by Mike Binder
ON THE RUN ■ 9
Gordon pulled into the winding driveway onto the two-hundred-fifty-year-old estate and rolled past the main house, down a long tractor road, to the caretaker’s lodge at the north side of the property. As the shaggy fishing van snaked back toward the cabin, a chain-link fenced pen came into view. It was alive with the rabid energy of eleven catch dogs. Large, angry Cane Corsos, snapping at them as they drove by. Adam thought the beasts looked hungry. Gordon knew full well that they were. In his race to retrieve Kate and the kids, he had forgotten to feed them. He made a mental note, once the family settled into the back lodge, to quell the pack with food.
The caretaker’s lodge was sparse, cool, and calm. The steady bark of the hounds was the only sound from outside. The place seemed to be shut down for the season. Gordon explained that the caretakers were in Switzerland opening Heaton’s summer home. He had been the only one up here for the last month or so, only to feed the dogs and walk the property, scouting for any problems to report to the maintenance crews down in London. He had come to like the lonely, quiet work. In the last six months, as Heaton and his world grew increasingly crazed, Gordon preferred the solitude nestled inside the three hundred acres, with the stars in the sky at night and the birds in the trees come morning—just the dogs and him.
He had stocked the kitchen in advance of bringing Kate and the grandkids up. He showed them around the sparsely furnished maintenance lodge. He gave Kate and Adam the nicest bedroom suite and told them to get some rest while he organized his plans to get them over to Ireland and then back home. He had Adam stow the fishing van in a garage by the dog pound while he backed out a new Mercedes station wagon that they would load in the morning and take to the west coast. He was trying desperately, with actions rather than words, to show Adam that he had been played as badly, if not worse, than Adam himself had been.
Something about the way that Adam went along with the preparations told Gordon that his son-in-law seemed to understand, if not condone, the actions Gordon had been forced to take. The ice was still there between them, but perhaps it had begun to thaw. He hoped he’d soon feel the same energy from his grandson and, even more important, his daughter.
Later that night, with Kate and the kids in bed, while he and Gordon nursed some of Heaton’s scotch, Adam saw the latest chum that Downing Street had thrown to the world’s media. They had released his name and face. He was on every channel. CNN was interviewing everyone he ever knew about the “attempted murder” at the governor’s office in Michigan: all of his old friends, and they even got to Jenny Plena, his high school girlfriend, who told through tears about Adam bringing flowers to her mother on her deathbed.
Every channel would be running the story for hours, fueled by photos, testimony, theories, and profiles. By morning there wouldn’t be a soul on Earth who wouldn’t know his name.
This latest news had taken Adam lower than Gordon had ever seen him. As he pried himself up off the couch, Gordon took the remote and shut the television off. He put his arm on Adam’s shoulder.
“It’s gonna be okay, boy. We have a plan, we stick with it.” Adam nodded. It made sense but he couldn’t picture the end, couldn’t imagine a time when he walked away from all of this, from his mistake in Michigan, from the fugitive version of himself that he saw on the news. However efficient a plan they made, it all seemed pointless, like a fire drill in a town about to be nuked.
* * *
EARLY THE NEXT morning, Gordon, standing in the kitchen, could hear Kate’s feet moving on the thin wooden floor above him. He made a fresh pot of coffee and put out a pitcher of orange juice. He sat at the table and waited for her to come down. When she did, as she poured herself a cup of coffee, he opened his heart and hoped for the best.
“Kate, please know I would never have knowingly put you or Adam or my grandchildren in any harm. I’d rather die a thousand deaths than to have that on my head. I was duped. I am an old fool. All I wanted was for you to smile once in my direction, to be happy and know that maybe I was part of the cause. I thought I was doing a good thing getting Adam in with Heaton. I swear to you, darling, on the grave of your beautiful mother, I swear it’s the truth.” Kate turned to look at her father seated at the table. He seemed smaller now than he ever had. His eyes red with anguish. His hands bent inward from stress.
