The Black Hornet: James Ryker Book 2

by Rob Sinclair

  Thankfully it wasn’t much longer before Ashford was rescued. Carter came over and broke straight into the conversation, apologising for the interruption, before whispering into Ashford’s ear.

  ‘Your friend wants you,’ he said, indicating over Ashford’s right shoulder.

  It was Mitchell.

  Ashford gave his false apologies then trudged off to where Mitchell was standing next to a table, happily stuffing his face with the variety of cold appetisers there – canapés, meats, cheeses, seafood.

  ‘What is it?’ Ashford asked Mitchell who was gazing across the lawn.

  ‘The guests we’ve been waiting for, Clarke and Turner, they’re right over there.’

  Ashford turned and looked subtly to where Mitchell had indicated with his champagne glass. Sure enough it was the two imposters, standing together across the lawn. Ashford caught the guy’s eye. ‘Just who the hell are they?’

  ‘Now that they’re here, why don’t we find out?’

  ‘I’m not making a scene here today.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting you interrogate them in the middle of the lawn. But maybe get them inside, out of sight.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Put some gentle pressure on them. How they react to being cornered will tell a lot about who they are.’

  ‘I told you, I can’t afford to make a scene here.’

  ‘Or you could just let them drink your wine and eat your food and make a fool outta you.’

  Ashford chewed over that comment for a few seconds. No, Mitchell was right, he couldn’t let these two lord it over him on his own property, at his own function.

  ‘Okay, let’s see what they’ve got to say for themselves.’

  ‘You need me?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.’

  Ashford moved away and made a beeline for the man and woman calling themselves Turner and Clarke. What he did know was that these two weren’t armed, and Ashford with his security guards and Mitchell’s own team probably had twenty people that were. Ashford was a protected man and that knowledge made him even more confident than normal as he strode along.

  As he was moving, Ashford heard his name called out more than once. Save for the odd smile and wave, Ashford ignored the people vying for his attention, and kept walking with purpose and determination.

  When he was fifteen yards away, Turner looked up and locked eyes with Ashford. He couldn’t explain why – something about the look in the man’s eyes perhaps – but Ashford suddenly felt his heart jump, knocking away just a sliver of his poise. But he didn’t let up, he kept on going.

  That was until Carter bound up to him and stopped him.

  The young man was out of breath, he looked flustered.

  ‘What is it?’ Ashford asked, his tone unsympathetic.

  ‘Out front. Someone to see you.’

  ‘Who?’

  Carter looked around him as though the words about to pass his lips would drip with scandal and weren’t to be heard by anyone else.

  Which wasn’t far off the truth.

  ‘It’s Agent Klein.’

  46

  Ryker spotted Ashford coming toward him. The Congressman had a steely look of determination in his eyes, the beaming smile he’d exhibited when speaking to his chums moments earlier erased in an instant. Ryker was curious as to what Ashford would say to them, whether he’d let slip immediately that he’d had someone snooping on Ryker and Willoughby, or whether he’d play along and be the perfect host like he had been. The look in Ashford’s eyes had suggested the former.

  Ryker would have to wait to find out, however, because Ashford was stolen away when he was just yards from Ryker. Ryker’s eyes followed Ashford as he and his young assistant, Ed Carter, hurried out of sight around the side of the house.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Willoughby asked.

  ‘Probably gone to discuss where in the house they want to chop our bodies up, and how many pieces to cut us into.’

  ‘Not funny.’

  ‘Who says it was a joke.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘Why don’t you go and start tapping up some of the guests, see what they’re about. You look like you can mingle.’

  ‘And what does that mean?’ Willoughby raised an eyebrow.

  Ryker hadn’t meant his words as anything other than a compliment. ‘You look... you know... nice. Friendly.’

  ‘Nice? Is that the best you can do? It took me hours to look this good’

  ‘I said friendly too.’

  ‘I thought you said you were a good actor?’

