by S. Burke
Tim was reading the paper, distracted.
“What is it?” Ben asked.
“We have new orders,” he said, passing the paper over.
“You’re shittin’ me?” Ben didn’t attempt to hide his surprise as he read the coded message.
“Why would Sheila pass this over to us? This is her specialty.”
“Don’t know, don’t care. It’s a job. Could be difficult, we’ll have to get moving on it. This location is a good two day drive.” Ben grinned in excitement. “Well, well, it’s been a while since we had a straight out hit. Strange though, Sheila I mean, this is more her field.”
His partner hugged him. “Orders are orders, you know that. Remember what she did to Clara.”
“Sure, sure.” Ben went to say more and decided against it. It was as Tim said. Orders are orders.
Sheila checked her watch; she would need to be leaving before lunch and that gave her an hour to get ready.
The phone call had been unexpected, and welcomed. The job was a difficult one. Perhaps the most difficult to date, and the most dangerous. She hadn’t questioned the order, accepting it as just another job. Excitement had adrenaline pumping hard; after this morning’s let down with Jack Crenshaw, this was the sort of distraction she needed.
Sheila selected what she would need from her arsenal, and dressed casually in jeans and a sweater.
The night vision gear was stowed in the car, although she doubted she’d need it. The camouflage jacket and pants would be changed into just before the hit. She had around twenty two hours if the situation went as foreseen. He’d never let her down with the details. She smiled smugly; he’d never let her down in any way at all. If this went as planned she may get to spend some time with him. She hoped so. She had needs that required his skilled touch.
Ben and Tim had been on the road a few hours, concentrating on their own thoughts.
“Why would our target be way out here?” asked Ben.
“Don’t know, don’t care. It’s not open to question, you know the rules.”
“Yeah, but I like the rules to make sense. This doesn’t. This target doesn’t make any sense at all either. I mean why? What would be accomplished by this?”
“Why are you so edgy?” Tim frowned.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t feel right.”
“I’ve never heard you say that before,” Tim said worriedly. “Your senses are normally accurate as hell. Now you are making me edgy.”
“I’m gonna call the bitch, find out why she’s not doing this one.”
“She’ll be furious! You know better than to question her.”
“Something’s not right, I’m telling you, babe. I’m calling her.”
Ben flicked open the cell phone and placed the call.
Sheila Harrington answered, “What is it?”
“Um, I need confirmation.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, it’s simply that this is normally your area of expertise. I was wondering why you aren’t doing this yourself.”
There was a long silence.
“Are you there?” Ben asked.
“Yes. I need you two to handle this one. I have other orders. I’m not angry; you did right to clarify, simply because this is different. Smart move, but understand this, I’m not happy about you doing this job. Not happy at all. I got chewed out badly because I questioned it. Then my orders came through and it made more sense.”
“You’re doing another job?” Ben asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the relief out of his voice. “Well, that’s fine then. Is it like the last one?”
“You don’t need to know. Just follow your damned orders. I’ll expect to hear it on the news in two days’ time. Don’t ring me again, unless it goes south on you; and if it does, my friend, you better have a fucking good reason. Got that?”
“Got it.”
The phone went dead.
“Well? What was that all about?” asked Tim.
“It’s all good, babe. I feel better now. The bitch has another hit on at the same time. She’s pissed that she doesn’t get to do this one, very pissed. That makes me feel a whole lot better. Let’s stop for a bite, suddenly I have my appetite back, and we’re right on schedule.”
“Sounds good.”
Mike Matheson knocked again on the door to Trish’s apartment, to no avail. Her car was gone, but he’d knocked anyway. This wasn’t like her, she was normally easy to contact, and her working day habits were set in concrete. She was always in before him and usually had a hot coffee waiting when he got to the office. Where was she? Why wasn’t she answering her phone?
Trish was readying herself to leave, still uncertain about not contacting Mike or Cantrell. They knew where she was, but she’d better call in. She reached into her jacket for the cell phone, and came up empty.
She checked through her bag and the glove compartment of the car, finally giving up with exasperation. She must have left it somewhere. She wanted to catch Frank Allworth before he left for work. She used the room phone and placed the call, deciding to call Mike after she’d examined the car.
The Allworths were waiting for her, and she headed on out to the property. She didn’t expect to find anything unusual about the vehicle, but the records needed straightening up on this murder. She stopped the thought as it began. Someone had steered them away from the car, but who?
Ben and Tim decided to overnight on the outskirts of Leighton. They wanted no one to be able to point them out if this thing went wrong. The back of the station wagon they’d bought was fitted out with a mattress. They picked up take out from a truck stop nearby and pulled into a rest area to grab a few precious hours of shut eye.
Chapter 37
Nigel Cantrell was weary, and it showed in his stance and his bloodshot eyes. He needed sleep, but had a few more things to sort before he’d allow himself that luxury.
He glanced up from the report he was reading as Mike Matheson stormed into his office.
“Whoa, before you say anything you shut that door, Mike!”
