Blood Country: The Second Byron Tibor Novel

by Sean Black

  Hank didn’t respond. Not that Byron had expected him to. Not at this stage anyway. He wasn’t going to break down like Arlo either. He wasn’t the type.

  ‘Right now a whole bunch of federal agents is on a plane on the way down here because Thea over there has spent the last however many years gathering information for them,’ said Byron.

  Hank’s eyes slid, for a split second, to where Thea was speaking in hushed tones to Arlo. That was all Byron needed to confirm that he’d hit a nerve. Hank might not have been buying it completely, but he was prepared to entertain the possibility.

  ‘I heard they’re here for you,’ the rancher said, with a hint of a smirk.

  ‘You think I’d be standing here now if that was true?’ said Byron.

  Hank looked him up and down. Yeah, thought Byron, he was made of sterner stuff than Arlo, whose guts were all in his badge.

  ‘All I know about this is what I told Thea,’ Hank said. ‘One of my workers found ’em here.’

  Byron dug a toe into the dirt. ‘Whatever you say. If you’re lying the feds’ll find out. Won’t be difficult either. They’ve had their eyes on this place for a while.’ He looked up into the broad canopy of sky above them. ‘You know what Google Maps is?’

  The rancher shrugged. ‘Of course. We’re not all hicks.’

  ‘Well then,’ Byron continued, ‘you must know that the government has a much sophisticated version. They can pull up a satellite image of this area of ground right here going back years. They’ll be able to tell when this was dug and, if they catch a break, who was here when those bodies were getting tossed in and covered over. Never mind you helping to throw them in, if you dug this hole that’ll be all they need.’

  ‘Horseshit!’

  Byron smiled. ‘You do know what conspiracy means? Or would you like Thea here to explain it to you? Hell, you don’t even have to dig a hole to be found guilty. Just offering the use of your land makes you as bad as the people who murdered these folks.’

  ‘No one murdered them,’ Arlo said.

  ‘Sure they didn’t,’ said Byron, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘They were probably just walking, tripped, fell in and hit their heads on the way. That what you’re going to tell the jury, Arlo? Or are you going to be screaming the same old song while they’re strapping you to the gurney and sticking the needle into your arm right next to your buddies?’

  ‘It was an accident,’ Arlo said.

  74

  ‘Arlo!’ Hank shouted, trying to shut the cop up.

  Byron turned to Hank. ‘You’re screwed. The feds haven’t even got here yet and people are already starting to sing.’

  Arlo and Hank glared at each other.

  ‘What kind of an accident?’ Thea asked Arlo. ‘Byron’s right. This doesn’t look like an accident.’

  Arlo shot the rancher a look. ‘They were in a container. Ran out of air. Prison guards thought we were with the container, and we thought the guards were. It was a mix-up. An accident.’

  Byron saw the muzzle flare and heard the shot before he even realized that Hank had pulled a pistol and fired a single shot into Arlo’s stomach. Arlo folded over with a groan and hit the ground face first, almost tumbling forward to join the others in the open grave.

  Hank squeezed off another shot. This one hit Arlo between his shoulder blades, the impact, or perhaps his body’s delayed shock, pushing him forward. He flopped over the edge of the trench and down into the hole below, his legs still sprawled on the ground until gravity took effect and he tumbled right in, coming to rest on top of one of the corpses.

  Byron brought his gun up as Hank spun round, aiming for him. Before Byron could get a shot off, Thea fired once, hitting the rancher in the middle of his chest. She followed up with two more rounds in quick succession. All three clustered in the center of the man’s body. Hank fell forwards, his pistol dropping from his hand as he rolled onto his side, knees pushed up into his chest.

  Byron walked over to him, and picked up his gun. Thea knelt down next to him. She reached over, and touched Hank’s neck, checking for a pulse. She glanced across at Byron. ‘He didn’t give me much choice.’

  ‘No,’ said Byron. ‘He didn’t. But it might be better if we switched weapons. There’ll be plenty prepared to believe I did this.’

  ‘Speaking of they,’ she said, standing up, ‘shouldn’t you be getting the hell out of here before they arrive? Whoever they are.’

  He was going to ask if she’d be okay on her own. He stopped himself. After what had just gone down it was fairly clear that Thea was more than capable of looking after herself. ‘I should. You mind if I take Arlo’s patrol car?’

  Thea shook her head. She dug in her pocket, produced the keys and placed them carefully in Byron’s open palm. She left her hand there for a moment as his fingers closed around them.

  They looked at each other. Byron leaned in and kissed her cheek. She turned her face to kiss him on the lips. ‘Good luck, Byron.’

  He didn’t want to leave. He would have happily stayed with Thea. Or gone where she wanted to go. But neither was an option. Not now, and probably not in the future. And if he didn’t get moving soon, he likely wouldn’t have a future.

  ‘Before I go, I need to ask you for one final favor,’ he said to Thea.

  A mixture of hesitation and exhaustion flitted across her face. ‘Well, seeing as you’re prepared to take the rap for me here, how could I refuse?’

  ‘You haven’t heard what it is yet.’

