by Jordan Cole
But he was wrong.
Riley burst forward, soaking wet, swaddled in the slick material of the shower curtain. Swung the meat tenderizer at the head-shaped lump in front of him, draping Carter in the fabric. Carter reeled back, blinded, a moment of shock before the meat tenderizer hit his head. The gun fell from his hand. Riley came down on top of him, the curtain acting as a barrier between them. Brought the tenderizer down again on the guy’s head, like a hammer on an anvil. The curtain bloomed dark with blood.
Maybe five seconds had passed. Spann pivoted. Made to fire the gun, half-a-second too late. Riley came up and caught him on the shoulder with the tenderizer, a fierce blow. Like he was swinging for the fences, as hard as he could. Spann howled, whipping around. Riley grabbed his shirt with one hand and swung him forward, and the two of them propelled across the bedroom. Spann crashed into the already-splintered fish tank, which imploded like it had been hit by a bomb. Water splashed everywhere. Spann leaned back, disoriented, trying to aim his gun at Riley. A mistake. Riley unleashed a two-handed swing with the tenderizer, a brutal steel slap that caught Spann full in the face. The gun clattered to the floor. Spann reeled in place, his eyes unfocused, out on his feet. If this were boxing, the ref would have stopped the match. But it wasn’t, and Riley aimed to finish what he started. The white-hot battlefield anger flooding back. The old bloodlust roaring up from below. He pictured them shoving Agatha into the trunk of their car, knife at her throat, laughing.
Riley took Spann’s gun and tucked it into his waistband. Spann flailed slowly in place, like a man underwater. Reached out to try and balance himself against the jagged shards of the broken fish tank and cut his hands. Swaying as if the slightest breeze would knock him over. Riley went into the kitchen. Dug through the cabinets until he found a plastic bag. The name of a local supermarket stamped on it. He went back into the bedroom and brought the bag down over Spann’s head. Cinched it tight around Spann’s neck. There wasn’t much of a struggle. Just slow, sucking gasps as the plastic closed around Spann’s mouth. Nothing a guy that concussed could do to fight back. A minute later, Spann dropped dead, his top half flopping onto Agatha’s bed with a heavy thump.
Riley stood, listening to the steady hum of the shower, still splashing into the tub. He shook with adrenaline. Taking slow breaths, trying to calm himself. He went into the bathroom and lifted the shower curtain to check on the other guy. He was equally dead. Riley’s second blow with the tenderizer had split his head open like an overripe melon. A whole lot of blood pooling on the marble floor. Riley bent down, fingering the damp exterminator’s uniform. He’d guessed delivery man, but he’d been on the right track. They were prepared, no doubt about it. Probably the same ruse they’d used the first time, when they tossed Agatha’s apartment.
Riley pulled up the guy’s shirt. Found a utility belt with the Ka-bar and extra magazines. He shook his head. If they’d used knives instead of guns, it might have turned out differently. Guns always felt like they offered more protection. But in a tight space like Agatha’s apartment, things could get tricky. Hard to get a shot off when your opponent is right up on top of you. If they’d had their knives out, it might have been Riley lying here, dead. But he wasn’t, and they were. And that suited him just fine.
He found a wallet in the deceased’s pants and flipped through it. Inside was a Virginia’s driver’s license. A picture of the guy from when he still had a face, with the name Ed Carter. He went to the other guy and found another license for one Bertram Spann. He pocketed them both. Passed the bathroom again and heard a low hissing sound. Like an irritated snake. Riley bent down and saw the small earpiece the guy named Carter wore. The headband it was attached to had broken in half, but the earpiece still seemed to be working. Some kind of Bluetooth technology, he guessed. He put the earpiece to his mouth.
“Hello?” he said. Static. Then a dissonant voice coming through on the other end.
“No activity out here.” A male voice, terse and professional. “You got the package?”
“There’s been a slight problem,” Riley said.
