by Jim Heskett
From a nearby hill, Layne Parrish watched it all happen. Corn watched Layne watching it.
The whole situation had both troubled him as well as piqued his interest. Of course, working for Ronald was always that way. Corn had been in the man’s employ for nearly a decade. At first, he had gone to work for Ronald’s “consulting“ company, as a security assistant. A consultant to a consultant. Corn hadn’t been clear on what Ronald did for a living, only that he often went to Washington in those days, and spoke with politicians and business leaders there. All that was before his plastic surgery, of course.
Ronald wasn’t a lobbyist, but he seemed to do something related to lobbying. It didn’t matter to Corn. Besides, he wasn’t allowed to ask. That had been specifically written into his job description.
Corn picked at the peeling sunburn on the back of his wrist as he watched and waited.
A few years of security consulting had become a bodyguard position, mostly. When Ronald went overseas to meet with Middle Eastern men about oil deals or movie investments, Corn would stand beside him, stoic and severe. That was all his job entailed: looking stoic and severe. For an FBI dropout, this seemed like about as good of a job as he would get.
Ronald liked FBI Training Academy dropouts. That’s where he had recruited Hot New Thing Ashleigh. Because, aside from ex-cops and failed FBI recruits, he liked young and impressionable women. Ashleigh was certainly all of those things.
But also, she was ambitious. Corn didn’t so much like that about her. That could easily become a problem. Because, no matter how hard Corn worked to stay in Ronald’s good graces, he could never warm his boss’ bed. That gave Ashleigh an unfair advantage. But, what could he do except excel at his job?
Corn sighed. He spent too much time worrying about this, and he knew it. A decade of service to Ronald couldn’t compare to Ashleigh’s measly few months. When they recovered the NSA report and sold it to the buyer, Corn’s share would be larger. He knew this.
His thoughts drifted to dinner, and what he might prepare. He had intended to pick up ribs at the butcher and let them smoke for a few hours, but he hadn’t known he would have to follow Layne Parrish halfway across the damn state. But, Ronald also liked a well-done steak, so Corn could probably grab something on the way home and still have it ready in time.
He shifted the binoculars a hundred feet to the south as Layne Parrish skittered down the hill and skulked toward the RV. Such an interesting character, this Layne, masquerading around town as Larry Primrose.
Corn didn’t know if he agreed with Ronald’s new plan of holding Harry Boukadakis as bait to make Layne find the report. Because Layne didn’t seem all that interested in finding the report. He seemed more intent on inserting himself into the criminal element of Arizona, probably hoping to find a connection to Ronald and also to locate Harry.
If the Pahana were now involved, then that complicated everything. Corn wanted to kill him now. But, if Layne died, then Ronald would probably be upset.
It seemed that Layne was not someone they could control, at least not without exerting considerable effort. Corn didn’t like people who required a lot of fuss to keep in line. As useless as Harry had been, he took almost no effort. A couple of Polaroid pictures and he’d understood the stakes immediately. Layne would not be so easy.
If they cut off Layne’s daughter’s big toe and left it at the front desk of his Inn, would Layne even care? He was a trained assassin. It might not even faze him.
Besides, Layne might not have enough time to locate the NSA report, even with the proper motivation. It had taken Ronald long enough to find this buyer. Another one might not come along, and the deadline for the meeting was tomorrow.
But, if Layne inserted himself into the Pahana’s affairs, then that could cause all sorts of problems. It could lead directly to Ronald and blow the whole thing wide open.
All of this complication gave Corn a headache. Simplicity was not a quality he would find on this job, apparently. Probably, everything would fall to pieces, and they would have to start over somewhere else, with another buyer and a different means of acquiring the report. At least then, Corn would have the pleasure of knowing Layne couldn’t muck it up again.
As he picked at the sunburn and peeled back the dead skin, he realized the thought of killing Layne pleased him. It pleased him a lot. It might even make having to abort this sale worthwhile.
