by J. B. Turner
Stone picked up the bike, turned it around, and gunned it down the street, not bothering to look back.
Fifty-Five
Three minutes later, Hudson’s cell phone rang. She stared at her computer showing the feed from the dead operative’s crash helmet. She felt strangely disengaged, blood spilling into sight.
“Catherine, you need to get out of there,” Thomson said.
“What?”
“My guy just got taken out. Didn’t you see that?”
“Yes, I saw it. Of course. I’m watching it.”
“That’s why you need to move. Protocol.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t answer to you.”
“I’m acting on instructions from Black. I’ve got him waiting on the line to talk to you. Now!”
Hudson couldn’t seem to get a handle on the nightmare that was unfolding. “The Director? I’m sorry, where are you?”
“Parking garage downstairs.”
“Here?”
“Doral. Yes. So, you need to get out of there. And I’ve been tasked with getting you back home immediately.”
Hudson closed her eyes, not knowing what to do. “Why doesn’t the Director contact me directly?”
“Why don’t you speak to him yourself? I’ve got him waiting on the line.”
“What, now?”
“Right now. Better get a move on, don’t keep him waiting.”
Hudson’s mind was racing. She quickly locked up and headed down in the elevator to the parking garage. She saw Reg leaning out of a silver Audi, signaling her. As she approached the car, she glanced in the back window. Sitting in the back seat were a woman and a swarthy middle-aged man wearing a black jacket.
Her blood ran cold. What the hell?
For a split second she was thrown by it all.
Hudson slid into the front passenger seat and buckled up. Thomson buckled up in the driver’s seat.
Reg cocked his head toward the guy in the back seat. “This is one of my colleagues.”
Hudson turned, but it wasn’t to look at the man. She’d recognized the woman next to him from a photo she’d seen on LinkedIn. “What the hell is this, Becky? Thought you were State Department.”
Hudson’s old friend smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, there was no time. I was hoping to meet up with you and explain things. You probably guessed I’m not State Department.”
“Yeah, I gathered that. So what’s going on?”
Becky pointed to Reg, who was holding up a cell phone. “Boss is on the line. You might want to talk to him first.”
Reg handed her the phone.
Hudson cleared her throat. “Sir?”
“Catherine . . . we thought it best to get you out of there while we can.”
“Sir, this is most irregular.”
“The events that have transpired are most irregular. We needed to act. I believe your old friend Becky is with you.”
“Yes, sir. Would’ve been nice to be introduced earlier.”
“That had been the plan.”
“You knew about this?”
“Yes, I did.”
Hudson was startled. He had misled her. But why?
“Becky will be joining your team. She will be working with you to clear this up.”
“Working with me? Sir, with respect—”
“You’ve taken on a great deal, and I know you’ve had a hell of a time on this. We want to spread the load.”
Hudson felt as if she’d been hit by a truck. She decided it was best, on reflection, to suck it up for the time being. “If that’s what’s deemed best, I can handle that.”
“She’s very good. She’s worked in Europe for at least a decade.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to penetrate a foreign intelligence network within the UK. But I believe her skills could augment your own.”
Hudson seethed. “I don’t understand why we’re getting out of Miami. What will that prove?”
“Listen, Catherine—”
“I know it’s a terrible situation—”
“That’s where you’re wrong. This is not just a terrible situation. It’s intolerable. And we need to take action. We need to secure our assets. In particular you.”
“But I thought it was important to stick around until we tracked Stone down.” Hudson glanced at Thomson, who was staring ahead as he drove onto the highway, headed north.
“Catherine,” the Director said, “I can’t have you compromised by being there while this all goes down. I don’t want the Feds or police throwing up a dragnet and inadvertently pulling you into this mess. I can’t have that.”
Hudson could see that it made sense, no matter how tough a pill it was to swallow. “Sir, I’m sorry. I’m responsible for this.”
“There will be a full debrief when you and Becky get back to see me. We’re going to start fresh. New ideas. I’ll talk to you in a few hours. Reg and one of his guys will accompany you and Becky on the flight.”
“A flight to where?”
“We’ve got a facility not far from Orlando. We’re assembling a new team to work on this around the clock with you.”
“A new team? What new team?”
But Black was already gone.
It was surreal boarding the Gulfstream with Becky, Thomson, and the surly British operator, whose name she hadn’t been told. Hudson and Becky made small talk during the bumpy flight. Becky knocked back two whisky and sodas and was deeply apologetic about not having been in touch and not being able to divulge her work. Hudson felt nauseous and popped a migraine tablet, washed down with a Diet Coke.
The Gulfstream touched down at an airfield nestled in some scrub twenty miles outside Orlando.
An SUV with tinted windows was waiting for them.
Hudson was shown to the passenger seat. Thomson got in the driver’s seat as Becky got in the back, the man in the black jacket directly behind Hudson. She turned to Thomson. “So, where to now? I’m exhausted.”
