by Matt Hilton
‘They don’t know about Imogen,’ I said. But my argument was hollow. They’d found Walter’s hideaway in the Adirondacks, so finding Imogen would be a piece of cake. Hell, all they had to do was Google her name and it would lead directly to her home: the problem with using it as the registered office of her internet business.
‘Are you sure about that, Joe? You want to take that chance?’
OK, I thought, phoning her wouldn’t help, but then again, it couldn’t hurt either.
I touched my pocket before remembering that my phone had been taken from me along with my weapons. Having it with me had been a huge error of judgement, I feared. ‘Can you patch me in from here, Harve?’
He was already on it. He passed me a satellite phone, hit a switch and then gestured at a set of headphones. I pulled them on, began tapping numbers. A long way up the coast, Imogen reached for her phone. ‘Hello,’ she asked, possibly frowning at the unknown caller display on her handset.
There was a momentary hitch in my voice, like I didn’t know what to say. Jesus, I thought, this is exactly the type of scenario I didn’t want Imogen to have to go through again. Finally I managed to say her name.
‘Joe? Is that you?’
‘There’s a lot of noise here,’ I said, adjusting the headset, ‘can you hear me now?’
‘Whose phone are you using?’
‘It’s Harvey’s,’ I said.
‘What’s wrong with yours? I couldn’t hear you talking.’
‘Just the sound in the chopper, I adjusted the volume.’
‘No, I didn’t mean just now. I meant when I rang you earlier.’
‘You rang me?’
‘Yes. You answered, I could hear you breathing, then you said hello.’
‘Shit!’
‘What’s wrong, Joe?’
‘What did you say, Imogen?’
‘I can’t remember.’ She paused, trying to pull the threads of her memory together. ‘I said that we should talk, asked you to come up here.’
‘You mentioned Maine?’
‘Uh, I can’t remember. Joe, what’s going on? Has this something to do with Walter’s murder?’
I didn’t have the time to explain. ‘Imogen, I need you to get in your car and drive immediately to Machias. Don’t stop for anyone. Go directly to the police station there and don’t move. I’m going to get someone to come for you.’
‘Joe? What the hell’s going on?’
‘There’s no time. Do it. Get in your car now!’
Imogen wasn’t the type to miss the subtext of my instructions. She was in extreme danger and knew not to argue. She’d survived being hunted by the Bolan twins, and had also managed to get away from Luke Rickard last year, but perhaps a third time would prove unlucky.
‘OK, Joe,’ she said.
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Imogen . . .’
‘What is it?’
‘When this is over with, I’ll come and find you.’
I caught an approving glance from Harvey. Knowing that she’d already be heading for her car, I ended the call and jabbed other buttons on the phone.
‘You are supposed to be on your own, Hunter.’ That Walter knew without asking that it was me calling didn’t surprise me. Maybe he’d been expecting it.
‘I need you to send someone to pick up Imogen. I think she’s been compromised. Hartlaub and Brigham,’ I trusted them to get the job done, Hartlaub especially, ‘send them.’
Give Walter his due, he didn’t quibble. He merely asked where they should go and I directed them to the rendezvous at Machias. ‘Keep her safe, Walter. Same deal for John. I’m still on the case at this end.’
‘That was you in Little Rock, the crazy gunman who went after Sigmund Petoskey? That’s an outstanding issue that could come back to bite you on your ass, son.’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said. ‘Anyway, Petoskey’s no longer a problem.’
‘You killed him?’
‘Not me. He took a wrong step out of a helicopter. It was the roof of the house he landed on that killed him.’
Walter chuckled into the phone, bloodthirsty son of a bitch that he was. ‘What about Rink?’
‘He’s with me now.’
‘How is he?’
‘As ugly as ever.’
Walter chuckled again. I wouldn’t be making jokes if there was anything seriously wrong with my friend. I told him about Baron, about Hendrickson, what had happened since our meeting at the lake house. Walter promised to dig up what they had on the ex-spook; on Hendrickson he didn’t need to tell me much. ‘Son, after what’s gone on, we have enough to take Hendrickson down. You can concentrate on Cain.’