But no, he couldn’t simply do that without the boss’ permission. Unless someone else did it for him. Not as much fun, but a lot easier to justify to Ronald.
Corn sighed as he took out his sat phone and placed a call. It rang several times before his contact picked up. “It’s me,” he said, and then waited a few seconds for his contact to respond.
“I just watched you and your five friends descend into Snake Bite. But, you’ve got a coyote on your tail. White guy, tall, armed with an expensive-looking pistol. Layne Parrish. I thought you should know.”
19
Harry turned around when the door opened. Ashleigh stood there, an awkward look on her face. His eyes honed in on a cluster of paperbacks under her arm. When she noticed him noticing, she lifted the books.
“No military sci-fi, but I got you some different books. John Grisham, Lee Child, and I found one by Brad Thor. I don’t even really know what military sci-fi is.”
Harry clasped his hands in front of him and gave her an appreciative smile, as hard as it was to force his face to contort that way. He felt more like yelling than expressing gratitude. “Thank you.”
Ashleigh set the books down on the edge of the dresser and then crossed the room to pick up his lunch tray. Harry had eaten his sandwich and the pickle but left the chips. “You don’t like the sour cream and onion? I can get you different ones if you like. We have baked, if that matters.”
“You don’t need to get me different chips. I’m not hungry.”
“Why?”
“It’s hard to eat when I know I’ll be dead when I’m done being useful to you. That, no matter how nice and compliant I am, it’s not going to have any effect on what happens to me here. My fate is completely out of my hands, so excuse me for wallowing in despair.”
She frowned, her lips swishing back and forth for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, Harry. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but there’s no point in worrying about it.“
“How much longer do I have?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. We have a buyer lined up.”
He put his head in his hands for a few seconds. What hurt even more was knowing he couldn’t tell Ashleigh the truth about what he knew. That it would still mean a death sentence for him, and probably for his family, too.
“That’s nice for you. I hope you all get rich.”
”You might as well eat. I have to go out and run errands so I won’t be back for dinner until late.”
He crossed his arms. “I don’t want it.”
For a moment, he thought she might give up on him and walk out. He wasn’t in the mood to placate her today. But, to his surprise, she slid into a spot on the bed, across from his chair.
“You said you met your wife in college. Tell me more about that. Your courtship.”
Harry shook his head. “You want to chat? Why don’t you have a turn then? Tell me something personal, if you want us to get to know each other better.”
“Okay, fine. What do you want to know?”
“You don’t have a ring. What about a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
“Neither. I had a partner when I was at Quantico, but we drifted apart after I left.”
Harry nodded, trying to make himself give her his full attention. Continuing to push with a temper tantrum would get him nowhere, and he was beginning to see as much. Maybe a connection would make a real difference. Worth a try.
“Lack of proximity can hurt a relationship. I don’t know much about relationships, but I do know that. So, why did you leave the FBI?”
“I was caught cheating on a written exa
m.” She paused, her face twisting as the corners of her mouth jittered. It looked like a painful memory for her. “Nobody tells you how hard it is. All the late nights, the early mornings. Your classmates are supposed to lift you up, but everyone is so competitive. I was floundering in the bottom third of my class, anyway, so I cheated. It was a mistake, I got caught, and I paid the price.”
“And you lost your boyfriend, too.”
Her eyes misted a little, but she stopped short of letting a tear fall. “He was the one who helped me cheat. But, he didn’t get caught. No, he graduated with the Director’s Leadership Award. He’s an agent in Seattle now, and won’t have anything to do with me. We haven’t spoken in forever.”
“That sucks.”
She stood and picked up his tray. “Yes, Harry, it sucks.”
Her current career choice didn’t seem as much of a stretch now. While Harry couldn’t put himself in her shoes, exactly, he could see it. He could see being angry enough to do something terrible.
She hovered, seemingly trying to think of something to say, then she nodded. It was a way to punctuate the conversation. Nothing else needed to be said. With the tray in hand, she turned and left the room, then closed the door behind her.
