Rage of Angels

It's like some kind of goddamned Hollywood movie production, Major General Roy Wallace thought, with my prisoner as the star.

The large conference room at the United States Marine Corps base was filled with technicians from the Signal Corps, scurrying around setting up cameras and sound and lighting equipment, using an arcane jargon.

"Kill the brute and hit the inkies. Bring a baby over here..."

They were getting ready to put Thomas Colfax's testimony on film.

"It's extra insurance," District Attorney Di Silva had argued. "We know that no one can get to him, but it will be good to have it on the record, anyway." And the others had gone along with him.

The only person absent was Thomas Colfax. He would be brought in at the last minute, when everything was in readiness for him.

Just like a goddamn movie star.

Thomas Colfax was having a meeting in his cell with David Terry of the Justice Department, the man in charge of creating new identities for witnesses who wished to disappear.

"Let me explain a bit about the Federal Witness Security Program," Terry said. "When the trial is over, we'll send you to whichever country you choose. Your furniture and other belongings will be shipped to a warehouse in Washington, with a coded number. We'll forward it to you later. There won't be any way for anyone to trace you. We'll supply you with a new identity and background and, if you wish, a new appearance."

"I'll take care of that." He trusted no one to know what he was going to do with his appearance.

"Ordinarily when we set people up with a new identity, we find jobs for them in whatever field they're suited for, and we supply them with some money. In your case, Mr. Colfax, I understand that money is no problem."

Thomas Colfax wondered what David Terry would say if he knew how much money was salted away in his bank accounts in Germany, Switzerland and Hong Kong. Even Thomas Colfax had not been able to keep track of it all, but a modest estimate, he would guess, would be nine or ten million dollars.

"No," Colfax said, "I don't think money will be a problem."

"All right, then. The first thing to decide is where you would like to go. Do you have any particular area in mind?"

It was such a simple question, yet so much lay behind it. What the man was really saying was, Where do you want to spend the rest of your life? For Colfax knew that when he got to wherever he was going, he would never be able to leave. It would become his new habitat, his protective cover, and he would not be safe anywhere else in the world.

"Brazil."

It was the logical choice. He already owned a two-hundred-thousand-acre plantation there in the name of a Panamanian corporation that could not be traced back to him. The plantation itself was like a fortress. He could afford to buy himself enough protection so that even if Michael Moretti did finally learn where he was, no one would be able to touch him. He could buy anything, including all the women he wanted. Thomas Colfax liked Latin women. People thought that when a man reached the age of sixty-five he was finished sexually, that he no longer had any interest, but Colfax had found that his appetite had grown as he had gotten older. His favorite sport was to have two or three beautiful young women in bed with him at the same time, working him over. The younger the better.

"Brazil will be easy to arrange," David Terry was saying. "Our government will buy you a small house there, and - "

"That won't be necessary." Colfax almost laughed aloud at the thought of his having to live in a small house. "All I will require of you is that you provide me with the new identification and safe transportation. I'll take care of everything else."

"As you wish, Mr. Colfax." David Terry rose to his feet. "I think we've covered just about everything." He smiled reassuringly. "This is going to be one of the easy ones. I'll begin setting things in motion. As soon as you're finished testifying, you'll be on an airplane to South America."

"Thank you." Thomas Colfax watched his visitor leave and he was filled with a sense of elation. He had done it! Michael Moretti had made the mistake of underestimating him, and it was going to be Moretti's final mistake. Colfax was going to bury him so deep that he would never rise again.

And his testimony was going to be filmed. That would be interesting. He wondered whether they would use makeup on him. He studied himself in the small mirror on the wall. Not bad, he thought, for a man my age. I still have my looks. Those young South American girls love older men with gray hair.

He heard the sound of the cell door opening, and he turned. A marine sergeant was bringing in Colfax's lunch. There would be plenty of time to eat before the filming began.

The first day, Thomas Colfax had complained about the food that was served to him, and from then on General Wallace had arranged for all of Colfax's meals to be catered. In the weeks that Colfax had been confined at the fort, his slightest suggestion had become their command. They wanted to do everything they could to please him, and Colfax took full advantage of it. He had had comfortable furniture moved in, and a television set, and he received a daily supply of newspapers and current magazines.

The sergeant placed the tray of food on a table set for two, and he made the same comment he made every day.

"Looks good enough to eat, sir."

Colfax smiled politely and sat down at the table. Roast beef rare, the way he liked it, mashed potatoes and Yorkshire pudding. He waited as the marine pulled up a chair and sat down across from him. The sergeant picked up a knife and fork, cut off a piece of the meat and began to eat. Another of General Wallace's ideas. Thomas Colfax had his own taster. Like the kings of ancient times, he thought. He watched as the marine sampled the roast beef, the potatoes and the Yorkshire pudding.

"How is it?"

"To tell you the truth, sir, I prefer my beef on the well-done side."

Colfax picked up his own knife and fork and began to eat. The sergeant was mistaken. The meat was cooked perfectly, the potatoes were creamy and hot and the Yorkshire pudding was done to a turn.

Colfax reached for the horseradish and spread it lightly over the beef. It was with the second bite that Colfax knew something was terribly wrong. There was a sudden burning sensation in his mouth that seemed to shoot through his whole body. He felt as though he were on fire. His throat was closing, paralyzed, and he began gasping for air. The marine sergeant sitting across from him was staring at him. Thomas Colfax clutched his throat and tried to tell the sergeant what was happening, but no words would come out. The fire in him was spreading more swiftly now, filling him with an unbearable agony. His body stiffened in a terrible spasm and he toppled over backwards to the floor.

The sergeant watched him for a moment, then bent over the body and lifted Thomas Colfax's eyelid to make sure he was dead.

Then he called for help.