“It won’t work, John,” Vlad told him, just as the woman tied to the table gasped and struggled to move her head, her pain-filled eyes searching Vlad’s face. “You have never been able to overpower me with your mind.”
“Perhaps it’s because you are such a simpleton.”
“You wish.”
The woman on the table began moaning in pain. John Ravenna took a pistol from a belt holster, looked at Vlad for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and unemotionally shot her in the head, stilling her cries. He holstered the pistol and smiled at Vlad. “I was hoping you would try to interfere, Vlad. It would be interesting to see how you tolerate a gunshot wound.”
“She was perhaps an hour away from death. Why let her linger in pain? You did her a service.”
“Naturally, you would look at it that way.”
“This war is about won, John. The Nazi empire is just about over. A year at the most. What are your plans?”
“You think I would tell you?” He laughed. As Vlad recalled from years back, the laughter still sounded evil. “Oh, I’ll get by, Vlad.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“Someday, cousin, you and I will fight. You know it’s coming. As pointless as it is.”
“Perhaps.”
John Ravenna turned without another word and walked out the back door of the cottage.
That was the last time Vlad Dumitru Radu and John Ravenna had met.
But all that was about to change.
Soon.
* * *
“And you have never seen either of these men before, Barry?” Sheriff Salter asked, after taking a sip of coffee from a paper cup.
“No. Never.”
A deputy walked up. “We found their car, Sheriff. It’s a rental out of Memphis.”
“Their DLs?” Salter asked.
“Fakes. But very good ones. They crossed state lines to commit a kidnapping. Does that bring the FBI into it?”
“I suppose,” the sheriff replied. “If we want them.”
“What kidnapping?” one of the men called from the rear seat of a deputy’s car. He was sitting with his hands handcuffed behind his back. “I told you, we got lost and wanted to ask if we could use the phone here. This guy attacked us. I pulled a gun in self-defense.”
The sheriff looked at Barry in the silver-gray of early dawn. “We probably won’t be able to make any attempted kidnapping charges stick. Your word against theirs. About the best we can do is trespassing, carrying concealed weapons without a permit, and operating a motor vehicle with a fake driver’s license.”
“I’m gonna sue that guy for assault with a deadly weapon!” the man with a knot on his head shouted from the back of an emergency services vehicle.
“You’re sure those two have been advised of their rights?” Don asked a deputy.
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“Get them out of here.” Don waited until the car carrying the two men had pulled away, then turned to Barry. “What’s going on here, Barry?”
“I don’t know, Sheriff. And that is the truth. I have no idea who those two men are. I heard them say they would shoot my dogs. That’s when I got angry.” Barry did not mention that he also heard them say they had to take him alive, and he was reasonably certain the two men in custody wouldn’t bring it up.
One of the newly arrived deputies looked nervously around him. He had heard all about the two big hybrids living within the confines of the fence. “Where are those dogs of yours, Mr. Cantrell?”
Barry smiled. “In the house. If you’ll keep your hands away from your guns, I’ll release them and introduce you. They are not vicious animals. I would have a fenced-in area if they were poodles. I don’t believe in letting animals run unsupervised.” For their safety, he silently added.
“Stand still and keep your hands away from your side arms,” Sheriff Salter told the two remaining deputies. “You need to let the . . . ah, dogs, get to know you.” Then he added, “I have a hunch this won’t be the only visit we make out here.”
* * *
“The president cannot be allowed to run for a second term,” Gene Dawson opened the breakfast meeting in the back room of a Washington restaurant. The room was used frequently for highly secret and clandestine meetings. It was electronically “swept” before each meeting and was as secure as man could make it. “The sooner we start making plans to get him out of office, the better. I wish to hell he’d drop dead tonight.”
“Wishful thinking,” a United States senator spoke up. “But that would be nice. However, the Speaker is the man causing the trouble. If we could get him out of the way, it would rip the guts out of the opposition and put them into a panic.”
“I personally think a terrorist attack is the way to go,” a United States representative said. “We know the Republicans are planning a strategy meeting in a couple of months. Over in West Virginia. Get rid of the whole damn bunch. We could blame it on Libya or Syria or the Palestinians and be rid of those right-wing bastards once and for all.”
“Oh, get real, Paul!” Senator Holden quickly spoke up. “Good Jesus Christ. I don’t want to hear any more talk about such nonsense. Murder? Impeachment? You’re all crazy!”
“If we don’t do something and do it damn quickly, our party is going to be a thing of the past,” Paul Patrick came right back. “And I for one am prepared to do anything, anything, to prevent that from happening.”
“Murder, Paul?” another senator whispered. “Murder?”
“I agree with Paul,” a woman spoke. “We’ve got to disarm the right-wing nuts in this country. We’ve got to disarm everybody. We’re in a war for our party’s very survival, and for the welfare of every good, decent American citizen. And in a war, anything goes.”
“You would go that far, Madalaine?”
“Yes. I think the time has come for drastic steps.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Gene Dawson said in a subdued tone.
The woman smiled. “I do. I’ve already contacted a man.”
