by Jim Heskett
“Understood,” Serena said. “I’ll get to work, and I’ll be in touch when I have a flight.”
Layne said his goodbyes as his target slowed to turn at the next light. He tossed his phone on the passenger seat as Brendall entered a side street up ahead. Layne slowed to stay with him, waiting for Brendall to get at least a half block head start. But, Brendall turned into a driveway of a two-bedroom house not too far from the street corner.
Layne drove past, his head down as he kept an eye on Brendall in the rearview. The cop had so far not left his car, so Layne parked a few houses down, then immediately reclined his seat and angled the side mirrors to keep an eye on him.
A low and sleek black sedan drove onto the street, and Layne caught the guy in this new car checking him out in the rearview. The black car stopped a few houses up, idling. The driver, a heavyset white guy with a thick neck and buzz-cut black hair, took out a newspaper.
Layne took a pen from the center console and wrote the car’s plate number on his wrist, then he settled in to watch the guy, while also keeping Brendall in his side mirror.
The sedan driver sat there for a few seconds, reading the paper. That in itself was odd enough to warrant attention. Finally, he killed the engine, folded the paper, and left the car. The guy walked up to the house and used a key to enter. He didn’t look at Layne again.
Layne rubbed the license number off his wrist as he turned his attention back to Brendall. Squinting, Layne could barely make out the cop, checking his face in the rearview mirror. He wiped a spot of blood from his cheek and then ran a hand over his short hair. With a cleansing breath, he left the car as the front door of the house opened.
A portly woman and a toddler boy came out the front door. The toddler, hands waving in the air, staggered toward Brendall. The big cop dropped to one knee and wrapped his arms around the boy. Then, he lifted him up and kissed the woman. For a couple seconds, they all enjoyed a group hug. Smiles on their faces.
They went inside together. The street was quiet.
Layne gripped the steering wheel. Not sure what to think about all this. But, at least now, he knew where Brendall lived.
15
Harry sat at the little table in his room, working on the sheet of paper. He’d asked for a pencil, but they wouldn’t let him have a sharpener. So, he had a yellow legal pad and a blue ink pen. They’d also given him a stack of books, but they were mostly worn romance paperbacks. Harry would read those if he had to, but he much preferred military science fiction. Layne had recently turned him on to fantasy, by giving him the first in an epic series about an elf traveling across a vast desert landscape on a quest to save his sister. That book was sitting at home on his nightstand, with a Game of Thrones bookmark jutting out, somewhere around page 150. Layne had given him the bookmark because he said their friendship would end immediately if Harry dog-eared the pages.
But no military sci-fi among Harry’s reading materials. Just romance books here. So, Harry busied himself with the pen and paper, drawing and journaling and waiting for whatever these people intended to do with him. He still didn’t know what that would be, but he didn’t have a good feeling about it.
Such an odd duality, the way he was treated here. Meals provided, a comfortable bed, the threat of violence against his family. A locked door on his room, not allowed to leave for any reason.
The door opened, and there stood radiant Ashleigh. Harry was a happily married man with a teenage son, but Ronald’s young helper sure was nice to look at. That was probably by design. Harry had seen a few others around the house and outside via his slim window, but he’d seen Ashleigh more often than the others.
She was more pleasing to be around than Cornelius, who Harry figured was Ronald’s number two. Corn was the wiry and long-fingered guy who acted as both muscle and the house cook. He had an odd look about him, like he would be perfectly happy carving up Harry with that knife he always kept with him.
“Hi,” she said as she closed the door behind her.
He sat back in the chair and dropped the pen on the table. “Good morning. It’s still morning, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I came to get your breakfast tray. Any requests for lunch? Cornelius isn’t much for conversation, but he’s an excellent cook. We have just about anything you could imagine in the kitchen here.”
He shrugged. “I don’t care. I appreciate your good cop routine, but I want to go. I miss my family. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
She gave him a little wince. Maybe his good cop line had stung a little. That was fine with him. Just because they weren’t torturing and starving him didn’t mean Harry was a welcome guest here. Not when they were holding the Polaroids of his wife and child as leverage against him.
“I’m doing what I can, Harry.”
“And what is that? What are you doing to keep them from killing my wife and son?”
Her wince turned into a hint of a sneer, and Harry thought he might have made a mistake. He didn’t know how far to push her. And, actually, he didn’t know if pushing her was the right move. But, he had to make some effort. He had already figured out that sitting here and waiting was probably not going to end well for him.
He wished Layne were here. Layne had always been so good at this sort of thing. Knowing how to talk to people and knowing when to press someone.
Ashleigh scratched a fingernail along her forearm. “I’m doing everything I can to make your stay with us as comfortable as it can be.”
He resisted the urge to snap out a passive-aggressive comment about the discomfort of knowing his family was in danger, but he held his tongue. Instead, he picked up the pen and went back to work.
“Can I have something besides romance books?”
Ashleigh moved closer. “What’s that?” She pointed down at the shapes on the page.
“It’s an exercise. A centering exercise, really. I’ve done it since I was a little kid when I needed to focus. You draw two squares on top of each other, with an X through each. Then, a rounded top, above the stacked squares. The goal is to draw all of that without lifting your pen and without crossing a line.”
