Survivor

by Logan Ryles

  He ran one hand through his hair, then straightened his tie. He always wore a suit because it made him feel in charge—professional and prepared. It was time to be the boss. Time to take control.

  Without another thought, he stomped back down the hallway and inserted his key into the lock. Light spilled over his shoulders and into the dark room, exposing Montgomery sitting just as he had when Gambit last saw him eight hours prior—chained to the table, staring forward.

  Montgomery was impassive. As resilient as a stone wall.

  Gambit pushed inside the door and forced a smile. The tension and doubt he felt was concealed beneath a shroud of practiced confidence—his own version of a stone wall.

  “Feeling fresh, Reed?”

  Montgomery blinked but didn’t say anything.

  “I have good news for you,” Gambit said. “I’ve thought of a way you can prove yourself to me. Prove that you’re ready for your primary mission.”

  Montgomery raised an eyebrow but still didn’t speak.

  Gambit wanted to beat him in the face with a pipe wrench, but he remained calm.

  Focus on the objective, he reminded himself. Get what you want. Get what you deserve.

  “I know you’re a man of conscience,” Gambit continued. “A man who makes his own judgments about morality, and that’s what concerns me. I’m concerned that you’ll second-guess my judgments. Maybe, when the moment is close, and it’s time to pull the trigger, you’ll think you know better than I do.”

  Montgomery grunted. It was all at once a condescending and indifferent sound that made Gambit’s blood boil, but still, he remained calm.

  “It’s a problem, Reed, but I’ve thought of a way we can test your resolve. Your ability to trust my judgment. Are you interested?”

  “Only if it gets me out of this room and closer to my father.”

  Montgomery’s voice was cold, but Gambit could hear concealed pain. That was good. It meant that Montgomery was thinking about his father, pining after the hope that David wasn’t completely mad . . . that he could be saved.

  What a fool.

  “I’m a man of my word, Reed. You’ll get your father back. But first, you have to prove your loyalty.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “There’s a federal judge in Little Rock, Arkansas, by the name of Sheila Perry. She’s fifty-eight years old, has a husband, two kids, and four grandchildren. She’s enjoyed a flawless, decorated career, gives generously to charity, and is adored by her friends and community. She’s never broken a rule, Reed. The woman doesn’t even have a parking ticket. She gets to work before the sun rises and leaves after it sets. She is, by every traditional, moral measuring stick, a good woman.”

  Montgomery’s face remained impassive, but Gambit thought he could see a spark deep in his eyes. A hint of understanding.

  Gambit smiled. “So, what I want, Reed . . . what you can do to prove that you trust my judgment and will do whatever I say, is drive to Arkansas, ambush her in her office, and break her neck.”

  Seven

  Holly Springs National Forest

  North Mississippi

  “What do you mean he sent for you?” Lucy’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she held the blade against her prisoner’s shoulder, though it wasn’t necessary. Banks had wrapped him in enough tape to subdue a lion, but she liked the way his attention fixated on the sword with the nervous energy of a convict eying the executioner’s ax.

  It was kind of sexy.

  Wolfgang waggled his fingers, about the only part of his limbs that could move. “Well, when I said he sent for me, I meant that somebody sent for me on his behalf . . . I think. There was a notecard. It’s all a little complicated. Can I speak to him, please?”

  Banks stood next to Lucy with her arms crossed. Lucy didn’t know her well enough to determine what emotion she was feeling, but Banks was far from calm—that much was obvious. She stared the prisoner down in stony silence, waiting for Lucy to make the next move.

  “Who sent for you?” Lucy asked.

  Wolfgang shrugged. “Like I said, it’s complicated. I came here to discuss it with him. I really—”

  “He’s lying,” Banks said. “He tried to kill us both!”

  “Both?” Lucy said.

  “Me and Reed. We were in the mountains in North Carolina. He showed up with some kind of shotgun thing that fired grenades and tried to blow us away. He ran my car off the road!”

  Lucy stared down the length of the sword. “Is that true?”

  Wolfgang held up a finger. “I didn’t run any cars off the road. Reed did that because he’s a sucky driver. He wrecks cars. It’s kind of his signature.”

