“Please describe the women.”
“One white—British, I think. The other was Hispanic—a federal agent.”
“What time do you close?”
“We’re closing in a few minutes, sir.”
“Bob… I want you to get me the message. I’ll be there in fifty minutes.”
“I can’t—”
“Then let me in when I arrive.”
Bob hesitated. Then the man said, “I’ll double the money, Bob. I’m leaving now.”
“Knock on the window at the side when you get here. Fifty minutes, Mr Conte.”
Michelle drove carefully, leaning forward, squinting through the windscreen. She turned onto Main Street and headed out of town. The pewter sky was rapidly turning to night. Kate looked out of the side window to avoid the white flashes from the snow in the headlights.
“I thought we were going to check-in at one of the hotels in town,” Kate said as they left Red Lodge.
“I know a nice place just outside. It’s not far. You’ll love the view in the morning.”
She turned left into Bear Creek Hill and started a steady climb into the foothills of the mountains. They passed a few properties, but these thinned out quickly and when Michelle turned off down a lane, through the pine trees, Kate wondered why there hadn’t been a sign outside.
Michelle seemed to read Kate’s mind. “It’s exclusive. They don’t advertise. I came here with a rich boyfriend a few years back.” She slowed as the little Honda Civic slipped on the thickening bed of snow. “First priority in the morning is to get some snow chains if this continues.”
The road dropped and curved and after the trees diminished, Kate saw a large log cabin. The lights were on and welcoming. Beyond, Kate could just make out the impression of more trees and the mountains. There was a solitary car parked outside.
“Not many people staying,” Kate said.
“Looks like we’ll have no problem getting rooms then. It’s early in the season so I was pretty sure there wouldn’t be a problem.”
She parked next to the other car and popped open the boot of the Civic. They grabbed their bags and dashed to the door under a sheltered porch. “After you,” Michelle said, letting Kate lead the way. “First impressions are the best.”
Kate smiled and opened the heavy wooden door into the cabin. And then she froze. A man sat in a chair facing the door, legs crossed and casual. Only the gun in his hand told a different story.
A smile snagged on one side of his mouth. “Hello, Kate,” Amir said.
SIXTY-FOUR
A sharp pain in Kate’s neck accompanied a burst of light in her head. She blacked out.
Somewhere an alarm was ringing. Her head hurt and a thousand thoughts and questions fired at once, vying for attention. What had happened? The Arab was in the lodge with a gun. Something had hit her on the back of the head. Someone had hit her. Had they been waiting behind the door? Was Michelle all right? Joe was so close. She’d come so far, tracked him down only to fall at the last hurdle. That damned alarm!
She realized she couldn’t move. Her arms and legs were restricted. It wasn’t an alarm she could hear, but ringing. The ringing was a phone—her phone.
Joe’s calling! Answer it! She struggled against the restraints. Her eyes fluttered open. Blinding light forced her to close them again. With sheer determination she opened them again, trying desperately to see.
The phone stopped ringing and silence rushed in.
She was lying flat on a cold surface, arms and legs out wide and bound. Her legs were bent over the edge of whatever she was tied to. She tried to lift her head and turn it away from the light. Constriction around her throat and forehead made her stop. Her head and neck were bound too.
Her eyes started to compensate for the bright light. She was raised up off the ground, maybe waist height. She could see two vague images standing nearby, watching her. Where was Michelle? Was she bound in the same room?
“Chelle? Can you hear me?” Kate managed to say, her voice hoarse but loud in the quiet room. “Chelle, are you all right?”
A face loomed large over her. The Arab. A sneer puckered his face. “What do you know, Kate?”
She tried to spit but her mouth was dry.
The Arab laughed. “I like your spirit,” he said. “You have a good deal of fortitude for a white woman.”
Kate hissed, “Where’s Michelle?”
“Let’s forget the FBI agent, shall we?” Amir said. “Let’s start by telling me how much you know.”
Kate said nothing.
