by Matt Hilton
I took out my knife as I set off along the vestibule, timing my breathing with my steps. On my right I saw a double door that led into the large dining room. I ignored it, continued, and found myself in an entry hall near the front of the house. On my left was a stairway that switched back on itself twice where it met the landings of the upper storeys. There was a man dressed not unlike the one I’d killed outside. His suit was grey, and his shoes buffed to a bright gleam. His hair was so short that his scalp showed through at the crown. He was cleanly shaven. The hands that fiddled at the edges of a newspaper were well manicured. He was the meet-and-greet guy, but also the one who halted any unwanted visitors who made it through the gates. The Galil machine gun hanging from the arm of his chair told me so.
Before moving on him, I listened. There were the sounds of activity further to my left, floorboards creaked overhead, somewhere deeper in the house I heard a buzz of conversation but I couldn’t make out what was being said. One voice momentarily rose in volume, and I guessed that would be Kurt Hendrickson making his position known. No one other than the door guard was in close proximity. I strode across the floor. The man wasn’t hard-wired to expect an attack from within. In fact, he glanced at me, and my unfamiliar face didn’t at first register. By the time he did a double take, I was in position. I clamped my left hand over his mouth, stuck my Ka-bar under his ear and rammed upwards. I lifted him bodily out of the chair, resting his weight against my chest to stop his heels drumming on the hardwood planks. The newspaper fluttered to the floor. He died within seconds and not a sound announced my presence. I dragged the man across the hall and pushed him deep inside a closet, wiped my knife on his suit. Next I backtracked, straightening the rucked carpet and settling his chair, I slung the Galil over my shoulder; maybe I’d need it if things went to shit.
The sounds of conversation drifted to me again. The voice I’d assumed belonged to Hendrickson had grown louder, like he wasn’t a happy man. If I had my way, his day would go even further downhill. I followed the voice. The house was best described as rambling. Beyond the entrance hall was another staircase. A second vestibule — this one with low ceilings and doors barely taller than I was — led into the central portion of the house, where I guessed there’d be a kitchen: that was where the raised voice originated. I scanned the other end of the house. Someone walked along a corridor and into a room, closing the door behind them. In the brief moment I’d seen the figure, I noted that it was a woman. Ignoring her, I turned quickly down the narrow vestibule towards the source of the voice.
In my earpiece Harvey whispered, ‘Status?’
‘Two down. I’m heading to the back of the house. You think you can set up out there and cover for me if needs be?’
‘On my way,’ he said.
OK, so he wasn’t Rink, but Harvey was proving himself just fine.
I recalled the cars outside, tried to estimate the number of men inside the house. It wasn’t easy because I didn’t know how many of those cars belonged to Hendrickson and which belonged to his visitors. Basically, I had to err on the side of caution. Expect more enemies to come at me and any fewer would be a help. The corridor was like something from Through the Looking Glass, seemingly growing progressively narrower and lower of ceiling as I traversed it. It took me a moment to understand that the floor was a steady ramp towards the door at the far end; a quirk of the architecture. Doors on my right were locked. I gripped my knife loosely and went on, conscious that should anyone enter the corridor behind me then I was a sitting duck.
I allowed the door to swing open under its own weight, and found a kitchen area beyond. From a side room sounded a soft clink of pots and pans. I moved quickly, swerved around a food preparation counter, and approached the annexe room. Standing with her back to me was an elderly woman in a dull grey uniform of skirt and jacket, black stockings and black shoes. She sported a pudding basin haircut. As long as it wasn’t Rosa Klebb I didn’t deem her a threat, so silently closed the door behind her and bolted it to keep her out of harm’s way. I went back across the kitchen, by-passing the large island in the middle, and approached a different door from the one I’d entered by. It was shut, but from beyond it came the voices I’d been following, too indistinct to make out words. I eased the door open.
