After the Execution

by James Raven

  I was certain of only one thing. Aaron Vance had set me up. He and Daniels had sped away from the restaurant because they had known what was going to happen. I’d been taken there not to have dinner with a mystery man but to be murdered in cold blood by a guy in a hood who was supposedly working for the FBI. I’d been an easy target. But the would-be assassin had messed up. He’d either been over confident or inexperienced.

  None of it made any sense. Why go to extraordinary lengths to keep me alive only to have me gunned down just over twenty four hours later? And why do it outside a busy restaurant in the centre of town? And what did the guy I was supposed to meet have to do with it? Mr Martinez was the name I was given. Was he the guy who had waved at me through the window?

  It meant I was on my own now. I couldn’t expect help from anyone – not even the cops. I was supposed to be dead. My body cremated. And those who knew I was still alive – including the FBI – were going to be desperate to ensure the truth did not get out.

  Their diabolical plan had backfired. I’d got away, and they now faced the threat of exposure. For them the consequences could be catastrophic. Faking an execution was not an acceptable practice – even for the FBI.

  But what about me? I was a man who no longer officially existed. What was I going to do? I had no name, no money, no friends, no home, no prospects. I couldn’t approach anyone I knew. The Feds would put everyone from my past under surveillance. They’d know everything about me – right down to my old haunts and the names of people who might be willing to help me. So how would I survive? Where would I go? What did the future hold for me, assuming I was still alive by this time tomorrow?

  I stood there, feeling dread pour through me. A drum was beating in my head and my scalp felt tight. I could taste the fear in my mouth. I could feel the excess adrenaline burning me up. I had no plan of action other than to stay one step ahead of Vance and his crew.

  Stay calm, I told myself. Think. Think fast. But my head began to ache as my brain grappled with what was a hopeless predicament. And suddenly I was struck by a strange truth – that there had actually been an upside to life on death row.

  At least there I had never had to think for myself.

  15

  I CHOSE THE wrong moment to step out of the doorway. As I started walking along the pavement a grey Dodge with tinted windows came crawling out of a side street up ahead.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when it turned left and started moving away from me. But then the brake lights suddenly came on and the vehicle did a frenetic U-turn in the road. I took to my toes again and ran at full pelt in the opposite direction. My heart surged into fifth gear.

  A part of me wanted to stop and confront Aaron Vance. Find out why he now wanted me dead. But the other part of me, the rational part, told me it would be suicide.

  So I took a determined breath to stiffen my resolve and picked up speed. But I couldn’t outrun the Dodge. Its engine was soon roaring in my ears as it closed in.

  As luck would have it I came to a low wall just in the nick of time. I scrambled over it, dashed across the forecourt of a clothes store, then charged head first into a narrow alley alongside it. The Dodge couldn’t follow, but I didn’t pause to find out if it had stopped. I tore through the alley, which was unlit and smelled of something rotten.

  My chest heaved, thirsty for oxygen, and my legs hurt. I wondered if Vance or Daniels, or maybe both of them, had got out of the Dodge and were now coming after me on foot. If so I was in trouble. They’d be faster and fitter than me, and they would obviously know their way around the city. Whereas I was lost, with no idea where I was heading.

  The alley discharged me onto another street. It was lined with trees and parked cars. I spotted the entrance to a hotel on my left. To my right was an intersection. I darted across the road, dodging a couple of cars. One driver blasted his horn because he had to swerve to avoid me.

  I was looking back after every few strides, but I didn’t see the Dodge or any Feds. Had I lost them? I doubted it. I feared it was only a matter of time before I was spotted again. The city centre was too bright, and away from the River Walk the streets were fairly quiet. There were too few pedestrians which meant I was pretty conspicuous.

  Exhaustion forced me to slow down. I walked past an office block and then a fast-food restaurant. Beyond that I turned right onto another street that was part of a square. In the centre of the square there was a grassy area and a small water fountain with coloured lights. On the other side of the square I saw a large retail grocery store.

