Jessica sipped at her twenty-eight-dollar glass of Pinot Noir and made eyes at him. Ekstrom hadn’t expected a law firm partner would be so obvious. If this woman didn’t put out tonight he’d feel compelled report her to the Trade Commission for false advertising.
Ekstrom had met Jessica three days before. This was their first dinner, in a party of ten at the upscale French restaurant, L’Eventail. Jessica wasn’t bad looking. Not up to Ekstrom’s usual standard, but not bad. About five-seven, good body. Signs of cellulite beginning on upper-thighs. A few grey roots on the day he’d met her — since dealt with. All in all a good average. Whatever. She was a lawyer. She was single. But most of all she was a friend of Antonio Alban. No one would look twice at Ekstrom while he was with Jessica.
‘Your friend looks familiar’ said Ekstrom, making conversation.
‘Antonio Alban,’ she replied. ‘He’s been on TV a lot lately.’
Ekstrom raised an interested eyebrow.
‘SearchIgnition,’ she explained. ‘He’s VP of Vision at SearchIgnition.’
Ekstrom did the smile again. Glanced up from his menu cheekily. Women loved it when he did that. At least Jessica did.
Her blouse was open a button lower than usual, her eyes smouldering. And this was before the entree. A man with Ekstrom’s looks and physique shouldn’t need to work on his “game”, but the “S and A” (Seduction and Attraction) program at Special Circumstances' academy was the real deal. Ekstrom had refused to use the “S and A” program before now — as if learning seduction techniques somehow demeaned his masculinity. But this was business, and for Jessica he had deployed the full three-day program of dates, calls and text messages. It worked like a dream — before they even met. Ekstrom wondered what she would be like in bed. Grateful, was his guess.
He was interrupted by a movement on the other end of their table of ten, near the window. Alban. He had got up. Ekstrom glanced at his watch. He gave it forty-five seconds then stood up himself.
‘Excuse me,’ said Ekstrom, and made for the restroom. On the staircase he checked round one last time for cameras, though he knew there were none. Just ambient music, which sounded vaguely French. Pretentious crap. In the bathroom, Antonio Alban was just doing up his zipper. He was five-ten, and a moderately fit 168 pounds, according to the Special Circumstances file. Ekstrom loitered as Alban turned to the washbasin, then stepped up and took the VP of Vision’s neck from behind. Ekstrom stared intently into Alban’s terrified eyes in the mirror. His long, powerful fingers pressed into the carotid arteries, steadily increasing in pressure. Alban grabbed at his throat, his face contorted. Ekstrom smiled at him in the mirror. The smile he’d just used on Jessica. ‘Mr Alban. Your employers said I should persuade you to be quiet about Mr Semyonov. I can be very persuasive.’
Ekstrom pushed Alban’s face into the wall. The strength drained from the man. This Alban had nothing, no fight at all. Ekstrom had killed women and children with more spirit. His forearm pressed on the back of Alban’s neck, squeezing him against the wall. The body collapsed. Ekstrom was supporting the whole of Alban’s weight on his left elbow, pinned against the back of the man’s neck. With his right hand Ekstrom felt in his own coat pocket and produced the hypodermic. He pulled Alban’s shirt up and felt for the profile of the ribs. He pushed the hair-like needle in between the third and fourth rib, five centimetres to the left of the spine.
Sodium tripentol, used in some states for lethal injections. Death comes quickly when the heart stops. Ekstrom carried Alban into one of the cubicles and sat him on the can, locking the door behind him. He pulled down Alban’s pants and leaned him forward. That was the most difficult part of the whole operation — to balance a deadman on the toilet.
Ekstrom vaulted back out over top of the cubicle and smoothed himself down. Checked his watch. One minute forty-five seconds in all. Ekstrom relieved himself in the urinal, washed his hands, then walked back to join his date.
It was over forty minutes later when Alban was discovered, dead from an apparent heart attack. An ambulance came and went. The staff at L’Eventail were as discreet as one would hope at such an upscale venue, and there was little to disturb the other diners. Jessica was less bothered than she might have been. She’d left early with Ekstrom, well before the body was found. She had something else on her mind.
The sodium tripentol would be discovered at the routine autopsy. But by that time, Ekstrom would be long gone. Of course, it was risky to get involved personally in a hit so close to home. There was even the possibility that Ekstrom himself would be recognized, and the finger of suspicion would point at him. However, as the paymaster for Alban’s death had again had been SearchIgnition Corporation, Ekstrom was sure that more than enough money and influence could be called on upon to hush the thing up.
As he drove away from Jessica’s apartment later that night, a question flitted through Ekstrom’s mind. SearchIgnition was paying good money to silence individuals who might squeal about whatever Semyonov had been doing. But who was it who had dealt with Semyonov himself? And what had Semyonov been doing to deserve this kind of attention?