by Jeramy Gates
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
The senator turned to glare at him. “Don’t kid yourself, Special Agent. I’ve seen this man’s record. I know for a fact that he could be out of here with one phone call. The only reason he’s put up with this for this long is to distract you from the real objective.” She crossed her arms, moving closer, glaring at him. “Now get him out of here, and do what you’re here for in the first place: Go find Valkyrie Smith.”
Castillo opened his mouth to say something, but she silenced him with a glare. “Go ahead, Agent. Make me repeat myself one more time.”
He licked his lips. Then he lowered his gaze and stalked out of the room.
Chapter 21
The waves lapped at the hull, the calm dark waters rising and falling now with smooth predictability. A thousand yards off her bow, Valkyrie could barely see the light-colored speck against the black water and the starry sky that was her prey.
Her suspicions about the boat had seemed almost silly at first -little more than a whim- but as she had approached the vessel, the engines fired up and it headed out to sea. It had seemed odd at the time that the fishing boat was out so late at night, with no lights running and no poles in sight. Valkyrie’s instincts had told her to follow.
She had no idea where she was now, or how far she had gone. The city had long since faded into the darkness behind her, and the seas had become calm and smooth. A pea-soup fog had closed in, and she lost track of her quarry. She tried to maintain the course in which it had been headed, but there was no way to be sure without a compass.
Valkyrie tried her phone’s GPS app, but the map showed only a blank screen with longitude and latitude numbers. Even those may have been incorrect. Valkyrie hadn’t had a phone signal in more than an hour. She wasn’t even sure if the GPS feature on a smartphone would work without a data connection. Matt would know, but little good that did when she couldn’t call him.
She checked the fuel gauge. She had about three-quarters of a tank, assuming it worked. The minutes kept ticking away. The sense of solitude and disorientation grew. Val didn’t know which direction she had been moving; couldn’t even guess which way might take her back to land. Ever present in her mind was the possibility that she might run out of fuel, or that the engine might fail. For once, the firearm hanging in her shoulder holster brought no comfort whatsoever. What good were bullets against the vast expanse of the ocean?
Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the heavens with an eerie glow. The fog lit up with a strobe light effect. Thunder rolled across the water like cannon fire. Up ahead, she spied the fishing boat floating through the fog like a ghost in the night. It tugged along, seemingly heedless of the dangers it faced, headed on a course with a destination she could scarcely even imagine.
A gust of wind blew across the water, clearing the fog just enough for her to see the dark shape of an island up ahead. The land jutted like a stony plateau out of the sea, black and shrouded in mist. The fishing boat glided in towards the sheltered western edge.
A thousand thoughts went racing through Valkyrie’s mind. Had she been led here by one of the island’s occupants, coming home from a shopping trip? It seemed late for that, and it didn’t entirely describe the vessel’s behavior, but it was possible. Was the pilot of the boat aware of her? Had he led her here on purpose?
Valkyrie maintained a safe, inconspicuous distance. If it all turned out to be a coincidence, she’d rather not draw attention to herself. On the other hand, if he was the killer, it may already be too late. It was entirely possible that the Collector had lured her out here to kill her. If that was the case, so be it. Valkyrie was ready to face him down once and for all. If the man on that boat was the same man who had killed her family, only one of them would be leaving the island tonight.
Val cut the engine and waited. She drifted quietly in the fog, squinting into the darkness for a glimpse of her prey. Five minutes passed, and then ten, and twenty. She checked her phone, and found it dead. That seemed odd, considering how little she had used it, until she remembered Matt’s app. It must have been looking for a connection all this time, draining her battery to nothing.
Val lost sight of the fishing boat. The island was a black silhouette peeking through the fog. Either she’d given someone time to unload his groceries, or she’d just given the Collector time to prepare a trap for her. With a resigned sigh, she started the engine and went idling towards the shoreline.
