by Matt Brolly
He was about to leave the shower when there was a knock on the bathroom door. ‘You ok in there?’ said Rose.
‘Yeah, fine,’ said Lynch.
A small period of silence followed, punctuated by the sound of Lynch’s heart hammering in his chest, and then the door creaked open. Rose walked in, dressed only in a towel. She looked unsure of herself. ‘I thought you might like some company,’ she said.
Lynch hesitated. After everything they’d been through, he could think of nothing he wanted more at that moment but still he remained silent.
‘Don’t keep a girl waiting,’ said Rose.
‘No, sorry,’ said Lynch, flailing like a nervous schoolboy as he opened the shower door.
Rose stared at him, the steam flushing her face. Hesitantly, she removed her towel and moved towards him.
11
Lynch jerked awake for at least the third time that night. Next to him, Special Agent Sandra Rose slept with a peacefulness he envied. Although there had been other women since Sally, Lynch couldn’t remember staying the night with any one of them. They had been regrettable one-night stands, driven by the occasional animal need or dose of uncontrollable loneliness. He would usually sneak out during the middle of the night, a miscreant leaving the scene of the crime. But no such option was open to him now, and he had no desire to leave. He simply wanted to sleep and it was the one thing evading him.
Every time he shut his eyes his mind played tricks on him. He was back at the compound interviewing Razinski; he was on a flight returning home after being informed of Daniel’s disappearance; he was pushing his fingers into Razinski’s wounds demanding an answer; he was on his hands and knees trawling for clues on the railroad line where Daniel had disappeared; he was in the shower, a raven-haired woman dropping her towel and moving hesitantly towards him.
At some point he must have dropped off. He awoke with a judder, the room still dark, drool falling from his lips onto the rough stubble of his chin. Inaction was crippling him. He had a point of reference and needed to utilize it. He crept from his bed and changed into the set of clothes Rose had provided him. He located his rucksack and, checking Daniel’s sweater was still within, filled it with his dirty clothes and some of the provisions from last night, including all the beer and one of the burner phones. Cursing himself, he took some cash from Rose’s bag and the van keys.
He tried to ignore the guilt as he sneaked from the trailer. Rose would have a contingency plan. A second vehicle would be nearby, and she would have to call in at some point that day whatever her reservations about the Bureau at that moment. He adjusted the seat of the van, checking everything was ready before starting the engine. He feared Rose would appear and try to stop him, but he managed to start the engine without any trouble and minutes later was on the highway heading for a location close to his home.
It was early morning, the sky still dark and the roads empty. Although still guilty at abandoning Rose, Lynch was buoyed by possibility. The lead from Razinski was the closest he’d come to the Railroad since his investigation began. It would be difficult to get near Mallard. The man was a recluse and his wealth would make it difficult to get near to him, but he had something to work with now. He needed to access his files, and the Internet, to find out more. The assault at the compound was proof enough to him of the organization’s existence and that, coupled with the revenge tactics used, proved that Razinski had been an integral member of the organization. The explosion at the secret FBI compound also brought into play other significant issues, none more so than the Bureau’s complicity in the success of the Railroad. For now, it was an issue for Special Agent Rose and her colleagues. Lynch took no satisfaction in being proven right. His only goal was infiltrating the organization, finding his son, and destroying the Railroad from within.
He couldn’t go home. He pictured Special Agent Lennox and his accomplices waiting outside his apartment. He’d registered the steeliness in the agent’s eyes and knew he would be less inclined to go soft with him following recent events.
Fortunately, Lynch had his own safe house albeit a less salubrious one than Rose’s. Three hours later he pulled off the interstate into Mable, a small area outside Houston. He came here once every six months to check the location. Considering how easily the FBI had located his apartment, it was possible they would also know this location. He made three circuits of the small town, analyzing the vehicles and the few pedestrian walking the streets, searching for anything out of the ordinary.
As satisfied as he could be, he drove the van to a parking lot on the outskirts of town. He slowed his pace as he approached the lot’s entrance, checking the interior of a parked sedan, before punching an eight-digit code into the control panel by the lot’s gates. The gates clicked open, and he eased the van through the opening his eyes alive to potential danger. Parking outside a white brick building, he made a cautious approach to the entrance punching in a second eight-digit code to gain access.
Lynch’s safe house was a storage container on the first floor of the building. A lone security guard would have seen him gain entrance and was probably watching him walking down the corridor to his lock up. Lynch walked around the corner where the cameras stopped rolling. He’d chosen the place for this very reason. Although he would never be able to stay there for longer than twenty-fours, it was important to have the option of being undisturbed. He punched in a final eight-digit code and the door to his container opened revealing a box room, eight by eight feet, empty apart from a cast iron safe built into the reinforced wall and a bed settee Lynch had purchased should he need to rest.
From the safe, Lynch retrieved everything: two handguns with matching holsters, and a box of ammunition. A manila envelope with a set of false identification, two credit cards, a burner phone and enough cash to sustain him for a few months. He pulled out a rucksack and changed into a new set of clothes, including a new pair of running shoes. He placed the holsters over a white t-shirt and placed the loaded guns inside before pulling on a jacket. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the corridor and secured the room.
