by Matt Brolly
Balfour had let him live and he had no idea why. His head was still full of sharp pains and his thoughts were incoherent. He searched through the van once more for something more substantial than warm beer, and was rewarded with the discovery of a giant bag of chips. It wasn’t ideal for someone dehydrated, but he ate with a greedy relish supplementing each mouthful with a swig of beer from the third can.
Gradually things started to clear. ‘Shit,’ he said, his voice hoarse, as he concluded he’d been set up to look responsible for the deaths of the two Railroad employees. He took some final sips before making his way back to the barn. He pulled open both sides of the door, light flooding the interior.
He’d expected to see the two bodies of the Railroad guys but the area was vacant. It had been scrubbed clean, every sign of the torture and murder of the two men erased in clinical fashion. Lynch rubbed his eyes, his limbs loosening. What the hell was going on? Balfour could have killed him but he’d let him live for no apparent reason. He’d cleaned up the area where he could have fitted Lynch up for the murders. Who would believe his version of events at this stage? Lynch had always spoken out against the Railroad. They’d taken his son so why would anyone believe he’d not slaughtered the two men covered in the tell tale railroad track tattoos?
It didn’t make sense but Lynch wasn’t going to wait there to find out what Balfour had in store for him. As he retreated to the van he remembered the chiming noise that had woken him from his drug-induced sleep. He reached inside his pocket and retrieved the burner phone he’d purchased with Sandra Rose. The phone was still charged and a bleeping icon displayed the missed call. He clicked on the symbol. An unknown number. They’d both selected to withhold their outgoing number in case they became separated from their phones so chances were high this was from Rose.
Now was not the right time to call her back. Although she was the closest thing he had to someone he could trust, he didn’t know if she’d been calling under duress. If it was important, she would call again.
After checking beneath the van, he climbed into the driver’s seat and, closing his eyes, started the engine. To his relief, it spluttered into life. Balfour still had plans for him and he wouldn’t disappoint. He pulled down the dirt track until he reached the desolate main road. Balfour had driven for an hour after picking him up, so he presumed he was somewhere north of the town of Oakley where he’d confronted the two Railroad employees. He took a right, pulling down the visor as he drove towards the sun.
It was ten minutes until he saw the first sign of life, a silver Prius travelling in the opposite direction, its driver a lone female. He smiled, surprised at the emotion rushing through him at the sight of another human being. He lifted the burner phone, feeling its weight in his hand. It would be good to see Rose again, to even hear her voice. Their last encounter had been strained, their goodbye awkward. He checked his wallet with his right hand whilst his left hand held the steering wheel steady. The tracking device was still intact and for one desperate moment he considered activating it.
The sight of a roadside diner banished his melancholy. Lynch pulled over to the metallic-paneled shack, the sign reading ‘Kim’s Diner.’ His van one of only two in the parking lot. He checked himself in the rear view mirror, sighing at the bedraggled figure within. Balfour had left him with his money so he left the van and made his way across the hot concrete to the diner.
He reached the door in time to see a waitress opening up. ‘You’re early, hon’,’ she said. ‘Come on in.’
A blast of cool air hit him as he entered the diner. He took a seat in the second booth with good vantage points of the exit and the panorama of the narrow dining area. He thought again about the tracking device. Had Balfour placed a similar device on him? They’d known where to find him ever since that first day at his apartment when Lennox and his goons had turned up. But how to avoid detection? He would have to dump the van and all his possessions within. He would need to find a new set of clothes and burn the ones he was wearing. He would even have to dispose the phone and the tracking device Rose had given him. Only then could he be sure he wasn’t being followed.
‘Coffee, hon’?’ said the waitress, tearing him from his thoughts.
‘That would literally be heaven,’ he said.
The dark black liquid singed his throat but he didn’t care. He ordered pancakes with eggs and bacon and demolished the stack within minutes. The waitress kept bringing coffee and he kept drinking it. The poison was leaving his body, his strength returning. He’d somehow escaped death and the avoidance was making him stronger.