There’s an old saying: don’t take a knife to a gunfight. Good advice. I pulled out my SIG and transferred the Ka-bar to my belt. Taking one last glance at the door I’d recently shut, checking that Rosa Klebb wasn’t standing behind me ready to reveal a stiletto blade in the toe of her shoe, I was happy that I was unobserved. This was about the most foolhardy thing I’d done in a long time. Even crazier than the risk I’d taken to release Rink from his captors. I was about to descend into a basement below a house full of armed men. For all I knew the space beneath could become my tomb. But I didn’t let that put me off.
Maybe when the Tudor hall was reconstructed here it had been erected upon the foundations of an older structure, because I found myself descending into what once might have been a root cellar. The Galil was cumbersome, so I propped it against the wall so that it didn’t knock on the stone and give me away. The stones that supported the floors above were age-worn, grimy with smoke from old kerosene lamps and candles. Still, the steps had been replaced with new ones of preformed concrete, smooth underfoot. I went down them with barely a whisper of my soles on the treads. At the bottom was a sturdy door, more like something you’d find in a bank vault than in an ordinary cellar. Luckily it had already been unlocked. The door stood ajar, little more than a hand’s span, but it was enough for me now to hear three distinct voices. The one I assumed belonged to Hendrickson had calmed since earlier, but it still held a dominating edge.
‘The point,’ Hendrickson said, ‘is that you came highly recommended. I’m paying you a fortune, but you’re still no further ahead than you were three fucking days ago!’
There was the scuff of a shoe, someone moving uncomfortably as they jostled to reinstate their importance. I heard Baron’s insipid drawl. ‘We were too late in Maine. Hunter must have figured out that we were going to make a try at his girlfriend. When the team I sent for her arrived, they were ambushed. Two of them were killed and Imogen was whisked away in an airplane. I hardly think that it’s a failing on my part if she gave us the slip.’
A wash of relief went through me. It sounded like Hartlaub and Brigham had come through for me, and for Imogen. The relief was only momentary, replaced by cold fury as I realised how close to danger Imogen had been placed again. It made me more determined to end things.
I wasn’t the only one who was furious. Hendrickson shouted. ‘A fucking failing on your part? Considering he’d no way of knowing you were going after her, I can’t see how Hunter could have guessed. You must have fucked up. Simple as that!’
‘Sir, with due respect, I hardly think that Baron’s to blame.’ The third voice struck me. A tiny part of me had hoped that it would be Tubal Cain himself. To take them all out in one swirl of violence would have suited me. Yet, another part — one I can only describe as fear — warned that if Cain was inside that room, then I’d taken on more than I could handle. I was pleasantly surprised to hear the voice of Charters, the arsehole whose arm I’d broken.
‘Did I ask for your opinion? No. So shut the fuck up!’ Hendrickson turned his ire back on Baron. ‘You made a fucking mess of everything, Baron. Sigmund’s death is going to cause me real problems in the days ahead. I’m beginning to think that I should’ve left everything well alone, trusted in the courts to sort things as usual. My attorneys would have ripped Telfer to shreds and I’d have walked free. With Sigmund’s sudden disappearance, though, my fall-back plan will fail.’
Reading between the lines, he meant he’d have ensured that Petoskey carried all the shit for him. In real terms, John had worked for Petoskey, not Hendrickson, so I didn’t doubt he’d already made plans to disassociate himself from any connections to my brother. He had been behind the hit men who had chased John, b
ut I made myself a silent wager that Petoskey would have carried the can for that too.
Baron said, ‘It was a totally unforeseen incident. Who could’ve guessed that Hunter would’ve achieved what he did?’
‘Broke my fucking arm…’ Charters began, but his words petered out and I assumed he’d received a filthy look from his bosses.
‘You deserve more than a broken arm,’ Hendrickson spat. ‘From what I hear, it was your knife that Hunter got his hands on. Maybe I’m blaming the wrong person for the entire fuck-up?’
‘No, sir,’ Baron interjected on Charters’ behalf. ‘I accept responsibility for that. And, yes, as you’ve pointed out, you are paying me a fortune for a thoroughly professional service. I’m sorry for what has gone before, but I promise you: I will not fail again.’
