Silent Partner

by Stephen Frey

  “The second reason it’s tough to guard Lawrence,” Tucker continued, “is that he tends to piss people off. He sticks his nose into sensitive issues, according to one of those in-house New York accountants I shared a flight with last year, into situations where he isn’t wanted. Maybe that’s what somebody was doing in Algeria.”

  Angela peered over Tucker’s shoulder and saw that they were nearing the end of the narrow section of the trail. Only a hundred yards and they’d be back on safe ground. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he—”

  She barely heard the bullet as it ricocheted off a ledge a few feet above their heads. It sounded like nothing more than a hornet buzzing past as it caromed off a rock with an angry whine. Tucker pushed her roughly to the ground, jumped down after her, grabbed his rifle from the saddle holster, and dragged her behind a small rock, barking at her to lie as flat as she could.

  A split second later the next bullet came, striking the stallion in its massive black neck, destroying its windpipe and blowing a softball-sized hole out the other side. The huge animal staggered backward and to the left, frothing blood, then collapsed in front of them and tumbled off the side of the cliff.

  “Oh, my God!” Angela shouted, trying to burrow into the snow. “Where are the bullets coming from?”

  “Ahead!” Tucker lay beside her, aiming the rifle in the direction they’d been going. “Whoever’s up there probably wanted us to be on the horse when it went off the cliff.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Stay put for now. I don’t think they can get a clean shot at us if we stay low.”

  For five excruciating minutes they waited, pressed to the ground, but there were no more shots. Just the sound of the late afternoon wind wailing eerily through the canyon.

  “Follow me,” Tucker ordered in a low voice.

  “What?”

  “We’re going back the way we came. There’s a cave about fifty yards back. I’m gonna put you in it, then make certain whoever was shooting at us is gone.”

  “It’ll be dark in thirty minutes. Let’s wait until then,” she suggested, still breathing hard.

  “No good. Whoever it is might have night vision capability. We don’t. I’ve got to get you to safety.” Tucker motioned to her as he began crawling along the ground. “Come on.”

  “What am I doing here?” she whispered as she followed him across the snow, wondering if the next moment might be her last. She’d had a front row view of the last bullet tearing out the horse’s neck, and she didn’t want the same view of the next one tearing through John Tucker. Or her. Suddenly Jake Lawrence didn’t seem so paranoid.

  When they reached the cave, they scrambled inside, protected for the moment. The cave stretched thirty feet back into the mountain. It was no more than ten feet wide and six feet high at any point.

  “You’ll be safe in here,” Tucker assured her as they hunched down against the wall.

  “You’re not leaving me,” she said, anticipating what he was about to say.

  “Look, whoever shot at us probably took off, but I’m going to make sure. I don’t want you with me if he didn’t and I run into him,” he replied, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out the long-barreled .22 that had been on the Expedition’s dashboard last night. “Take this. If anybody approaches, shoot them. Don’t ask questions. Just aim and start pulling the trigger.”

  Angela took the revolver. Her father had taught her how to handle a gun when she was young. Before he had run off the road one night on his way home to the trailer park from an Asheville bar and killed himself in the spring of her senior year in high school. “I don’t like this.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Tucker said, checking the ammunition in the rifle. “Stay back in the cave, but keep checking both sides of the path, too. Like I said, you see anybody other than me, you start shooting. Here’s some extra ammo.” He reached into his coat and tossed a box of ammunition on the cave floor in front of her.

  “How will I know if someone on the trail is the person who shot at us?”

  “Believe me, no one else besides you and me ought to be up here right now. Anybody else is fair game.” He stuck his head out of the cave and peered both ways. “I won’t be gone long. If I’m not back in a half hour, get out of here. Go left out of the cave. Opposite the way I go. Back toward the cabin. When you get to the end of the narrow part of the path, get into the woods and down off the mountain any way you can.” He hesitated. “By the way, who are you?”

  “Huh?”

  “I haven’t pissed anybody off enough to make them shoot at me. Least, I don’t think I have. So you must have.”

  “No, I haven’t. I’m a nobody, for God’s sake.”

  Tucker stared intently at her for a few moments, then shook his head. “Sure you are,” he mumbled. Then he was gone, moving along the path in the same direction they’d been headed before the shots were fired.

  Angela crouched just inside the mouth of the cave, watching Tucker as he moved along the trail, sprinting ten to fifteen yards at a time, bent over at the waist, then flattening himself behind a section of the rock face that jutted out into the path. In this way he provided himself at least a small measure of protection from whomever had shot at them. “Come on, John,” she whispered as he neared the trees. “Come on.”

  When he’d raced the last few yards and disappeared into the woods, she heaved a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t out in the open anymore. At least he had some cover.

  For the next thirty minutes, Angela constantly checked both sides of the trail but saw nothing suspicious. “Get back here, John,” she muttered, gritting her teeth. “Don’t leave me out here alone.” The sky was darkening and the temperature was falling. There wasn’t even any wind down in the canyon anymore, for which she was thankful. The low moan had been unnerving.

