Knife Point

by Jim Heskett

  The man stared for a moment, then he reached up, toward his neck. He was wearing a black leather driving glove on that hand.

  Layne tensed. He balled his left fist, keeping his right fist open and ready to pluck the knife from its ankle holster.

  The man touched the zipper of his jacket, up near his neck. He grabbed it and pulled it down, exposing his neck and upper chest. No triangle tattoo.

  “Getting warm,” the guy said as he removed his jacket. “You have a nice day.”

  With that, he pushed on, continuing along the path to the other side of the bridge. In a few more steps, he blended into the other pedestrians, one of a hundred unassuming bridge-walkers.

  Layne stood for a second more, watching him walk. Then, he returned to his daughter and ex. The latter was staring daggers at him. She held tight to Cameron’s hand as they neared the other side of the bridge.

  “What was that?” Inessa asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “It did not look like nothing.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “What is going on, Layne?”

  “Nothing. We’re here to have a family outing, that’s all. Nothing else to worry about.”

  Now at the end of the bridge, Cameron broke into a run. Layne let her go since the traffic thinned as it flowed out in different directions at the end of the bridge. “Daddy! Daddy! We’re almost at the aquarium.”

  Layne left Inessa behind and chased after his daughter, her little arms flailing wildly in the sunshine.

  27

  Layne returned to the house on Muletown Road around lunchtime to check on Jonah. A break from Cameron and Inessa to handle other business. Keeping up the front of normalcy to his ex-wife was a taller task than he’d anticipated, one he hadn’t needed to manage since he’d retired. Historically, his operations had been far away from her.

  Layne could tell something was wrong as he neared the house. He drove past, then he turned back around once he’d reached all the way to the next house on this hilly street. The curve of the road put the safe house just out of view.

  He parked on the side of the road and debated what to take with him. He had his hunting knife, plus the shotgun he’d appropriated from the guard at the cabin by Castle Crags. The shotgun seemed like the best choice, but he took both. Not sure why, but something told him to be ready for multiple hostiles. That this might get loud and messy and turn into something he couldn’t walk away from.

  Layne slipped out the passenger door, so he could use the car as cover. Along this dirt road, there were trees on either side, and he skirted over to the tree line to approach the house. A gentle breeze, a sunny day, birds in the tall trees calling out every few seconds.

  The safe house was a simple building, long abandoned by real occupants, no electricity or active plumbing. A plain, quiet house. Outward appearance suggested it was empty. There should be only one person inside: Jonah. And, if he remembered mission protocols, he was away from the windows, in a safe place near the center of the house.

  Staying low, Layne skulked through the trees. Leaves and twigs crunched under his feet, but the breeze masked his approach. Shotgun up, pointed toward the house. Breathing in and out, keeping it low and controlled, ready to move in any direction.

  He saw a man near the back of the house, trying to peek through the window. Tall, bulky, a 9mm pistol in one hand. Nothing on him or his clothes indicated law enforcement of any kind. Layne expected he would find one of those triangle tattoos on this intruder’s upper neck.

  Layne changed course so he could stay out of his target’s peripheral. He unsheathed the knife and held it in his right hand, with the shotgun in his left. Careful not to approach directly from the back, because his target might spot him in the glass reflection.

  Better to go with the low-key knife, not the blasting of the shotgun. There was a good chance this guy wasn’t the only one.

  Layne raised the knife as he approached. The target stayed oblivious, hunched over at the back door of the house.

  Layne jabbed the knife into the man’s back and wrapped a hand around his mouth. The man tried to bite and wrestle free. Layne had at least fifty pounds on this guy and had no trouble keeping him contained. He stabbed the invader again, this time under the armpit. The resistance lessened.

  Again, directly in the chest. He ceased trying to yell, and his body went slack.

  Layne let the man drop to the ground. Tattoo of a little black triangle just below his left ear. At that moment, Layne realized he shouldn’t have killed the guy. He’d probably had valuable information tucked away in that brain of his. A stupid, sloppy mistake.

