The Lawless Kind

by Hilton, Matt

  ‘We’ll swap it for something with a bit more oomph further down the road,’ I said.

  ‘Unless Molina’s punks catch up with us first. We couldn’t outrun them in this old heap.’

  ‘Don’t tempt fate,’ I said. ‘If the van was being tracked, they’re probably on the way to its final signal. Soon as they find the van’s been burned out they’ll figure that we’re in another car. Won’t take them long to check that farm back there and discover what we’re driving.’

  ‘I hope the bastards don’t punish the farmer, thinking he was in cahoots with us.’

  I hadn’t considered that. Made me sick to think that the innocent farmer, a victim of theft, might soon become a victim of violence too.

  I dug out my cell phone and, after checking it had a signal, hit a hot key. Usually when contacting Walter I would use secure relays to bounce the call off various satellites, but didn’t bother this time. This phone was a throwaway, as was its twin that Walter held; they couldn’t be traced to us. Walter picked up after the first ring. I had to jam the phone tight to my ear to hear him over the rattle of rain on the cab roof.

  ‘Joe? How are Kirstie and Benjamin?’

  ‘You must have been expecting my call?’

  ‘I’ve been on goddamn pins since last you called. Tell me, are they with you?’

  ‘Not exactly . . .’

  ‘What? I’m receiving reports about a gun battle at Molina’s house: don’t tell me you failed to get the boy away.’

  ‘Relax. Kirstie and Benjamin are with Harvey and the others. Me and Rink are playing backstop, trying to slow down the pursuit.’

  ‘I’d feel much better if you were with them, son.’

  ‘Harvey and the guys are good. They’ll see that your folks are safe.’

  ‘I’m not doubting their abilities . . . it’s just, well, I know that you and Rink are better.’

  As is often the way with Walter, his words were double-edged. In one breath he was complimenting us, while also criticising my decision to send Kirstie and Benjamin ahead with the others. I didn’t bother replying, just went straight to the issue at hand. ‘There’s a problem, Walt. That arsehole that was at the mine in Arizona with you; the one that executed the coyote?’

  ‘Howell Regis?’

  ‘If he’s the skull-faced bastard that pulled the trigger, then, yes.’

  ‘Wait on! You’re telling me that Regis is out there in Hermosillo?’

  ‘Unless he’s got an identical twin.’

  ‘What the hell is he doing there?’

  ‘I was hoping you could throw some light on that,’ I said. ‘We seem to have stumbled into a bigger plan for Jorge Molina than simply abducting his son. Regis is all buddy-buddy with him, a welcome visitor in Molina’s home from what I witnessed. Here’s the bigger problem, Walt: Regis – or someone he’s working for – has been on to us from the beginning. We were under surveillance as we crossed the border, and a few hours later a kill team was sent to stop us. The team is made up of mercenaries, a couple of whom I know from back in the day. After we got the boy out of harm’s way we bumped into those guys again. It seems our intentions were misconstrued. They thought that we were there on wet work, Molina the target. Someone back at your end thinks you sent us to kill their pet cartel boss, and they aren’t happy. And they aren’t going to allow a second attempt either, so watch your ass. Maybe they’ll figure that you’re the key to stopping us and try to harm you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. Concentrate on getting Kirstie and Ben home . . . I can look after myself.’ Walter fell into an uncomfortable silence. Likely he was mulling over who was guiding Howell Regis and what he had to do about it. Knowing Walter he was more concerned about protecting his position than his skin.

  ‘Just make sure that your protection detail is on full alert, Walt, OK?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, will do. Listen, I’ve some investigating to do at this end. You concentrate on bringing my folk home and I’ll let you know what I find.’

  ‘You were worried that your relationship to Kirstie would be discovered . . . I’ve a feeling that’s inevitable.’

  ‘Not if I can help it.’

  Walter hung up, and I was left wondering at the sudden steel in his voice. Walter had mellowed over the past two decades, had grown weary with the violence and murder that constantly surrounded him, yet, as he rung off, his parting words were those of a ruthless and resilient field operative.

