The Hunter’s Oath

by Jason Dean

  He turned Mbassu round again and said, ‘You live alone, right?’

  Mbassu just stared back at him through the eyeglasses and said nothing. He was breathing heavily through his nose and looked plenty scared, but Bishop had to give him credit. Most people faced with an armed man in a ski mask would have crumbled by now. That was the main reason he’d worn the mask in the first place. For the psychological effect. But Mbassu was steelier than he looked. Which could be problematic. Bishop really didn’t want to have to hurt the guy to get what he wanted. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he could.

  ‘Let’s go see, huh?’ He grabbed Mbassu by the elbow and they both checked the rest of the apartment. It didn’t take long. There was just one bedroom, one living room, a kitchen/diner and a bathroom. It was all very neatly laid out, with few decorations and simple furnishings. But no sign of a second occupant, which confirmed Bishop’s initial guess. Mbassu was the confirmed bachelor type.

  He sat Mbassu down on the living room couch and took a look around. A large bookshelf took up most of one wall. It was full. Several framed examples of abstract African art took up the other walls. The TV in the corner was currently tuned to one of the 24-hour news channels with the sound on low. Bishop walked round the coffee table to the window and parted the drapes a little. He looked out and saw the van parked on the street about two hundred feet away to the left. He nodded to himself. This just might work.

  He came back and sat down on the coffee table, facing Mbassu. He didn’t say anything. If Mbassu wanted to play the silent card, Bishop was willing to wait. He knew who’d break first. It was always better if they spoke of their own accord.

  It only took another forty-three seconds for Mbassu to cave. ‘Who are you?’ he said.

  Bishop shook his head. ‘All this time to think, and that’s your question?’

  Mbassu swallowed. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Better. What I want is certain information about your embassy. Mostly to do with the layout of the building, what security measures you’ve got, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To get inside, of course.’

  ‘You are a terrorist, then.’

  ‘What, you mean because of the ski mask? No, I’m just a guy with a small problem. One you’re going to help me solve.’

  ‘I will not help you. I am a patriot. I will do nothing to bring harm to my country.’

  Bishop smiled. ‘That’s real righteous of you, Dave. Except I couldn’t care less about your country. But I do care about your chief security officer, Bekele. He’s a man I plan to have a serious talk with, and since he rarely leaves the embassy that leaves only one option.’

  ‘Bekele? What has he done to you?’

  ‘That’s not your concern.’

  Mbassu was looking at Bishop’s knife. ‘And if I do not talk, you plan to torture me?’

  Bishop did the thing with his wrist and the knife flipped closed. Then he swung it open again in a single movement. ‘I’m hoping it won’t come to that,’ he said.

  Mbassu almost smiled. ‘Yes, I knew this when I looked in your eyes. I’m sorry, but I will not tell you anything.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ Bishop said with a sigh. ‘Stand up, Dave.’

  Mbassu frowned, then carefully got up off the couch without losing his balance. Bishop led him over to the window and pulled the drapes back. He unlatched the window and slid it all the way open. The sounds of distant traffic became discernible. A small breeze ruffled the thin material of the drapes.

  ‘You see that panel van down there on your left?’

  Mbassu poked his head out and said, ‘Yes, I see it.’

  ‘Keep your eyes on it.’ Bishop took his cell from his pocket and speed-dialled Willard’s number. The younger man picked up immediately. ‘It’s me. Look up towards the second floor. I got our friend here with me. I think he might be a problem. You wanna give him a wave?’

  Willard chuckled. ‘Sure. Later, you’ll tell me what all this means. Wait a second.’ There was the sound of a vehicle door opening. Then, ‘I’m waving.’

  Bishop said, ‘You see my partner down there, Dave?’

  ‘Yes, I see him.’

  Into the phone, Bishop said, ‘Now show him your special box of tools.’

  Willard said, ‘Ah ha. I think I’m beginning to get the picture. Hold on.’ More sounds of scuffling, then, ‘Okay, I’m holding it up now.’