  She let out another sigh, then swallowed hard as it hit her. Maybe this whole thing was a setup. Maybe Lawrence was angry at the way their meeting had ended, and Tucker had been ordered to leave her alone to face whoever was shooting. She shook her head. That was silly. She was letting her imagination run wild.

  She poked her head out of the cave once more and caught her breath. Through the fading light she saw something. A slight movement down the trail in the direction they’d been coming from before the first shot. Back in the direction of the cabin where the path widened and turned less treacherous. “Oh, God,” she muttered. The .22 began trembling in her gloved hand as she saw the movement again.

  She retreated inside the cave, sitting against the rock wall, head tilted back, eyes closed, fingers wrapped tightly around the wooden handle of the revolver, shivering. Maybe it was Tucker. Maybe somehow he had made it all the way around to that side of the mountain without finding anyone and now he was coming back for her.Please let it be him, she prayed.

  She leaned out so she could see down the trail again, one eye barely beyond the cave’s entrance. Through the fading light she could see someone walking on the trail toward her. He wore a long coat that fell almost to his ankles and nothing on his head. Definitely not Tucker. She ducked back inside the cave entrance and took three short breaths.

  “Dammit!”

  The man was walking deliberately, not trying to hide his presence. Not approaching as if he intended harm. If he’d been sprinting or moving along the rock face as though trying to protect himself, as Tucker had, her decision would have been easier. She would have been prepared to aggressively defend herself, as Tucker had instructed. But this guy might have had nothing to do with the shooting. She took another quick look. He was fifty yards away now and still coming. She hadn’t seen a gun, but he could be hiding a cannon beneath that long coat.

  With a low groan she stood up, hunched over at the waist so she wouldn’t hit her head on the low ceiling, and scrambled to the back of the cave. There, she sat back down and wedged herself into a corner that afforded at least some protection, then aimed the .22 at the entrance. She was
trying to remember what her father had taught her in the field that day as they’d fired his snub-nosed .38 at an array of labelless tin cans perched atop a rail fence.Hold the pistol firmly with both hands but don’t strangle it, keep your elbows slightly bent, take a deep breath, then fire. The barrel of the gun shook in front of her, and she clenched her teeth. The next time she saw her boss, she was going to tell him exactly what she thought of him sending her to Wyoming.

  Maybe the man who was approaching would stay outside the cave to protect himself, then reach around with one hand and start shooting randomly, hoping to hit her without making himself a target. Or maybe he’d continue past the cave without even bothering to investigate. Maybe he hadn’t seen her. She squinted. The low light was playing tricks on her eyes, making her think someone had passed by the entrance. She could hear herself breathing hard. Hadn’t it been long enough for the guy to cover those fifty yards? Maybe he’d turned back.

  “Hello!”

  Angela froze.

  “I know you’re in there.” The voice came again, echoing inside the cave. “I saw you watching me. Don’t shoot.”

  Why would he suspect she might even have a gun, let alone shoot? But why would he walk along the trail without protecting himself if he meant her harm and thought she might shoot him? The possibilities churned through her mind.

  “I’m going to move out so you can see me,” the man called. “Here I come.”

  A dark silhouette appeared at the cave entrance. He was holding his arms out away from his body, trying to convince her he wasn’t a threat. Friend or foe? Risk versus return. She was breathing as if she’d just run a marathon. She could feel perspiration soaking her back.

  She rose cautiously to her knees, the .22 trained on the man’s chest.If you ever have to fire in self-defense, she remembered her father saying when they had finished target practice that first time,assume you will only get one shot. Aim at the heart, then squeeze the trigger smoothly. If you pull back too quickly, you will jerk the gun to one side or the other and you will miss. And shoot to kill, never to wound.

  “Stay where you are!” she yelled. “Don’t move.”

  “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he answered smoothly, keeping his arms out away from his body. “My job is just to get you down off the mountain.”

  Angela inched toward him, making certain she didn’t stumble on the cave’s jagged floor. She kept her finger on the trigger the whole time. “Who sent you?” she demanded, stopping five feet away. She couldn’t see much. Just a full curly beard and a shaggy head of hair.

  “People at the lodge. They were worried. They said you were supposed to be back a while ago.”

  That seemed odd. They hadn’t been gone that long. Of course, it was almost dark. Maybe that was what had them worried. But wouldn’t he have come from the other direction if the lodge had sent him?

  “Anybody else in there?” The man glanced past her into the cave.

  “No,” she answered hesitantly. Shouldn’t he know that John Tucker was supposed to be with her? Wouldn’t people at the lodge have told him that?

  “Wasn’t there supposed to be someone with you? That’s what they told me.”

  “There was, but he went to scout around.”

  “Scout around?”

  “We had some trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Yeah.”

  The man glanced down at the pistol. “Ma’am, I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d point that thing in another direction.”

  Could I really shoot him? Could I really end another human being’s life, even if he means me harm?she asked herself. “Who owns this ranch?” she demanded.

  “Jake Lawrence,” the man answered.

  She could tell he knew he was being tested. “Whoruns the ranch?”

  The man chuckled. “John Tucker, the son of a bitch.”

  Angela let out a long breath, then lowered the gun slightly and blinked.

