The Black Hornet: James Ryker Book 2

by Rob Sinclair

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Greg Nylander,’ Klein said.

  ‘Who?’ Ashford acted bemused. He did recognise the name, but he knew little of the man, other than he was on Mitchell’s team of investigators. Why the hell was Klein bringing him up?

  ‘I saw him around a few minutes ago,’ Klein said. ‘Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but do you know the police received an anonymous report last night that a man was videoed breaking and entering a hotel room in New Orleans.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘It turns out that somebody was Greg Nylander. I found this out a few minutes ago. Don’t ask me what he was doing or why, it’s none of my business; even the local police are hardly going to be jumping up and down about a misdemeanour like that. Just something I heard on the wire, you know how it is. Actually, maybe you don’t. Anyway, interesting he should be here, of all places.’

  Ashford said nothing, though he was certainly feeling under pressure now.

  ‘Like I said, Congressman, you should be careful about the company you keep. A lot of people are watching you.’

  48

  Ryker spun away from the window and held his breath as he listened for more sounds. He heard another creak, closer this time. Ryker glanced down at the laptop in the open drawer, at the thumb drive sticking out of the USB port. Shit. Still downloading. He had a split-second decision to make; close the drawer and hope he got a chance to come back later, or pull the drive out now and hope he’d already gotten something useful.

  He opted for the former. Ryker gently but quickly shut the drawer before dashing toward the doorway. He reached it and swung the door open and came face to face with Nicole Ashford. She jumped back in shock, almost sending the champagne flying out of the flute she was holding.

  ‘I thought there was someone up here,’ she said, her face full of not just suspicion but fear too.

  ‘I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you,’ Ryker said, in his most amenable English accent. He hoped it would soften her manner, or at the least raise her intrigue in who he was rather than why he was snooping.

  ‘What are you doing up here?’ she asked, her eyes beady and mistrusting. ‘In there?’

  ‘I was just looking for the toilet. The downstairs one was taken. It’s such a big house, I got lost. You’re Mrs Ashford, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ Ryker said holding out his hand. ‘My name’s Jack Turner, but please, call me Jack.’

  Nicole tentatively reached out and gave Ryker’s hand a gentle shake. When she let go he noticed her eyes drop to his hand as she surveyed the mangled scar there. Her eyes narrowed. ‘You shouldn’t be up here,’ she said with little warmth.

  ‘Sorry, but I’m desperate.’

  Ryker gave her an earnest look.

  ‘There’s a bathroom just over there. You walked right past. I’m only glad you didn’t pee on Douglas’s desk, he wouldn’t have been too happy with that.’

  Her face remained deadpan through the joke. Ryker wasn’t sure how to react.

  ‘Go on then,’ she said, her tone forthright now that her initial shock had dissipated. ‘I’ll wait here for you. I wouldn’t want you getting lost again.’

  Ryker thanked her and took a brief peek into the office as he closed the door to confirm everything was as he’d found it. It was. He moved to the bathroom and shut the door then took out his phone. No calls or texts from Willoughby. He waited before flushing the toilet, then washed and dried his hands and headed back out.

  Nicole Ashford was still on the landing, outside the bathroom door, leaning against the banister and staring at Ryker. Her manner seemed to have softened somewhat, her shoulders were relaxed, her eyes more rounded than piercing. She was casually puffing on an e-cigarette. Together with her elegant dress and her hair and her natural allure, she reminded Ryker of a movie star from a bygone era, the only difference being the battery-powered tube wedged between her fingers, rather than a real cigarette that on screen would send graceful swirls of smoke around her face, but in real life would simply stink of burning tobacco.

  Smouldering. That was the word to describe what Ryker saw.

  ‘So what do you do, Mr Turner?’

  ‘Jack.’

  ‘Jack, huh? You do jack shit?’

  Ryker smiled. ‘No, I mean my name’s Jack. Call me Jack, please.’