  Banks lunged forward and smacked Wolfgang across the face. The movement was so sudden and savage that Lucy didn’t have time to react. The sound of flesh on flesh cracked through the cabin like a gunshot, and Wolfgang’s head snapped back. The movement was so sudden and savage that Lucy didn’t have time to react.

  Banks growled, “Listen, you bastard. He’s twice the driver you’ll ever be. Why are you here?”

  Wolfgang spit blood from his lips. “I told you. I need to talk to Reed. Man, you’re one crazy—”

  Another smack, then a third. Each time, Wolfgang’s head bounced back as though he’d been hit with a baseball bat.

  “Crazy what?” Banks screamed. “What kind of crazy am I?”

  Lucy slid the sword back into its scabbard and stood back, her arms folded.

  Two more lightning smacks cracked against Wolfgang’s face, then Banks held out her hand.

  “Lucy, give me something sharp.”

  Lucy blinked, then put one hand on her shoulder.

  “Banks, honey, I think he’s had enough. We’ll get the truth, don’t worry.”

  Banks glowered at Lucy but reluctantly stepped away from Wolfgang. Their prisoner sat up, blinking back tears and spitting out blood.

  “Who are you?” he snapped.

  Banks growled, “I’m a Mississippi redneck, bitch, and you’re getting on my nerves.”

  “Clearly. . . .” He shook his head as if to clear it, then spat out more blood.

  “I think you should get him a towel,” Lucy said. “We don’t want him choking.”

  Banks snorted but didn’t move. Lucy shot her a sideways glare, and with another sigh, Banks retreated to the kitchen.

  Lucy turned back to Wolfgang.

  “I don’t think either one of us wants an encore of that performance. You better start again, with the truth.”

  Banks returned with the towel and roughly swabbed Wolfgang’s mouth. He swallowed once, spit again, then leaned back in the chair.

  “Start talking,” Lucy said.

  Wolfgang glowered. “Okay, but she better stay back.”

  “Or what?” Banks snapped.

  Lucy held up a hand. “Calm down, Banks. He’s going to cooperate now.”

  They looked down at Wolfgang, and Lucy tapped her foot.

  “All right. The truth. I was hired to hunt and kill Reed by a man named Salvador. He originally hired Oliver Enfield to use Reed to kill Senator Mitchell Holiday, but when that all blew up, Salvador needed to tie up loose ends, and Reed was one of them. So, he sent me to North Carolina to kill Reed.”

  “That’s where the grenades came in?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes. I made a couple passes at Montgomery but couldn’t seal the deal. I had a third shot at him in Cherokee, a little town—”

  “I know where it is,” Lucy said.

  “Right. So, I almost had him, but at the last moment, Salvador called me off. Apparently, Oliver’s people were at Holiday’s cabin by the lake, and they were going to finish the job. So, I disengaged.”

  Wolfgang swallowed blood again, and Lucy made a “get on with it” motion with her hand.

  “Reed made a mess by the lake. I’m fuzzy on the details, but apparently, he massacred Oliver’s crew. Salvador called me again to finish the job, which I was going to do, but I had to go to Sc
otland first to graduate.”

  “To graduate?” Bank said. “Ha! What, were you passing the GED?”

  Wolfgang smirked. “Actually, I completed doctorate in medical science.”

  Lucy shot Banks a sideways look.

  “Anyway. I was in Scotland, and Salvador kept hounding me. I planned to finish the job, but I guess Reed put too much pressure on Salvador, because by the time I made it back to the states . . .”

  Wolfgang hesitated, and his eyes turned cold.

  “Let’s hear it,” Lucy snapped.

  “Salvador decided I required additional motivation. He kidnapped somebody important to me and held them as ransom in exchange for Reed’s life.”

  Banks crossed her arms and stuck her chin out. “Mm-hmm. And how did that make you feel?”

  Wolfgang gave her a milk-curdling glare. “Don’t patronize me. I kill people for a living, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t people I care about, and I also have rules. One of them is that my personal life is left alone. Salvador broke that rule, so I tracked him down in Nashville and found him in the middle of a gunfight with Reed. There was another car wreck, of course.”

