by Rob Sinclair
‘This,’ Willoughby said, ‘is why we’re here.’
40
Laredo, Texas
Moving across the border into the US in the city of Laredo turned out to be a breeze. Not only had the JIA pre-arranged US passports for both Willoughby and Ryker, but she also had a US license-plated car ready and waiting in the town of Nuevo Laredo on the Mexican side of the border.
Neither the Mexican or the US guards were troubled by the US couple returning home, and they got the green light to drive straight through without any additional checks. Which was a good thing given the fake IDs, firearms, and ammunition they were carrying in a secret compartment underneath the Pontiac’s rear seats.
Ryker was equally impressed and appalled by the level of planning that had been put in place to get him and Willoughby into the US. The way she’d explained it, the plan had always been for her to travel through to Louisiana to take on the arms smuggling conspirators when the time was right. Ryker’s sudden appearance on the scene in Mexico, and his latter involvement with Powell, had merely been a fortunate outcome for her operation in the end.
The explanation wasn’t so far-fetched to not be believable, but Ryker still didn’t like the situation much. He didn’t like the finality of it all. The way Willoughby just assumed Ryker would tag along, and the effort that had been put in on his behalf. And he especially didn't like the way the JIA seemed to have a continued hold over him, no matter where he went in the world and what he did to get away from them.
Yet there he was.
After passing through Laredo – a town dominated by looming corrugated steel industrial warehouses, used to store and sort the vast quantity of goods being transported between the US and Mexico – Ryker and Willoughby headed east toward San Antonio to pick up the I-10 highway. From there they’d head onwards through Texas and eventually into Louisiana.
Both took turns driving, giving each of them time to rest. There was little talk on the way, even though Ryker had to admit he was intrigued to find out more about Willoughby – how she’d come to work for the JIA, what she’d gone through in her time there. Despite the lack of chatter, the mood in the car was more relaxed than it had been before the stop off in the desert. The altercation there had pulled them closer; they understood each other better.
Along the way, they stopped off at a roadside diner called La Mexicana that oddly looked more at home in Texas than it would have done south of the border. The owners had used every cliché available to deck the place out, from the wide-ranging use of white, red and green paint to the multitude of sombrero hats and cactuses – real and plastic.
While Willoughby was still finishing a giant Chimichanga, Ryker headed out into the harsh Texas air – the open plain highway acting like a massive wind corridor with swirling and whooshing winds that sucked up sand, dirt and grit, and blasted it at everything in its path.
Ryker took out the prepaid phone he’d picked up when they’d stopped for fuel. He felt it was time to finally bite the bullet and make a call to Peter Winter. Ryker had been debating the move for some time but had so far held off because calling Winter felt like admitting defeat. He didn’t want to be a part of the JIA. Together with Lisa he’d wanted so badly to forge a new life away from that life. But he kept getting sucked back in, and he was coming around to the fact that the situation would never change as long as he was still breathing. The JIA still wanted him, one way or another, and there was nothing he could do to shake them off.
Ultimately, Ryker decided calling Winter was a necessary action for two reasons. Firstly, he wanted to check on Willoughby, make sure she was who she said she was. There was no badge or ID to prove she worked for the JIA, so Ryker so far had only her word and a series of rather inexplicable events. Secondly, if she really was with the JIA, he wanted to reinforce to Winter – someone at the top-end of the JIA – that Ryker wasn’t one of them anymore, despite the fact he once again was carrying out their dirty work.
Winter didn’t seem surprised by the call and it was at least welcome news when the JIA Commander confirmed that Willoughby was indeed an asset, though she wasn’t acting under Winter’s authority. Until the last few days, Winter had known nothing of Willoughby or her case.
Unsurprisingly, the conversation soon turned to Ryker’s imprisonment at Santa Martha. Whether that was because Winter actually cared about Ryker, or he was doing damage limitation for the JIA, fishing for what Ryker may have spilled during his incarceration, Ryker couldn’t be sure. It was probably both, though Ryker wanted to believe that after everything they’d been through together – both had saved the other’s life – Winter still had Ryker’s back. It was Winter, after all, who’d laid the foundations for Ryker and Lisa’s new, secret life. Not that it had lasted long.
‘If you’d told me you were heading to Mexico to see Jiménez, I could have helped protect you,’ Winter said.
And Ryker had no doubt that Winter would have done. Yet the whole point was that Ryker didn't want the JIA’s help anymore. Even though some would argue he did still need it.
‘And you could have tried to contact me, from the inside,’ Winter said.
‘No, I couldn’t,’ Ryker said. ‘If I’d opened my mouth about who I was, I’d have broken every rule in the JIA’s book. At best, you’d have left me to rot.’
‘It’s not like you to care about rule books.’
‘You’re right, I don’t. But I do care about living. If I’d given up who I was, what would you really have done?’
Winter went silent for a few seconds which pretty much confirmed Ryker’s belief.
‘You were lucky we had someone close by who put the pieces together of who you were,’ Winter said.
‘Yeah. Willoughby did put the pieces together. But you – she, the JIA – didn’t get me out.’
