by Jason Dean
‘Well, the client receives a special graphics program to design his perfect mate. Then once he gets that back, Hallaran’s able to hack into the State Department and the DMV, who between them hold photos of most of the adults in this country. He also uses some of the big social network servers, too, like Facebook, Twitter and MySpace, to cover all those who don’t hold driver’s licences or passports. I don’t know all the details, but he eventually narrows the final candidates down to just one.’
‘Unbelievable,’ Kate said. She was looking at Neeson as though he were a lower life form. Something reptilian, maybe. ‘Like it’s a game show or something.’
Bishop ignored her. ‘At which point Hallaran plans her fake death and the real deaths of her immediate family, so nobody will be around to raise awkward questions. Right?’
Neeson lowered his eyes. ‘You have to believe I had nothing to do with those deaths. Nothing at all. That was all Hallaran’s idea. At first we kept it simple. Abraham would wait for the perfect moment, then simply grab the designated woman and bring her here and that would be that. Women go missing all the time in this country, and we figured what’s one more? But the husband of one of them actually tracked Hallaran down somehow and came very close to killing him. After that Hallaran became very paranoid. He came up with the idea of arranging house fires so it couldn’t ever happen again. That way, he could erase the woman’s old identity and any interested parties in one fell swoop. I thought it was far too risky and unnecessary, but what could I say? He doesn’t listen to me.’
‘Sure, I understand. So once you people have wiped out everyone and everything the victim’s held dear up till that point, that’s when you really go to work on her, right? What do you use? Drugs? Brainwashing?’
‘Just a very intense hypnotherapy programme,’ Neeson said, ‘combined with various drugs and mood enhancers to help break down the person’s psychological barriers. I don’t know the names of the drugs. But Hallaran has two hypnotherapists he uses. By the time they’re done, the women are almost looking forward to their new lives. He’s never had any complaints from any previous clients, I know that.’
‘I bet he hasn’t,’ Bishop said. ‘Over how long a period is this programme?’
‘Between three to four months for each woman.’
Which meant Hallaran had to be housing at least half a dozen victims at any one time. His ‘rolling stock’, as Neeson had put it. ‘I was right about Samantha Mathison, wasn’t I? You people killed her when you found out she was gay, and grabbed Selina to take her place.’
‘Hallaran had her killed,’ Neeson said. ‘I didn’t even learn about it until a week later.’
‘Sure. And tonight, her buyer’s coming to the hangar to collect his prize and take her away, right?’
Neeson nodded.
‘What time? And how will he arrive?’
‘He’s due at one a.m. and he’ll be arriving by private plane. They usually do.’
‘Who is he?’ Kate asked.
‘A Portuguese businessman called Poleina. I hear he’s big in steel manufacturing.’
‘So he’ll fly in with his pilot and bodyguards, pick up his prize and leave?’
‘Not straight away,’ Neeson said. ‘He’ll check over his girl and make sure he’s satisfied with everything while the plane’s being refuelled. It usually takes about half an hour.’
And it was noon now. Which meant Bishop had between thirteen and fourteen hours before Selina was out of his reach for good. Not to mention Vallejo. And all the other women. Added to which, he’d have to be prepared for whatever handicap Hallaran threw his way, too. Neeson was right about that: he couldn’t avoid him for much longer.
‘And what about you, Neeson? Are you usually there for the handover?’
Bishop waited for the lie, but Neeson just sighed and said, ‘Sometimes. Not always. Hallaran leaves it up to me.’
‘Okay. How many men has Hallaran got over there? Be exact.’
Neeson closed his eyes and said, ‘There are two guards outside. Inside there’s Hallaran, of course. Then Abraham, his second-in-command and about the only one he really trusts, and four more armed men. Plus Ryan, the programmer. That makes nine. And the two hypnotherapists. So eleven in all.’
Ten, Bishop thought. Neeson obviously hadn’t gotten the news about Abraham yet. And Bishop wasn’t about to update him. ‘And they all live out at the hangar?’