She walked over to the table and kissed his wrinkled forehead sweetly. She could almost feel her kiss melt his aching limbs. She sat down with her coffee next to him and took his hand. He leaned down and kissed hers. A tear sat solemnly on his bottom eyelid.
“All I’ve done for years is miss you, girl. Miss you, miss your mum.”
“I know, Daddy. I know.”
“When this is all over, when I get you and the family out, when I clean up my side of the street, I want to come over. To Chicago. I don’t need to live underfoot. I have money. I’ll get a place. I’ll start a new life. I’ve been a fool. I should have done it years ago, but I thought I couldn’t leave England. Thought I’d be leaving your mother, my mum, my dad. I could feel them here still, but I can’t now, you see? I don’t feel them anymore.”
She hugged him. He wept outright. They held each other with bittersweet joy. There was nothing to be happy about in either of their lives, but this moment here had waited patiently to arrive, so they each danced in it warmly, hungry for any bit of light they could find.
ON THE HUNT ■ 9
Steel and Captains Andrew Tavish and Edwina Wells arrived at the south side of the Dorrington property just before noon. Wells had asked the local authorities to stand down for the first blush and let them determine if the Tatums were there or not. The last thing they wanted was for Tatum to flee before they could get to him or, worse, have gunfire to conclude the chase with the Tatums’ death, playing right into Heaton’s hands. Radios keyed, guns at the ready, they proceeded on foot onto the estate, using the thick line of woods for cover as they scrambled from tree to tree toward the main house.
Steel wondered if Georgia was aware of the present operation. She fought the urge to break from the pack in order to call her, tell her everything. She wanted to impress her, energize her, titillate her with news of the final siege, but she knew a break in ranks would only put Georgia in an awkward position. She understood it would be the wrong thing to do and quickly tried to find another reason to call and to hear her voice—some pertinent excuse to engage in a quick conversation. She wondered, as they passed through the woods, what Georgia was up to right at that moment. What could the minute by minute in her daily life possibly be, a life with so much responsibility, with so much at stake? She tried to think about what she was wearing, what kind of mood she would be in. With each step through the musty forest, she thought deeper about where the road ahead led for herself and that beautiful chancellor.
* * *
AS GEORGIA’S WEEKLY meeting at Treasury ended, Jack Early took her quietly aside in the hallway and told her of a phone call that had come in. It made her heart beat quickly, like a drum. She hustled the whispering Early over to Number 10 and into her new perch in Lassiter’s office, where she quietly closed the door.
“Tell me everything, Early. When did the call come in?”
“Just now, ma’am. He said he needs to speak with you. Says it’s urgent.” Her face flushed. She knew now that every personal or private call she had with Heaton without consent of Darling or the home secretary was a mistake. She knew Heaton well. He would be calling to draw her in, to position her as cover.
“If you do make the call, ma’am, I’d suggest that you record it.” Early seemed to come alive with the tension. Georgia was of an opposite state.
“I don’t know if I can do that, Jack. Surreptitiously recording a call from Heaton—I don’t know if I have it in me. Where will it lead?” She turned to him, sincerely searching for an answer. Early stood mindlessly, scratching at his forehead as he ruminated on a proper reply.
“No, I suppose not. I suppose if we do record
it, it’s there to hang in the wind, isn’t it?”
“I should call him back, though. Return the call quickly. If I don’t, he knows full up that Darling and Steel are spikes into him. Do we want him to have that information?” Early agreed. It needed to remain business as usual. She collapsed into Lassiter’s chair as Early dialed.
* * *
“I REALLY JUST wanted to see how you’re holding up, Georgia. None of this could be easy on you. In your position.”
“No, no, thank you for calling, then. It’s all a nightmare, isn’t it? I wake up every morning and still can’t believe it’s the truth.”
“Do you think he’ll make it? In your heart of hearts? Do you, Georgie?” He teased her with a schoolboy’s nickname, reminding her in one snap how deeply the ties between them were laid: all the wins they’d had, the losses, the two silly stabs at sorry sex, the arguments over well-prepared meals. There had been years and miles of motion and emotion between them, and now this, too, all recalled with the simple use of a friendly moniker.
