The Hunter’s Oath

by Jason Dean

  ‘So what’s it all mean?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘I guess there’s only one way to find out.’

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and was about to key in the New York number when he heard Gerry’s voice outside. He put the phone back in his pocket and said, ‘Sounds like your dad’s back from the hospital.’

  ‘You not gonna call the number?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘It can wait for now.’

  Gerry’s voice became steadily louder until the bedroom door opened and he stepped through. He was speaking to somebody on his cell, and when he saw Bishop and Lisa he said, ‘Um, look, I’ll call you back,’ and hung up. He looked from Lisa to Bishop. ‘What are you two doing in here?’

  ‘Chill, Dad,’ Lisa said. ‘We’re just checking Mom’s files. Hey, can I borrow your cell for a sec?’

  Gerry furrowed his brow as he absently handed the phone to his daughter. ‘But what are you checking for?’

  Bishop watched helplessly as Lisa keyed in the New York number. He would have preferred to do it without Gerry present. He said, ‘To see if Amy left any clues as to why she was attacked.’

  ‘And what makes you think she left anything at all? I mean, do you honestly believe she expected to be attacked last night?’

  Lisa turned and handed Bishop the cell phone. ‘It’s ringing,’ she said.

  Bishop glanced at the screen and was wondering why the number wasn’t displayed when he heard somebody pick up. He brought the phone to his ear and a familiar voice said, ‘Roger Klyce.’

  Bishop quickly disconnected the call. So that was Klyce’s direct work line at the office. Interesting. Gerry plucked the phone from his hand. ‘Who are you calling?’ He looked at the display and frowned. He wiped a finger across it and said, ‘Well?’

  ‘That was her boss,’ Bishop said. ‘And Amy sent herself a CD that—’

  He stopped talking as Gerry’s cell phone started ringing. Gerry answered and said, ‘Hello? Oh, right. Yeah, I know. Look, wait a second . . .’ He quickly left the bedroom and closed the door after him.

  Lisa stared after him with raised eyebrows.

  ‘Busy man,’ Bishop said, and pulled out his own phone. He keyed in the DC number and waited. After six rings, a recorded message came on. An accented female voice said, ‘Sorry, we are closed. Embassy offices hours are between nine a.m. and five p.m., Monday to Friday. If you would like to leave a message, please speak after the tone, giving your name, your contact number, and the name of the person to whom you wished to speak. Thank you.’

  Bishop hung up and said, ‘Lisa, can you type the 202 number into Google for me?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. Her fingers played across the keyboard and within seconds a new Google page opened up with a list of links. Right at the top was a link to the embassy of the People’s Republic of Konamba website. Which was part of East Africa, if Bishop remembered correctly.

  Again, interesting. But it didn’t really tell him much. By his own admission, Klyce was in constant contact with representatives from numerous countries, so what was so special about this one? And why had Amy saved these particular calls onto a CD and then sent it to herself in such a clandestine manner? The information had to be of great importance to somebody. But who?

  ‘And the other number was Mom’s boss?’ Lisa asked.

  Bishop nodded. ‘His direct work line.’

  ‘Okay. So why would Mom send this to herself?’

  ‘You got me,’ Bishop said. ‘Is that all that’s on the CD? Just that one file?’

  ‘That’s all I can see.’

  ‘Can you print it out for me?’

  Lisa reached over and switched on the printer. As she printed off the document, she said, ‘So what are you gonna do now?’

  ‘Only one thing I can do. Delve deeper till I get answers.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By going to see her boss again and asking him about this.’

  ‘Why didn’t you do that on the phone?’

  Bishop ejected the CD from the disc drive and placed it back in the jewel case under the Sinatra CD. He put the case in Amy’s drawer and said, ‘I find person to person works best in these kinds of situations. But thanks for helping with this. It would have taken me hours without you.’

  Lisa actually smiled at him then, making him feel good for the first time that day. She said, ‘Yeah, well, you’re old. Like I said before.’

