Run and Hide

by Alan McDermott

  “It was irrelevant. Ancient history. Until now. Now, we have a strong lead. Do you want to accept her offer, or should I take a team and check out the cabin tonight?”

  Langton made a call and told his PA to cancel his meeting in New York.

  “I can arrange a hundred men for you. More if you need them.”

  “A hundred should be more than enough,” Huff said.

  “Good. I’ll let my father know we’ve got her.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Huff said. “It’s not guaranteed she’ll be there. She could have said it just to mess with me. Maybe she booby-trapped the place, hoping to take out half of your security. No, I’d wait until she’s dead before you give your father the good news. Otherwise you risk disappointment.”

  Langton nodded. “That’s true. I’ll wait until you’ve confirmed her death.”

  “It’s the right decision,” Huff said. “What kind of proof do you want? Photographs? Her head in a box? Or . . .”

  “Or what?”

  “Or do you want to do it yourself?”

  “What do you mean? Are you suggesting I go to the cabin with you? Are you crazy?”

  “No, that would be dumb. I was just wondering if you wanted me to bring her in alive. If the opportunity presents itself, obviously. It might be a good idea to learn exactly what they know.”

  Huff watched as Langton played with the idea in his head.

  “You could even invite your father along to watch, if you like.”

  A smile crept onto Langton’s face. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Huff pulled the night-vision glasses over his eyes and studied the cabin seventy yards away. It was a two-story affair with a porch out front, and like the other houses in the region, was constructed entirely from wood.

  It was also occupied.

  A faint light shone through what Huff recalled being the living room window. He’d sketched out the internal layout for the rest of the team, and although the dimensions might not be 100 percent accurate—it had, after all, been ten years since he’d seen the interior—he was confident that the floorplan was correct.

  Huff had chosen five men to help with the assault, with another ninety circling the area at a distance of three hundred yards. Each had NVGs and enough weaponry to fight a small war. Huff thought it overkill, but Edward Langton had insisted on sending as much firepower as possible. At one point, he’d even suggested helicopters and amphibious landing craft, but Huff had talked him out of it. This operation called for subtlety, not a tribute to D-Day. Or Rambo.

  The strike team consisted of some of Langton’s permanent security detail, while the other men on the perimeter were the recently hired help. Their task was simple: shoot anyone who came running toward them. They didn’t know for sure who the target was, and Huff wanted it to remain that way. The fewer people who knew the true nature of this mission, the better. His plan was to take Driscoll’s team alive, but if anyone made it to the outer perimeter they would be taken down hard.

  Huff spoke to the operative at the Homeland Security control center and asked for the latest movement report. They had a live satellite feed from directly overhead, and could see the infrared profiles of himself and the other five members of the strike team. It also showed the heat signatures of the cabin’s four occupants.

  “I’ve got eyes on four people,” Huff heard over comms. “One in bedroom one, two in bedroom two, one in the living room.”

  “Roger that. We’re going in now.”

  Nothing had changed in the last three hours, apart from the targets’ positions within the building. Anton West’s replacement Willard Eckman had wanted to know who the targets were, but Edward Langton had made it clear that it was need-to-know.

  Huff switched channels and updated the strike team. He gave each man an assignment, then told them to move out.

  The other five members of the assault team acknowledged his instructions. It wouldn’t be a dash to the building. Huff had decided on a quiet approach and a noisy entry.

  Dressed in ghillie suits to blend into the landscape, the six men inched their way toward the cabin, which lay some two hundred feet from them.

  Five minutes later, they were in position. Throughout that time, Eckman had been feeding Huff live updates, and now that he’d stopped at the side of the building, the latest news came through: all four targets were still in the same locations.

  Huff used hand signals to remind the men which rooms they’d been assigned, and all nodded that they understood their roles. He led them around to the front of the cabin, then counted down on his fingers.

  Three . . .

  Two . . .

  One!

