by Rob Buckman
"Well?" Bonner growled, feeling like belting the man in the mouth.
"Nothing. They're gone."
"Gone? Gone Where?" A quick look around showed a few scattered bushes, then the escarpment. A quick check showed no one climbing down.
"I think they went down there." One man said, pointing. All Bonner could see was what remained of a fence and a few runty bushes, until he walked over for a close look.
"What the hell." Someone said.
"It's an old air shaft. It probably leads down into an abandoned mine." Bonner said.
"Oh Christ! That's all we need, now we've got to go fucking around in the dark underground."
"Shut up and get a light," Bonner snapped, about out of patience with the griping.
Normally, he liked exploring caves and old mines, it was part of his job as a mining engineer. But the prospect of chasing a fully armed man around underground made him sweat. Grainger was as intent on killing all of them as they were on killing him. A close inspection revealed a rope, tied off to an iron ring driven into the solid rock at the lip of the hole. Just for luck, Bonner emptied a full clip down the hole, hearing the shots drum roll off the walls. That was just in case Grainger was waiting at the bottom to shoot up, but nothing happened. He shrugged and moved back. This character was just a bit too cagey for his liking. Sometimes it felt as if he was tracking an old timber wolf who knew all the tricks. It was beginning to feel like he was the hunted, instead of the other way round. Every move they made, Grainger was one step ahead. So far, he'd only made one mistake. That was taking the girl. It didn't quite fit with the rest of the profile Bonner was putting together in his head. She was a bit of the puzzle that didn't fit, yet. It also might be his downfall. Walking away, he pulled a cell telephone out of his pocket, punching in a number, getting an immediate answer, which he knew he would.
"Bonner here," he said after the connection was made.
"What progress have you made?"
"None yet. We're working on it."
"I hope you are. My patience is wearing a bit thin."
"Look! If you want to come up here and do it yourself, be my guest; if not get off my ass or get someone else to do the job." He was getting fed up with this whole mess anyway. Nothing had gone right from the word go and having Roland Hawkins constantly bitching didn't help.
"What do you have to report?" Translation. ..."Why the hell are you calling me"...
"Our problem is located in an old mine, or cave system near the house. I was wondering if you had any information on this." The prolonged silence indicated he did.
"Look. Get down there and stop him... I mean solve the problem, I don't care how you do it, or the costs. I'll even add an additional one hundred thousand to your personal bonus if you get the job done in the next twelve hours."
"Thank you, I’ll take it." He snapped back. "What can you tell me about the old mines, or the cave system?"
"I have just been informed that there is another entrance lower down, but not to worry. I'll have some men work their way up to you from that end, that way you should be able to contain the problem between you."
Great! He thought, more fucking amateurs around. This time coming straight at them, shooting anything on sight, or sound. He added as an afterthought.
"I'll call you back later." With that, he punched the hang up button in disgust. It was no good trying to tell Roland Hawkins anything. It was curious that he had upped the bonus now he'd found Grainger had gone underground. Bonner thought about it, but could find no explanation.
"You want we should check the house out!" Someone asked, the deep twilight making it impossible to tell who.
"Yes, might as... No!" He yelled.
"What!
"No! Don't go near the place. Knowing Grainger he's probably got the fucking place booby trapped."
"Right!" came a relieved answer. Having to walk through a minefield or a building full of possible booby traps was never pleasant thought at any time.
"Get the flashlights out and let’s get down there before he gets too far away."
* * * * * *
Picking up both bags, Mike handed one to Kat. "Don't lose it." Was his only comment. In answer, she stuck her tongue out at his back as he turned away.
'Bossy!' She thought, not use to taking orders. She liked to give them. One day soon Mr. Mike Grainger you are going to get yours.
She was curious what he put in the bags, taking them just before leaving the house and loading them up. Both now bulky. The 'Starlight' glasses worked as well under ground, gathering light from a microscopic light source attached to their miners helmets, invisible ten feet away without the glasses. The helmets also had the standard light, powered by battery packs hooked on their belts. He’d also given her two backup flashlights plus batteries and bulbs, explaining after seeing her puzzled look.
"You might need them. Most people don't take enough with them. Some don't even take spare batteries and bulbs. That’s a quick way to get into trouble."
"How come you know so much about it?"
"I did a lot of caving, or spelunking, as it's called when I was young. I became a real 'troglodyte', sometimes going for days at a time....."
"You became a what!" she said with a laugh. Seeing him smile.
"A 'troglodyte', or trog for short, a cave man, someone who lives in caves."
"I know the word, but usually associated it with the other meaning."
"What's that?"
"Someone of primitive habitats or, if you prefer, a hermit."
"Trust you to quote the dictionary,” he said with a laugh. "They nicknamed me 'Trog' for a while,” he said thinking back.
"It suits you."
"Well thank you for that small insight."
"I mean it. You are someone of primitive habits. You go around killing people you don't even know! You live on a mountain like some mystic and dispense wisdom to all who come seeking it. The only trouble is you shoot them first before they have a chance to ask their question." She meant it in a funny way. Totally misunderstood the hard look he gave her, thinking it was because of her description of his nickname.
