In Athens, he took a forty-five-minute charter flight to Island Rhodes. He used his Dominican passport and quickly made sure to get lost in Europe. Just a month later, after spending three weeks in Cuba, he was enjoying the fresh sea air of Frigate Bay.
Matt had achieved worldwide fame, and people from China to the USA were talking about him, but there was still one thing left to do. More important than anything he had done in Dubai was what he would do next. He picked up the Smartphone he had just purchased and quickly keyed an email to the local newspaper in Dubai, with a simple subject line that read, “The Pinner.” The email only contained one word, in a large, bold font that would be sure to catch their attention: “HUNTERMAN.”
He then smashed the Smartphone into pieces, walked into the sparkling sea, and dropped the phone, piece by piece, as he swam.
Back on the beach, he motioned to a waiter to bring him another drink. “And make it a strong one this time,” he said to the boy.
“Of course, sir,” the helpful lad replied. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I ever got your name.”
“Pinner,” Matt said, wearing a smug smile. “You can call me ‘Mr. Pinner.’
Matt Vol III (Hunterman)
By Ahmad Ardalan
Copyright 2015@Ahmad Ardalan
Special thanks to Dr. Najat Shukri and Paula Black of Raven & Black Publishing for their effort on the cover illustrations.
This novel is a work of fiction, all characters, and names are of the author’s imagination.
Prologue
Everything happened so fast.
Boom-boom-boom!
The door was blasted open, and ten shots were fired. All of Hunterman’s agents, other than Willis, suffered fatal hits, and Matt killed two of them. In return, Matt caught two bullets himself, one in the shoulder and another that just grazed his left thigh. He was breathing heavily, bleeding profusely, gushing a crimson river all over the place. In no time, he found that he was semiconscious from pain and blood loss, but he was also ready for the third shot to his head.
Just as Willis was about to pull the trigger to deliver the fatal ammunition, Nigel, who’d killed two of Hunterman’s men himself, took a deep breath and shot Willis twice, one in the hand the other in his leg. Nigel then took a quick look around, and realized there were only two men left alive besides himself: Willis and Matt. He walked over to the aching, writhing, groaning Willis and hit him on the back of the head, knocking him out cold. He then placed handcuffs on the unconscious Willis and picked up Willis’s gun that had fallen to the floor a few feet away.
Finally, the whole fiasco was over. Eight weeks of cat-and-mouse had finally ended.
Nigel looked over at Matt, whose eyes were wide with awe at the massacre around him. His shoulder wound was bleeding badly. Nigel looked down at Willis’s gun in his hand then held it against Matt’s temple.
Matt smiled slightly, almost a smirk. “I knew I could trust you, Nigel. I’m your ticket to the top,” he muttered. “Don’t be arrogant and stupid now.” And with that, he gave in to his body and the pain and dozed off.
* * *
The next day when Matt awoke, he looked over at his damaged shoulder. It was bandaged, as was his thigh. One of the fingers on his right hand was still missing though; there was little anyone could do about that.
Everything was quiet, and there was one guard seated to his left, but the man said nothing. It remained silent for a great deal of time, both of them casting cursory glances to one another every now and then but not saying a word.
Finally, an hour later, Nigel walked in. “Halden, right?”
Matt nodded. “Halden, Norway. Nine-Finger Matt is coming”
“Yup…but not so fast,” Nigel said, smiling.
Buenos Aires
Just under three months earlier, Matt left Buenos Aires with Nigel by his side. They boarded a Delta Airlines 747 that would carry them to JFK Airport in New York City. He had spent over sixteen days in the beautiful Argentinean capital. He had arrived in Buenos Aires just one day after emailing the newspaper in Dubai from the beautiful white beach at St. Kitis. That was the day Matt devilishly decided to take on what most of his peers had never dared to do, the day he declared war on Hunterman.
Matt was wanted worldwide, a murderer responsible for over twenty-five deaths. Hunterman, on the other hand, was either directly or indirectly responsible for the snuffing out of thousands of lives, victims that included senior politicians, businessmen, and key players in all the nations of the world. Matt had the tools to bring them down, and he had every intention of putting those tools to use.
