by L. T. Ryan
So he walked on. Past cabin after cabin. He followed the road until he came to the stretch that led to his home for the night. He saw the pickup, parked where it had been. The muffler ticked, like its owner had taken it out recently. People did that, he reminded himself. They go out. Just like he had.
He looked up, toward the cabin. The light was on. Had Essie risen? Maybe the guy had gone in to check on her and left the light on? Why would he, though? Perhaps Essie had heard him, figured the guy for Paolo, and called out for help. The man should have come and picked him up from the bar if that was the case. Before leaving, Paolo decided he needed to have a talk with that guy.
He hurried toward the door, which he noticed was open a foot. Paolo refrained from calling out for his sister. He stopped on the porch, reached down, pulled a knife from the ankle holster.
From inside, it sounded like someone was panting. Slowly, Paolo stepped through the door. He saw the man on the floor. A pool of blood surrounding him. Even though he hadn't said anything, the guy looked back, hands up, in view. They were covered in blood.
"You son of a bitch," Paolo shouted as he lunged toward the guy.
The man's eyes widened. He looked scared. Not like a killer. But it was too late. Paolo whipped his arm around and plunged the knife into the guy's neck, slicking the carotid. A stream of blood sprayed across the wall, curtains, ceiling and floor. It slowed to a heartbeat-driven trickle as the man bled out. He collapsed to the floor, and fell backward on the body of his-
"That's not Essie," Paolo muttered.
He rushed toward the bathroom and flung the door open. She wasn't there. Ran back into the room; ripped the sheets of the bed. Checked underneath. There was no closet, or any other rooms.
"Essie?"
No answer.
He said it again, louder.
Still no answer.
He went to the doorway, yelled it.
She still didn't answer.
He turned back to the carnage in the room. Two men dead; one by his hand. The other man was the guy from the first cabin. The guy who promised to check on his sister. Someone had killed him. And that someone had Essie now.
Who?
The answer was obvious to Paolo.
Charles.
He grabbed their bags, securing his pistol, left the cabin, and rushed to the vehicle.
And without hesitation, he turned toward New York when he reached the road.
Chapter 56
France.
IT TOOK LONGER than it should have for one of Pierre's associates to locate the Audi. After driving west for three hours, the trio of Bear, Pierre and Kat's mother had to double-back ninety minutes to reach the crash site.
Shattered glass littered the site. All that remained of the vehicle. Bear stood at the edge of the road, looking out over the valley, his knees pushing against the guardrail. He didn't feel the hollowness in the pit of his stomach, not because of the heights at least. His concern over Mandy outweighed that.
Pierre joined him at his side.
"Any news?" Bear asked.
"Even the report of the Audi is gone now."
"What's that mean?"
Pierre offered his phone. Bear took it, glanced down at the pictures of the vehicle. To call it totaled was an insult.
"They managed to get these for us," Pierre said. "But now everything is gone. The police report. Witness information. All of it."
"How does that just disappear?" Bear said, pointing at the images on the phone's screen.
Pierre said nothing.
"Where's the closest hospital?" Bear asked.
"They aren't there."
"What?"
"I… My people checked already."
"They could be a part of this, man. Don't you see that? How else would they know your every move?"
Pierre shrugged as he looked down and kicked rubble aside with his foot. "Lots of agencies are capable of that. My people, they would come for me if that was their intention. Not a young woman and child."
"I want to go to the hospital."
"We'll just be wasting time."
"As opposed to what? What do we have to go on?" Bear turned and took a few steps forward. "Not a damn thing, that's what. Your people could be lying. I'm not satisfied until we check it out ourselves."
A moment later, Pierre caught up to him. "We have to take Kat's mother someplace secure. Foul play cannot be ruled out here. And I can't put it past these people going after extended family."
"Fortunately I don't have any of that."
"Neither do I." Pierre moved forward. "But Kat does, and we have to protect her mother."
Bear studied the woman in the back of the car. Distraught didn't begin to describe her. She had been unwilling to exit when they'd arrived at the crash site. Didn't want to accept it, he figured. Neither did he. And he hadn't.
Mandy was somewhere. And he'd reach her. Somehow.
Chapter 57
Johannesburg, South Africa.
IF ANY DOUBT remained about whether Jack was still in the ghetto, it was answered now. The building's hallways were littered with beer cans, liquor bottles, cigarette butts, and broken glass. Half the lights were out. The ones working cast a depression-inducing yellow haze across the dull walls and puke-green carpet. It was quiet, though. An observation that might lead some to conclude that the residents held down day jobs. Jack figured most of them were still passed out from the previous night's activities.
He positioned himself at the other end of the hallway he entered from the alley. He gave the guy four minutes, at most, to step inside. After that, Jack had no plan other than to wait for the man to traverse the length of the hall. Then he'd strike with hopes of neutralizing the guy and getting him to speak.
A baby cried from within one of the nearby apartments. Jack tuned it out. Did the same with the mother yelling at the infant to shut up.
