The Lawless Kind

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by Hilton, Matt


  ‘It was good that you didn’t let on when you spotted me,’ I said, ‘because some of the people at Molina’s beck and call may not be what you expect.’

  ‘I’m not in the habit of approaching dangerous-looking individuals. Well . . . not always.’ Again she gave me the fleeting smile, this time one intended to tease. ‘Anyway, I probably know better than you do the type at Jorge’s beck and call.’ She pronounced the man’s name with a G – calling him George – and not with the Hispanic H as I’d been doing.

  I conceded the second point, and began to walk towards the bank of elevators. But I had to wonder why I struck her as looking dangerous. I suppose she would have expected certain skills from the man going into Mexico to retrieve her son. Kirstie strode to keep up with me, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor. She was still lugging her carry-on bag and purse, but she didn’t look the type who expected help, so I didn’t offer. In her line of work, she’d have to be the liberated type.

  ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ I said as I punched the call button on the elevator panel.

  ‘That’s a phrase that has come back to haunt me,’ she muttered.

  Letting it pass, I said, ‘You won’t be staying in your room, just in case any of Jorge’s people have managed to get by us.’

  ‘You really think that Jorge is watching me?’

  ‘You’re currently engaged in a lawsuit to win custody of your son . . . Hell, yeah. He’ll be watching your every move.’

  ‘He’s indifferent to me, Joe. He’s too busy watching his rivals to pay me any mind.’

  ‘It’s thinking like that could get us both killed.’

  The doors opened, and I waited, checking that there was nobody inside the lift. I’d positioned us to the left of the open doors, and if there were somebody inside they’d have to lean out to spot us. Luckily no face – or gun – poked out. I allowed Kirstie to enter first then, after a cursory inspection of the lobby behind us, I followed. As the doors closed I hit the ‘basement’ button.

  ‘I thought you said we were going upstairs.’

  ‘I did.’

  Kirstie gave me a bemused look. In the close confines of the lift her perfume was stronger, but no less pleasant. But I caught a different tang, one of fear. For all her self-assuredness, Kirstie was uncomfortable in my presence. Or perhaps it was because I’d reminded her just how dangerous her ex-beau was.

  ‘So where are we going?’

  ‘Out of here.’

  ‘We’re leaving the hotel?’

  ‘It doesn’t take someone with Jorge Molina’s connections to trace you here.’

  ‘But I’ve had my luggage taken up to my room.’

  ‘Yeah. That was a good idea. If anyone checks they’ll think you’re still booked in.’ Now it was my turn to offer a teasing smile.

  ‘But my things . . .’

  ‘We can get you new stuff. Anyway–’ I checked out her formal blouse and skirt – ‘you’ll need something more casual than this stuff you’re wearing.’

  ‘I have casual clothing in my suitcase.’

  ‘It’ll have to stay there. Sorry, Kirstie, but we have to leave without anyone noticing.’

  The elevator doors swept open on to a corridor heavy with the aroma of chlorine, and though we were separated from the indoor swimming pool by a set of closed doors the air was cloying with humidity. From further along the corridor came the sound of runners pounding the treadmills in the health club. A muscular man stood in the hall just outside the lift, but he was expected. Kirstie eyed Rink’s looming figure.

  ‘And you thought I looked dangerous.’ I smiled. ‘How are things looking, Rink?’

  ‘Good to go,’ my friend replied. He was wearing an ear bud, which he tapped. ‘Coming out now, Harve. ETA twenty seconds.’

  Harvey must have given the all-clear at his end, because Rink merely inclined his head for us to follow.

  Kirstie held back.

  ‘Kirstie,’ I said. ‘If you want your son back, you’ve got to trust us, OK?’

  ‘I want him back more than anything,’ she said, as if my words were an insult. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes. If it means trusting my life to strangers, then I’ll do that too.’

