by Jim Heskett
“This bed is weird. It’s too hard.”
Ashleigh nodded, her light eyes trailing over it. “I can see about getting you a memory foam topper. Would that be better?”
“Yes, that would help a lot. Thank you.”
“If there’s anything else you need, I’m the person you ask, okay?”
“You said you work for my host. Why?”
Her head cocked to the side. “Excuse me?”
“Why do you work for a man who has hired muscle and goes around kidnapping people? You know he has pictures of my family. I get the implication. Why would you work for someone like that?”
Ashleigh’s lip twitched for a second, and she eventually put her hands on her hips. “You think you know me?”
“No, I just… I don’t want to presume.”
“It’s not what you see. We’re not bad people or people without a conscience or a plan. This is about justice. This is about taking a wrong and making it right, and it might be a little messy along the way. But it’s all for a good cause. I know you don’t believe me, but that’s the truth. Everything that’s happening is stuff that has to happen.”
“I can’t tell if you believe that, or if you’re just saying it.”
Now, he worried he might have pushed her too far. That last jab was a bit on the personal side. Harry didn’t know why he felt comfortable enough with this woman he’d met two minutes ago to challenge her like this.
“Don’t worry about what I believe. You worry about keeping your head down and doing what you’re told. That’s how you survive everything that’s about to happen.”
Harry took a step in her direction. “Is there anything concrete you can tell me?”
When he’d taken his step, Ashleigh stepped back, toward the door. “I can’t, Harry. It’s best if you don’t ask any questions. Like I said, do what you’re told, and there’s no reason you or your family needs to suffer any more hardship.”
“Anything, please. I don’t even know why I’m here. Ronald hasn’t given me any useful info.”
Ashleigh stuck out her lower lip, her top row of teeth tamping down on it a few times. She stepped back again, into the open doorway. Then she placed one hand on the knob. Before she slipped out into the hallway, she whispered, “You’re bait.”
5
Layne opened the folder and scanned the list of names. He was in the window seat on flight 1287 to Sedona, with no one in the two seats adjacent to him. There were people in the row behind, but Layne knew how to spot if someone was trying to read over his shoulder. Besides, he’d taken a look at the people in the aisle behind him before he’d sat. A man and a woman with a toddler. Harmless. Not that parents couldn’t also be spies, but Layne found nothing strange about their look. Mom and Dad were too busy trying to wrangle their little boy to pay any attention to Layne’s activities.
On the other side of the aisle in his same row was another family, a couple with a baby who seemed almost big enough to warrant her own seat, but she was still wearing a diaper. The little child crawled all over them while the mother tried to read a hardback book and the father attempted to work on a laptop. He was doing something with spreadsheets, and the toddler kept getting in his lap and trying to mash the keys. The parents were endlessly patient. Layne remembered those days, his young kid still waking up multiple times per night. These parents seemed young enough to bounce back from a lack of sleep. Layne had waited until his late thirties to have a kid, when he couldn’t tolerate less than a full night’s sleep, but he’d done it, anyway.
Smiling, he realized he wouldn’t have it any other way. If he’d had kids younger, when working for the team, he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy those sleepless nights. Back then, he lost sleep every night for entirely different reasons.
The dad with the laptop almost caught Layne staring, so Layne turned his attention back to his work. In front of him, he had a list of names. Names of current and former operatives who worked for the tiny team managed by Daphne Kurek. A team so small it had no name and never had. A team that did not directly fall within the purview of any official government agency. Around DC, some people called them shadows. Layne had referred to himself that way at times, or spy, or assassin.
But, since he’d retired six years ago, he hadn’t called himself any of those names. He’d called himself retired. He no longer had to do dirty work that couldn’t ever receive public acknowledgment. He no longer had to wear different names and travel to faraway countries, always looking over his shoulder.
Yet, here he was, doing something almost the same.
The list of names contained the three dead and the two missing. Layne had to assume they were also dead. No reason to think they would magically appear, alive and well. They would be found, mangled and tortured, as the others had been. He tried not to think about his personal relationships with those people. To be effective, feelings had to be cut out entirely.
Layne had to focus on the other names. The dozen or so names of the ones not dead and not currently in active service. Since the identities of the shadows weren’t public knowledge, there was a good chance these murders and kidnappings were the result of a former team member with a grudge.
Most of those who’d left the team had transitioned into careers in private security or the vague “consulting.” Consulting usually meant burnt out and gone to live with family. There weren’t many ex-operatives from Daphne’s team who went on to live happy and healthy lives. If they lived long enough to retire, they were tossed out for political reasons, or like Layne, had walked away in disgust.
And Daphne had been working on Layne ever since. North of forty years old, his spying days were behind him. At least, that’s what he told himself. His reflexes weren’t as sharp as they once were. His body wasn’t as active as it once had been. He made mental mistakes now that the Layne Parrish of a decade ago would have scoffed at. So, yes, Layne was retired. Not only out of desire, but out of necessity.