  Layne peered through the blinds to see Jonah standing next to the front door with a fireplace poker in his hand. Back up against the wall, between the door and the window. He held the poker high, looking ready to swipe down at the first person he came in contact with.

  Layne wiped his hands on his pants and rounded the house. The second man was near the front, crouched on the porch. A revolver in one hand. Layne paused at the edge, not wanting the man to see him. A small toolshed jutted out from the wall, and Layne kept his body behind it.

  After a moment, the man stood and walked to the front door. He knocked. Revolver behind his back, he kept a finger on the trigger. The look in the man’s eyes said he wasn’t here to take Jonah hostage and ask him a few questions. He was going to put a bullet in whoever he encountered on the other side of that door.

  No more time for stealth. Layne rushed, shotgun up.

  The front door opened, and Jonah pivoted around to face the man. With a quick thrust, Jonah plunged the fireplace poker right into the man’s stomach.

  The man stumbled back, gasping for air. Eyes wide, he’d been completely unprepared.

  As he ran, Layne held the shotgun high, like a baseball bat. He thundered up the porch steps and swept the man’s legs out from underneath him. The guy fell backward, landing hard. All the air knocked out of him. He wheezed, eyes darting left and right.

  Jonah stepped outside and jabbed the fireplace poker into the intruder’s chest. The man exhaled, eyes bugging out. Five seconds later, his eyes closed. His head lolled to the side.

  Jonah dropped the fireplace poker. He staggered back and bumped into the side of the house, wincing down at his broken and bruised hand.

  “Why did you do that?” Layne asked. “We could have questioned him.”

  Jonah had to heave a hiccuping breath to speak. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. It just happened.”

  “How’s your hand?”

  “Hurts.” Jonah limped back inside, coughing with each step.

  Layne grabbed the front door attacker by the foot and pulled him inside, then shut the door behind them. A moment later, only the sound of their breathing filled the room.

  When Layne let go of the man on the floor, he moaned. A quiet, low sound.

  “Don’t sound so dead to me,” Jonah said.

  “Help me get him to the couch. If we’re lucky, we can wake him up.”

  They pushed the big guy into a seated position. He grunted, one hand over the wound in his stomach. The other over the hole in his chest. Must’ve missed his heart by a fraction of an inch. Maybe he wasn’t dead yet, but he wouldn’t last much longer. Not with the amount of blood he’d already lost.

  He opened his eyes, chest heaving as blood leaked between his fingers. When a cough escaped his lips, a spurt of blood came with it.

  “You’re going to bleed out in another minute or two,” Layne said. “We want to ask you some questions first.”

  “Go to hell,” the man croaked.

  “You have a choice,” Jonah said. “Answer our questions, and you go peacefully. Don’t, and we find out who you are and if you have any family, and then we pay them a visit after you’re belly-up.”

  Layne spied Jonah out of the corner of his eye. He suspected his old partner was bluffing, but he couldn’t be positive. They hadn’t questioned someone together in quite a
long time.

  “We already know who you report to,” Layne said. “Is this a paid job, or personal?”

  The man coughed more blood. “I’m just a means to an end. I only know what I need to know, so there’s no point in talking to me.”

  “Mercenaries,” Jonah said. “I prefer that to fighting a true believer.”

  “How many of your colleagues are on this job?” Layne asked. “Do they all have triangle tattoos?”

  The man nodded, then he winced and leaned forward. His inhalations came slower and slower as the hands covering his wounds turned into bloody messes. After a few more labored breaths, his eyes became still and glassy, and he jerked a few times, then stopped. His hands fell away from covering his wounds.

  “It’s not the worst interrogation we’ve ever done,” Jonah said.

  “I wish we’d had more time with him. A hired gun probably wouldn’t know much about the master plan, but maybe he could have given us something. Pointed us in the right direction, at least.”