  Lucy turned a questioning glance toward Banks, and she nodded. It was true.

  “What then?” Lucy asked.

  Wolfgang’s stare was cold and absolute. “I took care of my business.”

  Wolfgang’s stare was cold and absolute.

  Lucy saw a block wall in his eyes, and she decided it was time to redirect to present circumstances.

  “Why are you here? Did somebody else pay you to kill Reed?”

  Wolfgang leaned back in the chair. “No. I told you the truth. Somebody sent me a card claiming that Reed has something. Something I need. I’m here to talk to him about it.”

  “What something?” Banks asked.

  Wolfgang’s glare was defiant. “I’m not discussing that.”

  “Is that right?” Banks started forward again, but Lucy held her back.

  “Calm down, honey. We’ll get to it.”

  She turned back to Wolfgang. “Why should we believe you?”

  “Because I’m telling the truth.”

  Lucy smirked. “According to you.”

  The razor wit had faded from Wolfgang’s expression. “Listen to me. Your friend Montgomery is mixed up in something really, really serious. I don’t know the details, and I don’t know what your angle is, but believe me when I tell you it’s about to get much worse. I’m willing to help him get out of it in exchange for what he has. It’s worth that much to me.”

  “So you don’t want to kill him?” Lucy asked.

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why did you sneak in here last night, gun drawn?”

  “I’m a tactically wary person.”

  “Fair enough. How did you find us?”

  “Two days ago, Reed bought a pair of burner phones off an arms dealer they call T-Rex. I tracked one of them into the woods near a prison in North Alabama, and the other one to this cabin. That’s how.”

  Lucy narrowed her eyes. She knew about the phone. She found it next to Banks’s unconscious form and left it in the car. As far as she knew, it was still there. How stupid of her not to turn it off or destroy it.

  “I’m telling the truth.” Wolfgang relaxed in the chair, but his stare remained intense, switching from Lucy to Banks, then back. “I need to speak to Reed. Where is he?”

  Banks looked down, sniffling through her mutilated nose.

  Lucy bit her lip, then turned back to Wolfgang.

  “We don’t know.”

  Eight

  Little Rock, Arkansas

  “I need a gun.”

  Gambit smirked. “You don’t need a gun to break a neck.”

  The van rolled to a stop next to the curb, and the driver shoved it into park. He was one of the big guys Reed had seen accompanying Gambit—tall, broad, silent—the usual semi-gangster, bodyguard type.

  Reed was neither impressed nor intimidated. Everybody dies when their hearts stop or their brains explode, no matter how big or silent they are. He redirected his attention to Gambit sitting in the back of the panel van across from him and raised his hands, rattling the handcuffs.

  Gambit twitched the tip of the Glock .45 pointed at Reed’s chest, and the driver climbed out of his door and circled the van, opening the rolling side door while Gambit kept the pistol trained on Reed.

  “The federal courthouse is four blocks away, near the river,” Gambit said. “Perry’s office is on the third floor, facing downtown. Sunrise is in about twenty-five minutes. You have twenty to breach the courthouse, complete the kill, and return to the van.”

  The driver leaned in next to Reed and dug through a toolbox, coming up a moment later with a black ankle monitor on a thick strap. Without a word, he strapped the monitor just above Reed’s shoe. It was tight and bit into Reed’s skin, but he didn’t so much as flinch. He kept his eyes fixed on Gambit, refusing to lose the impromptu staring contest that was triggered the moment they sat across from each other.

  “Your new jewelry is there to keep you honest,” Gambit said. “If you go anywhere except the courthouse, or if you take too long, or if you decide to get cute and smash it against a brick . . . well, I really don’t need to tell you what happens to David.”

  In Reed’s mind, he’d already left the van. He was planning his every step once his feet hit the ground, envisioning an invisible clock in his head that counted steadily down to zero as he dashed for the courthouse. The average block was five or six hundred feet, so it was less than a mile to the courthouse and back. He could easily traverse that distance in seven or eight minutes, which left him twelve to breach the courthouse, reach the third floor . . .