  To Mbassu, Bishop said, ‘You see the toolbox?’

  Mbassu brought his head back in and looked at Bishop. He didn’t look so sure of himself any more. ‘Yes, I saw it.’

  ‘Want me to get him up here so he can show you what kind of tools he keeps in there? Because I’d advise against it. That thing’s like Pandora’s Box. Once it gets opened, my partner finds it difficult to close. Thing is, he can get a little carried away sometimes and lose sight of what’s in our best interests, so I’d prefer not to bring him up here if I can help it. Now you are gonna answer my questions, but I figure it’s better for everyone if you do it while you’ve still got all your body parts intact. Look at me. Am I telling the truth now?’

  Mbassu stared into his eyes for a few seconds and took a long, deep breath. ‘Yes, I think you are,’ he said. ‘I will tell you what you need to know.’

  ‘Good.’ Into the phone, Bishop said, ‘Don’t think I’ll need you just yet. But stick around in case Dave here gets second thoughts.’ He hung up and pocketed the phone.

  Once they were both seated again, Bishop said, ‘Now I already know you’ve got four security officers who live on the embassy grounds. Where exactly are their sleeping quarters?’

  ‘They all sleep in the basement,’ Mbassu said. ‘Three rooms at the rear of the building are reserved for their use. One for Bekele, one for his deputy . . .’

  ‘Teferi Kidanu?’

  ‘Yes, that is right.’ Mbassu gave a deep frown. ‘And the larger room is for the other two men. You seem to know much already.’

  ‘Enough to know if you’re lying or not, so be very careful with your answers. Are their doors locked when they’re asleep?’

  Mbassu shook his head. ‘Bekele disabled the locks years ago when he first became security chief. He said he wanted easy access to all rooms in case of emergencies.’

  ‘And how many on duty at night? One or two?’

  ‘One.’

  ‘But not Bekele.’

  ‘No, he only ever works days.’

  ‘This Kidanu guy, then?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘And what are the night guard’s duties?’

  ‘I have never been there at night so I cannot say. Probably he spends much of the night in the surveillance room on the first floor, watching the cameras.’

  Bishop nodded. With regular walkabouts to break it up. But how regular? Every hour? Every half-hour? Again, that kind of information would be well outside Mbassu’s purview. Instead, he said, ‘You’ve been stationed here for almost a decade now, so you’ll be familiar with all the security measures used to keep people like me out. Tell me about them.’

  Mbassu rolled his shoulders and said, ‘Well . . . there are sophisticated electronic alarms connected to the front and rear doors that are activated at night. I know that. Also the entrance on the roof. We also have security cameras in the central hallways. One on every floor except the basement. There are no cameras on that floor.’

  ‘What about the windows?’

  ‘Yes. On the inside, there are motion sensors all around the frames that set off the alarm if anybody attempts to enter that way.’

  ‘Uh huh. Tell me about the weak spots.’

  Mbassu furrowed his brow. ‘Weak spots? Why do you think—’

  Bishop cut him off. ‘This isn’t my first time at trying to get into a well-protected facility, and one thing I know from experience is there’s always a weak spot somewhere. When was the last time somebody broke into your embassy?’

  Mbassu looked personally offended. ‘Broke in?
Never in my ten years here.’

  ‘Exactly. Which means over time, complacency will have set in. It’s inevitable where humans are involved. Now there has to be a weak spot somewhere, and it’s in your best interest to tell me where I might find it.’

  Mbassu opened his mouth, then closed it. Bishop watched his eyes as they rose to the ceiling. Then they narrowed for a second. Just a split second, but it was enough.

  ‘What?’ Bishop said.

  ‘I am not sure.’

  ‘Tell me anyway.’

  Mbassu shifted in his seat. ‘Well, we had some men come in to do renovations on the third floor three weeks ago. The large office space at the rear used to be the office for our Head of Administration. But it was decided to split the office into three like the other floors. It was a big job and the construction workers and decorators only finished three days ago.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So when it was just one office, there was just one big window at the rear. But when it became three offices, they reduced the size of that window and added two more at the sides of the building. One for each of these new outer offices.’