Neeson nodded. ‘The only exceptions are myself and the two orderlies who stay at the hospital. Hallaran believes it’s more secure that way.’
‘All part of his four-year plan, huh?’
Neeson shrugged his shoulders. ‘Hallaran says the longer you keep something like this going, the bigger the risk of getting caught. Besides, everyone’s prepared to tolerate the accommodations in return for the big pay day at the end.’
Bishop was about to burst his bubble on that little point when he felt a vibration in his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone. The caller was unidentified. But he already had a pretty good idea who it was.
This time, he took the call.
SEVENTY-SIX
‘So there you are,’ Hallaran said. He sounded his old, smug self again. ‘You’re a hard man to get hold of, Bishop.’
‘I could say the same about you.’
Hallaran chuckled. ‘Listen, I’ve got someone here who’s real glad you answered your phone. Things were about to get nasty. Hold on.’
Bishop kept his eyes on Neeson as he listened to silence on the line. Five seconds later, a familiar voice said, ‘Sorry, Bishop, I should have waited for you.’
‘It doesn’t matter now. You okay, Vallejo?’
‘Yeah, but for how long, I don’t know. Like you said, these are some serious people.’
‘That’s enough,’ Hallaran broke in. ‘Now she’s confirmed what you already knew, we can get down to it. You got a pen on you?’
Bishop didn’t need one, but he said, ‘Go on.’
‘You know a place called Queen Creek?’
He did. ‘Small town, south-east of Phoenix.’
‘That’s the one. Now there’s a street in that town called South Greencrest Road, and halfway down you’ll find a place called McWilliams Diner. Next to that’s a general store. Outside that store, there are three payphones in a row. You’ll want the middle one.’
‘Will I?’
‘At three o’clock this afternoon, you will. I’ll be calling that number and if you haven’t answered before the tenth ring, your friend here will be taking a long trip to see her old girlfriend. A very long trip.’
Bishop checked his watch and saw it was now 12.09. ‘I only met Vallejo less than forty-eight hours ago. What makes you think we’re friends?’
Hallaran gave a deep sigh. ‘Is that really how you want this conversation to go, Bishop? Because we can end it right now. Right this second. That what you want?’
‘No.’
‘Wise man. Don’t ever test me, Bishop. You’ll come off worst, I guarantee it.’
‘So what happens after I pick up the phone? I get one in the back of the head from a long-distance rifle?’
‘Now there’s a thought,’ Hallaran said and chuckled again. ‘I only wish I could spare the manpower. No, we’ll just talk for a while, is all. I’ll let you swap a few words with Vallejo and then you put the phone down again. But stick around, because I will be calling again.’
‘When?’
‘Whenever I feel like hearing your voice. Could be any time. Tonight’s a busy night and I can’t have you running loose. Come morning, we’ll arrange something more concrete.’
‘You’ll kill her anyway,’ Bishop said. ‘You can’t afford to let her go now.’
‘I haven’t decided one way or the other yet. And besides, it’s not the going, but how you go. You were in the Corps, so you know what I’m talking about. And one thing I can promise is if you don’t answer when I call, Vallejo here will die a long and painful death. I’ve got a fellow here whos
e record so far is a week, and I know he’d love to beat it if he could. Do you believe me, Bishop?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. You better get moving, you got a long drive ahead of you.’
The connection went dead.
Bishop looked at a point a few inches above Neeson’s head as he carefully placed the cell phone back in his pocket. With his other hand, he slowly pulled the hammer back on the .38 Special, then just as slowly returned it to its original position. Then he did it again. And again. He was thinking about Hallaran, who was right about one thing. That it wasn’t the going that counted, but how you went. Bishop wondered how long he could make it last once he got his hands on this Hallaran.
‘So are you going to tell me what he said?’ Kate asked.
Bishop turned to her and came back to the present. Then he quickly recounted the conversation, minus the street and place names.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.
‘Take the call. What other choice is there? I can’t get into that hangar during daylight hours, anyway.’