  “Should we follow up on this triangle gang?” Jonah asked.

  Layne thought on this for a few beats. “I don’t think so. We know where that road leads us, and it would take us too long to get there. We don’t have the time or resources to follow the money, so we stay on Farhad. He’s the quickest way to answers.”

  “What’s our next move?”

  Layne checked the time on his phone. “What’s next for you is another change of scenery. It’s clearly not safe for you here. I can’t help you with this right now, there are too many things going on. I’m due back with my daughter, and I’m late already.”

  Jonah pointed at Layne’s shirt, drenched in blood from neutralizing the man at the back door. “You’re going to want to change that.”

  Layne looked down. “Shit. Okay, let’s get the other body inside, then I’ll work out a plan. I’ll have Harry come by and get you.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then, we try to keep you alive for as long as we can.”

  28

  Farhad watched the intake coordinator Kelly watching him through the blinds of his office window. He didn’t know why she was on this end of the floor, lingering in the office across the hall. That alone seemed suspect.

  But, perhaps he did look strange in here, shredding documents and cleaning out file cabinets in the middle of a workday. Maybe he looked like someone on his last day, who knew he would be fired at the close of business. Prepared to walk out the front with a cardboard box, giving the middle finger to the building as he let the door slam behind him.

  In a way, that was true. Farhad didn’t know if he would be back tomorrow, or the day after that. He suspected he would not. Once his contacts came to Redding and delivered the supplies, he might never see Hillcrest again. And that brought a tinge of sadness to him. In his short time here, he had enjoyed the opportunity to run this facility. Any job has both good and bad elements, but he had enjoyed the good much more than he had dreaded the bad.

  Farhad closed the blinds so Kelly would stop gawking at him. If he didn’t, the next step would be a knock on the door, and then she would dip her head in to ask if everything was alright. Farhad loathed unannounced visits to his office. She would ask if he planned to explain to everyone why he had canceled the staff meetings for both this morning and Monday morning. He would have to put on a polite face and pretend he wasn’t at the most critical juncture of his entire life.

  Farhad had not yet officially addressed the “Louis Pastori” situation. Several of the staff had been so distraught they’d taken sudden personal days to deal with the shock of a man with a false name operating freely within the facility. The interloper. Mariana Flores had seemed especially upset, but Farhad knew better. Mariana liked to put on a show. Farhad knew she’d slept with him and she liked the danger and chaos of it all. Mariana was a whore who wouldn’t have cared what Layne’s real name was. All for show with that one.

  But, Farhad didn’t have time to worry about Mariana right now. She would do her job, so he knew he could trust that about her.

  As he’d both expected and feared, the knock came. Farhad slipped documents into his briefcase, shut it, and then barked, “Enter.”

  Kelly opened the door a few inches and poked her cherubic head inside. A sheepish look on her face. “Mr. Jahandar?”

  “Enter, Kelly.”

  She scooted inside and shut the door behind her. Hands clasped over her waist, nervously rubbing her palms together. In a gray dress that hung on her frame like a sheet draped over a chair in an abandoned house to keep it from collecting dust.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “It’s just that, there’s so much going on right now. A lot of us were wondering if you were going to address the Louis… problem. You know, to talk to everyone. With no staff meeting scheduled until Tuesday, we’re all feeling… a little weird about it.”

  Part of him wanted to order Kelly out of his office, to flick his wrist and banish her. But, Kelly didn’t deserve that. She was sweet and stupid. In many ways, a simpleton who only wanted a few encouraging words from her leader so she could go back to doing her job. “What do you propose I do?”

  “Maybe you could make a statement in an informal staff meeting, to let us know what you’re doing about the situation. Maybe on Monday?”

  “Monday,” he said, musing on the word.

