Hunter

by Chris Allen

  The marshal's cell phone rang in his pocket; he took it out.

  "It's my boss, I better get this. Ah, major. About the car," he added as the phone continued to ring. "I was told to tell you one very important thing."

  "Go ahead,' Morgan replied.

  "If you break it, you bought it."

  "No worries," Morgan replied with a laugh. "If I mess it up, tell 'em to send the bill to my boss."

  A huge toothy smile appeared on the man's face. He banged the roof twice and said, "Keep your powder dry, man," and then answered his phone.

  With that, Morgan shifted the Dodge into gear, the 470 horsepower V8 roaring a warning at the road and peeling away from the curbside. As the huge surge of unleashed power pushed him back into the sports seat, Morgan had to remind himself to drive on the wrong side of the road. He changed lanes immediately. He was looking forward to seeing Charly. Talking about the Serbs was officially why he was back in Seattle but it was more than that. He just wished he'd been able to get hold of her sooner to see how she was, but she'd been off the radar for a while. He was surprised to find himself suddenly thinking of Arena, again. Jesus, he thought. Get over it. Not going to happen, mate.

  He set the GPS for Sunset Hill and his sat phone started to ring.

  "Morgan," he answered.

  "Guten Tag, Herr Major," came the deep, familiar grumble of Hermann Braunschweiger. There was concern underpinning the big guy's salutation. Morgan listened intently. "I take it you are now on the ground in Seattle. On the way to Sunset Hill, I hope."

  "What is it, Key?" said Morgan. "Something's up." "I'm afraid so," answered the Key. "Before I begin, I suggest you step on the gas—"

  Wasting no time, Morgan jammed his foot hard to the floor, the Seattle traffic raced past and Braun-schweiger took him straight to the headline: Raoul Demaci was confirmed as Vukasin Petrovic, aka the Wolf. The Key rapidly summarized for Morgan the complex stream of events, including Mandia, Marseille and Paris, that had brought the Wolf - as Adolfo Mendosa and Ulric Sorensen - to Seattle, ultimately, back to Charly and Madeline.

  Morgan's hands gripped so tightly around the wheel he was in danger of ripping it from the steering column. As the Key briefed him, Morgan scrounged with one hand through the center console and the glove compartment until he found what every well-equipped, official, US law enforcement vehicle was guaranteed to be fitted with. The siren was already howling as Morgan slapped the magnetic blue light onto the roof above his head. He'd always wanted to do that. With his foot planted upon the gas pedal, the Dodge surged onward.

  "Does Charly know, Key?" he yelled above the noise of the siren and his own speed. "Has she been warned?"

  "The US marshals on station at the house have been warned. We contacted them the moment we had the first hint of a problem, when Mila discovered Adolfo Mendosa was traveling to Seattle. Of course, he was just a suspect then, but we weren't taking any chances."

  "I was just with one of the marshals at the airport," Morgan said. "He didn't mention anything."

  "It's probably just filtering down."

  "Has anyone spoken to Charly or the judge?" "Charly wasn't taking any direct calls and, I believe, neither was Judge Clancy."

  "Fuck me! Why not?" Morgan yelled. "Second thoughts, scratch that. No time. Just give me the latest from the house."

  A large intersection was coming up ahead and all the normal people were slowing down to abide by the road rules. Fortunately, most at the back of the queue could hear Morgan's siren and were shuffling their vehicles aside to make as much room for him as possible. But Morgan didn't have time for staying in his lane. Besides, he was more comfortable on the opposite side of the road.

  He wrenched the sports steering wheel hard to the left and fired the Charger directly across the intersection and into the oncoming traffic. The tires of cars and trucks crisscrossing the four-way screeched and burned as their drivers blared their horns in unanimous protest at the crazy bastard cop in the hot new Dodge. Morgan's only option was to power through, fishtailing through the jumble of vehicles and racket, a huge plume of rubber smoke trailing behind him.

  "Latest update to the house was via a sitrep and comms check with the marshals about thirty minutes ago—

  "Thirty minutes! Fuck!"

