What scared White the most about Oxley was that the man was convinced he had done absolutely nothing wrong. To men like Oxley, killing Veronica and Maxwell were simply things he needed to do in order to keep his end of the bargain. Oxley, just like Hammond, had lost his bearings along the way and had never realized it. In White’s mind, operations like CONQUEST were the kind that brought down empires and turned good men into monsters.
“You still haven’t told me what I’m doing tied to this chair,” White said. For the last hour, while Oxley talked, White had discreetly and methodically tried to rotate his wrists back and forth in an effort to loosen the heavy-duty tape. But despite his best efforts, there was still no slack. None whatsoever. That meant that for now, if he wanted to keep the slimmest hope of seeing Veronica again, he had to go along with whatever Oxley had in store for him.
“I want you to go back to Washington and tell Hammond to leave me, my family, and my businesses alone,” Oxley said, standing up. “I want him to forget the incident in San Francisco and to move the fuck on. Can you do that, Clayton? Can you do that for me?”
The incident in San Francisco. The way Oxley said it made White’s stomach churn. But he was in no position to say no, so he nodded.
“And you tell him that if I even feel a whiff of danger coming from him, all bets are off,” Oxley continued. Then a devious smile appeared on his lips, and he said, “But if you feel the need to kill him in his sleep for what he’s done to you, I won’t hold it against you.”
White’s eyes moved to the end of the tasting room, from where one of Oxley’s men was walking rapidly toward them.
“Sir?” the man said when he was still twenty or so feet away.
Oxley turned to face him. “What is it?”
White tried to hear what they were saying, but Oxley had his back to him, and his man was speaking too low.
Oxley twisted his head and cast a long and suspicious look at White, as if White had something to do with whatever his man had just told him. Oxley tapped his man on the shoulder and signaled the rest of his men to join him.
White had no idea what was going on, but there was definitely some kind of last-minute emergency. Whatever the situation was, he wanted to be ready. Unfortunately there wasn’t much he could do in his current condition. Oxley left one man behind and exited the room with the three others in tow. To White’s dismay, the remaining man was one of the twins from the alleyway.
The man slowly walked toward White, a cruel smile on his lips.
“My brother’s in the hospital because of you,” he said. “He asked me to pass along a message.”
The man removed his light jacket and let it fall to the floor, next to the cell phone and documents Oxley had left behind. The twin took his time stretching his arms, his legs, and even his core muscles.
A tight, anxious feeling crept into White’s chest. The man was going to beat him to a pulp.
The first punch caught White right on the chin, and it came so fast that the pain didn’t register before the second one hit. The man smiled and took a few steps back, dancing and sending jabs through the air. White’s ears were ringing from the punches.
“I’ve been working on my one-two combo for a while now,” the man said. “What do you think?”
“Why don’t you cut me loose, big guy—then we’ll see what you can do against someone who can hit back,” White said, spitting blood onto the floor.
“What would be the fun in that?” the man said, unashamed.
The man had taken a step forward when one of the doors of the tasting room opened, and in walked a small blond man dressed in a perfectly cut dark suit with a silk tie. The sound of the heavy door closing behind the new arrival drew the twin’s attention.
“Hey!” the twin shouted. “Get the fuck out of here!”
The man walked in their direction and waved at the twin, a big smile on his face, totally oblivious to what was going on.
“Didn’t you hear what I said? Get out of here!” the twin repeated.
“I’m sorry, but what are you doing here?” the small man said with a heavy French accent.
“No, the question is, what are you doing here?” the twin asked, taking a few steps toward the small man.
But the small Frenchman wasn’t intimidated and, to White’s surprise, didn’t back down one bit. “I’m Pierre Sarazin, and I run this establishment,” he said.
“I know who you are, little man,” the twin hissed. “Get out!”