Badrock had a great set-up for the rich hunters here, I had to admit; it was a professional operation through and through. He was making it as safe as it could be for them, and I could understand why. At the prices he was charging, the type of people coming here for the hunts weren’t those that Badrock could just bury in the cemetery of the on-site chapel with no questions asked. They were politicians and business leaders with big money behind them – and wherever there was money, there were people interested in those who had it. If anything happened to one of the hunters, investigations would be launched and Badrock would be out of business, perhaps even imprisoned.
I wondered why I was still there, why I hadn’t just left and gone to the authorities, had the park investigated.
It was a no-brainer though – I knew I would be killed if I tried to leave. Badrock was charming and charismatic, but he was as ruthless as his reputation suggested. The snipers back at the cemetery were proof enough of that. Maybe I could sneak out with the tourists, but what then? The ranch was fifteen miles away from the nearest town, and that was small enough to be difficult to hide out in. No, I knew the Vanguard men would get to me. And what then? They were only hired hands like me, just doing their jobs; would I really want to be forced into killing them?
And what would happen if I did escape? I had no evidence, it would be my word against Badrock’s – and he was a famous general, whereas I was . . . well, I wasn’t a general anyway. Nobody would believe me over him. Especially if – as he’d indicated – some of the people who hunted here were the very people I might want to go to with the information. A presidential candidate accidentally getting shot by an overexcited chief of police was one of the examples Badrock had used, and I had no way of knowing if this was literal or merely figurative. Were these existing clients, or just an example of the sort of people who came here? Either way, I couldn’t afford to take the chance of contacting the wrong person.
I considered the fact that the general might keep records – who was visiting, how much they paid, the trophies they bagged. It was more than likely that he did, but where would I find them? It was unrealistic to think that there would be paper records in an old metal filing cabinet somewhere; Vanguard would be sure to employ computer security specialists, and any evidence would be well protected on a hard drive somewhere. I was good at many things, but hacking into computers wasn’t one of them. Hitting people with batons, yes; sophisticated network security, unfortunately not. I wasn’t exactly a Philistine, but I wasn’t far from it.
So I would do what I always did in these situations – I would play it by ear. And if I got the chance – decorated war hero or not – I would bring it all tumbling down around Roman Badrock’s head.
I was back at the main station, not so far from Badrock’s house, checking out the supply of hunting rifles, when Miles Hatfield strolled into the armory.
Kane responded immediately, hackles raised as he emitted a low warning growl.
‘Hey,’ Hatfield said with palms held out in placation, ‘I come in peace.’
I nodded at Kane and he retreated to my side, still keeping his gaze on the Delta Force commando but silent now, allowing me to take the lead.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘I suppose we’re colleagues now, right?’
‘Exactly,’ Hatfield said with smile. He looked around the large room, with its specially made gun racks and ammunition stores, then back at me. ‘So what do you think?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘Has Bruce done a good job?’
The Bruce he referred to was Bruce Underwood, the armorer here. He was in the back, rechambering a Winchester hunting rifle for a bigger load. Previously a Small Arms Repairer/Technician with the Marine Corps, he’d been running his own specialist high-end gunsmithing workshop in Montana when Badrock had come to see him, apparently making him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
‘Well,’ I said as I looked down at the Ruger No.1-H Tropical Rifle chambered in .458 Lott, designed for taking down African big game, which rested in my hands, ‘he definitely knows his business.’ I looked around the armory, then back at Hatfield. ‘And I think that there are enough weapons here to invade a small country.’
‘You know how it is,’ Hatfield said with a grin. ‘The people we get here, they’ve got lots of different needs, we need a lot of different weapons to suit them. Let’s say we’ve got a young lady, maybe five two and a hundred pounds, but she wants to put down a bull elephant. What’s she gonna use? It’s a problem, right? She needs a big load, a powerful rifle, but then will she be able to control it? So we’ve got weapons here to suit everyone, and Bruce helps to personalize them to requirements. We don’t want our clients to embarrass themselves out there, you know?’
‘That would be a real shame,’ I said as I put the Ruger back in its rack.
Hatfield laughed. ‘Sounds to me like you’d love it if they did.’
‘What can I say?’ I responded. ‘I’m a mercenary, like you. I’m willing to take the general’s coin, so I don’t judge. Hunting animals isn’t for me personally,’ I continued as I ruffled the soft hair on Kane’s broad skull, ‘but I’m not going to stand in the way of people that want to do it.’
Hatfield nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘I can respect that,’ he said. ‘Yes, I can surely respect that. We’re paid to do what we’re told, and not to ask any questions about it. Same as back in the military, except we get paid properly here.’
‘That’s true enough,’ I said. ‘We’ve traded one master for another, this one’s just more generous.’
Hatfield walked to a shelf and picked up a Barrett .50 caliber, hefting its weight easily. But I could see his mind was elsewhere, the rifle a mere prop. I waited to hear what was on his mind.
‘Roman says you won the Medal of Honor,’ he said at last. There was respect – even admiration – in his voice, but tainted by a hint of jealousy, a threat of competition.
‘It was a long time ago,’ I answered.
