by Matt Hilton
‘Back then,’ she said, ‘things grew too complicated. I didn’t know whom I could or couldn’t trust. When I planned disappearing, it was too risky to take anyone into my confidence, especially Rink. He was still an active member of Arrowsake then, ferociously loyal to them, and I couldn’t put him in a situation where he’d be expected to lie to them. It was best that I just—’
I’d stopped her with a raised hand. Perhaps she thought I was about to tell her that it was Rink she should explain herself to, not me. But that wasn’t it. My ear was still smarting from earlier, but it didn’t affect my hearing. A vehicle had come to a halt outside.
It was doubtful that Mercer had raced to Sue’s rescue, but the arrival of the car couldn’t be ignored.
‘Incoming,’ said Rink from below, having moved from the kitchen to the foot of the stairs.
I held up a finger to Sue for silence and checked we weren’t casting shadows on the blinds as she had earlier. I circumnavigated the room to stand alongside the window. Rather than tease open the slats, I positioned so that I could spy out through the crack at its edge. A plain grey van idled at the kerb, blocking the drive. The wash from a nearby streetlight painted the windshield and made it difficult to see inside, but I could still make out the indistinct form of one figure.
‘Expecting anyone?’
‘No,’ said Sue.
‘You’re certain?’
‘Joe,’ she reminded me at a harsh whisper, ‘I was in the act of running away when you guys got here. What, you think maybe I rang for take-out pizza or something first?’
I didn’t rise to her sarcasm. ‘We might have to act decisively,’ I said, ‘and don’t want to harm an innocent.’
She bit her lip. ‘I’m not expecting anyone.’
‘Let’s go,’ I said, aiming a hand at the stairs.
Sue went first, carrying her stuff. Rink met her. He’d lugged her bags with him and set them down. He nodded at her to jam the fresh things inside. By then I was at ground level again, and I left them to scoot through into the front room. The lights were off here, but I still kept well back from the window. I could make out the front of the van, and discern slight movement behind the light washing the windshield. The driver was still inside, but I couldn’t swear if there was anyone in the back, or even if they’d climbed out yet. I crabbed around further, staying in the deepest shadows to get a fuller view of the van. As I did so, the door opened and the driver stepped onto the sidewalk at the foot of Sue’s driveway.
It was a man aged in his late thirties, tall and thin and severe looking. He was dressed in what could pass as a courier’s uniform, but the jacket and cap lacked any identifying decal or logo. He was holding a smart phone in one hand. His other hand was empty. He craned to and fro, and I got the impression he was studying Rink’s Ford, and the Mercedes-Benz. He glanced at his phone’s screen and gave a tiny nod of reassurance. He held it up, and snapped a sequence of photographs, without using the flash function. He tapped details into the phone, probably sending out the photos to interested recipients.
He got back in the driving seat but left open the door. He tapped his phone again
He began a conversation, but his words were too muted to hear.
In the kitchen, Rink and Sue were preparing to move.
We were stuck for the moment because our car was effectively blocked the same way in which we’d blocked Sue’s. We had to consider the obvious: this guy was involved in some sort of recon, and now he’d identified our rides he could be arranging an assault.
How could Arrowsake be onto us as soon as this?
Rink poked his head into the living room.
‘Shit could be about to hit the fan,’ I told him.
He drew Sue’s pistol from his belt. ‘How many?’
‘Only one guy that I can see.’
‘It’s the one’s you can’t see we’ve to worry about.’
‘I’m pretty sure he’s alone, but you know that isn’t going to last.’
‘Time to move,’ he agreed.
‘Hold up.’ Outside the man was out of the van once more. He studied the house, and for the briefest moment I thought he’d spotted me, as he stared directly into the darkness where I hid. But then his gaze roamed again and came to rest above, concentrating on the bedroom I’d been in moments ago. He turned and reached into the van, leaning over the driver’s seat to grab something. He pulled out a flat parcel about the size of a shoebox, and moved up the drive. I could no longer see him, but as he’d ignored the front door completely, I could reasonably assume he was up to no good.