* * *
Robert Roche hurled his coffee cup across the room and cursed at the news just delivered him. He turned to face the man. “Gone? Gone where?”
“He’s here in the United States . . . somewhere. Our sources in the State Department say he entered the country just a few days ago. He may still be here in the city.”
“Someone, some group, hired him?”
“From all indications, yes.”
“Find out who hired him and why.”
“I will do my best, sir.”
The billionaire fixed the man with a cold stare. “Do better than that, Ray. Or hunt for another job.”
After Ray had gone, Robert poured a fresh cup of coffee and sat down behind his desk. Slowly, he calmed himself and began thinking rationally. He knew from years of quiet investigation—which had cost him several million dollars—that John Ravenna hated the man who was born Vlad Radu. John Ravenna was the pure personification of evil; Vlad Radu was just the opposite.
If John Ravenna was in the States, he had been hired to kill someone, or do something equally nefarious, for the man had been a killer for hire for nearly a thousand years. He had been killing for kings and queens and potentates and generals for all his adult life.
But who hired him, and why?
Robert felt sure that Ravenna would never take a contract on Vlad, for that would be pointless. No, something very big was about to go down here in America. Something earth-shaking in magnitude.
But Robert was certain of one thing: whatever it was, the man now living under the name of Barry Cantrell was somehow involved. He might not know it yet, but he had a part to play in this little drama.
Just how big a part Robert did not know.
Yet.
But he would.
And when Barry showed his hand, Robert’s men would grab him.
Robert Roche chuckled, then laughed aloud. “The game is almost over, Vlad. And as usual, I win!”
&nbs
p; Four
Barry picked up the mailgram from his post office box and waited until he was back in his truck before opening it. He knew it was from Stormy. He smiled as he read. Stormy would be landing at Memphis International Airport later on today, and would be in this area in the morning.
Barry drove to a filling station and topped off the tank, then drove down the street to a supermarket. Sheriff Salter drove up just as he was pulling into the parking lot.
“As soon as bail was set, those two goons made one call to a Little Rock lawyer,” Don told him. “I had to cut them loose about an hour ago.”
Barry nodded his head. “They’ll be back in New Jersey by this afternoon. They won’t be back here. You can bet on that.”
“How’d you know they’re from New Jersey? They never told me that.”
“Accents. They’re from the New York/New Jersey area. I have friends from there.”
“Uh-huh,” Don said very drily. He knew with a cop’s instinct that Barry had been lying to him from the first moment they met. But he couldn’t prove it ... so far. Problem was, he didn’t believe Barry was a criminal. He didn’t know why he believed that, he just did.
“Buy you a cup of coffee, Sheriff?” Barry asked, a sudden twinkle in his eyes. “There is something I want to talk to you about.”
“Sure. Nellie’s all right with you?”
“It’s close enough.” Right across the street.
Over coffee, the sheriff asked, “What’s on your mind?”
“When is the Speaker of the House due to arrive in town?”
Sudden suspicion flared in Don’s eyes. “Why do you ask?”
Barry chuckled. “Sheriff, relax. It’s just that a New York-based reporter from the Coyote Network is coming in to cover the story. As a matter of fact, she’ll be here tomorrow, for a few days’ vacation. She’ll be staying out at my place. I just want to know how much time we’ll have together before she has to go to work, that’s all.”
“What reporter?”
“Stormy Knight.”
The sheriff’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you lyin’ to me, Barry?”
“No. We’ve been seeing each other socially for about a year now. Let me check with Stormy to see if she wants company, and if it’s all right with her, why don’t you and your wife come out for supper?”
The sheriff was incredulous. He sat for a moment, his mouth hanging open, his coffee forgotten. “I, ah ...” He shook his head. “Okay, Barry. My wife never misses a Stormy Knight report. She would love to meet her.”
“I’m sure it will be all right with Stormy. Just keep all this under your hat, if you don’t mind.” He smiled. “Not that I wouldn’t like for the whole world to know.” Barry took out his wallet, removing a snapshot that Ki had taken in Idaho the past year. He held out the picture. “This is us last year.”
The sheriff studied the picture, then looked across the table and grinned. “Well, I’ll just be damned.” He quickly revised his thinking about Barry. If he was dating a reporter of Stormy’s status, he sure as hell had nothing to hide from the law.
Which was exactly why Barry had brought up the subject and showed him the picture.
* * *
“You understand, then, what you are to do, Mr. Ravenna?”
John looked at the senator’s intermediary with much the same expression he would use if gazing at a large roach. He did not reply vocally, just let his countenance speak for him.
“Then I’ll be leaving,” the go-between said.
John arched an eyebrow in reply.
The spokesman was only too glad to get the hell away from John Ravenna. Even though he’d been dealing with thugs and muscle and professional hit men for years, this man scared him—reached down into his soul and touched some primitive part.
John waited for a moment, then followed the man. John always covered his bets.