The dangerous mission ignited something deep within him, made him feel powerful; he would go after those who thought they were untouchable. In his crazy mind, he was the only invincible, untouchable one anyway. Matt thought himself a living legend, and his goal was immortality. The icing on the cake was that his prize would be even greater. Once he finished this dirty deed, he would no longer be hunted, not by the authorities and certainly not by Hunterman. He would be free, an immortal, the stuff of legends.
During his ten days in that beautiful city, he’d honed his marksmanship. He was confident with a weapon now, for his aim had improved, as had his reaction speed. Something he felt was needed, on his next mission. On the eleventh day, he took a taxi that dropped him at the security gates of the American Embassy. With only a passport in hand, he calmly went through the first checkpoint, where he was asked about the reason for his visit. After all, he wasn’t an American, so the officials weren’t sure what John Mayerson, a citizen of St. Kitis, would want with the Embassy. His nationality didn’t even require a visa; he would get that on entry at any border checkpoint.
Matt answered confidently, “Tell Nigel Parker I am The Pinner.”
Within a minute, he was apprehended by three men dressed in military garb. They promptly covered his face and hauled him off to some unknown location on the premises. There, he was searched, prodded, and checked—every square inch of his body—and all his biometrics were taken, Matt didn’t fight it. When they finished with their searching and patting down, his head was covered again.
The next time he saw light, he was in a square, small room, with dull, off-white walls. There were only two windows, and they offered no view of anything important. At the end of the room, to the right, there was a mirror. The room was silent, except for the whirring of the fan on the high ceiling. It was furnished with only a long, simple, well-worn table in the center, surrounded by six chairs.. Hmm. Pretty bad taste for an Embassy of the richest country in the world, Matt thought to himself, looking around at his shabby surroundings.
Silent as it was, Matt was not alone, for Nigel was sitting at the end of the trashy table, holding a black mug in his hand. He raised his hand slowly as Matt came in. In addition to Matt’s two military escorts, there were two other guards there, with loaded guns at the ready.
Matt had studied Nigel well for the past days, and he certainly fit the bill. “Can you uncuff me now?” Matt said, lifting his hands.
“Not right now, sir. You mentioned The Pinner, so—”
Matt stopped him there. “Look, sir…or let me call you ‘Nigel.’ I came to you. You never would have found me. Take these cuffs off and ask these gentlemen to leave. I know you have cameras everywhere anyway, as well as many eyes watching from behind that two-way mirror. Let’s be friends, shall we?”
Nigel smiled snidely and glanced up at his men. “Uncuff him, give me a gun, and go. I can handle him if he starts anything.”
Right away, one of them handed a gun to Nigel, while the other, a man Matt considered too short for the job, removed the handcuffs. Then all four left and locked the door behind them.
“Have you heard of Halden Prison in Norway, Mr. Nigel?”
Nigel nodded.
“Good. Remember the name, will you? It will play a role if I am to give you Hunterman.”
“Hunterman?” Nigel asked. “Sorry to sound rude, but what d
o you mean? What do you want? Who are you? Before we start striking deals and barking out orders, perhaps we should get better acquainted, don’t you think? This isn’t some Hollywood action movie. I can’t make that call out of the blue, Mr. Mayerson…or Alex, if you really are The Pinner,” Nigel said.
“I didn’t ask you to make the call,” Matt remarked. “I only told you to remember Halden Prison. As my reward, you can make the call later. And, just for your information, I am neither Mayerson nor Alex. I am Matt Godfrey. Within a minute, your people will inform you of my history, as I am well aware that this place is bugged. In fact, they can probably hear me better than you can, and I know you can hear what they are saying to you now, whispering into your ear with their little gadgets.”
Nigel was obviously impressed, because he quickly withdrew his gun. ”Okay. You’ve got my attention. Why are you here? Interpol checked Hunterman after your email. There’s nothing wrong with them. That’s just another hoax you pulled, isn’t it? Maybe like the goat testicles?”
