Chapter 76: Codename: Aconite Chapter Twenty-Six
“What do you mean the account doesn’t exist?” I sputter in disbelief, my brain trying to comprehend the words being spoken to me over the phone.
“What’s going on?” Silas asks, entering the living room, buttoning up his long-sleeved shirt with a concerned look on his face, but I hold my hand up for him not to interrupt me right now.
“I can’t say it more clearly, Dasha. I can see the record of the transaction, but the account the transfer was made from was closed the following day. The account no longer exists. I’m sorry but I can’t help you,” says my contact solemnly.
I hang up and toss my phone on the couch. “Well, that was a fucking waste of time,” I say acerbically.
“What was that you said about the account not existing?” he asks curiously.
“He said that the day after the transaction, the account was closed. No forwarding details, no trail. Nothing,” I huff, running my fingers through my hair in aggravation.
“Maybe it’s time to try one of my contacts,” he announces, gaining my attention.
***
I wheel out my whiteboard from my office and move it into the living room so I can set up a little work area. I like to work by having all the information in front of me. I roll the whiteboard in front of the couch and quickly go grab my Polaroid camera. I take a few pictures of the chemical formula I have written on one side of the whiteboard, as I don’t want to lose the progress on the cocktail I was working on, place the pictures in my office, and then come back and clean the board.
I stick some of the pictures from Silas’ dossier and mine to the board and begin writing down the details we already know, including a timeline of events. All the while, I can hear Silas on the phone in the other room speaking to someone in Austrian. I have no idea what he’s saying, as Austrian is one of the few languages I don’t know, but I do like his idea. Silas says that much like with our own personal lines of work, the chances of this person doing this before is high since given the meticulousness of the operation, this couldn’t possibly be a first attempt. So he wants to go hunting down similar potential crimes. Although I have no idea how he hopes to achieve that. If assassins are being tricked into killing other assassins for God knows what reason, then every crime would be different. There’s no way of connecting them.
As I continue to write on the board, I hear Silas go quiet and then soon join me in the living room.
“What’s all this?” he asks, eyeing the board.
“I work better when I can see everything in front of me. Much like with chemistry; I need to see it and touch it to figure it out.”
“So those degrees in chemistry and biology were real?” he asks with an impressed tone.
I smirk. “I’m not just a pretty face.”
“Oh, I already know you’re far more than that. Does explain your poison prowess though.”
“So, who was your contact?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
For a second, his eyes dip to my cleavage before returning to my face. “Uh, he’s someone I know who works for Interpol. I asked him to look into every database he has access to and look for double homicides that contain similar crime elements as unsolved crimes, and I told him to cast the net wide.”
“This is like looking for a needle in a stack of needles.”
“Do you have any other fucking suggestions? Right now we have no leads, and no way of tracking these fuckers down, which is genuinely pulling on the last thread of my patience. I want my pound of flesh, so I’m not leaving so much as a pebble unturned,” he says aggressively.
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Someone has a short temper.”
“No, just a quick response to bullshit.”
I humph in amusement and turn back to the board. “I hope your idea pans out; I really do. Neither of us pretends to be a saint. We know what we are, we know this life, and as dark and immoral as it is, we have a system; a code of conduct that maintains order, and this person is fucking with it. It’s only a matter of time before it results in consequences we can’t predict.”
“Does that make us the heroes in this scenario?” he asks cheekily.
“More like anti-heroes, which I can live with. Being the hero is the last thing I would ever want,” I say with a shudder.
“What do you have against heroes?” he asks in amusement, plopping down on the couch.
“We’re made to feel as though the hero is the person we should aspire to be. These noble, self-righteous beacons of morality who are so eternally self-sacrificing that I could vomit. But do you know what they all have in common?”
“Enlighten me,” he says with great interest.
“They’re all alone, and chances are they will always be alone. Their loved ones have either been killed as a consequence of their noble actions or have to go into hiding for safety. If push comes to shove, they will sacrifice themselves or those nearest and dearest to them for the greater good. The classic sacrificing of the one to save the many. We’re not those kinds of people, and I would never want to be. The beauty of the villain is that no one can hurt them. They’ve either been hurt so badly that they’re untouchable, or they’re that fucking crazy that sanity washes off them like water off a duck’s back. They either have no one they love or even if they did, the hero is too moral to ever stoop to the levels of the villain. Everyone fears the villain enough to not dare touch that which they covet. I’m fine with being the villain, and I’ll be the anti-hero on occasion because I am capable of love, but I would never sacrifice that love for anyone. I’m not against a good deed, or incapable of showing love or compassion, or even empathy, but I love fiercely enough that if you threaten what I love, it will be the last thing you do. A hero will take the high ground every time, but I’m prepared to go as low as the bowels of hell to protect what matters to me. Simple as that,” I say, finishing my tangent. Silas stares up at me, unblinking, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “What?”
“I think I’m in love,” he says in a daze.
I roll my eyes. “I’m going to go and have my shower now,” I say, making my way to the bathroom. I know he was only teasing, but there is some part of me deep, deep down that wants to entertain the idea that maybe he meant those words on some level. Fortunately, the rest of me has more common sense than that.