Hunting for Caracas

by Anthony Fox

  Matthews spoke. ‘A former American actor turned UN ambassador, and a member of the French government right in the media spotlight. Two high-profile targets, one after the other. Feels as if Doctor Silva would be part two of one big assassination. As in, Caracas was hired by the same person or people to kill both targets, filling one ultimate goal. But the two don’t seem linked. One’s on the front line in dealing with climate change, the other trying to bring Europe closer together. And closer to the rest of the world.’

  ‘Don’t forget, Ambassador Marshall wasn’t even killed. They wiped out his family, not him.’

  Grandad quickly searched online.

  ‘It says Doctor Silva has no wife or children. Seems he’s dedicated his life to his work.’

  The next newspaper websites mentioned that recent terrorist threats to France had resulted in Doctor Silva being guarded more heavily on his current political trip around the country than the British royal family or the President of the United States.

  ‘How d’you get to a target that’s impossible to get to?’ Matthews said to himself.

  ‘What’re you going to do?’

  ‘If Luque is helping Caracas to hit Doctor Silva, then that’s only one piece of the puzzle. A big piece, true, but knowing who Caracas is after isn’t enough. We’ve got to know how they plan to go about it, otherwise too many variables out there and it’s just too dangerous.’

  ‘Should we warn him?’

  Matthews was already shaking his head. ‘In his line of work he’s probably threatened as much as he’s celebrated. Plus, he’s already one of the most guarded people in France. Without knowing where Caracas is, what more can they do?’

  Grandad agreed he was probably right.

  ‘There’s another problem,’ Matthews replied. After keeping his emotions bottled up during his whole time as part of Operation Matterhorn, just hearing Caracas’s name aloud gave Matthews a heady feeling like an inner part of him wanted to tear down the walls of every building until Caracas had nowhere left to hide.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Caracas and Luque hired an American hitman called Jenkins, who came along right when I was about to break from the group and take Luque.’

  ‘So what’s he got to do with it? I mean, you said Caracas was planning to kill Doctor Silva himself, so why’d they hire another killer to do the job?’

  ‘That’s just it, I don’t know. Plus, Jenkins wasn’t good enough for this kind of a hit. It just doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘And this Jenkins is dead now?’

  ‘Yes, but doesn’t mean they can’t replace him with someone else,’ replied Matthews, fighting to ignore memories of Jenkins’ dead body slumped against the cabin wall. Then he flashed back to Connelly, unarmed, defenceless, no longer a threat. Matthews could have let him go, but he’d been so angry. Why? Because Connelly betrayed them and put the team in danger? Or because of Rudy? Surely Matthews didn’t kill the man simply because he needed to lash out after losing someone close to him?

  ‘Matthews?’ Grandad was talking to him. ‘Maybe you should rest for a while. It’s getting late.’

  ‘I’ve rested enough,’ was Matthews’ response. ‘Wasted enough time.’

  Grandad’s eyes shifted to the side.

  ‘We also need to come up with a plan to get Assia home safe.’

  ***

  It was the middle of the night and Assia was again struggling to sleep. However, on this particular evening she must have drifted off because at some point she awoke to low noises. They sounded like they could be coming from inside the apartment.

  In a part of Assia’s dream she wore a man’s three-piece suit with a bow tie and a tall top hat that continually slipped down over her face. The whole sequence had been bizarre as only dreams can be, and Assia didn’t think now that the outfit had any significance, but it reminded her of the fun she’d had wearing all her different wacky clothes while backpacking with Charlie.

  It reminded her of how abruptly that’d been ripped from her grasp.

  After coming around and listening a moment she got out of bed. Putting her ear to the bedroom door, Assia was sure the noises that disturbed her sleep were coming from inside the apartment. When she felt it was safe to open the door just a fraction, she could hear people talking. They were inside Matthews’ bedroom.

  Slowly, Assia edged through the doorway, wanting to hear what they were talking about. She wondered how well she would be able to move without her crutch for support. Her knee had improved in the last day or two, she was even doing light exercises from a list the doctor gave her in an attempt to strengthen the joint.

  The first few steps were awkward and a little uncomfortable, but by resting most of her weight on the other leg, she soon felt steady enough. Capable of moving without her wooden crutch, wearing just a pair of thick winter socks on her feet, Assia was able to creep softly along the corridor. She didn’t know what compelled her to keep going, but she didn’t stop until she reached Matthews’ bedroom door.

  The door was slightly ajar, with light coming out from inside the room. Outside it was dark, quiet, still. Maybe it was the door not being fully closed that she took as a sign, but Assia felt a strong compulsion to see what was going on inside the room. Just a quick peek.

  When she nudged the door open a couple of inches, pleased to hear the hinges make no sound, she was able to put her head in the opening and peer into the room unnoticed. This was because both Grandad and Matthews were facing the left-hand wall on one side of the room with their backs fully turned to the door. Grandad was stood casual and straight. At first Assia didn’t know who was next to him. Then she was shocked to realise Matthews was out of bed and sitting in a wheelchair by his side.