  Holding her stare for a moment I watched the heat of anger slide away. In its place was a new look. One of desperation. Meeting me for the first time, Kirstie had projected the professional image of a woman determined to rise above the trials she was up against, but under the bravado she was simply a mother terrified for her child’s welfare. The flinty look went out of her gaze as tears began to well. I squeezed her arm reassuringly. ‘So, come on. I’ll introduce you to the others later.’

  Rink led the way past the health club and into a corridor marked Fire Exit. Doors at the end were armed with a day alarm, but Rink had already jimmied it so that it wouldn’t sound. He pushed the door open a sliver as he cocked his head to listen for instruction from Harvey. He gave us a nod, and pushed outside.

  Before Kirstie went through the exit I pulled out a baseball cap and jammed it on her hair. Then I shucked off my jacket and hung it around her shoulders. ‘Pull up the collar and keep your head down,’ I instructed as I placed one arm round her back and ushered her towards the van Harvey had reversed close by. Rink opened the doors and helped Kirstie step inside the cargo area; between us she was hustled out of sight within seconds. Bench seats ran down both sides of the interior and I guided her to the one on the right. I moved to sit opposite as Rink closed the doors and went to join Harvey in the front. Before we’d settled in, Harvey hit the gas and drove us away from the hotel.

  ‘That was a bit extreme,’ Kirstie said from beneath the peak of the cap.

  ‘But necessary,’ I concluded. ‘You can look up now if you wish.’

  Kirstie did so, peering at me in a different way than before. Perhaps the ease with which we’d just snatched her gave her hope that we’d be able to do the same for her boy. I didn’t think things would be as easy as that.

  Chapter 5

  The mid-afternoon sun was casting razor blades of light off the windows of the hotel as we approached. Unlike the one near the airport, this was a family-owned place, off the beaten track and less likely to be on the radar of anyone seeking Kirstie’s current whereabouts. The hotel was a small, original dwelling in the adobe style, but lodge accommodation had been erected on the undulating desert grounds behind it. The hotel looked dusty and sun-parched but an effort had been made at sprucing up the grounds, with roads lined by stone-edging painted white, and neat beds of sturdy desert flowers and shrubs. It was situated approximately ten miles to the south-west of Tucson, but still remote enough that you could imagine you were in the middle of nowhere.

  Under bogus details Harvey had arranged accommodation in one of the two-bedroom lodges, and had paid upfront for a couple of nights should we need them. He had collected the keys earlier, so there was no need to check in at the main house. Harvey drove the van past the adobe house to the rearmost lodge. Rink opened the back doors and that was when the searing glint of sun hit me. I scrambled out of the van and put my back to the house, shielding my eyes as Kirstie tentatively followed.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Somewhere we can relax and go over plans for getting your boy back,’ I said.

  ‘Will Conrad be joining us?’

  I was caught out by her reference to Walter. I hadn’t checked if Kirstie actually knew that he was her grandfather: from the formal use of his surname, I guessed not.

  ‘No. He won’t be coming.’

  ‘Oh? I had the impression that he was going to oversee everything.’

  I patted my shirt pocket, indicating my cell phone. ‘I’ll be in touch with him if need be. Don’t worry–’ I inclined my chin towards where my friends were approaching the lodge – ‘we can handle this without him.’

  ‘Conrad’s a bit strange, isn’t he?’ Kirstie said as she hitched up her bags.

  ‘Very strange.’

  ‘You said I s
hould trust you, Joe, but I know nothing about you. I don’t know much about Conrad either. And yet here I am.’ She paused to squint at the sand-blown landscape. Then towards the lodge where Harvey was busy unlocking the door. ‘What have I gotten myself into?’

  I could have asked myself the same question. It wasn’t the first time that we had accepted the job of liberating a child from a dangerous situation. On the last occasion circumstances were not all that we had been led to believe; we’d ended up in a cat-and-mouse pursuit with a particularly dangerous individual.The same would likely happen again. Jorge Molina would not allow us just to run off with his boy, and with the resources at his disposal, our trip back from Mexico would not be a comfortable one. Walter had intimated that it would be best for all involved if Molina did not survive our invasion of his home. Perhaps he was right, but the notion of becoming a hired killer never did rest easy with me. Terminations on behalf of Queen and Country were a different matter and I loathed the idea that we were being pressed into becoming assassins again as much as Rink did. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered what was most important to Walter: that his great-grandson was liberated or that Molina was put in his grave. The latter wasn’t something I was prepared to raise with Kirstie.