‘He’s working his way around the back,’ I warned Rink.
He nodded, and immediately headed for the kitchen. I heard him exchange whispers with Sue, and pictured her ducking down behind her breakfast counter. I unlocked the front door and exited the house. As I moved around the house, I caught a glimpse of the man’s shoulder disappearing around the back. I swiftly went after him.
I heard him knuckle the door.
I peeked around the corner, and for that moment he was unaware of my presence. He stepped back from the door, and I anticipated him kicking his way inside, but before that he pulled the lid off the parcel and delved inside. He dumped the empty box at his feet, and despite the dimness I recognised the shapes in his hands: a Micro Uzi and a magazine that he began fitting into the gun. This wasn’t the recon guy; he was the hitter!
He pulled back the cocking lever, and I moved.
Don’t let the name fool you. A Micro Uzi is still a machine pistol designed to rip an enemy combatant several new buttholes. Without a shoulder stock they’re notoriously difficult to control on full auto, but this close it wouldn’t matter. This guy would have to be the worst shot in history to miss me. Luckily for me, my surprise appearance made him pause for the split second I required to throw up my hands in surrender, and exclaim in fear. I had his full attention. The barrel of his gun wavered from me to the door and back again, and I saw the workings behind his eyes as he tried to comprehend my sudden appearance.
Before the guy could come to a decision about me, Rink shot repeatedly through the back door, the hail of bullets smashing the windowpane, and the man’s chest and throat. Without a word, our would-be slayer fell and slumped on the porch where earlier I’d grappled Sue. I immediately dropped my frightened act, stepped in and kicked him over onto his back. My foot went down on his wrist, and I stripped the weapon from his grasp, and at once turned it on him. Covering from the shattered door, Rink met my gaze.
‘We’re clear,’ I said.
There was no need for further discussion. He grunted an instruction at Sue. She came out, carrying her bags, and I turned from the corpse to lead her down the drive. As we passed the Merc, I pushed the open door to. Rink followed on our heels, alert to further danger. The suppressed pistol had made a series of clacks with each shot, but unless a neighbour was familiar with the sounds of gunfire it’d leave them unperturbed. The shattering of the windowpane might be a different story. A light came on and illuminated the yard behind the nearest house and I imagined the householder taking a look outside, wondering what the ruckus was about.
We were down the drive by then, alongside the Ford, and out of the nosy neighbour’s line of sight, and there’d be no way of them seeing the dead man in Sue’s backyard, without coming out and peering over her fence. We were reasonably assured of a few more seconds’ grace, except there was nowhere for us to go while the van blocked us in.
Planning a quick spray of bullets at Sue and anyone accompanying her in her kitchen, the assassin had left open the van’s door and the keys in the ignition for a fast getaway. I passed the Uzi to Rink, jogged to the van, jumped in and drove it clear, even as Rink backed off the drive. In seconds I was out of the van, and piling in the back of the Ford alongside Sue.
Rink pulled away, just as Sue’s neighbours, an older couple, appeared on their drive. There were questions in their gazes and open mouths, but we weren’t hanging around t
o answer to them. Thankfully neither of them followed to the sidewalk to get a better look at our car, and hopefully their suspicions hadn’t been piqued too much and they’d go back to their evening meal or whatever we’d disturbed. If luck stayed on our side, the dead man wouldn’t be discovered until we were well on the road out of Panama City.
10
‘Who was that guy?’ I asked.
Sue was seated alongside me in the back of the Ford, her bags piled between us like an insurmountable wall. Her skin was ghostly, almost translucent, and her eyes haunted. Events had robbed her of the earlier starchiness she’d exhibited and now she looked totally lost and reliant upon us to bring her back to reality.
‘Sue,’ I pressed, ‘who was that guy back there?’
Her mouth worked but she had no words.
‘One thing I’m reasonably certain of, he wasn’t from Arrowsake,’ I said.