  The side of Nicole’s mouth turned outward in just the faintest smile. ‘You’re not from around here.’

  ‘You noticed?’

  ‘London?’

  ‘England, yes. Not London.’

  ‘And what brings you here.’

  ‘Me and my colleague–’

  ‘Colleague? The pretty blonde girl outside?’

  ‘Yes, Emily Clarke.’

  ‘I thought she was your girlfriend. Not your wife though. You looked too happy together and neither of you is wearing a ring.’

  She was quite the spy it seemed. Ryker, although by now intrigued by Nicole Ashford, felt the slightest unease.

  Had she known all along that Ryker had headed up to the office to pry?

  ‘No,’ Ryker said, smiling. ‘Emily and I just work together. At the British Consulate in Houston.’

  ‘Houston? That’s a long way from here.’

  ‘Not as far as Britain is.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘But yes, from Houston we look after the interests of the British government in a half dozen states, Louisiana included.’

  ‘And what brings you here?’

  Ryker smiled and moved forward toward Nicole, leaning against the banister next to her.

  ‘Your outstanding charity work, of course,’ Ryker said, intending his words and the way he said them to make Nicole feel special. The flattered look she gave him suggested it had worked. ‘I’m not sure how much you know of the UK, but we’re experiencing similar immigration issues to yourselves. In fact the whole of Europe is. My manager was eager for me to come and find out more about what you’re doing to help these growing communities.’

  ‘It’s certainly a huge compliment to be on your radar,’ Nicole said. ‘I’m a big believer in helping those less fortunate than me. Douglas... oh, I don’t know, the position he’s in now means that we get a lot of extra publicity for what I do, but for me it’s a real passion.’

  ‘I sense that.’

  ‘Do you?’ she asked, her kindly manner disappearing. ‘Call me a cynic, but I don’t think you’re telling me the whole story here.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I may look like just another spousal appendage among all these wealthy leeches, but I can assure you I’m so much more than that. Jack.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Your small talk is pretty good. You’re a nice looking man too. Rough around the edges, for sure, but a lot of women go for that look.’

  ‘Thanks, I think.’

  Nicole’s manner became more relaxed again, and she took a long drag on the e-cigarette and turned her head to blow the vapour away. She turned back and reached out, gently taking hold of Ryker’s hand. He didn’t flinch. He was fascinated to see where the bizarre conversation was going.

  ‘My husband is a good man,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know him well enough to judge that. But I’m certainly hoping to get to know him better.’

  Nicole stared into Ryker’s eyes and he wished he knew what she was thinking. Her fingers gently stroked his. He was good at reading most people, but this woman’s mixed signals had him flummoxed. She certainly seemed to have a good read of Ryker though. She knew he was an imposter. Exactly what she thought Ryker was, he didn’t know, but she was seemingly more keen to play a dangerous game and chat – flirt? – with him than to run off to her husband to cry foul.

  ‘Just be careful, Jack. Some things are best left alone.’

  Ryker opened his mouth to speak but Nicole put a finger to his lips to stop him.


  ‘You don’t need to respond. Just think about what I’ve said.’

  She pulled her hand away and took a large swig of champagne, draining the glass dry. ‘Would you look at that. I’m all out.’

  ‘Seems like you are.’

  ‘And now I need the toilet. It was nice talking to you.’

  ‘It was certainly interesting.’

  Nicole gave him what he took to be a sultry look before she moved off from the banister and on toward the bathroom. Ryker was still standing there staring when she closed the door behind her.

  Time to focus.

  He looked at his watch. Ten minutes since he plugged the USB drive in. He had to hope that was enough because with Nicole Ashford already suspicious of his presence and his intentions, he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance to return upstairs. Unless she was interested in flirting with him some more.

  He had read that right, hadn’t he?

  Ryker dashed into the office, opened the drawer and pulled out the device, then shut the drawer and darted for the exit. He heard the toilet flushing and moved quickly to the stairs.