  “We’ve never had anything like this happen before. I’ve seen patients turn out to be someone other than who they say they are, but never an employee. Or, a prospective employee. It’s just got everyone rattled, is all. I think we need a strong voice from the top, you know?”

  “How are people rattled? Tell me.”

  She hesitated, eyes darting left and right. “Why wouldn’t you let us call the police? Isn’t what he did a crime?”

  “Because I’m handling it. All you need to know is that the situation is under control.” Farhad paused and took a breath. He had to restrain himself from saying, “And, by tomorrow, none of this will matter any longer. You, Kelly, won’t matter any longer.”

  She didn’t look satisfied, but he could tell she was getting the picture that this conversation had to end. They both stood in awkward silence for a few seconds, then she drew in a deep breath.

  “Okay, well, thank you for talking to me. I suppose we can chat more about it on Monday when you’ve got time.”

  “Excellent. That will be all, Kelly.”

  With a nod, she wished him a good weekend, then opened the door and disappeared. Farhad let the silence of the room calm him as he listened to his heart beat inside his chest. Managing people had never been his strong suit, but he thought that had gone well. Relatively speaking.

  He sat at the desk and opened the top drawer. There, he lifted a gold watch from a tray. The watch hadn’t worked in years. A crack marked a line down the middle, almost separating the watch face into two halves. But, Farhad still carried this watch with him for more than twenty years. From closet to closet, from desk to desk.

  It once belonged to Omar Naseer, the last thing Farhad’s friend had ever given him. A warm, sunny day in Tehran, Farhad had been late to meet with his friend. He’d arrived the find Omar glaring at him. Annoyed, Omar removed this watch and threw it at him, barking that he would now have no excuse to be late ever again.

  And, even though it had been gifted in anger, Farhad had held on to this watch. In a few more years, Omar would be assassinated, and this would remain the last piece of his friend he would still own.

  Farhad had intended to give the watch to his son someday. But that would never happen. With the death of Farhad’s father two years before, an avalanche of misery had followed. He didn’t know why Allah had seen fit to remove every important male from his life. Farhad didn’t know what he had done to deserve such a fate, but he knew what to do about it going forward. He knew he had a role to play yet. A way to bring balance.

  His phone buzzed. After applying a drop of hand saniti
zer from the desk and rubbing his hands vigorously, he took it out of his pocket to see a text message from an unrecognized number. A burner phone.

  On schedule. Will arrive by copter at 11:00 tomorrow. Be at the drop site to receive. Please confirm.

  Farhad typed back a single “Y” as confirmation. He didn’t like the abruptness of the text. His bosses thought he couldn’t handle the situation. That much was clear. He knew they were upset he had spent so much time trying to uncover the identity of Omar’s assassin.

  And now, it seemed as if he had little time left to do so before tomorrow. But, what did it matter if they told news media the big plan had been in honor of Omar Naseer when it was all over? The execution would be the same. The outcome would be the same.

  Redding would become ground zero for a string of American suffering, either way.

  29

  Harry stood on the porch of the house outside of town, up in the hills. He could see the blood on the wooden porch, scrubbed in a circular pattern. A decent cleanup job. Anyone who saw it might assume the brownish pattern could be wine or Coke spilled in that spot. But, Harry knew better. Layne had explained the situation. He’d explained the need to get Jonah to a hotel on one side of town, then to move Inessa and Cameron somewhere else. Layne’s family was leaving for Colorado tomorrow morning, but he wanted them moved now, anyway. Like a game of keep-away and musical chairs, all rolled into one mess of a dangerous day.

  Harry raised his hand to knock. But, a split second before his knuckles touched wood, Jonah pulled back the door. He was holding a fireplace poker in one hand, the other clutched to his vibrating chest. That hand was broken and bruised, red and swollen. His face also had a large bruise on one side, making him look lopsided.

  “Inside,” Jonah said, then took a step back.

  Harry shook his head. “Layne said to leave the house ASAP. He said we need to get going, as quickly as possible.”