Prey - Debt Collector 6 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  Chapter Thirteen

  The flight into Portland, Oregon, had been filled with an endless barrage of questions by Cooper. He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the assignment. Why are they sending us here? Why do you want to get involved? What made them change their mind about sending me into the field?

  It didn’t matter what she told him, it only produced another series of redundant questions, most of which she didn’t want to answer. All she wanted to do was think and he was making it virtually impossible. She had walked to the back of the plane, put headphones on while in her seat and pretended to be asleep but he still couldn’t take a hint. In the end she had to be rude and tell him to shut the hell up.

  The guy had been acting like a schoolkid who was giddy with excitement from the moment they had boarded the plane to the time it touched down. That enthusiasm would soon wane when the full weight of what they were about to get involved in became clear. She wasn’t too sure if she was prepared for it. She had worked her way through months on a serial killer case and even that took a toll on her. It wasn’t the work in itself as much as it was the grim nature of what a human could do to another.

  Her mind was still full of the sickening images.

  In the academy they had taught them that a serial killer’s brain functioned differently. The area that dealt with empathy wasn’t firing the way a normal person’s would. It was the reason why psychologists wanted to interview them in the hopes of pinpointing what triggered violence and acts so perverse that it made agents seek counsel.

  She stared at the conveyor belt while Cooper kept droning on. He couldn’t seem to understand that it took them a while to unload luggage from the plane and get it onto the conveyor belt. The entire time Isabel had been thinking of what the aftermath would be if Winchester got his hands on the men responsible for the abductions. He was a loose cannon.

  The answers he gave on the day she released him played over in her mind daily.

  Here was a guy that had been cleared of wrongdoing. He had put in his time and in the eyes of the government had atoned for his crimes and yet still he couldn’t just settle for an ordinary life. It fascinated her. It wasn’t solely money as there were times he didn’t take the full amount given. What was it?

  “Here we go, I hope they have put us up in a Hilton and not one of those shitty, ‘We’ll keep the light on for you, so you can see the roaches’ kind of motels.”

  He was standing in front of her but her mind was elsewhere.

  “Earth to Baker. Did you hear a damn word I said?”

  “What?”

  “Sweet mother of Abraham, I swear you must have caught some virus when you were down in the Amazon jungle as you haven’t been yourself since you returned. Come on, we need to catch a cab.”

  He was right, she hadn’t been the same since then. So much had changed about the way she viewed the bureau. Her interactions with Winchester and Detective Banfield had filled her with doubts about where the line was between good and bad, right and wrong. It had all become a murky grey and indistinguishable when viewed through the lens of a flawed justice system.

  Jack followed the dark shadows on the ground while doing his best to remain silent. A job that was difficult to do when balancing on top of stacks of steel.

  “Go that way, he’s got to be around here.”

  The sky was still dark and he could barely see a few feet ahead of him. The figures split off in different directions and Jack pursued the one that was closest to him. He couldn’t tell if it was Miguel or the other one as the dust storm was brutal. How long was this going to keep up? One of the figures entered a narrow gap between the vehicles. Jack eased himself down until he was three cars above him. He waited until he was directly below and then dropped behind and drove the knife down, twisting it in until he collapsed. He stared at the dead man’s face. It wasn’t Miguel. He scooped up his rifle and navigated his way out and up to the building. As he crouched down at the corner and peered around to see if there were others, it was silent for a few seconds and then he heard the twist of dirt beneath a boot. Though he turned on a dime, it was too late. He felt the full brunt of a kick to his face. It knocked him back against the building and the wind was knocked out of him. He saw the glint of a knife, and in an instant reacted by blocking with both hands. He thrust his leg back and slammed it into the knee of the hulking man above him. Though the man let out a cry of agony, it didn’t take him off balance. In a fight for control, Jack kept his hands clamped around the man’s knife hand and began twisting. The guy lifted his leg and slammed it hard into Jack’s rib cage. If he released the hand he could block the leg but then he would open himself up to being stabbed. The guy was too strong for him to keep it away with just one hand. Jack groaned each time he received a side kick. Finally, after much struggle he did the only thing he could and swept one leg as he raised the other again.

  This time he tumbled to the ground and Jack was on him fast. Both of them still hadn’t released their grip on the knife. Now Jack was on top trying to turn his wrist and force it down towards the man’s chest. The guy below him knew how to fight as it didn’t take him long to wrap his legs up and around Jack’s head. His thighs held him in a viselike grip as he attempted to force him off. It took every ounce of strength that he had to drive that knife into the man’s chest. As the tip pierced his skin, he let out a cry and the grip of his thighs weakened allowing Jack to follow through until he breathed his last.

  Still on top, his knees either side of the man, he clutched the knife that was deep inside. Blood seeped from the side of the man’s mouth.

  He thought he had it all under control until he was struck from behind.

