by Elaine Nolan
From her digging into Huntington files and investigation into Kellen McGregor, she knew where to find him, his home close to the Embassy and in the affluent Palisades. That, she found surprising, expecting him to hide away behind a gated property, ensuring his safety. Maybe the Huntington funds didn’t stretch to more than a meagre multi-million-dollar mansion. Maybe he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by being too flashy, or perhaps arms dealing wasn’t as lucrative as it used to be. Or maybe, the wily old codger lived this long by playing it safe and keeping under the radar.
She didn’t have to worry about the old man’s safety as she spotted his security detail, but she’d barely parked in front of the house before someone was at the vehicle door, opening it.
“I believe you’re looking for me,” she said, before they pulled her from the car, handcuffed her and pushed her up the steps towards the house.
CHAPTER 45
“How pathetic, another Harte to the rescue. You, young woman, are as arrogant as your father,” he said, an older man than surveillance pictures suggested, and she wondered how long it’d been since those pictures were taken. Rainey lay on the floor in a bloody mess, but it seemed superficial, a couple of cuts, a bloody nose, split lip, his suit rumpled and dishevelled.
“Why, thank you,” she answered, ignoring her brother.
“And not the police as he did,” the old man continued the conversation without the courtesy of a proper introduction.
“Blue’s not really my colour. The army green brings out my skin tone.”
“And the last time I saw you, you were in a different uniform. Gagged too, if I remember correctly, similar bondage.” He smiled as she gave nothing away. “Yes, Jürgen trained his little pets to behave and show no emotion. But you were useful to us, even if you were a perverted little slave for a while. What? No witty retort, no sarcastic little answer? Ms Harte you disappoint me.” To add to his disappointment, she sighed.
“Is there a point to this?”
“And as annoying as your father.”
“I’d hate to continue disappointing you.”
“You have a choice Ms Harte, just like your father did on the night he could’ve killed me.”
“Which is?”
“You hear me out, and then you get to decide if you wish to continue being a part of it, or die.”
“That simple, huh?”
“Yes, it is that simple. Your father made the right choice, many years ago. If he hadn’t, neither of you would be here today.”
She sighed again.
“So, what? This is some big decades-old conspiracy?”
“Very perceptive of you, though we prefer the term conglomerate instead of conspiracy.”
“Like there’s a difference in your case.”
“For a woman in handcuffs you’re remarkably relaxed, if not a little blasé, but then again, you’d be used to being in such… compromising positions.” She ignored his attempted jibe, looked bored with this conversation. “What have you found out so far?”
“About what? It’s a huge world out there.”
“Ms Harte…”
“Commandant, if you will keep using titles. I’m sure a man of your stature and influence would hate to continue getting it wrong.” While she didn’t normally stand on ceremony and rank, his civil correctness seemed important to him, and she guessed being corrected by her would throw him for a moment. But only a moment. He eased himself into his study chair, aged red leather that creaked as he sat.
“In wars the winners are the business men behind the scenes, the ones pulling the strings, stirring emotions, supplying arms and ammunition, both verbal and hardware. We are the men who live the longest, outliving soldiers, outliving wars, only to start another one, either for amusement, for a cause, or to build higher profits.”
“Is this what you do, prey on the ideologies of young minds?” she challenged.
“It’s hardly a sport when they sacrifice themselves on the altar of whatever their cause is. Your father was no different, even if his ideology was. He sacrificed himself for the notion of justice, thinking his was the nobler cause. It was as misguided and as naïve as any other, although he came close to undoing everything, on a few occasions. Like most soldiers though, the war outlived him, and continues to do so. And here you both are, on opposing sides, but no different in your naiveté, in your firm belief yours is the righteous cause. Pathetic children, as misguided as your father was.”
“What makes you think we’re on opposing sides?” Nathan asked, and Leigh narrowed her eyes in annoyance at him.
“You two have joined together?” The old man asked, then chuckled. “It seems your younger sister has a differing view.”
“Not to throw you from your rehearsed little speech, but you’ve still told me nothing,” she said.
“Very perceptive Ms… Harte.” He waited for the correction, was disappointed when she answered with that bored expression. She was proving harder to impress or intimidate than her father. “As I’ve said you have a choice.”
“Based on what? That cryptic rhetoric when you’re nothing more than a common garden variety arms dealer,” she answered.
“You’ve done your due diligence, Ms Harte, but you’re still missing a few details.”
“Such as?” she challenged, and he chuckled.
“Nice try, but your appalling manners aside, it seems you only have one source of information; so, you only have limited details.”
She pulled the pieces and information breadcrumbs together in her mind. She also guessed he was the source of Rainey’s file on her, but the comment about seeing her at Jürgen’s and being useful to them worried her.
“Did he give you the files?” the old man asked, indicating Rainey.
“What files?” she asked.
“He called to see you at your Embassy, what did he give you?” he asked.