He took the back route away from the storage container, completing a full lap of the first floor before reaching the exit. Before opening the door, he peered through the darkened glass of the building into the car park in time to see two men taking more than a passing interest in his van.
The glass was one way so he was able to view them undetected. They were poorly dressed in loose jeans and hockey tops. The taller of the two was heavyset, his paunch drooping over the waistband of his faded denim. His companion was barely five-foot, the shape of a firearm bulging from his waistband. Unless they were playing the part to perfection, they had to be amateurs. Still, Lynch didn’t want to take any chances.
He opened the door of the building and made his way past the men. Careful not to make eye contact, he noticed their quizzical looks in his peripheral vision. As he moved past the larger man he made his move, thrusting his elbow into the man’s midriff and following the impact with two sharp jabs to his throat. The smaller man stood frozen as his companion dropped to the floor his hands clamped to his mouth in a silent scream. By the time the smaller man decided to act, Lynch had his gun pointed at him.
Lynch could see the man was thinking about reaching for his gun. ‘If you have any idea who I am then you know you would be dead before you even made contact with that toy weapon,’ he said.
If there was any fight in the man, it all but disappeared. Lynch stepped forward and kicked the fallen man in the groin. ‘This is what’s going to happen. On the count of three you are you going to retrieve the gun from your pants. You are going to turn it so the handle is facing me and then very gently you are going to place it on the ground. If at any point, even if by accident, the muzzle is pointing anywhere vaguely in my direction you will be dead. Do you understand?’
The man nodded, his eyes not leaving Lynch’s.
‘No, not good enough. You need to speak to me. Do you understand my inst
ructions?’
‘Yes,’ said the man. His voice was calm enough, suggesting to Lynch that he was less likely to engage in heroics. He kicked the fallen man for a second time, lest he decide to get involved, and counted to three.
The smaller man reached into his pants, never the best place to keep a weapon in Lynch’s opinion, and withdrew the gun. Lynch was poised in perfect balance as the man did as requested. ‘Kick the gun over and get on your knees,’ said Lynch.
Lynch had chosen the lock up area for its privacy. It was off-grid but he needed to get the two men out of sight as quick as possible. ‘Put your hands behind your back,’ he said, unclipping the ammo from the man’s gun. ‘And lie on your front.’
The man did as instructed and Lynch repeated the order to his fallen comrade. Satisfied both men wouldn’t move, he opened the back of the van and recovered two sets of flexi cuffs never once taking the aim of his gun away from the potential assailants.
He cuffed the smaller man first, concluding he was the leader of the pair and most likely to flee. The man struggled but it was easy enough. The larger man barely moved as Lynch repeated the maneuver. He was still out of breath and in considerable pain. Lynch hauled both men to their feet and instructed them to get into the back of the van. As they tottered on the edge he pushed them forward, both men landing on the metallic flooring of the van with a satisfying thud. Lynch jumped in after them, shutting the van doors behind him.
‘Jesus, man,’ said the smaller of the two, as Lynch rammed his elbow into his back and pulled up his shirt. ‘What do you want from us?’
Lynch ignored him, searching for clues on the man’s skin. Not finding any tattoos, he repeated the move on the man’s silent friend. The pair were clearly civilians, and for a second Lynch wondered if he’d made a mistake. ‘Who sent you?’
‘No one sent us, man,’ said the small one.
Lynch located a pressure point on the man’s shoulder and kept his grip firm as the man began to scream. ‘You have no idea what you’ve walked into,’ said Lynch. ‘I will give you one more chance to answer the question. You will not get another opportunity. Do you understand?’
The man murmured and Lynch found the pressure point again. ‘Do you understand?’ he repeated, once the man’s screams subsided.
‘Yes,’ said the man, through erratic breaths.
‘Who sent you?’
‘It was some guy in a bar, man. He offered us a thousand bucks to put the scares on you. Five hundred up front, five hundred afterwards.’
‘Some guy?’ said Lynch, turning the smaller guy onto his back so he could see him face to face.
The man tried not to look at him. He’d stepped out of his league and wanted to return back to a more comfortable place. ‘Yeah, some guy. Big guy, biker look. He had the cash on him, told us you would be here.’
‘He knew that for sure?’
‘Seemed to.’
‘Did he tell you what I was driving?’
‘He wasn’t sure. Said it might be a black van. That’s why we were checking it out.’
Lynch breathed through his nose, the smell from the men having filled the interior of the van. ‘What were you supposed to do when you found me?’
The man closed his eyes, and shook his head.
‘Tell me,’ said Lynch, hovering over the man close enough to scare, far enough back not to risk being head-butted.
‘We were supposed to give you a beat down,’ said the man, his voice laced with defeat.
‘How’s that working out for you?’
Lynch got the name of the bar from the man before jumping into the front of the van.
‘Where you taking us?’
‘You don’t want to know,’ said Lynch, laying his gun on the passenger side.