The mist coiled about her, drifting over the surface of the water. The sea remained calm, but she heard breakers crashing against the beach up ahead. She found herself moving into a small, sheltered cove. The fog thinned, and under the dark rumbling sky, she saw the fishing boat against a tiny pier. Behind it lay a sandy beach. She saw no signs of life on the boat, or the beach, and no indication other than the pier itself that someone might live here. Valkyrie drew her firearm and placed it on the dash as she pulled up to the pier.
Val could see the upper deck of the fishing boat. It appeared to be empty. Either the man was hiding below deck, or he had gone inland. She saw a trail up ahead, leading to a narrow staircase that climbed the hillside. She kept a wary eye on the larger vessel as she threw the bumpers over the side. She idled in and tied off.
Gun in hand, Valkyrie stood on the pier and gazed into the darkened fishing boat. She leaned over the rail to get a look at the compartment below. The captain’s chair obstructed her view, but she was relatively certain she was alone. Even so, she kept her pistol out as she climbed aboard.
Standing over the hatch, Val immediately noticed some sort of electronic device on the floor down below. She saw a tiny galley to the left, and the head to the right. The bow end of the compartment was a v-berth -an uncomfortable-looking sofa bed with a rumpled pillow and a ruffled-up sleeping bag.
Satisfied that the compartment was empty, she cautiously went down the stairs to examine the device she had found. Val couldn’t be one hundred percent certain, but judging from the extendable antenna and the toggle on the front panel, she was confident that this was the triggering device. But why leave it here, lying on the floor?
He must have tried to use it, she realized. The Collector must have activated the trigger and realized that something had gone wrong. His bombs hadn’t gone off. Realizing his plan had been foiled, he’d tossed the thing aside and then made his escape.
Or tried to, she thought with a grim smile. A sense of cold satisfaction washed over her. This had to be him. It had to.
Val noticed a tool kit on the counter by the berth. Out of curiosity, she threw it open. Inside, she found a small collection of hand tools, three flares, and bottle of aspirin. “Thank God,” she whispered, fumbling the bottle open. She took a look at the pills before swallowing them, just to be sure they matched the label. She took three, swallowed them down, and shoved the rest of the bottle in her pocket. She turned to leave, but on a whim reached into the toolbox and took one of the flares.
Valkyrie emerged with a sense of purpose. She holstered her firearm and stood on the deck, resting on her cane as she studied the narrow beach that ran the length of the shadowy cove. It was cool and breezy here, sheltered by the island from the wind and the incoming storm. The tide was out, and the sand appeared smooth and untouched all the way from the frothy shoreline to the sheer cliff wall behind it.
Scrub brush grew along the base of the cliffs, protected there from the wind and the weather, but otherwise the place was barren. Somewhere up the hill, the killer was waiting. He could wait just a few more minutes…
Valkyrie walked to the stern end of the boat. Checking the stows along the side of the hull, she found a gas can. A grim smile came to her lips. She took it with her. Standing on the dock a moment later, she turned the can over the deck of the fishing boat and dumped most of the contents. The few splashes that remained, she sprinkled across the interior of the runabout. Valkyrie tossed the can and then produced the flare she had taken. She gave the end a twist. It came
to life with a brilliant pink glow and a shower of sparks. Val held it over the runabout, letting the sparks rain down on the gasoline. The fuel lit up with a whoosh!
Satisfied, she strolled down the pier a few yards. At a safe distance, she turned and tossed the flare into the hull of the fishing boat. Even before it hit the floor, a fireball roared into the air. The burst of flame lit up the pier, the beach, and the rocky cliffs behind her. Val stared at it, leaning on her cane, feeling the heat wash over her.
“All right,” she said in a quiet voice. “Now, it’s just the two of us.”
She turned and headed for the trail.
Chapter 22
It was one a.m. when Carver finally left the police station. He checked his phone for messages, but the battery was dead. The police had confiscated the phone and other personal items during his arrest. Thanks to his ear bud, he’d continued to listen in on Valkyrie’s conversation with Matt for another fifteen minutes. The last thing he’d heard was her escape by boat. That had been a bit of quick thinking on Val’s part. Carver had been impressed. What happened after, was anybody’s guess.