“Not far. A few miles from here. It’s a nice facility. It’s like a five-star hotel. You’ll like it.”
Hudson was surprised Reg knew about the secret facility. Had he been briefed by Black?
Thomson buckled up and glanced in his rearview mirror. “We all set?”
Becky’s cell phone began to ring. “I’m sorry, this is a source of mine in London. I need to step out for two minutes to speak to her. Looks like an emergency.”
Hudson rolled her eyes and sighed. “And this isn’t? Sure. Whatever.”
Becky got out of the SUV. Hudson watched her turn and walk back toward the Cessna, still parked on the runway. She felt uncomfortable as Thomson stared straight ahead.
He pulled out his phone. “Goddamn,” he said.
“What?”
“Your boss wants to talk to me this fucking minute. This is getting ridiculous. I’ll be right back.” He got out the car, slamming the door behind him.
Hudson watched him disappear from sight in the rearview mirror, phone pressed to his ear.
There was a long silence before the guy behind her eventually spoke. His accent was well-educated English. “We’ll find Stone, don’t worry. We’ll get that bastard. This is personal now.”
Hudson turned around and smiled. “I’m sorry about that. Who was the guy on the bike?”
“An old friend of mine from my SAS days.”
Hudson sighed. A few moments later Thomson returned, but he came around to the passenger side. She rolled down the window to speak to him.
“Your friend is being summoned back by the big chief,” he said.
Hudson’s head felt woozy; the migraine was worse than she thought. “What? Now? Are you kidding me? Seriously?” Her words echoed in her head as if she were underground. Her vision seemed strange too. In and out of focus. This wasn’t the sort of migraine she usually got. “What the hell?”
Thomson shrugged. “Look, I’m going to smooth this out with Black.”
“Yeah, do that.”
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He walked away and she rolled up the window.
Hudson looked in the rearview mirror. Everything was becoming fuzzier. She screwed up her eyes and thought she saw the Cessna door being shut. Slowly, the plane began to trundle down the runway. “What’s going on? Are they leaving? Without me?”
The man in the back said, “Just getting the plane ready to take Becky back to DC, I guess.”
Hudson felt as if her thoughts were congealing. She couldn’t think straight. She began to feel strange. Sleepy. Then she felt sick. She watched the plane nearly disappear from view as it headed toward the far end of the runway, about a mile away.
“I don’t feel well,” Hudson said. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She tried to look around but couldn’t. “I said I feel sick.”
The man in the back was speaking to her, but the words were echoing, in slow motion. She felt as if she were sinking into a black hole.
Hudson’s foggy mind tried to pinpoint what was wrong. And then it struck her. She had been poisoned. Or drugged. It had happened so quickly once she got into the car.
She began to panic.
Despite the swirling colors and shapes and forms merging and mingling into a terrible vision, she got some words out. “I think I’m going to be sick!”
The guy behind her loomed in her peripheral vision, as if checking whether she was okay. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Thomson on the phone as the plane took off in the background. It dawned on her that she was going to be killed. Drugged and killed.
Hudson felt a primitive fear grip her. Adrenaline raced through her body. She needed to run. Where? Anywhere. Now. “I’m going to be sick outside,” she said.
She reached for the handle, flung open the door, and ran in a blind panic for the woods.
Hudson’s first step on the tarmac got traction. She began to run. Faster than she’d ever run. She didn’t look back. She just ran. She was a good runner. She was wearing sneakers. Thank Christ for sneakers.
Muffled shouts emanated from behind her. Echoing in her petrified mind. She heard more shouts. Reg. Screaming. Hollering.
Her breathing was all she could make out for a few moments. Her vision was fading in both eyes. Narrowing her view. Her sight was going.
She was in the woods. Trees. Tripping. She was being pursued.
“Catherine!” Thomson’s voice was like a dark whisper in her head.
She stumbled again. She got to her feet, her legs wobbling. She began to cry. Colors and shapes merged and collided in her vision as she careened out of control. Heart pumping to the max. Breathing frantic. Closing in. Need to escape. Think. Run. Escape.
She slid through a muddy trail, tasting tears, feeling the drug in her system that was slowly but surely overpowering her. She needed to get to safety until the drugs wore off.
She stumbled through a brook and fell flat on her back. Mud and blood smeared her remaining vision. It was the same sensation as when a skiing accident had resulted in a detached retina in her left eye. Now she was feeling the same loss of sight in both eyes.
She got to her feet and immediately slammed into a low tree branch. Tasted blood. She fell again. Mud. Shouts behind her. Every second. Every second she needed to run. Until her heart burst.
The earth was shaking as she ran through the dark woods.
“Catherine!” The chilling voice of Reg’s accomplice echoed around her. She sensed he was very close. “What’s wrong, Catherine?”
She felt the men closing in. But she didn’t dare look around. They were there behind her. Twenty yards away. Maybe less. Virtually on top of her. She sensed her life was coming to an end. Fight! Fight, goddamn it!
