King's Ransom

by E H Jennings

  Randy kept shuffling. “Lucian found some stuff in the living room ‘fore it all came crashin’ down. Busted up glass bottles. Seemed weird, you ask me, but he said he smelled gas. Said it was all about the floor. We thought maybe a line had done broke, but there’s something else.”

  “Were the windows broken?”

  Randy was stunned. “How’d you know that?”

  Molotov cocktails, thought Carson. “Just a guess.”

  “Well yeah, matter fact they were. Both front windas.”

  They stood in silence for a moment and Randy started to ask another question when Carson interrupted him. “Where’s Lucian?”

  Randy nodded up the hill. “He’s in the store, there. Got right ill with smoke inhalation. Doc Harris drove down to check him out, said he’ll be fine.”

  “Smoke inhalation?”

  “Yep. Reckon he saw the flames when he got to work and ran in there. He’s who called it in.”

  Carson nodded his thanks to Randy and ran up the hill to the store. He found Lucian sitting at the counter, sipping water and breathing heavily.

  Lucian’s eyes widened at the sight of Carson. The old man started to stand but Carson motioned for him to stay seated.

  “What happened to you?” Lucian asked.

  Carson gave the man a hug and collapsed on a stool next to him.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  Lucian actually laughed, a wheezing cackle. “You look like hell.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Behind them, they heard footsteps on the porch. The door opened and Sampson stepped inside with Randy on her heels. He was still talking but it was obvious she was no longer listening.

  The look on her face told Carson what he already knew—don’t say too much. Carson didn’t give a damn about the CIA and their wishes; what he did care about was Lucian. And the less he knew, the safer he would be.

  Lucian elbowed Carson and cackled again. “Looks like introductions are in order, old boy. It’s about time you found yourself a lady.”

  Sampson looked horrified.

  Carson shook his head. “Lucian, this is Rachel. She’s just a friend.”

  “An awful nice lookin’ friend, you ask me,” said Lucian.

  Randy laughed out loud and vehemently agreed. Sampson actually blushed, something Carson assumed she hadn’t done in a long time.

  Lucian shook her hand. “Welcome to Coal Creek, Miss Rachel. Pleasure to meet you.”

  She smiled. “Pleasure’s mine.”

  “I just brewed some fresh coffee,” he offered. “Could I get anyone a cup?”

  They all nodded and Lucian hobbled his way behind the counter. He grabbed a handful of brown mugs and gestured for Carson to follow him into the kitchen.

  The kitchen of King’s General Store was small. There were two ovens, an old fridge, a sink, and a single counter running through the middle of the room. There were also four coffee pots, all filled to the brim.

  Lucian was standing by the coffee but he wasn’t pouring. He was staring at Carson, something knowing in his brown eyes.

  “I know you can’t tell me everything,” he said. “But don’t you dare lie to me. You ain’t fine, so don’t go telling me you are. You walk in here all beat to hell on the same night somebody burns down your momma and daddy’s house?” He shook his head and coughed violently. “Nah, you ain’t fine. Not at all.”

  Carson felt helpless. He looked at the man that had become like a father to him and knew there was nothing he could say to alleviate his worry.

  Lucian had seen too much life to believe in coincidences. Carson had always wondered if Lucian somehow knew about the Unit, about Mirkwood. But even if he didn’t, the old man knew the blood on Carson’s shirt and the burning pile of ash out back were connected. Lying was futile.

  “You shouldn’t have gone inside,” said Carson. “You could have been seriously hurt.”

  “I was hurt.” He coughed again. “Doc Harris said I may not breathe normal again for a few years.”

  “What?!”

  A mischievous grin formed on Lucian’s face.

  Relief flooded Carson. “You crazy old geezer.”

  Lucian’s smile faded and he shrugged. “If I hadn’t gone in, I wouldn’t have gotten that.” He pointed to an old drink cart in the corner.

  When Carson moved closer, he saw something was sitting on top of it. Emotion filled his chest when he realized what it was.

  He picked it up and held it in his hands. The picture had hung above the fireplace in his parents’ living room. He blinked quickly as he looked down at it, as he looked down at his family. There were six of them: his father, his mother, Connor, Colton, and himself.

  And Jessica.

  She had straightened her hair that day and it looked longer than he remembered it. They were holding hands. That he remembered very clearly.

  He looked at Lucian and said the only thing he knew to say. “Thank you.”

  The old man took Carson’s face in his hands. “I don’t know what awful thing has happened and you don’t have to tell me. But you have to promise me you’ll make it right. You have to promise me you’ll be back here Monday morning.” He grinned. “You know how busy it gets.”

  “I promise, Lucian. I’ll come back.”

  Lucian’s grin was gone. “I don’t know who started it, or why, but you finish it.” He pointed at the picture. “You finish it for them.”

  Carson looked at his family and nodded. “I will.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lexington

  67 hours remaining

  Connor reached for the gun on his nightstand.

  A noise. Coming from the backyard.

  After getting the news from Carson, he hadn’t been able to sleep. He had been lying wide-awake for an hour when he heard it. He kept listening as he sat up and silently crawled out of bed. He crouched over to the window and peeked into the yard. A large maple tree obscured his view, but he saw movement to the far left of the house.