  Rink had given me privacy while he concentrated on driving the rattling pick-up, guiding it through the deluge. But he’d heard every word and was ruminating over them. His question wasn’t what I expected. ‘Do you ever regret signing up with Arrowsake?’

  ‘Yes. When I look back at what it was, I wish I’d never been part of it. But then I also think about what it has given me and I’m grateful.’

  ‘Granted. If we hadn’t been with Arrowsake, we’d never have met. I’ve a good friend in you, Hunter, a brother. But when I think about everything that we’ve lost, I wonder if it was worth it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘Aah, I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about family, stability, peace and quiet. All the things other people take for granted.’

  He was right, of course. The brief we had, with all the fancy titles and political correctness removed, amounted to us being little more than guided missiles. The faceless men at the top of the Arrowsake command structure relayed instructions down the line, through the likes of Walter, and we acted without question. We were idealistic, we were patriotic, and looking back, we were misguided. We were assassins. That’s all there’d been to it when everything else was stripped away: killers. Such men didn’t deserve family, stability or peace. I had fooled myself into thinking that my marriage to Diane could weather my career, and when I retired we’d have all of those things. It had been a halcyon dream and, like most dreams, it evaporated in the cold light of reality. Rink had known a stream of women, but he hadn’t settled down, had no children. It wasn’t that he didn’t desire a wife and kids, he was too afraid that his old associations would bring harm to them. If either of us had fully realised what we were signing up for then, we’d have run away screaming in denial. So yes, like Rink, I regretted ever joining Arrowsake, the secretive UN coalition counter-terrorism unit. We were supposed to negate terrorist threats by taking pre-emptive war to those who would target UN countries. Thinking about it now, we were more terrifying than most potential aggressors.

  Rink wasn’t really directing the question at me, though. I guessed he was thinking about Walter, and wondering if the old man regretted the life and career choices he’d made. Did he rue the day he and his lover brought life into their dark world? We feared for our loved ones – both living and dreamed-of – but was Walter any different? Had he a darker take on the meaning of family ties? By their blood relationship Annie, Kirstie and Benjamin could become targets of men whose agendas might not match Walter’s. Was Walter’s biggest regret that his family was his weakness? His Achilles heel? I pretty much doubted it; I’d heard the tough edge to his words. That wasn’t the voice of a man who regretted having kids. It was the voice of someone determined to make whoever threatened them sorry.

  ‘One thing I don’t regret,’ I added.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Arrowsake gave us the skills to help others. If we hadn’t signed up, who would Kirstie have called on to help bring home her son?’

  Rink shook his head, rumbling out laughter that added a deep undertone to the drumming rainfall. Briefly he turned from the road ahead to hold me under his gaze.

  ‘Hunter,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You always find a way to make something shitty sound attractive and noble.’

  ‘It’s the only way I manage to sleep at night.’

  Chapter 26

  Howell Regis listened intently to his cell phone over the chatter of the other men in the room. He tried to filter out the noise, concentrating instead
on the British voice on the other end of the line. Sometimes he struggled to understand what James Lee Marshall was telling him; the man made no allowance for his thick northern English accent.

  ‘To clarify, you’ve found the panel van?’

  ‘Aye. I already told you that,’ Marshall said.

  ‘Sorry. I can barely hear you for all the hollering going on here.’

  ‘Tell the fuckin’ bean-eaters to shut the fuck up then.’

  ‘I’m sure that would go down well with my host.’

  ‘Fuck him, too. He can dress himself up in fancy clothes, but he’s still a fuckin’ drug-dealing wetback arsehole. He should be showing us respect, not the other way round.’

  ‘Lest you forget, Marshall, it’s important to the CIA that Jorge Molina is treated with courtesy and deference, in order that he stays on-side when he ascends to take his father’s place at the head of the cartel. Telling him to “shut the fuck up” wouldn’t meet those criteria any way you try to fancy it up.’

  ‘OK, so open your ears and pay attention. I can hardly hear myself speak for the fucking downpour and don’t want to have to keep repeating myself.’

