Cocking my arm out to the side, I pressed the muzzle of the weapon into his temple. I pushed hard enough that the skin of his face was pulled taut, my index finger tapping at the trigger.
“So tell me, where the hell did they take her?”
Chapter Eighty-Two
I didn’t kill the man in the hangar. Not because I didn’t want to, but because doing so served no purpose, and I didn’t believe in killing just for the sake of it.
I hold no false pretenses about who I am or what I’ve done. The blemishes on my soul are large, and they are permanent, but I don’t do such things simply for the sake of it.
Putting down the guard in the woods was necessary. He was heavily armed, would have had no qualms riddling me with bullets, or at the very least alerting others to my presence.
The pilot was different. He had already been neutralized. From there, it was merely a matter of giving him a third tap on the side of the head, this one hard enough to put him to sleep for the remainder of the time I might be onsite.
And in the event he woke up early, the bindings I left him in would finish the job.
Stealing away from the office, all I had was the thin information the man had supplied. The last he’d seen of Elyse, Paco had led her personally across the front yard to the house more than an hour before.
What had happened since, he wasn’t sure, spending that time to service his plane and get things squared away for the day crew arriving in the morning.
Under pressure, he said he knew there to be a side entrance, a small door dug out from the ground, leading directly into the basement.
If Elyse wasn’t already inside the mansion, being served up for whatever purpose she was originally brought in for, that’s where she would be.
Using the side of the hangar for cover, I jogged forward. Knowing that the interior of it was empty, I had no need to keep up appearances, waiting until I was again out in the open before resuming my previous stance. Keeping the Browning stowed, I shifted the folding knife, keeping it palmed in my left hand. Resting the barrel of the sub gun atop it, I gripped the base in my right hand, assuming the same stance I’d seen from countless guards all over South and Central America.
Across the expanse of the front lawn, the party had picked up steam. A steady stream of cars made their way up and down the driveway, new arrivals staying just long enough to deposit their contents before circling the fountain and heading away.
Arriving in ones and twos and threes, people lingered outside for just a moment, making required pleasantries with other guests, before heading up the central staircase where the process was repeated again.
With one eye on the proceedings, I moved out wide from the hangar. Using the smell of water, the cool touch of the breeze, as guides, I navigated my way toward the edge of the property, working in a diagonal pattern, putting as much distance between myself and the glow from the house as possible.
Weapon clutched before me, I found my way to the precipice of the bluff overlooking the river. Pausing, I made a point to swivel my head, leaning forward at the waist, surveying the scene before me.
The body of water that was stretched out ten feet below was a far cry from what I was used to. Dark and muddy, it moved in a lazy flow, an unmistakable stench rising from it.
Not the natural geothermic smell of sulfur that permeated Yellowstone, but something manmade, a combination of garbage and sewage and who knew what else.
Maintaining my stance, I looked in either direction, the surface of the river dark, punctuated only by a few errant boulders and the whitecaps that formed as the water pushed by.
No boats, no signs of water patrols.
“Hey.”
So engrossed in my charade, the sound of the voice surprised me, a small spasm rippling through my chest. Followed in order was a bit of self-flagellation, loathing at being caught flat-footed.
Committing to the act was only to get me into position. It did me no good if I was left vulnerable in the process.
Shifting myself upright, I turned to see a second guard approaching. Dressed exactly like the one in the woods, he walked forward with his hands resting atop the barrel of his sub gun, the strap it was attached to pulled taut around his neck.
His gaze directed out over the water, he said, “Sounds like a hell of a party. Shame we’re missing it.”
Turning my shoulders to face him squarely, I felt my right hand tighten around the base of the gun. Dropping my left an inch away from the barrel, I slid the knife forward, fingers tightening around the handle, thumb pressed into the base of the blade.
“Isn’t that how it always goes?” I replied. “We do all the work and they get all the fun?”
Spitting out a single laugh, a harsh barking sound, the guard took a few more steps, slowing his pace as he approached.
Up close, he appeared older than the first guard had been. Thinning brown hair was buzzed short atop his head, facial hair of matching length encasing his jaw, flecks of gray already present.
“Ain’t that the truth?” he muttered, shifting his attention from the river to me. A flicker of something passed over his face as he did so, a ridge appearing along his brow.
Just as fast, his features cleared, a faint smile coming to his face.
“You the new guy? Didn’t see you at Jose’s briefing this morning.”
The tells were small, but they were enough.
The look that flashed over his face as he realized he didn’t recognize me. The mention of a new guy that didn’t really exist, trying to get me to bite on a false narrative. The use of the name Jose instead of Paco.
All positive tactical designs, meant to be low impact, not drawing any attention while we stood in a clear sightline to the front entrance.
Much like using a knife.
Under ideal conditions, I would have tried to talk to the man. I would have namedropped Asai and Paco, would have used whatever other knowledge I had to try and ease my way past the situation.
This wasn’t ideal. I had no time, and I had no interest in seeing this man again on my way out.