Mike let it pass. 'Did she know something?' He shrugged. It didn't matter. He was beginning to doubt there was any future in it for either of them. Too much had happened, before and now, for anything to work. He had to let it die, for her sake as well as his. He could only bring her more grief. Before this was over, there'd be a lot of blood on his hands.
"How come we are going this way, why not the other way?"
"Because the other way leads back up to the house."
"Oh I see... what! You mean there's a way down here without have to get shot at?!"
"Of course,” he said in an off-handed manner.
"But we could have been killed back there?"
"The whole point was to get them down here and to follow us wasn't it?"
"Yes but..."
"But me no butt’s. That's what we have done, so let’s go."
'You...You!' Even in the solitude of her mind, she was unable to come up with a single word to describe him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Roland Hawkins was worried. He should have been scared but he wasn't. He had sent additional security men up there to the mountain with an incentive of a one hundred thousand dollar bonus if they killed Grainger. If they only assisted, they would each receive a five thousand dollar bonus. By his calculation, one of the twenty-five men up there now should be able to kill him, especially with that kind of motivation. Half of that number were entering the lower cave system right now, working their way up. That should catch Grainger between the two parties, at least that was the plan. Roland Hawkins had no idea of conditions below ground, nor the complexity of a cave system. It made the legendary 'Labyrinth of Minos' a place to send children into on a Sunday afternoon for a fun outing.
“What is so difficult about killing one man?" he asked the people at the table absently, eyeing his associates from Las Vegas. One of h
is associates looked at him, two large, hairy, black caterpillars climbed his forehead as he raised his eyebrows.
"What?" he mumbled, not sure if Roland Hawkins was talking to him or not.
"I said. What is so difficult about killing one man?" Hawkins vulture like eyes scrutinize the man, as if looking him over as a possible meal. Gross and ill dressed, he offended Roland Hawkins sense of dignity. Roland barely tolerated the man, and his associates, but rather than starting a war with the ‘families’, he held out an olive branch with the understand he was in charge. When the current venture came to fruition they would all be in gravy with enough to go round to satisfy everyone.
"I don't know,” he said, somewhat uncomfortable under Hawkins’ brooding look. "Usually, you go up to them and pop 'em in the head with a .22. That all she wrote." He said with a shrug. It was a simple job, and he couldn’t figure out why Roland Hawkins was making such a big deal out of it. He went back to the more important job of shoveling food into his mouth.
"What if you can't get close enough to do that?" Hawkins voice had taken on a sarcastic edge. A look of distaste crossing his face as he watched the man eat. 'What a pig' he thought.
"Then you hire yourself a good long range man and have him sit and wait for a shot." He replied round the food in his mouth, irritated by the tone of Roland Hawkins voice. "Then boom, the guy's dead."
"If that was tried and didn't work." The man was started to get a little peeved at these stupid questions, but he didn't say so. It didn't pay to say that to this man.
"Well, I suppose I hire me about twenty good men and go get him." Roland Hawkins gave him a shark grin.
"And if that didn't work!" he snapped. "Drop a nuclear weapon on him, I suppose?" Malice evident in his voice.
"No. But if the other don't work you might have to, 'cause you got trouble." He said with a shrug.
"Yes. You could say that." That was a proverbial understatement. The men from Vegas shrugged.
"Some men are just harder to kill than others—or luckier, but sooner or later they all trip up, that when they'll get him. You want to bet?" Another man at the table commented.
"No. I never gamble." From Roland Hawkins way of thinking he never did. To him everything was planned.
Nothing was left to chance, all avenues, all contingencies covered. So why is it so hard to kill one man? Grainger had the devils own luck. Nothing so far had worked, and it was still costing him money. That irritated him more than anything, and if for no other reason, he wanted Grainer dead for that. His efforts to recover the money from the Swiss bank accounts of the dead mercenaries had proved fruitless. He been told politely, but firmly that the money was un-touchable, and even his threat of removing some very large deposits from the bank had got him nowhere. On top of that, all he efforts in Washington to find out who Mike Grainer was proved futile. Even a deep contact in the CIA couldn’t find out anything about him, other than what was in the FBI file. That was a pack of lies, but if he was, or had been an agent, there was no evidence of it, and no paper trail, which was also unusual. Grainer had all the hall marks of a trained soldier, even an assassin almost, but who he worked for was a complete mystery.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:
The Director rubbed his tired eyes, wishing for the thousandth time that he could go home. With the Senate subcommittee investigation going on over 'Company' activities, there was no time for that. He also wondered who was stirring all this up. Hearing his office door open he looked up to see his deputy walking in, looking glum. Swinging his chair round, he faced the desk.
"Sorry to disturb you so late, sir, but I thought you might like to see this." He said, sitting down.
'This', turned out to be a 'sit-rep' report on 'Sunray Five'. The director took a few moments to scan it, shaking his head once in a while. He closed it and handed it back.
"Having a nice little war up there isn't he."
