Knife Point

by Jim Heskett

  “I’m almost all wrapped up in here,” Jonah said, his eyes flitting around the outside. “I could use someone with two good arms and legs.”

  Harry grunted, but stepped inside the house and shut the door behind him. “Your hand okay?”

  “It’s fine, Harry. Figuring out how to get around in here with only one hand is keeping me busy, keeping my mind off all the other crap.”

  “So you’re okay?”

  “I can make do with one hand, for the time being. What I really need is help cleaning up. Layne had to boogie a little while ago and left me with the messy work. Figures. He gets to run off and be the hero while I’m on blood and guts duty.”

  Harry gulped, which made Jonah grin.

  “Don’t sweat it, K-Books. I’ve done most of the ugly stuff already.” He pointed to a collection of garbage bags in the kitchen, all of them tied off at the top with duct tape.

  “Are those what I think they are?” Harry asked.

  Jonah shrugged. “If you think they’re garbage bags filled with the dismembered limbs and torsos of two shitheads who tried to kill me this morning, then yes, that’s exactly what it is.”

  “Oh, Thorny. You always know how to make me feel like I’m going to puke.”

  “I know field work ain’t your cup of tea, Harry. But, I need help moving these out to the garbage can out back.”

  Harry put his hands on his hips. “You’re going to leave body parts in a trash can?”

  “For now, sure. Layne said he'll have a deep clean crew come by later, but we need to get this all outside for now. You never done one of these before?”

  Harry shook his head. “I usually do my work in my pajamas, at my desk at home.”

  “You lucky son of a bitch."

  "Yeah, I suppose."

  "Well, let’s get our hands dirty.”

  Harry entered the kitchen. He could smell the death wafting from those bags. A few flies were already buzzing above them, hoping to investigate. He caught himself wanting to retch but held his breath, and it passed. Jonah appeared over his shoulder, looking down at the bags.

  “I don’t know how you could do this part of the job,” Harry said.

  “You get used to it. Wet work is the most detestable part, that’s for sure. Funny how quickly it comes back, though, and you’re right on that horse. Show me these bags a week ago, and I probably would’ve been puking along with you. But, one day back in the life, and it’s like hopping on an old bike or calling up an ex-girlfriend to reminisce on the good times.”

  “If you say so,” Harry said as he grabbed a bag and walked it to the back door. He tried not to think about which body part was inside it as it thumped against his hip while he carried it down the steps.

  Ten minutes later, they’d moved all the bags to a large trash bin out back. As he walked toward the rental car parked out front, Harry could feel the death clinging to him. Like a film on his skin. He needed a shower, as soon as possible.

  Jonah stood by the car, and Harry let him in. When Harry slid into the driver’s seat, he paused and felt an awkward silence in the car. “Jonah, I’m sorry about yesterday morning.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. You were coming off those drugs and needed me. I shouldn’t have left you alone, not even for one minute.”

  Jonah breathed for a few beats. “It’s alright, K-Books. I’m alive, and I’m not tied to a chair, so everything came out okay. Most of this is all my fault, anyway. I was careless and I got caught. And I’ve done things to deserve what I got, believe me.”

  “Well,” Harry said, and when Jonah waved a dismissive hand, he decided not to continue. He’d said what he’d wanted to say. Then, he noted the paperback sitting in Jonah's lap. “I read that. Layne lend it to you?”

  “He did. I tried it. Not my thing. In the first chapter, the author went on for three pages about the colors of the tapestries hanging in some king’s Great Hall. Get to the action, guy. I don’t wanna read about tapestries.”

  Harry shrugged. “Hmm. I liked it.” He started up the car and joined the street. “Here’s the deal: Layne says I’m supposed to take you to the Super 8. It’s about three miles south of town. I’ve got a clean laptop for you, and you’re supposed to find out what you can about the connection between Farhad Jahandar and Omar Naseer. Layne thinks we’re running out of time, so this is the top priority.”