  ‘Can I also remind you to show courtesy and deference to me. Who’s paying your wage cheque, Marshall?’

  ‘Fuck deference, you prick. You need me more than I need you. Now listen up: the van’s been torched, and the tracking device you planted inside it is offline. Now, the way I’m seeing it is that only two men left the scene. It’s pissing down here, but I can still see that only one vehicle drove in, didn’t leave, and two men left on foot. I’m guessing that Hunter is one of those two, and probably his big Jap mate, judging by the size of the footprints.’

  ‘What about the others and Molina’s boy?’

  ‘They’ll be in another vehicle, taking a different route to the border. If it was me, I’d have done exactly what Hunter has: laid a false trail.’

  ‘How far are you behind Hunter?’

  ‘The van hasn’t been burning very long; I think he’s still nearby. His first priority will be to find alternative transport. McAdam and three of my men have gone on ahead. They’re rousting every family between here and the highway out of their beds, making them check if their vehicles are all accounted for. We’ll know soon enough what they’re driving. Then you can relay that info to all of Molina’s footsoldiers between Hermosillo and the border. With eyes on each major road junction they’ll be spotted soon enough.’

  ‘I want you to concentrate on finding the boy.’

  ‘Yeah, but there’s a problem with that, isn’t there? Unless we get incredibly lucky and one of Molina’s bean-eaters happens to spot them, we can forget about finding the brat. But if I can catch Hunter, I’ll make him tell us where they plan to rendezvous, and I’ll get the boy back then. You asked for the heads of Joe Hunter and Kirstie Long; well, this is the only way I can guarantee both.’

  A sudden burst of activity caught Regis’s attention. Jorge Molina was pushing his way through the group of his lieutenants, heading for Regis, his face set with determination.

  ‘Give me a second or two here, Marshall, will you?’

  ‘Yeah, just don’t be too fucking long. I’m getting soaked standing out here.’

  Molina strode directly to Regis and stood so close, a waft of warm air, a heady mix of expensive cologne and sweat, surrounded him. Molina’s teeth were clamped together, his lips lifted in a snarl. The only thing that belied the image was the feral light of excitement in his gaze.

  ‘Is that your hired killer on the phone?’ Molina’s voice carried no hint of his Hispanic heritage. Not surprisingly, as he’d been raised and schooled in the USA. Before Regis could confirm he was speaking to Marshall, Molina plucked the phone out of his hand. ‘Listen to me,’ he snapped, without preamble. ‘I have a man on the road at Oasis Carbo. He has just spotted this “Hunter” at a gas station ten miles north of your position. I suggest you get your men there now.’

  There was a threat to Molina’s final sentence, one that Regis hoped Marshall would not rise to. When there was no change to Molina’s face, Regis relaxed.

  ‘They are travelling north on Carretera Quince – Route Fifteen – towards Santa Ana in an old Dodge pick-up. Green with a white hard plastic shell on the back.’ Molina relayed the registration number from memory; having absorbed the details, Regis assumed, during the brief telephone call he’d received minutes before. ‘I will send men to assist your team, as well as warn those in Santa Ana, Magdalena and Nogales to set up rolling roadblocks. Stop this “Hunter” and you will be well rewarded. Fail, and you will wish you never came to my backyard.’

  Molina flipped the phone at Regis and he caught it out of the air.

  ‘That,’ Molina told him, ‘is how to motivate your people, Regis.’

  Regis nodded, smiling graciously at Molina’s wisdom, before turning his back and pressing the phone to his ear. ‘Marshall?’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, Regis. I’ve a job to do.’

  Regis was left with the dead buzz of white noise as Marshall set off in pursuit. Not for a second did Regis think Marshall’s alacrity was due to the cartel boss’s threat; it was more from his desire to capture Hunter. It was almost as if Marshall had something to prove.

  Chapter 27

  ‘Well, I’d say that Molina’s men are on the way, now, brother.’