  Someone was walking along the property line, peering into the bushes.

  Connor slipped on a pair of jeans and a dark sweatshirt and moved out of the bedroom, gun raised. The hallway was empty. He looked down the stairs and saw the alarm was still set; the word Armed glowed bright green. No one had breached the house.

  Yet.

  He opened the door to his daughters’ room and found them sleeping peacefully. There were two windows in their room and he glanced outside. No one was in the yard but he noticed a car parked on the street two blocks up. It was outside the Parker house, and he knew for a fact the Parker’s were in Florida.

  They were paying someone to check on their dog twice a day, but Connor doubted the dog needed tending at three in the morning. Not to mention the dog sitter drove a truck. The vehicle parked on the street was a sedan.

  Connor crept down the stairs, disabled the alarm, then climbed back up and eased into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him. The small window by the shower looked out over the back yard and he saw the man again. He had moved closer to the house. He was by the mowing shed when Connor saw it.

  In the man’s hand. A gun.

  Connor slowly tugged the window open and pulled himself out onto the roof. He then belly-crawled down to the gutter and peered over the edge.

  When the man disappeared behind the shed, Connor made his move.

  He stood up and leapt off the roof. His hands grabbed the maple branch and he shimmied out away from the house, his feet dangling ten feet above the ground.

  Suddenly the man reappeared. He came out from behind the shed and leisurely looked around, then started walking toward the tree. Connor did a military-style chin up and swept his body up over the branch. He clung to it and watched as the man slowly walked, ever closer, until finally he passed directly beneath him.

  Connor jumped.

  He landed hard but rolled out of it and was instantly back on his feet. The trespasser was far slower and didn’t even
turn around before Connor arm-barred him and slammed him on his back.

  “Don’t fucking move,” Connor whispered, rolling the man over and pressing his knee into his sternum. He pulled the pistol and pointed it at the man’s forehead. “You’re outta your depth, son. Coming here was a big mistake.”

  “Connor! Stop!”

  Connor swung his pistol toward the approaching footsteps. When he saw who it was, he pointed it at the ground.

  “Jake? What the hell are you doing here?”

  Jake Nichols held the all-time record for passing yards and touchdowns at Coal Creek High. He was also now the sheriff of the Lexington Police Department.

  “Carson called us,” said Nichols. “Said you two were waist-deep in shit and might need a hand. Now if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill my deputy.”

  Connor holstered his weapon and helped the younger man to his feet.

  “Sorry about that,” he muttered.

  The deputy ignored the apology and went to stand by Nichols. It was obvious he wanted to be as far away from Connor as possible.

  “Would have been nice of Carson to read me in,” said Connor. “He’s always trying to play hero and protect everybody.”

  “Don’t really think you need protecting,” the deputy deadpanned.

  Nichols shrugged. “He asked us to run surveillance on your place until he got here. But if you want us to leave, we’ll leave.”

  Connor shook his head and started walking back toward the house. “Nah,” he said. “Just stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Where you going?” asked Nichols.

  Connor didn’t break stride. “To make us some damn coffee.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Coal Creek

  Carson ran upstairs while Sampson sat in the dining area with Lucian and Randy. Lucian brought out steaming cups of coffee and sat them on the counter.

  Sampson took the opportunity to put some much-needed distance between her and Randy; the man hadn’t stopped talking in nearly an hour. She thanked Lucian for the coffee and took a sip. It was warm and reviving.

  She had downed more than half the cup when Carson hurried back into the room. He ignored his own cup and went back to see Lucian, who had stepped into the kitchen to get breakfast started.

  Carson sat two firearms on the counter.

  “I know you have some guns at your house but I want you to take these. One for you and one for Catherine.”

  He had gone up to his makeshift armory and selected two weapons. One was a Sig Sauer P220, the other a Glock G19, much like the one he carried. He had also grabbed extra magazines and more ammo for himself, considering he had used all his on the pleasant jaunt to Wytheville.

  Lucian started to argue but Carson stopped him. “No, you’re gonna take them. I don’t really know what’s going on, but I do know your association with me has likely put you in danger. So you will take these weapons, you will keep them loaded at all times, and you will contact me if you notice anything strange.” The old man appraised him harshly, his jaw set in a line. Carson went on. “I’m serious, Lucian. I can’t do what I need to do unless I know you and Catherine are safe.”

  Lucian finally nodded. “Ok, John Wayne. I’ll take them.”

  Carson handed him the weapons and told him there were more upstairs if he ever had need of them. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll stay in touch.”

  The two men shook hands and Carson turned to leave.

  “Hey,” Lucian called out.

  Carson looked back. The old man had on his apron and bacon was sizzling in the skillet behind him. His white hair was frazzled and his breathing was still labored.

  There was emotion in his eyes. “I love ya, son. Be careful.”

  Carson smiled for the first time all night. “Love you too, Lucian.”

  • • •

  They bid Randy Acton goodbye and headed out to the Land Rover. Carson saw Sampson breathe a sigh of relief.

