I Dare You: A gripping thriller that will keep you guessing (A Kate Blakemore Crime Thriller Book 1)

by Murray Bailey

  Hurwitz laughed. “No, ma’am, just me.”

  Kate exchanged glances with Scott and could read something in his face. There was something she wasn’t being told.

  Scott led him to the fire in the lounge so he could warm up. Kate took his coat and gloves.

  “Snow’s not as bad as I expected,” Hurwitz said.

  “Not had a fall for a few days. It’s expected tonight though,” Kate said. “Are you hungry?”

  “Always,” Hurwitz said. “A quick tour of your homestead, and beer though, if I may?”

  Scott whizzed him around their lodge and guided him back to the lounge by the fire.

  “Cosy lodge.” Hurwitz said. “You’ve made a fine home here.”

  Kate passed Hurwitz and Scott a beer and they chinked bottles.

  After a long slug, the agent wanted to know what life was like without being connected to the world and Scott described how he loved it and how they spent their days. When he was done, Scott asked, “So what’s the news? On the outside.”

  “Oh the usual world crises,” Hurwitz said with a grin, “but nothing important. Of course, you know Kirkpatrick killed himself a day after we sent him the recording. We’ve not been able to get the congressman yet, but he’s resigned and it should only be a matter of time. Woodall has offered to turn state’s evidence. One piece we have confirmed is that the senator had personal information on a number of people and was effectively blackmailing them. You’ll never guess. One of them was—”

  “Michelle Ramirez?” Kate guessed.

  Hurwitz was impressed. “Right! It seems that she was raped in Afghanistan—in the army. She reported the soldier, nothing was proved, no action taken, so she paid someone to take care of matters for her. A contract killing made to look like an accident. She’d have gotten away with it if it weren’t for the fact that the assassin she hired knew Kirkpatrick. Senator Kirkpatrick used that information to make Ramirez work for him. By the way, she’s now living in Mexico and working for a legitimate security firm.”

  Kate said she was happy for her.

  Hurwitz looked at Kate. “Before my other news, how do you feel about being out here in the wilds?”

  A little uncertain, Kate said, “It’s OK I guess. I’m getting used to it.”

  “Perhaps there’s something or someone who would make it better?” He finished his beer and took a glance outside.

  Kate was intrigued. “Have you brought someone with you, Ben? Surely you’ve not left them waiting in the car this whole time?”

  Hurwitz grinned. “No, ma’am. Well, I’ve not brought another person.” Retreating to the SUV, he returned with a carrier. A cat carrier.

  “Tolkien!” Kate was beside herself with joy. She took her bemused cat from the box and hugged him tightly.

  “Took some organizing, I can tell you,” Hurwitz said. “But I guess he’s family.”

  Kate buried her face in his chocolate fur. After a while she said, “That seals it. He’s the guard-cat.” She placed an arm around Scott’s waist and hugged. “We’re staying here—at least for a while.”

  “Another surprise,” Hurwitz said, and handed her a bundle of envelopes. “Letters from your family back home.”

  During dinner, Hurwitz agreed a secure way Kate could get messages to her family. Then he said, “You know, by conservative estimates, the war in Iraq has cost over $2 trillion? The funding for so called tribal security forces is around $25 million a year. It’s just a drop in the ocean, but that literally means handing over suitcases of cash to the tribal leaders. This whole ISIS thing has kicked it back up the priorities. The Senate Select Committee on Intelligence wants to support another Sunni Awakening. Someone decides who gets the money and someone executes delivery. We think Prince bin Shahd was pulling the strings. Kirkpatrick got approval and Hamilton made sure the money went the intended way.”

  Scott said, “And what about the ghost soldiers—the ones paid for who didn’t exist?”

  “A sign of the institutionalised corruption. Through extortion and abuse of power we think there are people making hundreds of millions of bucks a year from the investments in Iraqi security. Whether this was going directly to the likes of Hamilton and the senator, we don’t know, but it’s easy to believe. Even if they were just skimming off the top, it’s a hell of a lot of money over the years.”