  In that moment the man lunged, knocking her to the ground as she screamed and pulled the trigger twice. The bullets whined as they caromed about the cave, and then he was on top of her, slamming her hand against the rock floor fiercely until the gun skittered away. He grabbed her by the throat and lifted her to her feet. She could feel herself starting to go dizzy as her air supply was cut off.Never trust. Never trust. She clawed at his beard as he slammed her back against the wall, then spun her around.

  “Where’s Lawrence?” he hissed, lips to her ear as he pressed her cheek hard against the rough rock wall.

  “At a cabin further up the mountain,” she moaned, grimacing in pain.

  “What?”

  She could feel his hot breath on her face. “At the cabin.”

  “But you’re supposed to be with him.”

  “Our meeting is over. He’s probably gone.” She didn’t know what else to say. “Please stop hurting me.”

  “This isn’t right!” the man roared. “Not right at all. Goddamnit, you’re supposed to be with him!”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Tell me where—”

  She thrust her heel into the man’s shin, and he groaned loudly. For a split second she was free and she broke for the back of the cave and the revolver. But he managed to trip her and fall on top of her heavily, knocking the wind from her lungs as they fell. She reached desperately for the gun, just inches from her fingertips, but his hand darted past hers and he tossed it further back into the darkness.

  Suddenly she was being pulled to her feet again, her hands forced together behind her back, and he was pushing her toward the cave entrance, the cliff, and five hundred feet straight down. She fought desperately, struggling to dig her toes into the ground, but he was too powerful and she closed her eyes, trying to prepare herself for the terror of the plunge and the horrible impact. Perhaps this was why she had hated heights since childhood. Perhaps somehow she had known she would die this way.

  She opened her eyes wide as they burst from the cave and screamed wildly as the man propelled her the last few feet. The canyon stretched out before her, sheer walls falling to a frozen river. This had to be a nightmare. She was going to wake up in her room at the lodge, on the edge of the sleigh bed, about to tumble to the floor. This couldn’t be happening. “No! My God, no!”

  And then they were both down on the trail, faces buried in the snow after a powerful impact. Angela could feel her head and shoulders hanging over the edge of the cliff, nothing but air beneath her. Her attacker was trying desperately to push her over, and she clawed wildly at the snow, digging for anything to hold on to. For an instant she found a rock, but it popped from the ground as she grabbed it and she was sliding further over oblivion.

  Then strong hands clamped down on her ankles, then her legs, and she was being dragged away from danger and pulled to her feet. Lawrence’s personal army had turned into her personal cavalry and suddenly she was safe. There were four of them around her, brushing the snow from her clothes and asking her if she was all right. She nodded, unable to speak, catching glimpses of her attacker being pummeled by four more of the guards a few feet away. He was shouting at them in a foreign language she didn’t recognize.

  Two of the men who had rescued her stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the scuffle. She strained to see, but once more they moved to block her view. When she was able to see again, her attacker was gone. For a few moments she didn’t understand what had happened, then the realization set in. He was off the cliff into the abyss. Dead. She stared at the empty space where he’d just been, dazed.

  Then she glanced to her right, between two of the men who had rescued her, and directly into the burning eyes of William Colby.

  It was almost midnight, and he was tired of trying to pick up the woman. She was with two female friends who’d made it clear with their withering looks across the bar that they weren’t going to let her go home with him. Besides, he had an important sales call in the morning, and he didn’t want to have to drive her
back to her car when they were done. She wasn’tthat good looking.

  So he downed the rest of his beer, tossed his business card at her as a courtesy, and headed out the tavern door across a deserted parking lot toward his Lexus. As he neared the car, he thought he could see a man leaning against it through the darkness.

  “Hey, off the car, hemorrhoid.” No reaction, and now he could see two of them. “I said, off the—” He swallowed his words when they broke from the car and raced toward him. He tried to run and at the same time pull his cell phone from his pocket. But they were on him quickly, pushing him to the ground roughly and snatching the phone. “What’s going on?” he stammered as one of the men grabbed him by his collar and yanked him to his feet. The attacker was the size of a double door refrigerator. “There’s been some mistake.”

  “There’s been no mistake.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You’re gonna get a call tomorrow.”

  “A call?”

  “You’ll do what the caller tells you to do.Exactly what he tells you to do.”

  “All right,” he gasped.

  The refrigerator tightened his grip. “You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You don’t do what you’re told, and you’ll see us again. And next time it’ll be a lot worse,” the refrigerator growled, slamming his huge fist into the man’s midsection.

  The other one dropped the man’s phone on top of him, and then they were gone, faded into the night, leaving the man to try to figure out what had just happened as he clutched his stomach and gasped for air.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Daytime temperatures rarely dropped below freezing in Richmond, even in the middle of February. But today, beneath ominous gray clouds, the brisk morning gusts of central Virginia were bitter cold.

  Angela pulled the tapered ends of the collar of her long wool coat tightly around her neck and shivered as she hurried up Ninth Street toward Main, bent over against the wind and the incline of the steep sidewalk. It seemed colder here in Richmond than it had in Wyoming.