Blood Hunt

by Jack Harvey

  “Do you believe in client confidentiality, Mr… Eddie?”

  “Sure, Rule One.”

  “Well, then I can tell you that, yes, I think they may have done me wrong. If I can prove that… well, that might put both of us in an interesting position.”

  Duhart played with a cheap pen, handling it like it was rolled-gold Cartier. “You mean,” he said, “that we could both use information about Alliance to our separate advantages?”

  “Yes,” Reeve said simply.

  Duhart looked up at him. “Going to tell me what they did?”

  “Not just now, later. First, I want to know what you know.”

  Duhart smiled. “You know, we haven’t discussed my charges yet.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

  “Mr. Wagner, you know something? You’re the first interesting damned client I’ve had. Let’s go get a coffee.”

  As Reeve had feared, the fedora was not just an ornament. Duhart wore it as far as the coffee shop on the corner, then placed it on the Formica-topped table, checking the surface first for grease marks and coffee spills. He touched the brim of the hat from time to time with his fingernails, like it was his talisman. He watched from the window as he talked about Alliance. Nobody, it seemed, had any dirt on the company. They operated cleanly and for a client roll that included most of the city’s top companies and individuals. They were the establishment.

  “What about their structure?” Reeve asked. So Duhart told him a little about that. He had done his research, and he retained knowledge well. Reeve wondered if it was the police training.

  “Have you ever heard of someone called Dulwater working for Alliance?”

  Duhart frowned and shook his head. “It’d only take two seconds to check though.” He slipped a portable telephone out of his pocket. “You don’t happen to know Alliance’s number, do you?”

  Reeve recited it. Duhart pressed some buttons and took another sip of coffee.

  “Mm, yes,” he said at last, “Mr. Dulwater’s office please.” He waited, staring at Reeve. “Is that right? No, there’s no message, thank you, ma’am.” He cut the connection and put the telephone back in his pocket.

  “Well?” Reeve asked.

  “Seems he’s not in the office today.”

  “But he does work there?”

  “Oh yeah, he works there. And one other thing she told me.”

  “What?”

  “The name’s pronounced Doo-latter.”

  “Let me put something to you,” Reeve said, after their second coffees had appeared, along with a slice of pie for Duhart.

  “Shoot.”

  “Say Alliance wanted some work done overseas. Say they hire a couple of PIs from another firm based overseas to do some surveillance work.”

  “Mm-hm.” Duhart scooped pie into his mouth.

  “Well, who’d have the authority to put that sort of operation together?”

  Duhart considered, swallowing the pie with some sour black coffee. “I get your question,” he said. “I’d have to make an educated guess.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Well, it’d have to be at senior-partner level, and for that they might even have to go to the old man himself.”

  “His name’s Allerdyce, you said?”

  “Yeah, Allerdyce. He plays his cards close, you know? He likes to keep tabs on everything the company’s doing, every operation. I know the names of the senior partners; Dulwater ain’t one of them.”

  “So Allerdyce would have to sanction something like that?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “Even if he didn’t actually originate the plan?”

  Duhart nodded. “That what happened to you, Mr. Wagner? I mean, I notice your accent and all. You’re British, right? Did they come and do a number on you?”

  “Something like that,” Reeve said thoughtfully. “Okay, Eddie, what about telling me everything you know about Allerdyce?”

  “Where do you want me to start?”

  “Let’s start with where he lives…”

  SEVENTEEN

  WORKING SHIFTS, Reeve and Duhart kept a watch on the offices of Alliance Investigative.

  It wasn’t easy. For a start, parking outside was restricted to loading and unloading. Added to which, one person couldn’t cover all the angles: the main entrance faced one street, but the entry / exit ramp for the underground parking garage was around the corner, on a different street altogether. It took them the best part of a day to figure that Allerdyce never entered or left the building on foot.