She frowned. “Sounds hard.”
“It’s literally impossible. There are solvable graph theory problems like the nine dots problem, but this one has no solution. I can get all but one side, then I run out of options without crossing any other lines. But, solving it isn’t the point. It’s working on it that calms me down. Some people count ceiling tiles. I do this.”
He looked up at her, and there was something in her eyes he couldn’t quite place at first. Admiration, maybe, or respect. A hint of guilt, perhaps, but he couldn’t be sure.
“You’re an engineer?” she asked.
He nodded, and their eyes met.
“Tell me about your wife.”
“I thought Ronald usually did the interrogation.”
Ashleigh showed him a sad smile. “No interrogation. I’m curious about you.”
“Why should I talk to you?”
“Aside from your romance books and your box drawings, what else have you got to do?”
He studied her, considering. He couldn’t figure out this woman. She seemed nice enough, but she was here, willfully participating in Ronald’s game. Kidnapping a person, taking him away from his family. What could be going on inside her conscience to allow it?
“I met my wife in college. I didn’t usually go out, but I’d had a rough week, and my friends talked me into it. Pure chance. We were both at the same party, and we happened to be in line for the keg at the same time. You know how it goes. We got to talking, and we ended up staying up until three in the morning, talking on the front porch of whoever’s house it was. I never officially asked her out on a date, she never officially agreed to be my girlfriend. But, we were together every day after that. A few years later, we were married.”
“That’s a sweet story. Does she know what you do for a living?”
“She knows some of it. And she knows en
ough not to ask about the rest of it.”
“It’s a hard life, working for the government. Especially doing the covert stuff.”
Harry got the feeling Ashleigh was speaking from experience, but he didn’t know if he should pry. “Does she know I’m here? I’ve been gone for three days. Even on vacation, I should have checked in by now.”
Ashleigh shrugged. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what your wife knows.”
“She’s a worrier. Always has been.”
“I’ll bet you miss her.”
“More than you know. I keep seeing her face, thinking about what she would say to our son when he finds out I’m gone.”
“I’m sorry this is happening to you, Harry. You seem like a nice guy.”
“Then help me.”
She froze a moment as her face cycled through a few different emotions. Then, she picked up his tray. “I’ll be back in a couple hours with lunch. And I’ll see about getting you different books.”
With that, she left the room. A second later, the bolt locked behind her.
16
Layne sat in his rental car while Officer Brendall went inside his house. The meeting with the two people in the front yard—presumably, his wife and son—was short, as they left in a different car. Brendall returned a few minutes later in street clothes, with hair looking wet. Layne assumed he’d worked the night shift, and his stop by the Red Rock Inn to harass Layne had come at the end of his day. Then, home to shower and say hello to the family, and now, off to somewhere else. But, not to sleep, which aided Layne’s theory that Brendall was on something. Not proof, but it appeared that way.
So, as Brendall slipped into his car and pulled out of the driveway, Layne wanted to know where he was going. He waited a minute until Brendall had turned the corner before following. Layne doubled back to 179 and joined Brendall’s trail there, staying at least three cars back at all times.
If the cop had figured out he was being followed, he gave no indication. No sudden turns or complicated lane changes. Maybe he was a master at this and was playing some sort of long game, but Layne didn’t think his target had outsmarted him.
The cop continued north, through Sedona, onto Highway 89 toward Flagstaff. Layne stayed with him on the highway, shifting with him, maintaining a reasonable distance. Also, keeping an eye on the car’s gas gauge, because he had no idea where the cop was going. He had a full tank, so no need to worry about it yet.
A thought jumped up. Layne unlocked his phone and dialed a number from memory, one of the few he knew by heart. It rang several times before finally connecting.
“Hello?” Daphne said, sounding groggy.
“Did I wake you?”
“Hmm?” She paused, clearing her throat. “Apparently, yes, you woke me, but not for the first time today. I was doing yoga in the spare bedroom, and it looks like I fell asleep. Anyway, what can I do for you?”
“I need a favor.”
“You always do,” Daphne said in her raspy lilt. “What is it?”
“Can you have someone local to Denver keep an eye on my ex and my daughter? The man who took Harry knows who I am, so I’d feel better if someone was protecting my family.”
“I assume they can’t know about it?”
Layne shifted the phone to his other hand so he could pass a truck to stay within a reasonable distance of Brendall. “No, they can’t know about it. I would ask someone I know in Denver, but given the secrecy of this operation, I assumed you’d want to keep it in-house.”
“That’s a good point. Shouldn’t be too hard to get someone on your ex and kid.”
“I’d feel a lot better knowing they were being monitored.”
“No problem. I’ll take care of it, and I can give you updates when someone is in place. You stay safe, Layne.”
“Thank you, Control. I appreciate it. There’s one more thing.”
“You want to borrow Serena. I figured you would.”