Mike complied, shutting it with a resounding bang that caused the others in the outer office to glance up and just as quickly look away.
“Sit, and calm down, then tell me what’s wrong,” Nigel said quietly.
Mike sat and glared at the man sitting opposite. “When were you planning on telling me that Weisman is holding a meeting this afternoon?” he managed to ask through clenched teeth.
“Given your last session with Weisman, I wasn’t planning on you being there at all,” was the response.
Mike went to say more, and held back a moment, long enough to register that Cantrell had made sense.
“Fuck.”
“Yes, you did fuck up. The meeting is simply to address the arrangements for the service on Thursday. Henry wants security as tight as we can make it, as the President will be attending. Her Secret Service personnel will be utilizing marines in civvies as well. We don’t want any more people getting blown away, do we?”
“Ted was a retired marine. Why isn’t the service being held at Arlington?”
“His sons don’t want a full military funeral. They didn’t want the President there either, but their wishes were ignored because she wants good press on this. She’s really playing up the ‘killed in the line of duty’ thing.”
“You doubt that?”
“Yes, I do. In my opinion, Prendergast was killed for something outside his link with the bureau. I think it was a contracted hit. It was far too professional to have been just a pissed off member of the public.
“Like what, for instance?”
“Drugs, blackmail … your guess is as good as mine. Plus I think Weisman knows more than he’s saying.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Henry is being too careful with this thing. He and Ted were best friends and that should have made him react differently. He is too calm, and is too involved. He should have excused himself from the case, officially anywa
y.”
Mike was calmer now, and mulled over what Cantrell said. “Have you seen Trish this morning?”
“No, I thought she would be with you when she didn’t come in.”
“What? Why would you think that?”
“She’s worried about you, man. God, you are dense when it comes to females.”
Mike caught the meaning and turned red. “Nyah. Trish? No way. You are way off base, Cantrell.”
“Whatever. So where is she?”
“No one has seen her this morning, I’ve tried her number a few times and it’s going to her message bank.”
“Let me give it a try,” Nigel flipped open his cell and hit speed dial. The unmistakable sound of a cell phone ringing came from Mike’s office next door.
“Is that yours?” Nigel asked.
Mike answered “No!” on his way out the door.
Nigel followed.
“Shit,” said Mike, picking up the ringing phone. “This is Trish’s. What the fuck is it doing on my desk?”
“She obviously came in to see you and put it down.”
“Trish wouldn’t have come into my office uninvited unless it was urgent. She would have left me a message. Maybe she typed one in on the screen.” He realized what he’d said and began to explain. “She, uh, she has my security clearance code for emergencies.”
“Cut the bullshit, Mike. I already know she was handling a great deal of your paperwork.”
Chapter 38
Trish pulled into the driveway and switched off the engine. There was no sign of movement outside the house, but the Chevy was parked there. She knocked on the oak door and it was answered by Frank Allworth.
“Ms Clayton?” he asked.
“Special Agent Clayton. You are Frank Allworth?” She extended her hand.
“We wondered why your people didn’t take an interest in the car. Why was that?”
“I am attempting to find that out, Mr Allworth. May I come in?”
“Of course, pardon my manners! I am curious, why? I mean, why now, so long after Quinn’s death?”
“Tying up some loose ends, Mr Allworth. I appreciate your cooperation.” Trish followed the man into the sitting room.
Mrs Allworth had been busy since the initial visit; the artwork adorning the walls was new. The sketches were framed charcoal drawings of the Allworths. The likenesses could have been photographs, they were so well done.
“Quentin Hamersley’s work?” she asked.
“He was very talented. This one of my wife, for instance, the eyes follow you around the room. He was forever sketching, anything and everything, always had his sketch pad on him. His death was such a tragedy. He kept himself pretty much to himself, you know? I’m forgetting my manners again; please sit, Agent Clayton. My wife will be with us shortly. Can I offer you coffee?”
“Thank you, no. I would like to take a look at the vehicle.”
“Of course, of course. He would never have left that behind. It was his baby, you know what I mean. It would have taken something pretty extraordinary for him to leave it like that.”
Trish made no comment. She followed Frank Allworth outside, and he unlocked the Chevy and the trunk.
“You noticed nothing unusual about the car when you purchased it?” she asked.
“No, nothing. I mean it was detailed and in prime condition. I wasn’t looking for anything, you know, out of the ordinary.”
Trish checked the car over, but anything that may have assisted them was long since gone. Frustrated at the lack of information on the files, she shrugged. Nothing about these murders was ordinary.
She thanked Frank Allworth for his time. “I don’t think we will need to bother you again, Mr Allworth. I appreciate your cooperation.”
They shook hands and Trish drove on back to town.
Ben and Tim had reached the area where the next job was to take place. Neither of them liked it. The river wound its way through a stand of trees that reached from either side and formed a canopy over the stretch of fast running water. The sound of a waterfall broke the silence. The birds were wakening and making their presence heard.
“I don’t like this,” said Tim.
“Why would he be out here? It doesn’t make sense.”
