Back Track

by Jason Dean

‘Nice going, marathon man,’ Vallejo said in his ear. ‘Guard’s talking to the new arrival. Another guy in casual clothes.’

  ‘Uh huh.’ Bishop checked his immediate surroundings. Vallejo wouldn’t be much help to him now. Too many blind spots from her position in the car. If there was another guard working the perimeter, he’d know about it before she did.

  He was in front of a concrete building with two steel roll-up doors, one on either side of him. No light coming through the cracks. The eastern wall of the main warehouse was about forty or fifty yards away, shrouded in deep shadow. He stayed where he was for a few moments. Just waiting. Ready to act if he saw movement. His theory regarding surveillance cameras had sounded good, but if he was wrong he’d find out soon enough.

  Seconds passed and nothing happened. Vallejo was quiet. The guard must still be acting as normal. Which meant there was no alert out, and no cameras.

  He ran over to the warehouse. Once he reached it, he stayed close to the steel wall and moved towards the northern side. He didn’t pass any doors or entrances along the way. When he reached the end, he peered round the corner and saw movement. A human-shaped silhouette about fifty feet away.

  Bishop quickly pulled his head back and said, ‘Is the guard still talking to the guy?’

  ‘Yeah, they’re walking back now. Where are you?’

  ‘Main warehouse. North-east corner. We got a second guard back here.’

  ‘Copy that.’

  Bishop crouched down and poked part of his head round again. The shape was bigger. The man was about twenty feet away now and getting closer. Ambling along. Bored, probably. Looked about five-ten. Thick build. Bishop ducked back again and stood up, back against the wall. So either two guards were patrolling the same part of the warehouse, which made no sense, or one guy stayed inside and only came out to check when a new arrival came in. Probably from an electronic signal whenever the gate was activated.

  Bishop stayed totally still, breathing through his mouth, listening to the faint sounds of feet on gravel.

  He waited.

  When the guard came round the corner five seconds later, Bishop made a fist of his left hand and jabbed upwards, the middle knuckles of his fingers striking the guard just under his right ear. Where the nerves were. The guard made a soft grunt and began to crumple. Bishop grabbed the unconscious man round the waist and slowly lowered him to the ground.

  He got up and peered round the corner again. Just in time to see two more distant silhouettes disappear into an opening in the warehouse.

  Bishop took off his ski mask and looked down at the guard. Last time he’d tried that move, the victim had stayed unconscious for over half an hour. And he’d been a lot bigger than this guy. Should give him enough time. Still, he couldn’t leave him out here in the open.

  The guard was wearing a dark nylon windbreaker over a pale shirt and dark pants. Bishop removed the jacket and placed it on the ground next to him. He also removed the man’s duty belt and holster. The gun was a new-looking Taurus 909 9mm. Bishop checked the contents of the belt pouches. They contained a pair of handcuffs, a Maglite, a Cobra walkie-talkie, a set of keys, and a thin vial of pepper spray.

  Everything a growing boy needs.

  Bishop fastened the belt round his own waist, but turned off the walkie-talkie. He didn’t need it going off at the wrong moment. Then, after making sure he held the only keys, he turned the guard onto his stomach and cuffed the man’s hands behind him.

  Hefting the man over his shoulder, Bishop carried him fifty yards to the concrete building and set him down against the rear wall. He took a few moments to get his breath back. The guy was heavier than he looked. Then he took the small roll of duct tape from his jacket pocket and spent a minute binding the man’s feet and gagging him.

  He was painfully aware that knocking out a guard was the best way of alerting the enemy of his presence here, which would inevitably mean an increase in security. But if the guard couldn’t be found anywhere on the premises, and if nobody actually saw Bishop, they wouldn’t know what to think. They might presume the guard just upped and left for whatever reason. Possibly. But it meant that once Bishop had seen what he needed, he’d have to take this guy back with him and keep him on ice. It wouldn’t be easy, but he couldn’t see a way round it.