Layne stammered for a second, surprised that Daphne already knew. He had hoped to tell her himself, to frame it in a positive light. Daphne had previously not taken well to retired shadows using up active resources. Serena would be earning a paycheck while doing tasks off the books, which couldn’t make Daphne too happy. If the team was anything like it used to be, the budget was tighter than the yoga pants Layne pictured Daphne wearing right now.
“I thought, given the circumstances, it would be okay this time.”
Daphne sighed. “Sure, Layne, it’s fine. Do what you need to do, and I’ll assist any way I can. Serena is a talented shadow. She’s probably the best I’ve had since… well, you.”
“I guess it’s good she replaced me, then.”
“Yes, it is. Whatever happens out there, just bring back Harry, okay? I don’t want any more of my people dying. That includes you.”
Layne resisted the urge to remind Daphne that he was no longer one of her people. “Understood. I’ll make sure he gets home okay.”
Daphne ended the call, and Layne stared at his phone as the screen locked again. A promise to bring Harry home was one he didn’t know if he could keep, but Daphne wouldn’t want to hear that fact right now. Layne wasn’t used to operating on a time crunch with so little to go on.
Something had to break, and soon, or it would be too late.
Flagstaff loomed in the distance, a large and pointy mountain peak as a homing beacon across the generally flat landscape. Through Flagstaff, continuing north past the Grand Canyon, then Brendall finally turned east on Highway 160. This continued for another hour, and Layne began to worry about his gas reserves. He hadn’t expected Brendall to take a cross-state trip.
Sometime later, Brendall finally slowed. They were near the little town of Tonalea, wide open expanses of desert valleys on either side of the highway. The traffic had thinned so much Layne had to stay far back. He barely saw Brendall make the turnoff into a dirt parking lot where a few other cars had parked. An RV sat there, and Layne had to drive by as Brendall left his car and walked toward the RV.
Tailing someone in a non-urban setting always presented a challenge. Layne had to find a way to stay in contact and do it fast. A rocky hill appeared a quarter mile up ahead, and Layne slowed. It was a little too far, but it seemed the best option. He turned off when the hill blocked his view of the RV. Brendall couldn’t see him now, probably. Layne had to hope so. A minor cloud of dust kicked up by his tires had followed him off the road, but Layne couldn’t do anything about that.
He parked the car and raced out. He opened the trunk and removed a pair of binoculars and then slammed the trunk closed. With all the urgency he could muster, he raced toward the hill. The ground was soft sand, mushier and redder than beach sand. His feet sank several inches with every step, like powdery snow.
As soon as he began the incline, a rattling sound came from his right. Layne looked over to see a coiled rattlesnake, twenty feet diagonally up the hill. Too far to strike, but close enough to give Layne a sharp reminder to respect the terrain and keep his eyes open and alert.
Despite the rattle, the little predator made no move to pursue him. It only wanted to be left alone to nap in the sun. Layne decided to give it a wide berth since he had no idea where to find the closest hospital and didn’t trust his phone to connect to the internet out here.
He reached the top of the hill and hunkered down into the sand, with bushes on either side of him. Layne lifted the binoculars to his face and pointed them at the RV. The first thing he noticed was the lettering on the side of the vehicle: Snake Bite Canyon Tours.
Below that, six people emerged from the front door, five of them dark-skinned and one Caucasian. All of them armed with shotguns and assault rifles. They stood underneath a makeshift canopy of a tarp stretched over stakes next to the RV, the breeze rustling their hair and clothes. All of their eyes were on Brendall, making no move to approach.
Brendall stood opposite them, holding a suitcase. He eventually walked the suitcase over to a nearby Ford truck and
set it on the hood. When he did this, he turned to face them. Layne noted how the cop had never fully turned his back to them. Whatever his relationship, he didn’t trust these guys.
A tense second passed with everyone still and silent. Then, Brendall opened the lid and invited the others to come check out the contents. Layne couldn’t see what was in the suitcase, but it didn’t matter right now.
Brendall was dirty. And, he had a connection to the criminal underworld in Arizona, which was exactly what Layne needed.
INTERLUDE #4
Littlefield, TX | Eight years ago
Back at their hotel, Layne and Juliana enter their room. Still stinging from the tense situation at Water Tower bar. Layne’s chest pulses, and it’s not only the desire for a cigarette. The adrenaline hasn’t flushed from his system.
“We had her,” Layne says. “That was her. That was Vixen.”
Juliana walks to the bathroom and splashes water on her face. “You think it was Vixen. But we don’t know shit.”
“Maybe,” Layne says as he opens the laptop. His nose throbs, a leftover from the punch the Latino man gave him inside the bar. It’s not broken, but it will be swollen and sore in the morning. That’s okay, Layne has had much worse. Like the pilots say, any landing you walk away from is a good one.
“Did you see her face?”
“No,” Juliana says. “I didn’t see much of anything. It all happened pretty fast.”
“I didn’t either. But I have to believe it was her. There’s no other reason for them to draw down on us and flee so quickly. You saw they had walkie-talkies. They’re organized.”
She walks back into the main room and leans over, scrutinizing his face. “You’re going to have a black eye.”
“I know, Jules,” he says as the laptop wakes up. He then takes out a small USB stick and plugs it into a port in the side.