"It looks that way, what with the additional men Hawkins brought in."
The Director nodded, sooner or later, this was going to get out, no matter how hard Hawkins tried keeping the lid on. There was only one question that concerned him—was his organization connected in any way? The Senate subcommittee would love to find out the 'firm' was involved. It could be, that with Roland Hawkins connection in government, he managed to stir things up in an effort to find out who ‘Sunray Five’ was. Fat chance of that.
"What surprises me is that there is nothing on Hawkins." The Deputy said, scratching himself behind the ear.
"There is no indication of why he wants Grainger dead?" The Director asked at length.
"I had the records people check it out. They say that Roland Hawkins is a law-abiding citizen. Pays his taxes and keeps his nose very clean. The man is a multi-millionaire, and on the surface, there is nothing to tie Roland Hawkins to 'Sunray Five'.
"Then what?" the Director muttered, more to himself than his deputy.
"I have no idea Sir. We did check out his connection here in Washington and found that he has some heavy friends. Also a hint of some dirty dealing with them." Before the Director could ask, he shook his head. "No Sir, nothing worth sending to the FBI, no direct proof of any wrong doing."
"I've seen enough in my time to bet those people are as dirty as hell."
"It might have something to do with his arms manufacturing and export business."
"Could be,” he said with a nod.
"One item we did come across. Hawkins has a reputation around Washington for never, and I mean never forgetting an insult. He's been known to go to extreme measures to destroy anyone who he feels has done him wrong or cheated him some way."
"I thought as much. Mike Grainger may have stepped on his toes, but you don't hire a professional hit team because of that. It’s got to be something else."
"We must be missing something!"
"You've got that right. Keep digging and see what our people can come up with. By the way, how’s the body count?"
"Hard to say. I believe the score stands at ten to nil."
"Yes, but time and money are on Hawkins’ side." The Director said.
"That's what you told me about the Viet Cong General?" The Director gave him a sharp look.
"You're right, I forgot that. We'll see."
“Do you think he might blame us, or think we are involved in this?"
"I doubt it, but you can never tell."
"That's good."
"What bothers me is that if, and I say 'if' Hawkins wins and kills Grainger. This whole affair will be buried so deep we'll never get to the bottom of it."
"It would solve a few problems for us would it not..." The Director looked at him for a moment, then nodded.
"It would, but if he should succeed, I'm personally going to find out what the hell all this was about, one way or the other." The grim look on his face said volumes. "When I do, Mr. Roland Hawkins will wish Mike Grainger had never been born." A distinct chill had crept into the room, and the deputy director shivered slightly. Knowing the resources of this department, he would hate to be in Roland Hawkins shoes if he killed 'Sunray Five'."
"Should we try to intervene?"
"No!" He snapped, a little too quickly. "Not at this time. But should 'Sunray Five' call and ask for assistance get me immediately do you understand."
"Even if you are in committee?"
"Even if I'm in bed with my secretary screwing her brains out."
"Yes Sir." The Deputy Director said with a smile, knowing his boss had been faithful to his wife for thirty years.
"Just one other item, sir. Grainger and the lady are together." The director laughed, just thinking about it. He would have given anything to have been there when they locked horns. After all this time, 'Comanchero' was about to be captured. His smile slipped as he thought of the odds they faced up there. Maybe he'd be in time to help even the odds a little.
"Get working on Hawkins. I want to know everything there is to know about the man. Right down to what size shorts he wears.
"
The assistant director’s first investigation on Roland Hawkins had come up against a blank wall. He was clean, a solid upright citizen of substantial wealth and power. He was also covered by a battery of layers three feet thick. It was better than armor plating: nothing could get through it. Not that he'd expected much else. It bothered him that Hawkins was going to so much trouble to kill just one man. What was it that he was trying to hide? The investigation into his business dealings had also proved fruitless. All appeared in order. Some of the deals were not quite as above board as they should have been, but nothing to haul him in on or make a federal case out of. They had found the name of the company who’d done a survey up here. That had led to an odd set of dummy companies, ending back at Roland Hawkins’ door. There was nothing that could be called illegal, just odd. He plodded through the dull routine of the computer searches, trying one avenue after another. All came to a dead end. At three in the morning, he broke for coffee and a snack, leaving a new search program running. An hour later he was back, somewhat refreshed, and sitting down he hit the space bar to stop the screen saver and bring the program back up. The moment he did, he knew there was something wrong. He hated to disturb the Director, but knew he had to, this was serious. Luckily the Director was sleeping in-house tonight, so it only took ten minutes before he arrives. He looked like hell, and was in no mood for chitchat.
"What now!" He barked. Without a word, the Deputy hit the space bar. The screen saver vanished again, and the search program came back on screen. He hadn't touched any other key, not wanting to change anything. With a sigh, the Director sat down, nodding to himself.
As a safeguard to this system, he had a special program installed, one unbeknownst to the rest of the 'Firm'. Its sole purpose was to misdirect any unauthorized entry and then trace it back to its source. At the moment, it was running the back search, slowly and carefully tracing its way back.