  Bishop jogged back to his previous spot and peered round the north-east corner. Nobody in sight. He picked up the guard’s jacket and put it on over his own. The sleeves were a little short, but it would do. Then he turned the corner and began walking along the north side of the warehouse, towards the entrance the other guard had used.

  He passed a featureless steel door he figured had to be the fire exit and kept going. He found what he wanted at the far end. At first glance, it looked like another fire door, except this one also had a small window at about head height. There was a suggestion of light coming from within. There was also a keypad affixed to the wall to the left of the door. Bishop sidled up to the window and glanced inside. All he saw was a narrow hallway that ended in a windowless door about thirty feet away. The dim light came from a single ceiling light at that end. Either a low-wattage bulb or one near the end of its life.

  And beyond that door was what? Part of him expected to find Selina in there somewhere, but the lack of security concerned him. Correction: lack of visible security. He could have already tripped a dozen alarms on the way here. The enemy might already be aware of his presence, calmly waiting for him to enter the trap. Like a spider welcoming the fly. No way of telling. Well, he’d just have to risk it. There were no other options.

  Bishop studied the keypad. It was the standard configuration. Twelve buttons. One to ten, plus a star and a hash. If he had the time and an unlimited number of attempts, he could probably get in. But he didn’t have time, and he probably only had three tries. That was usually how it worked. Pursing his lips, he thought of the guard back there and wondered if he was the type of person who trusted his own memory. Lots of people didn’t.

  Bishop felt the man’s inner jacket pockets, pulled out a wallet and opened it. There was a driver’s licence for a George Ross, a couple of credit cards, some cash. But in one of the pockets there were some business cards. Bishop slid them out and slowly flipped through them. Nothing caught his eye. He turned the cards over and flipped through again. Halfway through, he stopped. Went back one. There. Some numbers written on the back.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Vallejo said, interrupting his thoughts.

  ‘I’m at the rear entrance,’ he said. ‘About to go inside. Probably best if we maintain radio silence from now on. I’m gonna hang up now, so only call if there’s an emergency, okay? Anything else, you can text.’

  ‘Got it. Out.’

  Bishop closed the connection and put the earpiece in his pocket. Then he looked at the numbers. There were three sets of figures, jotted down at various angles. 037889, 7249 and 11072. The middle one looked like a PIN number, so he tried the first one. Nothing happened. Maybe it was the combination to the exterior gate. He tried 11072 next. A second later, he heard a metallic click in the door and smiled.

  He checked his watch. It was 02.11. With one hand resting on the holstered gun, Bishop pulled the door open and entered the warehouse.

  SIXTY-SIX

  Vallejo checked the time again. It was 02.24. Almost fifteen minutes since she’d last spoken to Bishop. And no other vehicles had arrived. It was just her out here.

  She was getting antsy now and hated herself for it. It wasn’t like her. She’d been on countless stakeouts before and had always been the cool and collected one. Always. She never got nervous. Her male colleagues had even awarded her the nickname Icegirl, after one of the characters in that superhero team movie from a while back. She had a feeling it wasn’t meant to be entirely complimentary, but she actually considered it a huge honour. Not that she’d ever admit it to anyone, of course. So what makes this situation any different?

  Maybe it was because she was the sole back-up. Bisho
p had said to give him half an hour. After that, if she still hadn’t heard from him, the ball was in her court. Call in the police or do whatever she thought best. Sure. Like she had a wealth of other options from which to choose. Part of her wanted to call him for a status update, but she wasn’t about to do something that dumb, either. She was only to contact him in an emergency, and feeling anxious didn’t really qualify.

  So just be cool, Icegirl, she told herself. You’ve still got another fifteen minutes before you have to make a decision.

  Leaning her head back against the seat rest, Vallejo stared out the windshield as she thought about Bishop. They’d only known each other for just over twenty-four hours – Jesus, was that all? – but she felt she’d gotten to know him as well as anybody in that time. And she still couldn’t figure him out. Not entirely. All she really knew for sure was that he was pretty much capable of anything. Which was both good and bad, depending on the circumstances. He didn’t give too much thought to going outside the law, either, and that still made her a little uncomfortable. Like last night, when he’d talked about questioning Selina’s husband and that drug dealer back east, he’d kept it all pretty vague. Vallejo got the feeling the methods he’d used to get them to talk had probably been fairly extreme. Had he resorted to torture to get the information he wanted? And if so, did she really want to know?