  “What’s happening with Layne’s ex and daughter? They’re in town still, right?”

  “Yes. That’s my next job. I’m going to get them and take them to a bed and breakfast east of town, in some place named Palo Cedro.”

  Jonah shook his head. “Don’t do that. Let’s go get Inessa and Cameron together. They can stay with me at the Super 8. I don’t like us being spread out, so we’ll do my plan instead.”

  “But… no. Layne was very specific.”

  Jonah turned in the seat and eyed Harry. Harry tried to pay attention to the winding road coming down from the hills, but he could feel Jonah's eyes boring into him.

  “Harry, I understand what Layne is trying to do, putting his family out of town, somewhere he thinks they’ll be out of the way. But, they’re not safe. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about. They will be safer with me, tucked away in my motel room. I’m feeling much better now. I can handle this.”

  “I don’t… I’m not sure about this.”

  “Think about it. While Layne is out, running around, where will his family be safer? In some podunk town where anyone can get to them, or in the care of a trained government agent who has spent over a decade of his life defending the innocent and kicking the asses of enemies of the state?”

  Harry flashed a glance at Jonah's injured hand. “I don’t know. You make a good point, but Layne said…”

  “Layne has a lot on his mind right now. He’s not thinking clearly about this.”

  Harry chewed on his lower lip as he came to a stoplight. A car turning left unleashed a volley of horn honks at an elderly pedestrian taking her time to cross at the crosswalk.

  “Redding Mountain Lodge is that way,” Jonah said, pointing across Harry’s body.

  Harry sighed. “Okay, I get it. We’ll go pick them up.”

  As Harry turned, Jonah sat back and slid on a pair of sunglasses.

  30

  When the sun set, Layne began his surveillance of Farhad's house. Layne hadn't seen anyone coming or going for the last couple hours. Lights did change in the house, but Layne assumed they were on timers or some sort of automation sequence. The way the lights flicked on and off did not follow the natural flow of a person moving through the house. Not quite.

  There was a single car parked out front. Not Farhad’s. Layne checked the window into the garage, and also did not see Farhad's car there. He circled around the back of the house, careful to stay out of range of the two video cameras, one pointed at the front porch, and one at the back.

  The north side of the house seemed like the safest bet. A ground floor window led into a bathroom. Layne studied it and suspected there was an alarm, but he couldn’t tell what type. He used a demagnetizer around all four sides of the window, then his hunting knife to force the window open.

  With the window raised a half inch, he paused, listening. There had been no telltale click or beep. Nothing to indicate an alarm had been triggered, but Layne knew from experience not to blindly trust his hearing in this case.

  He slid inside and let his ears adjust to the gentle hum of the house. With the ambient noises cataloged and neutralized, he could now listen for anything out of the ordinary.

  Keeping his footfalls as light as possible, Layne pulled back the bathroom door into the hall. This darkened hallway led to the garage on the right and a living room on the left. He put one hand on the wall, trying to feel for vibrations. Nothing out of place came back. No strange sounds.

  Layne skulked toward the living room with his hunting knife out. As he approached the end of the hallway, he saw a single man sitt
ing in a high backed leather chair. Finger scrolling along a tablet. He looked almost exactly like one of the men Layne had killed at the house on Muletown Road. They could've been brothers. Same triangle tattoo high on his neck.

  An assault rifle rested on the floor next to the chair, magazine inserted.

  The living room was a large, open space, with a grand television sitting on a stand at one end. Two angled couches faced it, with two chairs between those couches. The guard was sitting in one of those chairs. The arrangement of the furniture would prevent Layne from coming at the man from an angle. Layne would have to approach him from behind, and the back of the chair would make a direct attack difficult. He would have to expose himself for a split second before he could make a move.

  Layne held the knife out and approached the man. Careful to walk heel-toe, heel-toe with every step. The floor was marble, so Layne didn’t worry about boards creaking, but he did keep a careful eye on the dormant television since the black screen would act almost like a mirror. Currently, the man’s face was pointed down, the glow of the tablet screen lighting up his eyes.