  He told her. As favors went it was extraordinarily simple. This time, though, her expression was one of complete and total confusion.

  75

  Lauren’s body felt like a single knot of tension as the door of the Cessna finally lowered. Shortly after takeoff, the pilot had informed them that they couldn’t land at the designated landing strip near Kelsen, and would have to reroute to nearby San Antonio. It would add only ten minutes to the flight time, but they now faced an hour-long drive from San Antonio to Kelsen.

  Although she was used to these types of completely avoidable SNAFUs (Situation Normal, All Fucked Up), they still rankled. Especially since time was precious. Although the four special-forces operators on board were semi-officially designated a kill team, Lauren wanted Tibor breathing. They would learn a lot more by recovering a live specimen than a dead one.

  Behind her, the others were already grabbing their gear. A bewildering array of hardware was carried down the steps and deposited in the backs of three Escalades, two black and one silver-grey. The last item loaded was a blue body bag.

  76

  The face of the dead child stared back at Byron from the screen of Thea’s phone. Big brown eyes that had glimpsed, in the last moments of her life, the full horror of the world. For a moment, Byron was no longer in Texas. He was in Afghanistan, cradling another dead little girl whose name had been Sasha.

  Sasha’s death had been the final straw for the old Byron. Seeing her die had triggered his descent into madness. Or, arguably, into sanity.

  He had never been convinced that his previous stoicism in the face of needless death and suffering was the reaction of a sane man, but his inner turmoil after so much exposure to horror, and the behaviour it gave rise to, was the mark of a mad man.

  He touched his thumb and forefinger to the screen. He pinched them together and the image zoomed out to reveal the mass grave he had left behind. In a way that made him feel ashamed: the collage of bodies was less upsetting than the close-up view of the little girl. He couldn’t explain why that was so. It just was.

  Byron tucked Thea’s phone into his pocket, and sounded the horn of the patrol car one more time. He gave it a long blast, counted off ten seconds, and hit it again.

  It was parked facing the building’s front door. The headlights were on full beam so that anyone looking out would only see someone sitting in the driver’s seat.

  Finally, after two more blasts, the front reception door opened and a woman emerged. Her hair was
tousled and she looked like she hadn’t long woken up. Byron knew who she was. She wasn’t the person he had expected to see. Not that it mattered.

  The same rules would apply. She would have to follow his instructions. If she didn’t, she would face the consequences.

  It was too bad. She was pretty much an innocent in all of this. Just a woman who had taken a job to pay her bills. It wouldn’t be fair if this proved to be her last night on earth. But when had the world been fair?

  Byron checked the Glock as the woman stepped uncertainly through the glass door. She left it wedged open behind her. Byron laid off the horn and waited.

  She was hesitant. Nervous. She couldn’t understand why the police officer in the driver’s seat wasn’t getting out. She tried to peer through the front windshield. Byron slumped down in the seat. His head flopped to one side. He reached over with his free hand, the other holding the Glock, and hit the button to lower the window.

  ‘Help me,’ Byron said. ‘I need help. I was just shot. I can’t feel my legs.’

  That got her moving. A cop who couldn’t exit his vehicle because he’d been shot offered sudden rationality to the situation.

  He listened as her heels clicked smartly across the parking lot. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said.

  She stopped suddenly and began to turn back towards the building. ‘I’ll call for help.’

  ‘No,’ Byron shouted after her. ‘I already did that. I need someone to put pressure on the wound before I bleed out.’

  Her worry about what to do next assuaged, she started back towards the patrol car. As she came level with the open window, Byron raised the Glock and pointed it at her. ‘Don’t move until I tell you,’ he said.

  She started to speak but the words got choked at the back of her throat. Her eyes were wide with fear. She didn’t move. Finally, she blinked, as if she was trying to clear her head from a nightmare. Byron swung the door open, and got out. He took the woman’s hand and turned her round. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked her.

  ‘Jacqueline,’ she managed, after a few stuttered attempts.

  ‘Okay, Jacqueline, here’s what you’re going to do for me. Are you listening?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re going to walk me inside. When we get inside you’re going to get them to open every door I need to be opened. If they hesitate or don’t co-operate, you’re going to tell them that if they don’t do what I tell them I’m going to kill you. Did you get all that, Jacqueline?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘That’s good. You’re doing real well. Okay, so let’s start walking. I’m going to be right behind you every step.’

  She started to move back towards the door. She was shaking, her footsteps uncertain. At the door, she stopped. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I don’t understand this. Why do you want to get inside? It doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘It does to me,’ Byron said.

  She half turned and looked at him. He stared back at her. He was praying she wasn’t about to do something stupid, like reach for the gun and try to run back out into the parking lot.

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ she said.

  In the glass-fronted reception area he could see two prison guards staring at him, jaws slack, presumably asking themselves the same question. ‘Something like that,’ he said, pivoting around and shooting out the glass partition.

  77

  Byron guided Jacqueline, one of the jail’s civilian administration workers, through the open door. He used the Glock to back the two guards against the far wall. He ordered them to turn round and face the wall.

  Thankfully, they both complied. He asked them to unhook their belts, and let them drop to the floor. When they’d done that, he told them to turn round and kick the belts over to him.

