by Tom Benson
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Maria said. “I’ve got a good mind to go after this one myself.”
“Will you be able to find out for me without drawing any attention to yourself?”
Maria smiled. “I think I know a man and a woman who could help in a big way.”
“Thank you,” Honey said. “I’ll be changing my cell every couple of days, so I suggest you keep changing the card in your spare cell.” She paused. “If you get a hint of Internal Affairs taking an interest in you, make a note of my last number and ditch both of your cells.”
Maria said, “Don’t worry, I think I have my back covered.” She nodded to the table. “What’s with the map? Are you going on a forest and mountain trek?”
“Something along those lines,” Honey said. “I’ve seen a good out of town weapon and hunting store where I can get what I need. I’ll stop by on the way back to Indiana.”
“I take it the animals you’re hunting are the two-legged species?”
“Yes,” Honey said, “but I’ll be fine. I have a feeling it will be one by one.”
“Please be careful, and remember if it gets tricky, call me.”
“I will. I’ll ask myself how my friend Maria would deal with the situation.”
They both laughed and then Maria waved to Patricia for more coffee. She didn’t want the meeting to end yet, and she felt that Honey was ready to go. Her agenda didn’t leave a lot of time for social meetings. After Patricia had poured fresh coffees a news bulletin came on the overhead television. The word ‘Newsflash’ scrolled along the base of the screen.
Patricia went behind the counter to turn up the volume.
“This is Caroline Connelly reporting for ISITV. In a few minutes, I’m hoping for a report about the two staff missing from St. Joseph’s College in Greensburg. My colleagues in Pittsburgh have been in touch to tell us about a tragic accident.” She paused briefly.
“A woman in her mid 30’s was hit by a delivery truck early this morning in downtown Pittsburgh. It seems she was not wearing shoes, and her clothing had damage done by a sharp instrument.” The reporter’s brow furrowed before she could prevent displaying her personal feelings and confusion. “It’s been reported that the dead woman has the name Rick encircled with a whip tattooed on her right arm …”
The bulletin was interrupted because of an issue with the outside broadcast unit.
“Shit,” Honey said under her breath.
“Problem?” Maria asked.
“No,” Honey said and shook her head, “just a premature end to something.”
The pair chatted for a while longer, and both took the time to say thanks to the waitress. Maria paid and left a handsome tip. The Italian wondered if Patricia might have preferred a contact number.
The two friends walked out to where they’d parked and then hugged each other.
Maria said, “Now you be damn careful, and if you need help-,”
“I know,” Honey said, “and I do appreciate the offer, but I’m not destroying another person’s career. You just make sure you don’t let me down with that journal.”
“I’ll be waiting for your message.” Maria looked uncharacteristically off balance. Tears were welling up in her eyes. “Go on,” she said, “get out of here.”
Honey stepped forward and hugged her friend tight again, kissed her on both cheeks, and then turned and got into her car. She drove off without looking back. If she did, she would have seen Maria crying like a child as she leaned against the door of her rental car.
A woman in a candy-striped outfit watched from the diner and had to fight the urge to go out and console the dark-haired beauty in the lot. She hoped she’d come back some time.
Five minutes later, Maria got into her rental and headed back towards New York.
***
Chapter 10
Preparations
.
Honey was on a high for a short while after leaving Maria. Just as her friend had done, Honey had shed a few tears, but it was a mixture of joy and sorrow. She had been so happy to meet her closest friend, but hated to leave her again after such a short time.
On her way along Route 76, Honey saw the sign for Carlisle and knew her first destination would come up shortly.
About eight miles further on, she saw the billboard at the side of the road. The main logo was a semi-automatic rifle and a hunting rifle forming a cross. Above the weapons, it read, ‘The Rifle Range’, and below them it read, ‘A range of weapons - and a range for practice.’
Honey pulled off into a gas station a little further along the road, topped up the tank and took the opportunity to use the washroom to change into jeans and T-shirt. She had known that Maria would make an effort for their clandestine meeting, which was why she wore a skirt and blouse, but now it was time to get casual and practical again. From the gas station to the location of the big, remote weapons store, was a short drive.
Even in her casual outfit Honey worried about drawing attention to herself so when she changed clothes, she also washed off all the cosmetics. It was a good idea to wear war-paint when out stalking men on a weekend, but she would soon be stalking a different type of man, and for an entirely different reason.
She strolled into the massive weapons store and was aware of glances in her direction as she browsed the selection of guns, rifles, shotguns and hunting accessories. To be accepted as a regular customer and to avoid the wrong type of assistant helping her, she looked around for the ideal candidate to conduct her business. The men who worked in the story varied greatly in age group, but at least they all wore name badges.
Don Wheeler was a rugged looking man in a heavy blue and white plaid shirt, jeans and Timberland boots. At 63, he was one of the oldest customer advisers in the store, but he still stood broad, tall and tanned and proud to be a veteran. He wore a camouflage baseball cap like the other guys, but his had a cloth badge stitched on the front that boasted, ‘Once a Marine, Always a Marine’.
