Reckoning (An American Ghost Thriller Book 2)

by J. B. Turner

  Wilson said, “You think there might be blowback for our actions? If so, how would that play out?”

  Stanton looked around the room. No one else seemed concerned. “While I agree he’s ideally suited for these operations, I think we haven’t addressed this terrifying undercurrent in Stone. And I for one think we should consider releasing him from his obligation to us once this is complete. And we should respect that and adhere to it.”

  Wilson said, “I think the idea has some merit. But first things first. We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. We don’t know how exactly Stone will execute his task. He wants to get in close. He could just poison the fucker.”

  Stanton said, “It’s not like Stone. And if that opportunity doesn’t arise?”

  “Stone is authorized to neutralize Mahoney in whatever manner he thinks is appropriate.”

  Stanton said, “The sooner this is done, the sooner we can get back to doing what we were designed to do.”

  Twenty-Two

  Nathan was watching the feed of Mahoney as he moped around his apartment, the journalist unable to comprehend what had happened.

  He watched as Mahoney poured himself a large Scotch and sat back on the sofa, classical music playing quietly in the background.

  Nathan sensed the guy’s anguish. It wasn’t just the tight closing of his eyes or the occasional curse to himself. It was his general demeanor. The slightly hunched shoulders, as if bearing the weight of the world.

  He wondered when Mahoney should be contacted.

  The more he contemplated the situation, the more he tried to anticipate unforeseen events. What if Mahoney reacted by revealing everything to his wife? His editor? A friend?

  Time dragged as Nathan watched Mahoney lying unmoving on the sofa. He wondered if the fucker was simply going to do nothing. That would make sense. Perhaps he was taking time to let what had happened sink in. Try and figure it all out. Maybe put it down to dumb luck. And then move on.

  But he was a smart guy. He wasn’t the type to assume this was coincidence.

  The buzzer sounded in Mahoney’s apartment. He seemed agitated. Stone watched as the journalist got up and checked the video intercom.

  “Mark, guess who?” a woman’s voice said.

  “Honey, are you kidding me? Is that you?”

  Suddenly, the voices of excited kids. “Daddy! Daddy! We’re here in Canada to see you!”

  Nathan watched in grim fascination, realizing he needed a new plan. “Fuck.”

  Mahoney pressed the buzzer to let them in. A few seconds later, his wife, carrying an overnight bag, and the excited kids appeared in the apartment as Mahoney wheeled in a large suitcase. The journalist shut the door behind him and hugged his wife and kids, who were jumping around like crazy.

  “I missed you,” his wife said. “Wow, nice place they put you in.”

  Nathan stared at the scene. He had never imagined this happening. This complicated things. He couldn’t speak to Mahoney at the apartment. That was out of the question now.

  His cell phone rang. “We got a problem, bro,” his handler said.

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  “Quite a surprise.”

  “Did we anticipate her joining him?” Nathan asked. “Because I sure as hell didn’t.”

  “He’s been here for months and she’s never even talked about visiting. We’re scratching our heads like you. The question is, What do we do now?”

  Nathan sighed. He took a few moments to let it all sink in. It wasn’t good. They could be there for days, maybe weeks. Who knew?

  His handler continued. “So we can’t neutralize Mahoney at his place now.”

  Nathan nodded. “Out of the question.”

  There was a long pause before the handler spoke again. “We were hoping this might be finished in the next couple of days.”

  “It still might be.”

  “How?”

  “There are ways. We need to get him out of the apartment.”

  “But to where?”

  “I’ll figure it out. That’s what you guys pay me for, isn’t it?”

  “Get this done and you’ll be one million dollars richer with your sister back, safe and sound, in her hospital room in Florida.”

  Nathan grew quiet as he contemplated his next move. “I might need to go dark to avoid being detected.”

  The handler groaned. “I don’t know, bro. That’s not how we usually do things.”

  “Trust me. I know how to pull this off.”

  “You wouldn’t have any eyes or ears helping you.”

  “Just for a few hours. But I think it’s important to not be linked back to you guys on this.”

  “So are you going to set something up? I need to know that.”

  “Let me handle this. It’s complicated. But I got this.”

  “Make sure you do, Stone. For all our sakes.”

  Twenty-Three

  Berenger had been reviewing the notes on how Nathan had entrapped the impressionable young woman with his tale of being a photographer. He was impressed with how Nathan’s plan had evolved as the situation developed. It was brilliant. He began to look over the covert surveillance footage of Nathan. The easy way he engaged with the girl in Mahoney’s apartment before he drugged her and then left her sprawled on the sofa, covered in drugs.

  He watched the way Nathan had set it all up. The execution of the plan. Entrapment. But the way he managed to ensnare Mahoney in the actions as well was very gratifying to see.

  His cell phone rang and he recognized the number. It was Nathan’s handler. A man whose name he didn’t even know, despite having worked with him in the past. He believed the man was from Texas, but that was all the information he had.