“Who is Mirrorman?” There was something in his eyes, a flash that meant he didn’t expect the name to mean anything. Maybe.
Kate turned her face as far as the restriction allowed. Then she jolted, a sharp pain in her right nipple. The Arab pinched it between finger and thumb.
She looked back into his face, clenched her teeth.
He said, “A simple ‘I don’t know’ is all I needed. Don’t make me hurt you, Kate.”
He removed his hand and then placed it close to her crotch, flat below her stomach over the zip on her jeans. “Now let’s try again, shall we? Have you heard the name Mirrorman before?”
Kate took a couple of shallow breaths, trying not to breathe in his stink. “Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know. I just heard the name, that’s all. I don’t know.”
The Arab’s eyes narrowed and he said nothing for a few beats. Then he said, “Who is Petr Sikorski?”
“Peter—you killed him!”
Amir moved his hand closer to Kate’s crotch and grinned.
“OK, OK, Peter was engaged to my friend.” She wanted to scream, You killed Sarah too, you bastard! Instead, she forced herself to feign calmness, her heart thudding against the cold surface beneath her.
“Mirrorman was Joe Cassano. You knew Joe Cassano as Joe Rossini. How did you meet Joe?”
“He worked with Peter. I met him at the party—at Peter and Sarah’s engagement party.”
“And you didn’t know him before?”
“No.”
“What about Petr… Peter. How well did you know him?”
“Not very.”
“Were you aware that he was working part-time for the American government?”
“American government?”
“The CIA.”
She swallowed. “No, I didn’t.”
“What about Stephanie Harper?”
“No.”
He studied her face as if deciding whether she was telling the truth. Then he said, “Good. Peter sent you a photograph. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Why did he send you the photograph?”
“I… I don’t know.”
Amir’s hand cupped Kate’s crotch and squeezed, his fingers pushing inside her through the material to hold the pubis.
Kate screamed and fought against the restraints. She must have closed her eyes because when she opened them she had the impression of someone else there. She strained to see without pulling on the restraint but there was just the Arab and the light.
He grinned and moved his hand back to where it had been, flat but threatening more. “Try again, Kate.”
Through ragged breath, she said, “It was a photo of two soldiers. On the back it said Boomer and Mirrorman. That’s how I knew the name Mirrorman. Joe had told me Boomer was his buddy. I think Peter sent it so I would know Joe had told me the truth.”
“He told you he and this Boomer were Special Forces, yes?”
She sucked in air and tried to control the shaking. “Yes.”
“What do you know about the mission? What did he tell you?”
“Nothing…”
Amir’s hand ran up the inside of Kate’s leg, stopping just below her crotch.
“Nothing, honestly!” The light dimmed as though a shadow was close. She took a long slow breath, looked back into the Arab’s dark eyes.
She said, “I read about it—the mission
. They were in Northern Iraq. A car bomb, an accident killed everyone except for Joe.”
“It wasn’t Iraq,” Amir said, studying Kate’s eyes, moving closer. “It was in Saudi Arabia.”
His thick coffee and vegetable-based stench became overpowering and made her breathe through her mouth, short and rapid. She returned his stare. “I didn’t know.”
“The Americans not only trespassed on an ally’s sovereign land but kidnapped someone from the royal family. They had false intelligence that the prince was running an al-Qaeda cell.” He snorted, and his spittle made Kate blink. “Ridiculous. But that is not the worst of it. Because of their incompetence, they all died except for your pretty boyfriend. They killed a crown prince.”
Kate moved her head a fraction, side to side—a shake. “So this is all about revenge? You want to kill Joe for what happened to the prince.”
The Arab pulled away from her face and she sucked in air again. There was no response and then there was another voice.
A woman said, “It’s much more than that, Kate.”
Kate stiffened, stunned like a poleaxed deer, her eyes wide and disbelieving. “Chelle?”
Michelle’s face materialized over her. There was genuine sadness there as she said, “I’m sorry, Kate.”