  ‘That I am,’ he said, smiling back. ‘Pray it never happens to you. So are we friends again?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Good. That makes my job a lot easier.’ Getting to his feet, Bishop took the two sheets of paper from the printer tray, folded them and stuck them in his jacket pocket. ‘I’d better get going then.’

  Lisa looked up at him. ‘Hey, look, sorry if I was rough on you before. I didn’t really mean it.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’ He smiled at his niece as he went over and opened the bedroom door. ‘And I deserved it, too. But we’ll talk again later, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Exiting the bedroom, he heard the muffled sound of Gerry in conversation in another room. Bishop left the apartment without saying goodbye.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  It was 18.21 by the time Bishop returned to the Artemis offices in Queens. The office manager, Graham Bryson, had said they closed at six thirty. Bishop hoped he’d been accurate.

  The front door was still unlocked, though, which was a good omen. He pulled it open and went inside. The same receptionist as before was still at her desk. When Bishop walked over to her, she looked up from her screen. ‘Oh, hello again. Is there any more news about Amy?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Bishop said. ‘Look, is it okay if I go talk to Roger Klyce about something? He said I could come by any time.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Roger left about an hour ago. I think Graham’s still up there, though.’

  ‘No, it’s Roger I needed to speak to. It’s kind of urgent. Have you got his home or cell number?’

  She smiled at him. ‘Oh, we can’t give out personal numbers, I’m afraid. Besides, he said he’d be away from the office until Monday, and when Roger’s gone that long it usually means he’s out of the country on business, so it wouldn’t do any good anyway.’

  ‘He tell you where he’s gone?’

  ‘No, but he rarely does. He is the boss, after all.’

  Bishop sighed. Wonderful. Another wasted trip. Thanking the receptionist, he turned and left the building and began strolling north.

  All it meant was with Klyce unavailable for questioning, he’d have to come at the problem from a different angle. There was always a way. As he walked past the mailbox on the corner, he wondered again why Amy had gone to such lengths to send that CD to herself. Obviously as back-up, but why? All that was on there was a surveillance log of calls from Klyce to somebody in the Konamban embassy. But Amy must have sent it to herself for a reason. Just as she did everything for a reason. Bishop just had to figure out the ‘why’. After all, it was still the only lead he had. So maybe that was the approach to take. If Bishop couldn’t get to Klyce directly, he’d simply have to find out who his contact in the embassy was. And what he represented.

  He’d almost reached the 47th Avenue intersection when he began to feel a faint itch at the back of his neck. He’d always trusted that itch. It was an early warning system that had helped him out of some serious scrapes over the years. It usually meant somebody was taking an interest in him. Bishop resisted the urge to look behind and turned left at the intersection. There was a large sandwich bar on the corner up ahead. The first one he’d seen in this section of Sunnyside. He couldn’t fault the location. It probably made a fortune from all the blue- and white-collar workers in the neighbourhood. When the traffic thinned, he crossed over and walked towards the low building.

  When he reached it, he saw one of the windows had a photocopied menu stuck to it. He went over and looked at it while checking the reflection in t
he glass. There was nobody following him that he could see. Just the occasional vehicle passing by. And he couldn’t see anyone in his peripheral vision. But something had activated his radar. He stayed where he was and waited, pretending to study the sandwich choices.

  Bishop had counted to twenty when in the reflection he saw a dark stretch limousine double park on the opposite side of the street. The driver of the car behind it beeped his horn a few times, then swerved round it angrily and carried on. Bishop turned from the window and looked at the limo. It looked like a Lincoln. Maybe ten years old. After a few seconds, a guy in a suit got out the front passenger side and crossed the street towards Bishop. He had dark, close-cropped hair and an athlete’s build. Bishop also noticed a discreet bulge under his left armpit.

  He stopped in front of Bishop and looked him up and down. ‘My boss is over there in the car. He wants to talk to you.’

  ‘That old line,’ Bishop said. ‘Forget it. I prefer girls.’