  “Hey, Doc, you got a couple of minutes?”

  Berenger stared at the image of the unconscious girl. “I was expecting you to call.”

  “What do you think?”

  “You want me to try and establish the up-to-date assessment of where he’s at?”

  “Can he complete the operation? That’s all I need to know.”

  “I have no doubt he can complete the operation. Absolutely no question about that.”

  “So we’re good. On schedule.”

  “We’re all these things. And more.”

  “What do you mean, and more?”

  “I had previously formed the opinion that Nathan was dangerous.”

  “Well, he is, isn’t he?” the handler said.

  “Yes, I think his performance with that girl also shows stunning critical thinking. He engineered this himself. Quite brilliant. Which puts him on a whole new level.”

  “He’s a cold-blooded killer, Doc.”

  “Yes, he is. But there’s so much more. I feel like I’m only now starting to gauge the depths of his manipulative skills, how he deploys these skills, and how he can mask his emotions and his real intentions.”

  The handler went quiet.

  “Nathan thinks long and hard when required to. He calculates. He plots. And he can switch off the physiological reaction that we all have to moments of fear. Have you ever watched any horror movies?”

  “Not for a while. But sure, I’ve watched some.”

  “What’s the scariest one you’ve seen?”

  “Probably The Shining. Yeah, that scared the shit out of me.”

  “When you say it scared you, in what way?”

  “I was so tense. My heart was beating hard. My palms were sweating. I was watching it with my girlfriend at the time, holding her hand in the movie theater.”

  “You old romantic.”

  The guy laughed. “And she commented on how sweaty my hands were.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “Someone like Nathan Stone would have a very different reaction.”

  “Shit.”

  Berenger leaned back in his seat. “Tell me, how has Nathan sounded to you?”

  “Like he always does. Cogent. Strong. Assertive. Smart. But alwa
ys thinking of angles.”

  “That’s good, right?” Berenger asked.

  “It’s always a good thing in our business,” the handler said. “Unfortunately, the last time, when Stone realized the operation was going south, in Scotland, and he was becoming the hunted, he turned the tables.”

  “He’s got far more at stake in this operation, though, doesn’t he?” Berenger said.

  The handler sighed.

  “I said, he’s got even more at stake—”

  “Yeah, I heard you. Doc, look, I’m not keen on getting psychoanalyzed. This is not what I do or care for. No offense.”

  “None taken. But you still haven’t answered my question. Nathan has even more at stake now. His sister’s life. His flesh and blood. The only thing that means anything to him, in whatever abstract sense anything matters to him at all.”

  “What are you looking to find out from me, Doc? I thought this was just a tool to know Stone’s state of mind. And if he was ready to go.”

  “I’m trying to determine from those who know him—”

  “No one really knows him. That’s the thing. But you’re right. Stone has even more at stake now.”

  Berenger sensed an apprehension in the handler, as if he was unwilling to open up and express his true feelings. “Listen, I want you to be up front with me. For me to understand the true position of Nathan Stone, I need you to be honest. Totally honest. And I can’t have you withholding any concerns or aspects of this operation that we might be missing. What one person might view as insignificant, someone else might think is more important, do you understand?”

  The man said nothing.

  “I’m getting the feeling you’re not telling me everything.”

  “Look, I get paid to run an operation. I know the kind of stuff we know. You have to have something a bit out of whack in your personality to consider doing what we do.”

  “Go on.”

  “I get paid incredibly well for the work I do. I’m sure you do too.”

  Berenger wondered what the man was getting at. “You’re reluctant to jeopardize your large salary by criticizing any aspect of the operation, is that it?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “What I know is it’s my job to ensure the operation is completed by addressing the psychological needs, demands, and fears of the participants, and not just Nathan. He’s only one piece of this jigsaw. So I want you to rest assured that whatever you say is confidential. But it’s vital you speak your mind.”

  The handler was quiet for a few moments before he finally spoke. “His handler on the Scottish operation that went to shit, he was an old friend of mine from way back.”

  Berenger listened but said nothing. The handler needed space to speak.

  “We worked out of a CIA satellite office not far from Langley. Special-operations type of gigs.”

  Berenger began to take notes.

  “I knew him as well as anyone. He trained Nathan Stone. And he was killed by Nathan Stone. I still can’t believe he’s dead. He was my mentor. He taught me everything I know about this job. But more than anything, he talked about Stone. I was based at the facility in Scotland. And I was there that night Stone came back. It was like a blitzkrieg.”

  Berenger’s mind flashed back to the incident. “I worked there until a couple of days before it all went south too. I’m well aware of what happened.”

  “I don’t remember you.”

  “I was shut off from the rest of the team. Working exclusively with Nathan.”

  “So you know him pretty damn good already.”

  “As you say, as well as anyone can. But go on. You were talking about the death of the handler in Scotland.”