  And present company excepted, his deep-seated antipathy towards the police was a big puzzle, too. The wrongful arrest four years ago and subsequent imprisonment only partly explained it. After all, the police weren’t the ones who’d set him up. She had an idea there was something else in his past that had turned him against them, but she didn’t feel too comfortable probing him about it. And it was really none of her business anyway.

  She checked the time again. 02.27. What is he doing in there?

  Vallejo closed her eyes and forced herself to relax. He was doing what he set out to do. Getting a layout of the place before both of them went in for real. Despite what he’d said earlier, she didn’t think he’d try to bring out Selina yet, even if he felt it was possible. Not when there were still other women in there in the same situation. That much she knew about Bishop. It would be all or nothing.

  Inevitably, her thoughts turned to Samantha again. And the empty hole that had opened up in her psyche since learning of her murder. She’d told Bishop she’d more or less been prepared for the worst, but that was a lie. She hadn’t at all. Up till now, she’d been surviving on bravado and false hope. It was what had kept her going all this time. And now, to be faced with the fact that Sam was gone forever was almost unbearable.

  But she wouldn’t cry. Not any more. That part was over with. Bishop had disposed of her murderer, but there was still the man who’d given the order. The one on the phone. One way or another, he’d pay. That was all she cared about now. That, and the other women still in there.

  Vallejo snapped her eyes open at the sound of feet on gravel. Running feet.

  Straight ahead, she saw a dark figure jogging up the shallow hill towards the car. It was Bishop. Had to be. The perimeter gate was closing behind him. He had his gun in his left hand. She couldn’t see his pursuers.

  Without thought, she started the engine and immediately put it in reverse. The rear wheels fought against the earth as she backed up, then she spun the wheel left and accelerated towards the road. Just as she reached it, Bishop came level and yanked the passenger door open and jumped in.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Now.’

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  Once they were on Highway 60, Bishop said, ‘Ease down, nobody’s following us.’

  Vallejo checked the rear-view, but gradually slowed a little. ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘Pretty sure.’ He rubbed a hand over his face and looked out at the darkness ahead. ‘Make that definitely sure.’

  ‘So you’re saying nobody saw you?’

  Bishop made a harsh sound through his nose. ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘I don’t get you.’

  He took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. ‘It’s not Olander.’

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘Uh, uh. The guy’s no saint, but he’s not responsible for the missing women, and he sure hasn’t killed anybody. That much I’m certain of. To be honest, I had my doubts from the first, but I needed to know for sure.’

  ‘But those girls in the van . . .’

  ‘. . . are paid employees, same as everybody else in that place.’ He turned to her. ‘You want to know why they’ve got security guards outside? Why they work mostly at night and try and keep a low profile? They’re shooting porn movies in there. There’s probably other shady stuff going on, but mostly it’s just simple voyeurism for the masses.’

  ‘Porn movies?’

  ‘Porn movies. And pretty extreme ones, from what I saw. Maybe that’s why those women we saw arriving didn’t look too enthusiastic about the night ahead.’

  ‘Okay. Tell me what happened.’

  Bishop told her about getting into the warehouse, and went on, ‘I passed through some empty offices and ended up in a stockroom containing dozens of wooden crates. Then I heard this girl screaming and crying in the next room and pushed the door open. It was decked out like a schoolroom. Cameras and lights everywhere. About five or six people all focused on the action at the head of the class, where this really young-looking girl was lying spread-eagled on the teacher’s desk, getting “gang-raped” by three naked old dudes.’

  Vallejo winced. ‘Please tell me she wasn’t underage.’