Harry took a step forward and then sat on the bed, his eyes searching the blue sky outside the window. He actually was hungry, but every time he thought about Ronald’s lackey Cornelius making food for him—his lengthy and sunburned fingers placing mayonnaise on the bread—Harry’s stomach turned. Ashleigh was a bright spot. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so caustic toward her.
But then, Harry realized something. His eyes studied the door.
He hadn’t heard the bolt lock close after Ashleigh had left. Replaying the last few seconds in his head, he was sure of it. She’d left it unlocked. Accidentally or on purpose, it didn’t matter. This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for and hoping would materialize.
His heart bumped, and he licked his lips a few times.
Harry crept across the room and placed a hand on the knob, then he gave it a small turn. Gently, holding his breath, he pulled the door back, and it opened. For the first time in three days, he saw outside his little prison room in the desert house.
The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention and his mouth dried up. He had to work to swallow. One foot outside into the hall, he leaned out and took a look. He found a hallway lined with expensive grayish tile, with pale pink walls adorned with pieces of canvas art. Paint splotches, abstract things.
To the right, a set of stairs descended somewhere too sunny to see. It was almost white. To the left, he could see a hallway terminating in a set of double doors. Double doors probably meant master bedroom. No one in this hall, and no voices in the immediate vicinity.
Harry had to think fast. He could hear voices coming from somewhere. Left, right? He didn’t even know. This sort of sneaking and avoiding people was not his strong suit. But, he had to choose. He might only have a few seconds until someone came strolling this way. Any of these nearby doors could open at any time.
What if he picked the wrong way? What would they do to him if they caught him?
He picked the stairs. Hands out, senses heightened, he skulked along the hallway toward those stairs. As he came closer, his eyes adjusted to the bright light. There were five steps down to a sunroom, which branched off both left and right. To the right was a grand living room, with a ceiling at least twenty feet tall. Sculptures on pedestals, huge pieces of art, and the biggest TV Harry had ever seen in his life. In his little room, Harry had had no scope of the size of this place. But it was clearly huge.
The living room would have multiple exits. The most options for escape. But, that appeared to be where the voices were coming from. Harry could hear four or five distinct voices, talking to each other. Sounded like they were playing cards, maybe.
Could he risk going down there, trying to sneak past an unknown number of enemies? Hug the back of a couch like an action hero?
Not a chance. Not with forty pounds of fat around his midsection and a heart thumping so loudly against his ribcage he could barely hear himself think.
So, as he pulled back from the edge of the stairway, he chose left. Quickly, keeping his feet light, he padded into a short hallway that branched off in two directions. To the right was a kitchen, and to the left, a laundry room.
At the far end of the laundry room stood a door. A glass door, leading out to a patio. Sunlight filtered in through the window panels on the top half of the door.
Sunlight from the outside.
Harry gulped and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants as he walked toward it.
20
Layne stood at the bottom of the canyon shaft, staring ahead at a gauntlet of rattlesnakes. The slot canyon in front of him was about ten feet wide, and the walls were sheer. Too sheer to climb up and over the snakes.
He considered climbing back up the shaft he’d dropped down, but that wasn't much of an option, either. This part at the bottom was too wide for him to chimney his way up, and he couldn't spot hand and foot holds to use. Like a laundry chute. Either way, to find the six armed men with their suitcase, he would have to push forward. Through the snakes and to whatever came after that.
He counted ten snakes over a span of thirty feet. Some of them coiled and sleeping, some of them with heads raised and rattles shaking to make that ominous sound. Many of them with their beady eyes locked onto the human intruder standing just beyond their reach.
There were open areas of dirt and rocks between the snakes, and Layne would have to plan his sprint to land his feet in exactly those spots. One bad step, landing near enough to enable one of those things to attack, and today might turn out to be one he’d regret.
"Okay, here we go."
