Reaching up, he grasped either end of his tie, tugging the two sides until they were equidistant down his torso.
“So what do we know?”
“We know they stopped moving,” Celek said. “The area is far from any major freeways, so it’s not like they were trying to flee.”
“Do they know we have their location?” Jacoby asked.
“Very, very doubtful,” Celek said. “Dawson had one of his guys posing as a bicycle messenger circling the park. When he saw the girl pull over to wait, he slapped the tracking device on the back bumper, never once slowed down.”
At that Jacoby fell silent a moment, processing the new information.
Using a false bicycle messenger as a means of gaining a location was risky as hell, but at the moment he had more pressing concerns than to debate what would have happened if they hadn’t spotted Grant sitting nearby.
Of everybody, Otis Dawson was the one person he trusted to actually complete the task he was hired for.
“How long before the call is supposed to come in?”
Releasing his death grip on the enormous ring, Celek pushed back the cuff of his shirt. “Eight minutes.”
Nodding once, Jacoby turned back to the mirror. He left Celek standing where he was, would continue to do so until the call came in.
Eight minutes, exactly half of the amount of time he was scheduled to speak for in just over an hour.
Moving out of pure muscle memory, his hands slid the tie back into position and began to work. Some small bit of the hostility he was feeling a moment before retreated from mind, his thoughts shifting to the speech and the festivities of the night ahead.
Bit by bit the sound of cheers returned to him, not completely filling his mind, but enough to let him again focus on the coming hours.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The first thing we did upon arriving at the same turnout Skye and her friends had used two nights before was have her point out the trail that she had used to get up onto the overlook. From there, we sent her directly up it, getting her away from the gravel bar as quickly as possible.
Doing as we asked, not voicing a single objection, she moved in a slow, wide, looping arc, stepping off the bar and skirting it as much as possible, staying in the high weeds starting to spring up among the scattered trees.
As she walked, she made a point not to so much as cast a glance over toward the van still parked nearby, a literal elephant in the room that none of us acknowledged as we followed her to the base of the trail. Once there we sent her on her way, telling her to go a few hundred yards in, well past the point of being able to see or hear anything, before stopping to wait for Rae.
She would be along shortly.
It was obvious from the hunch of Skye’s shoulders and the look on her face that she didn’t like it in the slightest, not being a big fan of being sent off alone into the forest, knowing that Dawson and his men would soon be arriving, but to her credit she didn’t say a word.
Whether that meant she was starting to trust us or just really didn’t want any part of the van I couldn’t be certain, couldn’t claim to rightly much care either.
There were much more pressing matters to tend to first.
Once we were content she was gone, Rae and I walked straight back toward the van, taking the most direct route, both because of her leg and the growing shortage of time that we were starting to feel.
In just a matter of moments, Dawson and his men would be on us, no doubt sitting in a dark SUV right now staring down at a monitor, our location being broadcast to them by the tracking device we found affixed to the hood of the trunk.
Just as we had hoped they would.
Getting into a shootout - or any kind of fight for that matter – in downtown Chicago was never going to work. We had to assume they had more experience working in close urban confines than we did, and even if not, their sheer numbers advantage would eventually be too much for us to overcome.
The only way any of this could possibly work was for us to lure them out into the woods, to use misdirection and guile.
Things were still a long way from ideal, but they were much better here than they would have been down at the Hyatt.
Moving in silence, I veered toward the van as Rae went for the Taurus. The gravel of the bar crunched underfoot as I tramped across it, going directly to the side rear door and wrenching it open, careful to stand off to the side for a moment to let whatever contained gases there were escape before going inside to assess the situation.
This was the only part of the plan that we had not shared with Skye, letting her think we were just going to have the two vehicles parked side by side, using that to lure Dawson in.
What we had in mind was just a little more proactive.
A plume of cordite, smoke, and death burst forth as the door swung my way, the scent so strong I almost envisioned a green cloud exploding out before slowing drifting upward.
Standing to the side, I gave it a few moments to clear, hearing the engine of the Taurus turn over nearby, before leaning into the doorway and going headfirst into the tiny space.
From the outside, the van hadn’t looked so bad, that most likely being the only reason nobody had stopped in the preceding day and a half. It was older for sure, and had a few pockets of rust, but there were no visible bullet holes to be seen, no broken glass to even hint at what lay inside.
The destruction of the interior was complete and total, Dawson and his crew having laid waste to the two occupants inside and a fair bit of electronic equipment as well.
The first targets had clearly been the two victims, their bodies still intertwined, covered only by a thin blanket. More than a dozen oversized amoebas of dried blood covered the outside of it, neither having so much as woken, let alone moved, during the attack.
Strewn atop them was a thick layer of plastic fragments and glass shards, the remains of the electronics after they were annihilated.