  “OK but what was in it for the prince? Surely he didn’t need the money.”

  “Kingmaker, I guess. When this shit settles—and eventually it will—the landscape will have changed. The theory is that bin Shahd will never rule Saudi, but he could create a new kingdom.”

  “But bin Shahd junior was al Qaeda…”

  “And the biggest recipient of US funds has been a tribal leader called al Suleiman. He’s now believed to be supplying weapons to ISIS. Allegiances are as definitive as a game of poker. It’s all about politics and position-ing.”

  “And money… especially for Hamilton and Kirkpatrick.”

  “As I said, we don’t know what they were doing, how they were on the take, but have you heard about the Mossack Fonseca leaks? Well, we now have evidence against the senator for syphoning money through Panama and off-shore accounts. Maybe it’s just a matter of time before we can find the money trail left by Hamilton.”

  “I get all that but, personally, what has this been all about? Why have I really been on the run as Joe?”

  “My view? Bin Shahd wanted revenge for the death of his son.”

  “That’s nothing new,” Kate said.

  Hurwitz raised his eyebrows. “The SSCI have Intel that suggests the Saudi’s knew Joe died in Iraq. Bin Shahd was never after Joe, he was after the man who didn’t want the prince’s son interrogated. Hamilton sent in the team to stop Joe’s Delta Force. But the real mission was to kill the son.”

  Scott nodded. “So our friend, Woodall, lied about that. He said Joe had confirmed Mustang’s role. He was in on it from the get go.”

  “Yes, we think Woodall was ultimately working for bin Shahd.”

  “They wanted to flush out Mustang and have me kill him. But Hamilton offered up Kirkpatrick who, like a fool, fell for it.”

  “And it almost worked. We believe it was as much about revenge as getting the man responsible. The prince wanted to wound the US. Embarrass a superpower by a simple act. Just like 9/11 demonstrated how weak we are, having a US soldier execute either the senator or congressman would demonstrate our corruption or failings. The ultimate insult: to be killed by one of your own. Hamilton had a man on the inside who was willing to execute Kirkpatrick if you failed to.”

  “Simmons—the senator’s assistant.”

  “Yes.”

  Then Scott realised the connection. “Simmons was an ex-marine wasn’t he?”

  “Served under Hamilton for thirteen years.”

  “Everyone seems to have had their own agenda.” Kate shook her head. “It was a set-up by the Saudi prince and Woodall for you to execute the senator or congressman. So where does that awful Arab fit in?”

  Hurwitz said, “We think he was helped to follow the trail to Scott acting as Joe. Hamilton didn’t react so the Arab came into play to make the threat seem genuine. Woodall had to get Scott running and connect the dots for the Arab.”

  Kate said, “If Woodall is that involved, you won’t let him turn state’s evidence and get away with it, will you?”

  “To get the congressman?” Hurwitz asked, raising an eyebrow. “Sure we will. Whether we like it or not, it’s always the bigger fish we want to fry.” He shrugged. “Anyway, the upshot is, no one—not the Hamilton, not Woodall, not the Saudis—has anything to gain and no further incentive to go after you guys.”

  Scott knew it would be a long time before he could truly relax. Something still didn’t feel right. If the congressman was so smart, would he have trusted Woodall? Wouldn’t he also have a backup plan? Maybe it was just paranoia. Scott resolved to keep his concerns to himself.

  Hurwitz was still talking.
With one eyebrow raised, he said “So, we’re pretty sure you don’t really need to be in protection anymore.”

  Kate exchanged glances with Scott. “But only pretty sure?”

  “We’re staying put for the time being,” Scott said, “Until we’re at least a hundred percent convinced.”

  It was dark when they finished and the agent said it was time to get back.

  He handed Scott a phone. “Look, as I said, we think you’re safe but just in case if you want to make a onetime call to me, my number’s on this.”

  Kate picked up Tolkien and they waved Hurwitz off. She ran her hand round his collar, causing the tag to clink. She smiled, contented.

  “When did you engrave Tolkien’s tag?”

  “Sorry, hon?”

  “The code on the tag. When did you do that?”

