There was an animal expression on Slate’s face; his eyes narrowed and his muscles tensed as if he were looking at prey and making himself ready to lunge. Dan was petrified, unable to move even though the threat right in front of him was imminent.
The blood of his victim was covering Slate’s hand and shirt as he pulled the letter opener out of Louis a second time, raising himself up to his knees. Putting his other hand against the hallway wall, he helped himself to his feet and started to walk slowly toward Dan, his intended victim. Finally, acting more on instinct than on reason, Dan started to back away extending his arms out in front of him as if they would somehow stop the savage intensity that he knew was about to befall him. Slate raised the weapon overhead the same way he had done with Louis knowing only nine feet were all that separated him from his goal. He took the first step clearing the wall and positioning himself in the opening of the staircase.
It sounded like a large bug hitting the windshield of a rapidly moving car; but, in reality, it was the noise made by a bullet passing through a silencer and striking its target, the side of a man’s skull directly in the center of the ear. Slate stopped in his tracks and remained totally still for five seconds until the blood started to run down the side of his head onto his neck. Then, like a tree toppling in the forest, he fell straight forward painlessly smashing himself into the floor, already dead on contact. Once again, Dan just stood there not thinking, just reacting. A moment ago he was about to be killed; now his intended murderer was dead himself. None of this made any sense.
The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs did nothing to cause Dan to move; right now he was just a piece in a large game that was being played around him. Whatever was to happen next, he had no control.
The barrel of a gun with a silence attached was the first thing he saw followed by the hand that was holding it. Slowly, the person to whom both belonged stepped into view.
“Mrs. Edwards!” Dan said aloud recognizing the woman as Justine Edwards, the wife of the company’s CEO. Although he had never met her in person, he had seen her picture on his boss’ desk. “What are you doing here?’
“Cleaning up some loose ends,” she said pointing the gun at Dan’s abdomen. Looking down at Slate’s prone figure, she continued, “Not a bad shot if I say so myself. All those months at the pistol range served me well.”
“Thank you for saving me from this crazy fiend, but -,” Dan started to say.
“Who said I saved you?” she asked. “How do you know I didn’t think it was you I was aiming at? After all, it is dark and the only light is spilling out of the bedroom.”
“I don’t understand,” Dan said.
“Look, you fool. Did you honestly think I was going to let you and Postadolas back there take over my husband’s company and rob it blind? You think I endured my failure of a husband all these years just to lose out when the big money started rolling in? Think again. I saw how Postadolas got his foot in the door when my stupid husband needed money. Pretty soon, we were living on his handouts while he was conducting his other business on the side. I was already plotting to get rid of him then you showed up with an idea worth billions, so I sat back and bided my time. See what happens, Justine, I told myself. Maybe this idea will work. Well, it did, but we were still being cut out of the big money. Postadolas was a pig; there was never going to be enough for him never mind anybody else.”
She shifted the gun to the other hand and said,” Don’t try to get lucky. I’m ambidextrous. I can drop you where you stand just as easily with my left hand as with my right.”
The last thing on Dan’s mind was to move. Instead, he was hoping that he’d be able to find out what she wanted and to make any promises he could to spare his life.
“What do you want?’ he asked not knowing any more diplomatic way to ask the question of a person who was pointing a gun at him.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’ve got everything I want right now. Postadolas is dead. That nut job over there is also dead. Yah, that’s right. I knew he wasn’t the original Andrew Slate but some whacko named Alan Gordon. For a security conscious guy such as yourself, you’d be smart to make sure you shred everything. When you first started, I made sure the custodian that cleaned your office brought me the contents of your waste basket every day. You’d be surprised at what you can find out from people’s trash or would you. Isn’t that how you tracked down the current Slate’s identity? It seems you threw away a very valuable piece of paper with all of the new Mr. Slate’s information on it which I now have in my possession. I knew right away that this whole plan of yours with Mr. Average American was going to fall apart; it was then I began planning when and how.”
She was talking as if it gave her satisfaction to reveal how smart she was to somebody who wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else.
“What’s next?” Dan asked, hoping she was going to offer him a deal to keep his mouth shut.
“Next, I get on a plane to a comfortably warm country with no extradition treaty with the United States
“What about Bernie and your husband?” Dan asked stupidly.
“Bernie thinks he’ll be joining me in paradise, but I’ve already arranged that some untimely accident will deny him that pleasure,” she said. “As for my moronic husband, well he’ll just have to stay behind and face the music when the authorities come looking for him and asking how he stole his clients’ money.”
“What about these bodies?” Dan asked stalling for time. “The police find them and they’ll be looking for everybody associated with the company, even you.”
“Nice try, but that’s why you’re where you are and I’m the one with the gun,” she answered smugly. “When the morning surveillance crew comes on, they’ll be seeing everything normal in this house. I looped previously recorded tapes so that it’ll take them at least a couple of hours to catch on. By the time they get through the food chain of the company’s executives, I’ll be long gone in a private jet winging my way over the Atlantic wondering which gown I plan to wear tomorrow evening.”
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