With one foot still on the ground, my opposite knee resting on the floor of the van, I inventoried everything before me, committing it all to memory, tossing it on the heap of emotions that had already accumulated regarding this situation.
I might not have known these kids, but I knew who they were and what they were doing. Their intentions might have been questionable, but they were certainly not something to earn them an ending like this.
In a way, it reminded me of the very place this was all about, Burma, in another time and place. Not for the savagery of the act - of that I would probably never again see anything approaching what I had years ago – but for the callous nature of it.
The clinical process of ending life was about the only thing I had never grown comfortable with in the service, that being the reason I had walked away when I did, the reason I had not fired a gun since.
“YO?” Rae asked, her voice ripping me back to the present, my mind so deep in thought I had failed to hear her pull the Taurus up or step out to join me.
“Yup,” I confirmed, reaching out and grabbing at the bottom of the blanket covering the two bodies. With one quick snap of the wrist I jerked it to the side, sending a shower of debris across the interior of the van, hearing it slap against the exposed metal of the opposite side.
Without the covering, both kids looked even smaller than they had a moment before, neither appearing to be even as old as Skye. Each dressed only in their undergarments, their skin was pale to the point of translucence, stains of dried blood the only color present.
The sole good thing I could say about the scene before me was thankfully the weather had not yet turned warm enough to cause much decomposition to set in.
Starting with the girl, her body lying on one side, her arm and leg tossed across her partner, I grabbed her by the ankle and tugged her toward me. Stiff with the initial onset of rigor mortis, her body objected for just a moment, aided at least in part by a large amount of dried blood, before prying itself loose.
From there she slid toward me with ease,
the amount of adrenaline already pushing through my system allowing me to pull her tiny frame my direction without opposition.
Sliding both feet out to the ground, I hooked my hands under each of her armpits and held her out before me, her feet swinging free between my legs. Keeping her in that position, I shuffled toward the Taurus, starting on the passenger side and folding her into the front seat.
The stiffness in her body objected for a few moments as I pushed and prodded her into something resembling a seated posture, wedging her knees under the front dash to keep her in position. Once she was there, I slammed the door shut and stepped back, checking the silhouette from the outside.
I didn’t need it to be perfect, just enough to be plausible.
Glancing to Rae, I waited until she grunted in the affirmative before going back for the young man, his body only nominally larger than the girl’s. Aided by the benefit of having the steering wheel to hold him down, I got him wrestled into place within seconds before pushing the door shut.
Behind me I could hear the rear door of the van close as well, Rae bottling up the macabre scene and joining me in the narrow space between the hoods of the two vehicles, both standing with our arms crossed, assessing the situation.
The idea was for the two bodies in the front seat to look like she and I. Hopefully Dawson and his crew would think we had just pulled off for some sleep, or to try and formulate a plan, the location a deliberate choice to pull them in, perhaps even make them think Skye was nearby.
Once they were close enough, the two of us could do what we had to.
“Think it’ll work?” I asked.
A moment passed, Rae saying nothing, her profile the same stony visage it usually was beside me.
“Depends,” she finally said, her attention still aimed forward. “You ready?”
She didn’t bother saying anything more, but she didn’t have to.
There were a thousand ways I could answer the question, almost all of them involving the sight of her lying on that parking lot at Northwestern or seeing her sitting on that bench beside Jacoby in Millennium Park.
Hell, just seeing Jacoby in general.
In my life, there have been very few people that I would consider family. To me, such a notion had nothing to do with birth, but a connection.
Sure, I had cousins and aunts and uncles out there somewhere, but they weren’t really family. Since the passage of my parents, the woman standing beside me was the only person in the world that had earned such a designation.
In the last two days, she had been shot and the home we had built together burnt to the ground. If that wasn’t enough to prepare me for what lay ahead, to cause me to break my longstanding moratorium on guns, then nothing was.
If I was to have anything left inside of the man I once was, of the man I wanted to be, that had to start here.
“Yes,” I said.
Nodding once, Rae walked forward, her limp still obvious. She circled past the driver’s side door and made her way to the trunk, using the automated key ring to pop it open, a splash of light falling on the ground around her.
For a moment she disappeared from sight before the tip of the AR-15 came into view. A moment later the rest of her body emerged as well, the butt of the weapon braced against her hip.
In her opposite hand was Clarice, her fingers wrapped around the barrel of it, the bare handle extended between her thumb and forefinger.
“I need to be going.”
Skye had told us the hike to the overlook was about fifteen minutes, and that was for someone with two good legs. I knew even in her state that Rae could do it faster, but neither of us wanted to risk Dawson and his men arriving early and her having to sprint into position.
“Take care of yourself,” I said, forgetting myself for just a moment and voicing something we both already knew.
