by S. T. Boston
“And you can really do this?” asked Adam warily. He could fast see the excuse to get out of Sam's crazy plan slipping away.
“Of course I can, no one knows more about what is at stake here than me, and if I was in any doubt I wouldn't be wasting my time.” After all that she'd shown and explained to them, she sounded a little annoyed at Adam's skepticism.
“It's settled then,” concluded Sam. “Let's get this done.” He opened the door and jumped down into the parking lot. Adam climbed down out of the driver's seat, a little more reluctantly. Oriyanna and Sam were a few paces in front of him, already heading for the door. The whole idea sounded crazy, and he suspected they would be thrown straight out of the shop. Regardless of anything else, Oriyanna looked odd in his clothes that were much too big, and her hair appeared as if it had been dragged through a hedge backwards; not to mention the fact she wasn't wearing any shoes. Adam picked up his pace and joined them, and as they reached the entrance the large automatic doors hissed open.
After spending a good few hours in the dimly lit camper, the bright artificial light of the Gun Emporium was an assault on Sam's eyes. It also served to snap him back into the real world. Being in the camper and hearing what Oriyanna had told them had made him feel cut off and distant from everything else. The shop was a good reminder that despite all he'd learned, things were still ticking along normally for the rest of humanity; for now, at least. Sam took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of gun oil; it made him feel at home and brought back fond memories of his army days. The walls behind the sales desk were lined with all kinds of firearms and boxes of ammunition stacked high, while the shop floor sported a mixture of tactical and outdoor pursuit style clothing as well as a good range of shooting accessories and survival gear. Sam clocked the two staff who had the unlucky pleasure of working the night shift. The guy behind the counter looked to be in his early fifties, he was obviously ex-services and still sported the same buzz cut he'd no doubt worn in his younger days. In an attempt to hold on to the youthful look, he'd dyed it jet black, and it resembled a bizarre wig. Sam could tell from his attire that he was obviously making the most of his staff discount; the clerk looked as if he'd fallen through one of the tactical clothing racks and come out fully dressed. If World War Three were to break out then and there, he was already fully kitted out for combat. His younger, fresher-faced male colleague was busy sorting through a range of hiking boots; he didn't look as if he'd ever fired a weapon in his life. Sam guessed he was no more than a college kid, trying to fund his education.
The hard-faced clerk behind the counter watched them suspiciously as they walked into the store, all blinking in the bright light; he made his way around the large U shaped counter to get a closer look at his customers. The younger assistant glanced up briefly at the sound of the shop doors, but soon returned his attention to the mass of boots he was sorting through.
“Is there anything I can help you guys with?” the clerk asked with a hint of suspicion in his voice. Sam walked over to him confidently and placed his hands on the glass counter. The display cabinet below was full of seemingly lethal hunting knives.
“Sure, I'm after quite a bit actually,” he said brashly. “Firstly, my friend over there,” he gestured to Oriyanna, “had a little boyfriend trouble earlier this evening, hence her slightly shabby appearance.” The clerk nodded his head in understanding, as she made her way over to the counter. “I'm guessing you don't have the best range of ladies wear in here, but if you could point her to something that fits a bit better than the potato sack she's in now it would be appreciated. Some shoes would be good also.”
The clerk took in her dishevelled appearance warily. “I'm not sure what kind of trouble this guy caused you, Miss, but I can call the police if you'd like?” He offered Oriyanna a sympathetic smile as he leaned on the counter. “I don't mean to speak out of turn here, but whoever this guy is, he must be a fool to be messing around a pretty lady like you.”
“Thank you for the offer but I'm fine, really, “Oriyanna said softly, returning his smile, and the moment he looked into her eyes she knew she had him; it was now or never. Slowly she reached across the glass service counter and took hold of his hand, not breaking eye contact with him for a second. “It's a very kind offer though,” she continued, wrapping her hand over his.