  ‘Uh, uh. She was just one of those undeveloped girls who look a lot younger than their years. She showed me her driver’s licence later and she’d celebrated her eighteenth birthday ten months before. Even so, it was pretty sick stuff. I can only assume there’s a big market out there for schoolgirl rape fantasies.’

  ‘Yeah, there is. Makes me despair of the human race sometimes. Where am I going, by the way? Back to the motel?’

  ‘Might as well. All your stuff’s there.’

  ‘So what happened next?’

  ‘One of the camera operators noticed me standing there with a gun in my hand and cried out. Everyone froze in their tracks. Even the actors. It was almost funny, the positions they were in. The girl was looking at me like I’d just landed from another planet. Things got kind of weird after that. Or should I say weirder.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean one of the camera operators just looked at me and said, “So Ramirez finally found us then.” I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, so I just said nothing. I think they all assumed I was from some rival outfit, or maybe a cop on the take, come to close them down or something. They were all scared shitless. Which was fine by me. Made them easier to control. Then I noticed one of them whispering into a walkie-talkie so I took it from him and waited by the door. When the guard came through I knocked him out, then accused the others of filming kiddie porn. That’s when the girl ran over to her clothes and showed me her licence. Then I noticed a couple of other doors on the other side of the room. I ordered everyone to walk in front of me and for the girl to open the doors and show me what was behind them.’

  ‘Which was what?’

  ‘More “locations”. One room was laid out like a Turkish bath. The other one was a fake gym. People were actually filming some kind of orgy in that one, so we closed the door without alerting them. I already had enough on my hands. The girl told me there were about fifteen more film sets spread around the warehouse and I believed her. By that point, I already knew I was wasting my time.’

  Bishop rubbed his palm through his hair and said, ‘Then I was about to make my exit when one of the men came over and placed a fat envelope in my hands. Said he hoped five grand would be enough to convince me not to tell my boss that I’d found them.’

  Vallejo took her eyes from the road and looked at him. ‘Bishop, you didn’t.’

  He reached into his jacket pocket, brought out the envelope and p
laced it on the dashboard. ‘Seemed rude not to. Besides, it should cover my expenses.’

  Vallejo shook her head and said, ‘But why were you running back there? I thought you were being chased.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t being chased. But I was fairly sure an alert had been sent out and I wanted to get us away from there ASAP. I don’t need more complications right now.’

  After a few moments Vallejo said, ‘We got problems, don’t we?’

  ‘We sure do. Less than twenty-four hours to find Selina and I’m right back where I started.’

  They drove in silence for a while. They passed the turnoff for Saracen and kept on going. Another few minutes and Bishop noticed the familiar motel sign, all lit up like a beacon for the marooned. That’s how he felt at the moment. Stranded. Treading water. And what about Selina? What had been done to her? And what was supposed to happen to her tomorrow? What he needed to do more than anything was make new plans to locate her, but he was exhausted and his mind felt sluggish. He had to get some rest. Just three or four hours would be enough. And then he could start again. From scratch, if need be. Giving up simply wasn’t an option.

  Vallejo said, ‘We’ve made some progress, Bishop. I think you had the right idea, just the wrong location. We’re still looking for somewhere that’s big enough to hold a lot of women for long periods, and a warehouse is still our best bet.’

  ‘Lot of warehouses in this part of the country. You want to check every one?’

  Vallejo slowed as they got closer to the motel entrance. ‘Well, there must be some way we can narrow down the possibilities. There has to be.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he said as she pulled into the court and steered them towards her Fusion, still parked outside her old room. ‘Maybe we’ll think of something in the morning, when we’re fresher.’

  Vallejo stopped the car, but left the engine running. ‘It’s already morning.’

  ‘Later this morning, then.’ Bishop tapped a finger against his lower lip as he looked around the empty forecourt. He’d already planned on finding alternative lodgings for himself. In a situation like this, it was a good idea not to stay in one place too long. For the same reason, he didn’t feel too comfortable about leaving Vallejo here on her own. That felt like just asking for trouble. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I was going to find another motel for myself. I know you’re tired, but I’d feel a whole lot better if you came with me. Better safe than sorry.’