by Steve Richer
“Jeff Riley, do you have any messages for me?”
“Yes sir, we do,” the receptionist said pleasantly as she retrieved a message.
Jeff grabbed the envelope and read the message as he walked away. He felt the weight of the gun shoved in the back of his pants and the CD in the back pocket annoying him. The memo urged him to consult a Hotmail account. Jeff turned around.
“Can I access the Internet from here?”
“Yes sir, if you have a computer you can plug it in the phone line in your room.”
Jeff didn’t have time to argue and ran out of the hotel as the tennis pros looked on. He drove to a cyber café where he used to hang out during his university days. It was opened late and the waiters weren’t nosy.
He paid for an hour’s worth of surfing and asked for a glass of water. He logged into the e-mail account the note specified and found three messages, two of which were spam offering discount Viagra.
He clicked on the subject reading Jeff Riley and waited until the waiter set down the water next to him until he read it.
“Thank you.”
He gave the young man five dollars, anything to make him go away quickly. The e-mail was again brief, sending him this time to a bar up in the Laurentians. It was obvious Hingle was trying to make it as hard as possible for anyone who was following Riley. Jeff noticed there was an attachment. He clicked on it.
The computer was hooked to a DSL connection and it took about five seconds for a video to load. In it, Jeff could see his parents still tied up to chairs, being surprisingly peaceful and unhurt. They didn’t struggle against the ropes, they didn’t try to scream. They both stared straight into the camera, as if in defiance.
It was very real indeed and it did nothing to quell Jeff’s wrath.
AUGUST 17
SATURDAY
Chapter 67
It was raining hard now. The heat wave of the past week was giving way to thunderstorms. The water was coming down harder than Jeff had seen all summer. But he still drove fast.
It took him fifty-five minutes to go from downtown Montreal to Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts, and that included the stop he made to fill the gas tank. He finally came to a halt in front of a St. Vincent Street bar, near Lac des Sables. The place was packed on this Saturday night and in the area, while heavily relying on tourism, there were many nightclubs.
“Anyone leave you a message for Jeff Riley?” he asked in French as he reached the bar.
The bartender shrugged and continued drying a glass. “Non.”
Jeff knew the man was expecting money. He didn’t give him any, not so much out of greed, but rather on principle.
He had had enough of jumping through hoops and to obey every order. It was time for people to play by his rules for a change. He reached across the bar and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. He pulled him to his face.
“Là chu pas mal tané, mon p’tit câlisse d’enfant d’chienne,” he swore in his rawest Quebec accent. “What’s the fucking message?”
“Labelle, you’re supposed to go to Labelle.”
“Where in Labelle? What street?”
“He didn’t say, I swear.”
Jeff let go of him. “It wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Actually, it was. He had almost wet his pants. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Like all great men, Jeff had his best ideas while taking a leak. Five minutes later, he was back in the car and heading north on Road 117. He had often been there on vacation with his family as a kid since one of his uncles owned a house in the area.
Setting the swap in Labelle was a good decision on Hingle’s part. It was a small town, quite isolated from the closest municipalities. It was something like ten minutes away from other towns in every direction. It was just a dot in the middle of green mountains.
And he remembered there was no police station.
The provincial police used to have its post in Labelle, but organizational restructuring had seen the small town without police presence for some time. Nearby glitzy Mont-Tremblant had its own police department in addition to the regional provincial detachment while Labelle had nothing. Real smart, he’d always thought.
Local shops were being robbed on a monthly basis and there was nothing that could be done about it. It was to the point where the cops didn’t even come anymore to file the reports. Jeff had read it in the newspapers and he acknowledged Hingle’s genius.
The ride took another forty minutes. He couldn’t believe how he had been jerked around through Montreal. Labelle was pretty much closer to Ottawa than Montreal was, come to think of it. He had wasted a lot of gas money.
He slowed down when he reached the main street which happened to be the 117 still. Just before he rolled down the hill into the town, he noticed someone waving a flashlight by the side of the road. This was meant for him.
He recognized Julian Farris. He stopped his car in the parking lot of a seedy strip joint twenty feet behind him. He stepped out carefully, doing his best to control himself because his instincts were telling him to leap on the man and bash his head in.
“Slowly, get away from your car.”
Jeff saw the gun that was pointed at him. It was the same revolver that had held Chasey hostage.
“I’m not gonna fuck this up,” Jeff said. “I just want to get this over with.” He had to shout to be heard through the torrential rain.
“Show me the CD.”
“Show me my parents.”
“After you give me the CD.”
“How do I know they’re still alive?”
“You saw the video on the Internet.”
“What tells me you didn’t kill them right after you filmed it? I want to see them.”
Farris hesitated. He was wearing a plastic trash bag to shield him from the downpour and a gust of wind made it slide off his head.
“Take off your shirt. And your pants.”
“What?”
“Get naked, totally. I have to make sure you’re unarmed. Come on!”
