Watchers

by S. T. Boston

  “How many times are you going to do that?” groaned Roddick, staring at the gun in Finch's hand with clear annoyance.

  “Shut up, it helps me think,” Finch replied curtly, tucking the pistol back into his body harness. “You haven't even checked your weapon yet!”

  “That's because I don't need to,” said Roddick confidently. “It was all in order when we left Denver and being as it hasn't been used or even taken out of the harness, I'm guessing that it's still fine.” His voice held a sarcastic tone that Finch really didn't care for. “What's the problem here anyway?” he asked, focusing on the RV. “It's right there, what are we waiting for?” He sniffed loudly, and Finch gritted his teeth in disgust.

  “Hearing you make stupid fucking comments like that makes me realize why you're nothing more than a driver.” Finch glanced across at him in frustration. “Doesn't this seem odd to you at all?” Roddick merely shrugged his shoulders, not taking his eyes from the vehicle across the street. “Why would you book into a hotel if you have an RV? Also, that phone is still pinging away on GPS from inside it, why would you turn your phone's mapping on when you reach your destination, and then forget to take it to your room?”

  “You think they wanted us to find them?” Roddick asked doubtfully.

  “I don't know, but something is up. The other guy, Samuel Becker – Mitchell said he'd worked as a close protection operative after leaving the army. He's had similar training to mine, I think we need to be careful not to underestimate him, that's all.”

  Roddick nodded his head slowly. “To be fair, you don't even know if the girl is with them. All this might be for nothing.”

  “Oh, she's there,” Finch retorted, furious that Roddick would question his judgement. “The police log said they were going to San Francisco. It also said that when they were stopped, there were only two occupants in the vehicle. You saw that photo, they have someone else with them, someone who that inept sheriff didn't find. Why the hell are they now miles south of where they should be, and carrying an extra passenger?”

  “Okay, maybe,” said Roddick distantly. While he was as keen as any of them to put an end to the night's events, there was a small part of him that wanted badly to see Finch fall on his face. “So what's your plan? After all, as you said, I'm just a driver.” He made no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

  “Well I don't plan on sitting here with you all night, if that's what you mean.” Finch unclipped his seat belt and cracked open the door. “I'm going to make enquiries at reception, see what I can find out. You can stay here, keep your eyes on the hotel and if for some unknown reason all this starts going south, just try and be of some help.” He didn't wait for the comment that would no doubt follow; he pushed the door open and climbed out into the car park.

  * * *

  Sam laid the array of weapons out on the small single bed and began meticulously checking them. Although they were all new, well-oiled and had never fired a bullet in anger, it was just a natural process for him, plus it made him feel normal. Opening a fresh pack of hollow points, he loaded both Ruger pistols before flicking the safety on and off a couple of times, testing the fluidity of the guns' mechanics. Satisfied they were both in order, he placed them to the side and began to prep the FNP45. Once loaded, he attached the silencer and double checked the gun's balance by pointing it at the hotel room door. “Anything to report?” he asked, looking up at Adam who sat to the side of a large window, his eyes fixed intently on the car park below.

  “Not a thing,” he replied nervously. “You know, all this might be for nothing and a waste of valuable time, how can you be so sure that they're even looking for us?” As he spoke he didn't take his eyes away from the window. Sam hadn't allowed any lights to be turned on, other than the small shaver light above the bathroom mirror; even then the bathroom door was closed to almost latching point, allowing the thinnest bead of light through. It was just enough to keep them from stumbling around blindly in the dark.

  “I can't be sure, but I know one thing – we're going to find out.” Sam stood up and followed the line of the wall along to the window. “Here take this.” He offered one of the Rugers to Adam.

  “No way,” said Adam, shaking his head. “The last time I fired a gun was on the range on that day you organised – that was over two years ago – not to mention the fact the recoil almost busted my hand.” He glanced at the pistol uneasily.

  “That was a much bigger weapon, this won't have anywhere near that amount of kickback.” Sam thrust the gun forward, prompting Adam to take it. “Trust me.” Reluctantly, Adam took the weapon and turned it over awkwardly in his hand.

  “So do I just pull the trigger?”

