The Sam Prichard Series - Books 9-12 (Sam Prichard Boxed Set 3)

by David Archer

  She had tears streaming down her cheeks, and Harry’s eyes had softened. “Kathleen,” he said, indicating Sam, “This is Sam Prichard. He’s the man who actually stopped that bomb from getting into the lake and saved a good part of the country. He’s also my dearest friend in the world, and the best private eye there is. He and his wife managed to figure out most of this, and I’m comforted to find that they were correct.”

  “Oh, Harry,” she said, sobbing softly. “I wanted to get in touch with you as soon as I saw that story, but Michael said I couldn’t. When I asked him why not, he said it was because he wasn’t going to give up the life he’d built over you. If I made any kind of contact, he said, he’d know and he’d have you killed. Harry, I didn’t dare let you know.”

  “But you did,” Sam said suddenly. “You’ve been going to Annapolis whenever Michael was out of town, haven’t you? You’ve been watching Harry, trying to think of some way to let him know you’re alive, and so you thought of the letters you wrote to him when the kids were young.”

  “Letters?” she asked, and Sam felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

  He turned to Harry. “Show it to her,” he said, and Harry took the envelope out of his jacket pocket and passed it over.

  Kathleen looked at it for a moment, then almost tore it to get at its contents. “Oh, my God,” she said, “how did you get this?”

  Harry had been staring at Sam as he spoke of her trips to Annapolis, but now he was locked on Kathleen. “I found that on an end table in my living room last Monday night,” he said. “Someone had gotten into my apartment and left it on the same day I was forced to accept retirement from government service.”

  Kathleen was staring at the pictures and the note. “When I wrote this,” she said, “I thought you were dead and gone, and it was just a way to try to keep you alive in my memories. I always thought that someday I’d let the kids see them, tell them about you, but they were so close to Mi-Michael, and they were so young when it all happened that they thought he was their father. I didn’t want to dishonor your memory, Harry, but I was dealing with a reality none of us could ever have predicted, so I never told them...”

  “I can understand that,” Harry said. “What I want to know about now is what he said to you about having me killed.”

  She nodded. “He said if I contacted you, if you found out I was alive and what he’d done, he’d have no choice but to kill you, and that he loved me, but he’d kill me, too, in order to protect what he’s got. Harry, I didn’t know what to do...”

  “You could have come to me!” Harry said suddenly. “Did you think I couldn’t protect myself, or protect you and the children? Kathy, do you know how long I have thought, over and over, about how if I’d only turned down that mission, you might still be with me?” He forced himself to calm down and softened his voice. “Kathleen, did you know that Michael is still with the government? Sam’s wife Indiana found evidence that he’s still involved with the NSA.”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding. “He’s never actually been out. It was all part of the deal he made with them to let him take charge of me and the kids, he said, that he had to remain on call for special missions, for NSA, CIA, whoever needs him. I knew that some of his business trips were actually on those jobs, but it was just like you and me. We never talked about what happened when he went out on one, because knowing could put me in danger.”

  Sam leaned forward. “Okay, we understand the position you were in at that point,” he said, “but now the situation is different. We know the truth, now, and it won’t be long before he knows we know. As it turns out, there’s no legal action Harry can take, but we can definitely get you and your kids out of danger.”

  Kathleen looked at him. “Mr. Prichard, is it? Yes, I remember your name from those same news stories. Mr. Prichard, forgive me if I doubt you, but I don’t think you know the kind of man Michael has become. There was a time when he was a lot like Harry. But he has changed, and some of the changes began long before I found out about Harry being alive. There have been times—there have been times when I thought I was likely to be found dead in some accident, because his anger would flare over something so trivial that I couldn’t believe it made him mad. I’d try to laugh it off, but that turned out to be a mistake, and I finally learned to be very quiet when he reached that point. He would stay angry for hours, sometimes, and I’d have to listen to him rant and rave until he got it all out of his system.” She sighed, then, and a fleeting smile came across her face. “And then he’d suddenly be the sweetest man you could imagine. He would tell me how sorry he was, and the next few days would be absolutely wonderful.”

  “Is that what it was like when you found out about me? About what he’d done?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “When I questioned him about how you could still be alive, he became colder and angrier than I’d ever seen him. He pushed me down on the sofa and put his hands on my throat, and told me that if I said one word, even one word, to anyone else about it, that he’d kill me. He said if I tried to contact you, he’d know, and then he’d just make one phone call and you would be killed. I promised not to do anything, Harry, so that he’d calm down, but it took another two days before he let me get up off that sofa.” The tears were falling again as she spoke and she closed her eyes. “He wouldn’t even let me go to the bathroom, Harry. When the kids called, I had to tell them I wasn’t feeling well and they couldn’t come over. I sat right there where you’re sitting right now, stinking and filthy, until he got past it all.”

  “Dear God, Kathy...”