  The wall was covered with sheets of paper, most of it handwritten notes. There was a small cluster of pictures – landscapes, buildings and aerial views of a town or city – and these scraps of paper had black edges and brown stains where they’d obviously been burned.

  The paper with the black edges must have been pulled from a fire.

  Assia instantly connected the dots.

  The fire. When we drove out to the barn after the explosion in the apartment, chasing the giant, Matthews went into the fire.

  He emerged moments later carrying a wire metal bin stuffed with sheets of paper, Assia remembered. Then Luque fired and Matthews stumbled to the car with a bloody belly.

  So much blood.

  ‘How d’you get to a target that’s impossible to get to?’ she heard Matthews say.

  Many of the words on the wall were highlighted in either yellow or orange ink, and both men were now pointing at a particularly burnt sheet of paper. Grandad highlighted a few words with his yellow pen.

  Whilst the men did this, it was another sheet that caught Assia’s eye. Many of the words were in too small a print for her to make out from her position by the door. But some parts, headings, titles, names etc., were in a larger font. Assia noted one that was just big enough for her to see. It was only a thin strip of paper. All that was on this piece were the letters ‘D’, ‘I’, ‘A’ and ‘N’, followed by the numbers nine and six. It meant nothing to Assia, but she decided she’d pushed her luck enough and quietly withdrew and slipped out of view, immersing herself back into the dark and quiet of the corridor.

  Heading back along the corridor to her room, her progress was just as slow as on the approach. Assia fought to hold her nerve and not rush her movements. Her knee throbbed. She took another step and then heard something that made her stop dead. It sounded like the two men had moved on to a discussion that was becoming heated. Assia strained to listen as the volume of their speech continued to increase and then one sentence came through the night air just clearly enough for Assia to make out. ‘She’s just an innocent woman!’ Grandad said loudly.

  That stopped Assia in her tracks on the cold, dark, narrow corridor. She could only guess what they were arguing about. What plans did Matthews have for this innocent woman? />
  I’ve seen too much.

  Is Matthews going to kill me?

  Then she gasped as the bedroom door opened and Grandad appeared. He had the look of exasperation as he closed the door, and turned to come face to face with Assia.

  Not knowing what to do, she just stood still and looked back at Grandad’s kind face, which was lined with frustration. She held her breath and looked openly at him. Assia expected him to order her over, or to open the door and call out to Matthews.

  She’s just an innocent woman!

  Grandad only paused for a moment as he looked into Assia’s eyes. Then, without a sound, he walked to his bedroom and disappeared inside, his own door closing noisily behind him. Assia’s body sagged as she relaxed, only now realising she’d been tensing every muscle.

  57

  Maryland, USA.

  Connelly, Paxman and Jenkins. All connected by the White Wolf. All in the same area at the same time. No way it could be a coincidence.

  It was a Tuesday when Clayton’s Langley contact, Helen, called him again. She pushed him for some information on his earlier enquiry.

  ‘An old scumbag fled the county without telling his parole officer. Last I heard he was in Austria, so when I heard about the bombing in Feldkirch, I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t involved,’ Clayton said.

  When lying, he knew, it was always better to stick close to the truth.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Helen replied, and Clayton was pleased to hear his answer had the desired effect of making her completely disinterested in the subject.

  ‘With Robert Paxman and the bodies in the apartment, the original count was wrong, if you’re interested.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Five dead bodies. That’s what the report said. But the original count was wrong. They’ve got one survivor over there.’

  ‘Well I guess that’s good for them. What’s the deal?’ Clayton replied in what he hoped was a bored voice. Helen gave him all the information and he wrote it down. He was thinking about his involvement with the White Wolf. Up until Jenkins it’d been easy money all the way.

  He thought about the death of Paxman.

  The murder of Phil Connelly.

  He thought of all the times he’d done work for the White Wolf, and what would happen if someone found out about it.

  Clayton considered just how involved he was willing to get.

  58

  Somewhere near Feldkirch, Austria.

  Time to run.

  Assia had decided. Now her knee was improving she would spend the day planning, then from tomorrow the first time Grandad attempted to leave the apartment she would make a break for it. She knew her best chance was to act before Matthews was fully fit again. With the speed he was recovering, that wouldn’t be long.

  She thought about the recorded message on Matthews’ music player. The voice that revealed so many things. If everything on it was true, all the stuff about the family in New Zealand, then it was pretty sensational stuff.

  The large dark circles under her eyes had deepened again. Her skin looked worn from a complete absence of daylight, and looking into the bathroom mirror, she again found herself not knowing the person looking back.

  Assia recalled the message on the back of the woman’s green bomber jacket at the parade in Zurich. ‘A Know I’m Going To Heaven – Because I’ve Already Been To Hell. Long Binh. Bein Hoa. Vietnam ’68, ’69’. Then she thought about Charlie, her friend, who didn’t deserve to die.

  ‘Time to leave?’

  Assia cocked her head to the side like a curious animal. She assumed she must have misheard.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Grandad from his bedroom door. He’d just caught Assia as she was leaving the bathroom. It was early morning, which Assia only knew by the small strip of sunlight that filled her tiny bedroom window. ‘There’s a car out front, if you feel you can get up and down stairs OK with your knee?’