  His mind trailed off as the next step in the puzzle confronted him. He didn’t want to think about that part yet. He wasn’t ready.

  “Any questions?”

  “Aren’t you worried about being caught?” Reed said. “After all, you’re my getaway driver.”

  Gambit smirked. “Why don’t you let me worry about that, tough guy?”

  Reed shrugged and held up his hands again, shaking the cuffs once more. Gambit held his eye for a moment, then gave the driver a brief nod. A moment later, the cuffs fell away, and Reed resisted the urge to rub his wrists. Ever since prison, he couldn’t bear the touch of handcuffs. It was all mental, he knew, but as the steel clicked and closed around his skin, an invisible barrier began to suffocate his mind. It made him want to scream and thrash and do whatever it took to break free.

  “All right, Mr. Montgomery.” In true villain fashion, Gambit produced a stopwatch and offered a wide grin before smashing the start button. “You’re on the clock.”

  Reed shoved both legs out the door and broke into a run before he was even standing upright. In a moment, he was at full speed, leaping onto the sidewalk and dashing up the hill toward the low skyline that greeted him. He wasn’t entirely sure what the courthouse would look like, or if it was even on this street, but he guessed Gambit had no reason to confuse or deceive him. Unless this were some sort of trap designed to place him back in the custody of the FBI—which wouldn’t make much sense—Gambit wanted him to proceed to the target as quickly as possible. That would mean no distractions and no time spent searching for the building.

  The cold air of an impending Arkansas winter stung his lungs as his legs stretched and he bounded up a gentle hill. Little Rock was only a fraction of the size of Atlanta, but there were still some pretty tall buildings scattered around downtown, mixed with a smattering of politicians and businesspeople starting their day before the sun. All of them could be witnesses or even assailants, should they determine him to be a threat. This was the South, after all. These people carried guns and prided themselves in being sheepdogs of the people. The vast majority of them possessed the tactical ability of a turtle, but a loaded gun is a loaded gun. He would have to move quickly and avoid direct contact.

  Another crosswalk flashed beneath
his feet, then he saw a tall grey building rising out of the cityscape directly ahead. It had an imperial look to it—narrow windows and thick columns built of solid granite. It was definitely a government building and probably the courthouse. He didn’t have time for it to be anything else, so he steered directly for it and lengthened his stride.

  Two men in coats coming down the sidewalk stepped aside when they saw Reed, momentary confusion crossing their faces. He burst past them and turned for the main entrance of the building, which he could tell was unlocked as another man in a suit pressed in just ahead of him. Above the door, engraved into the rock in bold letters were the words:

  RICHARD SHEPPARD ARNOLD UNITED STATES COURTHOUSE.

  Bingo.

  Reed cut his stride short and slipped inside, just behind the man in the suit. A sheriff’s deputy stood at a metal detector, his eyes half-open as he nursed a cup of coffee. He took the man in the suit’s ID, glanced over it, then waved him through the metal detector. Reed stopped and knelt, making a show of tying his shoe, and allowed the suited man to disappear down the hallway. Then he stood up and rushed forward.

  “Slow it down, sir. Court isn’t going anywhere. Got your ID?”

  Reed felt around his pockets, but he already knew they were empty. The panic he projected onto his face was only half-faked as the clock continued to count down in his head.

  “Shit. It’s not here. Oh shit, man. I can’t find it!”

  “Calm down, sir. What’s your purpose here?”

  “I’ve got a hearing. That was my lawyer who just passed through. Can you call him back?”

  The deputy glanced down the hallway, then sighed and rubbed his eyes.

  “All right, buddy. Let me sweep you down, then you go get him.”

  He ushered Reed through the U-shaped metal detector, then patted him down for a double-check.

  “Go get him and come back, okay? Make it quick.”

  Reed thanked him, then dashed down the hallway. Gambit had said the judge’s office faced downtown, which was to his back. That meant he had to find his way three floors up, probably through more security, and then turn around. Maybe there would be directories or something on the wall. He wasn’t quite sure where he was on the clock, but he had to be closing in on eight minutes.