  I stopped to look around. There was some traffic but no sign of the Dodge or the Taurus. I quick-stepped across the road and onto the grass, pausing next to a tree to catch my breath. From there I had a good view of the square and all the roads leading onto it. It looked like any normal weekday night away from the tourist area. There wasn’t much action. Very little noise.

  If the FBI had ordered a lockdown of the city centre to stop me escaping then there was no evidence of it. That probably meant the police had not been told about me. The cops were therefore oblivious to what was going on. That was why the streets were not swarming with uniforms and cruisers.

  It made sense if my faked execution was part of a secret operation known only to a small team inside the FBI. A team headed up by Special Agent Aaron Vance. The last thing he’d want now would be for me to be arrested by the police who would quickly discover that I was Lee Jordan. The same Lee Jordan who was executed yesterday evening at 6 p.m. in Huntsville.

  I suddenly caught sight of the Dodge. It was cruising along the road I had just crossed. I stepped back behind the tree, waited a couple of seconds, then peered out to see where it was.

  To my dismay it had stopped at the curb. I had to assume they were looking out through the darkened windows, trying to decide which way to go. They were uncomfortably close. It made me wonder if they’d seen me and had radioed or phoned the other members of the team in the Taurus. If so I could soon be a sitting duck. I had to get out of the square.

  Keeping the tree between myself and the Dodge, I started walking backwards, conscious of the fact that it was a risky manoeuvre. I got to within a few feet of the road, and was about to turn and hurry across it, when the Dodge suddenly lurched forward with a screech of rubber.

  They’d spotted me.

  My stomach did a backflip. I threw caution to the wind and hurtled full-throttle across the road towards the retail grocery store. It was a big, two-storey building and there was a large parking lot in front that was almost full.

  I was wheezing with every breath as I jogged through the entrance. I then lowered my head and tried to lose myself amongst the vehicles. I moved as quickly as I could between cars and trucks and vans. I passed a couple of people loading groceries into their trunks and it gave me an idea.

  But as I rushed forward I began to panic because I felt sure the Feds were about to entrap me. I was on the verge of bolting back out onto the road when I saw a woman who was by herself. She was piling bags into the back of a dark blue Ford Explorer.

  I stopped in my tracks about twenty feet from her and watched as she unloaded her trolley. I couldn’t see anyone else in the car. She was in her mid to late thirties and was wearing jeans and a tight black T-shirt. She had coppery brown hair that was tied back and beneath it I noticed her neck was pale and slender.

  When her bags were packed she left the trolley where it was and moved towards the driver’s side door. That’s when I rushed forward, whipping the gun from my pocket. Just as she closed her door I wrenched open the door on the passenger side and slipped into the seat next to her.

  She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth.

  I pointed the gun at her face and said, ‘If you scream you’ll be very sorry.’

  Fear contorted her features as she locked her frightened gaze on me. Her hand started to shake and a low moan issued from between her lips.

  ‘I want you to switch on the ignition and drive out of the parking
lot,’ I said in a soft, controlled voice.

  ‘Please don’t,’ she said. ‘I have money and credit cards in my purse. Take them and go.’

  ‘I don’t want money,’ I said. ‘There are people after me and I need to get as far away from them as possible. If you cooperate you’ll be OK.’

  Her eyes shifted nervously to the left and I followed her stricken gaze.

  Damn.

  There was a young child strapped into a safety seat in the back. A girl, aged between eight months and a year I guessed. She was fast asleep with her mouth open.

  ‘Oh my God please don’t hurt us,’ the woman said, her voice cracking.

  I looked at her and gritted my teeth.

  ‘Either you start driving or I kick you out and take the kid.’

  That did it. She turned the key and the Explorer came to life.

  ‘Don’t rush it,’ I said. ‘Drive slowly and carefully. And for your sake don’t try to signal to anyone.’

