“Good, good,” he breathed. He almost sounded relieved.
She hung up when she heard the line click, and stood for a moment, anxiety crippling her. If she was really honest, she didn’t hold out much hope for herself unless Cooper got out of Eveland alive. Even then it was a pretty slender thread.
She dressed quickly, one eye on the clock. She had seven minutes. She hoped that would be enough. She hoped whoever was on the end of the line worked nights and would answer. If not, she could kiss her ass goodbye. She hoped Montgomery’s hold on the county was not so great that he could somehow block cell signals or monitor calls. If he could do the latter, she was probably a dead woman walking.
Hell, unless she did something, she was, anyway....
She took out her cell and without pausing dialed the number Cooper had sent her earlier in the evening. It rang twice.
“Martha Ivers, I presume?” said a warm, rugged voice. She was confused, but there was something about the voice that made her feel a little safer.
“Can I ask how you know who I am?”
The man chuckled. “Cooper is always very good about keeping us in the loop. I assume something has gone wrong. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until later this morning, if at all.”
“You’re well briefed,” she replied.
“And you sound worried, Martha. So let’s not waste time—tell me what’s wrong. The sooner I know the sooner we can take action.”
She drew a deep breath and plunged into her story. In her head, she had worked out what she needed to say, but as it came out of her mouth she realized she was babbling and had to backtrack. She had one eye on the clock and one ear on the road outside.
She finished in less than three and a half minutes. Apart from one request for clarification, the man on the other end remained silent, speaking only when she had completed her story.
“Listen carefully, Martha. We can assume from this that Cooper is in trouble, too, so we’ll be arranging an extraction for both of you. Cooper can be traced from the GPS on his cell. Now that you’ve called me, I have the GPS for yours, so we’ll be able to pinpoint where you are, and send men to recover you. In the meantime, it’s best if you don’t know details. You’ll probably be interrogated, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I urge you to tell them everything you know, and spare yourself. There is nothing Cooper will have told you that can hurt him out in the field. Help is on the way. They’ll know exactly where you are and will head straight for you.”
Martha thanked the man and disconnected. She stood in her bedroom in a daze. Interrogation. That probably meant pain. She was such a coward.... But to tell them everything—anything—that she knew seemed so wrong, even though the man on the phone had given her the green light.
She looked at the old clock radio that had served her so well, then heard a car pull up outside. She stuffed the cell in the pocket of her jeans. They’d probably search her and take it away, right? She felt she had to take it, anyway. She couldn’t think straight. All she could do was stare at the clock radio. It was ridiculous to put any kind of sentimental attachment on an inanimate object. Still, she felt incredibly sad that she probably wouldn’t see the ugly piece of white plastic again. It had been a part of her life, and she felt as if that life had suddenly made an unscheduled turn. How stupid was it that, of all things, she should be focused on an old alarm clock?
Maybe it was because she didn’t want to think about the people she would leave behind. Her mom, her sister...
Martha heard firm, insistent rapping on the front door. She thought for a moment about trying to run...but where? Griffintown County would be sewn up tight. The feudal lord had absolute power. She had none.
She walked to the door, opened it and was not surprised to see that Ramirez himself had answered Montgomery’s command. He studied her with cold eyes, his face unreadable. Without a word, she left the house, closing the door behind her with the feeling that she was closing the door on her life.
* * *
“BEAR, THIS HAD BETTER be good. Do you know what time it is?” Brognola growled as he answered his phone. A committee meeting had kept him out until past midnight, and by the time he’d finished up at the office it had seemed like a long trek home.
“We’ve got a problem. Striker’s contact has been taken. Chances are the big guy’s in need of backup.” Bear outlined all that he had been told. By the time he’d finished, Brognola was out of bed and searching for clothes.
“I’ll be back at the office shortly. Meantime, anything comes in...”
“Sure. I took the liberty of authorizing a cleanup. Extraction teams for Striker and his contact. If this Montgomery guy has it as sewn up as she says—which I have no reason to doubt—then we may need more manpower. I couldn’t go that far.”
Despite the situation, Brognola grinned at the sardonic edge in Kurtzman’s voice. “You always go too damn far. But only when you know you’re right. I’ll countersign, you get that backup arranged. The usual clampdown applies. It’s far enough out of the way to keep it under wraps.”
“Their isolation is their biggest pro and their biggest con. Consider it done.” Kurtzman paused, then added, “Y’know, I’d love to find out what the connection between the Seven Stars and Montgomery is. Nothing’s turned up in any background to suggest it.”
“We can worry about that later,” Brognola growled. “If we need to bring the hammer down on that town, we might never find out. There’s work to be done.”
“I hear you.”
* * *
MARTHA IVERS WONDERED about Montgomery’s connection to the Seven Stars for the entire trip to the Midnight Examiner building on the other end of town. Ramirez had not been alone in the car; a deputy she vaguely recognized was riding shotgun, and he’d been standing on the far side of the car as Ramirez followed her down her front walk, keeping close on her heels. The deputy, whose name she suddenly remembered—Wilkes—had watched her intently, his hand hovering near the gun on his hip. They were ready for her to run. She’d almost smiled. Where the hell could she run to?
