by Matt Hilton
Following a foolhardy attempt at having Hunter captured by the police, Baron had fled back to the house where Jared Rington had been tortured, and where Sigmund Petoskey subsequently died. Cain had no intention of taking Jennifer there, because it was already on Hunter’s radar. Instead he’d have her held somewhere neutral, a place that he could control. If only Jubal’s Hollow had gone undiscovered . . . but his ossuary had been dynamited, the ground levelled, and it was now a featureless destination for ghoulish tourists following the serial killer trail.
Climbing in the van, he studied the man who was at his disposal. He liked that choice of word: disposal. He’d been so well behaved on his jaunt to England, maybe he could try out his new knives when the driver was no longer needed. He’d taken bones from Jeffrey Taylor and his bodyguards in Montana, as well as from the CIA man in the Adirondacks, plus a couple treasures from Michael Birch, the cowardly DA’s assistant, but since then his collection of trophies hadn’t grown. From his trip to England he’d only gleaned the tail-end of a waitress’s apron and a strip of a multi-millionaire’s necktie – though they were still valuable trophies. No, wait. He did have one other trophy and it was worth more than any he’d taken since his escape from Fort Conchar. He looked into the back of the van to where Jennifer Telfer slumped in her seat.
Jennifer would bring John Telfer to him.
He wondered if the woman was enough to bait his trap, or if he should have brought the two children along as well. The problem with that scenario was that getting all three of them into the country undetected would have been nigh-on impossible. No, he decided. He recalled his conversation with Ol’ Johnny Boy, and how the man had wished only to do right by his family. He would not want the mother of his children to die: Jennifer still meant an awful lot to him, Cain was sure, and would bring John running to save her.
Of course there’d be one other coming to rescue her, too.
Bring it on!
Almost as much as he wanted his final reckoning with John Telfer, Cain looked forward to reacquainting himself with Joe Hunter.
‘I’ve a bone to pick with you,’ he said.
‘Say what?’
‘Private thoughts,’ he told the driver. ‘Just do what you’re supposed to and drive.’
‘Would if I knew where you wanted to go.’
Cain studied the man, giving him more attention this time. He was a hard-faced punk, fair-haired, with a wispy beard, and spectacles perched on a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. He had the look of a street fighter, and from the tattoos on his forearms Cain deduced that he’d had a tough upbringing. The coded tats were de rigueur in prison yards for someone who had killed another man. If Cain had followed that practice he’d need a body the size of a house.
‘You don’t know?’
‘I didn’t ask.’
Cain nodded. The driver was to be trusted. By omitting knowledge of a destination, he was showing that he wasn’t leading Cain into a trap. Thoughtful, Cain decided, but unnecessary. The driver was still at his disposal, whether or not he was trustworthy.
‘Take us to the harbour at Baltimore,’ Cain said.
‘You have someone meeting you there?’
‘No. I’m hungry and I hear they have great crab cakes.’
The driver adjusted his spectacles before setting the van rolling. Along the way, he cast sidelong glances at his passenger, generally followed by frowns that marred his rugged complexion with even deeper folds. He had no concept of a man like Cain, but then again, not too many people did. Cain ignored him, choosing instead to lean over the seat and keep an eye on Jennifer. She was sleeping, her head drooping over her chest. She’d have a hell of a stiff neck when she woke up, but Cain could help loosen it with a few expert probes of his knife. He smiled at the thought, and in his mind’s eye began stripping back the outer dermis to display the spine hidden beneath.
Taxis rocketed by, but the driver held the van at a couple miles below the speed limit. He had no intention of giving the local cops a reason to pull them over. The distance to Baltimore was short, and within half an hour they were moving through traffic that had slowed to a crawl as it navigated the routes into the centre of Charm City. Jennifer’s eyelids began to flicker: she was lost in a dream, but as long as it wasn’t a nightmare and she started screaming, she was of no concern for now.