‘That’s not exactly true. You have only our testimonies on Hendrickson’s involvement. It was Petoskey and Baron who kidnapped Rink, Petoskey who murdered Louise Blake. Petoskey’s dead. You’ve no evidence to tie Hendrickson to any of it.’
‘We could bring him in on a conspiracy charge.’
‘Only for him to walk free again as soon as his attorney shows up.’ I paused, glanced back at Rink who was still in an exhaustion-induced sleep. ‘Look, I’ve got something to see to, but then I’ll bring in Hendrickson myself. But I can’t promise he’ll be fit for court.’
‘Bryce Lang was a good friend.’
Walter was giving me his blessing to do with Kurt Hendrickson what I wanted. Maybe he wanted to save taxpayers’ money by negating the need for a lengthy trial.
Chapter 22
The Challenger 604 private jet took its single passenger back to Kurt Hendrickson. It landed at a private airstrip and was met by a contingent of armed men. Not that Tubal Cain was concerned about them; these men were here to protect Hendrickson from someone other than him.
Hendrickson was sitting in the rear of a Lincoln town car. As soon as Cain was inside, an instruction was given to drive. The sedan was like a boat on wheels, and it drove like one, albeit a boat gliding on a smooth lake. A bodyguard sat up front alongside the driver. Ushering him inside, Hendrickson had made room for Cain in the back. They sat side by side, but the bench seat was large enough that there was room for two others between them.
Neither man wore a happy face.
‘When you are finished with Telfer, I want you to kill Joe Hunter slowly,’ Hendrickson said. ‘I want you to make the bastard suffer.’
The point was academic; that had always been Cain’s intention.
‘Problem?’ Cain’s damaged throat was handling words easier now that he was talking more regularly. Still, the sounds he made were like the rasp of steel on steel.
‘Hunter and Rington escaped.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Cain. ‘They were never going to give you Telfer’s location anyway. It was a stupid plan to use them for that. You should have had both of them drugged and brought here to me.’
‘It got my partner killed,’ Hendrickson said. His head bowed over his steepled hands. Not that he was praying for his departed business associate. ‘Maybe involving Hunter was a bad decision. If we hadn’t plotted to get at Telfer through his brother, then perhaps Sigmund would still be alive.’
‘Sigmund obviously messed up,’ Cain said. Careless of Hendrickson’s feelings, he added, ‘Maybe it’s best he died. He can’t ruin things a second time.’
Hendrickson glanced sharply at him. Cain went on.
‘If you hadn’t taken Jared Rington, Hunter would still be unaware that we were after John. Isn’t that what you told me, that he’d gone up north on a trip?’
‘That was the info we had from the team we sent to Florida. Hunter wouldn’t have had a clue where we’d taken Rington. He’d have still been in the dark if you hadn’t slaughtered those CIA agents in the Adirondacks. My sources in law enforcement tell me the murders were immediately tied to you.’
‘Yes,’ Cain agreed. ‘I have a certain recognisable flair. It’s just a pity I missed Walter Conrad. Killing him would’ve compensated for the mess we now have to clean up.’
‘Conrad’s dead.’
‘No. Not Conrad. He gave me the slip and I killed another man instead.’ Cain tapped a hand to his jacket pocket. Hendrickson averted his gaze, having no wish to know what was in the madman’s possession. ‘Conrad must’ve come clean about my escape from Conchar. He must’ve been the one to tie my escape to you, and to send Hunter after you. Makes sense that Hunter should go after Petoskey first, does it not?’
‘I’d been hoping that Hunter would make a try for him, that’s why I dispatched a team to watch Sigmund’s back.’ Hendrickson shrugged. ‘I still believe the plan would’ve worked. Hunter would’ve given us Telfer once he witnessed Rington being tortured.’
Cain sniffed. ‘You obviously don’t understand Joe Hunter.’
‘He’s an ex-counterterrorism soldier. I know he’s good, but he’s still only one man.’