‘Well anyway,’ he continued, putting the rifle back, ‘it’s a hell of a thing, it really is. We don’t get that many Medal of Honor winners down here, that’s for sure. There aren’t that many of you anywhere, as a matter of fact.’
‘Not alive, anyway,’ I said, wondering where Hatfield was going with this.
The man chuckled. ‘I guess that’s right,’ he said, before shaking his head in wonder. ‘Well anyway, Roman’s got big plans for you my friend. Big plans. You’ve impressed the hell out of him, you know? So you’ll be staying with him in the house, away from the others. They’ve been warned off you, but you know how it is – boys will be boys and all that. We can’t guarantee your safety if you stay in the block with them.’
‘Are they jealous?’ I asked with half a smile.
‘You could say that – word has already got out that you’re on more money than they are, and a few of them are pissed about your roll in the sack with Talia last night too. Plenty of the boys had designs on that one, but nobody wanted to mess with the general’s daughter.’
My eyes must have registered my shock despite myself. ‘The general’s –’ I couldn’t help myself repeating, stopped by Hatfield’s nodding head.
‘Yes,’ he said with a wicked smile. ‘The girl you fucked this way and that last night was Talia Badrock, the general’s daughter.’
‘But why would – ’
‘I told you Roman likes you,’ Hatfield said. ‘And Talia is a resource to be used like any other. He is a most practical man.’
My stomach turned at the thought of how Badrock had used his daughter, and I felt strong pangs of guilt myself. Who had I thought she was?
The thing was, I had just assumed she was a working girl, hired by the general. And I’d thought that that was okay, in its own way. But was it? Everyone was someone’s daughter, after all.
But it was the sheer cold-blooded manipulation of the man that shocked me, his willingness to use his own flesh and blood to achieve his aims. But what aim did he have in mind when he sent me
back to my room with Talia? What had he hoped to accomplish?
The whole situation bewildered me, but at the same time the beginnings of a plan started to form in my mind.
‘Anyway,’ Hatfield continued with the smile still playing across his lips, ‘the reason I’m here is to tell you that our next hunt is tomorrow night. And it’s going to be an important one too, some real big name VIPs are coming here. They start arriving in the morning, you’ll be on the meet and greet team, you’ll help them with their weapon handling drills, make sure everyone’s capable of being out there in the field without hurting themselves, or other people. Then when the park closes, you’ll get to see the real fun begin.’
I looked at Hatfield and smiled weakly. ‘I can’t wait,’ I said.
The ex-commando’s smile was much more convincing than mine. ‘I bet you can’t,’ he said. ‘I just bet you can’t.’
Chapter Four
Talia Badrock was waiting for me in my new room when I arrived, already naked in my bed.
I dropped my things on the floor and looked at her. She was stunning, there was no doubt about it; olive skin and deep green eyes framed by curls of dark hair that fell to her smooth-skinned shoulders.
But I looked at her differently now, knowing what I knew.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I asked her.
‘Tell you what?’ she purred softly, eyes questioning.
‘That you’re the general’s daughter.’
‘Would it have made a difference?’ she asked, her expression unchanged.
It was a good question. ‘It might have,’ I said.
‘Why?’
Damn – another good question. Her blasé attitude about what she’d been made to do by her father left me confused, not knowing how to carry on the conversation. It was unlikely I’d been the first person she’d been asked to ‘entertain’. What effect would that have on a person?
But then again, she was an adult. Didn’t she have a choice in the matter? And if she did, and she chose to do it anyway, then what did that say about her?
But then again, I knew firsthand how convincing her father could be. How much would a lifetime of brainwashing affect someone? Would she really have had any choice? After being under his influence for so long, was it possible for her to make her own mind up?
And even if he hadn’t completely dominated her mentally, there were always the physical threats the man could make. How free was I to leave this place? If I tried anything, I’d have fifty ex-military killers on my tail; I didn’t imagine that Talia would have it any easier.
‘It might have made a difference,’ I answered her finally, ‘if I’d known you were being forced into it.’
‘But you must have assumed I was a hooker the first time, or at least something similar, you must have assumed I was being paid for my services.’
‘I guess so,’ I replied weakly.
‘And that was okay with you.’ It was a statement more than a question.
‘I didn’t really think about it at the time,’ I answered, and it was the truth too. The furthest my brain had got was never look a gift horse in the mouth. Shallow? Perhaps; but then again, I’d never claimed to be anything else.
I spotted a fridge in the corner of the room and walked over to it, hoping the general had stocked it properly. I wasn’t disappointed as I opened the door, and pulled out a bottle of Bud. ‘Want one?’ I asked, holding a bottle up for her to see.
‘Why not?’ she said with a smile, and I bit off the cap, moved across to the bed and passed it to her.
I sat on the edge of the bed as I opened my own and took a large, satisfying gulp.
I turned back to her, her supple naked body propped up on the pillows, sheets resting in a silken pool at her lap. ‘I’m sorry,’ I told her.
‘Sorry?’ she asked with surprise as she sipped her beer. ‘Sorry for what?’