  Layne snuck up behind the man and debated taking the assault rifle, but he didn’t have enough hands. Instead, he reached over and grabbed the guy by the hair. The man started, lifting his head, exposing his neck. Layne slashed across the man's throat, pressing the knife deep enough to cut through at least an inch of meat.

  The man gurgled and gasped and attempted to stem the bleeding. Layne moved around the chair, holding the knife out. He snatched the assault rifle to keep it out of the hands of the man. But, he didn't seem too interested in retaliating. He was more interested in trying to stay alive, which was devolving into a fruitless exercise.

  “When is Farhad coming back?” Layne asked him.

  The man’s eyes bugged out as he put both hands over the wound in his throat. A few seconds later, his hands fell away, and the blood flowed freely. His head sunk a few inches as his eyes turned dull.

  It occurred to Layne he could have tried to take the man captive and ask him questions, but Layne suspected he’d made the right choice. For one, he was tired. Mentally exhausted after all of the mysteries and dead ends over the last few days. And, he expected this hired gun wouldn’t have been any more cooperative than the one he’d tried to question at the (not so) safe house earlier today.

  Layne wiped his fingerprints from the top of the chair. But, he decided to leave the body. No sense in trying to clean this up or hide it. Farhad would most likely know he had been here anyway. Better to leave it as a message that Layne Parrish could get to him anywhere, even where he lived. He didn’t know if Farhad would take this as a challenge or as a threat. Either way, Layne didn’t care. If it rattled or even enraged Farhad, then it would work in Layne’s favor.

  He searched the house. Still staying quiet, because he couldn't be sure he was alone. Nothing suggested he would encounter anyone else, but he often thought about the house in New Orleans when conducting a search. The hidden door underneath the stairs from which Satori Watanabe had emerged and dropped a flashbang grenade to escape. Such a rookie mistake, not finding that secret door.

  Layne didn't want to encounter a surprise like that again.

  As he suspected, Farhad was meticulous when cleaning up after himself. Layne discovered no accessible laptops or hard drives. Any paper he saw seemed innocuous.

  But, in Farhad's office, Layne found something interesting at the bottom of a trashcan. Something sloppy. There were chunks of shredded paper, charred flash drives, and memory cards. Most of it was damaged beyond recognition, but there were a couple of memory cards that looked usable enough. Layne retrieved a napkin from his back pocket to clean away the burn marks.

  He used an adapter to insert one of the memory cards into his phone’s charging port and browsed through the files on it. Some were corrupted by the fire damage, but a large number of them were still intact. Mostly video files.

  He viewed one and was treated to secret camera footage of Farhad and Mariana having sex. She appeared to have no idea she was being recorded. Farhad, though, grinned at the camera a couple of times. It turned Layne’s stomach, and he could only watch for a minute before closing the video.

  "Son of a bitch," Layne said, his hand squeezing hard enough to make the phone bow. He was furious, but also, not surprised. The sort of person who would kidnap, drug, and hypnotize a man would have no problem violating the sexual privacy of a person. Those two channels of deviance went hand in hand.

  Layne needed to talk to Mariana. The fact that Farhad had tried to destroy his little sex tape library probably indicated more than a simple desire to keep these videos quiet. Either Farhad had something on her, or she had something on him. That made her a target.

  Layne pocketed the memory cards so he could properly destroy them later. Or, turn them over to Mariana to see if she wanted to take further action.

  Action that wouldn’t be necessary if Farhad turned up dead soon.

  And then, at the bottom of all the strips of shredded paper, he found something interesting. A piece of graph paper that had only been partially shredded, the top half still whole. Heavier, thicker paper, harder for the shredder to eat.

  “Lazy, Farhad,” Layne said to the empty room. “I expected better of you.”