The seconds continued to pass with no activity from the other end of the hallway. Was waiting a mistake? The man could use the extra time to call in backup. If enough of them were out looking for Jack, there could be another team close by. They'd seal him inside the building.
The lingering effects of the tranquillizer clouded his thoughts, and he wasn't sure which ones to trust. What of his physical abilities? If it came down to it, could he face the man, or worse, two or more of them? He could barely run ten steps without feeling like he was going to careen head-first to the ground. He still lost feeling in his hands and feet. Muscles still burned as though a fire raged within his body.
He had to run. There was no other choice. For now, at least. Get away, off the grid, and recuperate. Then figure out what the hell was going on.
The baby had silenced. The woman in the apartment wept. One instinct told him to kick down the door and find out what happened. Another dragged him further down the hall, away from the alley. The path felt like a maze, forcing him to turn right and left and right again. As long as he continued forward, he knew he'd reach an exit. Of course, it could be the same one he had entered through. The ultimate irony. Walking into the waiting arms of his assailant-to-be.
He turned a corner and came face to face with a man he'd seen a few minutes before. Big, bald head. Goatee littered with gray.
The man's eyes widened. He drew his arm back, then lunged forward.
Jack dodged, but not far enough. He took the blow on the ear, sending him into a spin. As he looked over his shoulder, the bald man threw another punch. Jack dropped to a squat. The blow missed overhead. Jack delivered an elbow to the man's midsection, bowing the guy back. He followed the move with a reverse head butt to the top of the guy's forehead.
A dull thud was followed by the sound of the man hitting the floor.
Jack jumped on top of him. Delivered two more strikes to the man's face.
"Who are you? Who the hell do you work for?"
The man's eyes fluttered and rolled back. Jack backhanded him.
"Answer me."
"Screw you."<
br />
A door slammed behind them. Jack looked back, expecting to see the other guy from the car.
There was no one.
He felt a hand around his throat. Then another. They tightened and cut off his air supply.
Jack drove his thumbs into the guy's eyes. Then he worked his leg forward and pressed his knee down on the man's neck.
Who would last longest came down to each man's cardiovascular conditioning. And right now, Jack didn't trust his.
Down to his last few seconds, Jack withdrew his thumbs from the guy's eye sockets and grabbed the sides of the man's head. Then he exerted force on each side, one high, the other low, and snapped the man's neck.
The hands released and fell to the ground.
Jack searched his clothes. Found nothing but a cell phone. He looked back at the empty hallway. Where was the shooter from outside? He had no plans on waiting to see if the guy was in the building. Jack continued down the hall until he reached a set of double doors that led outside.
Jack crept toward the exit, cautiously, scanning the street for signs of familiarity. They were everywhere, and nowhere. It looked the same as the one he had been on when he spotted the small car and the driver staring at him. Yet, it wasn't the same. The signs on the buildings were different. The faces on the stoops didn't match. He stopped at the door, pressing his face against the glass to see as far as possible down both sides of the street. He looked for the car or the man or a clone of either. It wouldn't change much if he spotted one. As far as he knew, there were two ways out of the building. One was most likely covered. Perhaps this one was too. He'd have to face it at some point. Might as well be now.
He shoved the door forward. It didn't budge. Jack tried a second time and received the same results. There was no obvious lock. No reason it shouldn't open. He took a couple steps back, ready to kick the glass, and noticed a green button mounted to the wall a few inches to the right of the doors. He pressed it, and the magnetic lock released, and he eased the door open and stepped out onto the street.
It smelled the same here as it did on the other side of the building. The breeze continued to push chilled air around. A patch of clouds obstructed the sun providing welcome relief to Jack's light sensitive eyes. One of the lingering effects of the drugs used to sedate him.
He glanced up and down the street. To the left, buildings lined the street with no obvious breaks between them. Right offered him the quickest routes of escape. There were two alleys and an intersection all within a couple hundred feet. But he didn't go in either direction. Instead, he crossed the street toward a light blue compact, idling on the opposite curb. The driver tapped on his steering wheel in time with a song Jack couldn't hear. He approached the vehicle from the rear, using the natural blind spot to surprise the driver. It worked. The man didn't flinch until after Jack grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. He wasn't old, nor was he young. Not fat. Not skinny. Just an average guy. And though Jack couldn't feel the impact due to his numb hands, the punch he threw knocked the guy out.
BRETT MADE THE decision to move while Jack's tracking signal had remained motionless. Like a texting driver, he glanced from his phone's screen to the road and back again. When the dot started moving, it didn't concern him too much. Alterations to his route could be made when he reached the area. But when it took off at a rate of speed similar to his own, Brett watched the phone's screen more than the road in front of him. If it hadn't been for the aware driver with right-of-way to the intersection honking his horn, it might not have mattered where Jack ended up.
He slammed on his brakes. Came to a stop underneath the traffic lights. Drivers turned as they passed, shaking their heads. Brett watched for a second, then turned his attention back to his phone. Noble had almost slipped off the screen. Brett zoomed out and adjusted the map so that Noble was centered. The man was driving away
"It's all right," he muttered. "Just keep him in your sights."