  She shoved the stick into drive and we moved forward. Thankfully she stayed calm and gripped the wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. I saw the Dodge as we rolled towards the exit. We had to pass it and as we did I slunk down in the seat and hoped to God they didn’t see me.

  I focused my eyes on the wing mirror as we eased out of the parking lot onto the road, then let out a shaky breath when I realized the Feds weren’t following us.

  ‘I’ll give you anything you want, mister,’ the woman said, her voice so thin I could barely hear it. ‘Just don’t harm my baby.’

  I put the gun back into my pocket, said, ‘I won’t harm either of you so long as you do as I tell you.’

  She turned to look at me with a mixture of fear and confusion.

  ‘Just keep your eyes on the road,’ I said. ‘And don’t even think of crashing the car deliberately. It’d be a big mistake.’

  She faced forward again and said, ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Good question,’ I replied. ‘Just keep driving. I need to think this through.’

  16

  GIDEON CRANE KNEW he’d already drunk too much. He was slurring his words and feeling light-headed. He would have to ease up if he was going to avoid getting completely smashed.

  It was only eight o’clock. The evening had barely begun. Pauline’s brother, Travis, and his girlfriend Cindy, had come over as planned to celebrate Thanksgiving, as well as Lee Jordan’s execution.

  The four of them were now sitting around the dining table, working their way through their third bottle of wine. The dinner plates had been cleared and Crane was trying to look as if he was interested in the inane conversation. But he had too much on his mind to focus. That was why he was drinking heavily. He was desperate to quell the hysteria that was rising in his gut.

  He’d been disturbed by a sense of monstrous tension since returning from Beth’s apartment at about three. The theft of her diary and the text message sent to his phone had really got to him. Pauline had made things worse by refusing to cancel the dinner, telling him that she was determined to salvage something from what had been a miserable day.

  As a result he’d had to put up with her brother’s annoying drivel and grating arrogance for the past hour. Travis was in his late forties. He was a whippet-thin man with sunken cheeks and unruly fair hair. He ran a small and moderately successful private investigations agency in Houston. Crane reckoned he was well suited to the job because he was sleazy and without scruples. He was also addicted to gambling, and on three separate occasions over the past nine years Crane had had to bail him out when he couldn’t pay his debts.

  Only two months ago Travis had approached Crane for more money, this time the princely sum of twenty thousand dollars. But Crane had turned him down flat, a decision that had shocked and angered Travis and had upset Pauline. But Crane had stuck by it, insisting that Travis sort out his own problems.

  This was the first time they had got together socially since then, and to Crane’s immense relief the subject of the money had not been raised. He therefore assumed that Travis had managed to come up with it by some other means.

  As far as Crane was concerned the guy was a sponge, soaking up the goodwill of those around him and giving nothing back in return. Crane had never tried to conceal his contempt for Travis. Pauline knew what he thought about her brother, but she defended him to the hilt on the grounds that he was her only blood relative.

  Travis, for his part, didn’t give a monkey’s ass what anyone thought about him. He had elephant-thick skin and the morals of an alley cat.

  ‘I’d like to propose another toast,’ Travis said, after Pauline had refilled the glasses. ‘This time to the next President of this great country of ours.’

  Travis raised his glass towards Crane and the others followed suit.

  Crane smiled grudgingly, said, ‘There’s a long way to go and it might not happen.’

  Travis shook his head. ‘Come off it, Gideon. You’re way ahead in the polls. Once you’ve got the Republican ticket you can set your sights on that moron in the White House. And he’ll be a walkover.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s going to be as easy as that.’

  Travis fixed him with a drunken stare. ‘It will be so long as you keep your nose clean and don’t fuck up.’

  Crane was used to Travis’s crass and insensitive remarks, but he feared that what he just said might prove prophetic. After all, he hadn’t kept his nose clean had he? He’d been having an affair with his press secretary and whoever had stolen her diary was in a position to destroy his political ambitions.