Matt shook his head. “I’m finished for the day. Please take me somewhere to rest. I’d like several cans of soda and a pack of smokes.”
“Anything else, Your Highness?” Nigel mocked.
“Yes. Ask Interpol for the package they apprehended from poor Peter Thon in Salzburg. Inside the software device, you will find a small red chip, with Code AZOOO1511. I hope the Interpol guys didn’t destroy it in their clumsy examinations. Call your guys,” Matt said, standing and placing his hands behind his back, ready to be cuffed again.
Matt was given the smokes and the soda he requested, and he slept under maximum security, on a nice bed, right there within the Embassy. The next day, bright and early at seven a.m., Nigel would be all his.
* * *
The chip contained two brief meetings between a younger Matt and a man named Mr. Willis, the only two meetings Matt ever had with Willis in public. The final meeting was in a random hospital room. Matt never did find out its exact location; he only knew it was where surgeries were performed, following the rescue in Amsterdam. Matt had used a small camera and recorded it all.
After watching the recordings several times and going through all the files on Matt Godfrey and Alex Mathews, Nigel felt there was something big behind all of it. It certainly wasn’t a normal case, and there was a lot of sorting out to do.
After spending hours to build his case, Nigel took the situation to the FBI back home. The Bureau gave him the green light to investigate, and to speed things up they planned to send four agents to help him.
The FBI office in Buenos Aires had six employees, and most were busy with other cases. Nigel had been with the FBI for twenty-two years, and he was a respected figure within the Bureau, at the ripe old age of forty-eight. Rumors were spreading that within a short period, he would hold a higher position back in DC. For the time being, he was handling the majority of things for the Bureau in South America, right there from his little corner office, and that was where he and Matt met to talk things over.
Nigel sat down with Matt for a whole day, trying to tie loose ends. He knew there was a story behind it all, but the details were too vague, and the puzzle was difficult to piece together. He had to clear things up.
Nigel was six feet tall, just a little shorter than Matt. He had light brown hair, cut short, prominent brown eyes, very thin eyebrows, and a nose with a slight bend in it that could be clearly seen when looking at him from the side. His face was shiny, clean shaven. He was very elegant and spoke quickly and loudly, far more loudly than one might expect from such a small mouth.
Nigel offered donuts, and they both had coffee. For the first hour or so, neither he nor Matt mentioned the recordings. Instead, they engaged in casual conversation, but it was clear that Nigel wanted to take control of the meeting. Matt, on the other hand, seemed somewhat disinterested, as if he couldn’t care less; in his mind, he had all the time in the world. What’s time to an immortal anyway? He silently mused to himself.
It was Nigel who was under pressure, for he had to report back to his superiors on schedule and with valuable information. Knowing this, fifteen minutes after they exhausted all the talk about the weather, Nigel broke the ice. “We are having a difficult time believing much of what you are telling us,” he said, “and we’re not sure what those recordings are all about, but we are working on it.”
“Look, Nigel. I am totally yours,” Matt assured him. “If you’ll be frank with me, we’ll both be in a better place in a short while.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Matt gestured at the small, dingy room. “I know you’ve got your eyes and your heart set on…more clout in the Bureau,” he said, then took a great deal of delight in the look of surprise that flashed across Nigel’s face.
Nigel smiled at him; clearly, they were both enjoying the game.
Matt stood and walked around a little. “Mine are on Halden. I need…some R&R,” he said.
Nigel nodded. “I bet you do. I read your damn history, and you’ve been a busy boy. We’ll talk about that later.”
The conversations went on, and Matt filled Nigel in on everything he knew about Hunterman, every last detail about how he approached them, where they had met, and why.
“Our records show,” Nigel said, “that the day after you met Willis, the contact server with the secret word changed. We’ve got no match for Willis anywhere. That’s all we’ve got for now.” He then glanced out the small window. “Damn, I hate being stuck in here on a day like this,” he said, making his disdain for his small office quite clear. “You are as close as can be to the devil himself, but I don’t believe you’ll betray me,” he said, glaring suspiciously at Matt. “You need us, but that does not mean we are friends, and my trust has limits. You’ve gotta play by my rules. My brain works better outdoors, and I like moving around. I don’t want to worry about finding you. You got that?”
