Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (types of ebook readers txt) 📕

the private sector, he set about torturing a prisoner. The British Army frowns on that kind of thing, so he was dishonorably discharged. This, of course, in the market that he was looking to open up, was like having a PhD. It demonstrated exactly what he wanted his clients to know—he had no compassion. He would go well beyond where most other people would pull back.

“He did a number of jobs for the Russian Mafia and a few Middle Eastern and African governments. His speciality was the untraceable kill, and that soon got him noticed by the Hennessys. They employed him, and set about systematically eliminating all of their enemies, both in industry and in politics. His instructions were not only to kill them, but to strike fear deep into the hearts of all of those with whom the Hennessys had dealings. This he did, very successfully.

“Unlike most killers, Adrian had a very good intellect. His IQ was up in the hundred and fifties. He was a genius, and he was blessed with a total lack of respect for authority, as well as a total absence of fear where other men were concerned. It was not difficult for him to manipulate the Hennessys. His supreme arrogance and his ruthlessness fascinated them. He arranged several meetings with them in which they discussed in depth the jobs he had done, and the jobs he was in the process of doing for them, in the context of their long-term plans. He filmed and recorded all of those meetings. His intention was to blackmail them and become immeasurably rich and powerful by controlling these preeminent figures in world politics.

“But, after about six or seven years, it is hard to be precise, he began to die. He began to realize something very important about himself. It was not that he was incapable of compassion and empathy, but that he had simply buried those processes, those mechanisms of the psyche, those emotions in his unconscious mind. In much the same way that we are usually unaware of the backs of our knees because we never think of them. We are only ever conscious of what we focus our mind on. What we don’t focus on, we are not aware of. And gradually Adrian began to focus his mind, his imagination, on other people’s pain. And in so doing, he started to become aware of it.

“The full extent of this horror is something that very few people could ever comprehend. Because the fear, pain, and emotional agony of every one of his victims, and their loved ones, began to haunt him. And his imagination made him more vividly aware of them every single day. Until he believed he was going insane. Not losing his mind, because losing his mind would have been a blessing, but sinking into his mind, as though his mind were hell itself.

“He had studied Zen Buddhism for many years as part of his training in the martial arts. And now, much like the samurai of old Japan, he turned to Buddhism, and in particular, Theravada Buddhism. Because this branch of Buddhism is most concerned with the doctrine of kama, or, as you probably know it in Sanskrit, karma. Action and intention, and the consequences thereof.

“He found a degree of peace and set about trying to improve his very dark kama, by meditation and by helping as many people as he could to move out of suffering and into joy.

“Then, in October of 2007, he was destroyed in a bomb blast. But, as I say, he left me all his knowledge and all his documents, electronic and otherwise. To which, you are most welcome.”

For a moment, looking into his extraordinarily direct, honest eyes, I felt a cold chill run down my back, as though I was in the presence of something that was not entirely of this world. It was as though I knew that he and Adrian Philips were both the same person, and yet also two entirely different people.

I dismissed the notion and said, “Thank you, Ananda, that would be really very helpful.”

“Not just for you,” he said and smiled. “But for this poor, beleaguered nation.”

I frowned. “Yes, I guess so.”

He turned and gazed at Dehan’s face for a long moment, then he turned and gazed at me. He smiled and said, “May I suggest that you take the afternoon to rest and relax? You are welcome to walk in our gardens if you like. I have some chores I need to finish. This evening, I will gather together all Adrian’s belongings, and, if you will drive up here tomorrow morning, I will hand them over to you. If you need me to come to New York at any time, to give a statement or testify at trial, I will be happy to do so.” His smile broadened. “But for now, John, I think you really need to rest that shoulder. And your heart. The heart is not an organ we should neglect. Look what happened to Adrian when he neglected his.” He stood and moved toward the steps. “Enjoy your tea. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And he walked with quiet, vigorous steps back toward the garden where we had found him. I turned to Dehan and spread my hands. She shrugged.

Twenty Four

“He is Adrian Philips.”

We were sitting in Séamus McCaffrey’s Irish Pub and Restaurant on West Monroe Street. She had a Bud and I had a pint of the kind of beer that puts wiry red hair on your chest. We had been quiet for a while and she spoke suddenly, looking at the interlocking wet rings she was making on the tabletop with the base of her bottle. Then she glanced at me, like she thought I would disagree. “Adrian Simon Philips, ASP, the snake, the deadly killer, Ananda Sri Pannasiha. ASP.”

“You’re probably right.”

“So, what? He gets to kill all these