“Nothing but a bullshit story about being set up, and a couple of scraps of paper to try support that claim.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
“Why come to the Ball then?”
“To shut him up, get him to quit his whining, and to see if just maybe there was a grain of truth in what he said.”
“What did you find?”
“That he’s lying. He had nothing to substantiate his little story,” she answered, hearing a belaboured growl from her brother, whom she continued to ignore.
“What would it take for you to find what he stole from me?” the old man asked, and she paused.
“By that question you’re implying he was right and he has something to prove it,” she challenged. He chuckled again.
“So like your father, but it’s not as clear cut. What if what he stole from me was the proof I needed against him?” he said, and she gave in to mild surprise.
“That would explain why he was so adamant and why he’s yet to produce a shred of evidence.”
“Could you find it?” he asked, and she glanced at Rainey, who glared at her.
“From the looks of it, you already tried to find it yourself. What makes you think I’ll succeed where you failed?”
“You appear to be a woman of considerable talents.”
“And flattery is a sure-fire way of getting me to tell you to go fuck yourself.” He grimaced at her colourful answer. She twisted her hands, and the handcuffs came loose. She placed them on his desk, startling the two security men in the room, who reached for their weapons until the old man held his hand up to stop them. “Jürgen taught me how to get out of them on my first week. If nothing else, I’m a survivor, and a pragmatist,” she told him.
“And what are you willing to do to survive?”
“Whatever it takes,” she answered, in a tone that chilled Rainey.
“Shoot him,” the old man indicated towards Rainey.
“You’d have me shoot your own grandson?” she asked.
“What?” a confused and scared Rainey blurted out. Leigh’s glance ch
illed him even more.
“You’re cleverer than I gave you credit for, no wonder you were Jürgen’s favourite,” the old man answered instead. “How did you find out?”
“Correct me if I’ve any of the details wrong,” she started. “But after my father let you go, you continued to play him, and you used him to gain more traction in your little organisation. You brought him in as another, reliable source of guns and ammunition. You took him in, under your wing, made him part of your team, but your mistake was in letting him in your home. There lies the result.” She flicked a hand towards Rainey. “You then threatened to pull his cover, reveal who he was; an Irish cop in a loyalist paramilitary organisation. It doesn’t get more dangerous than that. Rainey was your first wife’s maiden name, and the one your daughter took when she left. I presume she found out what you did.”
“How much of that is creative guesswork?” he asked her and she just shrugged, leaving him none the wiser. “You still haven’t answered me; how did you find out?”
“It’s what I do, and I’m very good at it. Still want me to shoot him?” She held her hand out towards one of the security men, who waited for a nod from the old man, then handed her his gun. Still watching the old man, she aimed at Rainey.
“You’d shoot your own brother?” he asked her and she shrugged again.
“He’s been a thorn in my side since I met him. He shot me up with drugs, tried to play me, use me against you. Consider this as getting even. Believe me, there’s no love lost between us. But I have one question…”
“Which is?”
“Where do you want me to shoot him? Because you will need him alive.”
“I doubt it.”
“Then you’ll be wrong.”
“I’m fascinated Ms Harte, please explain your logic.”
“And you’ll know from Jürgen how good I am at that,” she said, and he nodded. “Senator Swayne has started an investigation into that fuck up you called a Social Enhancement Exercise. She needs a bad guy to blame, and you need a scapegoat. Who better than the idiot who proposed it. But leaving her a body of said idiot is no good, she’ll then want the people behind it. Similarly, if there’s no body, she will move heaven and earth to find one.”
“It sounds like you know the Senator well.”
“More than I care to.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Something non-life threatening, but enough to keep his mouth shut, and know to take me seriously in future when I tell him I will kill him.” Her glance at him only added to his horror.
“What are you waiting for, Ms Harte?”
She didn’t need a second prompt and pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped through the fleshy part of his upper arm, then embedded into the wall behind him. He screamed in agony and she gave him a look of disdain. Both she and Jake had suffered worse injuries than a minor gunshot wound. She wiped the grip of the gun with the edge of her hoodie before handing it back to its owner, holding the barrel with her sleeve. Her action surprised the old man.
“I’m not fucking stupid enough to leave fingerprints on a potential murder weapon,” she explained, hiding a smirk at the flash of annoyance in the old man before he chuckled.
“I almost wish you were my grandchild instead.”
“I’m happy I’m not.”
“This doesn’t prove much in the way of loyalty.”
“I’d be surprised if it did.”
“Do you even care?”
“Not in the slightest. Considering how you turned on my father, you’d be the last person I’d ever trust, and you’d be a fool to think I’d never consider revenge.”
“Especially knowing how you dispatched Chris Lantry.”
“But like I said, I’m a pragmatist. I’m prepared to work with you for as long as it suits my needs.”
“And what are those?”
“When you need to know, and can fulfil them, then I will tell you. Now, if you’re finished with this male posturing and conspiracies, I’ve an actual job to get back to, and you need someone Swayne will believe to drop your scapegoat off to the proper authorities.”