  Huff’s shotgun exploded and a hole appeared where the doorknob and lock had been. Another member of the team kicked the door open and they piled in, four men peeling off to secure the bedrooms.

  “Hands where I can see them!” Huff shouted, and a short guy with blond hair froze, still holding the deck of cards he’d been using to play solitaire. Next to him was a Glock 17 and his eyes strayed toward it.

  “Don’t even think about it! I’ll blow your fucking head off! Stand up and take three steps toward me!”

  The man did as he was told.

  “Drop the cards and put your hands out where I can see them.”

  Again, the blond guy complied. One of Huff’s men produced a set of handcuffs and slapped them on the man’s wrists, securing his hands behind his back. He was then thrown to the floor and patted down.

  “Clear!”

  The other team members emerged from the bedrooms with three more prisoners in tow, including Eva Driscoll.

  “Where’s Naser?”

  “Dead,” Driscoll said. “He was hit in the heart near the Beechwood Hotel. We buried him in the woods.”

  “Show me.”

  Huff motioned for another man to join them, and the trio marched out of the cabin. Driscoll led the way, with Huff clutching her arm. They walked for around fifty yards, then Driscoll nodded at a patch of earth that had recently been disturbed.

  “How deep is he buried?”

  “About four feet.”

  Huff looked at the grave for a moment, then took out a device and recorded the GPS coordinates for later investigation. He turned and dragged Driscoll back to the cabin. As they neared it, the three other prisoners waited outside, looking thoroughly dejected, as if they knew the fate that awaited them and were resigned to accepting it.

  Not Driscoll.

  She planted a foot and aimed a headbutt at Huff’s skull, but only managed to connect with his shoulder. In return, she got backhanded across the mouth.

  “Still as feisty as ever,” Huff said.

  Driscoll spat blood in his direction but missed. “You should kill me now. If you don’t, you’ll live to regret it.”

  Huff laughed. “You know, Ed Langton’s dying to meet you. I’ll let him decide how you die.”

  Driscoll shook her head, as if disappointed. “What happened to you?”

  “I’ll tell you what happened. Money. Money and power. Taking on Henry Langton was the biggest mistake of your life. You should have mourned your brother and gone on with your life, but you had to push it. You put your head in the lion’s mouth and now he’s gonna start chomping. When you’re gone, I’ll be Langton’s blue-eyed boy and I’ll get all the riches that go with it. By the time I’m forty, I’ll have fifty million in the bank and the rest of my life to spend it.”

  “I can give you fifty million if you let us go right now.”

  Another chuckle escaped Huff’s lips. “Nice try.”

  Four vehicles pulled up. One prisoner was loaded into each, accompanied by three of Huff’s men.

  Huff contacted the team on the perimeter and told them to pack up and return to base. He shrugged off the ghillie suit and threw it in the trunk of an SUV, then dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He got in beside Driscoll and put her seatbelt on, then took out his phone.

&
nbsp; “That’s mission accomplished . . . Yes, we got ’em all except Naser. He took a bullet a few days ago and . . . Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. We’ll be there within a couple of hours. May I suggest you dismiss the extra security? Now that Driscoll is contained, the fewer witnesses, the better . . . Yes, sir. I will.”

  Huff put his phone in his pocket.

  “Don’t you realize you’re on the losing side?” Driscoll asked. “The Langtons and their cronies may have gotten away with it for years, decades even, but that was before the Internet came along. People are waking up, and one day this will all come crashing down.”

  “That’s where I have to disagree. The Internet has been around for decades, and what difference has it made? Absolutely none, except maybe to polarize the nation. Citizens are too busy fighting among themselves to see the bigger picture. Even if someone offers a glimpse of the truth, they just keep scrolling down until they find a funny cat video. No, I picked a winner, Driscoll.”

  It took more than two hours to reach Gray Rock, during which time Driscoll and Huff occasionally bickered but mostly fell into silence. When the house came into view, Huff called Edward Langton for instructions.