‘I’m sorry that your father’s been using you. Sorry you’ve had to do . . . the things you’ve done.’
Talia regarded me coolly for a few moments, then burst out laughing. I was caught off-guard; the laugher seemed quite genuine.
‘You think he makes me do this?’ she asked, before putting the bottle back to her lips. ‘I’m twenty-two years old, you think he can keep me here?’
I looked in her eyes, trying hard to read her. ‘Yes,’ I said eventually, keeping my gaze on her. ‘Yes, I think he can.’
She opened her mouth to say something else, then seemed to think better of it, drinking more of the beer instead. She tried to speak again, but the words wouldn’t come.
I walked back to the fridge, pulled out two more Buds. ‘Fancy another?’ I asked her.
She nodded her head, and I passed her one, noting that the sheets were now pulled up to her shoulders, her body covered.
I sat on the bed next to her, reclined back on the pillows and enjoyed my second bottle of beer, giving Talia some time to get her words out, not wanting to pressure her into talking.
‘I can’t leave,’ she said eventually, in a voice little more than a whisper. ‘I can’t.’
I still didn’t respond, knew that if I just gave her the space, the words would come.
And finally they did.
‘I didn’t see my dad that much growing up. Boarding school all the way, you know? Mom died when I was young, and he was a hot-shot army officer. How could he have time for his kids?’ She shook her head. ‘He couldn’t. And I didn’t hold it against him . . . Or at least I didn’t think I did. But then I made some choices, some bad choices, and I think I did it just to get his attention, get back at him somehow, you know?’
‘I think so,’ I said gently, encouraging her to continue.
‘So I got into alcohol in high school, messing about with boys when I was too young, you know the sort of thing. Dad ignored it, or maybe didn’t even realize it was happening. Still made it into college though, but the drugs I’d started dabbling a bit with at boarding school got harder. First pills, then coke, but then I was smoking crack every day, running with the wrong people, and I mean the really wrong people, I ended up turning tricks to pay for it, working for a pimp who supplied me.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Dad finally found out,’ she said. ‘Or at least he finally had to pay attention when he was forced to bail me out of jail.’
I drank some more of the ice-cold Bud to help soften the blow of what I was hearing, the liquid sliding wonderfully down my throat as she continued her sorry tale.
‘It almost killed him, you know? Could you imagine the damage to his reputation if people found out about me? His drug-addict crack whore daughter?’ She shook her head sadly. ‘The number of people he had to pay off to keep my name out of the papers, off the TV, it was incredible, as he kept on reminding me. He told me names, what he’d had to pay them, made me repeat it to him until he was happy that I appreciated what he’d done. He retired from the army too, I’d ruined his chances of ever making it further, and he never let me forget that either.’
That explained the unknown family scandal that my friend had told me about, at least.
‘He booked me into a private clinic too,’ Talia continued, ‘to clean me up. Eventually brought me up here to his ranch to start over, a ‘new life’, he told me.’
There were tears in her eyes now, and I put an arm round her shoulders, her head nestling on my chest. ‘The new life didn’t last long,’ she said in a ragged whisper. ‘He said that I owed him, that I needed to work for him now. He told me I’d proved what sort of work I was good for.’
There was bitterness in her voice now, and who could blame her? The desire to kill her father, to wipe General Roman Badrock off the face of the earth, emerged like a jolt of lightning deep in my guts. But still I didn’t speak, knowing there was more to come.
‘I don’t have to do as much as when I was on the streets,’ she said at last. ‘And it is a lot nicer here.’ She paused, deciding how to phrase what she wanted to say. ‘But at least on the streets I had the drugs
,’ she said through her tears. ‘At least they helped numb the pain . . . I could pretend none of it was real. But here,’ she waved a hand around the room, ‘I know it’s real. He makes me “entertain” special guests, his high-rolling hunters, I’m like a free call girl at a Vegas casino. And I know he’ll kill me if I ever try and leave.’
I breathed out slowly, my impression of the general damaged beyond belief, beyond restitution. A man who would prostitute his own daughter, who would kill her if she tried to escape.
Talia sighed then, wiped the tears away, and drank some more beer – at least a little something to numb the pain. ‘I don’t know why I’ve told you all this,’ she said weakly. ‘You’re one of them now, you work for Vanguard, you work for him.’
The guilt flooded me, but the feeling was momentary; there were things that could be done to help redress the balance.
‘You told me because you know I’m not like the others,’ I said as I held her tight. ‘Because you know I can help you.’
‘Help me how?’ she asked softly.
‘Help you get out of here,’ I said, stroking her hair. ‘But first,’ I continued, thinking about the plan that had occurred to me back in the armory, ‘you just might be able to help me.’
Chapter Five
I lay in the long grass, feeling the warm breeze wash over me, the crescent moon above casting its silvery glow across the plain below me.
I could see well enough just from the moonlight, but through the FLIR T75 long-range thermal sight mounted to my FN SCAR 7.62mm battle rifle, the images were crystal clear. But with a sight that cost just shy of seventeen thousand dollars, I supposed they should be.
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR HUNT: Colt Ryder is Back in Action! Page 7