Rink was driving, only taking his eyes off the road to check his mirrors. He grunted in agreement, then added, ‘If that amateur’s all Arrowsake can field these days, we’ve nothin’ to worry about, brother. I almost feel bad about killing the frog-gigger.’
I’d taken an incredible risk in distracting the gunman the way I did. An experienced hitman would have shot me the instant I showed my face, then immediately turned his wrath on his intended target while I bled out on the ground. The guy from the van had allowed surprise to throw his mind into momentary turmoil, giving Rink the opportunity to shoot him instead. I was thankful it was Sue’s would-be killer who’d died and not me, but there was still regret that we’d gone with the lethal option. Pick up a gun with murder in mind and you kind of deserve what you get; he’d chosen to live by the sword, but we didn’t understand his motivation. It’s a pity we hadn’t wounded him, taking the fight out of him, but left him with enough strength to answer some questions.
‘C’mon, Sue, you have to level with us,’ I said.
She ran her hands over her face. ‘I don’t know,’ she croaked, ‘I’ve never seen him before.’
‘You don’t need to have seen him to know who he is, or who might have sent him.’
She screwed up her face, as if I was talking gibberish.
‘You came at us with a silenced pistol. Don’t try convincing us you only keep the gun for home defence because it’s bullshit. This company you work for, what is it, some kind of front for something else?’
She didn’t answer. She turned from me to stare out of the window. By now we were astride the Tyndall-DuPont Bridge, and her near view was of East Bay. The water was black, undulating slowly like oil under the moonless sky. ‘I’ve no idea who he was,’ she said again, barely above a whisper.
I wasn’t fooled.
It was apparent that she was connected to the estate agency, posing as a realtor to carry out something more nefarious than showing around prospective homebuyers. Her house was listed on the company’s property portfolio, and she’d stayed there under the bogus credentials of Suzanne Carter, and — I’d formed the opinion — the company must have been complicit in her duplicity. Either that or their due diligence was abysmal: I assumed that realtors must undergo some kind of security checks before any offer of employment, and to miss that Sue Bouchard and Suzanne Carter were two different individuals would be a shocking lapse in procedure. Then it struck me—
‘Sue, that house back there, was it a safe house?’
‘You’re kidding, right?’ She turned her gaze on me again, and some of her snarkiness had returned. ‘Twice in one evening it has been attacked, is that your definition of safe?’
‘You know exactly what Hunter means,’ Rink growled. We were now off the bridge and adjacent to the sprawling air force base, rolling south towards Mexico Beach, and again beginning to notice signs of the recent hurricane. ‘Maybe it’s time to drop the act, and show us some gratitude for saving your ass back there.’
‘Yeah, Rink, thanks for nothing. If you hadn’t been holding me prisoner, I’d have been long gone and that guy would’ve shot up an empty house.’
Silence descended. All that was apparent was the low growl of the engine, the whistle of tires on asphalt. We allowed the silence to do our work for us. Finally Sue threw up her palms. ‘What do you want to hear, guys?’
‘For starters you can tell us who you’re working for these days,’ I said. ‘I’d guess it’s the CIA except Arrowsake would’ve known about you and Mercer before now.’
‘I work for a private body.’
‘Hitmen for hire?’ Rink posed.
Sue snorted. ‘I think I already made my feelings on assassins quite clear. No, we are better described as a private protective service.’
‘I pity your clients,’ Rink said, ‘seeing as how you needed protectin’ back there.’
‘There you go again, making the assumption I needed your help. Hasn’t it occurred to you that the only reason you took me so easily was I didn’t intend hurting either of you?’
I rubbed my swollen ear, grinned lopsidedly. ‘That was you trying not to hurt me?’
‘I could’ve shot you both dead when I drove up on you,’ she reminded us. ‘I chose not to. These days I prefer to preserve life than take it.’
They were fair points.
‘Mercer’s in the same business?’ Rink didn’t sound convinced. It was a stretch to believe a man once deemed too dangerous to be allowed to live had enjoyed such a paradigm shift. ‘Maybe puttin’ those two bullets in his skull addled his brain and changed his personality for the better,’ he suggested, but his words were delivered with a hefty dose of cynicism.