  ‘My knee’s good, as long as we move slowly. Where am I going?’

  ‘Completely up to you. If you want to fly back to England you’ll need to start by getting emergency travel documents from the embassy. We can talk about it on the way,’ he told her.

  ‘Matthews is going to let me go home?’ Assia sounded sceptical.

  Grandad smiled. ‘Soon as tomorrow. He’s moving around and recovering quickly now, so we’re getting ready to leave. The time’s come to go our separate ways.’

  Grandad used a set of keys to open the four locks that until this moment had kept Assia confined. Stepping out of the apartment brought back recognition of an area she’d forgotten. As Grandad closed and locked the door behind them she observed the old, varnished wood banister that led to the floors above and below, and the fading green carpet of the landing and staircase.

  They went left out of the apartment and along the corridor. There were apartments on either side. To look at them Assia would have assumed less than half were occupied. They took another left and reached what Assia guessed was the main elevator to the building.

  A man was waiting for the lift to arrive. He talked into a phone with his back to the wall, and gave no more than a passing glance to the couple. Grandad seemed to pay him no mind, no doubt trying to avoid drawing the guy’s attention. However, Assia couldn’t help observing the man. It had become her nature to size people up.

  They didn’t have to wait long for a low rumble to sound on the other side of the doors. Assia limped and Grandad stepped forward, and they entered the lift. The man stayed put, turning his back on the pair of them.

  Stepping out at the ground floor, an old couple moved past them and entered the lift, and another man stood casually to one side as they turned the corner. Assia glanced at the couple, then the man, before focusing ahead.

  It was when Assia spied the third man that she stopped in her tracks. As her eyes caught this man – average height with a harsh, skinny build and a long face that included a mouth of yellowing teeth – her pace slowed for a few steps before halting completely. She looked around for something, anything, just so she wasn’t stood staring at the guy.

  Grandad took a few more steps before he realised there was nobody alongside him any more.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked as he turned to see Assia stood still a few paces back.

  ‘Nothing, I just, I...’ she stammered, not knowing how to explain herself.

  There were a few people milling around the reception area, but Assia glanced at the tall, skinny guy stood by the old, unoccupied concierge desk. He was halfway between Assia and the front entrance to the building. Grandad must have said something in reply, because he was looking at her expectantly.

  She turned and headed back to the lift, giving Grandad no choice but to follow. Assia didn’t look at the second man as she turned to see, to her relief, that the lift had come back down since the old couple used it, and the door was open. As soon as they were both safe inside the lift Assia pushed the button for their floor.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Grandad asked patiently.

  ‘Didn’t you notice the men?’

  ‘I saw one on our floor and one as we got out of the lift,’ he replied.

  ‘And the one near the entrance?’

  ‘Sure. OK. Didn’t look like much. What about them?’

  The lift rumbled to a halt as they reached the fifth floor.

  ‘I, I can’t explain,’ said Assia as the doors opened.

  They stepped out together and headed back to the apartment. As they rounded the corner there was no sign of the guy stood by the lift on his phone.

  The first seed of doubt crept into Assia’s mind.

  I’m just being stupid.

  Grandad moved through his keys and opened the door to the apartment. ‘It’s us,’ he called out before stepping inside, for a moment seeming to forget about Assia as they entered to see Matthews on two feet, taking short, swift steps as he scurried across the floor from one end of the corridor to the other. He reached the door of Assia’s bed
room and put one hand on the frame to steady himself, the other hand out of sight with his back to them. The wheelchair was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘You’re up,’ said Grandad with surprise. Matthews turned and with his other hand held up the pistol he was holding for them to see. A scornful look clouded his face.

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Grandad, kicking the door closed. ‘Knock three times. It’s Assia’s fault. She got me spooked.’

  Matthews replaced the pistol back in his waistband. ‘Don’t blame the girl,’ he said in his gruff voice.

  Grandad looked at him. ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘Healing.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Good.’ Matthews turned and put his back straight against the wall, his knees slightly bent. ‘You’re back?’

  By way of an answer Grandad turned to Assia. ‘What happened?’

  ‘It was nothing.’ For some reason, standing in front of Matthews now, she wondered why she had turned back.

  ‘I was just being dumb.’

  But she knew why.

  ‘It’s understandable to get freaked,’ said Grandad. ‘The incident in Feldkirch will still feel raw. And you’ve been cooped up inside since then. It would be easy for a couple of guys to make you anxious.’

  ‘What guys?’ Matthews straightened. Until then he’d seemed completely uninterested in the conversation. Now he was looking, not at the boy, but at Assia.

  ‘It was nothing. I just get these stupid feelings sometimes, but maybe I was just freaking out after being locked up.’

  ‘What feelings?’

  Assia shrugged. ‘I can’t explain it.’

  ‘Try.’ Matthews was watching her closely.

  Grandad seemed to sense her rising discomfort. ‘It was nothing. We just passed a couple of guys on the way out. Just regular–’

  A raise of Matthews’ hand cut him off, then there was silence as they all waited for Assia to speak. She felt like she was being accused of something.