It was Jeff’s turn to hesitate. He was vulnerable once more and he hated the feeling. Nevertheless, he finally complied. He removed the T-shirt he had bought in Barbados and did the same with his expensive pants. At least there was no one to see him.
“Socks, underwear, everything. Let go! Throw it all to me.”
The rain was cool on his body, but Jeff still did as he was told. He picked up his clothes from the ground and tossed them over to the man with the gun. They fell in mud. Farris crouched and summarily pawed the clothes. Satisfied, he threw them back.
“Okay,” the older man continued. “We’re taking your car.”
Jeff dressed up at lightning speed and he was slipping on the T-shirt when they both got into the sedan.
“So, did you hide the CD somewhere in this car?”
Jeff adjusted his shoes with one hand. “I’ll answer to your boss when I see my parents. Until then just tell me where the hell we’re going.”
“Drive down until we get to the lights.”
At the traffic lights, the car made a right and crossed the bridge. They went up another hill and made another right. It was a truly rural road with farms on each side. And it was dark. Farris squinted to make out their destination and he wasn’t even sure he could recognize it.
Then they saw a flashlight blink a hundred feet ahead. Jeff figured it was Hingle flagging them down since it was the same pattern Farris had used before. They drove up to him.
Jeff did his best to control his breathing. His plan was back in motion and he couldn’t screw up now. As they got closer, he noticed that Hingle was in a barn, standing in the open door. Inside was a white minivan and Jeff couldn’t see his parents anywhere.
“You’re one little cocksucker, you know that?” Hingle barked at his guest as he stepped out of his vehicle.
Jeff walked out of the rain and into the barn. He shrugged.
“You know me, I hear there’s a cock that needs to be sucked and I come running. Now w
hat do you say we finish this thing once and for all?”
“I’ve tried finishing it, but you just don’t fucking die. You’re like that monster in the Alien movies, you keep coming back for the sequels.”
“I don’t want there to be sequels. Let’s swap and then let’s split. Where are my parents?”
Hingle strolled to the left of the minivan and kicked hay from the floor. He uncovered the bodies of Dennis and Manon Riley. They were squirming, but stopped when they caught their son in the corner of their eyes.
Jeff had to stop himself from running to them. He needed to keep his cool. It was part of the plan.
“Hi, Mom and dad. Don’t worry about a thing, I got everything under control.”
“Do you? Okay, you’ve seen your parents, now let’s see the CD.”
“It’s not here.”
There was no doubt in Jeff’s mind that once he handed the proof over to Hingle, there would be three corpses littering the floor of this barn. It was the only leverage he had.
“What?” Hingle said, blinking with shock.
“I hid it somewhere.”
Hingle raised his own weapon and put it against Jeff’s head. His parents moaned through the duct tape.
“Tell me where it is right now, Julian will go get it.”
“Is that your minivan? I say we all go. I’ll hand you the CD and we’ll call it a day. We’ll call a taxi from there, you can keep my car.”
The older man considered this for long seconds. Jeff could see what was going on in his mind. Hingle was so close to getting what he wanted, had gone to such great lengths, that he wouldn’t back down now.
“You fuck with me and I’ll cut up your mother in little tiny pieces which I’ll then feed to your father. You got me?”
Chapter 68
They rode south again to Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts in silence.
Jeff was in the back next to Hingle while Farris handled the driving. The parents were in the middle. Trying his best to avoid getting a ticket, Farris drove like a grandmother. Personally, he would have attributed it to the slippery conditions and the fact that he wasn’t familiar with this particular road.
They reached the bar on St. Vincent at half past three. The place was closed and the street was empty.
“It’s in there,” Jeff said, pointing at the bar. “Give me a minute, I’ll get it.”
Hingle shook his head. “No, tell Julian where it is and he’ll get it.”
“It’s too well hidden, it’ll take him hours to find it. And I for one am tired of seeing your ugly goddamn face.”
“Okay, then you go with him. I’ll keep an eye on your folks.”
It was the best compromise Jeff would get out of him so he agreed. He stepped out of the van as Farris did the same and they were hammered by the rain as they jogged to the building.
The front door was all glass. Farris shattered it by striking it with his revolver three times. He didn’t care about alarms, but everyone was glad there were none.
It took a few seconds for Jeff’s eyes to get used to the darkness. He walked to the left where he found the bar. Now he had an idea of where he was exactly. He walked slowly still, the last two weeks coming back to him suddenly.
This had been his first mission. How had he gone from a language specialist who sat in a cubicle to handling a crisis situation? He had been held hostage, had been beaten. He sailed on a submarine, traveled the world, and had fought terrorists. He had killed a man.
It was incredible how life could turn on a dime. One split second decision and your entire world was upended. With a hint of optimism, Jeff decided that the last two weeks had done nothing but prepare him for what was happening tonight.
His family’s life was hanging in the balance and the stakes had never been higher.
“So where is it?” Farris asked, visibly annoyed.
“Over here.”
The CSE agent led the way to the bathroom. He didn’t flip the light switch, but Farris did. It was a red bulb and the light didn’t offer much help. For Farris, at least, who was trying to keep the situation under control.
