Why the Devil Stalks Death

by L. J. Hayward

  “I’m certain they are,” McIntosh replied. “But he’s not our in on this. We have, in roundabout terms, been invited in by the BAU.” She slid a new piece of paper across the table, in Jack’s direction.

  Curiously, Jack picked it up and, with Lewis reading over his shoulder, scanned it.

  It was a request from the strike force leader, one Senior Sergeant Stephanie Phelps, for a consultant from the ISO. Specifically, for Specialist Security Advisor Jack Reardon.

  “They asked for me specifically.”

  “Usually, I would have drafted some excuse for why SSA Jack Reardon was unavailable, but this time, I’m intrigued enough to put you in play. You’ll go in as yourself, Jack, or at least, as your ISO cover.”

  “What’s my goal for this operation?”

  “Exactly as the BAU request states. Advise them in your capacity as a security specialist and, presumably, as a military expert since their requests for a military liaison have been rejected. Find out why these particular victims were chosen.” McIntosh smiled grimly. “In other words, Jack, help them find this killer. All the information we have is in the file. I suggest you both get intimately familiar with it ASAP.”

  Stomach sinking, Jack asked, “Why?”

  “You’re scheduled to meet with Senior Sergeant Phelps tomorrow morning at the Surry Hills LAC at 9:00 a.m.”

  Jack gaped at her. “I just got back from Thailand this morning. I’ve spent the past three weeks scouring the dregs of Bangkok for a self-proclaimed god of sleaze. I have barely washed the slime off, and you want me to go back in tomorrow?”

  Levelling her best Arctic look on him, McIntosh said, “Required prep time is minimal. A couple of hours to read the files and make some initial strategies with the team. Just be thankful I didn’t say you’d be there at 6:00 a.m.” With a request for a preliminary job outline submitted within two hours, she sent them on their way.

  On the eighth floor, Lydia had already assembled the team in an operations room. Despite the dearth of solid information, it still took them the entire two hours to have something ready to go. Prelim outline submitted, jobs assigned for the early-morning start, they left the building at eight thirty and headed for the pub.

  Leaving the bathroom, McIntosh said, “When we get out of here, we’ll head straight for the Office.”

  Jack nodded. Finally, he was going to get started on really hunting this bastard down.

  The Judge had penetrated the LAC building and killed someone on site. It meant he was not only highly intelligent, as Adam had speculated, or extremely proficient, as Jack had shown, but also that he was very much aware of being tracked, and by whom. His profile outlined a meticulous planner, a need to finely control things to the nth degree and an ability to adapt to any environment. Knowing Ethan as well as he did only emphasised those points for Jack. Which is why he knew, without a doubt, that the Judge wouldn’t only know all about Steph and Adam, but about Jack as well. He would know that Jack would be after him physically now, not just following a paper trail. That should make the Judge keep looking over his shoulder.

  Their police escort led Jack and McIntosh through the narrow corridors of the building. The director’s heels clicked on the hard floor in an imperial manner, making police and support staff jump out of their way as they headed for a lift. Just as they reached it, the doors swished open and Dumay stepped out.

  “I know I have to abide by the commissioner’s decision, Ms. McIntosh,” Dumay said, tone cool, “but perhaps I could appeal to your sensibilities. Mr. Reardon is our best lead on finding the Judge. If you take him out of here, you’re leaving us blind and deaf.”

  McIntosh didn’t exactly look down her nose at the senior detective, but it was hard not to when she had several inches of height on the other woman. “I perfectly understand, Julia. However, the fact remains, you’ve had over two months to find this killer, and you’re still grasping at straws. I think it’s our turn to have a go.”

  Dumay, as Jack suspected, went red-hot. Coals flared in her eyes as her shoulders went back and her chin came up. “What, precisely, does the ISO think it can do in this situation, Donna? You’re just a security detail. You have no jurisdiction on this.”

  “If you’d care to read the commissioner’s orders again, you’ll find that Minister Simmons has granted the ISO provisional authority to pursue this case. When one of our own is wrongly accused of being a serial murderer, then we have every right to correct that.” Then she swept past Dumay and into the lift.

  Resisting the urge to fist-pump in victory, Jack followed his director.

  McIntosh turned to face the other woman, and while her tone hadn’t warmed any, she did offer a small gracious smile. “Thank you for your cooperation, Julia. I’ll be sure to make note of it in my next chat with Minister Simmons and the police commissioner.”

  Before Dumay could get out a response, the doors swished shut. Jack let out an explosive breath.

  “Don’t relax, Jack,” McIntosh murmured as they descended. “We’re not out of here yet. Don’t forget about Garrote.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jack repressed a shiver at the reminder of his life marked with a dollar sign.