Matt smiled and nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Good, because our plan is to inject a tracking device into your shoulder.”
Matt gladly accepted the assignment. It was obvious that they were afraid of him and would never trust him on the streets. He really couldn’t blame them; even he himself didn’t trust his troubled mind.
* * *
Sometime later, Matt was taken to medical facility within the Embassy. When he was injected with a local analgesic, he only felt a small sting.
Before leaving the Embassy, Nigel informed Matt, “That chip has a powerful sedative inside. If you even think of trying to escape or go on the run, the next thing you’re gonna feel is being slapped awake by yours truly. I thought the sedative would be fitting, a nice touch,” he said with a wink.
Matt offered him a smirk and clapped.
An hour later, they were both walking in the streets, side by side, with two security guards in black suits about fifty feet away.
Buenos Aires is a haven for food lovers, a place where juicy steak tingles the taste buds and teases the nostrils at the same time. Thirst can be quenched there with classy wine for under twenty-five dollars. Matt had ventured through those streets for the past ten days or so, and every restaurant and café had a story behind it, but the one Nigel took him to was something else.
It was a small place just a short distance away from the San Telmo Market. The whole place consisted only of a grill, a long wooden table, and bar chairs, but it was packed with people of all ages, some as old as ninety, all enjoying a bite and engaged in lighthearted conversations about nothing very important.
“Look, Mathews—” Nigel began.
“It’s just ‘Matt,’” Matt interrupted.
“‘Mathews’ to me. I’m not here to make friends, and I don’t owe you any respect. As far as I’m concerned, this is all part of the job, for both of us. Hell, I’ll call you ‘Missy’ if I want to, but I’m kinda in the mood to call you ‘Mathews’ for now.”
“Suit yourself, Nigel. I am Matt, and sooner or later, you’ll call me tha
t.”
“Anyway, this place is my favorite spot in Buenos Aires. I’ve been coming here for the past two years, every day, in fact. I am not a Porteño, but I eat at Parrilla de Freddy more than they do. You know what a Porteño is, don’t you?”
“Yes, Nigel, I do, but I also know that I’m hungry. As you’re old hat at this, I’ll just have what you’re having.”
“Dos choripáns,” Nigel told the guy on the grill. He then turned attention to the 1980s television, which was replaying highlights of soccer matches. In Buenos Aires, the love of soccer reigned. Nigel, formerly a baseball fan, had quickly given in to the widespread soccer fandom within months of his arrival at his post—an avid Boca Juniors fan, to be more precise.
After finishing the juicy chorizo sausage, the two went on a long walk, followed by the “security dogs,” as Matt liked to call them.
“So…what makes you think you can get to them?” Nigel asked, getting straight to the point. “You sent an email mentioning their name, and that spurned Interpol to do some searching, but even with all their resources, they came back with nothing. Maybe they just have a grudge against you”
“First, I can’t get to them, but they can easily get to me. They are the only ones who know my true eye scan, and I’m sure they have my DNA. Once my eye is scanned, they will know and relentless track me. Second, it isn’t just a grudge. I am a threat to them. I’m sure of that. Why would they take a chance with a free madman? Would you? My bet is they’d enjoy eliminating me. They are an army, and I am but one. That’s why I need you, Nigel. You protect me, plan with me, and I will give you Hunterman. Then, finally, I will get my long-awaited rest,” Matt concluded.
“Funny how your crazy head works, Mathews. First, you target women out of nowhere, like Jack the Ripper, then you take out abusive men, and now you’re this…nice guy? Who the hell are you anyway? Some kind of modern-day Robin Hood? Then you go on a killing spree, murdering people right and left in Dubai, and now you’re helping the Feds. I’m sure you’ve got a throng of suitors, all of whom would love to tackle that sick brain of yours.” Nigel looked a bit more sincere as the final words came out.
Matt: A Matt Godfrey Short thriller Trilogy Page 11