Cain eyed a Gothic building standing alongside more recent skyscrapers. The look of the building conjured years gone by, an anachronistic monument to older, simpler times. Cain grunted when he saw that it was an original Bank of America tower; nothing simplistic about that. Now the tower was a symbol of control and order, the antithesis of everything he stood for. He turned his eyes from it and towards the Inner Harbor directly ahead of them. From their slightly elevated vantage he could see across to the headland where Fort McHenry squatted, but he’d had quite enough of forts in the last year or so. Instead he directed the driver to the left, passing the Spirit of Baltimore that was moored at the wharf, and a twin-level collection of restaurants and boutique shops. Towering over it all was the World Trade Center, an odd construction with five sides, and beyond it a massive indoor aquarium complete with a cascading waterfall tumbling through a faux rainforest. A Hard Rock Café, a book store and sports bar dominated a reclaimed power plant and offered lively entertainment. None of those sights held any attraction for him.
‘You want crab cakes still?’
Cain frowned at the driver.
‘Crab cakes?’
‘You said you were hungry.’
‘Not for crustaceans, my friend. I prefer my bones on the inside.’
The driver adjusted his glasses again.
Another one that his wit was wasted upon, Cain thought. Maybe if the driver knew his passenger was the famous Harvestman he’d have chosen to be less trustworthy. That was a point worth redressing before they parted company. ‘Just take me to Fells Point, willya?’
‘Good restaurants there,’ the driver acknowledged with a wry smile. He knew exactly where Cain was heading to.
Baltimore Inner Harbor was the tourist destination of sightseers, Fells Point the place those same tourists flocked to of an evening, but beyond the spit of land were the shipping wharfs and one in particular owned by associates of Kurt Hendrickson. Baron had suggested it as an appropriate place for Cain to hold Jennifer.
Fells Point passed without attention from Cain, who was too intent on studying Jennifer again. When first he’d laid eyes on her he’d thought she was beautiful, and he didn’t give much credence to the old adage that beauty was skin deep; quite the opposite in fact. He couldn’t wait to discover Jennifer’s hidden treasures. He must keep her alive to bait his trap, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make a start on her. Truth be told, it was a struggle not to clamber into the back of the van there and then and try out his new blades.
The van edged along an industrial area, warehouses alternating with freight yards stacked high with containers destined for locations throughout the world. It passed through a gate electronically controlled, but also under the baleful gaze of an elderly black man. The old guy had suffered an accident at some point and the lower half of his right leg had been amputated. Cain idly wondered what had become of the limb. The gate closed behind them and the driver directed the van along smooth concrete paving towards a loading dock and a decrepit container ship. The ship was circa 1950s vintage and carried each of its six decades etched in the corrosion of its metal work. The Queen Sofia now had the look of an aging dowager, and was about as appealing. In this case, Cain thought, ugly is also more than skin deep, and definitely runs to the bone. But to him the ship was a real sight for sore eyes.
Leaning into the rear compartment, Cain shook Jennifer’s shoulder. ‘Hey, Sleeping Beauty! Wakey wakey!’
Jennifer stirred, her mouth opening wordlessly, a string of sticky saliva glistening on her chin. The anaesthetic was still doing its work, and her vision went unfocused. Cain leaned deep
er into the compartment, took her chin between his fingers and directed her gaze to the front.
‘Didn’t I tell you that you’d get treated to five-star accommodation?’ he said. ‘Jeez, first you get to hobnob with TV stars on an executive jet, now you get an all-expenses paid cruise. Hell, I keep treating you like this you won’t want anything to do with your husband any more.’ Cain pushed his thumb against the tip of her nose and Jennifer’s head rolled away from the pressure. ‘But, we can’t have that, can we? We can’t keep all this to ourselves, Jennifer. John has just got to come join us.’