  “Park next to the west-wing entrance,” Huff told the driver. The three hundred-plus men Langton had hired were now gathered in the courtyard. A few had already been shipped out and the rest were waiting for transport. By entering via the west wing, he could get the prisoners into the basement without being spotted.

  Huff got out of the SUV and undid Driscoll’s seatbelt. He pulled her from the vehicle and she barely managed to keep her balance as she slid out the door.

  “You’re such an asshole.”

  “Maybe, but at least I’m not the dumbass in the cuffs.”

  He led her through a door and down a hallway. Although he’d seen plenty of the opulent surroundings, Driscoll was clearly in awe.

  “Nice, huh? I’m hoping to get a place like this one day. Langton told me I can have half of any money I manage to recover from you, so that should be a good start. Then just another ten, maybe fifteen years as his right-hand man and it’ll be time to retire.”

  “It’ll never happen,” Driscoll sneered. “Anyone on Langton’s payroll is cursed. In ten years, you won’t be looking at real estate, you’ll be banged up in prison. The only luxury you can look forward to is a little lubricant before Mr. Big fucks you up the ass.”

  Huff burst out laughing. “You always paint such vivid pictures, Driscoll. It’s a shame we can’t hang out a little longer. I’m gonna miss you.”

  They turned a corner and walked into a large kitchen. It was all chrome worktops and industrial-sized appliances, the kind of setup seen in most high-end restaurants.

  Huff pulled a door open and pushed Driscoll ahead of him. She walked down the straight set of stone steps and into the basement.

  It was huge, with half the space occupied by tall racks full of wine bottles. The other half was empty, apart from five chairs that had recently been installed. They were bolted into the floor, and metal rings were also set into the concrete, one in front of each chair and one behind.

  Huff pushed Driscoll into the middle chair and unlocked her cuffs. He reattached the cuffs behind the back of the chair, ran a metal chain from them, and looped it through the metal ring before securing it with a padlock. He then got another set of handcuffs from a table and used them to shackle Driscoll’s ankles to the ring in front of her.

  The other prisoners were brought downstairs, and five minutes later, they were all chained up.

  “I’d relax if I were you,” said Huff. “The main man will be here soon enough.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Willem Klaasen walked down the stone basement steps ahead of Henry Langton and his son. When he reached the bottom and saw the four prisoners chained to the chairs, he gestured for his boss to wait while he checked their restraints. Finally satisfied that the chains and padlocks were secure, he stood back and let Henry Langton take center stage.

  “Where’s the other one?” he asked.

  “Naser’s dead,” Huff told him. “He took one in the heart when they fled Louisville.”

  “Good. One less problem to deal with.” Henry Langton focused on Driscoll. “You gave us quite a chase,” he said to her. “You should have stayed out of it.”

  “And miss this moment? Not a chance.”

  Langton chuckled and signaled for a chair. Klaasen brought one over and the old man sat down a couple of yards away from his enemies. He looked at Sonny. “Have you identified these two?”

  “Not yet,” Huff said. “I’ll run their prints and DNA when they’re dead.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Fuck,” Sonny said, and nodded toward Smart, “and he’s You. Fuck, You. You, Fuck.”

  Langton left the bait on the hook and instead took out a cigarette, lit up, and blew smoke in Driscoll’s direction. “I imagined you would be taken down by one of my teams, but this is an unexpected and most welcome turn of events.”

  “Don’t expect me to beg for my life,” Driscoll said. “You’ve killed so many people to put Hank Monroe on the throne, you should be the one facing the bullet.”

  “My dear, I would never contemplate anything as simple as shooting you. No, that’s far too quick. For the aggravation you’ve caused, this is going to be a long-drawn-out affair. For all of you. As for Hank Monroe, I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong.”

  Driscoll’s forehead furrowed. “You didn’t kill my brother to keep Monroe’s CIA dealings secret?”

  “Oh, that’s true enough. Your brother, Danny Bukowitz, Adrian Holmes, they all died to stop that news from leaking. But it wasn’t to put Monroe on any throne. It was to stop him from becoming the next president of the United States.”