  "Wait," barked Braunschweiger. "I'm not the only one on this, you know. Right now, Mila Haddad is talking directly to the US marshals team leader on the ground in Seattle and the general is talking to Tappin to ensure you have US top cover no matter what you

  need. Right now Seattle PD SWAT are gearing up and sending a team to RV with you at the house in Sunset Hill. A second team is en route to Ellensburg by chopper—"

  "Ellensburg! Why the hell does anyone need to go there?"

  "Short version: the judge is visiting a sick relative. Leave that one to the marshals and SPD SWAT. We expect the Wolf wasn't aware that the judge had gone away for the weekend either. So, he'll be focused on Sunset Hill. How far away are you?"

  "Two minutes."

  Chapter 77

  SUNSET HILL, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, USA

  The US marshal on station at the rear of the Clancy house heard the whistling stop. The guy must have kept walking down toward the water, he guessed. But he decided to check in with his partner anyway.

  "Four-five, this is three-seven," he said into the radio mike clipped to his left sleeve cuff.

  "Go ahead, three-seven," came the reply.

  "Joe, did you see some guy walking past just now?" he said, wandering off the back porch to kick some small pebbles that had been bugging him off the grass and back into the garden. "I couldn't see him but I heard him whistling; sounded kinda Russian, or something."

  "Yeah, bud, I saw him. Cool dude, dressed in Gucci gear. Looked like one of these rich locals. He kept going.

  "Probably heading to his yacht."

  "Roger that," replied the marshal in the SUV. "Like I said before, Sam, since this Wolf guy's turned up in Seattle, there's a whole lotta backup on the way over here right now. I've just been inside and told Charly. So, all we gotta do is sit tight and hold the fort till they get here. You know."

  "Roger. I'll keep my eyes peeled."

  "Good man. Check in again in ten. Out."

  As his left hand dropped back to his side, Sam gazed reflectively once again toward the boats down at the marina. Hell, most of them would be easily worth more than five years' salary. He'd never have a hope of owning one. Still, he was happy with his 15-foot aluminum runabout. It meant he could get his two sons out on the water for some fishing now and then. The boys loved the water as much as he did; and it gave his wife some much deserved free time, too, once the testicle festival - as she called their posse got out of the house for a few hours.

  The movement that occurred behind him was so sudden that he wouldn't have stood a chance of fending it off, even if he'd had a split second more warning. A large hand appeared around the left side of his face and clamped hard over his mouth, jolting his head and shoulders back against another man. He smelled expensive aftershave at the same time as he felt the hard tubular end of a muzzle suppressor push into the small of his back. The first shot fired soundlessly into his flesh, lost amid the usual background sounds of any suburb on a Saturday afternoon. The second followed immediately, straight into the base of Sam's brain.

  The Wolf dragged the body further underneath the overhang of the balcony, out of sight of the upstairs living area of the house, and into a small garden, rolling it over so it would bleed into the dirt.

  He made sure there'd been no backsplash against his clothes from the wounds and retraced his steps, concealing himself all the way. He jumped back over the fence under the cover of the overhanging trees and headed for the marshal on duty in the SIN

  Joe, the marshal in the SUV, was just checking a text message on his cell phone. It was the latest update from his team leader downtown, letting him know that their USMS relief team, SPD SWAT and an Interpol liaison officer were inbound w
ithin five minutes. Great, he thought. Couldn't happen soon enough. It was then that a tap on the windscreen in front of him pulled his eyes from the phone. The sudden, unexpected sound startled him. It was the whistling Gucci dude.

  "Can I help you, sir?" he asked cautiously through the open driver's window. But it was too late. The Accu-Tek HC-380 appeared, the trigger was squeezed and the .380 caliber round exploded through the suppressor, straight into the marshal's chest.

  The Wolf pulled the body from the SUV and pushed it unceremoniously down a small set of bricked steps that led through a wooden gate to the backyard. He straightened his sweater and coat and walked calmly to the front door.

  Chapter 78

  Charly was sitting at the piano, tears streaming from her eyes.