He needed to find her, but first he had to get that backpack full of explosives. There was no real danger of them accidentally going off, but he couldn’t risk leaving the stuff lying around. After that, he’d head to Matt’s place and hope Val was there.
Carver hailed a cab outside the station. By the time he reached the end of the block, Carver had already spotted the cops tailing him. He wasn’t surprised, but disappointed. He’d have to waste time losing them before reuniting with the group. He asked the cabby to take him downtown.
As luck would have it, the bars and nightclubs had begun to close at that time. Pedestrians flooded the streets. Traffic closed in around the cab as designated drivers, taxis, and Uber cars backed up at the stoplights and intersections, blocking traffic as they waited to collect their passengers. Many stopped right in the middle of the street, allowing bar-hoppers to pile in. Traffic ground to a complete halt.
Carver threw a glance out the back window. A grin came to his face. His tail had gotten stuck right in the middle of an intersection. “I’ll get out here,” he told the cabby.
The man sighed. “You got me stuck here, and now you’re leaving?”
“Sorry, pal.” Carver pulled out his wallet and handed the guy a twenty. “Keep the change.” The meter was only at six bucks, so it was a great tip. That improved the cabby’s mood. They were both smiling as Carver stepped out of the cab and vanished into the crowd.
In the unmarked police car behind them, Carver’s movements did not go unnoticed. One of the cops -a twenty-five-year-old rookie name Rosa- jumped out to tail him on foot. Despite being undercover, she was wearing a Boston PD jacket and carrying a sidearm. Carver made a beeline for the nearest club, looking for a place to lose her.
The doors to the Whiskey Royale were still open, but foot-traffic was streaming in one direction: out. Carver pushed his way through the mob, apologizing and mumbling that he’d forgotten something as he forced his way into the entrance.
A few feet inside, a belligerent drunk bumped into him. The guy was six-three and built like a linebacker. “Hey!” the guy shouted. He turned, his left hand reaching for Carver’s lapel while his right folded into a fist. Carver adjusted his stance, glaring into the man’s face with his good eye. Decades of training and real-life combat threatened to take over. Carver had to fight back his instinct to kill.
It was then that the guy looked into Carver’s face for the first time. Despite being inebriated, several inches taller, and at least thirty pounds heavier than Carver, what he saw there gave him pause.
“Is there a problem?” Carver said in deep-chested growl.
“I, uh…” The man released his grip. A visible shiver shook his frame. “Nothing… sorry.”
Carver was already gone.
The blue lights on the dance floor cast weird shadows across the faces of the patrons as Carver circled the room. The disco ball threw out laser-like shafts of light. The music was down low, just a deep, quiet drumming in the background. The DJ spoke into the PA system, thanking everyone, reminding them that he’d be playing there tomorrow.
In the back hallway, just beyond the restrooms, Carver found what he had been looking for: the emergency exit. He pushed on the handle. The moment the door swung open, the fire alarm shrieked. A red light flashed on the wall. The patrons, being too drunk and too close to the door to care whether the place was really on fire or not, took little note of the alarm. For them, it was a joke.
Carver stepped into the restroom. He stood just inside the door, holding it open wide enough to see what was going on out in the hall. It was only a matter of seconds before Rosa went rushing by. She flew through the emergency exit and disappeared into the alley behind the bar. As soon as she was gone, Carver raced back out the front. He wandered into the night with the rest of the crowd.
On the sidewalk out front, the veteran paused to get his bearings. He scanned the street, looking for another empty cab. He didn’t see one, but found something even more interesting: the unmarked police car sat idling next to the sidewalk just a few yards away. Carver did a double-take as he realized the driver’s seat was empty. The second cop had abandoned the car right there in the street. The rookie must have called him for backup.
Carver chuckled as he circled the car and crawled into the driver’s seat. He adjusted the position to give himself a little leg room, and then put it in gear and drove away.
