Dead Men's Harvest jh-6

by Matt Hilton

  Walter chuckled into the phone, bloodthirsty son of a bitch that he was. ‘What about Rink?’

  ‘He’s with me now.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘As ugly as ever.’

  Walter chuckled again. I wouldn’t be making jokes if there was anything seriously wrong with my friend. I told him about Baron, about Hendrickson, what had happened since our meeting at the lake house. Walter promised to dig up what they had on the ex-spook; on Hendrickson he didn’t need to tell me much. ‘Son, after what’s gone on, we have enough to take Hendrickson down. You can concentrate on Cain.’

  ‘That’s not exactly true. You have only our testimonies on Hendrickson’s involvement. It was Petoskey and Baron who kidnapped Rink, Petoskey who murdered Louise Blake. Petoskey’s dead. You’ve no evidence to tie Hendrickson to any of it.’

  ‘We could bring him in on a conspiracy charge.’

  ‘Only for him to walk free again as soon as his attorney shows up.’ I paused, glanced back at Rink who was still in an exhaustion-induced sleep. ‘Look, I’ve got something to see to, but then I’ll bring in Hendrickson myself. But I can’t promise he’ll be fit for court.’

  ‘Bryce Lang was a good friend.’

  Walter was giving me his blessing to do with Kurt Hendrickson what I wanted. Maybe he wanted to save taxpayers’ money by negating the need for a lengthy trial.

  Chapter 22

  The Challenger 604 private jet took its single passenger back to Kurt Hendrickson. It landed at a private airstrip and was met by a contingent of armed men. Not that Tubal Cain was concerned about them; these men were here to protect Hendrickson from someone other than him.

  Hendrickson was sitting in the rear of a Lincoln town car. As soon as Cain was inside, an instruction was given to drive. The sedan was like a boat on wheels, and it drove like one, albeit a boat gliding on a smooth lake. A bodyguard sat up front alongside the driver. Ushering him inside, Hendrickson had made room for Cain in the back. They sat side by side, but the bench seat was large enough that there was room for two others between them.

  Neither man wore a happy face.

  ‘When you are finished with Telfer, I want you to kill Joe Hunter slowly,’ Hendrickson said. ‘I want you to make the bastard suffer.’

  The point was academic; that had always been Cain’s intention.

  ‘Problem?’ Cain’s damaged throat was handling words easier now that he was talking more regularly. Still, the sounds he made were like the rasp of steel on steel.

  ‘Hunter and Rington escaped.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Cain. ‘They were never going to give you Telfer’s location anyway. It was a stupid plan to use them for that. You should have had both of them drugged and brought here to me.’

  ‘It got my partner killed,’ Hendrickson said. His head bowed over his steepled hands. Not that he was praying for his departed business associate. ‘Maybe involving Hunter was a bad decision. If we hadn’t plotted to get at Telfer through his brother, then perhaps Sigmund would still be alive.’

  ‘Sigmund obviously messed up,’ Cain said. Careless of Hendrickson’s feelings, he added, ‘Maybe it’s best he died. He can’t ruin things a second time.’

  Hendrickson glanced sharply at him. Cain went on.

  ‘If you hadn’t taken Jared Rington, Hunter would still be unaware that we were after John. Isn’t that what you told me, that he’d gone up north on a trip?’

  ‘That was the info we had from the team we sent to Florida. Hunter wouldn’t have had a clue where we’d taken Rington. He’d have still been in the dark if you hadn’t slaughtered those CIA agents in the Adirondacks. My sources in law enforcement tell me the murders were immediately tied to you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cain agreed. ‘I have a certain recognisable flair. It’s just a pity I missed Walter Conrad. Killing him would’ve compensated for the mess we now have to clean up.’

  ‘Conrad’s dead.’

  ‘No. Not Conrad. He gave me the slip and I killed another man instead.’ Cain tapped a hand to his jacket pocket. Hendrickson averted his gaze, having no wish to know what was in the madman’s possession. ‘Conrad must’ve come clean about my escape from Conchar. He must’ve been the one to tie my escape to you, and to send Hunter after you. Makes sense that Hunter should go after Petoskey first, does it not?’