* * *
“My people in New York tell me that Stormy Knight, of the Coyote Network, is going to cover the Speaker’s trip,” Jim Beal told a gathering of his cell leaders. “I have got to get to her . . . somehow. Our side of the story has to be told, and told to someone who will report it fairly and accurately. Miss Knight will do that without liberal bias.”
“What about Victor Radford?”
“Vic is an idiot. Struts around in that damn Nazi uniform and spouts the writings of Hitler. He and that whacky bunch of his have given all of us a bad name.”
After the short meeting was over, Jim Beal sat down in a recliner-lounger and sipped his bourbon and water. He had to find a way to meet with this reporter; had to impress upon her that he and his followers presented no threat to the government or to any person, regardless of color. Jim Beal simply did not believe in race mixing. He did not wish any harm to come to black people, but he did not wish to live around them or to have his children go to school with black children. He believed that he had a right to refuse people service in his place of business. He used his own money to start his business, used his own money to see the business through the rough times, and the government had no right to tell him how to run his business.
Unlike Victor Radford, Jim Beal was very careful about who he allowed in his group. There were no cross burners in his association, no radical haters, no wild-eyed revolutionaries. The weapons they practiced with were all legal.
Furthermore, Jim Beal knew that the majority of people living in this area supported his views, to one degree or another, but most were reluctant to speak out openly for fear of government retaliation. Privately, the majority of people agreed with him, and he understood why they could not go public with their sentiments. While not a fanatic about religion, Jim was a religious person, and he tried to live a decent life, in accordance with his views of right and wrong.
The few black families who lived in the county would not trade in any of the several businesses owned by Jim Beal or in any business owned by members of Beal’s organization. That was a silent understanding that went back years.
Jim would have laughed if someone had told him he was a very complex man. But he most certainly was.
* * *
Stormy had no trouble locating Barry’s house, for he had drawn her a detailed map of the area. After visiting briefly with Barry, Ki had driven on up into Missouri to visit her family for a few days.
After getting reacquainted in the privacy of the bedroom, Barry and Stormy went for a leisurely walk around the property, Pete and Repeat with them. Because of who he was and what he could become, the hybrids obeyed every command from Barry and always stayed close.
Pausing to sit by the bank of the little creek that ran through the property, Stormy told Barry about the warning she had received on her answering machine.
“You’ve gotten these before?”
“Oh, sure.” She flipped a pebble into the cold waters of the spring-fed creek. “Probably everyone in the public eye gets threats sometime in his or her life. But this one was, well, different in a way that is hard to explain. Most of the others, if they were delivered vocally, were screaming threats from obvious nuts. If they came by letter, depending on what report set them off, they would be something like, ‘Die, you fag-loving bitch,’ or ‘God will punish you for your sins.’ But this one, this one was calmly given, as if the man was trying to warn me of impending danger not of his doing or liking.”
“Could you tell if it was long distance?”
She shook her head. “Not really. But I got the impression it was.”
“Why?”
“The voice spoke with an accent not from the Northeast. Much softer than that.”
“Southern accent?”
“Probably. But not deep south. Not syrupy. Mid-south.”
“This area would be called mid-south.”
“Yes.”
“I wonder if it might have something to do with the Speaker’s visit next month.”
“Which is next week, by the way. I don’t know. Maybe.”
Barry told her abo
ut the sheriffs visit, his suspicions, and of inviting Don and his wife over for supper. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Sure. It’ll be fun. Talking informally with the sheriff will also save me a lot of legwork.”
Then he told her about his early morning visitors.
She was silent for a moment, then cut her eyes to him. “Robert Roche?”
“Probably.” He sighed and shook his head. “Perhaps it’s time for me to go public and put an end to this long run of mine. I have been giving it a lot of thought.” He held up a hand for silence. “But . . . there are others like me in the world, Stormy. A lot more than I suspected even a short time ago.” He smiled. “Well, a short time for me.”
She ignored that, knowing that Barry’s sense of humor could be very weird at times. “How many more, Barry?”
“Several hundred. Maybe a lot more than that. And they have to be considered in any decision I make. If I go public, what happens to them?”
“Nothing. If you don’t mention it.”
“Don’t be too sure of that, Stormy. Many other governments around the world have suspected there are people like me. Many have married and produced offspring. Although that is something most of us try not to do.”
“The children, are they immortal?”
“Rarely. And both partners have to be the same.”
“Then there might be ... ?”
“A lot more of us? Yes. It’s certainly possible. I’ve had to revise my thinking as to why we are what we are several times.”
“I see now why this is not an easy decision for you to make.”
“We’d be treated like freaks, Stormy. This government, all governments worldwide, might came up with some obscure law that would make it legal to imprison us indefinitely for study. And if they don’t have it on the books already, they’ll pass legislation. I know firsthand how governments work.”
She studied his face for a moment, that handsome and ageless face that had witnessed so much during his long march through history. “You really despise big government, don’t you, Barry?” she asked softly.
Barry picked up and rattled a couple of pebbles in his hand. “Yes, I do. Oh, most start out with good intentions. But that doesn’t last long, once the men and women in control realize that they have absolute power. You recall that line about absolute power and what it leads to?”
Prey Page 3