“I don’t know. I really don’t know if he’ll survive. I’m not a doctor, am I?” And with that, she took all hope for a warm call off the table. “What can I do for you, David?” Heaton chuckled. He knew her well enough to discern her hidden meaning.
“You can take it all slow. That’s what you can do, love. Take it all slow. There’s much at stake. Right? Let’s let cooler heads prevail. That’s all I’m asking. Don’t charge anyone up, not until you have a strong handle on how much there is to lose. For everyone.” It wasn’t even a veiled threat. It was an order he was giving her now. She wanted to lash out but knew there was no upside. Let him talk, she thought. Let him keep talking, she decided as she swallowed air, let him be David-charming, David in control. Sly David. Chess player David.
“Someone will hang for this, there’s no doubt, Georgia. The dust will settle. You needn’t worry. Just know this, if it’s me, if I’m to hang, there will be a smile in my heart. I’ll know I was looking out for England, for my country. Do you see? I’ll know I did what was right. Will you be able to say the same?” She let it all rumble on the line, the threat, the intonation, the cocky cackle. She didn’t have it in her to respond to the level of gamesmanship that Heaton wanted to play at.
“I have to go, David. I think it’s best for you not to call again.” She hung up and stared across the desk at Early, who did everything he could not to meet her eye.
* * *
STEEL, TAVISH, AND Wells walked behind the pen and small feed house that comprised the dog compound. The animals thrashed violently at the fence as they passed. Steel felt her knees wobble.
“I hate dogs. Always have,” she confessed to Wells, a known dog lover.
“How could you hate dogs, Davina? What’s there to hate? Look at them, poor things, they’re just hungry.” Tavish wasn’t as sympathetic.
“Those are vicious dogs. Cane Corsos. And they do look hungry. And angry. They’re actually very rare in Britain. They have the most bite force of any breed. Jaws like sharks.” He looked gravely at Steel before a sly grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“Seriously, Davina, if any dogs were to give you the willies, these are the ones to get them from. They are trouble. Just look at them.” He tossed a stone at the fence. The dogs charged and gnashed, hatefully barking at them all. Tavish, in his early thirties, a tall, lean ginger with a handsome baby face, had a good flirty laugh at Davina’s expense.
They tucked behind a nearby tree when they heard a car roll from behind the main house. A new Mercedes parked on the other side of a grassy hill and its occupants disembarked. Harris and Peet, the latter still with his arm slung and shoulder bandaged. Two younger men accompanied them. Steel hadn’t seen them before. They seemed to have the same affectless disposition common to all of Heaton’s paid guns. Under cover of the cacophony of canine howls, the four men headed past the manor home into another clump of trees, sneaking to the lower area of the estate. It was obvious they weren’t making a social call.
The three investigators decided to split up, hoping to flank and contain Heaton’s team. Steel tried to ignore the baying dogs and stay focused. She flipped off her gun’s safety and chambered a round. She sensed in her bones that things were about to go from bad to rotten.
ON THE RUN ■ 10
Gordon heard an electronic beeping from a closet in the front hall of the maintenance lodge. He rose and walked toward the utility nook. Adam and Kate both figured that the washer or dryer had finished its cycle, but when Gordon stepped out of the closet, there was a noticeable lack of blood in his face.
“Are you okay, Gordon?”
“I’m fine. All is well. I need to run up to the main house. It’s an electrical thing.” Adam was more than curious about this concern.
“Should I come with?”
“No, no, you stay here. Once lunch is finished, get everyone in the car and we’ll head out. Yes?”
“That’s fine.”
Gordon waved to the others and then took a maintenance golf cart up the tractor road toward the big house. Adam didn’t believe his story for a second. He saw what he thought was a handgun-size bulge under Gordon’s shirt when he emerged from the utility closet. The kids and Kate were busily not talking to each other, gazing mutely into their respective iPads. Adam tried to open the closet door but it was locked. He rifled through some nearby drawers and found the key.