  ‘I’d been hoping that Hunter would make a try for him, that’s why I dispatched a team to watch Sigmund’s back.’ Hendrickson shrugged. ‘I still believe the plan would’ve worked. Hunter would’ve given us Telfer once he witnessed Rington being tortured.’

  Cain sniffed. ‘You obviously don’t understand Joe Hunter.’

  ‘He’s an ex-counterterrorism soldier. I know he’s good, but he’s still only one man.’

  ‘He’s better than that.’ Cain sat back in the seat, his head lolling on the headrest. His scarred throat punctuated his point. ‘You should’ve had him brought here for me to deal with. By making these ridiculous plans you’ve over-complicated things. You helped me to escape from prison so that when Telfer is killed it would look like the act of a vengeful murderer. You’d have been above suspicion. Now you’ve ensured the finger of blame is pointed directly at you. You’ve messed up, Hendrickson, and I’m concerned that you could mess things up again.’

  Cain turned and held Hendrickson’s gaze. Hendrickson frowned. ‘Don’t threaten me, Cain. We’re partners, remember?’

  ‘I’m not threatening you… partner.’ Cain patted Hendrickson on his knee. ‘I’m taking charge of things.’

  ‘In what respect?’

  ‘In respect of the planning.’ Cain smiled. ‘We’re going to keep things simple. I’m going to kill Telfer. You are going to bring Hunter to me.’

  ‘I can’t promise that I’ll deliver him alive. Not after what he did to Sigmund.’

  ‘Hunter won’t let you kill him.’

  ‘The team took him easily enough last time,’ Hendrickson pointed out. ‘He’s only alive because Baron’s orders were to torture Telfer’s location out of him.’

  ‘If Baron is that good, how did Hunter and Rington escape? He was one man, unarmed, against a team of your best hired killers. It sounds like Hunter allowed himself to be taken in order to find Rington. I’m only surprised he stopped at Sigmund. Baron and the others are lucky to be alive.’

  ‘It sounds like you respect him.’

  ‘Respect?’ Cain tasted the word. ‘Yes, I do. He stopped me, didn’t he? What’s not to respect?’

  ‘He’s an asshole,’ Hendrickson snapped. ‘He killed Sigmund.’

  ‘Hunter was protecting his loved ones. How does that make him an asshole?’ Cain squeezed Hendrickson’s knee. ‘You, Mr Hendrickson, are merely protecting your liberty and wealth. Your selfishness and greed killed Sigmund. Who does that make the better man?’

  Hendrickson snorted. He removed Cain’s hand from his knee. ‘I take it that you don’t respect me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you’re still prepared to work with me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So who does that make the better man?’

  Cain’s laughter sounded genuine.

  ‘Touche, Hendrickson.’

  Hendrickson’s cellphone rang. By the look on his face he was pleased at the distraction.

  ‘Baron?’

  Cain listened to the one-sided conversation.

  ‘You’re on your way here? Good. Have the bitch picked up,’ Hendrickson said. ‘Then have her brought here as well. And, Baron.. no mistakes this time.’

  He snapped the phone shut. ‘We’re in business again,’ he told Cain.

  Cain sucked in his bottom lip.

  ‘Turn the car around, Hendrickson.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I need the use of your jet.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘You’re over-complicating things again. Play your games if you must but I’m going to get Telfer. It’s just occurred to me how I can draw him out
of hiding.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Leave that to me.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Do you have connections in England? I need to get into the country but in a way that bypasses security.’

  ‘We’ve been smuggling people and contraband in and out of the UK for years.’

  ‘In and out? That’s good.’ Cain touched the objects secreted in his pocket. ‘I might be bringing back another keepsake.’

  Chapter 23

  If there was a way to turn back the clock, so that it was she and not Kate who’d died, Imogen would gladly have done so. Her younger sister had been shot by an assassin’s bullet intended for her. But her sister could never be brought back and Imogen didn’t want to die needlessly. The men threatening her life now had nothing to do with those who had been chasing her before, but they would be just as ruthless. Joe had warned her to run, and he wasn’t one for hysterics. If Joe said run, he meant it.