  “Almost,” said Sam encouragingly. “You need to take the safety off first, it's this clip here.” He demonstrated, clipping and unclipping the catch a few times. “Always keep it on until you think you might need it.” Adam looked at him doubtfully. “Trust me mate, even a child could use this gun, it's that simple. I'll take over obs in a sec, you need to go and grab us some food. It could be a long night. If we see no sign of anyone by morning, I promise we'll push on.”

  Oriyanna appeared from the bathroom, opening the door just enough to slip her slender frame through before pushing it back into place. Her hair looked tidier, thanks to being dampened again and combed. She crossed the room and perched on one of the single beds. “Is that weapon for me?” she asked, eyeing the spare pistol through the gloom.

  “It is, are you familiar with our weapons?” Sam crossed the room, staying clear of the large window and collected the gun up before handing it to her.

  “Not overly, but I understand how it works.” She took hold of the Ruger and unclipped the magazine without guidance.

  “I'm sure you would rather have something from home,” joked Sam, “these must be a little antiquated to you.”

  “A little, but they will do the job,” she said seriously.

  “Adam is going to grab us some food, I'm not sure what you normally eat, but—”

  “Anything with meats or vegetables is fine,” she cut in smiling. “Remember, I'm really the same as you, I don't eat anything you would find strange.” The tiny grin on her face made Sam feel a little foolish. “Just don't get any of that fizzy stuff I tried earlier!”

  “Are you sure it's safe for me to go out?” asked Adam, glancing back at them briefly.

  “Like you said, they might not even be following us.” Sam joined him at the window. Two large fuel tankers had just pulled up, as well as a rusty old family estate car with three slightly overweight children crammed into the back. The equally large parents got out and began pointing the kids in the direction of the diner. “Just head down and blend in, you'll be back in ten minutes.” Truthfully, Sam didn't want any of them heading out but it had been hours since they'd eaten, and staying fed and well hydrated was as crucial as being armed. Reluctantly, Adam switched places with Sam; he fished a red McLaren baseball cap out of his bag and affixed it to his head, before he removed a lightweight black jacket and slipped his arms into it, pulling the collar up around his neck.

  “Ten minutes maximum, you say?”

  “Ten minutes,” Sam reassured. “Oh, and don't forget to take this.” He handed Adam the Ruger, “Just tuck it into the back of your trousers and for fuck sake, don't let it fall out! If you see anything you don't like the look of, come straight back – follow the line of the hotel to the end of the car park, and don't expose yourself by shortcutting across it.”

  Adam reached out and reluctantly took the gun, tucking it into his waistband. He adjusted his top and coat to conceal the weapon, which felt cold and alien against his skin. Turning his back on Sam he got to the door and gripped the round brass handle. “I don't know,” he began, releasing his grip, “wouldn't you be best doing this?”

  “I need to be here. What if someone turned up while I was away? You're just going to get a take-out, think of it like that. Oh, and so we know it's you when you get back, kn
ock twice before you unlock the door. You have the key, right?” Adam patted the pocket of his faded blue jeans, causing the key and fob to jingle; he glanced at Oriyanna who sat on the bed, watching them both with interest.

  “Be quick!” she said encouragingly, her voice as soft and musical as ever.

  “Okay, fuck it,” sighed Adam, and before he could think about it any further he slipped out onto the walkway and hurried to the stairs. The sheltered outer corridor acted like a wind tunnel, whipping up and amplifying the stiff breeze. Shivering, he readjusted the collar on his jacket and picked up the pace. Adam glanced down at the parking lot; the family were slowly making their way across to the diner while the two truck drivers were busy enjoying a coffee and cigarette break by their cabs, both deep in conversation. He'd half expected something to grab him the very moment he stepped outside. He felt exposed, almost naked. Reaching the stairs, he descended the three floors as fast as he could, and by the time he was pacing along the building line he felt a little better. No boogie man had found him, yet. Despite it being almost three AM there were a few people about, attracted by the all night food service offered at the diner. It was obviously a well-known venue for people not wanting to venture too far off the interstate; the steady hum of its ever-flowing traffic drifted through the night air occasionally, amplified on the wind.