A pause. More static.
“Carter? Who’s there?”
“No, not Carter. Not Spann either. I just killed them.”
Another pause.
“Riley? That you?”
Riley blinked, surprised to hear his name. Surprised, but not shocked.
“That’s right, asshole. Clayton Riley, the third. And I’ve made a mess of your guys. You’d better come clean this up. These two corpses are going to start stinking up the place, real soon. Police get here first, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”
“You’re making trouble where there doesn’t need to be. We just want the girl. Let us do our job and you can go on living your life.”
“But you can’t,” Riley said. “Not for very much longer. Not when I get done with you.”
He dropped the earpiece and crushed it beneath his heel.
9.
Fortunately, the shower curtain had insulated Riley from most of the blood spatter. Aside from a few small flecks, his shirt and pants were wet, but clean. His boots were another matter. He ran them under the still-hot shower until the blood was less visible, then carried them into the kitchen. Grabbed a towel from the linen closet and began drying off. Rubbing himself hard, working quickly. Wanted to get back to Agatha as soon as possible. Eventually got himself presentable. Clothes slightly damp, but nothing he could do about it. Boots no longer tracking blood. He left the apartment as it was. Went down to the laundry room where he’d instructed Agatha to hide. Found her in one of the supply closets, huddled against the wall next to the mops and the cleaning solutions. Relief flooded her face.
“What happened?”
“We’re good,” Riley said. “For now. Let’s go. I’ll explain when we get out of here.”
“You’re wet.”
“Thought I’d shower while I was up there.”
“In your clothes?”
He didn’t respond. They went back to the lobby.
“Leaving us so soon?” the doorman asked.
“Too nice of a day to spend inside,” Agatha said, flashing him a smile. Morton nodded in agreement.
“True, very true.”
“Hey, we just caught a couple exterminators on their way out,” Riley said, as they were leaving, like he had just remembered. “They said to tell you they finished up, that they were in a hurry to get to another job. Think they left out the back.” Agatha gave him a puzzled look, but said nothing.
“That was fast,” Morton said. He scribbled something in his ledger. “Hope they did a decent job. Thanks for letting me know.”
Riley gave him a thumbs up.
“No problem.”
Riley and Agatha stepped back out into the midafternoon sun. He squinted. Felt the heat radiating down, his damp clothes already beginning to dry.
“What happened up there?” Agatha said. “What exterminators?”
“Not here,” Riley said. The situation had changed. He couldn’t be sure what these people were capable of. Especially now, after they’d made him, and after he’d killed two of their operators. “We need to go somewhere public. Someplace with security, where they’ll be afraid to try to something. A place where we can plan our next move.”
He had started down the street, his attention focused on a line of cabs idling outside another apartment complex.
“The Smithsonian,” Agatha said. “Air and Space museum, maybe? That whole area is full of cops and Homeland Security. They’d be insane to try anything there.”
Riley nodded. Headed over to one of the cabs and persuaded the driver to let them in. Told the driver to haul it across the river. A white van pulled around from behind the Berkshires and followed them. Didn’t made any attempt at concealment. Riley watched them as the cab went around 3rd avenue, back into the National Mall. The whole area was swarming with tourists. The cab pulled up alongside the Smithsonian, wide and white, all Greek arc
hitecture and Doric columns and crowds streaming into the big double-wide doors. Uniformed cops everywhere, directing traffic, herding people through. Riley and Agatha left the cab and joined the throng. He turned to the white van. Noted the plate. Saw tinted windows and a nondescript male in the driver’s seat. The van stopped, like it was assessing its options. Then it kept going. Rolled on down the avenue until it was out of sight. Riley went over to a trashcan. Pulled the Sig Sauer from his waist and tossed it inside. A gun would be nice to have, certainly, but no easy way of getting it past the Smithsonian’s metal detectors. The two of them pushed through the crowd, went briskly through security and into the museum.