“This is what you call searching for hours?”
Jeff went to the paper towel dispenser next to the sinks and popped the lid the open.
“Is it in there?” Farris asked.
Jeff’s reply was to sink both hands in the dispenser and pull out all the paper towels, careful not to let them drop to the dirty floor. His back was to Farris and the latter didn’t see him wrap his fingers around the grip of his Glock.
What happened next took place virtually in one fell swoop. Seconds stretched. They were running at ten frames per second.
In one sharp move, Jeff spun around and aimed his gun at Farris’s chest. He brought up the five-inch stack of paper towels with his other hand and held it in front of his weapon. Farris’s eyes widened as he understood what was going on.
“No!”
His first instinct was to raise his own handgun. It was the wrong decision.
As this happened, Jeff pressed the muzzle of his pistol into the towels and pulled the trigger. The bullet traveled out of the barrel and through the paper, landing in Farris’s right lung.
The towels absorbed practically all the gases and the shot was barely audible. It could certainly not be heard from the parking lot. Farris’s strength was leaving his body faster than his mind would have liked to. He was too weak to press his own trigger.
Julian Farris tumbled backwards, landing on the floor with a thud. It was motionless, blood oozing out the gaping wound.
Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Jeff picked up the revolver and pocketed it. He returned to the dispenser and put the towels back to conceal the CD-ROM which had remained in the box.
Jeff left the bathroom, not caring one way or another if Farris was dead. It would happen soon enough. He turned off the light and carefully made his way back to the bar. He hunkered down behind it.
It took sixteen minutes for Jeff to hear it. The minivan’s door slid open. He heard footsteps on the broken glass. Two sets of feet.
“Julian, what the hell’s going on?” Hingle called.
Jeff heard the steps move to his left. He couldn’t dither. He couldn’t hesitate. This sort of opportunity wouldn’t present itself again.
It was time to make his move.
He sprung up and aimed his weapon at the back of Hingle’s skull. He noted at that precise moment that his mother was in front of him with a gun pointed at her own head.
Oh no, what had he done?! He should have tried something else. Now his mom was liable to get murdered.
Nonetheless, he couldn’t let this bastard know what he was thinking. He steeled his resolve and did his best to remove the stress from his voice as he spoke.
“You even think about thinking of moving a muscle, shitfucker, and they’ll need industrial strength detergent to get your brains off these walls.”
Hingle was unflustered. “I could say the same thing about your mother. Where’s Julian?”
“Having a drink with Jesus I guess. Where’s the prototype? What did you do with it?”
“Where’s the disc? We can keep this up all night. How are we gonna get out of it?”
Jeff was considering using one of the bottles at his disposal to knock Hingle unconscious, but he feared that the shock would make him squeeze the trigger. He couldn’t risk his mother’s life like this.
“You were gonna sell it for an obscene amount of money, weren’t you? What were you gonna do with this money?”
“Do you seriously expect me to tell you?”
Jeff’s shoulders rose. “I’m just making conversation over here.”
“Let’s just say a certain African country needs to be overthrown.”
What did he care if he told him the truth? If Julian was really dead, then he’d be the only one who would walk out of his bar alive.
“Who’s paying you to do it?”
“That’s enough with the questions. Set
your gun down on the bar or mommy bites the big one. I pull the trigger in five seconds.”
One.
Panic seized Jeff. What could he do? He had already ruled out the bottle option. There was a revolver in his pocket and he had to think of an efficient way to use it.
Two.
Hingle cocked the hammer of his gun. There was nothing like the psychological effect of hearing the sound of inevitability.
“Three.”
Jeff didn’t have the upper hand anymore. He chastised himself for not having gone with his initial instinct of escaping the bar from the back door, coming around the back of the minivan, and surprising Hingle while his guard was down.
But he reminded himself that Hingle had been sitting behind his parents and the situation would have been just as precarious.
Four.
He had to think about his parents. He knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let anything happen to them. Not even a lifetime with Chasey could make him feel better.
“Five.”
Breathless and covered with sweat, Jeff set the gun down on the bar.
“That’s better.” Hingle violently swept the gun to the floor. It landed ten feet away from the bar. He trained his weapon on the young intelligence officer. “Now where’s the goddamn disc?”
Jeff was about to respond when something caught everybody’s attention. Farris was staggering out of the men’s room, his entire body covered with blood. More than that, he was snarling like a rabid dog. It was inescapable that he wanted revenge.
He ultimately collapsed near a table, knocking it over, and reached for the Glock.
Everything was clear to Jeff. It was the moment to strike.
He dove sideways behind the bar and at the same time drew the six-shooter from his pocket. Rounds were fired and he knew it was Farris shooting at him.
Jeff crawled to the left until he reached the end of the bar. More shots went off as he peered around the wooden counter. But soon the slide locked open, Farris was out of ammo.
No longer thinking rationally, acting solely on instincts, Jeff jumped out of his position and scampered to Farris, staying low because Hingle was shooting at him.