‘Where you heading, hon? asked the waitress, topping his cup again without question.
‘I’m going to see my son,’ said Lynch.
The diner was filling with morning customers, catching breakfast or coffee before a long day at work. Lynch thanked the waitress and tipped her heavily before returning to the van. Opening the back doors, he did his best to rearrange the area where the two men had been held captive. A bloodstain marked one area and Lynch covered it up with a picnic blanket. He took a map of Texas from his backpack and laid it out on the floor, marking where he was and where he was heading. He overlay the map with a second map, this one of the railroad lines in the area. He’d studied so many railroad maps in the last few years, both state and nationwide. He could picture each and every one of the hundreds of lines by memory. The swirling tracks told a story. They danced across the folded pages of the map, each distinct from the other. At times Lynch had considered the millions of people who had travelled the railroad lines of America over the decades, the millions of lives, the billions of different journeys. At any given minute, somewhere in the country people were travelling by train, from small commuter journeys to epic sweeps of the country. And somewhere a group of people were watching these tracks. Biding their time, waiting for the chance to strike.
His phone pulsed, the vibrations spinning it across the corrugated metal of the van’s floor as if it were alive. Lynch grabbed the buzzing device. An unknown number. Sandra Rose?
He clicked answer, his heartbeat increasing. ‘Yes,’ he said, not willing to state his name just yet.
A male voice, warm and deep responded on the other end of the line. Lynch couldn’t be sure but he felt that he’d heard it before, a sound at once familiar but not.
‘Ah, Samuel Lynch. We speak at last,’ it said.
24
Lynch stepped outside the van, surprised to see his hand was shaking. ‘Who is this?’ he demanded.
‘I think you know, Samuel. You’ve been waiting half a lifetime to speak to me.’
Lynch’s blood drummed through his ears. He was taken by the soothing quality, the rich baritone of the man’s voice. Even through the shitty phone Lynch felt its deep texture. Each word resonated with him as if they’d been selected personally for him. ‘Tell me who you are and what you want or I’m hanging up.’
‘Don’t be like that, Samuel. Are you not curious as to how I found your number?’
Lynch blinked, a tiredness washing over him. He’d already considered the question and concluded that Balfour had taken the number when he’d been unconscious. But a second alternative occurred to him now. Rose was the only person to have his number. Could she somehow be part of this?
‘Surprise me,’ he said.
‘Where would the fun be it in that, Samuel?’
Lynch jumped out of the van and scanned his surroundings. Was he being watched? ‘Balfour has put you up to this.’
‘Very good, Samuel. Mr Balfour sends his regards.’
‘And you are?’
‘Please, Samuel. For someone of your aptitude, this sounds a little naïve. Look in your heart, you know to whom you’re speaking.’
Could this really be him, the man he’d been searching for the last six years, since even before the day Daniel disappeared? Was this the head of the Railroad, the Controller?
‘What should I call you?’
‘No need for names,
Samuel.’
‘Mr No Name, then.’ Lynch considered calling him Mallard, to gauge his reaction, but for the moment it felt like a piece of potential knowledge best kept to himself.
‘Very good, Samuel.’ The man paused, unhurried. ‘Samuel, it’s wonderful to finally talk to you. It’s been too long.’
Lynch was surprised to be so relaxed when every inch of him wanted the man on the other end of the line dead. ‘Why didn’t Balfour kill me?’
‘Samuel, if we wanted you dead you would be dead. If we wanted you dead now, we’d kill you now. We can see you. Pacing the car park like a lost sheep. A little lost sheep.’
Lynch froze. He scanned the area again, looking at the rooftop of the diner and further into the surrounding hills. It could be a bluff, a parlor trick of a guess, but something in the Controller’s voice suggested otherwise. ‘So why not kill me?’
The Controller laughed, the sound rich and melodic. ‘Samuel, why would we eliminate you?’
‘Because when I find you, I will end you?’
