Reckoning (An American Ghost Thriller Book 2)

by J. B. Turner

  Nathan asked the cab to drop him off a block away, outside the Rockbar. It was a gay bar on Christopher Street. He walked around the corner and along West Street. Saw the dilapidated hotel sign and turned down Barrow. He used a knife to pry open the padlocked door and headed inside. The smell of dust, damp, and decay rushed at him.

  Light was coming in from the street through cracks in the boarded-up windows. He headed up some rickety stairs to the next floor. A lot more light was coming in through the upper windows.

  Nathan was satisfied there was enough light to see, but not too much.

  He headed higher in the building to the top floor and located a set of stairs that led out onto the roof.

  Nathan pushed open the sealed roof hatch, pulled himself up and onto the gravel roof, shutting the hatch tight. He crawled over to the edge and surveyed the scenery of the West Village. He turned around and saw the car headlights on the West Side Highway.

  He pulled out his cell phone and lay still. He watched and waited. Sirens sounded in the distance as a cop car, red and blue lights flashing, screamed down the West Side Highway.

  It was 0029 hours when Nathan saw a small white truck pull up farther down Barrow Street. Out jumped Zico with his four dogs. He watched as his psychotic old friend walked his dogs up to the front door of the abandoned hotel and took off their leashes. Then he opened the door Nathan had unlocked and pushed them inside. Zico slipped in behind them, carefully shutting the door after him.

  Forty-Five

  Nathan checked his watch. It was 0050 hours. He pulled out his cell phone and sent another text message to Richard Stanton. It said:

  I’m here. Security is in place inside. Are you on your way?

  A couple of minutes later, Nathan received a reply.

  Cab heading down Bleecker Street. ETA 5 mins.

  It wasn’t long before a cab came down Barrow Street. Nathan watched as it pulled up next to the hotel. He saw Richard Stanton, a silver-haired man wearing a navy suit, no tie, with a cell phone pressed to his ear, emerge from the cab.

  Stanton ended the call, put his phone in his jacket pocket, and headed inside the abandoned hotel.

  The door slammed shut.

  Nathan crawled over the roof space and pressed his ear to the wooden hatch. Then an ear-splitting scream emanated from deep within the bowels of the run-down, derelict hotel.

  A ping to his cell phone. A link.

  Nathan clicked it and saw a live feed of the dogs growling over a prostrate Stanton, whose eyes were filled with fear.

  Nathan sent Zico a message. Get the dogs out of there now.

  Zico did as he was told.

  Nathan opened the hatch and headed down into the hotel. He pulled back the slide of the Glock and moved stealthily down the creaking stairs to the former lobby of the old hotel, cloaked in near darkness.

  A silhouetted figure lay in the far corner, breathing hard.

  Forty-Six

  Nathan felt wired. He could make out the shape of the man illuminated by a single shaft of light coming in through the boarded-up windows. He stared down at the man as his sight adjusted to the near-pitch-black darkness.

  Nathan pointed his gun down at the figure. “On your knees, hands on your head.”

  The man complied.

  Nathan reached into the man’s jacket pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

  “What’s your name?”

  The man let out a long sigh. “Nathan?”

  Nathan scrolled down a list on the phone. “Are you Richard Stanton?”

  The man gave a small groan. “Where are the dogs?”

  “Stanton?”

  “Where’s Clayton?”

  “It’s over.”

  Stanton began to laugh. “Good one.”

  Nathan pulled back the slide. “You think this is funny?”

  “You have no idea. No fucking idea what’s going to happen to you. You’re out of your mind, son.”

  “Stanton, you lost.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You lose.”

  “What do you mean? I killed the other fuckers.”

  “It’s not over, Stone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . Mahoney. We’ll get him. No matter what. Not me. But someone.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  A deathly smile. “I knew what you did. I have the authority. I couldn’t contact Clayton. So I took precautions before I came here. Mahoney dies.”

