Slayground

by Don Pendleton

  “You know I worked for my father,” she said with great deliberation, “and you think that made me privy to a great many things that could be of value. Monetary value, maybe. Propaganda value, for sure. Secrets and power, right? But you’re forgetting one thing. My father is too good a politician, too good a statesman, to give someone with no security clearance access to any information that really mattered. I just did the copying and filing, typed a few letters for him. I can tell you things, but they’re not what you want to hear.”

  Ricke sighed in an exaggerated fashion—again for effect—and looked up at the ceiling. “Elena, oh, really,” he said softly.

  Without warning, Duane stepped up and grabbed Elena’s hair, jerking her head back and making her squeal. She didn’t see the knife, but she could feel the cold, sharp edge at her throat.

  “Lower. We don’t want her dead,” Ricke said calmly, flicking a finger. She felt the knife point turn and trace down her thorax until it snagged at the torn neck of her T-shirt and circled around her breast.

  Ricke watched the knife’s progress. “The neck is quick and final. I want neither of those. I want you to feel pain so that you’ll wish it would stop. Which, of course, you can control, by telling me what I want to know.”

  “I...know n-nothing....” she stammered through fear and pain.

  “You must know something. Something well worth knowing. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a government agent on his way here with enough weapons to take down a small army. He’s out there now. Terry reported movement. Did you hear the gunshots?”

  She shook her head; she hadn’t been able to hear anything through those cinder block walls, and Ricke could easily be lying.

  “Terry is a good boy. He knows this ground better than any agent. I think we’ve seen the last of that one. But he won’t be the only one, I’m sure. Which means, of course, that you must know enough for them to want you back. You’re a smart girl. If they keep sending men, then that means I have only a limited time to get what I want. And the methods I may be forced to use will be less than pleasant. Won’t they, Duane?”

  She could hear the snigger deep in Duane’s chest, and felt his fetid breath on her nape.

  Duane would enjoy this, given the chance....

  * * *

  “YOU OWE ME,” Martha Ivers said with a sly smile. “I got you out of something there. Care to explain to me exactly what you were doing?”

  “Apart from saving your ass? I could ask you the same question. Besides, it makes us even, the way I see it,” Bolan replied as he drove back toward town. There was still very little traffic on the highway, so it wasn’t difficult to see that the patrol car was following at a distance.

  “I could have hidden, run, whatever. There was no saying that dude was going to nail me,” she answered in a brittle voice. “Faced with two deputies, however, you had very few options.”

  “You forget that I saw your face,” Bolan said mildly. He paused, glancing at her long enough to note that his words had sunk in. “Another thing—if you supposedly got me out of that situation, then how come they’re following to see what we do?”

  She cursed under her breath, but said nothing. Since they’d been in the car, he’d gathered her name and that she was a reporter for the Midnight Examiner. For the benefit of the cops, he had become her photographer, and the duffel bag he carried contained camera equipment. If the deputies had asked to inspect it, he could hardly have refused without arousing suspicion. Such was the power of the tabloid over the town that the officers had taken her word at face value and deferred, which told the soldier something about the dynamics of Griffintown.

  Martha had played on her acquaintance with the female deputy and talked them out of a parking violation. She had also wheedled with them to keep the matter quiet, claiming that it was something she was checking out unofficially—a sighting of a UFO in the area, the third in as many weeks—to pitch to her editor.

  Bolan inferred from this that she was a junior, keen to impress, or at least that was what she wanted the deputies, and by extension, him, to think. Which rang hollow.

  No matter, he’d get the truth from her in time. First, he needed to keep the law off his back. Minimum visibility was essential.

  “If I take you back to your office, what kind of questions will I draw on either of us?”

  “I can pass you off as a freelancer—”

  “Spare me that UFO crap. That wasn’t why you were there.”

  “It wasn’t why you were there, either.”

  Despite himself, Bolan grinned at the belligerence in her tone. “I know you were snooping around the old amusement park. There’s only one reason for that.”

  “The UFO story is a good one, because there have been sightings. The townspeople—”

  “Maybe, but I’m not so stupid that I don’t realize your paper would have covered that like a rash if there was anything to make of it. And officially, too, not just you in your spare time trying to suck up to the boss.”

  “You got me, smart guy. Happy?” she snapped. Bolan shrugged. “Look,” she continued. “I’ve only been on the Examiner eighteen months. I was doing local shopper papers up east before that. I’ve got a journalism degree, but I’m not pushing for a Pulitzer. I’m a coward, okay? I just want to write crap and get paid and have a quiet life.”

  They were approaching the edge of town, and Bolan slowed as he entered the residential outskirts. Families were getting set for the day, going about their business. He stopped to allow a school crossing guard to usher a line of kindergarten children across.

  “You know,” he said, as he accelerated again, “I could believe that if not for one thing. You nearly got your head blown off back there. Now, I could call you clumsy and stupid—”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I could,” he continued, “but I could not say those were the actions of a coward. You wouldn’t have put yourself in that position.”