Planting off my left foot, I shot forward, driving the knife into his windpipe. As it entered, his eyes went wide, his fingers clenching just slightly, pawing in vain for the submachine gun, before the momentum of the strike was too much.
Without a sound, he toppled backward, teetering on the edge of the cliff before losing out to gravity and slipping over.
With the knife buried in his throat, he couldn’t scream out. A moment later, the sound of him hitting the water was swallowed by the breeze, barely loud enough for me to hear.
With my heart beating fast, I drew in a breath, collecting myself, making it appear that nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place.
Losing the knife was not optimal, but it was calculated, a minor inconvenience from what could have been a calamitous situation.
Resuming my grip on the sub gun, I continued moving north toward the house. My head I kept level, gaze darting over the house, searching for any signs of alarm.
Best I could tell, there were none, nobody having so much as looked up at the twin shadows standing along the edge of the bluff overlooking the river.
Chapter Eighty-Three
In the wake of the altercation with the guard, competing feelings roiled within me.
I needed to not draw attention. I had to make it appear that nothing had happened. Give nobody that might have happened to glance our direction – either outside on the lawn or inside staring through a window – a reason to look twice.
At the same time, I couldn’t overdo it. I needed to minimize my time out in the open. Ensure that I didn’t run into another guard working the perimeter.
And above all else, continue closing the gap between myself and Elyse.
If what the pilot said was to be believed, getting to her while she was still in the basement would be infinitely preferable. It would allow me to slip in and out without having to navigate a busy crowd.
The sooner it happened would also diminish the likelihood of anybody inside being overly combative against us, not wanting to open fire in front of so many influential guests.
Covering the remainder of the distance from where the guard went over the bluff to the back corner of the mansion took just over two minutes. Counting seconds in my head, it felt infinitely longer, my path drifting to the side as I drew closer.
My posture never once changed as I passed the front corner of the spread, moving from the residual glow of the party into the dark shadows along the side of the house. As I did so, I released my dual grip on the submachine gun, again extracting the Browning. Shifting it to my dominant hand, I kept it pressed tight to my thigh, my left doing little more than holding the sub gun out of the way, keeping it from impeding my movement or whacking me in the face.
Increasing my stride to a jog, I fell in alongside the house. Heavy shrubs shaped into uniform squares lined the side of it, blocking the base of the home from view. A thick bed of mulch framed the landscaping, their competing scents rising up, filling my nostrils.
Alternating my gaze between the side of the structure and the narrow strip of land between it and the bluff, sweat lined my brow. My heart rate remained elevated, each step bringing with it the heightened concern that the pilot had been lying, that there was no side entrance.
Again, I felt my stride grow faster, making it almost to the back corner, seeing the bend of the Cumberland River behind the home, before an alcove appeared.
Cut into the thick band of mulch and shrubbery lining the place, it was framed by a small concrete retaining wall, a wrought iron handrail leading down a handful of stairs to a stone archway.
And within it, a single wooden door.
Turning to check over a shoulder, I saw nothing behind me but the path I’d just taken from the hangar, the building sitting silently in the distance.
Everything else was blotted from view save the river beside me, faint bits of moonlight reflecting off its surface.
Shifting back to the door, I twisted the sub gun under my armpit, feeling the strap dig into my neck. Pushing it around until it rested flush against my shoulder blade, I pulled the Browning up before me, cupping the base of it with my free hand.
Moving into a standard shooter’s pose, I slowly descended the stairs, taking one step at a time. Reaching the bottom, I extended a hand, feeling the knob twist easily beneath my grip.
Sliding inside, I closed the door, careful not to make a sound, before pressing my back into it and assessing my surroundings.
At a glance, the place looked like a morgue. The décor, the color scheme, even the scent in the air, seemed to hint at a world that was intended to be antiseptic.
A single hallway, it was brightly lit, extended straight out before me. On either side were a handful of doors, none of them bearing any kind of identifying features, some not even having knobs.
Remaining in position, I forced my breathing to slow. I kept the Browning before me and slowly counted to ten, waiting for any sign of movement.
When none presented itself, I began to move.
I might have gotten lucky on cameras along the outer perimeter, but there was no way the place I was now standing wasn’t covered. Any additional time would only allow guards to move into position.
Would certainly enable them to whisk Elyse away before I could arrive.
Pushing forward, I considered checking the doors to either side, grabbing the handles or giving a quick knock, before deciding against it.
If they were holding prisoners of any kind, there would be guards, or visible cameras, or some form of deterrent to keep wayward guests away.
Stopping to do so would only slow me down, chewing up more time I didn’t have.
Crossing one foot over the other, my body turned sideways, I made my way up the hallway. With each step, my trepidation rose, cresting as an intersection came into view. Demarcating a hallway running perpendicular to the one I was now on, I could see the bisecting path was every bit as wide.