Riley could remember coming to the Air and Space museum a few times before, as a kid. He liked it. A wide expanse of a showroom, the size of a football field. All manner of rockets, capsules, and gliders hanging from the ceiling, big ICBM missiles jutting up into the air. Real marvels of human achievement, artifacts from an era where the space race was an important element of national security. When the Government was funding NASA with billions of dollars to beat the Russkies. Riley watched the people, craning their necks at the exhibits. Kids ran through the huge space, shouting, chasing each other gleefully alongside the towering rockets.
“They’re not going to follow us in here,” Riley said. Walked over to examine a Soyuz capsule with barely enough space for a single crouched person. He couldn’t imagine spending an hour in there, much less days or weeks.
“What happened,” Agatha said. “Back at my place?” She didn’t seem particularly impressed with the spacecraft. Other things on her mind.
“Two men came to your apartment. They were after you. Dressed in exterminator outfits. That’s how they got into the building. They were in radio contact with backup. The white van we just saw following us.”
“They were after me? Are you sure?”
“They told me as much. I radioed back to them, after I’d finished with the two guys they’d sent inside. Told me to leave it alone, that it was you they wanted. And they broke into your place with guns, knives, and all manner of nasty shit. This is serious, Agatha. It was before, and it just got a whole lot more so.”
Her eyes widened.
“You finished with them? What does that mean?”
He paused.
“It means I killed them. They were there to kidnap you. They would have killed me. Didn’t have much of a choice.”
She cradled her head.
“Jesus Christ. You killed them. How did you...no. No, I don’t want to know.” She looked up. “I mean, you just killed two people and you’re just standing here talking to me like it’s all the same. Like it was nothing.”
“You know how many sharks are killed by humans every year?” Riley said. “A hundred million. A lot of that is for shark fin soup. Chinese delicacy. The thing is, the shark fin is tasteless. Doesn’t add anything to the flavor of the soup. Just a tradition kind of thing. Supposed to give you vitality. All those sharks die for what’s basically a good luck charm.”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“My point is, feel bad for the sharks. They don’t have a choice in the matter. Those two guys in your apartment did. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”
Agatha breathed out. Gave him a look like she was seeing him in a whole new light. Riley had seen that look before, on battlefields, when rookies had their first taste of combat. Of killing. Not a thing you could go back from.
“You’re a different breed.”
He shrugged. No argument from him.
“What about the bodies?”
“That remains to be seen. The cops come digging, I think whoever’s after you will scatter. Regroup, and re-plan. Not sure that’s what we want. They’ll be a whole bunch of questions, for you and me both. We’ll be in a tight position. Vulnerable. They can get at you, while we’re busy trying to explain ourselves to the authorities.”
“What’s the alternative? Someone will find those corpses sooner or later.”
“I think they'll keep an eye on the building. No police activity for a day or so, and they’ll clean it up themselves. Exposure is the one thing they don’t want. These guys are tight-knit. Ex-military, almost certainly. They don’t like leaving their own behind.”
She scoffed. Ran her hand distractedly along the hard steel of the space capsule.
“I’m supposed to just go on like nothing is wrong with my apartment trashed and the bodies of two strange men inside?”
“You’re supposed to trust me. You asked for my help.”
“I didn’t think you’d be going around...killing people.”
He didn’t respond.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Those guys were after me, and you stopped them. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you. What do we do now?”
“A couple things,” Riley said. “First, I think you should update your blog. Give a vague outline of the situation. Nothing specific, but intimate that you could be on to a big story.”
“Good idea,” Agatha said. “Start drawing more attention to myself. So if something does happen to me, it doesn’t go unnoticed.”
“Exactly. And next, we’ve got to find Peter Saccarelli. He might not be involved in all this, but I’ve got a feeling he is. Right now, he’s the best lead we’ve got.”