  She wriggled her shoulders within the loose-fitting rugby jersey that had been her dad's and put her iPhone down, glad to have finally spoken to her mother and relieved that she and Great Aunt Dominique were both OK. The marshals were with them at Ellensburg and a SWAT team was also on the way.

  A SWAT team!

  In addition to the team heading to Ellensburg to protect her mother, the marshals protecting Charly had told her just ten minutes before that another SWAT team was on its way right now to Sunset Hill. God, what was happening?

  Charly couldn't believe she'd been so stupid as to have left her cell phone off. The fact that she'd also turned the home phone to silent so she could sleep was another disaster. But it was what she and her mother had agreed. Everything had seemed OK at the time Madeline left to visit Dominique. Charly needed peace and quiet; time to get her head right. That meant distancing herself from all she'd been through, including the fear and uncertainty she was now reminded of by the constant presence of the protection detail. When her father had been killed, Charly had locked herself away in a bubble of self-imposed, solitary lock-down. It was the only way she was able to survivethe inordinate levels of grief she'd experienced when they'd lost him, and strangely this situation felt no different. It was the powerlessness she felt at being so out of control.

  On top of it all, her attention had been distracted, if not consumed, by her feelings for Alex Morgan. That was until just a few moments ago when the marshals had broken the news to her about Raoul.

  The shocking revelation that the supposed dashing European millionaire Raoul Demaci was actually a Serbian assassin and fugitive war criminal made her physically sick. Her face was red and swollen from the anguish and humiliation she'd felt since hearing the news. Now, she was repulsed by every memory of him. Those warnings from her nearest and dearest, all of whom had seen something behind Raoul's mask when she, Charly, had been so blinded by the prospect of new love came back to her. She could only put it down to the fatigue and loneliness of relentless touring. He'd targeted her and exploited her vulnerability when her guard was down.

  The wolf in sheep's clothing. Hadn't someone already said that to her?

  God, Red Riding Hood didn't even come close to this mess. But it was too much to even process. Her entire body was numbed by the realisation of what could have happened between them but, thankfully, had not. Strangely, she suddenly remembered at one point aboard the Florence, her instinct had twinged when some mannerism or reaction of his suggested that he might not have even been interested, despite his overtly manipulative attempts to seduce her. Oh God.

  "Why is this happening?" she whispered.

  She had to talk to Alex. Just to hear his voice would make her feel safer, somehow.

  She began dialing his number.

  Chapter 79

  The Seattle Police Department squad car powered down Northwest 85th Street, heading south toward Sunset Hill; red and blue lights blazing and sirens blaring, clearing the road ahead. At the wheel, Officer Michael Connelly of the SPD's North Precinct. His heart was pounding.

  Along either side, houses, shop fronts and telegraph poles flashed past, cars pulled aside to let him pass and pedestrians stopped to watch the squad car as it screamed through their normally quiet corner of town.

  The call had come in through the SPD 9-1-1 Center and was the first task dispatched to Connelly as he commenced his shift. He recognized the address the moment it appeared on the car's onboard computer: Madeline Clancy's house. Connelly and his partner had been the first officers on scene the day the first attempt had been made on Judge Clancy's life outside Picolinos. And it was all happening again, only this time it wasn't local hoods hired to kill her. It was much worse than that. This was fucking intense.

  SPD SWAT was inbound but the call had gone out to any available units in the immediate vicinity to get to Judge Clancy's residence ASAP and lock down a perimeter for SWAT. A hostage situation was likely. The judge was not at the residence but her daughter, Ms Charlotte-Rose Fleming, was. A description of a Serbian national with a string of aliases followed. An Interpol Red Notice had been issued for his arrest. Officers were advised to approach with extreme caution. The man was known to be armed and dangerous. First responding officers were to make contact with US marshals at the scene.

  Connelly grew up knowing Judge Clancy and her family, after they'd returned from England and before she'd become a judge in The Hague. But still, his mother and Madeline went way back. They were old college friends and during this recent situation while the judge and Charly were back in Sunset Hill - the two friends spent a lot of time together again, catching up on the good old days. Charly. Jesus. Connelly hoped she was OK. Not that he'd ever admit it, but he'd had a crush on Charly since he was in short pants and she was a hot teenager.