“You're more than welcome, Miss,” he said, sounding a little distant. Sam glanced nervously over at the shoe stand; thankfully, the assistant was engrossed in his work; he collected up a pile of boxes that came up to under his chin before balancing his way through to the back storeroom, bumping the swinging door open with his back. Adam, on the other hand, was transfixed watching Oriyanna work; he still stood close to the entrance, near a small display of camouflaged thermos flasks, pretending to browse through the stock.
“There is something you can help us with, though,” purred Oriyanna in her hypnotic tone. “My friend Samuel needs to purchase some firearms from you.”
“No problem,” the clerk nodded in his trance-like state, his eyes locked onto hers as if they were sharing a romantic meal in a fine restaurant.
“Serve him with whatever he wants; it's quite alright for you to do that.” He continued to nod his head like those dogs Sam sometimes saw stuck on a car's parcel shelf. “When you ask for his identification, you will be satisfied with whatever documents he produces, it's perfectly fine for you to accept them as legal documentation. They will be all you need to see.” Oriyanna broke her contact with him and stood back from the counter. As if a light switch had flicked on in his mind, the clerk snapped back to his normal self. “You were telling me where I might be able to find some clothes?” Oriyanna smiled, switching her attention away from the clerk and gazing around the shop.
“Yes, of course. Just toward the back of the store you should find something in your size.” He pointed over toward a rack near the shoe stand. “If you need any help just ask Josh, my assistant.”
“Thanks for your help,” she concluded, gesturing for Adam to join her at the back of the store. The clerk's eyes followed her across the shop floor; once he'd seen her locate the correct stand he turned his attention back to Sam.
“Okay, what else is it I can do for you?” he asked politely, any hint of suspicion in his voice now gone. Sam's heart rate picked up a few levels, there was no way of knowing if this was going to work, other than jumping in with both feet.
“I need some firearms,” he said as confidently as possible, taking his driver's license and passport out of his pocket and pushing them across the glass counter. The clerk collected them up and spent what seemed like an age studying the documents.
“These all seem to be in order,” he said, nodding his head in satisfaction. “I may need you to fill out a few forms, it depends on what you're after.” He turned to a small photocopier on a table against the wall and took two copies of the passport.
“I'll take two of those Ruger LC9s,” Sam began, feeling a little of the stress drain from his body, “two spare clips and two boxes of Black Hills nine millimetre hollow points.” The clerk nodded his approval and retrieved the requested items, placing them on the counter. “Do you have anything a little more tactical?”
“Sure,” the clerk replied helpfully. He unlocked a display case near the cash register and fished out a small black carry case; unclipping it and turning it around for Sam to see.
“Very nice,” exclaimed Sam, running his eyes over the contents. “FNP45 with spare clips, suppressor and added Trijicon sight, very nice; very nice indeed.” Sam picked the weapon up and weighed it in his hand, the gun was well balanced and completely at home in his grip.
“You know your guns, son,” said the clerk approvingly, watching as Sam raised the weapon up and checked the sight.
“Yeah well, that's what ten years of army service does for you, followed by four years of close protection duties.” Sam placed the weapon back onto the counter with a clunk.
“Ah, thought I sensed a soldier in you
,” beamed the clerk. “William Thomas,” he said happily, extending his hand across the counter. “Twenty-five years with the United States Army myself.” Sam took his hand and pumped it up and down a couple of times. Exchanging banter was all very well and on any other day, he'd have been more than happy to chew the fat and share a few war stories with William, but he was keen to get this finished as fast as possible. He didn't know just how long whatever Oriyanna had done would last.
“Pleased to meet you,” Sam replied politely.
“Always happy to help a fellow ex-serviceman,” William continued. “Is there anything else I can get you?” Sam scanned the knife display under the counter as casually as if he were picking out a ring in a jewellery shop.
“I'll go for one of those Linder Yukon hunting knives,” he said, pointing out his choice through the display cabinet. “Also, I'll take a good strong tack bag, some duct tape and a good pair of binoculars. Oh, and do you have any army surplus?”
