The Hunter’s Oath

by Jason Dean

  ‘Okay,’ Arquette said. ‘Talk to you later.’

  Bishop hung up and took the other call. ‘Got something for me?’

  ‘I have,’ Muro said. ‘And well within the deadline, too. I hope you noticed that.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Okay, then. First off, Steven Bainbridge is an employee at the Social Security Administration offices. He’s a senior supervisor and has been there for almost seventeen years. According to my contact over there, he’s a good solid worker, if unimaginative.’

  You might be surprised, thought Bishop. ‘Okay, what about the rest? Anything?’

  ‘Plenty. Okay, let’s see now . . .’

  Bishop leaned against the wall and for the next three minutes listened without interruption. Once Muro was done, Bishop said, ‘That’s good work. You’ve just earned yourself a bonus.’

  ‘Thanks. That’ll keep my landlord happy, at least. Anything else you need?’

  ‘Just notification if Amy’s condition changes at all.’

  ‘You got it,’ Muro said, and hung up.

  Bishop pocketed the phone and stood with his back to the wall, staring at nothing. Muro hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know, but it was always sensible to double check your facts. And now he had. He spent a few more quiet moments thinking about what he’d learned today and what he still needed to do.

  He turned, entered the living room and took his place on the couch again. Then he explained to Kidanu, Doubleday and Willard what he wanted from each of them tonight.

  SEVENTY-SIX

  Two hours later, Bishop was crouched on the roof of a two-storey commercial building on 33rd Street in Queens. The first floor held the office headquarters of an amusement supply company, while the second floor was broken up into a dozen individual business units. Bishop had managed to break in through one of the first-floor windows along the narrow passageway that separated the building from its next-door neighbour and disable the alarm system. He’d then ascended two flights of stairs, made his way through the roof access hatch and climbed outside.

  He was at the rear of the building, aiming his pocket scope at the small stair access bulkhead on the roof opposite. Artemis International’s roof. Foot-high coils of razor wire surrounded the perimeter as security. The two buildings were almost the same height, with a gap of about ten or twelve feet separating them. In the centre of the stair penthouse was a weather-worn steel door with a keyhole and a handle. If it had been the type with a push-bar lock he’d have had to find another way inside. But a tumbler lock he could cope with.

  He pocketed the scope, stood, and backed up about twenty feet. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. And again. Then he simply launched himself towards the Artemis building at a straight sprint. Two feet before the roof edge, Bishop leapt into the air with his arms outstretched. He sailed over the rear yard below, missed the razor wire by an inch or two, and touched down on Artemis’s roof. The moment his foot made contact, he rolled his body into a ball and let the momentum carry him along for a few more feet. Then he got up, brushed the dirt from his dark clothes and walked over to the bulkhead.

  He gave the lock a brief inspection, then lowered himself until he was lying on his stomach. He’d already noticed a faint light coming from under the door. Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out the fibre-optic scope, inserted the tiny tube into the space between the door and the frame and looked through the eyepiece.

  He saw a simple narrow stairway that ended in another door at the bottom. A single bare bulb provided a dim light. He wiggled the insertion tube around until it was pointing back on itself and saw a matching handle on the other side of the bulkhead door. He played the scope around the frame, but saw no wires. And no obvious alarm. Which didn’t have to mean anything.

  Was it worth the risk? Bishop breathed in and out slowly, considering. The sound of sirens a few blocks away filled the night air. The sirens got louder and louder until he began to think they were coming his way. Then they began to get fainter again. Pursing his lips, he pulled the insertion tube back through the gap and stood up. He brought out his pick gun and torque wrench and went to work on the keyhole. He had it unlocked in less than ten seconds. He pocketed his equipment and gripped the handle in his left hand.

  The moment of truth.