I pictured Hendrickson’s face, dark with anger. Metaphorically, he would be like a pot simmering on a stove, but the flames had just been turned down. I heard him exhale loudly, then there was a metallic clunk. ‘See that you don’t.’
It was as good a point as any to pour more water on him.
I pushed into the room, lifting my SIG.
‘The first man to move dies.’
My face was the last any of them expected. They stood there, dumbstruck. My command had been designed to achieve this. The last thing I wanted was for them to start shouting and bring reinforcements running from above.
Hendrickson was a bigger man than I had imagined. He had strong features, pale blue eyes, and skin dark by heredity rather than holidays in the sun. His chest, shoulders and biceps stretched his suit jacket, and in his day he would have been quite a scrapper. Right now it looked like any fight had gone out of him. Charters shot me a look to curdle milk, while Baron appraised me with that supercilious smile he’d used when last we met. All three men were standing at the far end of the room, Hendrickson facing the other two. Between us were rack upon rack of guns; a good ol’ boy’s dream world, and a potential nightmare for me. I didn’t doubt that any of them were armed already, but just the sight of upward of a hundred weapons gave me pause. It must have shown in my stance because Hendrickson straightened a little.
‘Face me,’ I said. ‘Hands where I can see them.’
They all turned, hands out by their sides. I made a quick scan of the room. None of the rifles or machine guns appeared to be loaded, nor any of the semi-auto handguns, but I couldn’t tell with the revolvers.
Ideally I would have liked for them to drop their weapons, but while they were at it one of them could try to be a hero. I was sure that I could drop any of them first, but the sound of my gun would bring reinforcements and I’d be penned inside this room. Something crossed Baron’s face: realisation that I required silence to get the job done. He opened his mouth to shout, then realised that even if I did get boxed inside, I wouldn’t be the only man to die. I arched an eyebrow at him as he got the point.
‘We’ve a stalemate going on,’ he said.
‘Nah, Baron. I’ve got a gun in my hand.’
Baron was quick on the draw, but nowhere near fast enough when I already had my SIG trained between his eyes. He kept his hands spread.
Charters hurriedly glanced back and forth, seeking direction from his superiors. His right arm was cocooned in bandages, but his left hand was still able to grab the gun tucked in his belt. I eyed him steadily. ‘Don’t try it, Charters. Even with two good hands you were out of your league.’
Hendrickson had taken stock and didn’t like his chances. He held up his palms. ‘Tubal Cain warned me that you were a remarkable enemy.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ I quipped.
‘How about money?’
‘How about you call Cain off my brother?’
I’d made Petoskey the same deal. Hendrickson couldn’t have known that at the time, but he’d have been fully aware of the outcome.
‘I was never in command of that maniac’s actions.’ Hendrickson glanced at Baron as if seeking support. Baron lowered his face.
‘Call him off,’ I said again.
‘I don’t know how to contact him. He calls me, refuses to be on a leash.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s the truth.’
Actually, I did believe part of what he said: the bit about Cain refusing to be on Hendrickson’s leash. But I also believed that Hendrickson knew exactly where he was.
‘Where is he?’
‘Where is your brother?’ Hendrickson sneaked up the corner of his mouth. At my snort, he went on, ‘What I meant was, he’s probably where your brother is.’
I gave him a slow headshake. ‘This is going nowhere. Unless you start talking the truth, I’m going to start shooting.’
‘You may as well,’ Hendrickson said. ‘Do you think I relish the thought of spending the rest of my life in prison? Death would be a better prospect.’
‘I’d be very happy to oblige. Then again, I might just kneecap you and make you easier game in the showers. Try fighting off a gang rape when you’re on all fours.’
Baron slowly lifted his head again. ‘Hunter, if you kill Hendrickson I won’t be paid.’
‘Your point being?’
‘I’m a hired hand. I have no personal stake in this other than the money. Let me go, I’ll walk away.’