  Rink was at the steering wheel of the old Dodge while I rode shotgun. Actually, the phrase was a misnomer, because all I had to hand was my SIG. A check of my available ammunition told me that I’d one full clip and just three spare rounds left over from earlier. Rink wasn’t much better off with only half a clip in his gun. Usually we used the same ammunition so that the rounds could be shared between us, but his gun was chambered for .357 while my slightly larger stock was of nine-millimetre Parabellum. Still, Rink was adaptable, and didn’t require bullets to defend himself.

  ‘Yeah, job done. I only hope we didn’t make it too obvious that we were trying to be seen.’

  ‘Does it make a difference? Let them come, I’m ready for them now.’

  ‘No. I meant that they’d figure we were trying to draw them away from the others. There aren’t that many direct routes from Hermosillo back to the border. Maybe they’ll send most of their guns to cut off those roads instead of chasing us.’

  ‘I got that. But I think after what happened at his house, Molina has to try to catch us; otherwise he’s going to lose face with other cartel bosses. He’ll be determined to make an example of us, to prove he’s got the steel balls to hold his own against them. He’ll send everything he’s got after us, and concentrate on getting his son back later. Way he sees things, if he kills us there’ll be no one left to stop him from taking Benjamin back from Kirstie whenever he likes.’

  ‘I guess we have to factor in Marshall and his goon squad.’ It was regrettable that it had come to this, but the lure of money could make enemies of the best of friends. Marshall hadn’t been a friend the way Rink and Harvey were to me now, but he had been someone I’d have risked my life for when we fought side by side. He’d been a good soldier back then, a tough and resourceful bastard, and even missing an eye and twenty years older, he was no doubt still equally tough and resourceful. Pity he had grown to be more of a bastard.Back on that hillside the only reason he hadn’t drawn on us was because there was nothing in it for him. Why fight, and possibly die, for no reward? But I was wise enough to believe he was after us now. Howell Regis – the Grim Reaper – would have made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

  When I was with 1 Para there was a lot of competition among the lads. Who could run the furthest? Who could carry the heaviest weight for longest? Who was the fittest? Who was the best shot on the range? All banter, and an integral part of the job to ensure you continuously pushed to be the best of the best. One question that often came up: who was the hardest in the regiment? There was a time when James Lee Marshall held that title hands down.

  Then a brash youngster calle
d Joe Hunter entered the running, and the lads were of a split opinion. If I hadn’t been flown to other theatres of war then, sooner or later, Marshall and I would have been pressed into proving the issue. I was on the way up; people would assume that I’d something to prove by beating him. But the opposite was true. He was the old champion and it was for him to protect his position as alpha male.

  When I was chosen over him to represent 1 Para as their delegate to Arrowsake, it must have hurt. Sounds egotistical, but they were only looking for the very best of the best, and they’d found Marshall wanting. Wonder if the rejection had stuck with him all these years? I hadn’t thought about Marshall in the best part of two decades, yet the moment I’d recognised his face in the glare of lights on the highway, something had stirred in me. It was the emotion that old boxers must feel when they proclaim they could have been a contender for the title belt. I admit to telling myself that I could take him. Part of me was even looking forward to him showing up again.

  ‘Let them come.’ Rink was obviously of a similar opinion.

  He’d been acting out of character since back at the abandoned mine. His misgivings were all to do with his mistrust of Walter, as we’d already established, but now we were in the thick of things his mindset had adapted to the problem at hand. His blood was up, and he was ready for the challenge. Now that enemy combatants were pursuing us, he was in the zone where it was the two of us against the world. Nothing mattered to him now but defeating all comers. Faced with the number of enemies we must have, there was no one I’d rather have at my side than Rink; after all, he had been the very best that the US Army Rangers could field to Arrowsake. But, I had to remind myself, this wasn’t about us two versus an army of bad guys; this was about safely returning a woman and child home. We couldn’t fight this war on our terms. Where we both preferred to take the battle to Marshall, Regis and Molina, we were forced to play fox to their hounds. We had to run, lead them astray, split their forces, and then – where it was unavoidable – mount a defence.