Drifting to the side of the hall, I walked heel-to-toe, making not a sound as I crept forward, making it to within five feet of the corner before pulling up abruptly, able to just make out a pair of voices. One male and the other female, they were speaking in hushed tones, the words too low to make out. In their stead, all I could discern was the tone, the two seemingly at odds.
Pausing, I waited for another second, trying to decipher what they were saying. Squeezing the Browning tight, I kept the barrel of the weapon pinned against my thigh, almost hidden from view, before giving up on it and stepping forward into the intersection.
Making a point of glancing to the right first, I saw nothing but an empty hallway, the expanse appearing exactly like the one I’d just left. Plain décor and doors spread evenly, no sign of life anywhere.
Rotating back in the opposite direction, I turned to see a pair of people no more than twenty yards away.
Pinned against the wall was a woman with blonde frizzy hair and a long skirt. Pressed flat, she seemed to be trying to pull back from the guard standing over her, the man dressed in a black suit, one hand flush against the brick above her shoulder.
Trapping her in, he had a faint smile on his face, seeming to enjoy the situation.
From his shoulder hung an MP5, these guys seeming to have bought a shipment in bulk.
Saying nothing, I turned to face them squarely, making it four full strides before the woman noticed me, turning to stare with wide eyes. Whatever she was saying a moment before drifted away as she looked at me, her mouth hanging open.
An instant later, the guard shifted my way as well. Pushing himself back from the wall, he rested a hand atop the MP5, his brow bunching slightly.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Hawk,” I replied. “Paco sent me down.”
The look of incomprehension grew a bit more pronounced on the man’s face. “Paco? Why?”
I didn’t bother to respond. Snapping the gun up from my thigh, I fired the instant the barrel reached level.
With my dominant hand, firing from such a short distance, there was no way I would miss. Blood and brain matter exploded from the back of his head, spackling the tile behind him.
His body hit a moment later, the echo of the gunshot reverberating through the narrow space.
Chapter Eighty-Four
The two men flanked her on either side, neither one touching her, but their presence close enough to make a point.
Do as she was told. Whatever it may be.
Not that Elyse Denman was in much of a position to push back. She could feel whatever Tracee had injected her with permeating her system, the effect impossible to ignore, almost as difficult to shake loose.
Like staring up from the bottom of a swimming pool, everything seemed distorted, from her sight to her hearing to even her thinking. All of it was shifted slightly left of center, reducing her motor function to a fraction of what it should be, her cognition only nominally better.
Meaning that most of what she could muster was split between trying to balance on the oversized heels they had placed her in and forcing herself not to cry. At least not in the presence of these two. Not knowing how poorly that eventuality would be for her.
Standing between the two of them, Elyse waited in the narrow confines of the elevator. Adorned in the tiny dress, never had she felt more vulnerable, seemingly naked in every way.
A ripple of chilled air passed over her skin, goose pimples covering her flesh, causing her to visibly shiver as she stared straight ahead, feeling the movement of the car as they ascended.
“Remember,” the man named Asai said beside her, “the man you are about to meet is named Mr. Matsui. No matter what he tells you his first name is, no matter what he tells you to call him, always Mr. Matsui.
“Do you understand?”
Elyse did not understand why the title was so important. Just as she was a long way from comprehending anything that had taken
place in the last few days, all of it a bad dream she wished nothing more than to wake up from.
But she did understand that if she didn’t do exactly as instructed, things would not end well for her. That she would be maimed like Tracee, or even worse, without a second thought.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good,” Asai replied as above them a bell sounded, the elevator pulling to a stop. “And stop fidgeting. He likes them young, not shaking like a child.”
All air slid from Elyse as the doors parted from the center. As they did so, a cacophony of light and sound poured in, a combination of imagery so powerful it almost overwhelmed her befuddled state.
The space looked to be one of the largest, one of the most ornate, she had ever seen. Stretched two stories in height, it appeared they were standing on the edge of a grand ballroom, a champagne fountain as the centerpiece.
Filling the space was a crowd of what seemed like hundreds, men in suits or tuxedos offset by women in outfits just as garish as the one she now sported.
In almost every hand was a plate of food or a glass of alcohol. In the background a band played, the sound barely audible over the din of conversation.
“Come,” Asai said, stepping out first and weaving his way through the crowd.
Glancing to her right, Elyse paused to see if Paco would go next, the man simply standing and staring at her, making sure she knew he would be bringing up the rear, ushering her forward.
Taking one uncertain step forward, Elyse felt her heel dig into the soft carpet. For just an instant, her ankle wobbled, her hands reaching out to the side for balance.
An inch at a time, she began to list to the side, her body tilting at an angle, before Paco stepped forward, catching her hand in his. His grip like steel, he braced her slight form, propping her upright.
His features remained steely as he looked at her, gesturing with his chin in the direction Asai had just walked.
“Go.”
No part of Elyse wanted to be in contact with Paco. She hated the way his hand was clamped, an unspoken threat being conveyed. Even more the calluses lining his palms, his skin rough against hers.
Home Fire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 5) Page 29