  Ryker shrugged. ‘Okay, you look stunning, Emily Clarke. The best-looking lady here.’

  Willoughby looked as though she didn’t know how to take those words. ‘Maybe you should have practised more last night.’

  ‘Looks like it, doesn’t it. Okay, I’m going inside. Shout if anything goes down out here.’

  ‘You too.’

  Ryker moved away and put his empty glass down as he headed around a large fountain, in the centre of which stone cherubs were spitting water. It was ugly and the only part of the house and the grounds he’d seen so far that looked out of place – a recent addition by the look of the stonework.

  He carried on up some steps to a wide patio area that stretched across the whole of the back of the house, then moved on to the large set of French doors where two security guards were stationed. Ryker noticed them stiffen slightly as he approached.

  ‘Could you tell me the way to the toilet, please?’ Ryker asked.

  One of the security guards raised an eyebrow. Maybe it was the English accent.

  ‘Turn left into the hall. Third door on your right.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Clearly the house wasn’t off limits. Which was a good thing.

  ‘You know there’re plenty of toilets out by the tents,’ the other guard said.

  ‘Have you seen the queue?’

  The guards said nothing and Ryker thanked them and moved past, through the doors and into what looked to be a lounge or a drawing room. The furniture – sofas, a coffee table – was all pushed to the side to make a clear pathway from the outside to the double-doors that led into a wide central hallway.

  Ryker moved through the room and into the hall where he looked up and down. Staff were scuttling about with drinks and empty glasses and trays of food. Ryker spotted the door for the toilet. It was closed. He could also see through into the kitchen. Across the other side of the hall another open door led into another large lounge. Ryker couldn’t see who was in there but he could hear a television. Maybe children – Ashford’s or the guests’ – were in there.

  Satisfied that no one was paying him attention, Ryker glided over to the staircase and quickly moved up, keeping his knees bouncy and his feet light so that he made as little noise as he could. The old wooden structure gave the slightest of creaks but Ryker was soon at the top and onto a grand central landing, out of sight from the floor below.

  He looked up and down again. No one he could see. He looked over the banister, through the strands of an elaborate crystal chandelier to the hallway below. All clear.

  Ryker moved away and started along the landing. The first door he came to was shut, but Ryker could tell from the stickers and graffiti on the outside that the room beyond belonged to a boy, probably a teenager. The door to the next room was ajar. Ryker poked his head in – the master bedroom. Ryker turned back and kept going past a bathroom and around a corner. Two more doors. The first one Ryker came to was the one he was looking for. He could tell because it was locked.

  Ryker glanced behind him, then took out the small plastic torsion wrench and picks from his trouser pocket. He released the simple lock within ten seconds, slipped inside, and pushed the door softly so that it was just ajar – he wanted it open so he could better hear anyone approaching. Then he looked around.

  The office was grand; it had probably required a hundred trees to fit it out – there was shining,
polished wood everywhere but the ceiling. The centrepiece of the room was a huge, thick mahogany desk. Ryker had hoped to see a desktop or laptop computer on there but it was bare except for a neat pile of papers. Ryker moved to the desk and sifted through the papers. Nothing of interest there. He kneeled down and tried the desk drawers. Locked. Not a problem. He picked the first one even more quickly than the office door. He opened it. A revolver sat snug inside a foam case.

  At least the gun was locked away in there rather than in Ashford’s waistband, Ryker thought.

  He closed the drawer and picked the lock for the next one down. Jackpot. There was Ashford’s silvery laptop. Ryker dug his hand into his pocket and took out the miniature USB memory drive – about the size of a thumbnail – that he’d pre-loaded with auto-run imaging software. All he had to do was plug the device into the laptop’s USB port, and the documents and data on the hard drive would automatically copy. It wasn’t a forensically sound method of obtaining data that would hold up in court – for that to be the case, a forensic image had to be taken of the hard drive, which would prove no metadata had been tampered with – but then court convictions weren’t Ryker’s objective here, and rarely were. If there was some dirt on Ashford’s laptop, Ryker would find it.