  Nathan said nothing as he contemplated what Stanton was saying. He scrolled through the messages on the cell phone. A text message had been sent from a cell phone to Stanton’s number just over an hour ago. “En route to EH,” Nathan said. “Who or what is this?”

  “A man from the Canadian facility is en route to kill him. Probably arrived by now. We know more than you do. A lot more. So . . . you see, our work will continue. After we’re gone.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “So you know that you failed. How does that feel?”

  In the distance came the sound of police sirens. They sounded like they were getting closer.

  “What’s the name of the guy you sent?”

  “Go to hell!”

  “EH. Is that a place?”

  Stanton began to laugh. “You’re so fucked!”

  “EH . . . East Hampton . . . You sent someone to East Hampton?”

  Stanton was laughing uncontrollably, as if taunting him. “Just fucking kill me, tough guy!”

  Nathan pressed the gun into Stanton’s mouth, turned away, and pulled the trigger.

  Forty-Seven

  It was the dead of night.

  Mahoney was sitting with his wife in the living room of the East Hampton cottage, watching Fox News with the volume off. The kids were sleeping upstairs as they continued to argue over the chain of events unfolding around them.

  “Mark,” his wife said, “I feel like I’m going in circles. I still don’t get it.”

  “What don’t you get?”

  “You’re not a stupid person. In fact you’re really smart. But I can’t fathom why you can’t see what I see. We need to go to the Feds, if nothing else to protect our kids.”

  Mahoney felt as if his world was coming apart at the seams. “This is difficult to explain. But as I’ve said over and over and over again, if he wanted me dead, he could’ve killed me.”

  “Yeah, but as I’ve said over and over again, what about the people that sent him?”

  “I didn’t think you’d understand my thought process on this.”

  “Oh really? Why’s that, Mark? Is it because it relies on us agreeing to the whims of a psychotic assassin?”

  “Nathan Stone is a psychotic assassin, I know that. But I believe somewhere deep within him he’s a person of his word. I don’t know why that is.”

  “I’m sorry, Mark, but I think you’ve lost your fucking mind, excuse my French.”

  “What other choice did I have? Go to the Toronto cops while Nathan Stone heads down to New York to kill my family?”

  “He’s playing you, don’t you get it?”

  “I get it alright. Don’t worry, I get that I’m being played. But sometimes you just have to take life as it comes. I didn’t wish any of this on us. It was these people, the Commission, that wanted me dead, not Nathan.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a bad case of Stockholm syndrome.”

  “Maybe I do. Maybe it’s a survivalist trait, praying that I and my family don’t get killed. I didn’t know any other fucking way, do you understand?”

  “You made the wrong call. And here we are, arguing about it in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I don’t think a cottage in East Hampton is technically the middle of nowhere.”

  “We’re a mile from the town of East Hampton, alone on the beach. No one will hear us scream.”

  “Oh stop it! Enough!”

  “Mark, I will not stop it! This is our family. And you decided not to tell us our lives we
re in danger.”

  “They were trying to blackmail me too!” The words were out before Mahoney realized it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They . . . Nathan brought a girl back to the apartment, my apartment, drugged her. They bugged my apartment, set up cameras.”

  Mahoney’s wife looked aghast. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is getting worse. A girl? Tell me about the girl.”

  “I didn’t know her.”

  “What?”

  “He met her in the bar and wanted to blackmail me by taking a picture of her drunk, covered in drugs.”

  “OK, I think I’ve heard enough. I’m going back to New York with the kids.”

  “You need to listen to what I have to say.”

  “I’ve heard enough! Drunk girls! Drugs! Have you lost your fucking mind?”

  “Actually, yes, I think I might have. But you have to believe me. Their backup plan was that I would abandon my investigation, or the pictures would be uploaded to the internet, sent to you, the New York Times, uploaded to YouTube, every-fucking-where, do you understand?”