  Isabel wanted to keep her visit in Albany, Oregon, to a minimum of a day. Had it just been her who was sent by the FBI, she would have already been in Nevada by now but she had Cooper to contend with and Thorpe wanted to be kept in the loop. The field office in Portland informed her that they already had several agents working with the families of the missing kids. When asked why there was a delay in responding, they notched it up to a misunderstanding in communication. Isabel told them that misunderstanding hadn’t just cost them two months, but had likely cost Billy Carson his life. They all knew how long these kids lasted in the hands of a predator. The only upswing to this case was that if Jack was right, the boys were probably being kept alive to earn some sick asshole money.

  “Okay, so run that by me again? You don’t want to check into a hotel?”

  “I don’t think we are going to be staying long.”

  She caught Cooper staring at her out the corner of her eye. “If you are privy to information I’m not, perhaps you wouldn’t mind sharing because what I gleaned from our conversation with Special Agent Waller is that the FBI has got little to go on right now except a couple of dead locals, a computer full of kiddy porn and two vehicles.”

  “Yeah, one that is from out of state. Figure it out, Cooper. I’m not going to hold your hand while we’re here.”

  “I resent that.”

  “Resent away,” Isabel said staring out at the overcast day. Where are you, Winchester? She was beyond pissed when he’d hung up. Then again, she kind of figured that he wouldn’t want her in the thick of it if he had plans to go vigilante on a bunch of sickos. There were moments when she wished she could have done that but the arm of the law restricted her. The general public never really understood how much a person’s rights confined them. Even the sickos had rights and they were more than willing to rub it in their faces. It was part of the reason she had walked away from being a detective in San Francisco. They had more rules than the FBI did. At least the FBI would bend them occasionally.

  Albany was only an hour away from Portland but it might as well have been ten because Cooper had made it his mission to punish her with his ongoing drivel about being treated as an equal if they were going to work together.

  “There can’t be any secrets.”

  “You make it sound like a marriage,�
�� Isabel replied.

  “I’m not joking, Baker.”

  “That would be a first.”

  He groaned and brought his window down. They were heading south on Interstate 5 and though the weather was warm, the ominous sky reflected how Isabel felt. Dark clouds loomed overhead as they made their way into Albany.

  Freezing cold water slapped Jack back into a conscious state. The first image was of the concrete floor. Jack raised his head and then shook slightly feeling restrained. He was seated in a chair with his hands bound behind his back, and rope wrapped around his chest. In front of him stood Miguel. Seeing that Jack was awake he leaned against the counter and cocked his head to one side.

  “That was quite an impressive display you put on out there. Now me, I had you tagged as dead within a matter of minutes.” He exhaled out. “Why were you at my home?”

  Jack stared at him for a second. He was still processing what had happened and how he had come to find himself tied to a chair.

  “I broke in.”

  “Why?”

  “Your wife invited me over.”

  He gave Jack a right hook then stepped back.

  The man picked up a packet of cigarettes, tapped one out and placed it between his lips. He cupped a hand and lit the end. After, he moved around to the side of Jack and pulled back his wet sleeve. He reached over to a counter nearby and grabbed a dry cloth and dried his arms.

  “Maybe you can do my hair while you’re at it,” Jack muttered. “Just a little off the sides though.”

  The man chuckled before tossing the rag to one side. He then took the cigarette from his mouth and brought it down on Jack’s arm. It hissed as it made contact and he gritted his teeth trying not to show any pain.

  “Why were you following me?”

  Jack refused to say anything. The man went over to the counter and picked up his wallet that he had taken from his jacket. He pulled out the fake ID.

  “Logan Winchester, New York. You are a long way from home.”

  “I’m vacationing.”

  The man tossed the ID at him and it dropped to the floor. He took out another cigarette and lit it and proceeded to do the same again. This time Jack laughed a little.

  “Perhaps I put it in your eye this time?”

  He brought it up and Jack stiffened preparing himself for some serious pain. Yellow headlights flooded the inside of the building and Miguel tossed the cigarette on the ground. He walked out the door and closed it behind him. Immediately Jack started looking around trying to see if there was anything he could use as a weapon. He heard a door close and then loud conversation in Spanish. When the door opened up, a large Mexican man came in. He was wearing grey pants and a white shirt. His head was bald, and he had a black goatee and part of his face was tattooed.

  The man smiled and flashed a pair of gold teeth. He didn’t say anything, he simply undid the cufflinks on his shirt and proceeded to take it off. All over his body were tattoos. One had the phrase — Man of War.

  He crouched down in front of Jack and placed his hands on Jack’s knees.

  “I know you.”

  “Really?” Jack replied. “I must have been really drunk.”

  He nodded slowly while squinting. “Who are you? FBI? Police?”

  “I thought you knew me?”

  “I’ve seen you.”

  Jack was trying to place the guy. “Forgive me if I don’t recall you. I’ve encountered a lot of assholes in my time.”

  He grinned and squeezed Jack’s knees then stood up. He slipped his belt out from his pants and wrapped it around his one hand making sure to keep the buckle end of it facing outwards. Once he was sure it was tight he laid his fist against the side of Jack’s jaw, reeled it back and then brought it down in one swift blow. The knock was so hard it made his entire body including the chair hit the floor. Jack spat blood out as well as a tooth.