“We sure do,” beamed William. Sam could see he was more than happy to be selling this much stock in one go. “Since things died down in the Middle East, we've been getting truckloads in from the government. What is it you're after?”
“Half a dozen flash bangs and the same in smoke grenades.” Sam thought he was pushing his luck, but he went with it.
William laid the knife out with the other goodies. “You're supposed to be currently military or law enforcement to purchase the flash bangs,” he said, scrunching his face up and pausing for a brief second. “But as I said, I'm always willing to help an ex-serviceman out, so on this occasion, no problem. I keep that stuff out back; I won't be a second. Grab yourself a tack bag.” He pointed to a small selection of bags opposite the counter. “The Patrol Ready ones are pretty good value, our local Police Department uses them,” he added as he turned and disappeared into the rear storeroom. Sam grabbed the bag and gave it a once over – it wasn't quite as robust as his old army one, but it would do the job.
As Sam unzipped the bag and placed it on the counter, Oriyanna and Adam made their way up to join him. “Not bad, not bad at all,” he commented, taking in her new attire. Adam had managed to find her a good quality pair of black cargo trousers and a North Face fleece. She also had a pair of sturdy walking trainers on. “You do seem to have the ability to make almost anything look good,” he said, giving her a sly wink. Despite her slender and delicate frame, she looked quite purposeful in the new clothes, resembling some kind of female assassin you might see in a spy movie.
“Thanks,” she said, brushing some imperceptible dust off her new fleece before setting the price tags down on the counter. “At least this stuff fits me, I wouldn't go as far as saying I look good in it though. It's a little more cumbersome than my normal day-to-day clothing; all your stuff feels so heavy.”
“You've been busy,” observed Adam, gesturing toward the small arsenal of weapons on the counter. “Do you really need all those guns?”
“I have no idea, but I don't plan on being caught short,” smiled Sam, pleased with his new toys. He watched as William returned from the back storeroom carrying a small wooden crate containing the rest of the kit. Sam watched him place it on the counter and began to pack the guns into his new tack bag. “I think that's the lot,” he said, pausing to opening the lid of the crate and admire the latest additions to his collection.
“Right, I need you to fill out these forms.” William pulled them from under the cash register and handed them to Sam. “Also, I need to take your thumb prints; new law I'm afraid. They changed all the paperwork last year, gotta do it for any tactical weapons sold.” He added a small ink pad to the variety of papers. “There's space at the bottom of the form here for your prints.” He pointed to two small squares next to where Sam needed to put his signature. “I'll just ring all this up while you finish those off.” Adam took over packing the tack bag so Sam could complete the paperwork; he held each gun as if he was handling a dangerous animal.
Sam signed the last form before covering both his thumbs in black ink and transferring his prints to the paperwork. “All done,” he said, pushing the documents across the counter. “What's the damage?”
William ran an eye over the papers, nodding silently in approval before returning his attention to the cash register. “I've given you a fifteen percent Forces discount,” he said, looking up from the screen and smiling, “in total you're in for four thousand five hundred dollars.”
“Not a cheap night in all,” said Sam, letting an exasperated breath out through his teeth and digging his travel Visa card out of his wallet. “This should be good for the lot.” He handed the card to William, who slid it into the chip and pin machine. It took a few seconds to authorise before spitting out a receipt.
“Looks like you guys are all set,” he smiled, handing over the receipt. “Have a good night.”
Sam thanked him for his help, collected the bag up and left the store behind Adam and Oriyanna. The cool, fresh night air felt wonderful as he stepped outside and relaxed properly for the first time since entering the Emporium. The bag felt heavy, yet reassuring on his shoulder, and the purchase had literally wiped clean his prepaid travel Visa card, but it had saved him using any cards that were directly linked to his own bank account. He had no doubt that by now, they would be scanning financial transaction for both of them, and whilst letting them come to him was part of the plan, he didn't for a second want them to know they were armed. With the right amount of digging, someone could no doubt find a record of the card he'd used to pay, but it would take much longer to find. In situations like this it was key to stay one step ahead of your enemy, while still letting them think they had the upper hand. Reaching the RV, Sam slung the bag into the passenger foot well and climbed in, resting his feet on top of it. He took a moment to use the navigation system and find the nearest hotel. “Well now, that's very apt,” he mused, as the results came up on the small, dimly-lit screen. “There's a Quality Inn two blocks from here, and just off the interstate.” He pointed to its location on the map.