  He descended the first half of the staircase two steps at a time, then slowed down as he neared the bottom. Above him, he heard the bathroom door open. By then, he was already at the bottom of the stairs, and was soon heading back toward the open French doors.

  Ryker breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped out onto the patio. He grabbed another flute of orange juice and took a swig while he scanned for Willoughby. He spotted her talking to a different group of people. Still smiling, still in control, still the belle of the ball. Nicole Ashford aside, perhaps. After taking a canapé, Ryker moved forward, down the steps onto the lawn.

  Just then movement to his left caught his attention. He looked across. It was Ashford, a scowl covering his face.

  He was heading straight for Ryker.

  49

  Ashford, his assistant Carter in tow, came straight up to Ryker, the stern look on the Congressman’s face only softening at the last second. Despite the seemingly unfriendly approach, Ryker decided to try to play along.

  ‘Congressman Ashford,’ he said, smiling and extending his hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Jack Turner from the British Consulate.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Ashford took Ryker’s hand and gave it a firm shake. ‘You just carry on helping yourself to my food and drink.’

  Ryker kept eye contact but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure if Ashford’s words were intended as a quip or a dig.

  ‘We have to go,’ Carter said, leaning over to speak into Ashford’s ear.

  ‘I can’t talk now,’ Ashford said to Ryker. ‘But please don’t go anywhere. My colleagues and I are very keen to speak to you, Mr Turner.’

  Ashford glared at Ryker.

  ‘I look forward to it,’ Ryker said, no longer smiling.

  ‘Please excuse me.’

  ‘It’s time for his speech,’ Carter added, somewhat apologetically.

  Ryker nodded in acknowledgement as Ashford and Carter carried on their way, up the steps on to the patio where a wooden plinth had been hastily erected for Ashford to stand behind. A man in a suit came forward and spoke into the microphone propped in place on the plinth, his voice playing out through several large speakers as he announced the impending grand speech.

  A gaggle of photographers and news crews gathered at the bottom of the steps in prime position. Nicole Ashford was certainly right about one thing, Ashford would be getting some good publicity for the charities. He undoubtedly needed some good publicity given the recent damaging headline that had hit the local news. Unfortunately for Ashford, Ryker was sure there were far worse headlines to come for the Congressman.

  Ryker turned and locked eyes on Willoughby. The two of them moved toward one another at the same time, edging away from the gathering crowd to give them space to speak. Ryker kept alert as he moved. The security detail didn’t seem particularly interested in him, they were too busy watching Ashford, but Ryker spotted other eyes on him as he moved. Nylander was watching him. Also the big man who Ashford had earlier been speaking to on the lawn.

  ‘So?’ Willoughby said.

  Ryker pulled his glass up to his mouth so that no one watching could read his lips. ‘Mrs Ashford isn’t all she seems.’

  ‘In what way?’ Willoughby asked, doing the same with her glass.

  ‘I’m not sure yet.’

  ‘Did you get what you needed, though?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good work.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing, there’s a hell of a lot of money floating around here today. I mean, serious money.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Just then, Ashford came up to the plinth and took over the microphone. The guests gave their host a round of loud and expectant applause before going silent as the photographers eagerly clicked away. Ashford began with his gushing thanks before expanding into a lengthy discussion of the great work his wife’s charities were performing for the local community.

  ‘You seem to have made a new friend,’ Willoughby said.

  Ryker fixed his gaze on Nicole Ashford, standing a couple of yards to the side of her husband. She was looking in Ryker’s direction, though at a distance, he couldn’t be sure whether she was looking directly at him or just over in his general area. But then he was sure he saw her give a dark smile before looking away.

  ‘Not her,’ Willoughby said. Ryker looked across at Willoughby. He could tell she was holding back a smirk. ‘Him.’

  Ryker soon found who Willoughby was referring to. It was the big guy again, Ashford’s comrade. He was watching the speech but intermittently giving Willoughby and Ryker the evil eye.