SIXTY-FIVE
Thirteen months earlier
The sun cracked a thin line against ash-grey clouds. As Joe pulled to the side of the road, he wondered what had brought him here, to the river. Climbing out, he stepped onto the verge. Behind him, business car parks were clogged with vehicles, offices blazed with lights and activity. A world away. A long stride and he was across a ditch. He covered the belt of common land, wet grass clawing at his work shoes, and stopped at the water’s edge. He breathed in, long and hard; the smell of wet earth and the river filled his nostrils and pushed down into his lungs. He squatted, the fingers of one hand pressed into mud. This was real. This was certain.
The river was swollen and running fast. Brown eddies swirled on the far bank beneath sad trees that reached like long fingers as though trying to stir the water even more. Or perhaps to stop the turmoil that were the thoughts in his head: his dilemma. Who was more important, Kate or his brother? With his eyes closed, Joe pictured the river near his home where he and his brother used to play as kids. He saw the big sky and light dazzling off the ripples. He smiled, imagining his brother splashing to the other side, a rope around his waist. Which year had that been? Yes, they had been twelve. Joe had tied the rope to a trunk on the far bank and that summer they had swung and dived and laughed more than he could ever remember. They were the Mirrormen—superheroes with secret powers they pretended to hide from the other kids. Superheroes had secret identities, although it never troubled them that their only heroic acts were play-acting: diving into the river to rescue a damsel or swinging into action and fighting the villain or alien or monster. The memories filled his chest with warmth. Joe opened his eyes, shook his head. And now his brother was dead. That was real too.
It was all about his brother. The man who lived life to the full. Would he understand the dilemma that Joe now faced? Would he tell his brother to move on, to live his own life?
More than a year and a half and nothing had happened. No sign of any pursuit. Why now? Just when he was getting his life back together, moving on. Damn it!
When Joe returned to the car, the sun had given up trying to break through and the dark sky pressed down. He listened to the tyres on the road, thoughts still spinning through his head. The working day was well underway when he arrived at the office and sat at his desk. His eyes barely focused as he opened the first report. He closed the file, took a slug of awful coffee and stared out of the window. He wondered how Kate’s day was going. A grumpy regular with bad legs was her first patient of the day. She much preferred the sports injuries at the health club’s physiotherapy unit, but that was only part-time. Perhaps he could earn enough so she didn’t have to do the hospital work.
A junior interrupted his thoughts with a knock. “Stephanie’s office, for the manager’s meeting.”
After an hour’s tedious meeting and little contribution from Joe, Stephanie asked him to remain as everyone else filed out of her office.
“You look tired,” Stephanie said, her dark eyes probing, trying to read his. Half-Chinese and with a small person’s drive to prove herself, Joe found it difficult to see the human side of the woman he called his boss. He shrugged.
When it became clear he wasn’t going to speak, her eyes narrowed. “You can’t back out now.”
“It’s difficult. It’s much harder now.”
“Because of Kate.” It wasn’t a question. Stephanie read him and then shook her head. “I knew it. You can’t mix business and love. And this is much more than business, Joe. What’s Woodall said?”
Joe felt his lips tighten. “He’s the one who told me. Said pretty much the same as you.”
She raised her hands, “You need to get your priorities right. Remind yourself why you’re doing this and commit.”
He’d thought about asking for Stephanie’s support but he could see now that he wouldn’t get it. It was best that she wasn’t involved.
“OK?” Stephanie prompted.
“Sure.” Joe stood. “I just need to get my head straight.”
He took a long walk beside the rail track and watched the Windsor train trundle away. He knew it made more sense for him to catch the train each day but he liked the freedom his car provided. A three-minute window before the London express roared past. He dialled a number from memory and, when it was answered, said, “I need your help,” and then briefly explained his dilemma.
“Shit,” the other person said, and then, after a pause, “Meet me Friday night. Usual place.”
