telling you about. He’s just about the most observant man I’ve ever met.”

She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Anna Cohen, Daniel’s wife. It’s a pleasure to meet you. It seems you made quite an impression on my husband. Believe me, Daniel isn’t easily impressed. However, the impression you made wasn’t sufficient enough for him to remember your name.”

“George Armstrong.”

Anna studied him closely. “Do you mind if I ask you your heritage?”

“American Indian. Cherokee.”

“An original American. That’s quite a rarity these days. I hope you’re not offended by my inquisitiveness. It’s only that I have a great interest in different nationalities. Probably stems from being Jewish.”

“I’m not offended.”

“You are, I’m sure, aware of the great irony attached to your name,” Anna said. “George Armstrong Custer. Not a particular favorite among American Indians, I wouldn’t think.”

“If every U.S. Army general was like Custer, we’d still have our land,” Seneca said.

Anna laughed out loud. “Yes, I suppose you would.”

Daniel Cohen gave his wife a hug. “In case you haven’t guessed, my wife taught American history in high school for thirty years. And like every history teacher I ever knew, she’ll wear you out with boring facts.”

“Just like I’m gonna wear you out on the tennis court,” Anna said. She smiled at Seneca. “He hasn’t taken a set from me in two years.”

“I absolutely detest a braggart, don’t you?” Daniel said to Seneca. “Even when what she says is the truth. Young man, you go ahead and do what you have to do. The front door is unlocked. If you need me for anything at all, don’t be afraid to give a yell. The way she roughs me up, chances are I’ll need a break.”

Seneca waited until the couple was out of sight before opening the car trunk and removing the small leather bag. He opened it quickly, double-checked the contents, and closed it. Inside were five movie jackets and a large knife. Just in case.

The library was dark, but not unoccupied. A black woman was on her knees washing the baseboard in front of the big window. She jumped when he entered the room.

“Lordy, lordy, child, you scared me,” she said, her hand over her heart. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“I’m from security,” he answered. “I’m here to check the library.”

“Yes, sir, you go right ahead. I can come back and finish this later.” She walked to the door. “How long before I should come back?”

“About an hour.”

Seneca waited ten minutes before locking the door. He pulled the curtains and flicked on the light. Without hesitating, he located the five movies that were to be replaced. He opened the bag and removed the five plastic containers. Time for one last check, one final comparison to make sure his five were in the exact order of the original five. He took his five and held them directly beneath the five lined up on the shelf. Slowly, his eyes went from top to bottom, checking the order.

All About Eve, Anatomy of a Murder, Animal House, Annie Hall, Apocalypse Now
.

Perfect.

He removed the five from the shelf and dumped them into the bag. Carefully, he filled the empty spaces with his five. Stepping back, he looked at the shelf. Nothing was different. He moved closer and looked for the wire binding the bomb together. It was invisible to the naked eye.

Satisfied, he turned and paced off the distance between the bomb and the table where the principals would be sitting. Just over five feet.

They would never know what hit them.

Andy Waltz entered his Bank Street apartment shortly before 11 p.m. He switched on the light, tossed a handful of magazines onto the sofa, loosened his tie, and went into the kitchen to mix a drink. Jameson and Diet Coke, his drink of choice following an exceptionally rough day at work. And today had been one of the roughest.

He stirred and sipped. The Jameson was smooth as silk and hit the spot. After dropping in another ice cube, he turned off the light and went back into the den.

Where he found himself staring into a pair of dark, familiar eyes.

Seneca.

“How’d you get in?” Waltz asked, backing away.

“That’s a rather lame question coming from a gifted orator like you.”

“Considering my surprise, it’s the best I could come up with.”

“What’s so surprising about an old war buddy dropping in to visit a fellow vet?”

“Breaking in, I’d call it.”

“Dropping in, breaking in—call it what you will. The important point is, two old friends have been reunited.”

“We were never friends, Seneca. You didn’t have friends.”

“I’m crushed, Houdini. All this time I thought we were tighter than O.J.’s glove. You just never know, do you?”

“What do you want, Seneca?”

“Why are you shaking?”

“Because you’re a scary fuck; that’s why. I repeat: what do you want?”

“You know the answer to that one.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Where’s Cain?”

“Cain? How would I know? I haven’t seen or heard from him in ten years.”

“Is that right? Then, why is it that I don’t believe you?” Seneca reached behind him and pulled out his knife. He pointed toward the sofa, motioning for Waltz to sit. “One more time, Houdini. Where’s Cain? And don’t insult my intelligence by saying you don’t know.”