  Ryker slipped the memory drive into place and the pinprick light blinked red twice to show the download had started. The light would blink green when complete. How long that would take depended on the amount of data there was to copy. It could be five minutes, maybe thirty. Ryker would give himself five and then make himself scarce if it wasn’t finished. He could easily slip back later, though he’d prefer to be done in one go.

  Leaving the drawer open, Ryker moved to one of three windows in the office and looked out over the back garden below. He scanned the crowd and found Willoughby chatting to a small group of smartly dressed men and women. As he’d expected, she had the small crowd fully at her beck and call. Clearly she had the charm to back up her looks. Every now and then Ryker spotted her glance toward the house, on the lookout for problems for Ryker, he hoped. So far he’d had no texts or calls from her so could only assume all was clear.

  Ryker kept on studying the guests. No sign of Ashford out back. Ryker moved across the room and to the smaller window on the other side.

  From there, Ryker had a good view to the front side of the house, and just as far as the metal detector at the entrance. He spotted Ashford. His assistant, Carter, too. They were standing on one of the front lawns, just inside the security cordon, talking to a suited man.

  Although smartly dressed, the man didn’t look like the other guests. His suit certainly wasn’t tailored, and he looked drab and rather stoic, with withered features. Law enforcement, was Ryker’s immediate thought.

  Ashford didn’t look too happy by the man’s presence, though every now and then he’d break out into a false smile when a guest walked past.

  Then Ashford glanced up to the window where Ryker was standing. Ryker jerked back.

  After a few seconds, he slowly moved his head back to the window. Ashford was busy with his conversation once again. Ryker let out a long exhale.

  That was when he heard a noise behind him. A creaking floorboard. Someone was coming.

  47

  ‘I thought I made it clear I wanted my attorney present before you came to speak to me again,’ Ashford snapped.

  Klein looked vaguely amused. ‘You mean he’s not here? Didn’t you invite him to your party?’

  Actually he had. Ashford’s attorney was in the garden at that moment, but that was hardly the point. ‘What do you want, Agent Klein. You can see I’m a very busy man.’

  ‘You really are, aren’t you?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I was just passing.’

  ‘No you weren’t.’

  Ashford spotted a woman coming up to them. He turned to see it was Mary Derby, the CEO of one of Louisiana’s biggest energy companies.

  ‘Douglas!’ she called as she hitched up her long dress a couple of inches so it wouldn’t drag on the grass.

  Ashford returned her warm smile despite the bad timing of her approach, and gave her a clumsy hug and a peck on the cheek.

  ‘I’m really sorry to interrupt, Douglas. My nanny just called. The little one is sick. I was hoping to see your speech but I need to shoot.’

  ‘It’s not a problem.’ Ashford tried his best to sound sincere. ‘Your family is more important. I hope she’s okay.’

  Derby looked over at Klein, and there was an awkward moment as Ashford wondered whether he should introduce the two. His instinct was not to but the choice was taken from him when Klein opened his mouth.

  ‘I’m–’

  ‘I know who you are, Agent Klein,’ Derby said. ‘I saw your picture in the paper.

  Ashford felt his cheeks flush and anger sticking in his throat.

  Despite Derby’s course tone toward the FBI agent, she offered her hand to Klein, and he took it and gave a gentle shake. He could only assume Derby’s hostile manner with Klein was due to her own recent past – like many powerful people, she’d fallen foul of scandal-hungry journalists more than once.

  ‘It’s been lovely to see you,’ she said, turning back to Ashford. ‘I’ll be in touch soon about the energy bill. Sorry we didn’t get to talk about it today.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ashford said, though really his position petitioning the government on energy reform was the last thing on his mind.