  ‘Let’s get inside out of the heat,’ I said, while throwing shut the van doors. ‘I’ll make the introductions with Rink and Harvey and then we’ll get down to business, eh?’

  ‘The sooner the better. I want Benjamin back where he belongs.’

  This time I didn’t ask, just took her tote bag from her. She paused, then fell into step without comment. Her heels weren’t exactly suitable for the terrain, and I hoped she’d had the presence of mind to put a pair of sneakers in her bag.

  Cool air washed over us as we entered the lodge. Housekeeping had been by and turned on the A/C. A large fan whirred noisily in the centre of the room, the breeze it kicked up tugging at the drapes over the windows. The way people do when entering an unfamiliar space, Rink and Harvey were busy checking out the other rooms and closet spaces.

  ‘Got a coffee-maker back here,’ Harvey announced from the kitchen. Music to my ears.

  Harvey came back into the living area and stuck out a hand. As ever his fingernails were well manicured, mother-of-pearl nails glinting in the spill of light from outside.

  ‘You must be wondering what kind of company you’ve fallen into, Kirstie? Well, let me be the first to reassure you . . . as ugly as Hunter and Rink are, they’re not bad guys.’ He grinned, showing teeth. ‘I’m Harvey Lucas, the brains of the outfit.’

  Kirstie accepted his hand but released it quickly with an equally brief glance at me.

  ‘Intelligence ain’t all it’s cracked up to be,’ Rink said, coming forward. ‘Not when there’s not an ounce of common sense to direct it.’

  ‘Rink,’ Harvey chided. ‘Don’t confuse common sense with being plain common. We can all see the corn husk sticking out your ear.’

  ‘Yep. I’m a country boy and proud.’ Rink offered his hand. ‘I’m Jared Rington, but you can call me Rink, OK?’

  Kirstie shook the proffered hand, her slim fingers lost in Rink’s huge mitt.

  ‘Now we all know each other, let’s get down to figuring out our next move.’ I moved across the room to place Kirstie’s bag next to a rustic-looking settee. Most of the furniture in the room looked handmade, albeit by a decent craftsman. The settee was basically a wooden frame, upholstered with thick throw cushions, but it was inviting and no doubt comfortable, and more desirable than the wooden benches we’d sat on during the journey here. I offered Kirstie a place on it.

  She looked expectantly at the three of us. We were standing over her, and I felt the closeness of my buddies encroaching on the space, so I nodded each of them to sit. I chose a seat across a coffee table from Kirstie. Harvey sat next to her, a cushion’s distance between them, while Rink propped himself against a cabinet, folding his arms over his chest. Though Kirstie hadn’t looked intimidated, she visibly relaxed. Without being prompted she reached for her carry-on bag and pulled from it a stack of papers in a clear Ziploc envelope.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d need these, but brought them anyway. They’re the steps I’ve already taken to get my boy back.’

  ‘Rather than go through documents, I think it’d help if you just told us in layman’s terms,’ I said.

  Kirstie nodded.

  ‘The problem is that neither Jorge nor I have sole custody of Benjamin, so the usual routes of getting him home have been mired in red tape and bureaucracy. Normally when a child is kidnapped, he must be registered as missing with law enforcement on the National Crime Information Centre system. Where there’s a felony charge against the abductor, law enforcement agencies are usually happy to help, often issuing a warrant of arrest for the abductor. When a kidnapped child is taken across state lines or even to another country the FBI will get involved and they too will issue an arrest warrant, even an international one if need be. They will usually arrest the abductors and extradite them back to the US, and bring home the child as a matter of course. However, it’s different between Jorge and me, because Jorge has the same parental rights to custody as I have, so I was unable to secure a warrant.’ Kirstie fished inside the envelope and pulled out a glossy snapshot of her son. He was a cherubic toddler with tousled black locks. His light-grey eyes, inherited from his mother, were in contrast to his tanned complexion and dark hair. His paternity wasn’t in doubt.