  Bishop quickly yanked the door all way open and just stood there, waiting. But there was no alarm. No sounds other than the fading sirens and late night traffic in the distance. He breathed out again and entered the stairwell. Carefully closing the door behind him, he descended the short flight of stairs and placed an ear against the other door. He heard nothing. He tried the door handle. It was unlocked. He pushed it down all the way and pulled the door open an inch. Looked through the gap. The lit hallway beyond was empty. He pulled the door open a little more and peered right. Also empty. Not only that, but it was a dead end.

  Bishop pulled Jeff’s Glock from his waistband, checked the safety, then put it back. He stepped into the hallway and gently closed the door. The corridor went on for another twenty feet before a sharp turn left. He tried to visualize where he was in the building, but he’d only seen a little of it when he’d visited before. He knew from the placement of the stairs that he was on the south side and close to the rear, but it was all guesswork after that.

  He approached the turn and peered round the corner. The next hallway ended in another left turn about fifty feet away. There were windows along the right side of the corridor, but no doors. And two doors along the left side, with a darkened window next to each. He went over to the closest window on the right and saw the building from which he’d just jumped. Now he knew where he was. And he knew the turn up ahead would lead to the hallway containing Klyce’s office.

  Bishop walked towards the end, ears attuned to every sound. As he got closer to the turn, he began to hear muffled voices. Or maybe just one. It was hard to tell. It was coming from one of the rooms in the next corridor. A little voice in his head told him to use the fibre-optic scope to check this time. He stopped just before the turn and pulled the instrument from his pocket. He aimed the tube around the corner and looked into the eyepiece.

  Good thing he’d listened to that voice. A shaven-headed man in a suit stood fifty feet away. He was leaning against the wall and sipping from a paper cup. Beyond him was the open-plan bullpen area Bishop had seen before. The lights were all on, but he couldn’t see anybody else down there. On the right of the passageway were the three doors he remembered. The nearest one was Klyce’s office. The one furthest away was a conference room. Either one would serve as a perfect location for the meeting later. Which meant Bishop needed to get into the middle room, whatever it was.

  He checked his watch. 23.02. He couldn’t do anything while that guy was standing there. The muffled voice was still talking. It sounded angry. Bishop was fairly sure it was coming from Klyce’s office. He stepped back and leaned against the wall, thinking. He couldn’t stay right out in the open like this. Maybe one of the two darkened offices he’d just passed. They were better than nothing, and it would only be temporary.

  A door suddenly opened very close by. Bishop heard Klyce say, ‘Lars, what the hell are you doing up here?’

  ‘Just getting a coffee from the machine, sir.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got it now, so get your ass downstairs where it belongs. I need you to let me know as soon as they arrive. And I still can’t get hold of the others, so keep your eyes open for anything that looks wrong, understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And I want you by the stairs, Eddie. Go on. Move your ass. I’m not in the best of moods right now, so don’t make me tell you again.’

  Then the door slammed shut and Bishop heard receding footsteps. He peered round and saw two suited men walking into the bullpen area. They reached the stairwell area at the end, and the shaven-headed one, Lars, said something to his dark-haired partner before descending the stairs. The other one laughed at something, then turned
a corner and disappeared from view.

  Bishop stood completely still. Watching. Listening. A minute later, he heard Klyce’s muffled voice again. Sounded as though he was bawling somebody out on the phone this time.

  Bishop was so close, with Klyce only inches away from him. It was tempting to just walk in and deal with him right now, but that would be counterproductive. After all, it wasn’t just Klyce he wanted. Best to stick with the plan. He stepped into the passageway and approached the second door along. He tried the handle and found it locked. Naturally.

  Breathing slowly, Bishop pulled out his tools and went to work as silently as possible. He had it unlocked on the second try. He opened the door, slipped inside, then clicked the door shut after him.

  It was pitch black inside, which meant no windows. A store room, maybe. Standing perfectly still, Bishop pulled out his Maglite and clicked it on.

  The room was long and narrow. Six-foot-high steel filing cabinets ran the length of the wall on the conference room side. Set against the opposite wall were two smaller wooden cabinets filled with stationery, legal pads, files and so on. There was also a long desk bearing various items of computer equipment and leads. Then a large photocopier and a couple of heavy-duty laser printers.