Traffic was flowing now. Not fast, but it wasn’t hard to work his way into the left lane and then take the next left at the stoplight. He turned down a dark, narrow street under the freeway overpass. The crowds vanished and the road opened up. Carver put the accelerator down. He turned again, this time driving down a street that ran parallel to the freeway, and began looking for an on-ramp.
Carver knew better than to stay in the car for too long. As soon as the cops realized what had happened, they’d radio the precinct. Dispatch would contact the IT department and activate the vehicle’s GPS tracking system. They’d issue a BOLO, and every cop in the city would be looking for a vehicle of that description. Carver figured he had ten minutes, fifteen max before the heat was on. Thankfully, that was plenty of time to get out of the neighborhood, jump on the freeway, and find a place to dump the car.
He found a ramp a mile down the road. He merged into traffic, keeping a sharp eye on the rear-view mirror and the surrounding vehicles. There wasn’t a lot of traffic that time of night. It made him all the more visible, and his mission that much more urgent. He scanned the city around him, looking for a good place to swap cars. A few miles north of town, he sped down an off ramp and into a sleepy suburban neighborhood.
Carver parked on the street in front of an old apartment complex. A tall chain link fence enclosed the front of the property. Aging four-story buildings rose in front of the parking lot, which surrounded the property on two sides. Carver entered the complex on foot and circled the place, looking for an unlocked car. He needed something older, something that didn’t have fancy micro-chipped keys or sophisticated alarms. Too many vehicles now had computers that wouldn’t allow the engine to run without a factory key. They also had theft detection systems that would go off if a gnat farted, and some of them would even call the owner’s cell phone if something went wrong. Carver hated technology almost as much as he hated people.
He was halfway around the outer lot when he saw an old Jeep parked under an overhang. It was an early nineties model. He knew it well: inline six-cylinder, throttle body injection, electronic ignition. The only computer in the vehicle was the one that set the engine timing and controlled the fuel injection. It was perfect. As long as it didn’t have an alarm, Carver was in.
He made a beeline for the Jeep. He took a few steps in that direction, and suddenly headlights lit the street behind him. Carver ducked into the shadows behind a truck and leaned out, peaking around the bumper. He heard the low hu
m of tires on pavement, moving at a slow-rolling idle. A grimace twisted his features as a patrol car pulled into the entrance and sat idling in the driveway, blue and red lights flashing.
Two male officers got out. They walked to the rear of the cruiser and stood on the sidewalk, discussing the abandoned unmarked car parked next to them. One of the men radioed dispatch, reporting the vehicle and asking for backup. Carver cursed his bad luck. This was his own fault. He should have parked a couple blocks away.
The patrol car sat at an angle in the driveway, making it impossible to get by with another vehicle. He’d have to wait them out… unless they decided to search the place, which they probably would. Then, he’d have to make a run for it. He turned, scanning the complex. Buildings towered on either side of the walkways. Carefully placed maples and oaks spotted the broad lawns. Tall wooden fences lined the edges of the property, easily eight feet high. Carver could get over -or through- those fences if he had to, but he hoped there was another way out.
He abandoned the hiding place and moved deeper into the complex. Circling the building on his right, he ducked into the shadows behind it and almost ran into a motorcycle parked on someone’s doorstep. He paused, studying the apartment. It was dark and quiet inside. The windows were closed, the curtains partially drawn. Carver looked the bike over. It was a beauty, an old Harley with a blue flames painted on the gas tank. More importantly, it didn’t have a keyed ignition, just a simple kick-starter. A grin came to his face.
The two cops were still waiting for backup when Carver fired up the Harley. They heard the sound, and started in that direction with their flashlights in hand. Carver gunned the throttle, and the big V-twin engine let out a roar. The rear tire squealed on the concrete as he released the brake. Carver flew out of the shadows and went speeding down the sidewalk.
He zoomed around the apartment building and leapt into the street, roaring past the cops with a devilish grin on his face. They had no chance to react as he slid past the cruiser and vanished. He was gone.