Scattered lights burned in the car park but Joe sat in almost total darkness under a railway arch. He wasn’t far from home and Kate would be concerned he was working late. She’d noticed his tiredness and he’d explained it as stress at work. Could he tell her the truth?
He found himself thinking about the first time he’d seen her at the wedding, and their silly game of dare. The rollerblading and trip to Prague Zoo; with hindsight he could see he was in love right at the start. How could he have thought he could live a normal life in England as though nothing had happened?
A car scattered stones as it turned across the entrance and stopped next to Joe’s but facing the opposite way: driver to driver. They buzzed their windows down, their faces hardly discernible in the blackness.
“I’ve spoken to W,” Ben Hurwitz said, referring to Woodall. “It’s happening.”
“It can’t. Not now.”
“Seriously, buddy, there’s no backing out.”
Joe stared at nothing through the windscreen, breathed in, breathed out. “What did he say?”
“What you told me. That one of the tripwires has triggered. They’ve picked up on the trail.”
“Some dodgy real-estate guy in Spain. Paid to leak my connection to Prague—to Peter.”
“Paid with his life.”
“Shit! W didn’t tell me that.” Joe watched as a figure moved through the car park. After a few minutes a car drove out and all was quiet again. Joe cut his eyes back to the silhouette of Hurwitz. “What did W say about Kate?”
“Nothing. You knew the risks when you involved her.”
“Jeez…” Joe hissed and gripped the steering wheel hard. “Over a year I’ve been in hiding. Over a goddamn year. The trail had gotten cold.”
“Apparently not.”
“I can’t risk Kate getting hurt, Ben, I just can’t.”
Neither man said anything for a while, and Joe realized he shouldn’t have used Hurwitz’s name. He was about to buzz the window back up, when his friend said, “You did a deal with W. Now you have to go to the States.”
“What’s that all about? Why back to the States?”
“Hey, I gave up trying to second guess the Agency years ago. But maybe they’re
worried you’re unmanageable, and the closer to home… the easier to control.”
Joe thought for a moment. “I should never have agreed. Now Kate’s going to be part of the trail. She’d still be at risk.”
“She won’t know where you are.”
Joe said nothing and eventually Hurwitz prompted: “So?”
“It’s catch twenty-two. I stay and she’s in danger. I go and she’s in danger.”
“Unless she’s out of the picture.”
“How would that work?”
Hurwitz blew air. “I don’t know, buddy. Just thinking aloud. You agree to hide in the US and I’ll get W to come up with—”
A scuffling noise made them hold their breaths. A cat, maybe, Joe told himself.
After a few minutes of silence, Hurwitz said, “We’ve been too long. Meet in a week. Same time at rendezvous three.”
Joe watched Hurwitz leave and waited, window down, breathing the cool night air. How could they possibly get him away without leaving Kate in danger? No matter what the Agency came up with, Joe had to be sure she was going to be all right. Their objective was to get the man at the top of the tree, the one responsible for ambushing the Delta team in Saudi. Sure Joe wanted revenge for his brother’s death, but he had found Kate and they had something special, something incredible. He’d discovered that love was more powerful than the need for revenge, for punishment, for death.
He was still thinking this when he arrived home. It was the night Kate lay on the sofa, cold and unwelcoming. The night she had found his gun.
SIXTY-SIX
Present day
Kate’s phone rang again in Michelle’s hand. She showed the display to her partner. “Should I answer?”
Amir grunted, “Wait.”
When the phone pinged with a left voice message, he said, “Listen to it.”
Michelle went into a bedroom and played the message.
It said, “Kate, it’s Inspector Mathers from Thames Valley. You need to come back immediately. Stop running. I’m sure the ballistics will clear you, but I have to tell you you’re a bit premature. The results haven’t come back from Prague yet.” A pause then: “Call me back.”
I Dare You: A gripping thriller that will keep you guessing (A Kate Blakemore Crime Thriller Book 1) Page 25