Ramirez put her in the back of the patrol car and Wilkes slid into the front. She heard the locks click. She was secured.
The sheriff drove through the center of town, saying nothing. The deputy, too, was silent, although he occasionally glanced over his shoulder, as if to check that she was still there. A faint smile crossed his lips on one occasion, and she felt a shiver down her back. She figured that if there was any questioning to be done, then this guy would take no little pleasure in it.
At this time of the morning, Griffintown was deserted, the storefronts she knew so well staring blankly at her. Just a few hours before, the main drag had been alive. Now it was like a ghost town. She wondered how many people in the community were in thrall to Montgomery. Considering how the local economy ran, she guessed most of them were under his thumb in some way. How many knew what the owner of the Examiner did with that power? How many of the people she interacted with every day knew the true face of Montgomery, and were party to the darker side of his nature, as the sheriff and his staff appeared to be?
If there had been anyone on the street, would she have done something to alert them? Would it have been worth it? She felt she could trust whoever Cooper had told her to call, even though she knew nothing about him—about either man, really. But he was a friend, maybe a colleague of Cooper’s. She was pretty sure something major was about to go down. That should have made her feel better, and maybe it would have if there was more time....
The only consolation she could draw was that Montgomery would, in all likelihood, be ground into the dust. Like Ricke and his god-awful cult. A scant consolation when it was likely too late for her.
The patrol car pulled into the parking lot. The only other vehicle on the premises was Montgomery’s Cadillac. Ramirez and his deputy pu
lled Martha out of the backseat and flanked her as they led her into the building. The night watchman was missing from the lobby, and Martha knew that he usually manned his post assiduously, surfing the internet when he was supposed to be studying the CCTV. Obviously, he had been sent away.
This went deep. Too deep for her to have any hope.
They took the elevator to the third floor, saying nothing and avoiding eye contact. When they walked out onto the open-plan floor, it was in darkness. The only light came from the elevator and through the glass panes of the one office, in the corner.
She was used to seeing Montgomery’s office in the daytime, when the paper was bustling with activity. Now, as she was led toward it, it seemed ominous.
Her imagination was working overtime. That was the journalist in her. Any other time that thought would have amused her, but right now, it just made her feel more miserable.
Montgomery watched as Ramirez and the deputy ushered her into the office. He indicated that she be seated. The two men gave her no option, a hand on each shoulder pushing her down.
She looked Montgomery squarely in the face. A puzzled frown flickered across his features. He looked as nervous as she felt. Why should he feel like that? She remembered the tone of his voice when he had first called. But why should a man with so much money, so much power over an entire county, be nervous at all?
“You can wait outside,” he told the cops, pausing until they had withdrawn. She heard the door click. She and Montgomery were, for all intents and purposes, alone.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she was quicker.
“Just what are you so scared of?” she asked simply.
Chapter 15
Duane cursed, loudly and repeatedly. His men looked at him as though he’d lost the plot, and maybe they were right. He was staring down at three corpses, his men, where there should have been just one—the intruder. The sky was lighter now, and he could see his surroundings clearly. Three men stood near him, and counting the three down and himself, that made seven. One was missing—Ricke.
Duane shook his head. He should have known the bastard would run when things got tough. He believed in his leader, but he wasn’t so blind that he didn’t realize the man was a physical coward. Why else would he have enlisted someone like Duane to do his dirty work for him?
If Ricke hadn’t wanted to be part of this action, he should have said so from the start. His disappearance left Duane planning with the wrong numbers, and having to deal with the lowered morale of the remaining men. It was bad enough as it was. Duane only had to watch them gaze at the corpses and then at each other to know they were losing whatever stomach they had for the fight.
“Our leader has gone back to raise some reinforcements from his contacts. They’ll be with us shortly,” he lied, the words sounding hollow. He could tell the men didn’t really believe him, but he felt he had to make some kind of effort. “He’s good, this asshole we’re tracking,” Duane continued. “But these three were careless. We’re not going to make that kind of mistake. We like being alive, right?”
They agreed, and Duane searched his mind frantically for some kind of plan. He scanned the immediate area, but the foliage was so thick it was impossible to see if anyone was lurking close by.
One thing, though, gave him a glimmer of hope. In the better light, he could see that the intruder had left a trail. Indentations in the mud and grass indicated that the man was dragging a leg, which meant he was injured. “We’ve got him,” Duane breathed, pointing out the tracks. “Come on, four of us against a cripple? He’s going down.”
His renewed enthusiasm infected his men, whose mood seemed to brighten as they followed the intruder’s path. Duane gestured for them to fan out, to make themselves harder to target with one hit. He led them from the small clearing back into the dense foliage, scenting blood and feeling his confidence grow by the second.