  Scott shook his head confused. “I don’t know what you are…” His heart began to race. “What’s the relevance of the code?”

  Now it was Kate’s turn to look uncertain. “It was the code you left to get into Danny’s email… that proved I could trust Matt.”

  “I only left you the code on the photo. If you’d read my letter you’d have understood it. You shouldn’t have needed anyone else’s help.”

  “So you didn’t arrange for Matt—?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. Did you see him die?” Scott ran to the door as he spoke.

  “He was shot in the arm…The Arab. He was standing over him. I heard him shoot… Oh my God, you don’t think…?”

  “I need to tell Ben.”

  Scott snatched open the door. The SUV had gone. Hurwitz would be well into the forest by now. Could Scott catch up? Maybe. Shouting to Kate to lock the door, he ran for his four-by-four. As he reached the GMC’s door, he froze. He heard something he hadn’t heard for a few years. Since his time in the army. Not much louder than a bird call but distinctive.

  The sound of a suppressed gunshot.

  SEVENTY-SIX

  The worst-case scenario had happened. The man known as the Janitor stopped his Nissan pickup before the forest ended and watched. The road dipped for about two miles. Through binoculars he could see a stream and a lodge just beyond. The black SUV he’d been tailing pulled up next to the lodge. Hurwitz got out.

  The Janitor turned and found a side track that would both provide cover and give him a line of sight to the property. It also gave him options depending on what happened. If Hurwitz left fairly soon, the Janitor would get back on the road, drive through the forest and pretend to break down. The Janitor’s disguise made him look elderly. With no other traffic around, the agent was bound to stop and offer assistance.

  The Janitor popped a stick of gum in his mouth and settled down to wait.

  It wasn’t long before Hurwitz re-emerged. The Janitor started the Nissan, prepared. But instead of driving off, the agent collected something from the SUV. A pet carrier maybe. The Janitor settled down to watch again. He opened another gum and started to play with the wrapper.

  Mustang hadn’t explained the issue but it was easy to establish. The congressman had panicked when he heard of the raid to capture the Saudi prince’s son. Congressman Hamilton’s men had failed to stop it, failed to save the son. Bin Shahd would want revenge and the first contingency was to let Kirkpatrick become the target. Ensure the Arab didn’t kill Cassano and convince him that Kirkpatrick was Mustang.

  The congressman was under house arrest but he would never be indicted. The state’s evidence would never happen. Dead men can’t give evidence. The Janitor would see to that. Woodall would be dead before anyone knew about Hurwitz and Cassano.

  The air was still and smelled like maybe it would snow again. The Janitor much preferred the heat of Panama to this. A small herd of white-tail deer came close, looped around his pickup as though he wasn’t there.

  He would take out Hurwitz and then move and dispatch Scott Cassano and the girl. Quick and easy. They thought they were safe but Hurwitz had led him straight here. All he needed to do was bide his time. Just like he had for Senator Kirkpatrick, making it look like suicide. It could have ended there if Woodall hadn’t been captured. So this was the worst-case scenario. The second contingency. A fallback. The main reason the Janitor had been appointed.

  The light began to fade and the Janitor decided to change his plan. If it was dark when Hurwitz came across the broken-down pickup, he was less likely to stop. Then it could get messy.

  He started the engine and slowly manoeuvred the Nissan until the rear of the pickup pointed to the target area. Clambering into the back, the Janitor dropped the tailgate and spread out his mat. He took his rifle—an M2010 ESR—from his kitbag and adjusted it. He fixed a suppressor and night scope and set the focus for 100 yards. Well within the range of the magnum round. He could put a round between a man’s eyes at almost ten times that. Only, the forest restricted the line of sight. Any nearer and there’d be no sport in it.

  Although there was snow on the ground, the road was clear. If Hurwitz was doing sixty miles an hour, he’d see the SUV for about five seconds before he’d take the shot.

  He lay down, popped another stick of gum in his mouth and looked through the scope at the lodge. Lights came on inside and seemed like bright green flares in the twilight.