‘No. So I heard.’
‘So who is he?’ Ryker asked. ‘Marcus Powell?’
‘I honestly don’t know. I told you, this isn’t my case, but from the conversations I’ve had, nobody knows who this guy is, or who he really works for. It’s possible he’s simply a mercenary, working for himself or a rival faction.’
‘Maybe,’ Ryker said, though he still believed there was more to it than that. Powell’s influence was too great for him to just be a gun for hire or the Santos cartel’s henchman. He’d managed to spring Ryker from jail, for starters, and he seemed to know a lot of Ryker’s past. His list of allies and sources ran far and deep.
‘I understand you’re going to help us close this case,’ Winter said.
‘Apparently. Though why is the JIA involved here? Looks to me you’ve already got Powell and his crew intent on taking everyone out. What are we adding?’
‘We.’
‘What?’
‘You said we, like you know you’re still one of us.’
‘Just answer the question. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. On the face of it, that’s what Powell is. The JIA could let him do his dirty work, quash this whole ring, and be done with it.’
‘We could, and I’ll repeat again, this isn’t my case so I don’t know the whys and wherefores, but what if Powell is just a rival? He takes down this ring so he can take over.’
‘It’s possible. So is Powell a target of the JIA too then?’
‘I sense that you want me to answer that question with a yes. I haven’t forgotten how badly it affects you when you feel aggrieved, Ryker.’
‘That’s not much of an answer.’
‘The answer is I don’t know. Perhaps you should pick that up with Willoughby.’
‘Perhaps I will.’
‘We really are grateful, Ryker. You will of course be compensated for your efforts.’
‘I’ve told you before I don’t need your money.’
‘I know you have. I’m not trying to trick you or to tie you down here.’
‘Good.’
‘But one question that I am interested in: Why were you in Mexico?’
Ryker thought about
what to say. It was clear Winter already knew Ryker had been with Jiménez, and knew of Lisa’s disappearance, of course. Ryker had been in Spain helping Winter and the JIA when she’d been taken from their supposedly secret home on a remote Pacific island. There was no question that Ryker felt bitter toward the JIA because of that, for him not being there for her because they wouldn’t take their claws out of him – but he blamed himself more than anyone for what had happened.
If only he’d been there for her...
Ryker had informed Winter of Lisa’s disappearance soon after she’d been taken. Not to ask for help exactly, but just to talk. With Lisa gone, Ryker had no one else in the world to turn to. Not that Winter was a friend exactly, but he was an ally.
That conversation had been months earlier though, and Ryker hadn’t spoken to Winter since. Winter had promised to pass any intel over to Ryker on who may have taken Lisa, but there would be no official investigation into her disappearance, and to-date Ryker had given and been given nothing. Everything he’d found – the links to the Mexicans – was down to Ryker. He felt no need to tell Winter anything more about that until he’d exhausted the lines of enquiry on his own.
To do that he needed to find Powell.
‘I can only presume you being there is to do with Lisa,’ Winter said, his leap not exactly a surprise to Ryker. ‘And I know you want to see this through by yourself. That’s who you are. But you ever need me, you know where I am.’
‘Got it.’
Ryker looked away from the road and over to the door of the diner where Willoughby was just emerging.
‘It was good to speak to you, Winter,’ Ryker said.
‘Yeah.’
Ryker killed the call and put the phone away. Willoughby walked up to him looking relaxed and cheerful.
‘So did I check out?’ Willoughby asked.
Was Ryker really that obvious? ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
‘Looks like I’m sleeping with one eye open again tonight then,’ she said.
‘Yeah, looks like it. You get used to it. I’ve been doing it for longer than I care to remember.’
41
Mandeville, Louisiana
‘What the hell is this?’ Nicole asked.
She slapped down the Times-Picayune newspaper onto the marble worktop of the breakfast bar. Ashford paused with his cereal spoon midway between the bowl and his mouth. His heart sank, though he knew this moment was coming.
He stared at the headline and the large picture below it of him being confronted outside the hotel in New Orleans by Agent Klein.
‘It is what it says,’ Ashford said.
‘The FBI are questioning you about a woman’s disappearance? Why?’
‘Not questioning. They wanted to talk to me. They did. That’s it.’
‘Why, Douglas?’
‘That’s the same thing I asked them.’
‘Don’t be so damn blasé,’ Nicole said, her voice raised and edgy. ‘I know there’s more to it than that.’
Ashford looked up at her. She was wearing a silk bathrobe. Her hair was mussy, and her face was clear of make-up. The natural look did nothing to hide the angry creases on her forehead and around her eyes.
‘It’s just the press, honey,’ Ashford said, trying to sound more amenable. ‘They’re always looking for scandal. We have to expect this now. They’ll always be looking for ways to smear us with whatever they can. We need to be prepared for that.’
‘I am prepared for that, as far as politics goes. But this? This is a missing persons investigation, Douglas. I don’t know how they can just make up that you’re involved.’
‘Read the story again.’ Ashford felt his temperature rising but tried to keep his anger below the surface. ‘There’s nothing to it. The FBI guy confronted me in the street to ask me questions about some woman I don’t even know. The whole idea was probably just to cause embarrassment, and to damage me.’