* * *
ELENA SAT IN THE hollow formed by the tree trunks, wincing and jumping at every burst of fire. She’d realized that the man sent in after her was good, but she was horribly aware of how his injury and the poison he’d absorbed had affected him. She had no idea how many of the cult members were out here, but the law of probability suggested that one of them could easily get lucky against the weakened warrior. If that happened, where did it leave her—apart from neck-deep in shit?
The soldier had told her to stay where she was, presumably so he could come back and collect her. That was fine, but it presumed he would be alive to do that. And she had no guarantee that, in the confusing jumble of fire, his wasn’t one of the screams she’d just heard. She looked up through the canopy of trees to the sky beyond. From the angle of the sun, she was able to judge which way was east. The trouble was, she had no idea where she was in relation to the road they had supposedly been headed toward. There was a car there, and a way out, even if she had to find them by herself. But which way should she go?
As frightening as it was to admit it, she was a sitting duck right now. If she stayed here, the cult would find her eventually. What would happen then was unthinkable. She would rather get lost in the swamps or die than give in to that.
Elena moved from the small hollow, stretching limbs that were starting to cramp, and being careful not to make too much noise. She glanced around, cursing the fact that the trees and shrubs were so dense. They gave her some cover, but it was impossible for her to see what lay beyond the wall of green.
She knew the general direction they’d come from, and where Eveland was in relation to their route. It meant she could work out which way they’d originally been headed. That was the way she wanted to go. That was the way to the road.
Kind of. It was all guesswork, but the harsh truth was that was all she had. Suppressing the voice that told her to stay put and wait for the soldier, she started to move toward freedom.
* * *
BOLAN ATTAINED COVER and hunkered down, breathing hard. Lights flashed before his eyes and his thigh felt as though alternating spears of ice and fire were being thrust through it. He was fighting another bout of nausea, the taste of bile filling his mouth.
He had no clear idea how many opponents were left, but he knew he wasn’t in the greatest condition to face any of them. His fitness was impaired, as were his reflexes. He was slow, ill and wounded. He still had to get back to Elena, but in his current state he felt disoriented. The swamplands swirled around him. He felt his guts heave, and he leaned forward and threw up.
Spitting, he leaned back against a tree, regulating his breath. The lights were gone, and his head had cleared a little. At least this wave of side effects had hit him when he wasn’t in immediate danger. With luck, he should have a little time before he felt sick again to collect Elena, and try to strike out for the highway.
He pulled himself upright and limped through grasses that tugged at his feet. He was sure he was leaving a trail, but there was little he could do about it. He had to keep moving and hope he was quicker than anyone who might get on his tail.
He’d taken note of some landmarks in the swamp after he’d left Elena, figuring he’d need them on the way back to her hiding spot. He caught sight of a crossed palm that led him onto the right trail.
He heard movement to his left, but it was retreating, so he stood silent for a moment, listening to whoever it was pass. He couldn’t go on the offensive when he was so close to Elena’s position. The last thing he needed was to attract attention to her. He waited until the sounds had receded into the distance, and then continued on his way.
He could see the hollow up ahead, and he quickened his pace when he saw that it was empty. Elena was gone.
Why the hell had she moved? And where had she gone? He glanced around, trying to pick up some kind of trail. She was not an experienced fighter, and despite the care she’d obviously taken, he easily picked out her path.
/> Bolan cursed silently. She had ventured in the direction he’d just come from. The movement he’d stopped to listen to and let pass had been, in all likelihood, the woman he’d been on his way to collect.
She was heading right into the area where he expected the remaining cult members to be gathered—where he had left three of them dead.
Bolan turned and began to hurry in her wake. He didn’t take too much care about avoiding noise now. Speed was of the essence, and if it attracted the enemy to him rather than to her, then so much the better. At least she’d have a chance to run if their attack was focused on him.
* * *
DUANE MOVED HIS men slowly along the trail left by the wounded intruder, a grin of savage satisfaction curling his lips. He was going to enjoy taking out this asshole. He had wanted to do it personally, but despite the macho desire for revenge, his more cunning side told him that even with a game leg and possibly other injuries, the trained soldier would still be too much for him to take on alone. With four of them, spread out to divide his attention, there was a better chance of at least one of them being able to score a hit.
The trail was faint but visible, and the intruder had a fair start on them, even though they could move with greater ease and speed. One thing puzzled Duane. There was only the one trail, and it looked as though the man had been alone. In that case, where was Elena? Getting her back to the compound was as important as killing the intruder. Duane needed her so he and Ricke could make their escape. Both of them. Duane wasn’t stupid. He knew his leader would run like hell with just the girl, given the chance. They had left one hell of a mess here already, and someone was bound to come looking for the intruder when he didn’t return. Duane had no intention of being left at the compound, waiting for those reinforcements to arrive. Once he had possession of the girl, he’d have one hell of a bargaining tool.
He motioned for his men to take cover as he noticed movement in the undergrowth ahead. When they had all hidden, he shouldered his SMG and waited. Why the hell was the intruder coming back this way? It made no sense, unless...
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