  Just going to get take-out, just going to get take-out, he repeated in his head. He didn't dare look around, and like a child hiding under a duvet, he kept his head down and hoped for the best, only looking up occasionally to check on his progress. The brightly lit restaurant began to strip away the darkness, glancing up Adam saw he was close; he'd made it, almost. He could see the family from the car park now, standing inside and waiting to be seated. He was close enough to hear the hum of people talking and the clinking of cutlery. The hunger he'd felt not twenty minutes ago came back fast, and for a brief second he began to think of what he was going to order for them all and how they would have a nice meal before trying to get some sleep. No one was coming for them, tomorrow they would reach Austin and everything would be alright. The door was close now; maybe twenty feet at the most, he could even read the 'OPEN' sign behind the glass. Engulfed by the temporary euphoria of having survived the short walk, he didn't hear the rushing footfalls behind him, nor did he hear the crack of the gun handle as it came down hard on the back of his skull.

  * * *

  Finch rounded the Impala and stepped up the slight grassy incline which separated the forecourt from the pavement. He walked down a few yards, staying clear of the hotel's line of sight. Satisfied that he was now free to cross unseen, he paused for a second as a lumbering lorry trundled by, heading toward the interstate. As it passed it swept up a mixture of fine grit and litter that whipped up around him, causing Finch to squint. Once it was safe, he crossed the road swiftly and waited for a brief second by an untidy looking bush that marked the end of the hotel's grounds. The car park had suddenly turned quite busy; two tanker drivers were having a good chat and setting the world to rights, whilst a rather rotund family were eagerly heading for the diner. Staying alongside the bushes, Finch crossed the car park and headed for the reception, fishing the FBI badge from his back pocket as he walked. Suddenly something caught his eye: a dark silhouette of a figure dressed in a jacket and baseball cap was briskly walking along the far wall of the hotel, sticking to the shadows and not straying out into the car park where the lighting was better. Finch didn't wait to think it over; he went with his gut. Cramming the badge back into his pocket he unclipped his gun and held it low to the side, obscuring it from prying eyes. The hunched-over figure glanced up briefly before looking back down and hurrying on. Finch knew that unless they turned around, he would never be seen rushing in from behind. Sinking into the same shadows, Finch used the building line as well. Snippets of the conversation between the two drivers cut in and out between his footfalls. He was gaining ground, fast. Whoever this was, the diner was obviously the place they were heading to, nothing else was open apart from the Esso gas station across the street. The figure was almost at the door; it was now or never. He glanced around quickly, no one was watching from the car park and the people in the restaurant were too caught up in their own miserable lives to notice what was happening outside. In one final rush, Finch covered the last ten yards in a few quick, meaningful strides, and as he went he turned the gun in his hand and brought it down hard. The butt of his pistol contacted with the baseball cap in a satisfying crunch. Instantly, his quarry's legs buckled and the figure went down. Finch was ready for the fall and in one swift movement he caught the body, dragging it off to the side of the diner behind a small line of young sapling trees.

  Finch turned the limp, unconscious body over and permitted himself a broad, satisfied smile. While Sam Becker would have been his preferred target, Adam Fisher was a close second place. Glancing around for a second time, satisfied he hadn't been seen, Finch fished his phone out of his pocket and dialled Roddick's number. It rang for a frustratingly long time before his usual nonchalant voice finally answered.

  “Sorry, left my phone on silent. “What's up?”

  “See the diner opposite, just to the left of the hotel?” growled Finch.

  There was a pause. “Yeah, I see it,” Roddick finally replied, still sounding disinterested.

  “Get over here now. Don't come in via the hotel parking lot though, drive toward the interstate and use the entrance at the far end of the diner's parking lot, keep the building between you and the hotel and drive around to the trash cans.

  “Okay, I'm on my way. What's happening?”

  Finch heard Roddick turning the engine over. “I've got Adam Fisher. I need to secure him in the car, and then we both have a room service call to make!”

  * * *

  “He likes you, you know,” Sam said, taking his attention away from the window to glance at Oriyanna across the dusky bedroom; she was sitting on one of the single beds with the Ruger by her side.

