Dead and Gone - Andrew Vachss [133]
“I don’t know why you went through this incredibly complicated ruse,” he said, unruffled, the semi-British accent I’d remembered now completely erased from his voice. “But I’m sure you understand that you can’t do anything to me without fatal consequences to yourself. And to everyone on board this vessel. My ship—”
“Yeah. The Zhuk. I know. We’re outgunned. I didn’t bring you here to kill you. It’s all about some answers.”
“Answers?”
“Yeah. Answers. To the question I just asked you.”
His answer was to laugh.
I waited, as calm inside as the sea around us, gentle waves lapping at my insides. But not touching them.
“Here’s your ‘answer,’ ” he said, still chuckling. “And it’s not the one you think.”
I said nothing, waiting.
“I realized I had you to thank for my prison sentence—you and that cunt Wolfe—before I ever started doing it. But I am a professional. I wouldn’t spend a fortune on petty revenge.”
“A professional pedophile.”
“Yes,” he said, chuckling again. “That’s the problem. Your problem.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You want to know the truth? Here it is. You called me a professional pedophile. That’s only half right. I am a professional. A true professional. And you, you’re a rank, incompetent amateur. The reason for the assassination—which I now see failed—is not because of what I do, but because of your delusions about it.”
“It’s your story. Tell it.”
“Oh, I’ll be happy to. And when I’m done, I’ll be able to tell something else. I’ll be able to tell if you truly understand.”
“Why is that important?”
“You’ll see. The man you met in that townhouse was a fiction. The Israelis knew it, but, apparently, they didn’t see fit to share their knowledge with you. I was playing a part. A role. Espionage can’t make much use of certain … information as it once could. At least not in America or many European countries. Homosexuality, a mistress—even the most bizarre sexual preferences—those are not good blackmail tools anymore. At least, not reliable ones. But pedophilia … ah, that one is an ironclad guarantee.”
“You’re telling me you didn’t deal in kiddie porn?”
“Of course I did. I was that horrible ‘commercial element’ I described to you,” he said, switching back to the slightly effeminate, semi-British voice he’d used when I’d first met him. “The market for such product may not be broad, but, I assure you, it is astoundingly deep. And the profit margins are truly incredible … virtually infinite.
“Look,” he said, his voice shifting again, letting me feel the steel beneath the froth, “use your fucking head, all right? If I was a child molester, when City-Wide popped me, how long do you think it would have taken me to rat out every single person I’d ever dealt with?”
“About thirty seconds.”
“Yes. And that’s the way you figured it, didn’t you? Only problem is, you never bothered to check. I didn’t drop dime-fucking-one, pal,” he said, hard-voiced. “And the people I didn’t rat out, well, they were very grateful. How much time do you think I actually did?”
“Six to eighteen, with the judge’s recommendation that you do the max.”
“Ah, so you at least followed the proceedings that far. What happened after that was an appeal—”
“You pleaded out. What kind of bullshit appeal could you put up?”
“Oh, that the guilty plea was coerced by use of improperly obtained evidence, what else?” he said, switching voice again, showing off his chameleon moves. “And, of course, there was a sealed brief submitted by the State Department in support of my application. I understand it was quite persuasive. Bottom line? I did a little less than a two-year bit.”
“Beautiful. And now you’re setting up a paradise for freaks, not because you’re one yourself, but for the money?”
“You mean Darcadia? I’m surprised at you, Mr. Burke. You have a reputation for utter insanity when it comes to child abusers, I grant you. But, in some circles, you are also known as a very clever confidence man. And not above playing some roles yourself when there’s enough money in it.”
“What are you saying? That you and me, we’re the same?” I asked, pushing