  ‘How old’s the boy now?’

  ‘This is an old photo, the last I took before Jorge kidnapped him.’ Kirstie’s voice hitched at the final syllable. She struggled to get a grip on her emotions. ‘He had just turned three then, but now he’s almost five. I haven’t seen him for over eighteen months . . . Christ! It feels like a lifetime.’

  ‘It’s taken eighteen months trying the legal route?’ I shook my head at how a child’s welfare could be so mired down in bureaucracy. ‘Shame we weren’t brought in sooner.’

  ‘I’ve tried other avenues. There are associations, charitable foundations that will help in cases such as mine.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve heard a bit about them,’ Rink cut in. ‘Seen something on TV about some guys who went to South Korea and grabbed a kid for his mom.’

  ‘They can be helpful, but obviously being in the public eye the better-known associations must work very closely with local law enforcement agencies. One group did offer to help, but on hearing that Benjamin had been taken to Mexico they told me that corruption is so rife in the police force that they counselled against seeking assistance from the Mexican authorities. They warned me that the police would tip off Jorge, or worse, throw us in prison as kidnappers. They offered me legal assistance, support and advice, but they were fearful of repercussions if they acted against Jorge. They learned early on that he is allegedly a highly ranked cartel boss.’

  ‘Allegedly?’

  Kirstie shrugged. ‘It’s no secret that the Mexican cartels don’t take infringements against them lightly. Hell, these are the same people who hung a young boy and girl from an underpass during rush hour, slitting them open from throat to groin and allowing their guts to hang out for all to see. Why? Because the two kids had badmouthed them on their blogs, for God’s sake!’

  ‘So this foundation was afraid to assist you is what you’re saying, for fear something similar would happen to them?’

  ‘They didn’t say as much, but, yes, that’s what I believe. They were frightened.’

  I didn’t have to look at Rink or Harvey to guess what they were thinking. To understand the violence the Mexican cartels inflicted on innocent people would salve their consciences, and make them more enthusiastic for the job.

  ‘The charity encouraged me to file for emergency custody, and receive certification from the Secretary of State, to put the onus on the Mexican government to help, but that was a non-starter.’ Kirstie laughed without humour. ‘The Mexican government are running scared of the cartels half the t
ime, or in their back pockets. I didn’t waste my time, I sought help elsewhere.’

  ‘From Conrad?’

  ‘Not directly. I went to my grandmother. She dotes on Benjamin and misses him as much as I do. She offered to find someone who was willing to help outside of the usual channels. I didn’t hold out much hope – it’s been a long, long time since she was with the CIA.’

  I made a grunt of surprise, but when I thought about it, it was pretty obvious that Walter’s lover was from the Agency. He had known no other life since he was in his early twenties.

  ‘So your grandma put you in touch with old Walter, eh?’ Rink said.

  ‘Walter? Is that his name? He has only ever referred to himself as Conrad. I assumed that was his first name.’

  I scowled at Rink, but he only offered a smile that twisted one corner of his mouth. Then I decided, what the hell? ‘His name is Walter Hayes Conrad. So he wasn’t exactly lying to you.’

  ‘Just being economical with the truth,’ Rink put in.

  Kirstie frowned. She had no idea about Rink’s distrust of our former Arrowsake handler, and voicing his opinion here and now wouldn’t help. I think he got that, because he lowered his head and pinched down on a further retort. Kirstie shook her hair off her shoulders. She picked up Benjamin’s photo, and stared at it for a second or two. I was worried that she would see a connection between Walter and those identical eyes peering back from the toddler’s face. But she didn’t seem to. Tears were welling. ‘Conrad, uh, Walter, or whatever he’s called, promised that he would help me get my son home. And yet, even he was tentative when he realised who Benjamin’s father was. Are you sure that you’ll be able to rescue him?’

 

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