  McIntosh gave his arm a sympathetic pat. “We’re watching for Garrote, don’t worry.”

  “She’s number five. We won’t see her coming.”

  “We won’t need to. You’ll stay at home base until the ticket is cleared and the Judge dealt with.”

  Jack gave a few grumbly protests because it was expected. Building confinement was nothing new, and when Jack decided he needed to leave, he would. McIntosh knew it as well, but the motions had to be made.

  When Jack had worked here, he’d parked in the visitor carpark, above ground. Instead of stopping on ground level, the lift kept going down to the garage under the building. The cavernous space was well lit and populated by patrol cars and unmarked vehicles. Probably by McIntosh’s design, there were currently no people.

  “This way.” She guided Jack across the garage, her heels suddenly silent on the cement.

  “The cops know about the ticket,” Jack told her as they went. “Dumay dropped Garrote’s name while trying to get me to talk about Bangkok.”

  Mentioning the city got the expected reaction. McIntosh’s eyes went so frosty Jack’s balls actually retreated into his body.

  “What do they know about Bangkok?”

  “Nothing much. Just that Lewis and I were there. They had photos. CCTV images, by the look of them. Lewis got made as well. Detective Connors knew him from ASIO.”

  “This is not good. We’ll have to get straight on to containment. And External Monitoring has some explaining to do.”

  Jack felt a surge of pity for the poor techs down on the fourth floor. External Monitoring, part of Intelligence, were responsible for covering the activities of the Office assets and spinning anything they couldn’t make disappear. Which included making sure any images of assets that appeared on the internet were dealt with speedily to keep covers intact and jobs a secret.

  “Leave Ex Mon to me,” McIntosh said, her voice warming a bit. “And don’t worry about the police knowing about Garrote. She made no secret of picking up your ticket, but why it was bought in the first place isn’t free knowledge. Don’t worry, they won’t discover it. They couldn’t even find one local killer.”

  That was true, but if Dumay had relaxed the shackles placed on Adam, he probably could have found the Judge by now. And would still be alive.

  “Don’t,” McIntosh warned him in a serious tone. “What’s happened, happened. You can’t change it, no matter how much you might want to rile and rage against Dumay. All we can do now is catch the killer.”

  Knowing she was right didn’t appease the anger and frustration. How far had the Judge managed to get while Connors pissed around with him in the interview room? Had he taken Stephanie? Or had she run? Where would she go? Despite all the time they’d spent together, Jack didn’t really know her. Didn’t really kno
w Adam, either, but maybe he’d have had a better chance of finding him. If Adam were the one on the run . . .

  McIntosh led him to a dark-coloured, unmarked idling car with a lightly armoured field asset behind the wheel.

  “Anything suspicious?” McIntosh asked the driver as she settled into the front passenger seat.

  “Nothing here and nothing along our route, ma’am. It appears to be all clear.”

  “Good. Jack, I left you a gift on the back seat.”

  Jack had already found it and was surreptitiously checking the Heckler and Koch USP, finding one full magazine already in it and another two on the seat. “Thanks.” He pocketed the spare mags and held the gun close to his thigh.

  Up front, McIntosh leaned over and retrieved another weapon from the foot well. Her French manicure tapped against the FN P90 as she swiftly checked the compact firearm and then settled it familiarly in her arms.

  The driver checked his watch and then eased the car towards the exit. “Ten seconds,” he said as he slowed on approach to the boom gate. “Starting . . . now.”

  “Let’s go, Jack.” McIntosh was already opening her door and, as the car creeped forwards, she slid out and within a couple of steps, disappeared into a dark alcove behind the gate mechanism.

  Jack followed without question. Someone in the Office had to be diverting the LAC’s cameras to give them this tiny window to get out of the car unseen. Apparently they weren’t taking any risks with getting him back to the Office.

  In the shadowed alcove, McIntosh opened a door marked “High Voltage Within, Building Maintenance Only” and made sure the space beyond it was clear with the business end of the P90. When Jack joined her, she nodded and waved him through.

  Once the door was closed behind them, soft lighting panels lit up, showing a steel- framed spiral staircase leading down. Jack aimed the USP down it, checking for strays. When he was certain it was clear, he started down, McIntosh behind him.

  Every time a new building was put up in Sydney, tunnels were built into the foundations, linking into a complex network of secret passages that could get a person from one side of the city to the other with minimum time above ground. The network was patrolled twice a day for intruders and unauthorised technology. Still Jack kept at the ready, not willing to take any risks with not only his own life, but that of his director as well.

