"I've sat with the devil and ate his food. I've held life and death in my hands and watched it burn. I've shaped countries and political systems and torn down others. I've danced with the enemy and cursed the friend. I've traded my soul for power and greed. And what has it gotten me?"
His face was drawn with remorse, and tears streaked his face.
"Don't make the same mistake I did," he said.
He spun around to the fireplace and tossed the folder into it. The images, emails, phone records, everything, went up in flame.
"Assume everyone's a spy," the prime minister said. "If you do that, you'll do ok." Then he placed the pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. As the minister collapsed onto the Portuguese Armorial rug, the guards bolted forward. Two of the men apprehended Abram and pinned him to the ground. Abram was lost in a trance as the men tried to revive the prime minister. It was no use; he was gone. The mantle was splattered with blood and bits of bone. The rug was swelling with the red life force leaving the prime minister's body.
Abram couldn't understand. Why would he kill himself? If he knew who Abram was and who he worked for, why not kill him? Then the thought struck him. What if the prime minister had been trying to break free? What if everything Scott Train had told him had been a lie, meant to deceive and manipulate him? Had this all been a setup to pin the prime minister’s murder on him? And if so, why would the minister save him from that fate? Had that been the minister’s way of atoning for all of the sins he had committed? Abram thought about the cargo ship, Morocco, the ISIS camp, the attack at the airport, and now this. Was any of it true? His head was spinning as he felt hands pin him to the ground. Zip ties were wound tight on each wrist and he was yanked to his feet.
As the prime minister’s private security detail escorted Abram out of the estate, his thoughts continued to trail into deeper and darker conspiracies. The more he thought, the more it made sense.
The prime minister had been guilty, but he also was on a path of redemption. Scott Train didn't want that to happen and had threatened him. When that didn't work, he recruited Abram to kill him. With one fell swoop he'd eliminate the risk of his own secrets getting out to the world while pinning the murder on an ex-military veteran suffering from PTSD. It would have been the typical news story. But Scott Train had never anticipated the prime minister's pride. In the end, the minister had been a good guy. He paid for his sins with his life, but also gave Abram's his back. The ashes in the fire were the last link that tied him to all of the atrocious acts they had committed over the years. It was Abram’s get-out-of-jail-free card, and he took it.
As the guards hauled Abram away, he whispered to the prime minister’s dead body, "They'll pay for this."
Chapter 27
One week later.
After a thorough investigation, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police had found Abram innocent. With the guards’ testimonies, they cleared his name and any charges held against him for the prime minister’s death. They went on record to say that the minister had suffered a heart attack in his home. Only the guards who had been present and Abram would ever know the truth. Abram had been ‘encouraged’ to sign a nondisclosure agreement stating that if he shared what really happened, they’d kill him, in not so subtle words. He had signed the papers and walked out.
He had received a text message from an unknown number the moment he was clear of the security forces’ radar.
“We need to meet. Strathcona Park. 30 minutes,” the message had said. He had replied that he’d be there. He was grateful for the several days of questioning and detainment. It allowed him time to get his thought together, gain clarity and focus. He couldn’t be sure about Scott Train and his involvement in all of this, nor could he confidently say that it had all been a setup. But one thing he had learned over the years and his time in service was to always go with your instinct and never show your cards. He couldn’t allow Scott Train to know that he suspected him. If it were true, he’d kill the man and anyone involved. If it turned out to be false, well, then it would be as if nothing had happened.
Abram checked his watch for the third time in the last twenty minutes. It was now an hour past the designated meet-up time and still no one had shown up. Abram suspected they had been watching him the entire time, gauging if he brought anyone else with him. He knew it was the paranoia at play in his head, but it had kept him alive this long. He checked his watch once more, then decided to leave. He stood from the park bench and was about to leave when his phone vibrated.
He flicked it open.
“Walk to the swing sets. You’ll see three park benches. Sit on the East. There’s an envelope underneath.”
Abram glanced around the park, looking for any signs of someone who didn’t belong. He wondered if any of the park-goers and families were thinking the same about him. He had just spent the last two hours sitting in front of the children’s playground. The benches were off to the side, about thirty paces from the swing sets. A small gazebo with two charcoal grills sat just behind him. He found the bench facing east and sat down. His eyes scanned the recreational area and the surrounding trees. He leaned over, pretending to be tying his shoe, and slid his hand under the bench. His fingers found the envelope. He brought it up and untied the string. There was a phone inside. It started vibrating the moment he opened the envelope.
He flicked it open and waited. The voice on the other end seemed to be playing the same game. Abram knew how this went. He wouldn’t speak until spoken to. Five minutes later, Scott Train finally spoke.
“How’s the prime minister?”
“He’s a bit under the weather,” Abram said.
“Reports say that he died of a heart attack.”