In response, a quick flash of annoyance crossed over Rae’s face before fading, her features appearing almost serene as she held Clarice out before her.
“You too.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
The entire crew was wedged into a single SUV. Given the time of night, the fact that they were forced to fight late day Chicago traffic, and the start from Millennium Park meant that it wasn’t prudent to bother returning to their home base to pick up a second vehicle.
At first the decision was one Dawson wasn’t completely comfortable with, wanting to split the team in half, to be able to run a flanking pattern like they had attempted in St. Louis the day before. In that instance they had still been hands off, so things hadn’t progressed that far, but it was good to know the option existed.
This time, there would be no such opportunity.
With each passing moment that initial reaction had faded as realization flooded in, Roush being the first to notice the location on the map and comment. Seated in his customary shotgun position, three men were piled into the back bench seat, Minkus stuck riding in the very rear.
On Roush’s lap was the same tracking screen he’d used the day before, a topographical map pulled up on it, a pulsating blue arrow situated dead center.
“Definitely looks like they’ve stopped,” Roush said, his focus aimed down at the device in his hand.
From the driver’s seat Dawson glanced over, his left hand draped over the steering wheel. “How long now?”
“Twenty minutes,” Roush said. “My guess is this was their rally point.”
For a moment Dawson said nothing, chewing on the information. “Makes sense. They probably thought it would be the last place in the world we’d think to go look for them.”
If the situation was reversed, the move wouldn’t have been Dawson’s first reaction, but he would have eventually come around on it. Nobody would ever expect someone to return to the scene of a previous crime, especially with two bodies still presumably there.
While it would present some mild threat if law enforcement were to happen by, it would practically guarantee them safety from the people that had done the killing.
With the directions still fresh in his mind, Dawson didn’t bother checking the GPS on the dash. He kept his gaze locked forward, his right hand occasionally reaching down and grazing the butt of the weapon on his hip, his body gearing up for the moments ahead.
The scene earlier at Northwestern had been just a tiny taste. He had been able to fire his weapon, had even drawn blood, but Rae Sommers was not the prize here. She had carried herself in an admirable manner, had proven herself to be one tough woman, but that wasn’t enough.
Never much of a religious man, the only Bible verse Dawson had ever much cared for was from the book of Proverbs, citing that just as iron sharpened iron, one man sharpened another.
It had been years since Dawson had met an adversary worthy enough to truly feel like he was being sharpened. Training with the guys on his team helped, but it wasn’t the same as actually matching up against someone.
Laredo Wynn could, would, be that someone.
Early evening traffic fell away as Dawson moved outside of the greater Chicago area, the lights of restaurants and hotels sliding by as well. In their stead was only darkness, the rural roads beyond town going without overhead lights or even reflector strips.
The heavy layer of cloud cover that had enveloped the area for days on end was still in place, keeping the moon and stars at bay.
Somewhere in the back of the SUV a round was chambered into place, the sound of the mechanical function echoing through the silent automobile. To the man, the noise seemed to heighten the sense of anticipation in the crew, everybody itching for what they knew was coming shortly.
For the first time in more than half an hour, Dawson glanced over to the GPS, running the math in his head.
Just a few more miles.
They were almost there.
Chapter Sixty
The first thing I had to do after Rae walked away was get rid of the van. Dawson and his crew might have recognized the location they were tracking us to, but
no way would they ever believe we would return to the lingering scene of a double homicide.
The variables would be too great, the risks too high, for anybody to ever consider it. Doing so would be an obvious ploy to lure them in, putting them on high alert.
Even more so than they would already be, anyway.
I didn’t have a great many options for stowing the behemoth of a vehicle, especially considering what was about to happen and the fact that we would need it close by soon enough. As such, I had to trust that they would approach in the same direction we had, coming straight out from the city, not bothering to take the onerous step of looping miles out of their way to come in from the opposite side.
A half mile down from the gravel pullout I found what was at one point a turn-off into the woods, twin ruts extended away from the road, high grass now having grown over them. Running short on time and fighting off the enormous stench of two bodies left for two days, I recognized the path as the best I could hope for and eased off to the side of the road.
On either side, branches clawed at the radio antenna and scraped over the windows, their sounds echoing through the van as I pulled forward into the woods, the forest constricting ever tighter, growth slapping at the undercarriage of the car.
Despite that, I moved in more than fifty yards, making sure the van was well out of sight from the road, that there was no chance of anybody passing by and seeing a reflection from the brake lights.
Once the van was in position, I eased the door shut, waiting for just the first sound of it latching before turning and running back out the way I had come, using the mashed grass from the tires as my path. There would be no possible way to hide the clear trail as it pushed back through the grass, the only slight upside being that they at least covered my footprints.
The Subway ; The Debt ; Catastrophic Page 58