  Additionally, Reeve worried that he might not recognize Allerdyce. All Duhart had shown him were newspaper and magazine photographs of the scowling figure. Plus, neither Duhart nor Reeve knew what Allerdyce’s vehicle of choice would be. If a black stretch limo came crawling up the ramp, fair enough that was probably the boss. But it could just be a client. Tinted windows didn’t mean anything either. Like Duhart said, if you were going to see Alliance and you were a Washington “name,” you probably didn’t want people recognizing you.

  In the end, they switched tactics and kept watch on Allerdyce’s apartment, but that was no more fruitful.

  “Bastard’s got a house somewhere on the Potomac,” Duhart conceded that night. “Looks like he prefers it to the apartment.”

  “Where’s the house exactly?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Could we go look?”

  “It’s pretty exclusive real estate.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning several things. One, people don’t have their name written on the mailbox or anything. They figure the postman knows who they are. Two, the houses are surrounded by lawns you could host the Super Bowl on. You don’t just cruise past and peer in through the window.”

  Reeve thought about this. “It’s on the river?” Duhart nodded. “Then why can’t we just cruise past? I mean literally.”

  Duhart was wide-eyed. “You mean a boat?”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve never been on a boat in my life, excepting a couple of ferries.”

  “I’ve been on boats a lot. I’ll teach you.”

  Duhart looked skeptical.

  “It’s worth a shot,” said Reeve. “Besides, I’m paying, re-member?”

  Which was about as much argument as Eddie Duhart needed.

  Next day, on their way to rent a boat, they passed the Watergate Hotel. The rental place was actually a club, and not supposed to rent, but Eddie had promised quiet cash and the boat back within a couple of hours. The owner wanted a deposit, too, and that had to be negotiated. But eventually it was agreed. They had their boat.

  It was a two-person motorboat, though the motor wasn’t exactly powerful. There was a rowing club next door, and Reeve feared they’d be overtaken by scullers. They were in possession of a good map, which showed they were about fifteen miles from Mount Vernon. According to Duhart, they’d come to the house before that. Neither man discussed how they would actually recognize the house as belonging to Jeffrey Allerdyce. Reeve was trusting to instinct. And at least they were doing something. He didn’t mind reconnaissance when there was something to reconnoiter, but so far they’d been staring at smoke.

  It was a fine day of sharp sunshine and scudding thin wisps of high cloud. There was a stiff breeze at their back as they puttered down the Potomac. They passed Alexandria on their right, and Duhart said they’d be coming to the district soon where Allerdyce had his home. Reeve had brought a small pair of green rubberized binoculars. They were discreet but powerful. They hadn’t been cheap, but as Wayne had said, they were marine-standard. Reeve had them around his neck as he steered, giving the throttle an occasional twist to push up the revs on the engine. He was wearing his tourist clothes today, plus sunglasses purchased on the plane from London and a white sailing hat borrowed from the boat’s owner.

  After they’d left Alexandria behind, Reeve slowed the boat down. “Remember,” he said, “we’ll get two stabs at this, so
don’t fret. Try to look casual.”

  Duhart nodded. The breeze had kicked around and was rocking the boat a bit. Duhart hadn’t gone green at the gills exactly, but he wasn’t saying much, like he was concentrating on his breathing.

  They came to a row of palatial houses, two- and three-storied, with pillars and porches, gazebos and landing decks. Most carried polite signs warning boats against mooring. Reeve saw rectangular black arc lights dotted on lawns-movement-sensitive, he guessed. He saw an elderly man pushing a lawn mower across grass which looked like green baize. Duhart shook his head to let him know it wasn’t Allerdyce, as if he needed telling.

  On one of the wood-slatted sundecks, a man lazed with his feet up on a stool, a drink on the arm of his chair. Behind him on the clipped lawn, a large dog chased a punctured red ball tossed by another man. The dog’s jaws snapped on the ball and shook it from side to side-your basic neck-break procedure. Reeve waved jauntily towards the man on the deck. The man waved back with three fingers, keeping one finger and a thumb around his glass, a very superior gesture. I’m up here, he was saying, and that’s a place you’ll never be.