  “Mark, I’m having trouble understanding all this. Tell me about this girl. I want to know about the girl.”

  “She was the daughter of a Canadian intelligence officer. Two birds with one stone, forgive the pun.”

  His wife was silent for moment. “Intelligence officer’s daughter . . .”

  “Nathan wanted to silence him. And me at the same time. He knew his daughter’s life would be fucked if there were incriminating photos of her with drugs. But it worked on another level by putting her in my apartment. Making me look complicit.”

  “And you’ve never met her before?”

  “As God is my witness, absolutely not.”

  “And this was part of a backup plan by Nathan Stone to get you off this investigation. And silence the Canadian?”

  “Got it.”

  His wife got up and started pacing the room, agitated, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. “I’m scared.”

  “Nathan has become entwined in my life.”

  His wife was pacing back and forth, shaking her head. “I can’t believe he was in our house. And you knew about him.”

  “I had no fucking choice.”

  “Would you sacrifice us to stay alive? Is that it?”

  “No. That’s not it. That’s not it at all. Never. I don’t believe he’s going to harm me or you, and I felt like I had to go along with what he said. I was desperate, going out of my mind.” Mahoney rubbed his hands across his face, feeling trapped, scared, and unable to figure out his next move. “I’m not good at this sort of thing. My world is about words. Establishing facts. Narratives. Investigations. Building up relationships. This world . . . I don’t know anything about it.”

  “I still don’t understand why he didn’t just kill you.”

  “He said he wanted the details I had on the Commission. They took his sister so he would take this job. And he just went rogue, I guess.”

  “He can’t be trusted.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But that’s just the thing. You do trust him.”

  Mahoney sat with his head in his hands. “He said we’d be safe here. Why would he say that?”

  “Mark . . . look at me. I have no idea why he said that. Is it because he wants us out of the way so he can kill us at his convenience, away from the city?”

  “He could’ve killed me anytime. He could’ve, God forbid, killed any of us if he wanted to. But he didn’t.”

  “OK, that’s it. You’ve lost it. I’m taking the kids back to the city. You can wait here for your new crazy friend to turn up. And who knows? He might just show up with another drunk girl!”

  She stormed out of the room.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m packing a bag, and I’m going to drive the kids back to the city.”

  Mahoney got up and walked to the bottom of the stairs. He heard his wife opening and slamming closet doors.

  “OK, kids!” his wife shouted, switching the lights on upstairs. “Sorry but we have to go.”

  The oldest groaned, “Mom, it’s the middle of the night. What’s going on?”

  “We need to go!”

  “Go where?”

  “Back to the city.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t say. I just want to go.”

  Mahoney’s cell phone began to ring. “Shit.”

  “Don’t answer it!” his wife shouted down.

  Mahoney went to the living room.

  “Do not answer it!” his wife shouted from upstairs. “Do you hear me?”

  Mahoney reached for his cell phone and answered. “Who’s this?”

  All he heard was the sound of fast-moving traffic, as if the person was traveling at high speed.

  “Who’s this?”

  Eventually, a voice crackled to life. “Mark?”

  “Yeah, who’s this?”

  “It’s Nathan! Listen to me, you’re in immediate danger. They sent another operative. They’re going to kill you. I tracked his phone. Three minutes ago, he was at East Hampton Airport.”

  Mahoney felt himself go into shock. “What?”

  Nathan shouted, “Someone’s going to kill you!”

  “Jesus Christ! Where are you?”

  “I stole a bike . . .” The line began to crackle. “. . . Hampton.”

  “Sorry, I’m losing you. What?”

  “I’m passing Southampton. He’s going to get there first.”

  Mahoney felt panic begin to set in. “What do I do? Tell me what I do.”

  “Hide!”

  Suddenly, the line went dead as they were plunged into darkness.