  God damn, she was mighty fine even back then, he thought. Now, she was totally off the Richter; light-years out of his league.

  The hail of the sirens reminded him where he was and what he was doing. Connelly shook his head clear of Charly and kept pushing the car south.

  Reaching Caffe Fiore, he spun the wheel and the car screeched into 32nd Avenue Northwest. He was seconds away.

  Chapter 80

  Alex Morgan was charging through the final mile of traffic in Sunset Hill at breakneck speed. The big Dodge tore up the road ahead of him, its 470 horsepower responding effortlessly under the crop of Morgan's urgent driving. He had to get to Charly. He had no idea what to expect when he got there or even if she was in any actual danger. But something told him he had to be there, right now. Intuitively, he silenced the siren, figuring he was close enough not to need it any more while also not wanting to herald his imminent arrival. But the moment his siren fell silent, he could hear another blaring nearby. Jesus!

  Clumsily, he fumbled with his sat phone, trying desperately to dial her number again. He almost hurled the phone from the car when his third attempt still failed to connect them.

  Chapter 81

  With an exasperated shout, Charly threw her iPhone at the sofa and saw it devoured by the cushions. She still couldn't get through to Morgan. Where was he anyway? Immediately, she reconsidered discarding the phone so soon, and decided she should probably check her messages and emails, perhaps he'd tried to get hold of her that way. As she went to retrieve it, she heard a sharp double knock at the front door.

  Oh God, the marshals had probably heard her scream at the phone and thought there must be a problem.

  "I'm OK, Joe," she called, making her way to the door to let him in. "I just got a bit angry at my damn—"

  But the door was already open. Standing there with a self-satisfied smile on his face and the last breaths of daylight waning behind him was the man she knew as Raoul Dcmaci.

  "Charly, how delightful to see you, darling," he began smoothly, playing the charming millionaire Demaci to the hilt. "I'm so relieved that the police have been looking after you for me all this time." He walked further inside and, closing the door behind him, said, "Have you missed me?"

  "Stay away from me," Charly threatened, her body rigid, her eyes darting in every direction, looking for the marshals. Any second now, they'd come flying in, all guns blazing. But they didn't. "I know wh
o you are.

  You're a killer. A war criminal. After lying to me from the beginning, now you've been found out."

  "I don't know what you mean," he said, playing with her, but underestimating her. "I've waited so long to see you. Suffered at the hands of the kidnappers. Not knowing from day to day whether or not you were still alive."

  "Where are the marshals, Joe and Sam?" She stepped back a pace as he moved further inside. "What have you done with them?"

  "Oh, you mean the two dead bodies outside" The face of Raoul Demaci was vanishing before her eyes and the full monstrous scowl of the Wolf was taking its place. The transformation was surreal. Charly's mouth was agape as she witnessed the metamorphic rotation from one persona around to another. "You don't have to worry about them any more. Perhaps you could play at their funerals. Then again, perhaps not."

  Charly gasped. Her hand clutched at her throat. "What have you done?" she whispered.

  "You don't understand, little girl,' the Wolf replied, his voice chilling. "I was never interested in you. It's your mother I'm after. She's upset a lot of people since she became top dog in The Hague. But that's all about to end. You're just what I like to refer to as a bonus kill."

  "You're finished ... whatever pathetic name it is that you call yourself, Wolf!" she sneered bravely, tears forming in her eyes. "The police are on their way. Lots of them. They'll be here any second."

  "You're bluffing. Call her to join us," he ordered dis-missively, but there was bite in his tone now. "Call her, or I'll kill you right where you're standing and I'll find her myself." He produced the gun and menacingly twisted the suppressor firmly into place.

  Charly's sky-blue eyes became a firestorm of rage. The fear was still there too. But this anger was channeling her primal responses to his sudden appearance in her family's home. She was not going to run from this man. He had invaded her life, threatened her mother and tainted the precious memories of her father in this house merely by setting his poisonous feet upon the threshold. She felt her father's warrior spirit at her side and the image of her mother on the judicial bench, staring down the world's worst criminals, giving her new strength.