‘Why would the FBI want to do that?’
‘I don’t know! Carter invited the agent to my office so we could talk privately about the matter. We did. He went away again. That was it. It wasn’t a formal interview. I’ve not been arrested or anything like that. Why do you think there’s no statement in this piece from the FBI or the police? It’s just some bored journalist looking to impress his boss.’
Ashford sounded a lot more confident than he felt, but he’d play the hard line as long as he could with his wife. The truth was he didn’t have anything to do with Anisa Murillo’s disappearance, though he wished he knew exactly what had happened to her and why. He would do his damnedest to find out who was trying to damage him.
‘You’d tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn't you?’ Nicole said, her mood turning from angry to worried.
‘Honey, you know I would want to,’ Ashford reached his hand out and put it over hers on the breakfast bar. ‘But sometimes there are things I just can’t tell you. For your own safety. You have to understand that?’
Clearly Nicole didn’t understand. She snatched her hand away and scowled, huffed, and turned, then stomped out of the kitchen.
Ashford noticed Will standing in the doorway as Nicole thudded up the stairs.
‘Way to go, Dad,’ Will said.
Ashford didn’t say anything but reached out for the newspaper. He didn’t want Will to have to see this ridiculous headline.
‘I already saw it,’ Will said as he walked toward the fridge. ‘It’s been all over the internet already. Newspapers are always so, like, yesterday.’
Ashford took the paper away regardless, both annoyed and ashamed at the embarrassment he sensed in his son. He finished the rest of his coffee and cereal while Will sloppily splashed milk over a bowl that was over-spilling with flakes.
‘You have a good day, son,’ Ashford said when he got up from his stool.
‘Yeah.’
Ashford went into the hall and grabbed his briefcase. He shouted a goodbye to his wife before he headed out to his Navigator.
He was just leaving the Grasslands estate when he felt his pocket vibrating. For just a second he wondered why the in-car bluetooth hadn’t picked up the incoming call. Then he realised it was the other phone.
He fished it out and answered, weaving the car one handed along the estate’s twisting road.
‘Please tell me you have some good news,’ Ashford said.
‘Eh, actually yeah,’ Mitchell said.
‘About Murillo?’
Ashford felt more alert, but the upbeat feeling didn’t last long.
‘No, sorry, not that. Still no idea where she is.’
Ashford sighed. ‘Then what?’
‘First things first, since you asked. The Murillo thing. I’ve been scouring every source I have for information. Nobody knows a damn thing, not even the police.’
‘Really? So why is this not on the police’s radar?’
‘Exactly. There’s something seriously wrong with this.’
‘But you did say you had some good news?’
‘I do. The other thing you asked me to look into, the two unexpected guests from England.’
‘The two government workers?’
‘Yeah.’
Clarke and Turner were late additions to the guest list for Ashford’s upcoming private charity function. Some three hundred invites had been sent to the cream of Louisiana society – anyone who was anyone in the area was coming. It wasn’t unusual for important government delegates to request to come to these events too. They always stuck their noses in whenever people of money got together. But Ashford couldn’t understand why the Brits were sending anyone. That was a first. He’d had Mitchell see if he could find anything out about the two.
‘And? Are they legit?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘How can you not know?’
‘Because we’re dealing with the British here, not our own. It’s not that easy to track down their profiles. But I found them.’
‘What do you mean you f
ound them?’
‘As in I tracked them to a hotel over on the I-10, heading east from Texas.’
‘How the hell?’
‘It’s a long story. I got lucky, that’s all.’
‘Lucky? Yeah, maybe. But still, knowing they’re staying in a crappy motel a couple hundred miles away is hardly a bombshell. They’re supposed to be coming from the consulate in Houston after all. If this is all you got for good news then it’s not exactly filling me with joy, Mitch.’
‘Sorry, but it’s all I got. What do you want me to do next?’
There were several options available, but until Ashford knew exactly what the potential threat was – if there was even a threat – he had to play it cool and not cause any more unwanted attention for himself.
‘Just find out what you can about them, on the QT. We’ve still got time on our side. Don’t go confronting them or ruffling their feathers just yet. They may be who they say there are.’
‘Yeah, or they may be–’
‘A big problem. Find out which it is.’
‘Okay. You got it.’
‘But keep your distance. For now.’
‘I will. You just need to give me the word. I’ll do whatever’s necessary.’
‘I know you will.’
42
Egan, Louisiana
The drive across Texas and Louisiana was long but trouble free. Willoughby and Ryker stopped off for the night in a basic motel near the small town of Egan, taking one room between them – it was easier for a travelling twosome to be seen as a couple, less questions asked, less memorable. Willoughby took the moth-eaten room’s double bed, Ryker the sofa. There was no air-conditioning so it was oppressively hot and Ryker slept in just his boxers. The couch – whose armrest doubled as Ryker’s pillow – was solid, and although his feet and ankles overhung the far end, Ryker still enjoyed the best sleep he’d had in days.