“We have our instructions. You worry too much. Maybe he thinks he has a meet.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Don’t go getting paranoid on me. Let’s just do this thing. The car is far enough away and well hidden, we need to set up, and then we wait.”
The small parking lot on the edge of the waterfall was empty in the early dawn. Their instructions said the job would arrive around 8:00 a.m.
The rifles were loaded and the men split up, each taking a side of the parking area, well hidden from sight.
At 7:45 a.m. a sedan pulled in. A man, a woman and two youngsters clambered out of the car. They all stretched and the kids were whining about everything from the car to the view to the lousy vacation. The sedan was packed high on the roof with luggage and camping equipment.
“Fuck! Now what?” said Ben into the radio.
“Don’t panic. We wait. Let’s hope they just take a few happy snaps and move on.”
“You’d better be right.” Ben hissed his response. He didn’t like killing kids.
The two children headed into the trees on the left side of the parking lot. They needed to pee. Tim was so close he could have reached out and touched the girl. She squatted and took care of business, and waited for her younger brother.
His killer’s eyes measured the distance and he had a clear shot. Collateral damage had never bothered him. Whatever it took to complete a job was fine.
Ben’s voice came through the earpiece. “Don’t go doing anything stupid now, babe. We have time. If the target doesn’t want to stop due to these folks being present, then we leave. Our orders do not include taking down the Brady Bunch.”
“I’m hungry!” said the young girl. “You promised us burgers and fries!”
She had a tone that screamed disrespect. Tim didn’t like it. He didn’t like children. Messy, dirty, demanding creatures. It would be so easy from where he was hidden to simply blow them away.
“Stop your moaning. We are going to have burgers and fries. Look at the waterfall, it’s beautiful. I want to get a shot of you both near the edge. Maureen, you too, honey.”
Ben held his breath as the family shared a Kodak moment. Both the children were whining now; the mother looked exasperated.
“Oh, for God’s sake. I swear this is the last time we take you two camping. Get in the car.”
The man looked disappointed and then resigned. He climbed in behind the wheel and reversed out of the parking lot, narrowly avoiding a vehicle entering from the access road.
Ben and Tim both checked their watches. 8:02. Perfect.
They waited for the chance to take a shot. The vehicle’s windows were darkened; they needed to be certain they had the correct target. They waited, both a little jittery, yet focused on the job at hand.
Time passed and Ben could feel the sweat running down his face; if this was a meet the other party had yet to arrive. The driver of the vehicle hadn’t moved. They couldn’t be certain he was alone in the car. They were now both on high alert, watching and waiting, totally focused on the job. Both tense, too tense.
Ben didn’t hear the noise behind him. The knife came around and slashed his throat open before he could make a sound. His blood sprayed and the hand clamped firmly across his mouth loosened its grip and helped lower his now lifeless body gently to the ground.
Tim was worried, this wasn’t going to plan. He couldn’t risk radio contact with Ben at this point. His muscles were clenched and his eye was firmly on the telescopic site of the rifle. The car door opened, and a jean clad leg swung out to the ground below. Tim didn’t get to see the rest of the emerging target. A bullet from a Gluck 17 blew out the side of his head.
The rest of the person in the car unwound his lean body and st
retched.
Sheila Harrington walked across, her gloved hand still bloodied from the stream erupting from Ben’s jugular. She placed the Gluck back in her side holster.
“I’ve missed you,” she said.
“You must be disappointed.” He stroked her face as he spoke.
“Disappointed?”
“Well, you did train them. That was a little too easy. Yes?”
Sheila shrugged. “The job got done. Being easy was pure bonus.”
He put his arm around her. The housekeeping team pulled into the parking lot.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Be at the hotel by 9 a.m.” With that directive, he slid back into the driver’s seat and drove off.
Sheila was revved after the kill as always and didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. She hated the fact that he could leave her side with such ease. Then she smiled. He was worth the wait; the excitement he offered thrilled her.
Chapter 39
Lana Allworth kept her regular hair appointment in town. She liked ‘Cassie’s’ beauty parlour and enjoyed the gossip sessions with the girls.
Cassie handed her a bunch of magazines as she waited under the dryer. “These are reasonably new, Lana honey. Couple of weeks old. Enjoy! You want a coffee?”
Lana thanked her, and agreed to a coffee as she flicked through the top magazine. Cassie was right, this batch were all reasonably new.
She glanced briefly at the cover of the next magazine, and then opened it to read the letters to the editor. About to put it down, her gaze was drawn again to the cover; it was a shot of the Black and White Ball held recently in New York. Damon Henderson was a good looking man, and the woman he was gazing at so adoringly was stunning, the gown simply beautiful.
Lana was about to start on the next magazine when something drew her back to that cover. The woman looked familiar somehow; she knew that sculptured face and those pale eyes from somewhere. Maybe the woman was a model. That made sense; she’d probably seen her in a swimsuit advert or something. Her curiosity got the better of her and she read the article. Sheila Harrington. The name wasn’t familiar. Yet something about that face niggled at the edges of her memory.