  Bishop went over and sat on the desk next to the wall. He pulled the contact microphone and amplifier from his pocket. After switching the unit on, he put the earbuds in place and pressed the stethoscope part against Klyce’s office wall.

  The walls had to be pretty thick as the voice was still muffled a little, but Bishop could hear what Klyce was saying well enough.

  ‘. . . worry about it, didn’t I? I told you I’m taking care of it at this end. Now I don’t want to be bothered again tonight. Anything else can wait till tomorrow.’

  There was the sound of a phone being slammed onto the desk, followed by a sigh.

  Bishop didn’t know what that had been about, but it was a sure bet it had something to do with him. Sounded like he was really getting to the guy.

  Just wait, he thought. It gets worse.

  Then came the sounds of fingers tapping on a keyboard. Bishop got himself comfortable and turned off the flashlight. He pulled out his cell phone and dialled a number.

  When the phone was picked up, he whispered, ‘I’m inside. Just waiting for the others now. How about you?’

  ‘We are almost ready,’ Kidanu said.

  ‘Good. I’ll be in touch.’ Bishop hung up and deleted the number from the call log. He sat back and listened to the sounds of Klyce working next door, and waited.

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Bishop opened his eyes at the faint sound of classical music coming from the next room. Sounded like the opening bars of a Mozart symphony. He didn’t recognize which one. After a few seconds the music stopped. There was silence, then Klyce’s muffled voice said, ‘Good. How many? . . . Okay, once you’ve made sure it’s them, you and Eddie bring them up to my office . . . No, don’t search them . . . Right.’

  Sounded like the gang was all here at last. Bishop removed the earbuds, went over to the door and pressed his ear against it. He counted one hundred and eighteen seconds before he heard a single cough in the distance, followed by the sounds of low conversation. The voices got a little louder as they approached, and then stopped.

  Bishop went back to the desk and put in the earbuds again. He pressed the mic against the wall and waited. There was a knock on Klyce’s door.

  ‘Come in,’ Klyce said. The sound of the door opening. Then, ‘And on time, too. I expected you to make me wait.’

  Bishop checked his watch. 23.32.

  ‘I’m not into power games,’ the visitor said. The voice came out as muffled as Klyce’s, but Bishop recognized it well enough.

  ‘The traffic was also with us,’ a third male voice said. It had a strange lilt to it. Almost English sounding.

  ‘Sit down, then,’ Klyce said. ‘You others can wait outside. Fair enough?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ the second man said.

  There were sounds of people moving about and then the door was closed. Bishop heard people walking past outside.

  ‘Have you brought the money?’ the visitor asked.

  ‘It’s here. Don’t worry about that.’

  ‘So what about this other problem of ours? Any closer to a solution on that?’

  ‘You mean Bishop?’ A sigh. ‘A little closer, yeah. You know, I think the bastard might have cost me four of my men earlier.’

  ‘Four? You serious?’

  ‘I am. But the day isn’t over yet. Anything could still happen. Am I right?’

  ‘I guess so,’ the visitor said slowly. ‘Why ask me?’

  ‘I’m not. I’m asking our friend.’

  ‘Friend? What are you talking about, Klyce? Is this some kind of set-up?’

  ‘No set-up,’ Klyce said. ‘At least, not concerning you. I’m just talking to our other friend out there. You hearing me okay, Bishop?’

  Bishop closed his eyes and sighed. Loud and clear, he thought. He didn’t know how, but he’d been made. Not only that, but Klyce had clearly been expecting him. And Bishop had fallen right into his hands.

  ‘What is this, Klyce?’ the visitor said. ‘I thought we were alone.’

  ‘Relax. This’ll be interesting. Bishop? I know you can hear me. I also know you’re somewhere on this floor. I don’t know which room exactly, but there aren’t really a whole lot of options. And I’ve got a hunch you’re very close by. Maybe only a few feet away. Am I getting warm?’