‘He’s better than that.’ Cain sat back in the seat, his head lolling on the headrest. His scarred throat punctuated his point. ‘You should’ve had him brought here for me to deal with. By making these ridiculous plans you’ve over-complicated things. You helped me to escape from prison so that when Telfer is killed it would look like the act of a vengeful murderer. You’d have been above suspicion. Now you’ve ensured the finger of blame is pointed directly at you. You’ve messed up, Hendrickson, and I’m concerned that you could mess things up again.’
Cain turned and held Hendrickson’s gaze. Hendrickson frowned. ‘Don’t threaten me, Cain. We’re partners, remember?’
‘I’m not threatening you . . . partner.’ Cain patted Hendrickson on his knee. ‘I’m taking charge of things.’
‘In what respect?’
‘In respect of the planning.’ Cain smiled. ‘We’re going to keep things simple. I’m going to kill Telfer. You are going to bring Hunter to me.’
‘I can’t promise that I’ll deliver him alive. Not after what he did to Sigmund.’
‘Hunter won’t let you kill him.’
‘The team took him easily enough last time,’ Hendrickson pointed out. ‘He’s only alive because Baron’s orders were to torture Telfer’s location out of him.’
‘If Baron is that good, how did Hunter and Rington escape? He was one man, unarmed, against a team of your best hired killers. It sounds like Hunter allowed himself to be taken in order to find Rington. I’m only surprised he stopped at Sigmund. Baron and the others are lucky to be alive.’
‘It sounds like you respect him.’
‘Respect?’ Cain tasted the word. ‘Yes, I do. He stopped me, didn’t he? What’s not to respect?’
‘He’s an asshole,’ Hendrickson snapped. ‘He killed Sigmund.’
‘Hunter was protecting his loved ones. How does that make him an asshole?’ Cain squeezed Hendrickson’s knee. ‘You, Mr Hendrickson, are merely protecting your liberty and wealth. Your selfishness and greed killed Sigmund. Who does that make the better man?’
Hendrickson snorted. He removed Cain’s hand from his knee. ‘I take it that you don’t respect me?’
‘No.’
‘But you’re still prepared to work with me?’
‘Yes.’
‘So who does that make the better man?’
Cain’s laughter sounded genuine.
‘Touché, Hendrickson.’
Hendrickson’s cellphone rang. By the look on his face he was pleased at the distraction.
‘Baron?’
Cain listened to the one-sided conversation.
‘You’re on your way here? Good. Have the bitch picked up,’ Hendrickson said. ‘Then have her brought here as well. And, Baron . . . no mistakes this time.’
He snapped the phone shut. ‘We’re in business again,’ he told Cain.
Cain sucked in his bottom lip.
‘Turn the car around, Hendrickson.’
‘Why?’
‘I need the use of your jet.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘You’re over-complicating things again. Play your games if you must but I’m going to get Telfer. It’s just occurred to me how I can draw him out of hiding.’
‘How?’
‘Leave that to me.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Do you have connections in England? I need to get into the country but in a way that bypasses security.’
‘We’ve been smuggling people and contraband in and out of the UK for years.’
‘In and out? That’s good.’ Cain touched the objects secreted in his pocket. ‘I might be bringing back another keepsake.’
Chapter 23
If there was a way to turn back the clock, so that it was she and not Kate who’d died, Imogen would gladly have done so. Her younger sister had been shot by an assassin’s bullet intended for her. But her sister could never be brought back and Imogen didn’t want to die needlessly. The men threatening her life now had nothing to do with those who had been chasing her before, but they would be just as ruthless. Joe had warned her to run, and he wasn’t one for hysterics. If Joe said run, he meant it.
She bundled a few belongings into her car, locked up her house, and headed for Machias without a look back. Joe’s rented Audi was under a layer of snow a hand’s-breadth deep and it was an indicator of what the roads would be like between her home and the highway. It would be slow going, but that would prove the same for anyone coming after her.