  Ashford waited until Derby was out of earshot. ‘You can see the embarrassment you’ve already caused me, Agent Klein, with your little trick in the city the other day.’

  ‘Little trick? Strange choice of words for a very serious missing persons investigation, Congressman Ashford. And I can’t control what’s printed in the press.’

  ‘I’m serious, Klein. First the press conference, now my home. And today of all days. I don’t know if you’re intentionally trying to damage my reputation and my career, but you need to be careful if you don’t want a lawsuit slapped on your desk.’

  Klein held up his hands in defence then side stepped, and reached out and grabbed an orange juice from a waiter who was walking past.

  Ashford bit his lip at Klein helping himself uninvited.

  ‘You haven’t asked me how the investigation is going,’ Klein said after taking a sip.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The investigation into Anisa Murillo. I thought you may have been interested to know how it’s going. Instead you seem more concerned about your garden party and your public image.’

  ‘If you’ve got something to say, Agent Klein, then please just say it so we can all get on with our business.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll give you an update seeing as you asked so nicely. As it happens, the investigation is stalling, because although we found traces of blood in her apartment, and evidence of a clean up with some pretty powerful industrial cleaners, we have no information as to what’s happened to her. In my experience, it all points in one direction.’

  ‘Which is what?’

  ‘She’s already dead. She was killed in her apartment and then her body was removed and dumped, and the killer did a pretty good job of cleaning it all up. Which means this should in fact be a murder investigation.’

  ‘I hope you’re not suggesting–’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ Klein snapped, cutting Carter off. ‘Let me backtrack. I said someone has done a pretty good job of cleaning up.’

  ‘Meaning what?’ Ashford asked.

  ‘Meaning forensics have managed to find traces of a third party DNA.’

  ‘They did? That’s surely progress. I’d be happy to offer a sample of my own DNA so you can officially eliminate me from this inquiry.’

  ‘Oh, that won’t be necessary. I already cross-checked and it’s not you.’

  ‘What? How? My DNA isn’t on record,’ Ashford blurted. Belatedly, he realised he shouldn’t push Klein too hard if the man was now trying to say he didn’t think Ashford was
involved.

  Klein just smiled and Ashford could only assume the FBI had snagged his DNA somehow without him knowing – was that even legal? Regardless, it was a worry. Just what was their real line of investigation here?

  ‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up, Agent Klein,’ Carter said. ‘I think it’s time you left now. The Congressman has an important speech to make in a few minutes.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that already.’ Klein’s gaze was still fixed on Ashford. ‘I’ll tell you where I’m at, Congressman. I don’t think you killed Anisa Murillo.’

  ‘That’s because I didn’t. And you don’t even know she’s dead!’

  ‘But you did lie to me about not knowing her the last time we spoke. And I still don’t know why.’

  Ashford said nothing.

  ‘Which is a very intriguing position, don’t you think?’

  ‘Intriguing is not the word I’d use.’

  ‘Mr Congressman, we really do need to go,’ Carter said, leaning over.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Klein said. ‘You go. I’ve plenty to do myself.’

  ‘You can stay a while,’ Ashford said. ‘If you want.’

  The brief moment of silence as both Klein and Carter stood wondering what to make of the proposition seemed to go on for an age. Ashford certainly didn’t want Klein at his home, but the way he saw it, inviting him to stay was the courteous thing to do. More importantly, it might even help his own position if his guests were to see he’d invited the FBI agent to the event. After all, everyone there had seen the newspaper headlines. Perhaps if they believed Klein to be just another acquaintance then their whispers and rumours would quickly hush.

  ‘Thank you,’ Klein said. ‘It’s kind of you to offer, but I really do need to go.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Ashford said. He reached out to shake hands with Klein.

  ‘But just one more thing,’ Klein said as he took Ashford’s hand. ‘About your reputation. I know that’s very important to you, Congressman. So perhaps you should be more careful of the company you keep from now on.’