“And why should I let you go, Ms Harte?”
“Do you honestly believe I don’t have safeguards in place if I go missing?”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Absolutely, but no more than you’ve threatened me. I think you’ve more to lose than I do.”
“I take it back; you’ve excelled your father.”
“I know,” she answered, grabbing a fistful of Rainey’s hair and pulling him upright. He cried out again, tried to grab her hand, to loosen her grip, but he couldn’t get a grasp.
“You’re more ruthless than he was.”
“I’m sorry, am I supposed to be shocked by these little insights of yours?” It sounded like a taunt and as far from an apology as it could get.
“Ms Harte, you’re a dangerous friend to have.”
“That’s not something you’ll have to worry about.” She pulled Rainey to his feet. “And I’m taking him with me, if you want those files found.”
“As you pointed out, how can you achieve it where we didn’t?”
“I doubt your men were trained by Jürgen, like I was,” she answered with a devious smile. “I’ll find out what I need to, before I dump him on Swayne.”
Her punch to his jaw knocked him unconscious, impressing the old man with not only her ability to do so, but that she had no hesitation in hurting her sibling. No love lost, as she’d stated. She even had the audacity to order one of his men to carry Rainey’s limp body to the car, and dump him on the back seat, buckling him up, using all the straps. She pulled away from the house, but found they followed her and took evasive action to lose them. Making her way back to the Irish Embassy, she called Tom on her way, and had help to pull the still unconscious Nathan from the car.
“How did you get him out?” he asked.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she answered.
CHAPTER 46
“Take him to the basement,” she ordered them. “Strip him to his bare essentials, but if they’re leopard-print or union-Jack thongs, they have to go too.”
“You can’t interrogate an American,” Donal cautioned, joining the others. She slapped a document against Donal’s chest.
“He’s coming in under his Irish passport. You can have him when I’m finished with him.” Her tone left no room for discussion and followed the army Private carrying the still unconscious form of her brother. They gave her questioning looks as she gave them more instructions on how to restrain Nathan, but they didn’t dare question an officer of her rank.
She waited for Nathan to come around, let him struggle with his restraints, trying to find relief from kneeling on the hard stone floor, his arms pinioned behind him, his knees spread. He registered her biker boots first before looking up as she squatted to face him.
“It’s time you told me everything,” she said, in a low tone that reminded him of Lee, and with the added bondage, the tone scared the crap out of him.
“There’s nothing to tell,” he answered, matching her tone.
“You’re the one who asked for my help.”
“This isn’t fucking help,” he shouted, struggling against his bindings.
“You’re safe from the old man.”
“You call this safe? Is this what you do? Is this part of your army intelligence work?” he demanded. She smirked.
“I think it’s time to do this my way.” Her smirk grew dangerous as it widened, and she stood, thinking of a better method of extracting information. The one she’d been trained for, by Jürgen. She walked away, back to the exit.
“Leigh,” he shouted after her. “Let me fucking go.”
She slammed the door behind her.
“Kill the lights, but watch him,” she instructed, as she checked websites on her phone. “I’ll be back in about 30 minutes. Unless it’s an emergency, or he needs medical attention, no one is to go near hi
m or speak to him,” she told the duty Sergeant, monitoring the basement’s impromptu interview room.
“Where will you be?” Adam asked. Leigh waved her phone.
“To pick up a bag of tricks. And don’t worry, I’ll bring one of the Gardaí to keep me safe. Call me if anything happens.”
Upon her return, gone were her regular clothes, replaced instead by skin-tight full-length black metallic-finished catsuit, complete with 5-inch stilettos and a floor-length military style coat. She dropped the bag she’d carried in, containing her jeans and boots, and to the further surprise of everyone watching her, she took out a multi-stranded whip.
“Where the hell did you get those?” Donal asked.
“Private bondage club, they hire out, once you know the right words to say. Has he talked?” she asked the Sergeant.
“No Sir, he just whimpered, a lot. That coat? Very Matrix, Sir.”
“No. That’s dominatrix, Sergeant,” she said with a smirk. “Turn on the spotlight over him, make it bright.” She watched Nathan on the screen, startled and disorientated by the sudden brightness. Once his eyes adjusted, he tried to stretch his neck back to see how he was restrained, but she knew he’d never manage it, not with his arms bound at the elbows, and certainly not with the wound in his arm. If he managed it, then he was more limber than she ever was.
“Time to get answers,” she told her gaping audience, and headed for the door to the room, the coat fanning out in dramatic fashion behind her. With the door in darkness from the outside, no lights from the entrance betrayed her, and she entered without him seeing her, but she took her steps slowly, the metallic studs on her heels ringing out, disorienting his heighten senses. God, she missed this, the thrill of a new hunt, of a new plaything. She deliberately took more slow steps in the darkened end of the room, before sitting on a chair, and waiting. Yeah, she thought to herself, she missed this intoxication.