He put one foot on the canyon wall behind him and pushed off for momentum. His first footfall landed directly in the middle of two snakes. One of them snapped, long neck shooting toward his leg. Mouth open, fangs out. In jeans and tennis shoes, Layne didn't have much to protect himself from that bite.
But he pressed off with that foot, and the snake’s strike missed his leg by an inch. His next footfall landed directly in front of another snake. This one reared up, preparing to bite. Layne swept his other leg forward and kicked the snake in its head, sending it flying into another snake. The two tangled, rolling a few feet away.
Controlled breathing, eyes forward and down, Layne pushed his legs with all the power he had. Step. Step. Jump. Step. In five more paces, he reached the last two snakes. When his foot landed in the soft sand and sank, one lashed out and bit him on the back of his heel. Like a lightning slash, he hadn’t had time to move his leg out of the way.
He didn't feel fangs sinking into his flesh, so the bite had not been deep enough. Probably. Maybe he hadn’t felt it yet. Instinctively, Layne kicked that foot out, whipping the snake's body forward. It smacked against the side of the slot canyon. Like cracking a whip. The viper released its grip and Layne jumped forward one more step, to freedom.
Panting, lightheaded, he lifted his foot to check the bite. Two holes on one side of the heel of his shoe. He took the shoe off and couldn't see any holes in his socks. Nothing had made it into his actual foot.
Layne looked back at the line of snakes. Many of them were already coiling again, returning to their dormant state. The one he’d kicked against the canyon wall was dead, motionless in the dirt.
“It wasn’t personal,” Layne said. “Technically, you threw the first punch.”
He sat and watched the snakes as he let the adrenaline subside. A little lightheaded, he used a hand on the canyon wall to steady himself. He thought back to the first trip he’d taken with Inessa before she had become Inessa Parrish. A weekend camping trip to Arches National Park. They had started on the Delicate Arch trail but had somehow gotten sidetracked by a few cairns pointing them up into a higher elevation side trail back among the slick rock. Inessa had been in the lead, and she kept her he
ad down, following the footprints in the red dirt. Layne let her direct their path, something she enjoyed doing.
Eventually, they had found themselves standing on the edge of a cliff, about fifteen feet down to the ground. There was no good way to get back up to wherever they had become separated from the main trail. While Inessa fretted and apologized for leading them off track, Layne calculated the likelihood of them breaking their ankles by jumping. Ultimately, they had no choice. He went first, rolling when he hit the ground. Nothing broken, only a spike of pain up into his heels when he landed. He stood at the bottom, arms out, and Inessa jumped. He caught her.
Both pumped full of terror and excitement. A whirlwind of emotions rumbling through both of them.
They’d made love right there up against the cliff wall, standing up. Back in those early days of exploring each other when everything was new and fresh. When they could go from fighting or jumping off a dangerous cliff to having sex in ten seconds flat. She was beautiful, and he was beautiful, and Layne thought marrying her would take him away from the espionage life forever.
He had no idea then she was cheating on him, right from the beginning. He had no idea then that when his daughter would be born, he wouldn’t know if he was her biological father or not. And, he didn’t know that, once he saw Cameron Parrish’s face for the first time, it wouldn’t matter if he weren’t blood-related. At that moment, he realized he would divorce Inessa, but he would always be there for that little girl. No matter what.
And, thinking of her, being there for that little girl gave him a strong motivation to live out the day. Find the suitcase, leave the canyon, and somehow find Harry Boukadakis, with less than twenty-four hours to do it.
Once his heart rate had slowed to a reasonable level, he continued along the path in the canyon. It took him a full minute to lower his heart rate enough so he could again listen. A light sound of breeze whisked along the canyon floor.
He thought he heard a faint rustling ahead, something a little different from the wind. Hard to tell though. At each step, looking around for the suitcase. No choice but to push forward, and, at best, find his six targets. At worst, to find no way out of the canyon. The afternoon sun was already starting to sink, and he didn’t want to be stuck down here once night descended. He could imagine it turning a deadly cold down here.