Still, he found himself on a plane to Arizona, trying to find his friend and former teammate Harry Boukadakis. K-Books, as he had been known operationally.
And all Layne had to go on was this list of names. None of them stood out. The ones who were still living all had alibis. Alleged alibis, but they’d checked out, from a cursory glance. They had no current connection to the three dead and three missing, including Harry.
No obvious connection.
In thirty minutes, Layne would land in a strange place with little to go on. He had vague plans and tactics based on educated guesses he could use, but mostly he would be blind on this one. Little or no help from Daphne. That put an ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it wasn’t new. Layne was used to having to muddle his way through.
The next set of pages in the folder were satellite printouts. He knew now what he hadn't known eight years ago on the Texas operation, and that was to look for underground heat signatures. It could have saved him a lot of trouble back then. He was struck by the oddity of these memories popping up. He hadn’t thought about the Texas op in forever.
Now, he studied the maps, looking for any place with a small above-ground house leading to a larger underground area. Or, anything that resembled a compound within a twenty-mile radius of Sedona. If these people were kidnapping and killing shadows, they weren’t doing it in some two-bedroom apartment inside town. They needed privacy and security. Open space and a good field of view.
But, he didn’t see anything on the sat maps that stuck out or seemed strange. It’s not as if he could go door to door and ask people if they’d seen a kidnapped man or murdered government operatives. Especially since he was here unofficially, and couldn’t invoke help or borrow resources from any federal agency.
These crimes against former shadows might not ever be solved. It depended on how quiet the government could keep it.
Layne wasn’t as concerned with solving the murders as he was with finding Harry. The murders and disappearances would be a job for Daphne to puzzle thro
ugh. But keeping Harry alive, Layne did consider that his personal problem.
So, since Layne didn’t have a name on the list he could point to as a good suspect, he had to think of names not on the list. Enemies. And there were almost too many of them to count. Not all the targets of the team’s operations had been jailed or killed. Some were in the wind. Some had escaped capture and gone on to do terrible things. One of the reasons Layne still didn’t sleep great most nights.
To find Harry and possibly catch the person responsible, Layne decided to focus not so much on the who, as on the why. Because if he couldn’t find a way to narrow his search, Layne had no doubt they would find Harry’s body at the bottom of a slot canyon in the desert.
Sighing, Layne closed the folder.
6
Ronald Gaynor stood before the window, overlooking Red Rock State Park. He stared out at the buttes, those red rocks with the white striations through them like sword slashes. He loved the way they were slightly at an angle, and the mountains beyond were the same color as the rocks, dotted with green shrubs. He imagined the mountains bursting through the earth, plates colliding like giant beasts.
He didn’t get out to this desert house often enough. The unfortunate business of late had kept him on airplanes and in cars the last few weeks.
Ronald looked down at his knuckles, still bruised after a few days. That was another unfortunate side effect of his current mission: having to do the dirty work himself. He didn’t enjoy that part. At least, he told himself he didn’t enjoy it.
This morning’s copy of The New York Times Business section sat on the desk, twisted into a tight tube not much thicker than a straw. The act of making it smaller pleased him. Squeezing it as tightly as possible, feeling the tension in his hands as the grip eventually made his hands ache.
With Harry, Ronald would play it differently. Some of them, he’d had to torture. Flay the skin off a man, working from the palm up, and after a few minutes, he will tell you anything. A blade against a neck could do the same thing. Even the smallest of cuts sent most into a full panic. But with Harry, the Polaroids of his wife and son seemed to do the trick.
Ronald believed the chubby computer nerd when he’d said he didn’t know anything. The way he sweated under the air-conditioning was impossible to fake. Ronald had done this enough times to know.
If Harry didn’t know, one of them would. One of these spies knew what Ronald was looking for and could provide the info. Maybe holding Harry here as bait would finally bring Ronald the information. A risky play, keeping this one alive indefinitely. But, with all other options exhausted, they were onto plan F or G, at this point.
A knock came at the door behind him, and Ronald turned. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Cornelius poked his head inside. Something about his henchman’s long and wiry appearance comforted Ronald. Corn’s slender neck, his high torso. Ronald didn’t know how to explain it.
“Sir? Is now a good time?”
Ronald waved him forward, and Corn crossed the little room Ronald used as an office. Cornelius came to a stop across from the desk, standing behind one of the chairs. From the wall to their right, an antique clock ticked.
“Do you know what you would like for lunch today?”
Ronald considered. “Do we have steak?”
“Of course, sir.”
“You know how I like mine.”
“Absolutely, I do. I’ll make sure it’s gray and juicy. I’ve got a new recipe for au gratin potatoes I’d like to try, using Swiss cheese.”
“Swiss?”
Corn nodded. “I’d like to try it.”
“How is Harry?”
“He seems to prefer Ashleigh.”