  But Reeve wasn’t so sure about that.

  He was still watching the two men and the dog when Duhart puked.

  It came up pink and half-digested, a half-sub special and a can of cherry Coke. The $3.49 brunch floated on the surface of the water while Duhart rested his forehead against the side of the boat. Reeve cut the engine and shuffled forward towards him.

  “You okay?” he said, louder than was necessary.

  “I’ll be fine-feel better already.”

  Reeve was crouching close by him, his head angled as though staring at his friend’s face. But through the thick black lenses he was studying the layout of the garden where the man and the dog still played. He saw another dog pad around the side of the house, sniffing with its nose to the grass. When it saw there was a game in progress, it bounded onto the lawn. The first dog didn’t look too thrilled, and they snapped at each other’s faces until the man with the ball barked a command.

  “Be still!”

  And they both lay down in front of him.

  The man on the deck was still watching the boat. He’d made no comment, hadn’t even wrinkled his face at the sudden jetsam. Reeve patted Duhart’s back and returned to the back of the boat, restarting the outboard. He decided he had an excuse to turn back, so brought the boat around, bringing him closer to where the dogs were now playing together.

  “Hey,” the man with the dogs called to his friend, “your turn to check if Blood’s crapped on the front lawn!”

  It was the sort of confirmation Reeve needed. The two men weren’t owners-they weren’t even guests-they were guards, hired hands. None of the other houses seemed to boast the same level of protection. He’d been told that Allerdyce was a very private man, an obsessive-just the kind of person to have security men and guard dogs, and maybe even more than that. Reeve scanned the lawn but couldn’t see any obvious security-no trips or cameras. Which didn’t mean they weren’t there. He couldn’t explain it, but he got the feeling he’d located Allerdyce’s house.

  He counted the other homes, the ones between Allerdyce’s and the end of the building land. There were five of them. Driving out from Alexandria, he would pass five large gates. The sixth gate would belong to the head of Alliance Investigative.

  Reeve was looking forward to meeting him.

  They set off back to the boat club, then drove back out towards Allerdyce’s home. Duhart hadn’t said much; he still looked a bit gray. Reeve counted houses, then told him to pull over. To the side of the gate was an intercom with a camera above it. Behind the gate, an attack dog loped past. The stone walls on either side of the gates were high, but not impossible. There was nothing on the top of them, no wire or glass or spikes, all of which told Reeve a lot.

  “You wouldn’t go in for all the security we’ve seen, then leave the walls around your house unprotected,” he said.

  “So?”

  “So there must be some sensing devices.”

  “There are the dogs.”

  Reeve nodded. “There are the dogs,” he agreed. But when the dogs weren’t around, there would be other measures, less visible, harder to deal with. “I just hope they’re a permanent feature,” he said.

  The inflatable dinghy was big enough for one fully grown man, and a cheap buy.

  That night, Duhart drove Reeve out to Piscataway Park, on the other side of the Potomac from Mount Vernon.

  “Half of me wants to come with you,” Duhart whispered at water’s edge.

  “I like the other half of you better,” Reeve said. He was blacked up-clothes, balaclava, and face paint bought at Wayne’s-not because he thought he’d need it, more for the effect he thought it might have on Allerdyce. And on anyone else for that matter. All he had to do was paddle across the river and upstream a mile or so-in silence, under cover of darkness, without anything giving him away. He hoped there were no garden parties in progress, no late-night drinks on the sundeck. He hoped there wasn’t too much traffic on the Potomac this time of night.

  He felt the way he had done at the start of so many missions: not scared at all, but excited, energized, ready for it. He remembered now why he’d loved Special Forces: he’d lived for risk and adrenaline, life and death. Everything had a startling clarity at moments like this: a sliver of moon in bristling reflection on the edge of the water; the moist whites of Duhart’s eyes and the creases in his cheek when he winked; the tactile feel of the plastic oar, its grip grooved out for his four fingers. He splashed ankle deep into the water and eased into the dinghy. Duhart waved him off. The PI had his instructions. He was to go somewhere they knew him-a bar, anyplace. It had to be some way away. He was to stay there and get himself noticed. Those were his instructions. If anything went wrong, Reeve didn’t want any of the shit hitting Duhart.

