Afraid of the Dark - James Grippando [110]
“Prince Charles.”
The guy was every bit the smart-ass in person that he had been on the phone, and the Bangladeshi accent was just as prominent. Vince took the envelope from his pocket and handed it over. He could hear the man open it, presumably counting out the two hundred pounds in cash.
“You sure you don’t want the submachine gun?” the man said. “It’s only another hundred pounds.”
The U.K. had some of the toughest gun laws in the world, but the guy was only half joking. Even semiautomatic weapons could be had for as little as three hundred pounds, and bootleg DVDs and black-market tobacco weren’t the only illegal trade in Banglatown. It was all a matter of knowing the right person, and Chuck Mays had assured Vince that if he needed anything—anything—in the East End, an ex-pat from Dhaka named Sanu Reza was the go-to guy.
“The Glock will do,” said Vince.
“We have to walk about two blocks,” Reza said.
Vince unfolded his walking stick, asked the man for his arm, and placed his hand in the crook of the man’s elbow. “You lead,” said Vince.
“I’ve never brokered a sale to a blind guy before,” he said as they started down the sidewalk.
Vince smiled to himself, mildly amused that both Reza and the Dark were under the same misapprehension.
“No worries,” he said, thinking of the precious time he’d logged at the shooting range with Brainport back in Miami—and of the prototype of the device that his friend Chuck had shipped to the hotel. “This blind man isn’t as blind as some people think he is.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
It was well beyond nightfall, and the Dark walked down the alley with purpose.
Part of him had wanted to go straight from his computer to the cellar, but he kept his urge under control. The self-storage unit for his equipment was eight blocks from his flat, and it had taken almost forty minutes to walk there. It was a discipline he’d learned with al-Shabaab: Never go directly from point A to point B. Take the long route, then go around the block again, until you’re absolutely sure that no one is following. Everything he needed from storage fit into his backpack, and in minutes he was on his way. The diversion had fueled his intensity, however, and he took a less circuitous route to the cellar.
He checked over his shoulder once, then put down his backpack and aimed the key at the door lock. The tumblers clicked as the lock received the key, and the feel of a perfect fit was a sensual rush—a sign of what was to come.
The Dark had waited a very long time for this, having resisted the temptation to take her so many times in the past, before the moment was exactly right. It had been six months since she had fallen into his trap. The first four had been the usual conditioning: sixteen weeks of confinement and total isolation in the cellar. She ate, slept, and bathed only when he allowed it. She wore the clothes he gave her. The lights went on or off when he said so. She had no television, no radio, no iPod, no CDs, no computer. Then, at week seventeen, he started leaving magazines for her. Soft-core things at first, partially clothed young girls in provocative poses. At first she ignored them, but eventually boredom or curiosity got the best of her. She bit. He’d changed the material daily, each magazine a little more explicit than the one before it. The conditioning had gone much better than with her underage predecessors. She’d soaked it up, thumbing through even the images of old men having the time of their life with the oral-sex-is-not-sex generation. It had gone so well, in fact, that at week twenty he’d started letting her venture out for an hour each day with an ankle bracelet. The plan was to turn her into a recruiter, his link to more teenage girls—the way he’d trained Shada to be his link to other women.
You’re next, kitty8.
The deadbolt turned. The Dark pushed the door open, locked it behind him, and started down the concrete staircase. He was just ten steps away from the secure metal door that he had installed at the lower entrance to the cellar apartment. His pack of tools was starting