  “What, and you don't?” she asked, sounding a little dejected. Sam shook his head and returned his attention to the parking lot. The large white body of the RV stood out against the night like a beacon.

  “Of course I do,” he replied, sounding a little exasperated. “If I didn't, I wouldn't be so keen to be putting our lives on the line. What I mean is Adam likes you!” Sam emphasized the 'like' with his fingers, drawing imaginary punctuation.

  “I'm sorry, Samuel, I really don't know what you mean” Oriyanna said, sounding a little confused.

  “You know, for a superior being you really aren't that bright,” Sam chuckled, checking his watch; the fluorescent hands glowed dimly in the darkened room. Adam had only been gone for five minutes, but it seemed like an hour. Sam craned his neck to the right and looked at the roof of the diner; Adam should be in there right now, waiting for their food. “You really don't know what I'm getting at here, do you?” he asked, looking back at her briefly, and through the darkness he could just make out a flash of understanding wash across her face.

  “Oh!” she gasped. “I'm sorry, I'm still not completely up to speed with some of your phrasing and terminology. And for the record, I'm not a superior being, just a little more evolved, that's all.” Her face flushed with embarrassment at the misunderstanding.

  “I wouldn't worry, you're probably a bit too old for him anyway,” laughed Sam. “Although you do look bloody good for your age.” He paused and strained to look down the outer walkway, certain he'd just seen a shadow or two moving in the nasty orange lighting outside. “Do you have someone back home?” he asked, his nerves about as highly strung as they had ever been. The flap of loose skin on the inside of his bottom lip begged to be worked on, but he resisted.

  “No, I don't really have…”

  “Shhh!” he hissed, holding one of his hands up and cutting her off.

  “Is it Adam?” asked Oriyanna, her voice barely a whisper; instinctively, she slid her hand from her lap and wrapped it around the
cool rubber grip of the gun.

  Sam waved her back urgently with his hand. “I don't think so,” he whispered as calmly as possible. “I just saw what looked like two shadows at the end of the corridor.” He heard Oriyanna slide from the bed and take cover. Silently, Sam slipped from his seat and ducked down below the ledge. Pistol in hand, he shuffled right on his knees, hoping to get a better view. He didn't need to move far, and before he'd travelled half the length of the large window, two dark shadows passed by, blocking out what little artificial light was flowing in through the window. Sam held his breath and moved backward on his bum, as fast as he could. Reaching the bed, he rounded the foot of the divan and joined Oriyanna who was crouched down staring at him, her eyes wide but defiant. Sam forced a breath into his lungs, trying to steady his nerves; he hoped whoever the shadows belonged to came from a room further down. In the deathly silence he heard their footsteps on the glazed tiles outside, he longed to hear them carry on past their room and fade out, but they didn't. Right outside the door, the footsteps stopped! Sam clicked the safety off his pistol and drew in two more long deep breaths, slowly breathing out through his nose.

  Quickly he moved his body around and got to his knees, resting his elbows on the soft mattress for support – it wasn't an ideal shooting platform but it would do. Sam levelled the gun at the door and took aim, just as a key was pushed into the lock. He wasn't going to let them open it. Expertly, he squeezed the trigger off twice, one shot at head height and another slightly lower, the soft yet reassuring, pfft, pfft of the silenced weapon filled his ears as the slugs left the barrel and slammed through the freshly painted plywood door, splintering the surface with two short sharp cracks. Sam heard a muffled cry and the sound of a body hitting the tiles; at least one bullet had found its target. In one swift movement he was on his feet and rounding the foot of the bed, the gun aimed squarely at the door, arms braced in a shooting position. As he closed the distance the door burst open, and he squeezed off another two shots at head height as the figure of a smartly-dressed man charged into the room, blindly returning fire. Instinctively, Sam ducked and the stranger's shots slammed into the back wall, shattering a mirror with a deafening crash and showering the dark grey carpet with shards of broken glass. Sam stayed low and kept his forward momentum. The distance between them now was too short to get off another round. Opening his arms Sam grabbed the stranger's legs and lifted up with his body as hard as he could. He felt the assailant's body rise up off the ground, gravity took over and the male cartwheeled over Sam's back and hit the floor with a thud.