  Which didn’t mean he didn’t want Duhart back here-or, more accurately, parked outside Allerdyce’s gates-in three hours’ time…

  He paddled upriver, keeping to the bank opposite the houses. In darkness it was hard to differentiate one house from the other; they all seemed to have the same huge expanse of garden, the same jetty, even the same gazebo. He paddled until the dwellings ended, then counted back to the house he was betting belonged to Allerdyce. The homes on either side looked to be in darkness. Reeve checked for river traffic. A boat was chugging upriver. He hugged the bank, trusting to darkness. There were a couple of people on the boat deck, but they couldn’t see him.

  Finally, when all was quiet again, he paddled across the width of the river until he reached the house on Allerdyce’s right. He got out of the dinghy and deflated it, letting it float away, pushing the paddle after it. He was next to the wall which separated the two estates. It was a high stone wall covered with creepers and moss. Reeve hauled himself up and peered into the gloom. There were lights burning in Allerdyce’s house. He heard a distant cough, and saw wisps of smoke rising from the gazebo. He waited, and saw a pinpoint of red as the guard sucked on a cigarette.

  Reeve lowered himself back into the neighbors’ garden and produced a package from inside his jacket, unwrapping the two slabs of choice meat that he’d drugged using a mixture of articles freely available in any pharmacy. He tossed both slices over the wall and waited again. He was prepared to wait awhile.

  In fact, it took about five minutes for the dogs’ keen noses to locate the tidbits. He could hear them slobbering and slavering. There were no human sounds; the other guard wasn’t with them. They were free to wander the estate. This was good news: it meant the movement-sensitive lights and other devices had almost certainly been kept switched off. They’d be for use only when the dogs weren’t around. Reeve heard the eating sounds stop, the noise of sniffing-greedy things were looking for more-then silence. He gave it another five minutes, then hauled himself over the top of the wall and into Jeffrey Allerdyce’s garden. There was no sign of the dogs. The sleeping dra
ft would have taken its time to act. They’d be elsewhere. He hoped they were sleeping somewhere they couldn’t be seen.

  He stayed close to the wall, feeling it at his back, and moved towards the gazebo. The guard was sitting facing the water, his back to Reeve. Reeve moved quickly and quietly across the muffling lawn. He held the dagger by its scabbard, the handle showing, and swung it, clubbing the guard across the side of his head. The man was dazed, but not quite out. He was half-turning, opening his mouth, when Reeve’s fist caught him full in the face. The second blow knocked him cold. Reeve got out tape and did the man’s ankles, wrists, and mouth, making sure the nose wasn’t broken or blocked, making sure the guard wouldn’t suffocate. He felt in the pockets for a gun, but there wasn’t one, just loose change and cigarettes. He didn’t recognize the face; it figured-there had to be two shifts, maybe three.

  He looked around. There were French windows to the back of the house. He wondered if they were locked. He also wondered where the second guard was. Indoors? He ran in a crouch towards the French windows. Lights shone inside. He was looking through the glass when he heard a growl behind him. One of the dogs. It looked very alert. Too alert. So only one of them had found the meat. The dog galloped towards him, and he pointed an arm at it.

  “Be still!”

  The dog stopped short, a little confused. It recognized the words but not the person uttering them, but then it was used to obeying more than one master… Reeve plunged the dagger two-handed into the top of its head, just behind the skull. The dog’s legs buckled and it went down, Reeve maintaining the pressure. He glanced through the window to see if anyone had been roused. All he saw was the reflection of a man blackened up so that the brightest things about him were the whites of his eyes, his gritted teeth, and the blade in his hands.

  He pulled the knife out and wiped it on the dog’s coat. The French windows were unlocked. He took off his boots, left them hidden below the level of the porch, and let himself into the house.