Lynx

by Matt Rogers

  An uneasy silence descended over the cabin as the Ford carried on up I-95.

  Williams said, ‘You said it yourself. The world goes on. That’s human nature. Ten years from now there’ll be a kid, and her parents will be on the receiving end of some injustice. Maybe they’re journalists in Mexico. Maybe they’re tortured and flayed and beheaded by the cartels for daring to give them bad press. Maybe that kid will wonder what could have been done to save her entire family from being mutilated. And maybe they could have been. Maybe, in another life, a young girl named Shien kept training in the North Maine Woods. She grew up to be one of the most effective killers in the government’s arsenal and slipped her way into the upper echelon of the cartel under the guise of a prostitute. Then she proceeded to tear the whole beast apart from the inside, as ruthless as she is, and the happy family carried on with their normal life instead of dying a disgusting death in the slums. Surrounded by filth. Not a pleasant way to go out. You’re the villain of that story, Slater.’

  ‘Stop talking,’ Slater said.

  He hated the secret life.

  He hated the secret world.

  He hated everything in it.

  Sometimes all you could focus on was the small picture, to prevent yourself going mad.

  76

  They entered Maine without fanfare.

  The drive took longer than expected. Traffic built up as they flew past Boston and slowed their progress to an uncomfortable crawl. Slater made a point of eyeing the rear view mirrors every few seconds, more of a nervous tic than anything else. Williams noticed. He smirked and squirmed in his seat, to no avail, and when the confidence wore off he settled back and closed his eyes and tried not to think about his predicament.

  As they trickled along the interstate Slater gave silent thanks that the Ford’s windows were tinted to the maximum. Often they stopped right alongside ordinary civilian vehicles, and Slater had a man duct-taped to the passenger seat. In any other setting, it might have looked hilarious. Now his heart hammered in his throat every time an unassuming guy or girl glanced over in traffic.

  But no-one saw anything.

  Except their own reflections, staring back at them.

  No alarms were raised.

  And the duct tape held tight, as it was designed to do.

  Williams wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.

  The traffic dispersed as most took turn-offs, heading home after a long workday, and the hours ticked by. It passed midnight, then one a.m., then two a.m. After the first involuntary nap Slater managed to figure out the trickier details of monotony, and there were no further incidents. He kept his eyes on the road and his mind sharp and alert. There would be no more adrenalin dumps, no more crashes. Now was the time to recharge the batteries. He had no idea what he might find in the woods of North Maine.

  Williams didn’t provide any help.

  Slater said, ‘Describe the facility.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘I thought you just wanted the girl.’

  ‘I do. But I don’t want to run into any surprises on the way in.’

  ‘You’re going to, no matter what. I assume you can deal with them. It’s heavily guarded.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘Private contractors. There’s a staggering market for vets with nothing to do and an arsenal of skills to utilise. Usually that takes place in more unsavoury locations, and we turn a blind eye, even though we know it happens. But sometimes we can put those skills to use.’

  ‘You’ve got a bunch of old guys holding down the fort?’

  Williams shook his head, without the use of his shoulders. ‘The word “veteran” doesn’t mean what you assume. There’s a stereotype around it. We take killers. Ex-Green Berets and Rangers and other, more secretive positions who’ve retired from active service and are looking for a better dollar.’

  ‘The types who’d go to mines in Africa, or oil reserves in the Middle East?’

  ‘Yes, those types. There’s always a narrow band of outliers. Better we employ them than the alternative.’

  ‘How many are there?’

  ‘More than necessary. We’ve spared no expense. Specifically for situations like this.’

  ‘Stand them down.’

  ‘And where would they go?’

  ‘Just do it. Get them away from the facility until I can pull Shien out.’

  ‘How am I supposed to do that? You think I have all their numbers in a little book?’

  ‘You can get hold of them. Don’t play the village idiot.’

  ‘You smashed my phone back in New York.’

  ‘Use mine.’

  ‘I can’t dial.’

  ‘You can speak.’

  Williams sighed. ‘Fine.’

  Slater hesitated, and looked across. ‘You’re not going to raise the alarm, are you? I’m sure there’s protocol for situations like this. Certain words you can use that tip your colleagues off. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

  ‘How will you know if I do?’

  ‘Because we’ll get to the compound and it’ll be fortified to the gills and I’ll turn around and shoot you in the head the second I realise you weren’t true to your word.’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot of empty talk,’ Williams said. ‘Not much action. You keep threatening me with everything under the sun. Sooner or later it starts to get old.’

  Slater made sure there was no traffic in the vicinity. He was doing eighty miles an hour, surrounded by the cold desolation of Maine, trundling upward toward the Canadian border. Flecks of rain lashed the windshield, and the drudgery of the region lay over everything in sight. The darkness was impenetrable. There was a lorry a few hundred feet behind him, and nothing ahead. Deserted.

  Good.

  He reached down with one hand and pulled the Sig Sauer free from his belt, palming the black polymer of the grip. He disengaged the safety, leant over the centre console, and aimed at Williams’ left foot.