***
The white van made a slow circuit through all the prominent landmarks of the nation’s capital. It cruised past the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument. Went lazily along in the direction of traffic, waved on by bored police officers. Past Arlington Cemetery, long rows of gray and white against the green.
“Anything?” said the spotter into his headpiece.
“No activity,” Banks replied. “They’re not answering their radios and they’re not coming out. I’ve circled the building three times. This Riley guy was telling the truth. They’re up there, dead.”
“Shit.”
The spotter turned to the driver.
“It doesn’t look good,” he said.
“We can’t keep dicking around out here,” said the driver. “Too many cops.”
“What should we do?”
“Call it in,” said the driver. “No other choice.”
The spotter sighed. Took his earpiece out with an exasperated gesture and flung it onto the dashboard. Dug out a cellphone and dialed a number.
“We’ve got a problem,” said the spotter. “Carter and Spann are KIA.”
The voice on the other end laughed. A high-pitched, braying sound, like a hyena. The spotter didn’t care for the sound of it at all. It unnerved him, and he wasn’t unnerved by much.
“You’re kidding, right? You’re making a joke to me right now.”
“No sir, I’m not.”
“Then you’d better explain what happened, pronto.”
The spotter winced.
“Carter and Spann went into the apartment to grab the woman. The guy she’s with, this Riley, he must have got the jump on them.”
“And how exactly did he do that?”
“I don’t know. He called in through their radio, said he killed them. Then Riley and the woman left the building, and Carter and Spann didn’t.”
“Where are they now?”
“They hightailed it to the Smithsonian. Air and Space museum. Too exposed there. No way to get at them. Whoever this guy is, he knows what he’s doing.”
“What about the bodies?”
“They’re still in the Berkshires. Probably in the woman’s apartment. That’s where they were headed.”
A pause on the other end. Like the voice was thinking long and hard about the next move, planning out contingencies in his head.
“You need to get rid of those bodies before they get found. Last thing we need is the cops poking around a pair of corpses connected to us.”
“Might be tough. It’s a busy apartment complex. Can’t just carry two bodies out the front door.”
“Figure it out. That’s
what you’re getting paid for, right?”
“What about the woman and Riley?”
“Let them go for now. They’ll be dealt with soon enough. We’ll make sure of that.”
The line clicked dead.
10.
Riley and Agatha sat in the museum’s cafeteria, long rows of tables arranged side by side, tourists enjoying late-afternoon lunches of greasy fast food, clutching overpriced plastic cups with rocket ships emblazoned on the sides. Agatha sipped from a tall iced coffee, while Riley drank a bottle of water. She tipped her cup to him.
“Want some?”
“No thanks. I don’t drink coffee. My mind’s jittery enough as it is.”
She pulled it back.
“Your loss.”
Riley could see the events of the previous few days wearing on her. She was holding up extraordinarily well, considering. Most people, man or woman, would be gibbering wrecks. But Agatha was composed. Clinical, and very smart. A warrior’s mind, in a civilian body. She would have climbed the military ranks quickly. Riley was sure of that. But tough as she was, she wasn’t trained for this kind of thing. For the ebb and flow of adrenaline, the deep, sickly fear that comes with being hunted. Lines had burrowed into her face that even her makeup’s perfect placement couldn’t quite conceal. She’d lost her sense of safety, and now her home. But she was still going. And he gave her a ton of credit for that.
“Pete Saccarelli,” Riley said. “We need to get in touch with him.”
“Might be hard. If he’s disappeared, like Farber said.”
“Try calling him. Maybe he just didn’t want to be bothered with work. He might answer a call from you sooner than from Farber. He liked you, right?”
“I guess so,” Agatha said, digging her phone out of her purse. “Wouldn’t that be a kick. Something actually working out on the first try.”
She dialed and waited. Defeat in her eyes as she listened.
“Nothing. Didn’t even ring. Phone is off.”
“Then we’ll need to check out his place. You wouldn’t happen to have his last known address, would you?”