  ‘So are you saying they haven’t gotten around to hooking up the sensors on those windows yet?’ Bishop was remembering those steel fire escapes he’d spotted on the side of the building. They’d been located close to the rear.

  ‘Possibly,’ Mbassu said. ‘I could be wrong, but my secretary told me they are still waiting for the electrician to finish things up. Apparently, he is in high demand. But he would be the one to make sure the alarm system is connected properly, would he not?’

  Bishop scratched under his ear. The thick cotton of the mask was itchy. ‘Depends how complex the system is. It might need an alarm specialist to connect it all up.’

  ‘Then I do not know. But if there are any weak spots, that is where they will be.’

  Bishop stood up. ‘We’ll see. But first, tell me where you keep your pens and paper. You and I are going to draw up a complete layout of the building.’

  FORTY

  At 03.03, Bishop climbed over the six-foot-high concrete wall to the left of the embassy building and dropped down on the other side. With only the streetlights for illumination, he scanned the long, narrow space that separated the building from its immediate neighbour. There was very little back there. Just three heavy-duty wheeled trash cans and a steel fire door set into the concrete wall at the other end. And the exterior fire escapes above.

  Willard was parked on the street outside, just in case. Bishop had left Mbassu bound and gagged in his bedroom half an hour earlier, with a warning that Willard would stay on guard in the living room. He felt confident Mbassu wouldn’t dare try anything for a while. Bishop had left the ski mask in the van, though. Mbassu’s earlier comment was still on his mind, and if the worst happened he’d prefer not be shot on sight as a suspected terrorist.

  Bishop opened the trash can lids until he found one that was full. He rolled that one along until it was right under the fire escape ladder. The lowest rung was about twelve feet off the ground. He climbed onto the trash can, jumped up and grabbed hold of it. He climbed the rest of the way until he reached the second-floor latticework landing, then continued up the next set of stairs to the third floor. There were two windows at each end of the narrow landing, but the one he wanted was about four feet to the left. Well out of reach.

  Fortunately, he’d come prepared.

  He carried on up the next ladder until he reached the roof. The only things up there were a satellite dish located near the front of the building, and at the back a small brick outbuilding with a door set into it. The roof entrance. Bishop walked over and circled the structure. He stopped when he noticed a cast iron plumbing vent sticking out of the roof a few feet away. There was about a foot of pipe showing. He knelt down, gripped the pipe and tried to budge it. It felt rock solid. Good enough.

  Bishop lifted his shirt and uncoiled the length of rope around his waist. It was thin, but strong enough. Mountaineers used it. He himself had used it before in a situation not too dissimilar to this one. After tying one end securely to the pipe, he carried the rest of the rope until he was above the window he wanted, then dropped it over the side. He looked down and saw it carried on past the window for about another fifteen feet.

  He pulled the rope back up and used the butterfly knife to cut off ten feet. Then he made a loop big enough for his foot and tied it off with a double knot, then a triple knot. He’d learned his lesson after the last time, when the stirrup had come loose and almost scuppered everything from the start. Bishop threw the rope over again, then grabbed hold of it with both hands. He was about to edge over the side when he felt the cell phone in his pocket vibrate.

  He pulled the phone out and saw Willard’s number displayed. He took the call.

  ‘Police prowler about to pass by,’ Willard said.

  Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, Bishop looked over the side towards the front. Twelve seconds later, headlights appeared, soon followed by a black and white. Bishop watched it pass from view and waited. It was another forty seconds before Willard said, ‘Okay, he’s gone.’

  ‘Copy that,’ Bishop said, and hung up.

  He gripped the rope again and carefully lowered himself over the side, then descended the rope until he was level with the third-floor window. He inserted his right foot into the stirrup and gradually let it take his weight.