  Layne was able to lay the paper flat on the desk and smooth out the shredded half. On this paper, someone had drawn a schematic for a helicopter landing pad on top of what Layne assumed was the Hillcrest building.

  "That's what it is.” Whatever this big plan was, it had something to do with a helicopter. And something to do with Hillcrest.

  Layne folded the schematic and slipped it in his pocket. He needed to get out of here and find someplace quiet where he could think through all of this. All these pieces had to connect. Somehow.

  31

  Layne returned to the Best Western. He sat in the parking lot for a while, eyeing the sign out front. In the week he’d been in town, he had taken quite the extensive tour of Redding lodging options. If he stayed another week or two, he might exhaust them all.

  He pinched the memory card between his fingers, a clandestine sex tape between Farhad and Mariana. What kind of person would do something like that? Layne had known assassins, murderers, and kidnappers who wouldn’t stoop to the level of secretly videotaping a sexual encounter with someone.

  Layne took the keys out of the ignition. With all these moving pieces, he really needed a whiteboard. He needed to clear a room and diagram everything swirling around inside his brain. There had to be a way to figure out Farhad’s plan. And, he needed to talk to Mariana. She was probably in danger.

  Harry was with Layne’s family right now at the B&B in Palo Cedro. Jonah should be at the Super 8. Serena was on her way, arriving late tonight or early tomorrow morning. But Layne needed to talk to someone right now, to help organize things.

  He took his phone out of his pocket and called the one person he had left, Daphne. Not that he wanted to talk to her, but she knew him well enough to listen to all the grisly details. No one else could know about the events of the last week. No one would understand.

  Daphne had run a nameless and anonymous spy agency hidden inside the cracks of the US government for almost two decades, since her early twenties. She was ruthless, brilliant, and effective.

  “Hello, darling,” she said. “Are we on a secure line?”

  “Of course. Always.”

  “I would expect nothing less. I talked to Harry earlier, and he gave me the basics. How are things going out west?”

  “Not great. We found Jonah and helped him recover memories. We know who it is we’re facing, but not what he wants.”

  Daphne made a hmm sound. “This person, do you know why he wants what he wants?”

  “We think so. It has something to do with Omar Naseer.”

  “Wait a second. I know that name. Seattle?”

  “That’s right,” Layne said. “My first op. Our guy Farhad Jahandar is ti
ed to him, and he’s planning something out here as revenge. Possibly.”

  “What did Jonah tell him under hypnosis?”

  “Details about ops, mostly in the Middle East. Jonah isn’t sure to what extent. He only remembers bits and pieces.”

  “I don’t have to tell you this is bad, Boy Scout. I also shouldn’t have to tell you we can’t send any official backup, and you shouldn’t talk to locals or the feds. Farhad can’t be allowed to speak about what he knows to anyone.”

  Layne bit his lower lip. Farhad would have to die, and there was no other way around it. “Understood, Control. We’ll keep it locked down.”

  “If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”

  “I need someone to point me in the right direction.”

  She sighed. “You always make things too complicated, darling. It’s easy. Find him and kill him. It’s as simple as that.”

  Layne breathed for a few seconds, then he acknowledged Daphne’s suggestion. He said a quick goodbye and then slipped his phone back in his pocket. With his eyes closed, he gripped the steering wheel.

  The fact that his ex-wife and daughter were in town had to be at the source of his unease. And also, that he had to stay away from them from now on to keep them safe. He wanted to be with them, but it wasn’t the smartest idea.

  When he opened the door to his rental car, his heart stopped beating. There she was, standing fifteen feet away from the car. Arms crossed, one leg forward, foot tapping on the concrete sidewalk by the parking lot.

  “Mariana? What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “I saw you at the stoplight on Churn Creek. Were you ever going to talk to me? Or were you going to let my last image of you be you running out of the break room at Hillcrest? I mean, what the hell?”

  Layne checked around the parking lot. “Come to my room. We can talk there.”

  She took a step back. “No. We can talk right here.”