Portrait Of An Assassin - Richard Godwin Read online

  Yes,” they chanted.

  “I will teach you.”

  “Thank you, Mistress,” they said in unison, kneeling while the other woman threw water over them.

  The film ended.

  “She has torture chambers,” Williams said. “Men are kept there, starving, some of them mutilated, for days.”

  “Do you have evidence of that?”

  “No, I have no footage, but Tom Clarke gave me a reliable account.”

  “Why would anyone join up for this?”

  “That’s not how it starts. Everyone is lovely at first. That’s how Mark described it. There is casual sex on offer from attractive women, drugs are freely available. It’s only when you’ve signed up and gone into one of the temples, that this starts. People don’t understand the power these cults have. They use highly sophisticated mind control techniques, many of them derived from the CIA. We seem to be in the middle of a religious crisis, there are so many of them.”

  “If that’s how they treat you once you’re in, why stay?”

  “By then it’s hard to leave. They’ve bought her philosophy.”

  “Which is?”

  “Man has been a slave master. Man is unhappy because he is carrying the burden of his father’s sins. The whole planet’s in a mess because of man. She’s a goddess and men have to suffer in the same way as women suffered for centuries for things to get better.”

  He handed me a leaflet.

  One line read:

  “Women suffered rape, uncaring sex, humiliation, pain, now men enter the cycle and then paradise is found.”

  “Do you know the whereabouts of your son?”

  “He is at what they call Silver Villa.”

  “Which is where?”

  “Hampstead.”

  “She’s going to be hard to reach.”

  “She’s usually there or at the huge house the cult owns in Kensington.”

  “Why don’t you just get him out? Put him through deprogramming.”

  “Two families tried that recently. Both young men were found by her cronies and killed. Many men disappear in her temples. I want you to take her out and get my son out of there.”

  I paused. I still wasn’t comfortable about taking out a woman, but weighing up what she was guilty of, and measuring it against the freedom of her prisoners, put the job in a different light. There was a reason for this target.

  “This will cost,” I said.

  “I am a wealthy man. I’ve worked all my life for my family.”

  “It’ll be half a million.”

  “Fine.”

  There was not a moment’s hesitation.

  “And I need all the information you have; contacts, phone numbers.”

  “It’s all here,” he said, handing me a list.

  “Not just the cult. Anyone from her past?”

  “The only person the detective spoke to was a guy called Maurice Flame.”

  “The athlete?”

  “Yes. She had an affair with him before she set the cult up.”

  “Do you have his details?”

  “They’re all there.”

  “I need a retainer.”

  “How much?”

  100k.”

  “I’ll arrange it.”

  Two days later the money was in my account and I started work.

  I was going to hit Sharp as quickly as I could.

  XXI

  Maurice Flame lived in a rundown flat in Brixton.

  Plato road was stacked with drug dealers and students.

  I tried his bell several times before he answered.

  “Maurice Flame?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I have some money for you.”

  “I told you, man, stop hassling me.”

  “Look out of your window.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not who you think I am.”

  I waited a few seconds and then saw a head pop out of the first floor.

  “So?”

  “Remember Tom Clarke?”

  “The dick?”

  “Yeah. I have something for you.”

  “What?”

  I flashed a wad of cash.

  He buzzed me up and I walked up the stairs to his flat.

  The living room was full of drugs paraphernalia.

  “I told Tom Clarke what he wanted,” he said.

  He looked out of shape and worn out.

  “Still running?”

  “You taking the piss?”

  “If you can give me some information, I’ve got a grand here.”

  “Make it two.”

  “No.”

  “What you want to know? About that bitch?”

  “Yes.” He sat down and lit a cigarette. “You had an affair with her.”

  “Yeah a long time ago. Wish I never met her.”

  “Tell me what she was like.”

  “What she was like? I’ll tell you what she was like. A fucking white whore. She liked her meat dark, if you know what I mean. She came onto me, telling me how her husband couldn’t get it up. She was all over me at a night club. She took me back to a hotel and fucked my brains out. We used to meet and she’d ask me if I’d kill her husband for her. I was like, what? I used to have something going you know.”

  “I know.”

  “So we fuck from time to time, just some white ho wanting it, and when she gets bored she gets nasty.”

  “Nasty how?”

  “I’m not talking about the money, yeah she paid for it, then stopped. She did shit.”

  “What shit?”

  “Drugged me. Cut me, down there.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Isn’t that enough? She put cigarettes out on my dick, she fucked me up real bad in the head. She uses people’s weaknesses, she preys on people.”

  “I need everything you’ve got on her.”

  “She fucking hates men. She wants to torture them. She’s a fucking whore. She should be fucking shot.”

  “What makes her tick?”

  “What makes her fucking tick? I’ll tell you what fucking makes that bitch tick – cruelty and power. That’s what she eats, see, she loves seeing pain on people’s faces, she loves hurting people. Someone should fucking blow her the fuck away.”