  “And then it was over. He started crying and telling me how much he loved me, how he hated the things I’d made him say and do, and all I could do was beg him to forgive me. He took me to the bathroom, then, and he washed me so lovingly that I honestly wondered if I was losing my mind, if I’d imagined the whole episode, but I knew better.” She reached across a small table beside the chair she was in and found a tissue. She wiped her eyes with it, but the tears didn’t actually stop. “I made myself a promise, then, that I’d find a way to see you, even if I couldn’t talk to you. I stole some tricks from his own book, and got myself a credit card he didn’t know about, so I could travel without him seeing the bills. I put it in Beth’s name, and even got a driver’s license with her name and my photo, and it took a hell of a lot of makeup to convince the examiner that I was only thirty-three, let me tell you! And I went to look for you, and I found you. I followed you sometimes, Harry, followed you and hoped you’d feel it, hoped you’d know I was there, but you never saw me.” She grinned at him through the tears. “Guess I was too good at it.”

  Sam waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. After a few seconds, he leaned toward her again. “But you’re saying you didn’t put this envelope in his apartment?”

  She seemed to suddenly remember that she was holding the photos and note, and the look on her face became frightened. “No,” she said. “No, I didn’t. I hadn’t even seen any of these letters for the longest time, I had put them all away when we came back to the US. As far as I know, they’re all in a box in the attic...” She looked up at Sam suddenly. “Michael was in the attic last week, looking for some old paperwork on one of our boats. Harry, if he put this there, then he’s figured out I’ve been going to watch you.”

  Sam nodded. “I came to the same conclusion a few minutes ago. You said he’s gone to Japan. Is there any way to verify that he actually left?”

  “The plane was due to take off at three this morning,” Kathleen said. “I know the plane was fueled and ready, because we drove out and spoke to the pilot last night.” She thought hard for a moment. “I can’t reach anyone until it lands, and that won’t be until about six this evening, our time.”

  “Where was he last Monday?” Sam asked.

  “He was in England, as far as I know,” Kathleen said. “He didn’t get back until Wednesday night.”

  Sam turned to Harry. “Harry, if he put that in your place
, then this whole thing has been a setup. He’s undoubtedly been watching you ever since, or having someone else do it. That means he knows you came to me, and...”

  Sam’s phone rang at that moment, and he snatched it out of his pocket. “Indie?”

  “Yeah, it’s me! Sam, listen...”

  He cut her off. “Indie, grab Kenzie and get out of there, right now! Take cash out of the safe and go, anywhere you can think of where no one would find you! Michael may have been the one to put the letter into Harry’s place, and if so, then he’s probably had him followed. He’d know Harry came to us, so I want you and Kenzie out of there now.”

  “What? Okay, Sam, I’ll go, but I’ve got to tell you something now! Herman went off a little bit ago, and it woke me up, so I looked. That website, the one from that alphabet group? It’s an assignment board, I guess you’d call it. There are links on it with different codes, and each one looks like maybe it’s a mission outline. The one he seems to have looked at most recently is a mission to get someone, some foreign person, out of the US and into Japan.”

  “Okay, that fits,” Sam said, “because we just heard he was supposed to be on a flight to Japan right now. If he’s using the business flight as a way to smuggle someone over there, that would all fit pretty well. Now, get Kenzie and go, and call me from a burner when you can.”

  “Okay, Sam, I will,” Indie said, and the line went dead. Sam looked at Harry and Kathleen.

  “Michael is on an assignment to smuggle some foreign national out of the US and into Japan. I’d say the odds are good that that person is the real passenger on that flight, and Michael—”

  “Is standing right behind you, Mr. Prichard,” a voice said, “with a gun aimed at your head.”

  9

  Frank Hornsby had almost panicked. Sitting there and listening to the conversations at Prichard’s house was boring, so he had a tendency to get up and wander around periodically. It wasn’t like he could conceivably sit there twenty-four hours a day, anyway, right? A man’s got to have a break now and then. For Frank, that meant letting the computer run while he went into the living room and watched TV, or drove down to Excelsior, his favorite strip club. A few drinks and the chance to stuff some of his newfound wealth into the G-strings of some pretty girls was all it took to relax him so that he could spend another few hours.

  The day before, after listening to half an hour of some animated movie, the boredom had hit like a nine-pound sledge. That old man had been up all night and was sleeping, so it wasn’t like he was going to be jumping up and starting any kind of trouble anytime soon. Frank figured it was safe to take a break, so he headed for Excelsior.

  The girls were particularly friendly all afternoon, and the drinks were cold. It was after eleven by the time Frank got back to his house, staggering into his office and falling into the chair. He stubbed out the cigarette he’d been smoking into his overflowing ashtray and forced his eyes to focus on the screen.

  The most recent recorded voice had been Mrs. Prichard, and it sounded like she had been on the phone with her husband. Frank shook his head a couple of times and forced himself to focus, then scrolled back in the recording and listened at various points. Sam Prichard’s voice was missing until he got back to the early afternoon.

  Prichard had told his wife that he and the old man, Winslow, would be leaving at three o’clock in the chartered jet the old man was using. Their destination was Clearwater, Florida, which meant they would have already arrived. Frank dug through his pockets until he found his phone and called his employer immediately.