‘Well, exactly. Who would destroy someone with such admirable qualities, such lofty aspirations? You’ve gone through so much, Samuel. There’s been so much trauma in your life. You’ve endured things that would have destroyed all but the strongest, and yet here you are - still pursuing what many, if not all, would describe as a lost cause. You are, to use the current vernacular, a walking legend, Samuel.’
Tiredness seeped through him again. The Controller’s words were evenly paced, musical in their delivery. They had a rhythm as if they were practiced, as if he was an actor recounting lines with perfect delivery.
‘What do you want?’
‘You may not believe it at the moment, Samuel, but we are very much alike. We are both singularly focused. I can help you, Samuel. I can obtain the redemption you seek, Samuel. Samuel, trust me and I can be your salvation.’
Lynch blinked his eyes rapidly, a combination of the heat and the odd delivery of the Controller’s voice getting to him. His words reminded him of the words used by Balfour, that bizarre suggestion that they were alike. ‘Is Daniel still alive?’ he asked.
‘Good, Samuel. You’re beginning to understand. We need to meet, Samuel. I wish to see greatness face to face. Could you do that for me, Samuel?’
The cell phone weighed down his hand, the talk of Daniel ridding him of his strength. ‘Where and when?’ he said, trying to muster authority in his words.
‘Good, Samuel. We’ll send you the details. Try to forget what Mr Razinski told you and please don’t inform Sandra Rose of your plans. We know where she is, Samuel. And your ex-wife, Sally. We know where everyone is, Samuel.’ He paused again, and Lynch felt the absence of the man’s voice.
‘Samuel, goodbye for now. It was wonderful to make your acquaintance and I am literally counting down the hours until we meet.’
The Controller’s voice was replaced by a beep and a dialing tone. Lynch collapsed to the ground, stricken, as sunlight attacked him from all sides. The Controller’s departure had left him bereft and he couldn’t understand why. He presumed it was the mention of Daniel, the resurgence of hope the Controller had given him that his son was still alive.
The asphalt ground was hot. Sweat drenched him, yet he was unable to move as the Controller’s words replayed through his head. ‘We know where everyone is,’ he’d said, and Lynch felt the man’s eyes lurking on him from some unseen vantage point and wondered if he viewed him with pity or disgust.
He crawled to the relative safety of the van, the Controller’s words echoing through his head like an earworm. Normal protocol would be to share information about the conversation. In all his years of tracking the Railroad, it was the first significant communication he’d had with its would-be leader. He moved the burner phone from hand to hand, recounting Rose’s number less he forget it. The Controller had told him not to call her, or anyone else. The threat was implicit, the same type of threat told to the family of kidnap victims. They told us not to contact you, he’d been told on countless occasions, and his advice had always been the same. Getting the authorities involved was always the correct decision. So why was he loath to take such advice now?
He started the engine and pulled away for no other reason than it was an action and he needed to do something, even if it was to drive aimlessly.
The Texan scenery proved too little a distraction. As he drove, Lynch kept sneaking glances at his phone. He wasn’t sure if he was waiting for a call from the Controller, or if his subconscious was telling him to call Rose. He was playing a waiting game and it wasn’t a position he was comfortable being in.
Deciding the Railroad and the Controller wouldn’t dictate him to, he stopped at a branch of Buc-ee’s, a Texan service station, he ordered some food and purchased a second phone. Waiting for his food order to arrive, he contemplated his options. He needed to check on Sally and that would be his next move.
With the windows up, the van acted like a greenhouse but Lynch kept them shut as he ate his salami sub. The heat made him woozy, the sweat drenching his shirt as he savored the sauces and oils as if he was eating for the first time. He wondered if any of the poison Balfour injected him with still lingered in his blood stream. His thinking wasn’t clear, it was tinged with doubt and insecurity as if he was suffering from an excessive hangover.