  “I think Randy likes you,” he said.

  She thought about punching him but flipped him the bird instead.

  As she started the vehicle and turned the heat on full blast, Carson said he would be right back and ran off into the night. She watched him disappear behind the ruins of his former home then reappear moments later.

  He climbed into the Land Rover and Sampson backed out of the gravel lot. He told her to turn left onto the small side street, then right onto Main.

  “What’s with the rose?” she asked, referring to the flower Carson had set on the console between them.

  “There’s something I gotta do before we go to Lexington. Take a left here.”

  She turned onto a narrow street and passed what looked like an abandoned factory.

  “Do you have any concealer?” he asked.

  Sampson blanched. “You mean, like, make-up?”

  “Yes.”

  She kept staring at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Do you have it or not? Take a right.”

  They turned onto another street, this one wider than the previous. There were little white houses lining both sides of the lane.

  “I didn’t realize you special ops guys were such bimbos.” She reached behind the seat and dug through her purse. Eventually, she produced a black tube and handed it to him. “There ya go, princess.”

  “Turn in here,” he said.

  Mountain Valley Assisted Living Facility wasn’t much bigger than King’s General Store. There were only sixteen beds in the single story brick building, but all were full.

  Sampson pulled in and killed the engine. She looked around then over at Carson, who was using the mirror to apply concealer to his face.

  “Care to elaborate?” she asked.

  He answered without looking at her. “It’s important my mom doesn’t see these gashes on my face. The smallest things can get her upset.”

  Sampson looked down at the rose and things suddenly made a little more sense.

  “My dad planted a rose hedge behind the house when I was in high school,” said Carson. “He used to bring mom a rose with her morning coffee. Every morning for twenty-some years. I never saw him miss a day. I’ve been tending the hedge ever since he died and I bring my mom one when I come visit. She usually thinks I’m dad, so it works. She hangs them all upside down and dries them out, then keeps them on the windowsill.”

  “That’s very nice,” was all Sampson could think to say.

  It took Carson several more minutes to hide the numerous abrasions on his face and neck. Finally, he turned toward her. “How do I look?”

  Sampson smiled. “It’s a little concerning how good you are with make-up. But your nose is still broken.”

  Carson lifted his shirttail and bit down on it, then raised both hands, placing one on either side of his crooked nose. He used his fingers to palpate the broken bone and determined which way it needed to go. Then, in one nauseating motion, he reset it.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Prettiest, toughest princess I’ve ever met.”

  He ignored the jab and climbed out. “Give me ten minutes.”

  • • •

  Carolyn King was sleeping.

  Carson didn’t have the heart to wake her, so he sat the rose on the table by the bed and watched her. Her chest rose and fell and her face was pleasant.

  He liked when his mom was sleeping. It was the time she most resembled her former self, the time when Carson could truly imagine her as she had once been. When she was awake, it was much more difficult.

  He always kissed her on the cheek before leaving but was afraid it would wake her. According to Nancy, her personal care nurse, she had been sleeping very poorly over the past few weeks. She was sleeping soundly now and he refused to ruin it.

  He blew her a kiss and whispered, “I love you, momma.”

  He then turned and quietly left the room.

  He had a brief conversation with Larry, the facility�
��s security guard, before leaving. Larry was in his sixties, rotund around the waist, and smoked like a freight train. Nonetheless, Carson gave him his cell number and told him to call if he noticed anything out of the ordinary. Any visitors he had never seen before, different cars in the parking lot, that sort of thing. Larry looked sheepish, but he agreed.

  Sampson hadn’t moved since he left. She had her head leaned back against the seat and Carson thought she might have nodded off. But the doors unlocked as he reached for the handle.

  He directed her back out to Main Street and they left Coal Creek. In twenty minutes, they would be on I-64 headed west toward Lexington.

  Neither of them spoke as they wound through the back roads. Eventually Sampson looked over at him. He was checking his phone. They still hadn’t heard from Mendez, so Carson sent him another text.

  “That was nice of you to go see your mom,” she offered.

  Carson shrugged. “It may be the last time I ever see her. I couldn’t leave without stopping by.”

  Sampson looked surprised. “Are they saying she only has a few days?”

  “No,” said Carson. “But we may have a lot less than that.”

  She took the comment pensively and the car was silent again.

  Fifteen minutes later, they climbed back onto the interstate. Ten minutes after that, Troy Mendez finally called.

  Chuck Rosario was dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Old Town Alexandria

  The old bastard blackmailed us, plain and simple.”

  Senator Mark Prosser was seated in a booth at The Red Rooster, a twenty-four hour diner fifteen minutes from the White House. Through a small window above the table, he could see the Potomac lapping against the docks as it flowed south toward Occoquan Bay.

  The Senator had always loved Old Town, and this diner was a big reason why. He knew the cook, a Ukrainian immigrant who went by the nickname Moose, and the food was good.

  But more importantly, Moose knew how to keep his mouth shut. And at three thirty in the morning, the place was empty.

  Except for the man sitting across from him.

  The nation’s Director of Central Intelligence was busy buttering a biscuit. With a final smear, he took a big bite and chewed it slowly.