Connection: Chapter 15

Robert took the stairs up to the fourth floor and walked the intricately carpeted passageway. Cream molding framed the open doors to the suites. Semicircular mahogany tables topped by bouquets stood between the rooms, inanimate sentinels guarding the secrets within. He entered Suite D. A long conference table dominated the room, its thick glass surface exaggerating the emptiness of the room. There was no place to hide anything, but Robert worried he was being tricked somehow. He knew the danger of this rendezvous.

The door closed behind him. He spun and saw Fatality twist the lock. "So we're not interrupted," he said. Robert's body was a taut spring, ready to snap. He swallowed his fear. Now that he was face to face with the man, this whole mission seemed foolhardy. Fatality was startlingly built and a good thirty pounds heavier than Robert. He was locked in a bare room with the man who forty-eight hours ago had tried to burn him alive. Fatality spoke first.

"You think you know something." It was not a question. "Doesn't matter. Whatever you think you know is irrelevant. This ends now."

He advanced towards Robert, who started to respond.

"Shut up. I'll ask the questions. Why did you come here? To blackmail me?"

Robert straightened. "I'm not interested in your money."

"Don't be idiotic. The whole world is interested in my money. Every week, someone knocks on my door trying to separate me from my money."

"You sent those men to kill me."

Fatality scoffed. "Yes, I did. Evidently they failed. Incompetence. A blessing and a curse. Desirable in your enemies, and damaging in your comrades. All my victories come through the incompetence of my opponents."

"Your victories came because you kill your opponents," Robert shot back.

"That's the idea, Robert. I kill them on the screen."

"And in the real world."

"When necessary, yes." Fatality flexed his arms. "An inconsequential differentiation. Throughout history, men have eliminated their competition outside the official arena. The Greeks did it. The Romans did it. Gladiators were poisoned before matches to tip the outcome."

"You're insane."

"Insanity is merely genius without direction. And you can see I'm very direct." He whipped out a Glock handgun. "I'm pointing this gun directly at your heart."