  “I didn’t know they were going to try and shoot me,” she exclaimed.

  “Maybe not, but you’re smart enough to know a cult like that isn’t friendly. Not when they isolate themselves in that way. So you’d better level with me.” They were now within sight of the Examiner’s parking lot.

  “I am a coward,” she said slowly, “but a curious one. My mom always said it would get me into trouble, and she was right. I’ve told everyone I’m looking at the UFO sightings, and it’s unofficial, because my editor thinks there’s nothing to them, and that I want to prove him wrong. That’s bull. Well, not the part about him thinking the UFO sightings are crap. That’s true, and it’s good cover. The fact is I’m curious. Why do we never write about the Seven Stars? The leader, Ricke, does good business lecturing to fringe groups at universities. They recruit off the streets. They’re on our doorstep and they’re a ready-made source of copy, yet we’ve never run a single story on them. Why? I’ve checked our archives. As long as they’ve been here, not a damn word.”

  Bolan had pulled into the parking lot while she spoke, and watched in the rearview mirror as the patrol car glided past. He counted to ten, and it passed by again from the opposite direction.

  “That’s a very good question,” he said. “It’s not one I’m here to answer, but it has been bothering me. Just like the fact that your sheriff’s office seems very keen on making sure you get to work in one piece. I suggest I come with you into the building, just to throw them off. I don’t want them following me when I leave.”

  “Why is that?” she asked. “I’ve been straight with you. How about you come clean with me?”

  Bolan said nothing as he got out of the car, keeping an eye on the patrol car, which had settled by the edge of the lot. He took his duffel bag out of the backseat and went around to open Martha’s door

  “Don’t answer, then,” she muttered petulantly.

>   Inside, she signed him in as a guest and he was given a pass, after being eyed up by the security guard and the receptionist. He noticed that they both scrutinized the entry as he and Martha walked to the elevator.

  He said nothing until they were on the editorial floor, even though he could feel her mounting resentment. He could tell it was close to boiling over as they reached her desk; he could also feel the curious stares of the few employees who were in this early. He leaned close to her and spoke quietly. “This is not a good time or place. There are things that it’s better you don’t know right now. Is your cell Bluetooth?”

  She furrowed her brow. “Yeah—not that you’re random, or anything...”

  Bolan grinned and took out his phone. “I’m sending you my number. Send me yours. Tonight, keep the line free. There are things I need to do today, but maybe we should pool our intel. Just stay in the office today and away from trouble.”

  His tone clearly chilled her. She nodded and looked away.

  Murmuring a goodbye, Bolan left her at her desk. She was a risk, and one he hadn’t bargained on. Conversely, she could have knowledge that would be invaluable.

  It had been his intent to stay in the office, maybe talk with her and give the local law enforcement time to move on. But if there was any kind of connection between the amusement park and the sheriff’s office, maybe it was better to be proactive....

  Chapter 6

  Bolan headed toward the center of town. He hadn’t yet had the time to get the lay of the land he would have preferred, given that the two officials who were now tailing him probably knew how to negotiate every road and trail in the county with their eyes closed. He didn’t want to pilot himself down any blind alleys, so he used the GPS that came with the rental and set it for the Examiner building. If he got himself lost, the GPS would automatically give him a route back toward the offices, thus keeping him out of dead ends and one-ways that would trap him or give the sheriff’s people an excuse to stop and arrest him.

  As he took the car down the main drag, driving as though headed back to the hotel he was sure they had already checked in with, he wondered if the officers really saw him as a problem. Perhaps they were just being small-town cautious—or bored—and his instincts were working overtime.

  He drove at a steady twenty-five, paying extra attention to stop signs. In his rearview, he could see that the patrol car was keeping four or five vehicles back, if possible. They were either poor at tailing or else the traffic was not as dense as they had hoped. They were appallingly obvious.

  Unless that was their plan.

  People ambled up and down the sidewalks on the main street, stopping to talk, and moving at a pace that was a far cry from city life. There was little chance that he could stop, get out and lose himself among them. Nonetheless, he wanted to test the man and woman in the patrol car, just stretch them a little bit, to see what would happen.

  Despite the relative lack of crowds on the sidewalks, the parking spaces lining the road were all occupied. It was only by sudden acceleration and sliding in behind a convertible as it drew out that he was able to snag a spot, incurring the angry horn blast and curses of a flatbed driver who had been patiently waiting for the space.

  Bolan smiled to himself and ignored the trucker as he got out of the Ford. The vehicles between his sedan and the patrol car had slid past, and as the officers drew level, the driver of the flatbed shifted his attention to them, leaning out his window and gesturing at Bolan, stating his case with profanity punctuating each sentence. As the soldier walked into the nearest store, he heard the woman deputy trying to calm the man. “Clyde, he may be an asshole, but he hasn’t broken any laws.”

  Good, Bolan thought. That should stress them a little, make them more prone to errors of judgment.

  He had walked into a drugstore, the likes of which he hadn’t seen since he was a young man. He flipped through a carousel of books that, frankly, looked as if they’d been there since his youth. He thumbed through them, one eye on the outside.