  “Yes, Mr. Hornsby?”

  “Sir, I…” Frank stammered. “I think my blood sugar got a little low, sir, I think I passed out for a little while this afternoon. I’ve been going over the recordings since then, and I needed to let you know that Prichard and Winslow have left on a plane for Clearwater, Florida. They’re probably already there. Sir, I’m really sorry about this, I won’t let it happen—”

  “Relax, Mr. Hornsby,” his employer said. “These things happen. Have you checked Prichard’s phone yet?”

  Frank breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m actually doing that right now, sir,” he said. He grabbed the mouse and clicked on the window that would show him the recording from Sam Prichard’s cell phone, and played the most recent file. It was the phone conversation between Prichard and his wife.

  “The only thing I’m hearing right now is snoring,” he said. “Prichard’s wife called him just a little while ago and said something about the old man’s wife sneaking around and taking trips to where he lives, but then there’s nothing but snores.”

  “What about location? What does the GPS reader say about where the phone is at?”

  Frank clicked on the GPS coordinates that were displayed and then grinned. “They’re at the Sunset Motel on West Waters Avenue in Tampa.”

  “All right,” said the man on the other end of the line. “No harm done. It’s pretty late, why don’t you go and get some sleep. Just be sure to let me know about their movements tomorrow, okay?”

  Frank nodded, the relief overcoming the momentary sobriety that anxiety had brought on. “Yes sir,” he said, his words slightly slurring. “Yes sir, I’ll be back on it in the morning.”

  The call ended, and Frank sat there for a few more minutes as he scanned through the recordings from Prichard’s house. Being able to listen in on someone this way, even through their cell phones when they weren’t even in use, this was almost a godlike power. Frank grinned to himself as he thought of the ways he would be able to use it in the future.

  Damn, what a crazy story. This old man actually believed that someone had conned his old lady into leaving him years before. Frank scoffed at the idea, because his own experience had taught him that women are fickle. If his wife ran off with his best friend, it wasn’t because his buddy pulled a scam; it was because she was a woman, and women couldn’t be trusted.

  A soft sound from another part of the house managed to get through the alcohol-soaked regions of his brain. Frank looked through the office door but saw nothing, so he got carefully to his feet and slowly staggered toward the living room. Whatever he had heard had come from that direction, so it was probably nothing but that blasted mouse he’d been unable to lure into one of his traps.

  He stepped into the living room and reached for the switch on the table lamp beside the door, but that’s when the arm went around his throat. Frank grabbed at it and pulled frantically, but it was too strong. He felt another hand on the back of his head, and then a brief moment of searing pain in his neck, and then his body seemed to have faded away. His head struck the floor, facing upwards, and he looked up at a large man standing over him. His mind was already foggy from the booze, but he could tell that it was getting even foggier as he looked up at the man he suddenly realized was his killer.

  His neck was broken. That was the pain he felt, he knew, and despite the ravages of alcohol in his brain Frank realized that he was already dead. Snapping the spinal cord meant that his heart was not beating, so blood was not getting to his brain—that’s why he was feeling so foggy…

  Without fresh blood coming to the brain, unconsciousness set in within forty seconds. Frank’s vision faded out, and he slid into a slumber from which he would never awaken.

  The man who had killed him looked down at his body in disgust as Frank’s sphincters relaxed in death. Foul odors began to permeate the room, but the killer simply stepped over him and made his way to Frank’s office. He sat down in the chair and carefully wiped all of the files off of the computers, then cleared the IP address of the relay server from its history. When he was finished, he picked up Frank’s phone and redialed the last number Frank had called.

  “It’s done,” he said. “No traces left.”

  “Excellent. I’ve already transferred the money to your account. Keep yourself ready for another job; I’m not sure how things are going to go at the moment. It might be necessary to use Prichard’s wife and daughter as le
verage.”

  “I’ll be ready,” the killer said. “Just give me the word.”

  He ended the call and dropped the phone back on the desk. He’d worn gloves through the entire operation so there were no prints to worry about. He got up and walked through the house again, pinching his nose as he stepped over the body, then walked right out the front door. He strolled quietly down the street until he got to the place where he’d left his car, then got in and drove toward his own home.

  After the last phone call had ended, Frank’s employer had rolled over and gone back to sleep. His alarm was set for three AM, and he knew that the morning was going to bring a busy day. One of the things he had in common with Harry Winslow was the ability to simply shut down and go to sleep, especially when he knew it might be a while before he could truly rest again.

  When the alarm went off, he rolled over and kissed his wife goodbye, told her he’d see her in a few days and got out of bed. His clothes were already laid out so he put them on quietly, then made his way through the darkened house to the garage. He pushed the button to open the overhead door, got into his Lamborghini and backed out, carefully closing the door behind him. He drove down the street a short distance and turned into another driveway, using a second remote to open the garage door on this house. He pulled the car inside and got out, then walked around the other car, a nondescript Chevy sedan, and got behind the wheel. He drove out and used the remote once more to close the door behind him.