He was digging for answers. Abram wondered how far Train’s reach extended. There were six of them in all who knew the truth about the prime minister’s death. Him, the two guards, and three investigators. Not even the prime minister’s wife knew the truth. Abram decided to take the gamble.
“Someone once told me, never believe what you hear on the news.”
He heard Scott Train let out a breath.
“I put a bullet in his head, then two in his chest. He’ll not be a problem any longer.”
“What did the RCMP want with you?” he asked.
Abram’s heart skipped a beat, but that didn’t mean Scott Train knew.
“Standard protocol. All of the guests were questioned. My being a foreigner and a last-minute attendee, they detained me for special questioning.”
“And did you slip?” Scott asked. Did you break under the pressure, he was really saying.
“You can’t break what’s already broken,” Abram said.
Scott Train paused for a moment. Abram knew he was considering his response. The breathing, Abram decided, was him smoking. Most likely a Cuban.
Three puffs later, Train said, “Good work. I’ll send a car to pick you up tonight. We have another mission for you.”
“Understood.”
The phone went dead. Abram removed the SIM card and battery. He snapped the SIM in half and tossed both pieces into the grass as he walked out of the park. He left the battery on the park bench and dumped the phone in a trash bin a mile away. He pulled his jacket tighter and kept walking.
***
The blonde walked through the two sliding doors. Her blue scrubs sucked to her frame as the warm summer air rushed to greet her. It had been another late night. All she wanted to do was get in her car, drive home, and crash. Her eyes were heavy as she walked to her car. She passed by a black Cadillac parked near the Emergency Room entrance. Its engine was still running, but its lights were off. She didn't even notice when it pulled out and followed her.
She fumbled with her keys as she approached her 2012 Hyundai Tucson. The crossover looked black in the dark, but it was actually blue. The headlights flashed as she unlocked the doors. She tossed her bag in the back seat and went to climb in the front. She jumped when she saw him standing there.
"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
Abram had his hands in his pockets, a dark hood over his head.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
Abram removed the hood. She didn't recognize him until he revealed his cast. Her face went from annoyed to curious.
"So you didn't run away after all," she said. "It wouldn't be the first a guy stood me up."
"Something came up and I had to leave. I'm sorry."
"It's fine. How's your arm doing?"
Abram moved it around.
"I'll live," he said.
"That's good."
She fidgeted with her keys in her lap.
"Well, I better get going. I have another long day tomorrow. The sick don't stop," she said.
"Come with me," he said. The aggressive request caught her off guard.
"I don't even know you," she said.
"That's not true. You know my name is Abram, that I suffered a minor concussion, and have a broken arm. You know more about me than I do of you. I should be the one worried that you're some crazy serial killer who lures patients into a cup of coffee, only to poison them."
She slapped him playfully on the arm. He didn't release his hand from hers.
"Come on, what do you have to lose?"
Her wheels were turning. Abram could tell she was trying to figure out a good excuse to back out, but was drawing a blank. He didn't give her a chance to decide.
"Alright, it's decided then. One cup of coffee and if you never want to see me again, I'll disappear from your life forever. But..."
Her lips creased slightly. Her pulse had quickened and her fingers grew damp. Abram grinned.
"But what?" she asked, desperately wanting him to give her the answer she desired and wipe out the fragments of doubt and fear she had from past failed relationships.
"But you have to promise me you won't fall in love with me."
She hit him again, but her face was glowing.
"What makes you think I'll fall in love with you after one cup of coffee? Hmm?" She crossed her arms and perked her lips.
"Because I know just how irresistible I am. And I think you do too."
He was so close to her now he could smell her perfume. He maintained close proximity with her body, keeping that tension alive.
He had set a fire in her. Her eyes were burning.
"Alright, but only one cup. If you turn out to be a creep, I'll kill you," she said.
Abram backed away and raised his hands in mock defense.
"Yes, Ma'am," he said, enunciating the last word. She furrowed her brow and slammed the car door.
Abram stood by the running car with the same idiotic grin on his face. Patience was key.
She rolled down the window a few seconds later.
"I'll go with you under one condition," she said.
"Sure."
"You can't call me ma'am ever again."
"Yes, Ma'am," he said.
She rolled her eyes.
"Get in," she said.
Abram ran to the passenger side and hopped in. The blue Tucson sped off into the night.
***
The driver in the black Cadillac picked up his phone and dialed.
"I've found him," the driver said. "He's with the girl."
"Call me when it's done," the voice on the other end instructed.
"Yes, Sir."
The driver returned the cell to the cup holder. He pulled out a Beretta M9A3 and screwed on the compressor. He flicked the headlights on and fell into step a safe distance behind on Ottawa 36.
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Cameron Blake
Kill Shot - An Abram Kinkaid Thriller Page 17