“Garden of the Gods Road?” questioned Adam, squinting at the screen. “Are you kidding me?”
“My thoughts exactly,” smiled Sam. “It's our best bet, though; they even have a small diner and take-out next door, once we get a room you can go grab us some food. I'm not sure how long we're going to be waiting.”
Adam drove them out of the car park and onto the road. The small digital clock on the dash was blinking two AM at him, and he felt as if he hadn't slept or eaten properly in days. The meal at the diner in Denver had only been around six hours ago, but it felt like a lifetime, and a very different lifetime at that.
In just under five minutes they reached the hotel. Sam made Adam drive around the car park once, while he clocked which rooms would afford the best view of the RV and car park. The hotel looked to be freshly renovated; it had a slight motel look about it with the room doors facing out onto covered walkways that went up four floors.
“Just park us up here mate,” said Sam, pointing to an empty space right in the middle of the car park. “It doesn't look that busy, so we should be able to get the pick of any of these rooms.” He pointed to the four floors on the east facing wall. “Preferably second floor or higher for a good vantage point.”
Adam guided the RV into the spot picked out by Sam, the lengthy vehicle actually ending up occupying two spaces, but now wasn't the time to worry about breaking a few parking laws. “I'll go in and get us a room then,” he said nervously, cracking the door open and letting the fresh breeze drift into the cab.
“Okay, remember, second floor or higher on the east facing side of the hotel,” Sam stated as he unlocked Adam's phone and turned on the location sharing option in Google.
“I best come with you,” Oriyanna cut in. “We can't have you using your real identification, you might need my skills.” She shot them a half-cocked smile.
“Good plan,” agreed Sam, nodding his head.
Reluctantly, Adam c
rossed the car park toward reception, closely followed by Oriyanna. He already felt as if invisible eyes were all over them, watching his every step. The thought sent shivers down his spine, amplified by the stiff breeze which carried the scent of food from the nearby diner; it flared hunger pains up from deep down in his stomach. Even if he were presented with a plate of the finest roast beef, he doubted if he could take a mouthful, the sick feeling brought on by panic and worry was running riot all through his body. He didn't like Sam's plan and the later the hour grew, the worse he felt. He had a bad feeling about the whole thing, a very bad feeling indeed.
Chapter 12
None of the staff on cleaning duties in the small Subway restaurant were paying any attention to the red Chevy Impala and its two male occupants, who sat on their forecourt right outside the eatery's large glass frontage. Finch glanced at the reflection in his wing mirror and watched a spotty-faced young male wiping down a long, bar-style table before tucking the cloth into the back pocket of his food stained trousers.
“It's a shame they're closed,” grumbled Roddick, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I could go for a sandwich right now.”
“Even if they weren't, this is no time to be thinking of your stomach!” spat Finch as he turned his attention back to the Days Inn car park across the street. The Ford MTR Freedom stood proudly in the nearly empty parking lot, like a prize hovering just out of reach.
Mitchell had phoned them just over fifteen minutes ago with the urgent news that he'd managed to obtain a GPS location on Adam Fisher's phone; it had pinged at The Days Inn on Garden of the Gods Road. At the time, they'd only been one junction off the correct exit – less than ten minutes later they had found the RV.
Finch removed the clip from his Glock and checked it was full, for the second time in as many minutes. Something about the situation and the speed in which they'd ended up finding the camper wasn't sitting right with him; removing the silencer from his kit case he attached it to the muzzle before checking the clip for a third time.