  Bishop shook his head, and wondered if the guy had pulled the wings off flies when he was a kid. Come on, Klyce, stop playing games. Get it over with.

  Klyce continued, ‘Now, let’s try doing this the easy way, shall we, Bishop? Right now my men are directly outside the room you’re hiding in, with their guns aimed at the door. One word from me and they’ll start firing. Now neither of us wants that, so what I want you to do is very slowly open the door and come out with your hands behind your head. You’ve got ten seconds, starting now.’

  Bishop also had a hunch. And it was telling him Klyce wasn’t bluffing. That he knew exactly which room Bishop had chosen. Bishop removed the earbuds and pocketed his gear. He carefully made his way to the door and grasped the handle. He pulled it down and opened the door a crack. Interlocking his fingers behind his head, he used his left foot to slowly open it the rest of the way.

  The two men he’d seen before were standing against the wall opposite, at his ten and two. Both had guns pointing at his head.

  ‘You’ve got a piece somewhere,’ the one called Lars said. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘There’s a Glock in the back of my waistband,’ Bishop said.

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Nothing else.’

  ‘Turn around and back out of the room slowly.’

  Bishop did as he was told. On his third step, he felt his gun being removed. Then he was shoved against the wall. Something cold pressed against the back of his neck, and hands moved up and down his body. He felt his pockets being emptied.

  A hand grabbed the neck of Bishop’s shirt and shoved him towards Klyce’s door. Bishop reached down for the handle and paused when another man in a suit appeared around the corner, gripping a Sig-Sauer in his right hand. He was a large black man. Maybe a couple of inches taller than Bishop, and much wider in the shoulders. He could have been a linebacker.

  ‘I know you, don’t I?’ Bishop said.

  ‘Only from a distance,’ the man said, smiling.

  Each word was clearly pronounced. Bishop knew it was the same voice he’d heard a few minutes ago. The one with the mid-Atlantic accent.

  ‘But you saw my sister close up, didn’t you? At the park last Tuesday? Then again in her hospital room, when you tried to kill her.’

  Still smiling, the man said, ‘Why don’t you just open the door and go inside like a good boy?’

  ‘We’ll talk later,’ Bishop said, and opened the door. A hand shoved him forward
and he came to a stop a few feet inside the room. Klyce sat smiling behind his desk, his fingers interlaced across his stomach, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

  The visitor sat in the chair opposite, with one elbow on the desk as he half turned towards Bishop.

  ‘Hello, there,’ Dermot Arquette said. ‘I was wondering when you’d show up.’

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  ‘I was thinking the same thing about you,’ Bishop said.

  The FBI agent lost the smile. ‘How long have you known?’

  Bishop took a look behind him. Lars had his back against the closed door, watching him. His gun was pointing at the floor. Bishop wasn’t fooled. He knew one wrong move and he’d get one in the back. Probably more than one. He turned back to Klyce and said, ‘So. My two least favourite people in the world, together in the same room. Where’s a frag grenade when you need one?’

  ‘Things not going the way you planned?’ Klyce asked. ‘I feel for you, Bishop. Really I do.’

  ‘You expected me.’

  ‘Of course I expected you,’ Klyce snorted. ‘You think I’m an idiot? I tried calling Jeff a few hours ago about something else, except he wasn’t answering his cell. And when none of the others answered theirs, it didn’t take a genius to realize who I’d been talking to on Jeff’s phone. How did you get the jump on four armed men, by the way?’

  ‘Magic beans.’

  Klyce smiled. ‘Very good. So anyway, I knew you’d be coming straight for me, and that you’d want to see what this meeting I mentioned was all about. So I spent a couple of hours preparing for your arrival. Even left a light on in the roof access stairway so you could find your way in. As soon as you unlocked the door it triggered a silent alarm in here. Then the boys and I put on a little show, giving you a chance to find the perfect hiding place. You were my rat in a maze, Bishop. You went exactly where I wanted you to go.’

  ‘I’m starting to see that.’