  She bundled a few belongings into her car, locked up her house, and headed for Machias without a look back. Joe’s rented Audi was under a layer of snow a hand’s-breadth deep and it was an indicator of what the roads would be like between her home and the highway. It would be slow going, but that would prove the same for anyone coming after her.

  Taking things at a steady pace, she followed the road off the promontory, watching for tracks in the virgin snow. Those made by the CIA car that had whisked Joe away had been obliterated by the blizzard that had blown unabated since they’d left. The slope was the most hazardous, but being from Maine, she was used to traversing a winter landscape and made the coast road without any drama. The ploughs had been through, but that must have been hours ago because the road was white and her tyres crunched through drifts where gaps in the forest had allowed the storm to dump all of its fury. There were shortcuts to the highway, but not in this weather. Her best bet was to follow the coast road all the way around the northern edge of Little Kennebec Bay and pick up the highway there for the short run into Machias. Joe had told her to go directly to the police. Machias had three different law enforcement offices, but she decided to present herself at the one on Valley View Road. Joe had been specific about that; it was just a pity he hadn’t been as clear when he’d said goodbye.

  She was confused.

  From the way that he’d left with the CIA agents she’d thought he wasn’t prepared to give their relationship the chance it deserved. Yet by ringing her he’d proven he did still care for her. He had called because she was in danger. He didn’t have to be in love with her to do that. But, then, he had said he’d come find her. Did he want to give their relationship another chance or finish with her for good? Kate was always going to be a weight on both their shoulders, but she wanted Joe to put Kate behind him and love her for herself.

  The snowfall was growing heavier. No, the reason that her vision was becoming obscured was because tears had sprung into her eyes. She dashed them away with the sleeve of her coat, gritted her teeth, aimed for the highway, and only occasionally glanced at the revolver on the seat beside her.

  Her brother Jake had been with Delta Force and later Arrowsake; Kate had been a NYPD officer, but, up until the incidents last year, Imogen had never been in a situation where firearms were necessary. She was a web designer and photographer. Christ, all she’d ever shot was pictures on a digital camera. However, following her kidnapping by Luke Rickard, Joe had taught her how to handle the revolver, having her shoot at paper targets he’d strung to the trees in her back yard. He’d told her to keep the gun handy at all times. On the seat beside her was about as handy as it could get.

  The highway was mainly cleared of snow, but it was piled at each side in huge mounds. The trees were heavily laden, the lowest boughs hidden in the drifts. There was little traffic, but she tucked into the wake of a truck and followed its lights through the swirling storm. It became apparent that other road users had the same idea because another car tucked in behind hers and one behind that. She made it to Machias in just under an hour, following the road through town and over the Machias River and out towards the police office. Joe had promised that he’d send someone to collect her, but how would they get here in this storm? The same way the bad guys would, she realised, and glanced once more at the reassuring presence of the revolver beside her.

  Flakes of snow drifted slowly across the road, caught on the breeze from a cross-street, as she waited for a traffic signal to turn green. On the sidewalks there were few pedestrians, but she watched a father trail two small boys on a sledge. The children were laughing and exhorting their dad to greater speed. They were approaching her car, and from his higher vantage the man would see her gun. She tucked it inside her coat. The man leaned down and grinned at her as he passed, a small-town gesture of friendship.

  Imogen flapped him a brief wave of her hand.

  She watched in her mirror as the man picked up speed, turning to run backwards as he yelled something at his cheering children. For a moment Imogen forgot about her worries in thoughts of children of her own. Could she imagine Joe Hunter hauling their kids along on a sledge? Then the tears were back. When next she checked in her mirror, the family had gone round a corner, but there was someone else on the sidewalk.