  ‘Who is he?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘His name’s Aaron Mitchell. Ex-special forces.’

  ‘Ashford wasn’t special forces though.’

  ‘I don’t believe so. But these two are old chums apparently.’

  ‘I’m betting they’re a bit more than that.’

  Ryker looked around again. ‘The security guards here are just hired in for the day. The real threat to us, if there is one, is these army guys.’

  ‘That was my feeling too.’

  ‘Did you find any connection between them and Camp Joseph?’

  ‘Not directly. But plenty of people had some pretty damning things to say about Colonel Lincoln.’

  ‘Is he here?’ Ryker asked, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘No. But people who know him, and know Camp Joseph, are.’

  ‘See, what did I tell you? I knew you’d be good at mingling.’

  Willoughby smiled. ‘I hardly had to do a thing. Apparently rich people love nothing more than to gossip behind each others’ backs. So what next?’

  ‘Let’s keep up the pretext as long as we can. Ashford said he wants to speak to me. The way he said it suggested it’s not going to be a friendly chat. I’m waiting to see if anyone makes a move on us.’

  ‘We could just leave now while we’re ahead. Go and see what data you managed to grab.’

  ‘We could. But where’d be the fun in that? Leaving while the party is still in full swing? We’re both making good progress. Let’s keep at it.’

  Willoughby tutted. ‘Do you actually get a kick out of taking risks?’

  ‘Living on the edge, Willoughby, is the only way I know.’

  Ryker turned and winked at her. She didn’t react but Ryker found himself staring into her eyes a second too long.

  He looked away, back to Ashford who was still blathering about money this, money that.

  And that was when it happened: mid-sentence, Ashford suddenly jerked backward. The whole crowd went silent, no one quite sure what had caused the Congressman’s stumble. Ryker was one of few people who got it immediately. As did Mitchell, it seemed, by the way he was already leaping forward toward his boss.

  Only when the patch of red appeared on Ashford’s white shirt, spreading outwa
rds, and the booming echo cascaded through the sky a fraction of a second later, did the crowd realise what had happened.

  50

  In an instant, a chorus of screams filled the air as men and women all around did one of three things; stood open mouthed in shock, hit the ground, or ran. The scene was chaos.

  The bullet had hit Ashford in the shoulder. He was grounded. Probably not a fatal blow; had the sniper not intended to kill or was it just a wayward shot? Most likely it was the latter as seconds later, there was a thwack as a second bullet sunk into the plinth, followed shortly after by another booming crack. The screams of the guests grew louder with the second shot.

  Despite the eruption of hysteria around him, Ryker remained focused. Ashford was by now smothered by guards and hidden behind the wooden plinth. A number of the other security guards were reacting the same way as the guests – running for cover. Others were shouting and barking orders, corralling guests to relative safety, looking for any evidence of where the shots had come from.

  The only place the shooter could be, Ryker knew, was the dense woods behind Ashford’s garden. Given the time delay between the bullets hitting and the sound of the shots, the shooter was several hundred yards away. Whoever it was, they’d be long gone before anyone caught up.

  Ryker soon realised though that not everyone was concerned about the shooter. Mitchell, having initially made a move toward his boss, was now focused on someone else. He bellowed an order, his face creased with anger, and pointed at Ryker.

  ‘Run,’ Ryker said.

  Willoughby didn’t need to be told twice.

  As Ryker moved, he saw Mitchell and two others around him pull guns. All of them were soon descending on Ryker and Willoughby. The only chance they had of steering clear of those weapons was to use the scattering crowds as cover.

  Ryker and Willoughby moved with the guests who were frantically making their way to the front of the house. Then Ryker darted off to the side, hurtling toward one of the uniformed guards. He could hear shouts and calls behind him, instructions from Mitchell to the guard, telling him to stop Ryker and Willoughby. There was determination in the guard’s eyes too. He wasn’t scared by the prospect of actually having to do his job. He was just too slow, and he made it far too easy for Ryker.