Beta hid in the shadow of an oak by the roadside, as motionless as a statue.
Five minutes later, that Eliot would be returning to his villa from a private club deep in the forest, driven by his chauffeur in a Maybach S600 along this winding country road.
He had chosen the highest point on this stretch of road for his ambush. Through the scope, he could clearly pick out the silhouette of any vehicle emerging from the bend.
The Maybach wasn't an armored model. As the son of a high-ranking police official, riding in an armored car would have been far too conspicuous—and entirely unnecessary.
Beta remained still, like a lifeless rock. Swarms of mosquitoes buzzed around his ears, and a few even landed on his eyelashes, but he didn't so much as blink.
At the far end of the forest road, two beams of headlights pierced the night, flickering in and out of sight among the layers of tree shadows.
In the silent forest, the tires of the speeding luxury car grew louder as they rolled over the asphalt. The soft hiss of the tires mingled with the low rumble of the engine, steadily drawing closer.
Beta slowly raised his Mauser rifle. The barrel scattered the mosquitoes circling nearby.
The diamond-shaped aiming reticle in the scope gradually contracted like a pupil, keeping time with his steady breathing.
The rumble of the engine drew closer, and the diamond in the scope continued to shrink. By the time the black Maybach rounded the final bend and its headlights pierced the night, the reticle had narrowed to the size of a soybean.
Beta pulled the trigger in the brief pause between breaths.
The muzzle, fitted with a perforated suppressor, gave only a muffled pfft, like a fist punching into cotton. Before the faint gunshot could carry through the forest, the dense shadows swallowed it.
A perfect round hole suddenly appeared in the windshield of the speeding Maybach.
The bodyguard in the driver's seat jerked violently, a flower of blood blooming between his eyebrows. As he fell back, his right foot remained planted on the accelerator, sending the out-of-control car veering sharply left. Its tires shrieked against the asphalt.
Before the car could completely leave the road, it slammed into a century-old oak at a forty-five-degree angle.
With a dull boom, the entire front end crumpled. The hood folded like paper, and white smoke from the antifreeze and gasoline seeped through the gaps with a hiss.
The mangled frame was wedged against the tree trunk, like a metal beetle pinned in place.
Eliot owed his life to his own caution.
Even in the back seat, the life-conscious young man had made a habit of wearing his seat belt. The exploding airbag had left him dazed, but at least he was still inside the car in one piece. If he'd been like most people and gone without a seat belt in the back, Beta might have had to search the bushes with a flashlight for the young master's scattered limbs.
Beta drew his dagger and swiftly cut through the seat belt wrapped around Eliot. Grabbing him by the collar with his left hand, he dragged the young master out of the wrecked car like a sack.
Eliot's unfocused eyes gradually came into focus. When he saw the masked man with a gun, he sucked in a sharp breath.
He turned mechanically to look at the twisted Maybach behind him, then whipped back as if electrocuted, pressing his back hard against the rough tree trunk. His dress shoes kicked futilely through the pile of fallen leaves, as though he could force himself into the trunk. Though he had nowhere left to retreat, his survival instinct drove him to keep wriggling backward.
Eliot, the son of an official who had clearly received professional crisis-negotiation training, immediately launched into his emergency script.
Though his teeth were still chattering uncontrollably, he forced himself to stay calm and offered up a bargaining chip. "C-cash! There's a million pounds in cash in the car! I didn't see your face, I swear! You're wearing a mask. I don't know who you are, and I don't want to know!"
He swallowed hurriedly. "I can get you a million pounds right away. Anything more..."
His eyes darted rapidly. "My family would have to borrow it from all over, and it'd probably take about half a month..."
A soft laugh came from beneath Beta's mask.
A million pounds in cash, available immediately, versus a huge ransom that would alert the upper ranks of Scotland Yard and might even trigger a nationwide manhunt—the calculation was simple.
An ordinary robber would have been overjoyed and run off with the cash-filled suitcase. Unfortunately for Eliot, the masked man he'd encountered was Beta, and Beta wasn't a robber.
In an altered voice, Beta said, "You know who I am."
Confusion showed on Eliot's trembling face. "I don't."
Beta prompted him. "The balance."
Eliot's facial muscles twisted into a knot, like crumpled paper. All his earlier pretense of composure vanished, leaving nothing but hysterical trembling. "The money! I'll pay you right now!"
His fingers spasmed as they gripped the tree. "I swear! The balance my father paid is still in the account. I'll transfer it now! It'll be there immediately!"
"Please, I'll transfer it right now!" Eliot's voice broke into a sob, his lips trembling uncontrollably. "Switzerland, the Cayman Islands—just tell me which offshore account you want!"
Beta maintained a suffocating silence.
"I'll double it! I'll pay you twice as much right here!" Eliot's voice suddenly rose, his nails digging deep into the bark.
Beta watched quietly as if observing a lab mouse, taking in the young man's entire descent from hysteria to collapse.
For over three minutes, he watched. When Eliot finally slumped and began to sob in broken gasps, his face was twisted to one side. He didn't even dare glance at the gun out of the corner of his eye.
Beta let out a long breath. He was in an excellent mood.
Bending slightly, Beta called to him in a gentle voice. "Hey, Eliot. Look at me, Eliot."
Eliot bit down hard on his lower lip, stifling his sobs in his throat, and turned his head with a shudder.
"F..." Beta enunciated, savoring each letter as if it were delicious. "U-C-K."
Then he raised his voice. "FUCK! YOU!"
"Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!" Three short, muffled shots rang out in the forest, quickly swallowed by the dense foliage.
Wisps of faint smoke curled from the suppressed pistol's muzzle, then quickly dissipated in the damp air.
Beta's shots were clean and decisive: two to the chest, one between the eyebrows. The entire sequence flowed smoothly, without the slightest hesitation.
He walked toward the twisted Maybach, his dress shoes crunching over broken glass. The trunk lid swung open, its hinges groaning. A black leather suitcase lay undisturbed in the spare-tire well. If the young master hadn't lied before he died, the case held cash.
Beta lifted the heavy suitcase with one hand. Its crocodile embossing glinted coldly in the moonlight. He walked to the edge of the cliff and let go without hesitation. The suitcase tumbled down the nearly vertical rock face, its metal corners striking the rocks and sending out scattered sparks. Five seconds later, a pale splash burst across the dark river below. The dull sound of its impact echoed through the gorge.
Beta turned and walked away.
Beta: What a lousy client. This has nothing to do with money anymore.
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