  Driscoll angled her head, clearly confused.

  “Two years ago, I did everything I could to ensure that Appleton became president. I funded his entire campaign through endless businesses, paid millions to find dirt on his opponent, greased all the necessary palms and, of course, I had the mainstream media on my side throughout.”

  “And he still lost.”

  “Yes, he did, and the swing in the polls when the news about his indiscretions broke was phenomenal. He managed to turn a twenty-point lead into a fifteen-point defeat in a matter of days. Which made me think—rather than looking for skeletons in the opposition candidate’s closet next time around, why not ensure that the best candidate has some of his own?

  “The reason I had your brother and his colleagues killed was that I didn’t want the story about Monroe’s drug-running activities breaking too early. The plan was—and still is, now that I have you—to wait until a week before the election and then leak the whole dossier to the news channels I control. I’ve already got witnesses lined up, sworn affidavits from people he worked with, reams of paperwork and more images than the newspapers will know what to do with. As soon as the story breaks, Monroe will be out of contention, leaving my real choice of candidate to clean up. The only way to be sure of a winner in a two-horse race is to own both horses.”

  Driscoll seemed about to speak, but Langton held up a hand to stop her.

  “Monroe’s a fine man, but I need someone who’ll end North Korea. The question’s been put to Monroe a few times, and he favors a diplomatic approach, whereas the other guy can’t wait to wipe the DPRK off the map.”

  “That’ll start a nuclear war.”

  “No, it won’t. It’ll prevent one. The North Koreans are still three or four years away from being able to launch a nuclear attack on the US. We intend to strike before they get that far. Kim and his cronies will be gone, and I’ll ensure that whoever takes over is eternally grateful to me for saving their country.”

  “You’re not concerned that your people with all the evidence against Monroe will leak it before you’re ready?”

  “Not at all. These people are realists. They’ve been well paid to stick to the script, with guarantees of futu
re windfalls and cushy jobs for life. Who would risk that when they know the alternative? We only live once, Miss Driscoll, and most people tend to choose a comfortable existence when option B is an early demise.”

  “Is that the offer you made to my brother?”

  “Heavens, no,” said Langton. “He was far too insignificant.”

  “He fought for his country,” said Driscoll.

  “He fought for me. I decide which wars we start. Not a single soldier leaves these shores unless it suits my purpose. You name a conflict in the last forty years and I can tell you how I benefited.”

  “Someday this will all come out and you’ll get the death penalty—all of you.”

  “And just how is that going to happen? I control the media. They don’t even consider running a story about me unless my office approves it. Sure, I let them play off against each other—this newspaper supports the right, this one loves the left—but ultimately, they run for my benefit. The people of America, and the rest of the world for that matter, are too dumb to be given the truth. Or the vote. No, the media won’t run anything negative about me. I could be filmed shooting a nun in the head and it wouldn’t even make the eleven o’clock news in Bumfuck, Alabama.”

  “Instead, you bomb children to death and tell the news I did it.”

  “And the police, and the FBI, NSA, you name it. One call and they all do as they’re told.” He started counting off on his fingers. “The judiciary, the military, the Senate . . . all of them.”

  Driscoll shook her head. “All that money, all that power . . . you could have done so much good in the world. Instead, you peddle hate and death, just to make another buck.”

  “Actually, it’s trillions of bucks. And yes, people have died. But you know what? People die every day. The world is already overpopulated, so consider it my way of bringing the numbers down. Do I feel for any of them?” He shrugged. “I didn’t even shed a tear when my parents died. Do you know why?”

  “Because you’re a sociopath?” Sonny suggested.

  “Hardly.” Langton chuckled. “Even sociopaths have a conscience, no matter how weak. I’m not afflicted with inner voices telling me to feel guilt or remorse. I’m a realist, that’s all. Everyone dies, no matter how rich or poor. I’m going to die someday and there’s nothing I can do about it. What’s the point in crying about something you can’t change?”