Kate looked out a window. ‘Won’t he try to kill you now he knows where you’ll be?’
‘If Abraham was still around, I’d say it was a certainty. Now I’m not so sure. He’s already a man down and he can’t afford to take either of the outside guards away from their posts, which just leaves four other men. And Hallaran will need them all tonight. No, he can afford to wait and take me out at his leisure. He holds all the cards right now.’
But as Bishop spoke the words, he was thinking of a way he might have his cake and eat it, too. Although he wasn’t sure it was even possible. But right now he had to move fast if he was going to make that phone before three. He just hoped the Sunday traffic would be on his side. But first, he had a small detour to make.
He turned to see Kate watching Neeson with unconcealed disgust. ‘What do we do with him?’ she asked. ‘We can’t let him go.’
‘No, we can’t. Has he got a cellar in this place?’
‘Yeah. I think there’s an entrance to it from the kitchen.’
Bishop motioned with the gun for Neeson to stand. ‘Let’s go take a look.’
SEVENTY-SEVEN
At 14.59, Bishop downshifted into third and swung the Buick hard into South Greencrest Road. The back end fishtailed and the rear tyres skidded on the asphalt as Bishop jerked the wheel left, then right. The moment the car straightened out, he slammed his foot down again, quickly taking it back up to fifty, sixty.
It had been an intense ride all the way, with Sunday drivers doing their damnedest to bring his blood pressure up to critical levels. The only positive was he hadn’t been pulled over for speeding yet. But he was late all the same. Less than a minute before Hallaran would call and he still hadn’t reached the convenience store. He swerved round an old pick-up doing thirty, looking in both directions for what he wanted.
The dashboard clock changed to 15.00.
Shit. Bishop knew the clock was accurate to the second. He’d made sure of that before he left. But he had to keep going. There was still a chance. Where’s that goddamn store?
There. Coming up about five hundred feet ahead on the left. And before it, another building with McWilliams Diner in big red letters outside. Bishop kept the speed up and watched the sparse oncoming traffic, picking his spot. He sped by the diner and when he was almost at right angles to the store entrance yanked the wheel hard left, narrowly avoiding a Volkswagen as he cut diagonally across the street like a scythe, over the sidewalk and straight into the forecourt. He heard angry car horns behind him as he skidded to a stop at an angle. Leaving the engine running, he jumped out and sprinted towards the three red public phones on poles outside the store.
A middle-aged Latino guy was using the middle phone, watching the action with wide eyes. He saw Bishop running at him and held the phone away from his ear, looking increasingly panicked.
Bishop halted a few feet from him, looked around wildly with his eyes bugging out and shouted, ‘Put the phone back. Put it back. No calls, no calls. Not safe.’
‘Sure, man, sure,’ the man said. He left the phone dangling as he backed away, patting the air in front of him. ‘Whatever you say. It’s all yours, okay?’
Bishop kept staring at him as he placed the phone back on the hook, hoping the crazy act would be enough to keep the guy from calling the cops. He watched the man get into his work van and pull out onto the road. When he was gone, Bishop looked down at his watch. It was already 15.01. It changed to 15.02 as he watched.
He was too late.
Bishop slumped against the phone box and looked up at the clear blue sky. When Hallaran had got a busy signal, he would have hung up and assumed Bishop wasn’t playing. Which meant he’d blown it. And Vallejo would be the one who paid. He shook his head in mute anger, wondering what to do next. All he could do was wait on the off chance that Hallaran would try again and hope for the best.
The phone started ringing.
Bishop turned and just looked at it. Not quite believing it. He let it ring once more and then picked up the receiver. ‘I’m here,’ he said.
‘So you are,’ Hallaran said, chuckling. ‘Had my doubts for a moment there. Who was that on the line before?’
‘Some guy. I chased him off.’
‘Ha. You sure like living close to the edge, don’t you? Okay, that was me giving you a break, but don’t get used to it because it won’t happen again. Here’s your dyke friend. Keep it short.’