“Excuse me,” Honey said, “are you free for a moment?”
“Of course I am little lady. My name is Don,” he said, pleased to have been chosen and offered his hand.
“Before I ask for your advice Don,” she said, shaking his hand and glancing at his hat, “thank you for your service.”
“Thank you,” he said, a flicker of his lashes the only sign that he felt moved by a woman so young showing her gratitude. He’d taken many risks for his country and so long ago, but it still felt good to be thanked. “Now, how can I help you?”
Honey talked about the selection of rifles so that Don knew he wasn’t dealing with a bimbo. She engaged him in conversation about types of hunting rifle, ideal types of ammunition for a variety of targets, and circumstances where a collapsible weapon might be a better choice.
Although she knew what she wanted, Honey’s chosen technique was to use leading questions and answers to narrow down the possible choices. By the time she had a rifle, she had wanted Don to feel as if he’d personally suggested it as her ideal choice.
When Honey went onto the range for test-firing, she was comfortable, and her attitude with the weapon was clear to the old-timer. Don squatted at Honey’s left side in the knowledge that the woman knew what she was doing.
Don said, “I don’t know what you’re hunting young lady, but you’ll be able to take down animals of any size with that rifle.”
When Honey turned to look up at him from her aiming position, Don winked and placed a big hand gently on her shoulder to indicate she should carry on her firing practice.
*
It was an hour later when Honey found herself on the road west again. In the trunk was her backpack, which now contained a Henry Arms AR-7 collapsible rifle. The AR-7 was produced based on an idea for a survival weapon, which was originally designed to be able to fit small spaces, like military aircraft cockpits.
The AR-7 was Honey’s preferred weapon for her mission, because of versatility and ease of backpacking. The weapon was only 3.5lbs in
weight, and when broken down, the parts fitted inside the rifle butt, reducing the length to just over 16 inches.
Also in the backpack was a small case of ammunition, high-power suppressor, spare magazine, telescopic sight, Ghillie suit, hunting knife, infrared field glasses, minimal camping gear, rations and water steri-tabs.
She paid cash and asked Don to put the rifle and ammunition through the register as a separate transaction.
He said, “Good hunting, and watch your back.”
Whilst she’d been at The Rifle Range, Honey had taken advantage of the facilities to adjust and zero her new weapon. She had fired in groups of five at a target 100 yards away. By her third group of five rounds, she had reduced her grouping to a 2-inch square. In simple terms, when she fired five rounds at the target, a small black circle in the center disappeared to be replaced by a single large hole. In her hands, it was an ideal choice.
As an added precaution against a last-minute hitch, Honey practiced firing with the suppressor fitted. Due to the weight being extended on the barrel it would affect the weapon balance, so rehearsals were advisable. It was best that she knew if the silencing cylinder would affect the accuracy. When she left The Rifle Range, she was ready for the next stage of her campaign.
Honey passed Pittsburgh wide on Route 70 and continued west. On the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio, she exited the highway in search of an Internet cafe. She was fortunate to see a large out-of-town shopping complex and went there. There were two Internet cafes in the massive set-up, so she checked them both before her next task.
The larger and much busier unit was her choice because she could blend in more easily. She booked a terminal for a short while later and then headed off to find somewhere to have a snack, but also to refresh herself on her plan and sequence of actions.
At 3pm, Honey logged in and started working on the terminal, keeping a small notebook handy. Her notes were brief and would be meaningless to anyone else, so there was no question of a security issue.
The first searches proved to be easier than she imagined. One of her next targets appeared to be confident of not being traced to the ring of sexual deviants. It was obvious, because the man was easy to locate and cross-reference on the Internet. Sometimes, Honey thought, the World Wide Web was just too friendly and open with information. She made several brief notes.
Honey’s second sequence of inquiries, were regarding inmates of the Indiana State Correctional Facility. She wanted to find prisoners with a particular family background, and if possible by using media records, which lawman was responsible for the criminal’s incarceration.
In less than an hour, she had ten inmates that were good enough candidates to suit her needs. She would use her next source to help her shortlist those candidates. She decided that in normal circumstances, it might have taken her a lot longer to find the information, but she had become so focused on her mission that everything was happening more quickly.
The next requirement on Honey’s list was a special type of character and one that would probably prove more difficult to locate. She was prepared to work hard to find the right person, and it took an hour to find three men with suitable backgrounds.
Five minutes after listing her top three, she had them in order of preference. Her first choice only allowed contact by email in the first instance and that suited Honey perfectly. Bert Grainger was a 48-year-old, ex-Marine, ex-police officer. If this one worked out she could forget the other two options.
Honey completed the simple query form, hit the send button and went for coffee in a quiet cafe where she could relax and concentrate. If necessary, she still had the contact details for the other two men on her list, but she was hoping she wouldn’t need them.
She sat in a booth near a window and breathed in the aroma of fresh coffee as she looked absently at the masses of people going about their business. Families with small children were in the majority, and then there were the couples. It was clear to Honey from her vantage point that solo shoppers were in the minority in such a place.