  “What’s her weakness?”

  “I’m fucked if I know. It ain’t sex. She uses it, she fuckin’ uses people. If she has one, then it’s feeling she’s not in control. Yeah, that’s it, make her feel she’s not in control and she’s thrown. Not for long though. I mean, one time I didn’t turn up to a date with her, she likes to feel she’s got you placed under her finger, and she was shaky. Only until she’d got me in the sack and given me drugs and then...”

  “What?”

  “Like I said, she likes to hurt people.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and handed him the money.

  “Anytime.”

  XXII

  I sat through some of the most tedious talks of my life, my mind on Lauren.

  I listened and nodded as mind–controlled robots spoke endless shit about the New Age and spouted spurious philosophy.

  Acting this one out was one of the toughest things I’d done. I wanted to get to the target, take her out and collect my money. I had other priorities. I’d cornered Morris, and Klein had gone quiet, but I knew the whole thing was about to blow, and I wanted enough money to get out after I dealt with it.

  At first I thought I was over–acting. I just wanted to get there quickly, but these guys were such zombies, I had them fooled from the word go when I rolled up complaining about my rich dad.

  I figured they would want a down payment on me, so I handed them 10K apologetically, saying I was due to inherit a couple of mill in a few years time.

  They wanted me, and I hooked them in easily.

  I’d bought my ticket to the inner sanctum, and when I got there I could see how they worked people.

  On my first centre circle session as they called it, a
young blonde woman took me through the stages I would have to pass.

  The centre circle is what Sharp had christened her first stage of initiation. There were sixteen of them before men could realise liberation. So far, only a few had reportedly achieved it. I guessed this was propaganda because no one knew who they were. There was going to be a lot of dick–tugging by Sharp and her women before Nirvana was reached.

  From what I could see, although the women were not treated well, they were given an easier time than the men. They got to pick and choose who they fucked and sat in on the ritual humiliation of the men, which involved ordering them to perform oral sex on them while they were menstruating, and shitting on them, part of Sharp’s philosophy.

  That was one of her favourites. She called it the wash.

  Her recruiting method was to allow the women to circulate freely, pick up men and form relationships. Lonely guys who would do anything for a shag.

  They were instructed to start the humiliation of these guys on the outside so that the passage into the cult was easier. I guess that way Sharp’s methods didn’t look so odd. She liked to ease the passage.

  Sharp’s weapon was sex, her mine of gold the soft touch of male desire.

  The woman who initiated me into level one started by explaining things to me before standing up and taking off her clothes.

  “Do you desire me?” she said.

  “Not really.”

  She looked surprised.

  “Why?”

  I looked at her.

  “I like big busted women.”

  She left the room.

  The next day I was assigned a woman with huge boobs who almost smothered me with them. I said I wasn’t interested, figuring this would get me closer to Sharp.

  Reject the monkeys and the organ grinder will materialise.

  It worked.

  Two days later I met her.

  XXIII

  She was pretty much as I’d imagined her to be.

  Attractive in a hard, unconventional way.

  She dripped with jewellery.

  I’d been gathered into a group of what were called the rebels.

  These were the guys who didn’t go along with what was expected, and who usually ended up being tortured. Unless they had a lot of money, in which case they were treated with kid gloves.

  This discrepancy was explained away in terms of their ignorance.

  “You are resisting change,” she said. “And I want to know why.”

  We were divided into groups of two and assigned a female analyst who spent a couple of hours asking us questions like “What do you want from a woman?” and “How do you feel about your masculinity?”

  I gave vague, meaningless answers and wasted time until the session was over.

  I was then left alone in the room with the other guy for a while.

  “You got a rich dad too?” I said.

  He looked back at me with a dazed expression on his face.

  “How did you know?”

  “Intuition, I guess.”

  “That’s amazing. People become so in tune here. She’s incredible.”

  I knew what was coming.

  The analyst came back after a bit and said, “You need to see Stella tomorrow.”

  My appointment was for twelve o’clock.

  ***

  I’d slept in a dormitory, eaten beans, salad and endured the biggest pile of shit I’d ever heard in my life. I wanted this job over. I hadn’t been able to contact Lauren, since mobile phones and calls were not allowed, and I was worried. I knew she was safe for a while, at least.

  I figured the really good–looking guys were kept back for Sharp to fuck and use, and I wasn’t wrong.

  The only problem was, I hadn’t found Williams’ son.

  The next morning I made use of my free time and headed over to Silver Villa in Hampstead.

  I flashed my pass at a fat woman who smelt of BO and walked straight in.

  “Come for the seminar?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Starts in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll just use the loo.”

  I explored the house.

  I’d heard there was an underground cellar and found it without too much difficulty.

  It was a horror story.