There was a couple of seconds’ silence, then Vallejo said, ‘Hey, stranger.’
‘How you doing, Clarissa?’
‘Clarissa? You’re not going soft on me, are you, Bishop?’
‘Never.’
‘You’d better not. Things are pretty much the same here. Shame you can’t come visit.’
Before Bishop could answer, Hallaran came on and said, ‘Yeah, well, that’s life. Now you be sure to stick around and make sure nobody else uses that phone. No second chances in this game, you got that, Bishop?’
Yeah, I got that, he thought as the line went dead. No second chances.
He carefully replaced the phone and looked back at the car. And the passenger he’d brought along with him.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
Bishop sat on the Buick’s hood and checked his watch again for the thousandth time. 18.34. Almost three and a half hours since the last call. But he had a strong feeling Hallaran would try again pretty soon. He’d want to know Bishop was still where he was supposed to be. Which he was, for the moment.
Whether that continued to be the case depended on Raymond.
After locking Neeson up in his own cellar and assigning Kate as temporary watchdog, he’d sped over to Raymond’s place, outlined the situation and asked for his help. Raymond was currently kneeling before the middle pay phone a few feet away, wearing his old work overalls with the phone company logo on the back.
He also had an open laptop on the ground in front of him and a tool bag by his side. Earlier, he’d removed a steel panel from the front of the post, exposing five cables. A single USB line ran from his laptop to a port within. Two more wires connected two of the cables to a handheld, digital multimeter. Raymond held an orange phone to his ear. One of those giants with the keypad on the back. He was still trying to gain access to the main server of TransSouthcom’s nearest switching station. The method he was using was something Jenna had mentioned trying more than once, back in her bad girl days.
Raymond hung up. Without turning, he said, ‘I’m gonna run out of employees at this rate. And it’s a Sunday.’
‘We have to keep trying,’ Bishop said.
‘I know.’ Raymond sighed as he looked at the laptop screen. Then he keyed in another number on the phone and put it to his ear. A few seconds later, he said, ‘Yeah, who am I talking to? . . . Oh, Leonard, I finally got hold of you . . . Yeah, this is Al from tech support. Heard you got a problem with your access . . . You do? Well, that’s what I’m here for . .
. Yeah, I know, but it’s worth it for the double time. What’s the problem, buddy? . . . Right . . . Right . . . well, that don’t sound too bad. Let’s see now, if you wanna give me your user name and password, I’ll dive right in and see what I can do.’
Bishop came over and watched Raymond key in some letters and numbers on the laptop. Then the welcome screen disappeared as Raymond scrolled through some code. After a few moments, he said, ‘Well, Lenny, I can tell you right now this ain’t the same operating system I been trained on. I think I’m gonna have to hand it over to another technician when he gets in tomorrow . . . Yeah, real sorry to get your hopes up like that . . . Sure, I’ll tell him. So long.’ He put down the phone and continued keying.
‘So you’re in?’ Bishop asked.
‘I’m in. Let’s see now, I need to find . . . ah, there it is. Okay, baby, talk to me.’
Bishop stood up and let him work. Quid pro quo, Jenna had called it. A simple social engineering technique. You phone random numbers at a company and claim to be somebody from technical support. Eventually, you’re going to hit a grateful somebody with a computer problem that needs solving. And as soon as they’ve given you their network user name and password, you can pretty much go where you want.
The payphone started ringing.
Bishop turned to Raymond. ‘Is that you?’
‘Uh, uh. Not me.’ Raymond was frantically navigating his way through the company’s system using just the touchpad. ‘Just let it ring, okay? I think I’m almost there.’
Bishop stepped forward and grabbed the receiver, ready to take it off the hook. It rang a third time. He pulled the cell from his pocket with his other hand. Four rings. Raymond pressed the touchpad and then keyed in some text. Five rings. A pause. Six rings.
It rang again. ‘That’s seven,’ Bishop said.
‘I know, I know,’ Raymond said, still typing rapidly. Then he took his fingers away from the keyboard and sat back. ‘All done.’