At 3:30pm Honey received a call. She placed her coffee on the table, glanced around at the nearest people in the cafe and then looked at the display on her cell before she answered.
“Hello,” she said and waited. “Yes, this is Honey.”
The man on the other end asked why she’d chosen him in particular. In response, Honey asked why he’d left the police force. There was a moment of silence before he explained in brief. Honey knew she had the right man for the job and suggested a meeting.
She listened to the instructions for the liaison with Mr. Grainger. “I’m not making notes,” she said, “I’m memorizing this. Yes, I drive a dark blue Dodge sedan. Okay, I’ll see you there.”
As Honey slipped her cell away, she hoped that Grainger was as efficient at his job as he was at personal security and maintaining his distance.
*
Honey headed west along Route 70 already having passed Columbus. Her instructions were to use the main intersection with Route 75 and turn north. It was almost 6pm when she took a turn and saw signs for Toledo and Detroit.
A flick of a switch on the air freshener filled the car with a hint of lavender. The air-con helped to circulate the pleasant fragrance and cool the atmosphere. The relative comfort allowed Honey to keep her senses about her.
She checked and noted her mileage. It was meant to be at the 100-mile point that she would see a large billboard on the left side of the highway. A little over a mile beyond the billboard, she was to look out for a track that headed in a westerly direction. There were no signs, so at speed she might miss it. The route was tedious because there was so little to see, but that just told her more about her choice of operative.
About half an hour along Route 75, before she reached the billboard, she had an idea where the meeting place was going to be. Out to the west and several miles away, she saw a large rock formation. Honey nodded in acknowledgment of Mr. Grainger’s precautions. As she continued, the rocky area never seemed to get any bigger. It was the typical optical illusion created in a mainly featureless stretch of landscape.
She reached the billboard, and there was very little around by way of civilization as Honey watched out for her next turn. She kept her speed down and there, sure enough on the left, she arrived at a track that looked none too inviting. Five minutes after setting off west along the narrow, dusty track, Honey looked to the skyline and saw that the rocky area she’d noted earlier was now looming up clearly. There were still occasional bouts of heat haze, so the peaks blunted and then sharpened in focus.
It took an hour of steady, but careful driving to reach her destination. As suggested by her contact, Honey kept her speed down to avoid creating a rooster tail of dust behind her car. She observed the rocks as they seemed to grow from the earth, until she finally arrived at what had gradually become an enormous canyon. Honey could now see the true magnificence of the rocky formation. She imagined soldiers in blue, on horseback many years before, riding into such an overbearing location, their eyes spinning in their heads as they tried to observe everything around them. She imagined too, her ancestors looking down on them.
As she felt the car lose traction on the steep gradient Honey slowed to a walking pace to watch out for where she was to park. A single glance in the rear-view was enough to confirm her suspicions that apart from a low level, settling dust trail, nobody would know she was there. Nobody that is, except the man who was probably observing her approach.
At the base of the rocks on the south side, there was a cave big enough to take a freight train, but the only vehicle inside was a red pick-up parked sideways. It meant that the plates were out of view without going further into the cave. Honey recognized the profile as a Chevy. As per instructions, she drove just inside the mouth of the cave, parked and switched off the motor. She came out into the open and looked around.
“Honey!” a man’s voice called out.
She looked left through the narrow canyon and then ri
ght, where she’d come in.
“Up here,” the voice called. “Approach the climb from your left.”
Honey looked up and saw a man standing on a ledge about 200 feet above ground level. She went to her left and crossed the narrow pass, which took her a little further into the cleft in the rocks, but she noticed a natural stepping arrangement in the rock-face. It was a steady climb for 20 minutes, and fortunately Honey was reasonably fit.
When she reached the meeting place, she nodded at her contact, paused for a moment to look around and then did a rapid appraisal of the man in front of her.
He stood six feet tall and was broad shouldered with a sturdy, but not overweight physique. Close-cropped fair hair topped a head that was handsome and had borne a tan for many years. He wore a red plaid shirt under a sleeveless shooting jacket, jeans and Timberlands. His hands were large and hooked into his jeans by the thumbs.
“Hi,” Grainger said and stepped forward. They were meeting on a flat ledge that jutted out from the side of the pyramid shaped rock. The ledge was about five yards square. Apart from the flat, open ledge, there was a small cave in the rock-face. The opening was almost perfectly semi-circle and about six feet high.
“Hi,” Honey said. The pair nodded to each other and maintained eye contact as they shook hands. “Nice precautions,” She was pleased to note that he didn’t look at her the way some men can’t avoid. Honey continued. “How long have you been able to see me?”
“A while,” he said, holding up powerful field glasses that were hung around his neck. “I could see you from about five miles out.” He indicated a cleft in the rocks. “I can get up and down that section quite easily to reach the top. From there, I can see a full 360 degrees.”
Honey looked around and realized that from his present, lower vantage point, Grainger could still see at least 300 degrees. She smiled as she watched him squat down at a small camping stove to pour them both a drink.