Taking things at a steady pace, she followed the road off the promontory, watching for tracks in the virgin snow. Those made by the CIA car that had whisked Joe away had been obliterated by the blizzard that had blown unabated since they’d left. The slope was the most hazardous, but being from Maine, she was used to traversing a winter landscape and made the coast road without any drama. The ploughs had been through, but that must have been hours ago because the road was white and her tyres crunched through drifts where gaps in the forest had allowed the storm to dump all of its fury. There were shortcuts to the highway, but not in this weather. Her best bet was to follow the coast road all the way around the northern edge of Little Kennebec Bay and pick up the highway there for the short run into Machias. Joe had told her to go directly to the police. Machias had three different law enforcement offices, but she decided to present herself at the one on Valley View Road. Joe had been specific about that; it was just a pity he hadn’t been as clear when he’d said goodbye.
She was confused.
From the way that he’d left with the CIA agents she’d thought he wasn’t prepared to give their relationship the chance it deserved. Yet by ringing her he’d proven he did still care for her. He had called because she was in danger. He didn’t have to be in love with her to do that. But, then, he had said he’d come find her. Did he want to give their relationship another chance or finish with her for good? Kate was always going to be a weight on both their shoulders, but she wanted Joe to put Kate behind him and love her for herself.
The snowfall was growing heavier. No, the reason that her vision was becoming obscured was because tears had sprung into her eyes. She dashed them away with the sleeve of her coat, gritted her teeth, aimed for the highway, and only occasionally glanced at the revolver on the seat beside her.
Her brother Jake had been with Delta Force and later Arrowsake; Kate had been a NYPD officer, but, up until the incidents last year, Imogen had never been in a situation where firearms were necessary. She was a web designer and photographer. Christ, all she’d ever shot was pictures on a digital camera. However, following her kidnapping by Luke Rickard, Joe had taught her how to handle the revolver, having her shoot at paper targets he’d strung to the trees in her back yard. He’d told her to keep the gun handy at all times. On the seat beside her was about as handy as it could get.
The highway was mainly cleared of snow, but it was piled at each side in huge mounds. The trees were heavily laden, the lowest boughs hidden in the drifts. There was little traffic, but she tucked into the wake of a truck and followed its lights through the swirling storm. It became apparent that oth
er road users had the same idea because another car tucked in behind hers and one behind that. She made it to Machias in just under an hour, following the road through town and over the Machias River and out towards the police office. Joe had promised that he’d send someone to collect her, but how would they get here in this storm? The same way the bad guys would, she realised, and glanced once more at the reassuring presence of the revolver beside her.
Flakes of snow drifted slowly across the road, caught on the breeze from a cross-street, as she waited for a traffic signal to turn green. On the sidewalks there were few pedestrians, but she watched a father trail two small boys on a sledge. The children were laughing and exhorting their dad to greater speed. They were approaching her car, and from his higher vantage the man would see her gun. She tucked it inside her coat. The man leaned down and grinned at her as he passed, a small-town gesture of friendship.
Imogen flapped him a brief wave of her hand.
She watched in her mirror as the man picked up speed, turning to run backwards as he yelled something at his cheering children. For a moment Imogen forgot about her worries in thoughts of children of her own. Could she imagine Joe Hunter hauling their kids along on a sledge? Then the tears were back. When next she checked in her mirror, the family had gone round a corner, but there was someone else on the sidewalk.
A man was walking quickly towards the rear of her car. He had his head tilted down against the weather, his collar turned up, both hands stuffed in his pockets. She had no idea where he’d come from, but suspected that he had climbed out of the vehicle two back in the line. She wondered if it was one of the two cars that had followed her trail along the highway. His head came up, and there was nothing of a small-town welcome in that glance.
She jerked her gaze up at the lights. Still on red. A bus crossed her path, slowed and angled for a turn past her car. The driver was taking things easy on the slushy surface, but even so the back end of the bus slewed slightly. The driver adjusted his approach, and began to creep around the corner. The lights changed, but Imogen could go nowhere yet. When she glanced in the mirror again, the man was passing the car behind hers. She touched the gas pedal, readying to take off.