  A man was walking quickly towards the rear of her car. He had his head tilted down against the weather, his collar turned up, both hands stuffed in his pockets. She had no idea where he’d come from, but suspected that he had climbed out of the vehicle two back in the line. She wondered if it was one of the two cars that had followed her trail along the highway. His head came up, and there was nothing of a small-town welcome in that glance.

  She jerked her gaze up at the lights. Still on red. A bus crossed her path, slowed and angled for a turn past her car. The driver was taking things easy on the slushy surface, but even so the back end of the bus slewed slightly. The driver adjusted his approach, and began to creep around the corner. The lights changed, but Imogen could go nowhere yet. When she glanced in the mirror again, the man was passing the car behind hers. She touched the gas pedal, readying to take off.

  Then something unexpected happened.

  He yanked open the passenger door of the car behind and leaned in. Over the roar of the bus’s engine Imogen didn’t hear the bang of a gun, but she saw the flash of flame and the spray of blood that misted the interior of the car.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Caught in a panic, Imogen grabbed at the steering wheel, seeking a way around the rear end of the bus.

  There was another flash inside the car behind, a second shot. Then the gunman stood up, and this time he was heading for her. The second car back suddenly peeled out, barrelling along the sidewalk and past the walking man. It screeched to a halt to Imogen’s side, blocking her with its fender. Boxed in by the bus and the vehicle, she’d nowhere to escape to. Imogen let out a series of frightened cries, struggling to extract the revolver from her coat. The hammer snagged on the lining and she knew she’d never get to it in time. She cast a terrified glance at the car blocking her in, but couldn’t make out the face of the driver.

  Another prayer escaped her, and she saw the gunman reach for her door. Any second now he’d lean inside and shoot her. She tore at her coat, almost had the gun clear but it slipped from her fingers. The door began to swing open and Imogen screwed her eyes up in anticipation of a bullet in her head.

  ‘Imogen,’ a voice snapped.

  She made a mewling sound, but reaction forced her eyes open.

  A man with a scar on his lip and missing a chunk of eyebrow held an empty hand to her.

  ‘Come with us now.’

  Imogen was too terrified to recognise the face.

  ‘It’s me, Brigham. Joe sent us for you.’

  The name Brigham meant nothing to her. But he’d spoken the magic word: Joe. She looked at him now with a mix of hope and revulsion for what he’d just done to the people in the other car. He read the horror in her face. ‘If I hadn’t stopped them, they’d have kille
d you. Now, come on, we’re sure there’ll be others.’

  Afterwards, Imogen didn’t recall being hauled out of her car, or being hustled into the government vehicle. Once she was down on the back seat, with Brigham covering her with his body, she sucked in a deep gulp of air, realising that she’d been holding her breath since she’d been grabbed. Her heart thundered in her chest and she felt woozy, on the verge of passing out.

  The government car bumped down off the sidewalk, weaving around Imogen’s stalled vehicle and the back of the bus. There were faint shouts of consternation from within the bus as its passengers realised what they’d just witnessed. Imogen tried to sit up.

  ‘Stay down,’ Brigham hissed. ‘I told you there might be others.’

  ‘Those people…’

  ‘Punks sent after you.’ It was the man in the front who’d spoken. Now that she’d had a few seconds to think, Imogen recognised both men as the two who had taken Joe away from her. ‘Looks like we made it here just in time.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘We’re good at our jobs. They’re local scum, but they’d been sent orders to capture you by someone called Baron. Joe Hunter warned us that was going to happen.’

  ‘Local scum! What if they-’

  Brigham cut her off. ‘We were listening in with a directional microphone. They were armed and they were following you, plotting how to take you down. We had to take them down first.’

  Imogen was too confused to make any sense of it or the implication of their deaths. Was she complicit in murder? Should she bail out of this car at her first opportunity and run to the police for help? Or should she be thankful that the two CIA agents had risked their own lives on her behalf? After all, it was Joe who had sent them. She shut up.

  When Brigham finally allowed her to straighten up in the seat, they were beyond the town limits and heading for Machias Valley Airport. Imogen blinked at the snow-laden trees flashing by. Hartlaub glanced in his mirror at her. ‘You OK?’