Opening a bottle of water, he gave in and wound down the windows. The air outside was warmer than in and he was forced to turn on the engine and start the air conditioning. He wanted rest but needed to keep going. He finished the water and tapped the dashboard. He was avoiding his next call. It was always difficult to speak to Sally but he hadn’t spoken to her since he’d made her drop everything and leave her home. Although it had been for her safety, he doubted she was going to be so forgiving. He was almost relieved when Rob answered instead.
‘Rob, it’s Sam. Is Sally there?’
Rob sighed and Lynch wondered why he always seemed to answer Sally’s phone for her. ‘Samuel, I really must protest. You call us out of nowhere and instruct us to leave our home for no apparent reason and then we hear nothing from you. What’s going on?’
Lynch laughed. He knew he shouldn’t but he’d never heard Rob stick up for himself before. He could almost feel him shaking on the other end of the phone. ‘Just put Sally on please, Rob.’
‘No, Samuel, I won’t. I realize you’re in a difficult place and can empathize. Of course I can. I know what Sally has gone through and I know it’s the same for you…’
‘Let me stop you there, Rob.’
‘No,’ said Rob, with a touch more vehemence. ‘You need help, Samuel. You need to see someone about this obsession.’
Lynch gripped the phone. He had nothing against Rob. The man was in an impossible situation, but he couldn’t let his last comment slide. ‘Obsession? Fucking obsession? If you ever call my son an obsession again, regret will not begin to describe the emotion you will be feeling. Do I make myself clear to you, Rob?’
‘I can see you’re upset.’
‘Can you now? Well fucking done. I’m more than upset, Rob. I am at breaking point. For the love of God, put Sally on the line.’
Rob’s voice fell to a whisper, his earlier bravado evaporated. Lynch regretted his outburst. It was the result of everything that had happened over the last few days but that wasn’t an excuse. ‘She’s not here.’
Lynch clenched his hands. ‘Rob,’ he said, with a slowness reminiscent of his conversation with the Controller. ‘Where the hell are you?’
There was no immediate answer, only Rob’s labored breathing. Lynch was about to ask again when his ex-wife’s partner spoke. ‘We are back at our house. We tried to contact you but you didn’t respond.’
‘Fuck,’ shouted Lynch. ‘Listen to me now, Rob. Whatever your misgivings about me put them to one side and do this for Sally. You need to call her and get her back to the house as soon as possible. Go inside and lock the doors and windows. Turn off all the lights and try to find
a safe place to hide. I will be there in two hours.’
25
Lynch sped down the road, glad to have a destination once again despite the circumstances. He’d been tough on Rob but to his credit the man held his ground. Hopefully, he’d taken his advice. If the Controller could locate him in the middle of nowhere, could destroy the most secure of FBI compounds, then it wasn’t going to take much to attack Sally and Rob at their home.
Although he was racing towards them, Lynch thought it was a fait accompli. If the Railroad wanted them dead they would be dead at some point and nothing he did would make a difference. He considered calling Rose again but her involvement would only cause more confusion, and she was the only one of the Bureau he could remotely trust.
He reached Sally’s house in ninety minutes. She lived in a picturesque estate off the main road in Katy. Lynch parked up at the first opportunity and made a slow approach to Sally’s road. The houses were all individually designed with the shared characteristics of red tiled roofs, and white walls. Most houses had their shutters closed due to the heat and, as he walked along the deserted streets, the chirping song of the cicadas his only company, the place had the feel of a ghost town.
He stopped two hundred meters from the house and surveyed the area for signs of life. He called Sally but she didn’t answer so he continued his movement towards the house. The weight of his gun was a comforting feeling as he edged closer. He remembered Rose’s description of the Gunn house and the desecration heaped upon it by Razinski. Images of Sally and Rob ran through his mind, gruesome collages of their dismembered bodies that he tried to blink away, his eyes watering in the heat.
Reaching the drive, he checked their SUV. He kept his gun holstered as he moved to the back of the house, hoisting his body up and over the locked wooden door. Members of the Railroad could be waiting in ambush but that there was nothing he could do either way. The Controller had told him they could have taken him out at any time and he believed him. His only choice now was to play along and wait for a chance to present itself.