  ‘Don’t look so glum,’ Travis said. ‘I’m a hundred per cent confident that you won’t put a foot wrong. You’ll be taking the oath of office next year.’

  ‘It’s good to know that you don’t have any doubts,’ Crane said, resisting the urge to adopt a sarcastic tone.

  Travis grinned. ‘In fact I’m so sure you’ll make it that I’m going to place a hefty bet on it. The odds are currently three to one, so I can look forward to a big pay day.’

  ‘You told me you’d given up gambling,’ Cindy said in that loud Texas twang that Crane found so irritating.

  She was a good ten years younger than Travis, with breasts the size of melons and a brain the size of a pea. She had ash-blonde hair and deer-like eyes, and Travis had been with her for six months.

  ‘I have given up, sweetheart,’ he said, and was clearly lying through his teeth. ‘But this bet is a one-off. Call it a gesture of faith in my brother-in-law.’

  Crane hated it when Travis referred to him as his brother-in-law. It made him cringe.

  ‘Look, I need some fresh air,’ Crane said. ‘Does anyone mind if I pop outside to smoke a cigar?’

  ‘I’ll join you,’ Travis said. ‘There’s something I want to talk to you about without boring the ladies.’

  Crane’s heart sank, but he tried not to show his disappointment.

  ‘It’s too chilly for me,’ Pauline said. ‘Cindy and I will clear the table. When you come back maybe we can play a game of cards.’

  Crane took a couple of Dominican cigars from his humidor and he and Travis went outside. The temperature had dropped quite a bit. The night was clear and crisp and they stood under a glittering canopy of stars to light their cigars. Then they sat at the patio table from where they had a view of the moonlit lake. The cigar smoke hung above them like a pale cloud.

  ‘So what is it you want to talk to me about?’ Crane asked without preamble.

  Travis picked off a piece of tobacco that had got stuck to his tongue. Then he smiled, which surprised Crane, who had expected him to adopt a pathetic expression and plead for money.

  ‘I want to talk about your bid for the Presidency,’ Travis said. ‘And what you’re going to have to do to stop me derailing it.’

  Crane stared at him, confused.

  ‘What the hell are you on about?’

  Travis sucked wetly on his cigar and blew the smoke out slowly between pursed lips.

&
nbsp; ‘I’ve never liked you, Gideon,’ he said. ‘There’s something dark about you. And you’re the most self-centred man I know. I don’t understand why my sister was attracted to you in the first place, or why she still loves you. And it is love by the way. Your wealth has never had anything to do with it.’

  Crane felt his blood boil. He said, ‘What the fuck has got into you, Travis? How dare you talk to me like this?’

  Travis flicked ash from the end of his cigar onto the patio.

  ‘That’s the trouble with you, Gideon. You think that because you’re a wealthy politician you can be condescending and patronizing to people like me. People you regard as flawed and inferior. Well you can’t – at least not anymore.’

  It must be the alcohol talking, Crane thought. He’d never known Travis to be so truculent and offensive. Clearly the wine had unleashed a torrent of bad feelings that had been festering inside him for ages.

  ‘Where’s this coming from, Travis?’ he said. ‘Is it because you’re still pissed off that I didn’t give you that money in September?’

  Travis made a thoughtful noise in his throat. ‘I guess it’s true to say that if you had given me the money I wouldn’t have started my investigation. And I wouldn’t therefore be in a position now to blow your campaign out of the water.’

  Crane’s nostrils flared like a bull about to charge.

  ‘What investigation? Have you been prying into my affairs, for God’s sake?’

  Travis rolled the cigar between his fingers, clearly enjoying the moment.

  ‘My job is to investigate people,’ he said. ‘So I decided out of anger to investigate you. And guess what? I found stuff out that will scupper your chances of ever becoming President.’

  Crane’s stomach knotted like a ball of twine. For several long beats he didn’t know what to say or how to react. He felt his chest tighten up and his heart rate quicken.