Ronald grinned. “No surprise there. If it keeps him compliant, then that’s the way to go, I suppose.”
“Are you sure this is the right approach to take with him? Given our time constraints, I mean. I don’t know if ‘compliant’ gets us where we need to be by Friday.”
“Our other methods haven’t worked.”
“I know, sir. But, dangling him as bait feels risky to me. What if they send the cavalry after him?”
“They won’t. They’re too secretive to risk it.”
Corn hesitated. “I hope you don’t mind me giving my opinion.”
“No, of course not. You’re free to speak your mind. But, about Harry, let me worry about where it’s going.” Ronald now noticed Corn had a folder in his hand. Ronald gestured toward it, but Corn hesitated.
“What is it?” Ronald asked.
“They’ve found three of the bodies so far.”
Ronald nodded. “That was faster than we were expecting. It’s okay.” When Corn still didn’t hand over the folder, Ronald frowned and clenched his fists. “If you have something to say, Cornelius, then spit it out.”
“I think we should be careful.”
“Have we not been careful so far?”
Now, Corn appeared flustered. “No, sir, it’s just that, when it’s government agents dying, it’s a whole new level. I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
“That is correct.”
“And I know we’re not going to stop until we have what we want. I know the buyer is waiting and we’re on a time crunch. That’s why I’m concerned.”
Ronald lifted the already-rolled Business section of the paper and twisted it tighter, but it didn’t make him feel better. He eyed a figurine of a cherubic boy sitting on the windowsill. A ceramic thing, a gift from his mother. He used the paper to swat at it, and the figurine fell to the floor. The sound of it cracking gave him a little rush of adrenaline and soothed his nerves.
“But?” Ronald asked.
“What if none of them know where it is? What if we invoke the wrath of all these government insiders for nothing? I mean, not all of these people were even there when it went missing. I know our targets are not public, but they have powerful friends.”
Ronald held out his hand and Corn passed across the folder. Ronald took it and then held it against his chest. “This little team has had access to all manner of government secrets. And someone among them knows where our prize is. Somewhere out there, there is a box with a binder containing a few dozen pages. A few dozen pieces of paper worth millions of dollars. And we will not stop until we have it. Not just for the money. The money is what makes our blood, sweat, and tears worth it. We do this because they’re not allowed to determine which secrets stay secret until the end of time. And, as for the ones who didn’t join the team until after the Texas operation, they might still have information. Or, they can serve as a motivation for the others to give up what they know. I’m going to rip out their guts before they even have a chance to know I’ve done it.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.
“Absolutely, sir. That makes total sense.”
Ronald opened the folder and looked down at the first of two profiles inside. At the next person who would either tell Ronald what he wanted to know, or she would die. “Is she in the country?”
Corn nodded. “Not yet, but she’s on her way. She was a little hard to track over there, but she’s made it a lot easier on us now.”
Ronald chewed on this for a few seconds. “Good. Keep an eye on her movements, but we won’t necessarily need to snatch her right away. Let’s see how things pan out with our new approach to Harry first.”
“Someone else is in the picture. A heavy hitter is on his way to Sedona.” He pointed to the folder. “It’s all there.”
“Good, good,” Ronald said. “Looks like the course we set with Harry is paying off as we speak.”
Ronald nudged the broken pieces of ceramic on the floor with the toe of his dress shoe. Then, he dropped the folder on the desk. The top two pages, the ones detailing profiles on Layne Parrish and Serena Rojas, slid a few inches toward the center.
7
Layne drove the rental around The Red Rock Inn at Oak Creek, a village a few miles south of Sedona proper. Th
e dry climate siphoned the moisture from his skin. Late at night, the desert air chilled the back of his neck, but he knew he would be baking twelve hours from now.
The Inn was a sprawling complex made up of small bungalows surrounded by pear cacti and juniper trees. Pinkish faux-adobe domiciles made of concrete, connected by thin sidewalks in a spiderweb.
Layne noted as many of the bungalows as he could, peeking into windows. Hard to do, since the trees were placed to provide privacy. But, he found many people with their shades open, going about their late evening business. He didn’t expect to find anything blatant. But, checking the surrounding residents of any short-term housing location was a habit he’d established early in his training.
Nothing stood out to him as especially suspicious, but Layne had survived this long by being careful. When he was satisfied that his neighbors were benign, he drove back to the office and parked. He opened his carryon bag and unzipped the small secret zipper in the lining of the bag’s handle. Inside, he swapped out his real license for the fake one, then he concealed his real documents back inside it. A quick look around the parking lot told him he was still alone.
Layne’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he took it out to see an incoming video call request from Inessa Parrish, which meant it was actually his daughter. He tapped to accept, and her little face filled the screen.
“Why are you still awake, little one? It’s way past your bedtime.”
“Mommy had to go run an errand, so I went with her. She told me to nap in the car, but I didn’t want to. So now she’s getting the bath ready.”