He drove for thirty minutes to a secluded woodland area he’d used in the past for shooting practice. The big man had yet to speak up, but the smaller man protested his innocence every few minutes. Lynch concluded that whoever had sent the two jokers in the back had known about the lock up but not that Lynch would be there. He imagined a similar greeting was waiting for him at his apartment. If it was the Railroad, why had they gone to the trouble of sending two civilians? With what Lynch knew of them, they had the resources to have sent a couple of hardened professionals. Maybe even a sniper to end Lynch’s interest once and for all.
If the last couple of days had taught him anything, it was that he wasn’t as off grid as he’d imagined. He would have to revise his security procedures if he ever got the chance. The thought made him think about Sally, and he promised himself he would contact her as soon as he’d seen off the two men in the back.
‘Out,’ he said, having driven the van down a back lane into the woodland.
As he pulled the larger man out of the van, he noticed he was crying. ‘You’re kidding me,’ he said, pulling the smaller man out to join his partner.
‘Come on, man,’ said the smaller man. ‘We didn’t mean no harm.’
‘No harm? I thought you were going to give me a “beat-down”,’ said Lynch, mimicking the man’s voice. ‘Through there,’ he said, pushing the men into the trees.
They walked for twenty minutes, Lynch guiding them in a spiraling direction so they would be unsure of their whereabouts. He stopped at a clearing where he’d nailed a target for his firing practice to a birch tree. ‘On your knees,’ he said lowering his voice.
The big guy collapsed to the floor bubbling away like a child whilst the smaller guy sunk to his knees with a weary resignation. Lynch pulled some thin rope from his jacket and tied the men’s wrists before removing the handcuffs. ‘Don’t want these being used in evidence,’ he said. With the men on their knees, propped up against the tree, he lent down on the smaller man’s calves digging his knee into the relaxed flesh. ‘I like your boots,’ he said, tearing at the laces with a hunting knife. He repeated the process on the man’s partner who cried at every turn, until he had two sets of boots.
‘I’m going to give you a last piece of advice,’ said Lynch. ‘You have wandered into something you can not imagine. Whoever told you to scare me knew something like this would happen. He played with your lives, and that is the sort of thing he does. I would not return to that bar ever again. I would leave this area as soon as you are able. Though you’re going to have to do so on bare feet. And if I ever come face to face again, I will be the last thing you ever see.’
He pushed both men against the tree, and smiled as they tumbled into the overgrowth.
Back in the van, he called Sally from the burner phone as he searched the interstate. Someone was playing a game with him as Razinski had suggested, and he feared his ex-wife was in danger.
‘Hello,’ came a gruff voice from the other end of the line.
Lynch took a deep breath. ‘Rob, it’s Samuel Lynch. May I speak to Sally?’
‘Oh, Samuel, hi, of course. I’ll just get her.’ Rob had been seeing Sally for the last couple of years. Lynch had only met him on one occasion and was ashamed to admit he’d played the hard man act. He’d obviously intimidated Rob and regretted his behavior, even though he’d never admit as such to Sally.
If anything, his relationship with his ex-wife had strengthened since she’d started dating Rob. Initially, Lynch had thought it was because they had something else to fight over but now he realized it suited them both that she had someone else in her life. Rob had helped her cope with the loss of Daniel, and whilst Lynch wasn’t prepared to accept his son was gone for ever he was pleased that Sally had managed to come to terms with the loss.
‘Twice in a week, I’m honored,’ said Sally.
Lynch held the cell phone to his ear. It was good to hear her voice. For an absurd moment, he wanted to tell his ex-wife about his night with Sandra Rose. He had no idea where the notion came from and he dismissed it with the same immediacy as it appeared. ‘You won’t feel honored when you hear what I have to say.’
Sally didn’t respond. He sensed her gripping the phone, t
hought he heard a sharp intake of breath. ‘I’m not sure I want to hear this,’ she said, finally.
‘No, but you’re going to have to trust me.’
Sally’s voice raised an octave. ‘No, Sam, I do not want to hear that from you.’
‘Sally, you know I wouldn’t contact you if it wasn’t important.’
‘What have you done, Samuel?’ Her voice had changed from a high-pitched protestation, to a deeper tone of accusation. Lynch understood. She would forever blame him for Daniel’s disappearance, however much she denied it.
‘I need you and Rob to go away with immediate effect. Take a vacation, anything, but stay away from family and friends and get out of the house.’
‘What the hell are you talking about, Sam?’
‘You need to trust me,’ he said, realizing too late that the repetition of trust was a mistake.
‘Trust you? Trust you, Sam? Now, why the hell would I do that?’ In the background, Lynch heard Rob questioning her.
‘You’re in danger. I’m sorry but that’s how it is. If you stay where you are, you risk your own life and Rob’s.’ Lynch didn’t want to be so hard on her but it was the only way he knew to make her see sense.
‘Is this to do with Daniel?’ said Sally, a new sound to her voice. Lynch couldn’t tell if it was contempt or pity.
‘In a way. Listen, Sally, this is serious. Two men came for me yesterday. They found me, do you understand?’ Even Sally didn’t know where he lived. ‘If they found me, they will find you. Pack now, and get the hell out of there. Don’t take your cell phones. Take down this number and call me on it when you’ve purchased some burners.’