Chapter 34
I was in no doubt that Cain would contact Walter soon. He hadn’t gone to all the trouble of snatching Jennifer to now sit on his thumbs. Pretty soon the demands would start, and I could be in motion again. I hated the feeling of futility while waiting for the deranged bastard to call, but had no choice. Waiting I’m not good at. My need to get going was like an itch I couldn’t scratch and the longer it went on, the more agitated I became. I considered taking Harvey’s advice and heading back to Rene Moulder’s place to check in with Rink, but that meant putting myself out of the loop for the best part of the day. I wanted to be on hand the moment that Walter gave me the nod. That meant staying close to his retreat, and the transportation I’d require.
Harvey left reluctantly, and I knew he wasn’t happy leaving me to deal with Cain alone. Just before setting off he appraised me with his molten chocolate gaze and I knew he was considering the alternatives and didn’t like what he was coming up with. Finally he’d just shaken his head slowly, clambered into his chopper and lifted off. I watched until the helicopter was lost in the cloud haze to the south. I was sorry to see my friend go, but at the same time happy that no one else I cared for was involved in the danger that constantly dogged me.
I tried sleeping; bunking in a back room as far away from where Bryce and the others had died as I could find, but sleep eluded me. Instead, I got up, showered, ate a sandwich and drank some coffee. Then I set to prepping my weapons. The SIG gleamed by the time I was done, and I turned my attention to the shells supplied to me by Walter. Contrary to popular belief, guns don’t jam, ammunition does. I checked each bullet individually before feeding them into three clips. Choosing .40 S&W or .357 SIG ammo would have given me more stopping power, but the clips held less capacity than the fifteen rounds that 9 mm Parabellums allowed. I had the feeling that I’d need plenty of bullets before I was done and the forty-five I had to hand wouldn’t necessary be overkill. Next I honed my Ka-bar.
My weapons prepared, I turned to honing my natural weapons.
I ran, following the river through the wooded valley, one ear always on my cellphone should Walter call me back in a hurry. When my breathing had settled into a rhythm, and my body was sufficiently warmed and lubricated, I incorporated strengthening exercises into my workout. On a large boulder that jutted over white water, I went through a sequence of attack and defensive movements taken from various martial arts forms. I finished my workout by stretching, then sat on the rock, listening to the sound of the rapids below me. Rink could have lost himself in the hypnotic lull of the rushing water, but I was too edgy for that. I got up and ran back, forcing myself to even greater effort. By the time I arrived at Walter’s cabin I’d killed a couple of hours, but there was still some waiting time ahead of me. But maybe it wouldn’t seem as interminable.
Imogen was standing on the stoop, her chin tucked low into her collar as she watched me jog across the field towards the house. She had her hair under a hat that was as much a disguise as it was to keep off the cold. She looked much as she had when we’d stood over her sister’s headstone back in Maine, only her tears were for something different this time.
Slowing, I walked the last twenty yards or so. Imogen kept her face dipped, but her gaze on mine. When I was still ten paces away, she came to meet me. Maybe I didn’t have the right, but I opened my arms and she entered their circle and snaked her hands around my waist.
We just held each other and I could feel her heartbeat against my chest. When we finally stepped apart, Imogen held on, her right hand clasping a handful of my sweatshirt like she’d never let go.
I’d thought that the best thing for her would be if I walked away, but I could see that I’d been wrong. Walking away didn’t change a damn thing. Imogen was inexorably tied to me and she always would be. I could be on the other side of the planet and she’d still be within the sphere of influence that surrounded me, and therefore in peril from those who would do me harm. Better then that I keep her close and that way she’d be much safer. I pulled her into my embrace and she tilted her mouth to mine in silent acknowledgement.
When she stepped back she did let go, but the bond between us was stronger than before.
‘I’m sorry, Imogen . . .’
Really I had no way of explaining myself, feeling awkward as I attempted to order an apology in my mind.
Imogen placed a finger to my lips.
‘It’s behind us. Let’s leave it there, Joe. Let’s leave everything there.’
Everything.