  Miguel brought him back up again so the assault could continue.

  They went directly to the Albany Police Department to find out what they had managed to extract from the computer. Isabel was introduced to Special Agent Hartland who was in charge of the investigation. After being greeted and given the usual bullshit spiel by police departments who had done little to nothing on the case, they were led into a room that was dedicated for the FBI.

  On the wall they had two photos of the kids, a map of Albany listing locations and three names of dead people, one of which was related to the boys through the Albany Star.

  “So what do we have?” Isabel asked.

  Hartland pointed to the female and male. “Numerous photos of boys were found on cameras, phones and computers from the area. We have confirmed that other than Billy Carson and Danny Grant the others are safe. There also doesn’t appear to be a connection. These two are the only ones that delivered papers for the Albany Star.”

  “And these?”

  Isabel pointed to a truck with Nevada plates, and a small sedan.

  “We are still trying to determine what Stephen Radcliff’s connection was to the truck. As far as we know he didn’t have any family in Nevada, and it doesn’t belong to Isaac or Xiu Wellington. As for the rental…we have a name and photo of the guy who rented it, and a neighbor who said that the photo matches the person seen entering the residence.”

  “Yeah, who?”

  Hartland reached around and dug under some paperwork and pulled out a piece of paper issued by Hertz Rent-a-Car. It had a photocopy of a license with a photo of Jack and the name Logan Winchester.

  Cooper immediately jumped all over that.

  “Holy shit, that’s Jack Winchester.”

  “Who?” Hartland replied.

  Chapter Fourteen

  William Banks was in the middle of negotiating another deal with a top Republican official when the call came in. Garth stuck his head into his study and held out a phone. At first he tried to tell him that he would call them back but he was persistent. It was urgent. After excusing himself and letting the politician know that he would be well taken care of, he hung up and took the cell from Garth.

  “We have a problem,” Carlos said before bringing him up to speed on what had occurred in Oregon.

  William rocked back in his thick leather chair and gave careful consideration to what should be done. Unsure of the gravity of the situation, he decided he would make a few phone calls first. By all accounts, most problems could be dealt with without the use of force. More often than not, situations could be handled through blackmail.

  “See to it that he is disposed of in a manner that would lead police to believe he’s just an addict that got into a fight with a dealer or fellow tweaker. If he’s not giving up details after what you just put him through, chances are he’s CIA or the feds. Those fuckers are notorious for keeping their mouths closed.”

  “And my men?”

  “Do I have to answer that? Use your head, Carlos.”

  Before getting off the phone, William asked Carlos about his brother Miguel.

  “Leaving that truck behind was a big mistake. Now I have to clean up your mess.”

  “Sir, we are sorry. He won’t make that mistake again.”

  “No, he won’t. We can’t afford mistakes, Carlos. “

  “Leave it with me.”

  William had seen all manner of problems arise over the fourteen years he had been in the human trafficking business. To say that he was a little hesitant at first would have been an understatement. He, like many others, had been introduced to it through word of mouth. The network never approached people cold, there was too much risk involved in that. Clients and those who kept the machine churning came from all backgrounds and everyone was assessed including him.

  Now as he sat in his chair sipping on expensive bourbon he reflected on those early days. At that time he was the manager of a credit union in Nevada. He recalled the private parties he attended, the drugs that flowed freely, and the first time he had walked in on a colleague engaged in sex with a minor.

  Tha
t had opened the door to a conversation that was reserved for a handful of elite figures, behind closed doors, while smoking cigars and sipping on aged bourbon.

  When he came back after graduating from Yale University, his aspirations were similar to others he’d met. To be wealthy, own a large home, have a trophy wife and retire before the age of fifty. It didn’t take long to realize there was a limit to what he could earn when dollars were being exchanged for hours. He’d been two years into his managerial position when he was invited to the Bohemian Grove in the summer of 1995. To those on the outside it was an expensive all-men’s social club where the initiation fee to become a member was thirty thousand and the ongoing monthly membership cost six hundred dollars. At the time even he balked at the cost, but once in, he could see the advantages. It gave him the chance to rub shoulders with some of the most rich and powerful men in the United States and connections that not only had made his life better but had enabled him to get out of numerous financial and legal problems.

  For two weeks every summer he had attended the event located in the heart of the ancient redwood forest of Northern California. The event over the years had caught the attention of the media curious to know what was going on there, and it had made its way into the minds of conspiracy theorists. The truth was, it was nothing more than a gathering of men from all walks of life.

  Of course the yearly treks into the wilderness were just a front. In many ways William saw it as nothing more than a gathering to network. An opportunity to find like-minded individuals, even if those minds dabbled in the illegal and depraved.

  And yet like many of the elite when gathered, there was always a segment that longed for more. They longed to be given access to VIP treatment and they were more than willing to pay. It was there in the heart of the forest that he was introduced to Charles Banning, a dangerous man with a brilliant mind for cashing in on the vile cravings of those who had more money than sense.