  “He told me he knew Stone had to be killed off right in the middle of the operation, and he called in a shadow team. This shadow team apparently found the senator’s mistress, killed her, and buried her in the woods on an isolated peninsula in northwest Scotland. My friend said it was the saddest day of his life when he had to activate that team. A couple of guys who were tasked with killing Stone and the mistress so as not to compromise the mission.”

  Berenger thought of Nathan’s cold, intense eyes.

  “We all assumed Stone was critically injured, maybe fatally, since we couldn’t contact him, but all the time, we now know, he was watching the shadow team. Dealt with them. And then returned to the facility to get his revenge.”

  “Are you saying you have concerns about Nathan on this mission?”

  The handler remained silent.

  “Can you answer that question?”

  “I’ve had concerns from the get-go.”

  “Can you explain?”

  “I told everyone we shouldn’t use Stone.”

  Berenger was shocked at the revelation. “What was your rationale?”

  “He’s not only a killing machine but a killing machine that can turn into a wrecking ball. When he was threatened, he turned.”

  “You said you expressed those concerns?”

  “I sent my concerns up the chain of command. But apparently they’ve been overlooked or ignored.”

  Berenger cleared his throat. He hadn’t heard this story before. And it alarmed him. “You think because his sister is being held and being used against him, this might trigger him?”

  There was a pause before the man spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Doc.”

  Twenty-Four

  Late the following afternoon, Nathan emerged from his apartment. He was still contemplating how to deal with Mahoney. He had left his cell phone behind, as he had told his handler he would. It was certainly problematic, the journalist’s family turning up unannounced. But if there was one thing Nathan had learned over the years, it was that sometimes problems could also create opportunities.

  A germ of an idea had begun to form, taken hold, and morphed into a plan. A plan that required a convergence of several factors.

  He took a bus downtown.

  Nathan bought a new iPhone at the Eaton Centre. He didn’t want anyone to trace him. He headed to the Times bureau and called reception. “I need to speak to Mark Mahoney.”

  “I’ll put you through.”

  A brief pause. “Mahoney speaking.”

  Nathan cleared his throat. “Mark, you don’t know me, but I know you. I’d like to talk to you about something very important.”

  “I’m sorry . . . Who are you?”

  “Let’s focus on you for now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the girl covered in drugs. I’m talking about your investigation. I’d like to talk about that. You know what? I’d like to talk about a lot of things.”

  Mahoney didn’t speak.

  “Are you still there, Mark?”

  “I think you must have the wrong number.”

  “I don’t think so. So let’s quit playing games. I want to talk to you face-to-face and explain what exactly happened.”

  “I really have no idea what you’re talking about. This is very strange.”

  “It won’t be half as strange if your wife finds out about it. Or sees the pictures. Very damaging pictures. Trust me. A lot of pictures. And they don’t look good for you.”

  Mahoney sighed.

  “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m waiting outside.”

  “Excuse me . . . I have work to do. So if it’s OK with you, I’d like to get back to it.”

  “Forget that. I’m by myself and I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk to you. But do not under any circumstances bring any recording equipment, a cell phone, or electronic devices of any nature, am I clear?”

  “I think I’m going to have to call the police.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  A deafening silence filled the air.

  “You’ve already been interviewed by the police. I’m sure they’ll be fascinated to know more about that evening. And so would your wife. She’s in town, isn’t she? Bit
of a surprise for you, I assume.”

  “You leave my family out of this.”

  “I have no intention of bringing your family into anything. But that’s why I want to speak to you. We’ll just talk and walk, in full view. I’ll be waiting outside. Wrap up warm, it’s cold out here. And remember, no phones.”

  Nathan ended the call. He wondered if it would draw Mahoney out. He wouldn’t recognize Nathan after his surgery. But maybe his voice would betray him. But he thought it was far hoarser than all those years ago, when he had been just a kid in Iraq and Mahoney the fresh-faced cub reporter.

  A few minutes later, Mahoney emerged from the building across the street from where Nathan stood. He wore a burgundy scarf, a heavy coat, and a hat.

  Nathan crossed the street and cocked his head. “Walk with me,” he said.

  Mahoney turned up his collar against the cold. “Who are you?”

  “I’m assuming you have no cell phone or any devices on you.”

  “None at all.”

  “I’m going to trust you. And I hope you’re going to trust me.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m the guy that was sent to kill you.”

  Mahoney glanced sideways at Nathan. “What the fuck is this? Are you shitting me?”

  Nathan shook his head.

  “Who wants to kill me and why?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Mahoney strode on in silence for a few seconds. “You’ve been sent to kill me?”

  “I’m an assassin. That’s what I do. That’s all I do.”

  “What the hell is this? We don’t kill journalists in America.”

  “Not usually, no. But this isn’t America, is it?”

  Mahoney appeared to be in shock. His hands were shaking and his expression was pained, as if he were being eaten away at from inside.