  The man’s expression remained impassive. ‘Just get in the car, huh?’

  ‘Or what? You gonna shoot me?’

  The man sighed. ‘Look, I’m just the messenger here. Get in or don’t. It’s up to you. But I imagine you’ll get something out of it if you do.’

  Bishop couldn’t fault that kind of logic. He said, ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  They waited for a car to pass and crossed to the limo. The windows were tinted so all you saw was your own reflection looking back at you. Bishop had used his fair share of them back in his close-protection days. Usually bullet-proofed to hell and gone. He wondered if this one was similarly armoured. His escort reached it first and pulled the single rear door open.

  Bishop peered in and saw a bespectacled man in a dark suit sitting inside, looking through some papers. The interior lights made everything garish. The man looked to be in his late forties, with a high forehead and a stern but otherwise unremarkable face. His salt and pepper hair had been brushed forward in an effort to conceal his receding hairline. Bishop looked around and saw the car interior was all polished wood and white leather, with the requisite mini-bar and TV concealed tastefully within the sides.

  The man looked up from his papers, blinked at Bishop and said, ‘It’s all right, I won’t bite.’ He turned and gave a single nod to Bishop’s escort. ‘Okay, Nowlan.’

  Bishop lowered his head and entered the vehicle, taking the seat across from the man. He watched as the man called Nowlan shut the door and got in the front passenger seat. Bishop turned his head, but the dividing glass was also heavily tinted. Their driver was just a silhouette. He turned back to his host, who was still engrossed in his paperwork. ‘So you gonna tell me who you are, or am I supposed to throw twenty questions at you?’

  The man looked up again before reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small black leather wallet and passed it over. Bishop took it and opened the flap.

  There was a gold badge inside. And behind the clear plastic window directly above it was a card identifying the owner as a senior special agent of the FBI.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Bishop raised an eyebrow as he looked it over. Bishop had seen a few federal IDs over the years; this one looked to be the genuine article. The signature on the card gave the owner’s name as Dermot Arquette, while the photo pretty much matched the face in front of him. Although Arquette had had a little more hair when it was taken.

  ‘Nice,’ Bishop said and passed it back. ‘Where can I get one?’

  Arquette pocketed the wallet and set the papers down on the seat. ‘Sorry, but there’s a strict vetting process. Applicants with criminal records need not apply.’

  ‘My conviction was overturned. I even got an apology from the mayor.’

  ‘Yes, I know. In fact, I know all about you, Bishop.’

  ‘That’s comforting.’ The vehicle began to move. Bishop said, ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Nowhere in particular. I just figured this was probably as good a place as any to have us a talk.’

  ‘Uh huh. So it’s now standard practice for the FBI to supply its agents with stretch limos?’

  Arquette flashed a smile. ‘I’m just borrowing this one from our special lot in Jersey. Stretch limos are so common here in the city that it works better than any natural camouflage. Which, as it happens, is perfect for the case I’m currently involved with.’ He leaned forward. ‘But let’s talk about your sister. Has she regained consciousness yet?’

  Bishop kept his face expressionless, although he’d already figured this had to be about Amy somehow. ‘What do you care?’

  ‘Believe it or not, I care very much what happens to Amanda Philmore. Has she come out of her coma yet or not? A simple yes or no will do.’

  Bishop just stared at the agent. His first instinct when confronted with law was to clam up, but he realized that might be self-defeating in this case. Especially as they both had questions that needed answering. ‘The answer’s no,’ he said. ‘Your turn. What’s your interest in Amy?’

  Arquette sat back, lifted his glasses and began rubbing his eyes. ‘Before this morning, I actually had very little interest in Mrs Philmore. It was when I happened to see a police report of the attack in the park last night, and noticed the name of the victim, that my antennae immediately shot up.’

  Bishop thought about that for a moment. ‘You recognized her name from Artemis International’s list of employees.’

  One side of Arquette’s mouth turned up. ‘That’s exactly right. How did you know?’