  The flatbed driver had been persuaded to move on, the bottleneck he was causing drawing more horn blasts from the backed-up traffic. The patrol car had double-parked, the male deputy staying behind the wheel while the woman got out and came into the store. She started to exchange small talk with the guy behind the counter.

  Bolan selected two of the paperbacks and strode toward the front, dropping them beside her with a dull thump, then pulling a ten from his wallet.

  “Hello again,” he said mildly as the officer turned around. “Are you guys the only deputies in this town? I only ask because you’re covering a lot of ground this morning. I hope your boss pays you well for it.”

  The deputy eyed him, seemingly unsure whether or not he was being funny. Bolan ignored this and spoke to the cashier.

  “You still charging the cover price, even after all this time?” The clerk nodded, and Bolan handed over the ten. “A bargain.” He turned to the deputy. “I like a quiet night in when I’m travelling. I’m not a great one for excitement.”

  He took his change and the books, and left her as she mumbled a few words of acknowledgment.

  Back in his car, he threw the books into the backseat and fired up the engine. The patrol car was blocking him in, and Bolan slowly reversed. As he’d suspected, the cruiser didn’t move as the male officer waited for his partner to rush from the store and climb in. Now the driver had no option but to reverse and give himself away, since he’d be following directly on the soldier’s tail, or to find himself in front of his supposed prey.

  He chose to move on, although he didn’t exactly pick up speed.

  Bolan grinned and set off behind the patrol car. They were now headed toward his hotel, and the GPS was giving him instructions on where to turn and head back in the direction of the Examiner.

  He had no way of knowing if there was a direct link between the cult and the sheriff’s office, but the fact that they had taken enough of an interest to follow him not just when he was with Martha, but after they had parted company, showed that the local law enforcement had suspicions about who he was and what he and Martha had been doing in the swamps so close to Eveland.

  He wanted to test them further. He had little time, and the knowledge that the local law couldn’t be trusted made that time so much the tighter. He followed the patrol car down the main drag as though he was still returning to the hotel. The way the driver hesitated, trying to stay ahead while keeping the Ford in his rearview mirror, was almost amusing.

  When they came up to an intersection, Bolan let the cruiser car crawl across it, and then flicked his indicator and stepped on the accelerator, swerving the sedan so that it cut across the oncoming traffic onto a side street, past some small workshops and industrial units and into a residential area. He slowed fractionally to see if the patrol car was following. The angry sound of traffic back on the main drag told him that the officers had taken action that had disrupted the smooth flow.

  He was reaching the end of the road, another left turn ahead of him, as recommended by the calm voice of the GPS. He slowed almost to a crawl, just enough to see the patrol car take the far corner sharply, and to make sure they saw him. He accelerated and took the turn.

  Following the GPS, he took another three turns through residential areas, each time accelerating down the straightaway to get some distance, then slowing at the corner to allow the patrol car to sight him, before accelerating once more.

  He was now approaching the far end of town, and was once again in sight of the looming Examiner building. He wondered what the deputies made of what he was doing. They hadn’t turned on their sirens, which suggested that even though both parties knew what was going down, they had no desire to make it obvious.

  Bolan leaned forward and reset the GPS for his hotel. The first thing the calming voice told him to do was head back onto the m
ain drag.

  That would be too easy. Besides, he was starting to enjoy this. He figured it was the closest he would come to relaxation for the next few days, so he may as well have a little fun.

  He crossed the main street at the next intersection, drove past a small estate of warehousing units and into the area where the swamplands closed in on the town. Taking what was little more than a dirt road, Bolan gunned the engine and followed the GPS’s instructions, adopting the same tactics as he had in the first half of the chase.

  Whether or not they intended to catch him, a chase was undoubtedly what this was. Bolan was testing the sheriff’s department and letting the deputies know he was aware of their intent.

  The GPS led him down a number of twisting roads with much less development than the other side of Griffintown. Traffic was sparse on these streets, and as he drove, careful to keep within speed limits and give them no excuse to pull him over, he noted that the patrol car was gaining on him.

  He couldn’t have that. He wanted to get some distance between himself and his pursuers so that he could be waiting for them at the end of the run.

  He took a left that led him back toward the main drag, then held back at the intersection, tempting them to come up close behind him as he kept an eye on the traffic signals. When the light turned yellow, he stepped on the gas and crossed the intersection, leaving the cruiser stranded as the traffic on the main street cut them off. There were more angry horns in his wake as the patrol car tried to cut through the line of cars. This was a sleepy town and the inhabitants weren’t used to their sheriff’s deputies breaking a sweat.

  Bolan followed the GPS back to the hotel, slowing as he approached. He pulled into the parking area and stepped out of the sedan, leaning against it as he waited.

  In less than two minutes, the cruiser entered the lot. Bolan said nothing, did nothing—he just watched as it passed him. The two deputies stared at him with a mix of curiosity and dislike. He had made fools of them, and they knew it. But had he made them any more of an enemy than they had already been?