Up ahead she saw a chink of light through the twisted branches and foliage. She ran, panting, screaming, gasping.
Then she was skidding down a muddy embankment on her backside. The light was closer now and she ran toward it. Faster and faster. Run! Faster. Don’t stop!
Suddenly, as if in slow motion, she tripped and her face smashed into gravel. She tried to lift her head, to see where she was, but blood smeared her vision.
Dear God in heaven, forgive me. Forgive me, Lord. Forgive them all.
For a moment her vision cleared, and Hudson realized in that split second where she was.
All alone, lying on a railroad track, a freight train coming straight at her. She closed her eyes, tasting tears, as she turned her head and took one final look up at the darkness, waiting and praying for the skies to open.
Fifty-Six
The sun was winking across the horizon when Stone left the crummy motel just south of Miami where he’d spent the night. He had ditched the motorcycle and the gym clothes but kept the Adidas backpack. He paid for the motel in cash and drove away in a car he had stolen a few hours earlier.
He headed south and dialed the cell phone he had given Beatrice.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded strong and clear.
“Where are you?” Stone asked.
“Some place in North Carolina, on the highway.”
“North Carolina? Nice place.”
“Is it? So, where are you?”
“Florida. Are you okay?”
“Okay? I’m fine. Alive. But I’ve been going out of my mind. You said you’d call in an hour. Why didn’t you call?”
“Long story.”
“Tell me about it?”
“I will.”
“So, why did you want me to head to New York?”
“I wanted you out of Miami. And I needed you to drop off the grid for a little while. After you left, I neutralized one of the guys who followed us up from Key West.”
Beatrice lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you kidding me? You’re killing again? When will this end?”
“It’s over. For now. I promise.”
“But I need to talk to my family. I need to be with them. I need to work. I need to live. I need money.”
“I know all those things.”
“So why the hell are you sending me to New York?”
“I want you to do me one last favor.”
“Unbelievable. What kind of favor?”
“First, tell me: What part of the bus are you in?”
“I’m right at the back. I was going to try and get some sleep.”
“Is there anyone near you?”
“Six seats away.”
“Perfect. Now, listen to me very closely. Open the backpack, making sure no one sees you open it.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. Careful. And have a look inside.”
There was silence for a minute. Eventually, Beatrice came back on the line. “What the fuck is this?” she whispered.
“It’s for you. It’s for your family.”
“Are you kidding?”
Stone felt his throat tighten. “No. I’m not kidding. It’s yours.”
“There’s literally,” she whispered, “goddamn hundred-dollar bills. Thousands of them.”
Stone smiled. “I know.”
“What the hell is this?”
“It’s all yours.”
“You’re scaring me, Jimmy. What the hell is this?”
“It’s yours. Keep it.”
“It’s blood money?”
“Some might call it that. I wouldn’t. Neither should you. Don’t look at it like that.”
“Why? Why are you doing this?”
“Atonement.”
“Atonement? Atonement for what?”
Stone sighed. “For everything I’ve done over the years.”
“How much is in there?”
“Three million dollars. Nonsequential bills.”
“Fuck off. Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Stone felt his grin widening by the second. “You’ve been to hell and back. For me it was just a bad few days.”
“Why are you doing this? Is this a religious conversion?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“How did you get so much money?”
“What are you going to do for money?”
“I’ve got money. Enough to get by on. Don’t worry about that. Besides, I’m low maintenance.”
Beatrice started to weep. “I just went to Miami for a goddamn audition.”
Stone sighed. “I guess you got the part.”
Beatrice sighed. “What are you going to do now?”
“Disappear for a while. What about you?”
Beatrice began to cry. “What about me?”
“What are you going to do?” Stone asked.
“I want to see my daughter. Maybe get us a nicer apartment. But I’m worried that they will be waiting.”
“I don’t think they will be.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s over. And hopefully with that money you can start again.”
Beatrice sniffed. “No one’s ever been nice to me. No one. Why are you being nice to me?”
“We all need somebody, right?”
Beatrice said, “Jimmy . . .”
“By the way, my name’s not Jimmy.”
“It’s not? But I’ve been calling you Jimmy since I met you.”
Stone chuckled.
“Well I’ll be damned.”
“I hope you understand why I couldn’t tell you.”
“What is it? I mean, what’s your real name? I’d like to know.”
“Maybe one day.”
“When?”
Stone sighed. “Beatrice, is that your real name?”
“Yeah.”
“Beatrice, it’s been a blast.”
“It sure has.”
“Maybe we’ll meet up again one day. Then I’ll tell you my real name.”
Beatrice sobbed and laughed at the same time. “Jimmy, or whatever your name is, I’d like that. That’d be nice.”
“You take care,” Stone said, and hung up.
Epilogue
Three days later, William Black was staring out of the window of a Cessna en route to Kabul when the phone on the armrest rang. He picked up the secure line. “Black,” he said.
“Sir, I was told to call you.” The voice belonged to CIA officer Becky McFarlane.