  ‘You’ve been pointing a gun at me over and over again for hours,’ Williams said. ‘That’s getting old, too. Either—’

  Slater shot him through the top of the foot, taking a couple of toes off.

  The muzzle flare lit up the cabin and the sound deafened both of them, exploding in the confined space with all the furore of a dirty bomb. Slater flinched and worked his jaw, opening and closing it in a half-hearted attempt to get his hearing back. He couldn’t hear Williams screaming in pain. He focused on the road ahead and waited for everything to return to normal. Sound crept back in, first the thumping bass of the car and the shouting and the writhing — all low percussive thrums. Next came the trebles, the high notes.

  Everything steadily crept back to normalcy, and he heard Williams’ shouts and moans of despair in all their glory.

  ‘Shut up,’ Slater said.

  ‘I’m going to bleed out, you—’

  ‘No you won’t.’

  Slater set the Ford to cruise control and snatched Williams’ thick winter coat off the back seat, dragging it into the front compartment. He reached over and ducked low and wrapped the bulky item around the man’s mangled foot. The wound gushed blood into the footwell, but Slater cut it off with an effective knot, pinning the sleeve against the ragged flesh. It stifled most of the flow, but Williams grunted through gritted teeth from the accompanying pain.

  Slater said, ‘What was that about bluffing?’

  White as a ghost, Williams slumped back in the duct tape encasing and sealed his lips tight.

  The cab descended into silence.

  77

  Almost eleven hours after setting off from the centre of New York City, the Ford arrived at the border of the North Maine Woods.

  Slater leant pressure on the accelerator, spurred forward by the milestone achievement. Midway through the journey up the East Coast his motivation had faltered, right after shooting Williams through the foot. That had shut the man’s trap for the rest of the journey as he
drew inward into an uneasy unconsciousness, fading in and out of reality, accompanied by cold sweats and pale skin, clammy to the touch. Slater made sure to check Williams’ vitals every couple dozen miles, but there was never any issue. He shivered and shook and gasped for breath when he came to, but Slater had seen the familiar signs of shock a thousand times before. It did little to unnerve him.

  But the silence did.

  He was left alone with his thoughts, and with nothing noteworthy happening outside the vehicle, they were all he could focus on. His mind wandered to endless possibilities of how the next day might unfold, and this time he couldn’t force them out. Williams was right. What the hell was he to do next?

  He stewed deep in the recesses of his own head until the fingers of dawn crept into the sky and the woods wrapped around the pick-up truck like snow-dusted shadows.

  Slater buzzed his window down an inch as the clock on the dashboard struck six in the morning. Icy air rushed in, lowering the temperature inside the cabin in a frenzy. The chill stirred Williams out of his slumber, and he came awake with heavy bags under his eyes and bloodshot tendrils sneaking out of his tear ducts, red spreading across the white.

  ‘Sleep well?’ Slater said.

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘We’ve just got one more stop to make.’

  ‘And where might that be?’

  ‘Right here.’

  Slater spotted what he was looking for and veered off State Route 11 into a giant mall outlet. He trundled through the empty lots as pale blue light filtered across the sky above. It didn’t take him long to locate a warehouse-sized military surplus store, open twenty-four-seven to accomodate a broad customer base, halogen lights glowing outward from within. He pulled to a halt on the bitumen, parking a few dozen feet away from the entrance to reduce the chance of nosy onlookers spotting Williams. He got out, slammed the door closed, and locked the car — not that it was necessary. He could leave all four doors wide open and Williams wouldn’t be going anywhere in a hurry. There was nobody in sight, and the duct tape was impenetrable without a sharp instrument.

  Slater headed straight into the endless aisles of cold weather gear and loaded up on winter camouflage khakis, heavy-duty all-terrain boots, a black compression long-sleeve, a bulletproof vest and a giant overcoat. The cashier, a young guy with oily black hair who looked half-asleep, loaded all the gear onto the conveyor belt and gave Slater a quizzical look.

  ‘Planning a siege?’ he joked.

  Slater laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

  Then he looked at the kid, noting the unfocused eyes, and said, ‘You know what? I need some other things, too.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Food. Water. And … something else. Let’s talk.’

  78

  Back in the Raptor, with all the gear stashed safely across the back seat, Slater turned out onto the interstate and continued north, always north.

  They passed Eagle Lake as the sun soared over the horizon, casting an amber glow over the still water. It flashed by on the right, and then it was straight back to endless rows of snowy alpine trees. The gorgeous sunlight didn’t last long — soon enough, it plunged behind cloud and a dreary grey draped thick over everything. The clouds only intensified as they pressed further north, one hour blending into the next. Slater followed the GPS on his phone, turning left at Fort Kent, right at the very precipice of the border. Then it was a long straight shot down State Route 161, which according to the digital display would terminate at Allagash.

  From there, it was anyone’s guess.

  ‘You’ve got just under an hour to get specific about the details,’ Slater said, disrupting the silence. ‘Or I’ll blow your other foot off. This time all the toes.’

  Silence.

  ‘Then I’ll start on your fingers.’