  Jacqueline picked them up and, following Byron’s instructions, removed the Tasers, batons and pepper-spray canisters and kicked the belts back to the guards.

  ‘Okay, you can put them back on.’

  The guards did as they were told, shooting quick glances between each other and then at Byron. The older of them, whom Byron recognized as one of the guards who hadn’t seemed to take any great pleasure in the job, certainly not in the way Mills had, was the first to speak.‘Look, Davis,’ he said, ‘we never did anything to you. We’re just doing our jobs. You have a bone to pick, then go find Castro.’

  ‘No bones to pick,’ Byron told him. ‘Just do what I say when I say it and you can all go home when I’m done here. Disobey me, though, and I’ll kill you.’

  ‘You got it,’ said the older guard. ‘What do you want us to do?’

  ‘Take me back inside,’ Byron told him.

  78

  ‘Hit the lights,’ Byron instructed the guard.

  Sleepy-eyed inmates sat up, or rolled out of their bunks as the lights flickered into life. They rubbed their eyes, and coughed. One began to head straight for the bathroom to take a piss before he realized what was going on. Soon, all eyes were on Byron.

  If the guards had been surprised at seeing him back in the Kelsen County Jail, it was nothing to the inmates’ collective reaction. This bunkhouse was almost all Mexicans and Hispanic. That was why Byron had chosen it. The one word that seemed to hang in the air needed no great translation skills.

  Loco.

  What else could you call someone who had escaped only to break back inside less than twenty-four hours later? Byron scanned the men until he found who he was looking for. Cesar was a Mexican in his late twenties who had been close to Romero.

  Byron motioned for the man to come over to him. He dug into his pocket, and handed him Thea’s smart phone. ‘You recognize any of these people?’

  The man swiped through the images. His face darkened. Other inmates joined him, peering over his shoulder. One said something in Spanish that Byron didn’t catch and began to break down.

  The man looked at Byron. ‘Miguel does. One of them is his wife.’

  Byron took the phone back, swiped to the picture that included the little girl and handed it back to the inmates. ‘Anyone know who she is?’

  The phone was passed from hand to hand. There were gasps, tears and heated discussion. There were also murderous glances towards the guards.

  Finally, the inmate Byron had spoken to first asked, ‘Explain this. Where did you find these people?’

  Byron explained, slowly and patiently, waiting for his words to be translated to the others. Behind him, the two guards studied the floor. The older one said, ‘I didn’t know nothing about this.’

  One of the inmates walked over and, without saying anything, drew back his fist and struck the guard in the face, a powerful blow that sent him to the floor.

  79

  The three Escalades pulled up outside the Kelsen County Sheriff’s headquarters. Next to Lauren, Nick Frinz voiced what everyone else in the convoy must have been thinking.

  ‘How much money d’you think it cost to build something like that?’ he said.

  Lauren reached for the door handle and got out. While she and Nick went to speak to the sheriff with an agent from the FBI’s San Antonio field office, the rest of the team stayed put. No one, Lauren included, wanted any of the locals to see a four-man special-forces kill team wandering down the main street in Kelsen, armed to the teeth.

  In any case, the plan was not to have to use them. Lauren was hoping that they could flush Tibor into open country where a drone could do the job with minimum fuss. Technically the use of an armed drone on US soil to kill a US citizen was illegal. But since Lauren had begun to climb the ladder within the agency she had discovered that lots of things technically never happened. At least, not officially. Tibor himself was one of those things.

  The FBI liaison explained who they were. They were told to take a seat as sheriff’s deputies ran in every direction. Out in the street, patrol cars sped past, sirens wailing. Lauren wondered if this was a show they were putting on for the big b
oys from Washington to prove how seriously they were taking the search for Tibor. If it was, they needn’t have bothered. They’d had him in jail and hadn’t even realized who he was. When this was done and dusted, people were going to be called to account, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  When five minutes had passed and Sheriff Martin hadn’t appeared, Lauren got to her feet. She grabbed a passing deputy. ‘Sheriff Martin? Go get him for me. Now,’ she said.

  ‘Pardon me, ma’am, but we’re kind of busy right at the moment. If you’d like to take a seat someone will be with you shortly.’

  Lauren took a step back. ‘Listen up, shit for brains, we’re the United States government. Now, go tell Martin to get his fat ass down here or he’s going to be facing federal obstruction charges quicker than you can spell federal, which, admittedly, may not be that fast. But you get the picture, don’t you?’

  The deputy stared at her. ‘I’ll let him know.’

  ‘Get him,’ Lauren repeated, letting him go and watching him head through a door still shaking his head at her rudeness.

  Ten minutes later, the deputy was back. He walked slowly over to Lauren. ‘Ma’am, Sheriff Martin sends his apologies but he’s running late.’

  ‘Where the hell is he?’

  ‘No idea, ma’am.’

  ‘Then go find out.’

  80

  Sheriff Martin pulled up next to the ranch house. He could tell by the faces of the deputies who were already there that something very bad had happened. It wasn’t just their expressions. Not one of them would meet his eye.