Simple, really.
Hopefully.
JACK KEPT HIS speed within the legal limit as he drove away from the building. Getting stopped was never a good thing. And considering he had no idea who had shot at him, or who they worked for, showing up on anyone's radar at this juncture would lead to his death.
Almost at the point where Jack thought he was getting away, the small vehicle appeared. The man spotted Jack as the two cars passed one another. Their eyes locked for a brief second, after which Jack pressed the accelerator to the floor and the other man slammed on his brake and violently whipped the small car around in the middle of the road. Before the vehicle completed its arc, Jack turned hard right at the first intersection. The tires fought to maintain their grip. He slid into the other lane, facing oncoming traffic in the form of a box truck being trailed by a couple sedans. Jack turned hard against the slide. The back end of the car fishtailed, sending him on an uncontrollable course to the oncoming truck.
"Dammit," he shouted. He knew better than to turn away from a slide. The sedative he'd been shot with had left him in such a mental state that he'd argue down was up if given the chance. That didn't matter, though. What did was the large truck bearing down on him, honking its horn, obviously because it wouldn't be able to stop in time. The driver tried. Hydraulic brakes worked hard, but there was nothing they could do to slow down five tons of machine.
Jack eased off the gas, let go of the steering wheel momentarily, then regained control of it, turning into the spin. In a matter of seconds, he corrected the vehicle and straightened. The truck's driver covered his face with his arms. Jack swerved out of the way at the last second.
There wasn't time to relax, though. Glancing back, Jack saw the small car. The man had already caught up.
The rear window burst into a thousand tiny shards.
The man wasn't intent on chasing. He was going to kill Jack no matter what. If he was crazy enough to fire from a moving vehicle, then he'd probably be willing to run his car into Jack's.
Distance. He had to get some, quickly. Problem was, the vehicle couldn't go any faster.
Jack made a hard left, managing this time to keep from losing control, while hoping the other driver wouldn't be so lucky. But the guy was. He didn't miss a beat. Stayed as close. And he hadn't fired again. Why? What if the guy wasn't trying to kill Jack, only get his attention?
There was that foggy thinking again. Keep pushing forward, Jack told himself, unsure how it would work out.
Street signs passed by in a blur. Not that it mattered. The city was a mystery. He had no idea of its layout. He could have been driving straight into a maze of traffic, or heading out to the country. Either would suffice.
After five minutes, the road widened, adding lanes. He saw signs for what appeared to be an interstate. Cars crowded the right lane. Jack stayed to the left, with the other man close behind, seemingly willing to wait it out. Only reasonable explanation was that he had informed his chain of command and been told to do so. The downside meant that there'd be more people on the way soon.
The on ramp approached. A line of vehicles moved at a snail's pace.
Jack gunned the engine and swerved in between two vehicles, cutting across perpendicular, passing in front of a minivan that clipped his rear fender. The car shimmied, but Jack maintained control. He scraped against one of the cars turning onto the on-ramp, then pulled over a few feet and raced down the shoulder toward the highway. Glancing back through the rear view, he saw no signs that he'd been followed.
It wouldn't last. The other guy would recoup soon enough.
BRETT PULLED INTO an abandoned parking lot. All that remained of the structure it butted up to was a concrete foundation with grass and weeds growing up through thick cracks.
The distance between him and Jack had grown to a point where he had to zoom out further to ensure he didn't lose him. Studying the map, he attempted to determine where the man was headed. How well did Noble know the city? Better than Brett? Wouldn't be difficult, as this was Brett's first visit to the co
untry.
Noble was on Metropolitan 1, heading south, out of the city. From there, if he remained on the freeway, he'd either take Route 82, or merge onto 12 and then take that southwest, or 1 south. 12 appeared to be the more rural route of the two, and Brett figured that's where Jack would go.
So instead of heading east to follow Jack, Brett went west, merged onto the N1 western bypass, and then south, in hopes of intercepting the man.
DRIVING BLIND IS no way to drive, Jack thought. But he had little choice. With no idea who was after him, or how many there were, he had to keep moving. Drive until you can't drive anymore.
Was it the best option?
Perhaps. At the moment, at least. Every minute that passed led to him thinking a little clearer. Another reason to push forward. Soon enough, he'd be operating with clarity, and his decisions would be the right ones. He'd come far enough to realize that.
Searching the glove box, he found a roadmap. He unfolded it and scanned until he determined his approximate location by finding Hillsbrow and then the nearest freeway. The signs which had made little sense at the time now appeared fully realized in his mind's eye. He was southbound on Metropolitan 1. From there, he had a few choices. Away from the city was his best option, and there were two routes that would allow him to travel unrestricted. One went due south, but judging by the map, it intersected with several other cities. That might lead to traffic, which meant he'd slow down and whoever was chasing could catch up.
That left one option. National 12. The freeway would buy him enough time to figure out his next move.
BRETT SNATCHED UP his cell and answered on the second ring.
"Update?" Ballard asked.
"He's on the move."
"Are you on his tail?"