She wasn’t talking about the recent attempt on her life, or any of the other times she’d been in danger because of her attachment to me. Neither was she talking about the fact I’d walked out on her leaving Hartlaub and Brigham to pull her out of the fire. She was talking about Kate. If I’d thought about it too long, then maybe my answer would have been different, but right then, right there, I had only one way of showing her everything would be OK between us. I took her in my arms and kissed her again.
The cabin was no place to take a lady, so we strolled down by the river, out from under the prying eyes of the CIA men. My clothing was damp from my exertions, but I didn’t feel the cold. Neither of us did as we took up where we’d left off that night in Maine before our rude interruption. Afterwards we sat side by side and watched the water flow by. I found the soothing pull of the river easier to lose myself in that time.
‘Hartlaub and Brigham are going to stay with me until you’re through.’
‘They’re good men,’ I said.
‘They’re killers.’
Yes, they were, but that’s the type of men I needed watching over her. I looked at her studying me. Maybe she was reassessing exactly what I was.
‘Once I’d have found that abhorrent,’ she said. ‘But now . . .’
Hers was a moral dilemma I’d often struggled with: in a civilised world there should be no need for men like me, or her CIA minders, but civilisation was just a veneer. Despite four thousand years of supposed development we were no more than a rung above our savage forebears. Actually, I’d often thought that we’d taken a step back down the ladder and were worse than the beasts that only killed to survive. There was nothing in nature like Tubal Cain, I was certain. And, as long as something like him lived, it vindicated my existence.
Changing the subject, I asked, ‘Whose idea was it to come here?’
‘Whose do you think?’
I rolled my neck. ‘I thought Walter was behind it.’
‘Walter tried to put me off. He said it wasn’t appropriate. He was wrong. It’s shown me exactly the kind of life you have to . . . endure.’ She laid a hand on my forearm and her expression was earnest. ‘But I wanted to see. It has helped make my mind up. It doesn’t matter to me where you go . . . what you have to do . . . I want to be there for you, Joe.’
‘They showed you what happened inside?’ Even after a clean-up crew had sanitised the room, I hoped that Imogen hadn’t been exposed to the pall of violence that still hung over it.
‘No. But I didn’t need to see that. It’s enough that I can imagine it. You shouldn’t have to deal with things like that alone.’
‘I’m not alone. I have Rink and—’
Imogen cut me off. She put her hand against the side of my head. ‘I’m talking about up here, Joe. I’m talking about you carrying the burden inside your mind. I want to help take some of the pain away.’
&n
bsp; I held my palm on the back of her hand. It was soothing, but I doubted anything could take away the guilt I carried. Her offer was generous, though, and not one I wanted to turn down. Finally, I twined my fingers with hers and brought down our clasped hands on to my thigh. ‘Thank you. I want that too. But . . . well, there’s still things I have to do alone.’
‘I understand. I just want you to know that I’ll be waiting for you when you come back. OK?’
‘OK.’
We leaned in and kissed, gently this time, as if sealing a pact. Then we stood, straightening our clothes. Imogen jammed her hat down over her mussed hair. Now it was no kind of disguise. Anyone who looked at us would guess exactly what had gone on. We smiled like abashed teenagers.
‘Come on,’ I said, leading her by the hand. ‘I don’t know about you, but I think I need a shower.’
Just like last time, it seemed that our lovemaking heralded future dramatic events and that my shower would have to go on the back burner. No sooner had I made the suggestion than my cellphone bleeped. I dug it out of my sweats and looked at the screen. It was Walter. He knew I was out there making amends with Imogen and there could be only one reason for disturbing me. Cain had made contact.
Chapter 35
Tubal Cain studied Jennifer Telfer with detachment. He did not see her as human but as a tool to cut the heart out of her husband’s chest. To him, she was as important as the Recon Tanto or the Bowie knife he carried on his belt.
Because his plan relied on Jennifer being alive and relatively healthy, he couldn’t allow this ill-treatment to go on. Leaving her in squalor, unfed and without proper sanitation, was akin to allowing his blades to tarnish. Cain regularly oiled and sharpened his knives, and this woman should be afforded the same treatment.