  ‘If it’s not Amy you’re interested in, then that only leaves her employer. Which means you don’t believe it was a simple mugging, either.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I think it was possibly planned well ahead of time.’

  Bishop pondered that for a second. The obvious next question was By whom? But he had a feeling Arquette was building up to that, and he could afford to be patient. To a point. ‘So is the company currently under some kind of federal investigation?’

  ‘No. Well, not officially, anyway. This is something I’m following up on my own. You see, I’m pretty sure there’s something going on over there that warrants further attention, but I don’t have enough to take it upstairs and get the official wheels rolling. At least, not yet.’ He sighed and said, ‘How much do you know about Artemis?’

  Bishop looked out the window at the warehouses and office buildings passing by. ‘Not much. I know they’re a non-profit group that helps track down war criminals. According to Roger Klyce, they’re pretty good at it, too.’

  Arquette adjusted his glasses. ‘You’ve spoken to Klyce? When?’

  ‘A couple of hours ago. In his office.’

  ‘And what else did he say?’

  ‘Just that he hoped Amy would get well soon. Oh, yeah, we discussed Greek mythology, too. Look, Arquette, this is starting to be one-way traffic here. Why don’t you just tell me what your involvement is in all this?’

  ‘I guess that’s only fair,’ Arquette said, reaching over and opening the mini refrigerator. Bishop saw a variety of canned soft drinks lined up in rows inside. Arquette pulled out a Sprite and cracked open the top. ‘Go ahead, help yourself,’ he said.

  Bishop grabbed a Coke, opened it and took a slug of the cold drink. ‘I’m listening.’

  Arquette took a sip, then said, ‘Okay, have you ever heard of a temporary organization called the Coalition for International Justice, or the CIJ?’

  ‘Wasn’t it involved with the war crimes tribunals in The Hague a few years back?’

  ‘That’s right. It was established in the mid-nineties to aid the international tribunals for Rwanda, Sierra Leone, Cambodia, and the former Yugoslavia. As well as a few others. They’d help build cases, supply legal and technical assistance, gather evidence, that kind of thing. They were pretty successful as far as it went, and finally closed operations in 2006.’

  ‘Good call. As far as I know, atrocities are still being committed on a fairly regular basis in most parts of the globe.’
>
  ‘Yes, and I imagine the same thought occurred to our friend Roger Klyce. Artemis International was set up a year later in 2007 as a private, non-profit enterprise. Ostensibly with similar objectives to the CIJ, but taking it one step further by actually helping to track these people down. And Klyce already had a vast network of contacts and informants to help him do it. Are you aware he used to be a fairly large cog in the Lewis, Cartwright & Taylor machine? Or LCT, as they’re more commonly known? I’m sure you’ve heard of them.’

  Bishop assumed it was a rhetorical question. LCT was the second largest security contractor in the States. His old employer, RoyseCorp, was still the nation’s number one choice, but it was a close run thing. He knew any government contracts RoyseCorp turned down generally ended up on the desk of LCT’s chairman.

  Arquette continued, ‘One day Klyce just resigned from his senior post at LCT and decided to get into the humanitarian business. He started up Artemis International with a skeleton staff, and over the next several months used his contacts to track down several suspected war criminals who had eluded capture up until that point. Then Klyce simply offered the information to the relevant governments, free of charge. The resultant trials ended up as big news in their respective countries. Of course, Artemis’s reputation was made from then on.

  ‘Now the company’s the go to choice for those countries looking to rid themselves of their bloody past and elevate their standing in the international community. Especially those with a history of ethnic cleansing or wholesale civilian massacres. These countries’ governing bodies pass down names of those they deem directly responsible, then request that Artemis help track them down. Then once they’re in custody, they arrange public trials to show the world their willingness to own up to their past. After that, you’d be surprised how quickly offers of financial aid start coming in to help them get back on their feet. Then their sovereign credit rating gets upgraded, which lures in the major foreign investors. And it’s not long after that that the real money starts rolling in. It’s big business.’