  Forty-Eight

  Nathan was speeding along Montauk Highway doing ninety, pushing a hundred, careening around winding corners as he sped into the night, hunched low on the bike. Towns whizzed by. The occasional light. Oncoming trucks passed, and their headlights flashed as he accelerated to one hundred ten, the powerful BMW bike nearly too much for the speed and the conditions.

  His helmet was voice activated.

  “Call the previous number!” he shouted behind his visor, gripping on for dear life.

  The call rang and rang, but no one was answering.

  “Call the previous number!”

  It rang. And rang.

  Nathan was focused on the road and realized the attack was probably going down at that moment. He sensed the assassin sent by Stanton to kill Mahoney might already be there. So why the hell was he getting involved? This wasn’t his fight. He was only concerned about his sister.

  But was that really the case? Did he feel obligated in some way to Mahoney? The problem was he hadn’t felt obligated to anyone in his whole life, apart from his sister.

  The trees blurred as he sped by. The headlights of the motorcycle showed the asphalt ahead. Had he lost his mind? Then again, maybe he was thinking clearer than he ever had.

  “Call the previous number again!”

  It rang. And rang. Then a voice answered, “Who’s this?” It was Mahoney. He sounded frightened.

  “Mark, get yourself out of sight!”

  “Nathan, my wife thinks you’re coming to kill us. She’s scared.”

  “Tell her she’s wrong. The guy who’s coming to kill you is almost certainly outside your house right now.”

  “I don’t know if I believe you.”

  “Believe me!”

  “Why? How do you know that?”

  “Richard Stanton told me right before I killed him.”

  “Jesus Christ. The lights went out a few minutes back. We’re in total darkness.”

  “He cut the power. You have to get out of sight. Can you do that?”

  “My wife is going out of her mind!”

  “Hang in there. I’m heading toward East Hampton.”

  “What for?”

  “I’m going to try and help you.”

  “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”


  A rabbit ran out onto the asphalt and Nathan had to swerve to avoid it. “Negative. But someone else is. Someone from the Canadian facility’s been dispatched.”

  “Hang on . . .”

  Nathan wondered if the signal was fading as he went flat out on the bike.

  “Nathan!”

  “What is it?”

  “My wife said there’s a guy.”

  “Where?”

  “Outside. I think he’s broken into our car.”

  “He’s disabling it so you can’t escape. He’s already cut the power. Call 911!”

  “I did, but it just rang.”

  “Fuck. Have you got a gun?”

  “No.”

  “Then get a knife. Get everyone in the house a knife. Take your cell phones and your family.”

  “Where?”

  “Is there a basement?”

  “Hold on . . . My wife says there’s a basement under the kitchen. It’s a storage space.”

  “Get down there!”

  The line was breaking up.

  “Where is he?” Nathan shouted.

  Nathan heard Mahoney ask his wife.

  “We can’t see him.”

  “Mark, how far are you to the nearest house?”

  “A couple hundred yards. Maybe a bit more.”

  “Fuck. I’ve got a fix on your location from this call,” Nathan said. “I’ll find you. But you need to—” The line cut out. “Are you still there?”

  Mahoney was breathing hard down the line. “He seems to be going around the side of the house.”

  “Fuck. Get to the basement. Now!”

  “What if we can’t get there in time?” Mahoney asked.

  Nathan was accelerating to 120 miles an hour, tearing hard toward the lights of East Hampton a few miles ahead in the distance. “Get down there now! If not, he’ll kill you. All of you.”

  Forty-Nine

  Mahoney ran up the stairs to the kids and his wife, who were crouching in an upstairs bedroom. “Everyone! Downstairs to the basement!”

  His wife said, “Mark, I’m scared. Why isn’t 911 working? I’ve tried texting my friends too, asking for help. But nothing.”

  Mahoney had read about signal jamming. He wondered if that was what this guy was doing while he was disabling the power. But he didn’t want to freak out his wife further. “It’s probably a computer glitch or something. Listen, we need to get downstairs. As a precaution.”