  Swinging gently, Bishop saw the small room beyond was totally bare. Clearly, they hadn’t gotten around to assigning this office to anyone yet. The window itself, although new, was one of the double-hung sash types, in keeping with the windows in the rest of the building. Bishop reached into a pocket of his black combats and pulled out the small, ultra thin metal pry bar he’d purchased at Home Depot along with the bug spray. Some small part of him must have known he’d end up needing it. He carefully inserted the tool in the tight space between the frame and the bottom sash. After several minutes of patient manoeuvring up and down and side to side, he felt the short screws that connected the sash lock to the frame come free. He pocketed the pry bar and got his fingers under the sash.

  His cell phone began vibrating again.

  Cursing softly, Bishop pulled the phone from his pocket and saw it was Willard again. As soon as he answered, Willard said, ‘Cops are coming back. Can’t tell if it’s the same one or not.’

  Bishop put the phone in his shirt pocket, turned his face to the left and pressed himself against the side of the building, trying to make himself as flat as possible. He held his breath and watched the street. At least there was some cloud cover tonight. He could only hope that if the cops happened to look over, they might not see a guy hanging over the side of the building. All he could do was wait.

  It took fifteen seconds before he saw headlights approaching from the left. Then the black and white cruised past at about ten miles an hour. It didn’t slow. When it was gone, Bishop breathed out again. Staying as still as possible, he pulled out his cell phone and brought it to his ear.

  Thirty seconds later, Willard said, ‘Okay, he’s gone.’

  ‘Right,’ Bishop said, and hung up.

  He inserted his fingers under the sash again. Now came the risky part.

  Bishop slowly raised the bottom half of the window until it remained in the open position. He breathed in deeply. Pointless pussyfooting about. The motion sensors around the frame had either been connected up to the alarm system, or they hadn’t. Thereby causing the alarm to go off, or not. There was only one way to find out. If it went off, he could probably swing over to the fire escape railing four feet away, run down the stairs and be in the van in seconds. But it would mean starting again from scratch. With two days lost and Amy still in danger. And Bekele would be even more on guard than before.

  Well, Bishop thought, fortune favours the foolish. Then he poked his left arm through the open window.

  Nothing.

  No alarm sounds. He moved his arm around in wide circles.
Still nothing. He reached in with his other arm and did the same. Still no alarm. Bishop allowed himself a thin smile of relief. Looked like Mbassu had come up trumps, after all.

  Bishop hauled himself up and climbed through the window.

  FORTY-ONE

  Once he was in, Bishop closed the window and made his way over to the door. There was no light coming from underneath. The whole building was in darkness, as Mbassu had said it would be. Bishop paused, visualizing in his mind the building layout Mbassu had drawn up.

  Each floor followed the same basic pattern. Seen from above, two hallways joined to form a T shape. The longer hallway, running from the front of the building and stopping before the last row of offices at the rear, formed the vertical part of the T. The other hallway ran horizontally between these rear offices and the rest of the floor. Bishop was currently in the left-most office in the horizontal hallway. Halfway down the vertical hallway was the central stairwell. Almost directly opposite was the small elevator, which Mbassu had said was very old and very noisy. The security camera was apparently located in the ceiling between the rear hallway and the stairs.

  Bishop reached into one of his side pockets and pulled out two pieces of kit. One was a Medit industrial fibre-optic scope he’d used for something else a while back. The other was an MMS ultra-sensitive wall microphone unit. He held on to the scope, put the mic back in his pocket and quietly opened the door.

  The hallway was partly illuminated by ambient light coming from the windows at each end. Good enough to see by. The building was totally silent. Bishop closed the door behind him, edged along the hallway and stopped just before the junction with the vertical part of the T. He brought the scope to his eye and aimed the insertion tube around the corner. The view was distorted but he could clearly make out the open stairway about fifty feet down on the right. Before that, about thirty feet away, Bishop saw the fixed camera in the ceiling. Mbassu had said it was one of those that gave a panoramic view of its surroundings. And panoramic usually meant no blind spots, despite what the movies claimed.