  Cells annexed the utility rooms and guys were strung up there naked and in a really bad way. The place smelt of shit and misery.

  I doubted a couple of them would make it.

  One of them was Williams’ son.

  “Mark?” I said. He opened his eyes and peered at me. “Remember my face. I’m coming back for you later.”

  “Are you taking me to the next level?”

  “Sure am.”

  I left quickly and made it back to Silver Villa just in time for my seminar.

  It had been impossible to sneak any weapons in. I’d managed to acquire an ice–pick on my trip out. It would have to do.

  I turned up early for the session with Stella, over at her palatial offices in one of the wings of the place in Kensington.

  I could hear groans coming from inside.

  I peered in.

  She was being serviced by one of the young men she liked, lying naked on a sofa while he screwed her. Occasionally she would give him an order.

  After a while she stood up.

  “Go,” she said and started to get dressed.

  She had a used look about her.

  I waited outside to be summoned and watched the guy leave, making sure there was no one around.

  When I walked in she didn’t make eye contact.

  I looked around the room. The curtains were drawn.

  “Why are you resisting?” she said.

  “Oh I don’t know, maybe I don’t believe it.”

  She looked up.

  “You don’t believe?”

  “No. It’s bullshit. And besides, you’re not my type.”

  Surprise and anger clouded her face.

  “How dare you?” she said, standing up. “I will punish you.” She picked up one of her sticks and started over for me. “You’re going to regret this.”

  “No. You are.”

  She swung at me and missed, falling to the floor, the stick landing with a thud.

  When she stood up I hit her with the pick. Right in the middle of her forehead. I had it gripped tight and punched it into her head as easily as banging in a nail. I pushed it in deep, her eyes frozen in shock horror as she felt her brains being punctured. Then she fell back with blood pouring from the hole, her mouth moving speechlessly and filling with blood.

  I pulled it out, spilling brain matter on the carpet.

  She thrashed around for a while in the thickening pool, like she was trying to swim. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Finally she just collapsed, and lay there.

  I went back to my room, got my things and left.

  Over at Hampstead I had to knock out a couple of the robots to get back down to the cellars. A couple of easy punches that would leave them nursing headaches when they woke up.

  Mark remembered me and I dragged him out of there into the car.

  It should have been an easy journey to his father’s house, but I hit a road blockade and had to detour. Police cordons were everywhere: apparently a sniper had taken someone out, causing havoc with the local traffic. Once I was out of the detour it was straightforward.

  An hour later and he was home.

  He scarcely recognised where he was.

  “I don’t know how to thank you enough,” Williams said. “I got your call this morning, so I’ve prepared everything.”

  “You need to get a deprogrammer.”

  “I’ve already arranged it.”

  “He needs medical treatment.”

  “Right. And she’s dead?”

  “Read the papers tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “Your money will be in your account in two days’ time.”

  I said my goodbyes and left.

  I
really wanted to wash this hit off.

  The papers the next morning covered the story with the headline:

  “Sex guru killed in horror cult.”

  It seems the police had found the cellars and shut the Nova Fellowship down.

  I called Lauren and arranged to take her out to dinner.

  XXIV

  We ate at a restaurant near her flat.

  She was pleased to see me and it was good to be in the company of a woman I liked.

  She drank a little too much, and I asked her how things had been.

  “You know, Lawrence, if that is your real name, we don’t really know each other.”

  “Takes time.”

  “I’m letting you tell me as much as you want me to know. Or should I say that’s safe for me to know.” She paused. “I’m not the straightened out woman you see before you today. Or, I haven’t always been.”

  “We all have a past.”

  “Well, I used to be a real mess. Drugs, casual sex, the whole nine yards.”

  “You know, this isn’t necessary.”

  “Look, I’m not a fool. I know there’s more to you than just some guy who was doing business with Spengler and gets me out of there just before he’s killed and the whole mess of what he’s involved in is exposed and raked over by the papers.”

  “If this is about trust, you don’t need to...”

  “I know. There was a point when I thought I’d just back out of this. But – I like you. We do all have a past. I’m just gonna have to let you tell me or figure it out myself.”

  “Lauren...”

  “I mean even this Lawrence Lauren thing, it’s a bit of a tongue twister. Why don’t you start by telling me your real name?”

  I’d been worrying about her for weeks. I realised how relaxed I felt around her and was sick of patronising her. Sooner or later when the ticking time bomb that was Klein blew, I was going to have to tell her an awful lot.

  “Jack,” I said.

  “Jack. I like it.”

  “Lauren, there are things...”

  “Yeah, there are a lot of things,” she said, pouring herself another glass of wine, “And one of them is that I was trying to tell you that ten years ago, I was into everything. I slept with more men than I can remember and now, and now, I just want to find a guy I like and trust. And then you came along and I don’t know anything about you.”