Inside the closet there was a bank of monitors running the feeds from security cameras positioned around the property. It appeared to be an intensely sophisticated system, obviously more attentively manned when Heaton was on the property, and now reliant upon motion sensors. It beeped again as Adam saw an image of Gordon driving up the tractor trail.
Another monitor above showed Adam what had sent Gordon off: the Mercedes. At the main house. Heaton’s men. They were here. On the opposite wall was a finely engineered rack of rifles and handguns, a precise spot for each and every weapon. One was distinctly missing.
* * *
ADAM SPRINTED NORTH through the woods, a Barrett REC7 automatic rifle in one hand, a .44 Magnum in the other, dodging through the dense field of trees and growth, making his way up to the main house, hoping to cover Gordon. Adam had started to contemplate forgiving Gordon for his cluelessness. But now, running and gunning, trying hard to maintain a steady breathing pattern, he was as mad at the old fool as he’d ever been.
Adam had come from the closet into the kitchen and demanded that Kate and the kids finish packing the Mercedes that Gordon had for them, and then get into it and wait and be ready to leave in a hurry. Of course, Kate wanted explanations, but there was time only to yell and insist in a tone that purposely scared her and the kids into immediately doing exactly what he wanted, so he had done just that as he bolted from the lodge.
The trees thinned out at the top of a gully. He heard yelling on the other side of a clearing. He saw Gordon, standing beside the golf cart, in a heated conversation with Harris, the man who had killed Richard Lyle. Another two men listened on, Peet and a younger colleague.
Adam got low and crept closer, advancing from one tree to the next. As his breathing steadied, he could hear what was being said. There were angry shouts now just ten yards away. Gordon was enraged. All four of them had guns drawn, each of them warily trying to figure how not to get killed once the firing started.
“You’re a fool, Harris. You, too, Peet. How long do you play his stooges? Don’t you see where this has all gone? You’ll kill Adam, and then what? Kill me? Then what does he do?” He pointed to the young stooge.
“He has Dorman here kill you, and where does it end? He’s got himself in a corner. He’ll take you out, too. You need to understand that. Understand it clearly, man!” Harris moved closer to him and chuckled. “No, Thompson. You have it wrong. Very wrong. Heaton is in control here. You jumped ship too early.” Gordon didn’t back down, raised his gun.
“I have it spot-on. Heaton will be arrested. In
any scenario. Where does that leave you, and how does killing us help?”
“But he’s not going to be arrested. You’re wrong as usual, Thompson. He’s got an inside player on this one. All the way at the top. No one’s going to be arresting Heaton. He’s going to be calling the shots.” Adam leaned into the clearing. He wasn’t sure what he was hearing. Harris spelled it out for the two of them.
“Georgia Turnbull, you dumbass! She’s gonna be prime minister, and soon. He’s not as dumb as you think he is. Now you either drop that gun or shoot me now. And when you do, Peet shoots you. This is too much talking for me.”
Gordon turned to the bald and slow-eyed Peet: a handgun in his good hand was pointed straight at his head. Then he turned back to Harris, his stubby Beretta angled at his brow. The younger man, so confident they had the jump on Gordon, didn’t even bother to lift his pistol from his side. He just shot a cocky grin at Gordon to let him know it was there.
Adam put Harris’s red head in the center of his scope. He would take him out, then the younger guy. The element of surprise would allow him to get both. He hoped Gordon would be quick enough to shoot Peet. As his finger curled around the trigger, a voice rang out.
“Freeze! Right where you are! Metropolitan Police! Drop your weapons!” Adam looked up and saw a police officer, Andrew Tavish, gun drawn, badge out, on the crest of the hill. A shot rang out. Before Tavish could finish his orders he was dead, a fatal head wound. Tavish was blown off the ridge where he had been standing. The shot had come from Adam’s tree line. He spied a fourth Heaton man, another young guy, west of his position, prepared to fire a long-range rifle a second time.
Adam turned back to the clearing in perfect time to see Harris deliver to Gordon the same cold-blooded good-bye that had felled Richard Lyle. Right to the center of his forehead from three feet away. Gordon flew back onto the lawn, landing flat on his back, gone before his body touched the grass.