‘You might be surprised to find you’re not far off the mark,’ said Sue. ‘Except for one thing: he never was the rogue agent you were led to believe.’
There was the tiniest shake of Rink’s head as he absorbed her words. Could she be telling the truth? The evidence that Jason Mercer had been killing for all sides, mainly for the highest payer, had convinced us and we’d willingly carried out the executive order to stop him. In lieu of what we’d later learned about Arrowsake, in particular in its new incarnation, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn we’d been played.
‘Convince us we were wrong,’ I said, and caught a sharp glance from Rink. He restrained his disbelief though. It was highly likely he didn’t want to hear he’d been fooled into shooting an innocent man, the knowledge could become a burden on his soul, but he still wanted the truth. His trust in Arrowsake had diminished to negative figures already, hearing how they’d lied to him again wouldn’t shatter his psyche.
‘Consider this for a moment,’ she offered. ‘There’s a reason why I staged my death; I had to escape Arrowsake.’
‘You discovered a secret they didn’t want anyone to know,’ I said, ‘and would have had you killed to protect it.’
‘You’ve got it,’ she said.
Rink had incrementally taken his foot off the gas. The Ford was entering the outskirts of Mexico Beach, and with no other destination in mind Rink was heading back to the wreckage of my home. I told him the name of my hotel instead, and caught a nod of agreement from him. If Walter chose to look, he’d discover where I was currently staying, but I doubted he’d go that route yet. We may as well make use of the room I’d prepaid. Besides, I’d left my grab bag in the room, and if events continued the way they’d been going, I was going to need it.
We drove over the waterway known locally as The Canal. Hurricane Michael had all but destroyed this end of town, some dwellings were in as much disarray as mine, others missed roofs or sidings, while some of them were whole but pushed off their stilts or concrete foundations. Trees lay where they’d fallen, though the road itself had been cleared of most of the heavier detritus. The beach sand was piled in drifts on the roadsides, burying the sidewalks and gardens. Many residences were still without power or water. There was a hush over the place, as if the residents held their breath in anticipation of worse to come. Driving into my hometown that night was like entering a post apocalyptic nightmare.
<
br /> Continuing down Highway 98 we passed backhoes and bulldozers, and all manner of heavy construction vehicles — emergency response crews had arrived in their droves, and most of the remaining hotels and motels now housed workers from near and far. I’d been fortunate to snag a spare room at one of the surviving hotels towards the southern end of town. It had suffered only minor damage by comparison, and had been pulled back into reasonable shape in the last few days, though it still felt like it was being operated on a wartime footing. There was a subterranean parking lot — at ground level actually, built to either side of the hotel’s swimming pool, beneath an elevated courtyard sundeck — but it was currently out of use. The work crews and dispossessed townsfolk temporarily in residence had left their cars elsewhere. We needed our Ford out of sight, though, so Rink drove inside, and I guessed it was his intention to abandon the Ford there for the foreseeable future. At first opportunity I’d collect my Audi from home to use in any onward journey.
An elevator gave access directly from the parking garage to the residential levels, so we were able to avoid the reception area. My room card allowed us into the lift. We entered it, Rink having taken charge of one of Sue’s bags, in which we’d concealed her pistol and the liberated Uzi. She’d slung her heavy tapestry bag over her shoulder, while I kept a close eye on her: it still wasn’t too late for her to try to escape from us before the doors closed. Once we were on the way up, I relaxed a little. The doors opened onto a deserted hallway and we made it to my room without attracting attention. The room, with its compact adjoining bathroom, wasn’t furnished to accommodate three, and with the door shut and curtains closed, felt on the verge of claustrophobic. We manoeuvred around, uncomfortable in each other’s space until we’d found respective perches. Sue, having deliberately been jostled to the far end of the room, sat on one side of the bed and Rink the other. I took the only available tub chair and stretched my legs out as best I could. We were each lost in our personal thoughts for a minute or more. Finally Sue broke the silence.