  He filled the time by counting his heart rate. Relaxing, getting it sub-fifty. Waiting was good. He’d been waiting for almost two years. He’d followed events and his people had given him control. He’d used the hapless Matt but the genius had been getting Cassano’s girlfriend to contact him. To trust Matt. He’d managed to get someone close to her, to be her friend. She’d gained access to the photos and the cat’s name tag. He’d used Lisa—the stewardess. An easy conquest and an easy pawn.

  The Arab had killed Matt. One less problem to worry about. Once the Janitor had removed Cassano, his girlfriend and Woodall, there was just one more thing to tidy up. Invite Lisa to stay, meet in Chicago where she used to work. She’d come. No doubt about it. And disposal stateside was definitely the easiest option.

  It was full dark when the front door opened to a burst of light. He watched Hurwitz wave and get into the SUV, turn onto the road and head towards him.

  He switched the scope back to 800 yards and aimed at the gap in the trees. He began to count. A white-tail raised its head and looked about as though it sensed him watching.

  An urgent vibration and beeping of his phone broke his concentration momentarily. He judged he had twenty seconds. A quick glance told him he needed to read the message. He could hear the SUV almost at the forest edge. But his heart rate was no longer slow, no longer under control. He read the headline, breathed in and breathed out.

  Hamilton’s Dead

  There would be no big payday. It was over. Always a possibility that the final instalment wouldn’t be made. He wouldn’t be able to buy that island paradise but there was still plenty of the advance left.

  The Janitor looked through the scope. Panama wasn’t too bad. At least it was warm. And there was plenty of work if he wanted it.

  The SUV’s lights flared briefly and were gone. The white-tail deer had probably bolted. Then he saw it again, moving back to the spot by the road. It stopped, turned its head and stared back at him.

  He calmed his heart rate, breathed in, and fired. Time to go home.

  The gunshot had coincided with Hurwitz’s SUV disappearing into the forest. Fear gripped Scot’s guts. He had one hand on the shotgun beside him. He dialled and jammed the phone under his chin. The line was engaged. He tried again.

  Come on, Ben, answer.

  Scott tore up the hill and passed the treeline. After a short distance, his headlights picked up something lying in the drift alongside the road. He slewed the vehicle to a halt.

  Even as he was stepping out of the cab he saw it was just a deer. Heat rose from the body; a recent kill. The back of the head was a mess of freshly poured blood. At first he didn’t spot the entry point and then saw the shot was cleanly through th
e right eye.

  The crunch of compacted snow made Scott look around.

  A vehicle moved out of the woods from a side track less than fifty yards ahead. A dark, flatbed four-by-four. Foreign, probably Japanese. Its lights were off. It lumbered through the drift into the road, almost like it had a problem.

  The man at the wheel turned towards him. Hard to see in the dark, but the guy was definitely looking. The guy’s hand came up and touched the brim of his cap.

  And then, breaking the spell, the vehicle’s headlights burst into life and it took off down the road, into the forest.

  Scott watched it go, his breath steaming in his own vehicle’s headlights.

  When the taillights were gone, he walked back to the deer trying to make sense of it. Why had the hunter had just shot the deer and left it? From the damage it looked like an over-specced high velocity round. Nothing unusual there, but why use a suppressor? And was the shot through the eye a lucky one or precision?

  Intrigued, he swung into the GMC and headed to where the other vehicle had come out. Bumping over the drift, across the other’s ruts, he edged down the track.

  The mobile rang.

  Hurwitz said, “You OK, buddy? Didn’t expect you to call so soon.”

  “I couldn’t get through. I heard a shot, thought—”

  Hurwitz laughed. “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, I know that now.”

  “Not like you to be jittery. In fact I was on another call and would then have called you anyway. News about Congressman Hamilton: He died an hour ago. Massive heart attack. Some guys have all the luck, eh?”

  Scott stopped and climbed out of the GMC. There was something in the compacted snow, glinting in his headlights.

  “I guess. Take care, Ben.”

  He ended the call and picked up the object: a folded, silver chewing gum paper. Made up of three pieces. An animal of some kind, maybe a deer.