I considered his offer for all of a second. ‘You’re forgetting.’ Other than the obvious — that he would try to kill me at his first opportunity. ‘You sent men to capture my girlfriend. You had Petoskey murder Louise Blake. You tortured my best friend. For any of those, you deserve to die. My friend, Rink… do you know what I promised him? I swore I’d save him a piece of your arse, but I don’t think that’s a promise I can keep.’
Baron shrugged. ‘Worth a try.’
Hendrickson was looking at him open-mouthed. ‘That had better have been a bluff, Baron.’
Baron merely smiled. Charters was more animated, his eyes flicking between his bosses like he was watching a tennis match. Suddenly his gaze fell on me, and stuck there. He lifted his bandaged arm. ‘Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough? I’ve got nothing to do with this! I’m just some poor sap who took a fucking protection job! I didn’t know I was gonna get involved in anything like this!’
Hendrickson laughed. ‘Kill him if you want, Hunter. He’s a fucking coward.’
The man, so tough when he had me at his mercy, wasn’t so tough now. Tears rolled from his eyes and he shook like a wet puppy. Under the circumstances perhaps he didn’t deserve to die. Maybe I would have spared him, but his fate was taken out of my hands. Baron moved, lightning fast, but not for his gun. He grabbed Charters by the back of his neck and propelled him towards me.
Charters wasn’t a major threat. Terrified, he didn’t even try to get me. But he was blocking my view of both Hendrickson and Baron and there was no way that they were standing still. If I attempted to manoeuvre around Charters, he would definitely grab at me, halt me long enough for Baron or Hendrickson to finish me. That made up my mind. I shot him in the throat. The force of the bullet took him off his feet and I now had a clear view of the others.
Hendrickson had swung away from me, but Baron’s hand was going for his gun. At the same time he went into a crouch, making him a smaller target. I fired and knew immediately that I’d missed. Baron’s hand was coming up again. I dipped on one hip, swerving my upper torso to one side, and I felt the air buffet my cheek as Baron’s return fire cut through the space I’d just vacated. Motherfucker was fast.
Trying to keep an eye on both of them, I deemed Baron the most immediate threat. Hendrickson still had his back to me and seemed to be leaning on a counter. Baron had taken two steps further to my right, his arm swinging towards me. I shot at him. My bullet struck his side and threw him against a wall. But he wasn’t dead, and I saw his finger pull on the trigger of his gun. There was no way to avoid his shot but go down. His bullet cracked the wall above my head. I’d saved my life, but given up my stability. Down on one knee, off balan
ce, I tried to track Baron but he had already danced a few steps and was parallel to my position. To kill him I’d have to bring my arm fully around. He was as quick on his feet as he was with a gun: he leaped past me and was now almost at the door. I turned, trying to get a bead on him, but it was hopeless.
Baron fired a final round, but he was too busy fleeing to care where it struck. It missed me and hit the inert form of Charters where he lay on the floor. I started to rise. But Hendrickson was also moving, swinging round, and in his hand was a large Colt revolver that glinted silver in the overhead lights. The old-fashioned gun must have been the source of the clunk I’d heard earlier. It had been behind Hendrickson all the time, concealed from my view by his sturdy body.
Shit. I’d wanted to force Tubal Cain’s whereabouts from him before he died. But given the choice of letting him get the drop on me and shooting him there was only ever going to be one outcome. Even a disabling round through his body wouldn’t be enough, because while I dealt with him, Baron might return. As I told Harvey I would, I shot Hendrickson in the face.
The Colt slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floor between his feet. For a second or two Hendrickson defied gravity, then his knees gave out and he toppled forward. The splash of blood reached all the way over Charters to my boots. For all that he was the source of my woes, I gained no satisfaction from his death. Possibly because the way he went was too easy on the bastard. Justice would have been better served if I’d hobbled him as I’d threatened and left him to rot in jail.
Hendrickson couldn’t help me find Cain now, and I barely glanced at him as I moved to the edge of the door. Baron was still up there and the last thing I desired was to start up the stairs and have him fill me full of holes while confined between the two stone walls. Yet I couldn’t stay there. The brief gunfight was bringing Hendrickson’s men running from all corners of the house.