  ‘You really think you’re the good guy, don’t you?’ Williams cackled, close to delirium. ‘You’re dead, Will. Dead as dead can be. You’ll get Shien out, and then you’ll be stranded in the middle of nowhere. You’ll be a child abductor to anyone with a television, or a smartphone. How do you think that’s going to work out for you?’

  ‘I’m figuring that out as I go along.’

  ‘Good luck with that.’

  Slater waited another beat, then wrenched the Sig Sauer free. ‘Okay. You did this to yourself.’

  He flicked cruise control on, dropped an elbow on the centre console, and stuck the barrel down in the passenger footwell. Aiming at a fresh appendage.

  Williams shouted, ‘No, no, no!’ at the top of his lungs.

  Slater’s finger froze on the trigger.

  ‘Details,’ Williams gasped, close to hyperventilating. ‘Christ, okay, details. I never refused. I wasn’t trying to stall.’

  ‘Yes you were.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Two seconds.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘One.’

  ‘I’ll give you the co-ordinates,’ Williams hissed through gritted teeth. ‘Christ’s sake.’

  ‘And if there’s nothing there?’

  ‘What do you mean? Of course the facility’s there.’

  ‘If you give me the wrong location.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Hypothetically. Let’s say you do.’

  Silence.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’ll happen. I’ll go back to that same surplus store and buy pliers. And then we’ll get to work on your fingernails and toenails. And then the real fun will start.’

  ‘You’re psychotic.’

  ‘I’m single-minded. Like you said. I promised a young kid a normal life. I’m going to deliver her that.’

  ‘Fat chance of that with what’ll happen afterwards.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll come to an arrangement.’

  ‘It has nothing to do with me. This program is greater than me. You’ve already made an enemy of the entire government.’

  ‘I don’t see them anywhere.’

  ‘You won’t have far to run. Soon. Very soon.’

  ‘Not soon enough, in your case.’

  Williams fed him a set of co-ordinates, latitude and longitude, and Slater punched them into an app he downloaded on the fly, tapping away at the smartphone like his life depended on it. It punched a dart deep into the woods beyond the Allagash River, to the east of Falls Brook Lake. Only traversable by foot, with no roads in sight — at least not on traditional GPS. He didn’t underestimate the desolation of the region. It was a far cry from the highlands of Yemen, but it might as well be the same. The perfect location for an off-the-books compound bankrolled by black funds sent directly from the Treasury. Slater knew enough about the secret world to put the pieces together.

  ‘It has to be accessible by vehicle,’ he said.

  Williams nodded, reluctantly. ‘You don’t want to go that way.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why do you think? There’s tripwires and motion sensors and cameras and guardhouses. And artificial roadblocks, too. Trees we draped across the trail that lift up when we need them to. Anything to prevent travellers stumbling across it. Look, I’m trying to help you out here. Okay? My stance has changed. I’ll get you the girl however I can. I just need out of this goddamn tape. My foot hurts like hell. I need a hospital.’

  ‘You need a cup of concrete.’

  Williams looked at him, flabbergasted. ‘What?’

  Slater smirked. ‘I was in Australia many years ago. For Black Force. A guy I ran into gave me the same prescription.’

  ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘Harden the fuck up.’

  79

  ‘Here,’ Williams said.

  Slater screeched the Ford to a halt. It had served him well. The beast had covered hundreds of miles without any issue, finally bringing them to a deserted parking lot caked thick with ice and snow on the cusp of the teeming Allagash River. The icy water flowed and frothed past the riverbanks, cutting a twisting serpent-like line through the forest. S
later had no chains to drape over the tyres, but he didn’t need them. He was abandoning the truck right here — he figured whatever lay ahead, there would be ample opportunity to steal a vehicle.

  Williams stared down at the gaping wound in his shiny bespoke dress shoe. ‘How the hell do you expect me to walk all that way? We need to go off the trail here. There’s a checkpoint only a few miles across the river. We need to go inland. But I can’t. You’ll have to leave me here.’

  ‘That’s not happening.’

  ‘You see another solution?’

  ‘I negotiated with the cashier at the surplus store,’ Slater said. ‘Picked up a few extras that aren’t usually available over the counter.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Slater didn’t respond. He forced the door open and leapt out into the chill, tasting the alpine air. A distinct aroma wafted from the woods, frosty and inviting.

  In another life Slater might have raced to the nearest slopes and rented a snowboard, but he was stuck with this life, so he skirted around to the passenger side and ripped the thick barrier of duct tape apart by slashing at it with the Raptor’s optional ignition key.

  It took a couple of minutes, but finally he wrenched the tape down and outward, creating enough of a gap for Williams to fall forward and stagger precariously out onto the asphalt. He barely managed, and Slater realised aiming a gun at him would prove futile. He wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, and even at full health Slater had already established the existence of the reflex gap between them.

  And now Williams was compromised to the extreme.

  As white as the snow around him, his hair seemingly twice as grey as when Slater had first met him at the Four Seasons, Williams staggered a couple of steps in the cold before collapsing against the side of the Ford. Stress lines etched deep in his face, and the falling rain droplets lashed his hair, plastering it down across his forehead. The overcoat formed a makeshift moon boot around his right ankle, but it wouldn’t hold up for long.