  His senses were on high alert, his body reacting as it had been trained to by the SAS. Every sound seemed magnified, every flicker at the corner of his eye processed and analysed in a heartbeat, his body tightening with the potential to duck, jump, or weave at a split second’s notice. His world condensed to his immediate surroundings, to this immediate time. While they were here, he couldn’t waste time worrying about Ethan or Stephanie or where the Judge might be. Jack locked on his target—getting them safely to the Office—and that was all that mattered.

  It took two hours to reach Bondi Junction. Walking above ground would have taken half that time, but their lives were worth the delay. They came up into another hidden room, this time in a secluded corner of a shopping centre carpark. Another car was waiting here, this time driven by a strike team member, a second one in the back seat. Jack got into the back, while McIntosh took the front passenger seat again.

  They could have taken the tunnels right to the Neville Crawley Building and emerged into their own garage, but it never hurt to be too cautious when dealing with someone of Garrote’s reputation.

  Knowing the car was bulletproof, Jack still slouched down so he was less visible. Tinted windows would mean nothing to some of the equipment Ethan, and Garrote, could undoubtedly get their hands on.

  Where was Ethan now? Was he somewhere, brooding, snapping together his ridiculously frail-looking but effective, Assassin X sniper rifle, just waiting for Jack to reappear? Did he know Garrote? Were they collaborating on hunting him? Jack almost wished one of them—the Judge, Garrote, or even Ethan—would come at him right now. He was feeling the need to punch something, hard.

  Adam . . . Fuck. He was going to make someone pay. Even if it was Ethan.

  It wasn’t quite peak hour, but the traffic was thick and had slowed the roads down to crawls. What should have taken less than thirty minutes stretched out into nearly an hour, every second of which Jack was hyperaware of each car around them, of pedestrians and the darkened windows of buildings when they were halted at red lights.

  Once they were behind the armoured door to the garage of the Neville Crawley Building, Jack let out a little frustrated sigh. McIntosh twisted in her seat to give him a slight frown. Sure, he was as safe as he could be, but at the same time, he had effectively exchanged one cell for another. McIntosh didn’t want him going out to hunt down anyone, but that was what Jack did. The Office was already stocked with enough assets who could track anyone through digital records and third-hand anecdotes, but Jack wasn’t one of them. He was a field asset. Out there was where he needed to be.

  “Patience, Jack,” his director said as the strike team guys got out of the car. As usual, she seemed more aware of Jack’s mental state than he would prefer her to be.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  McIntosh’s gaze remained steady against his dry tone, then she sighed and nodded. A silent acknowledgement that at some point, she would agree to do things his way.

  Still, as they got out of the car, she put a hand on his arm and held him back from rushing up the stairs. McIntosh turned to him with a pointed expression. “Are you going to be able to think and act objectively on this, Jack?”

  There was a whole painful discussion behind the single question. A reminder of Jack’s stupid admission after the Valadian operation about coming to like the man he was spying on. The whole Ethan Blade situation. His connection to Adam.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered promptly because she would expect nothing less.

  “I hope so.” Her voice was firm and her gaze cool. “Do you recall that conversation we had, about a year ago, in my office? When you told me you were ‘back’?”

  “Yes,” Jack said warily.

  Quite apart from his actions getting the all clear from the DIC and minister, that speech to McIntosh had been the most important step in proving he was still loyal. He’d meant it, too. After so long of feeling detached and aimless, fighting alongside Ethan for the benefit of the Office and the Meta-State had fixed him in the one spot. It had given him his purpose back, shown him the right path to take. A path he’d kept to for the past year, despite a couple of attempts to push him off it.

  Christ, if McIntosh was starting to question him again, he didn’t know what he’d do.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Jack, but for a while there, you had started to drift away again.”

  Here it came. She was going to take him off the job. Tell him he had to get his shit together before she’d let him out of the building.

  “Canberra was a terrible blow to you,” McIntosh said gently. “Losing your partner like that isn’t an easy thing to deal with. The Office can give you as much counselling and support as there is, and still it won’t heal every wound.”

  Already on an edge, Jack considered walking away from the conversation. He had come to grips with the fallout of what had happened with the terrorist incursion in the country’s capitol, and his own culpability in Harry’s death. He was able to live with the guilt, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.

  She touched his arm. If the quivering tension in his muscles didn’t scare her off, nothing would, so he didn’t pull away. “I have my suspicions, but for whatever reason, you’re back again. I just don’t want this job to be the one that pushes you away once more. You’re one of the best assets we have, Jack. I don’t want to lose you.”

  All Jack could do was nod, but after a couple of swallows, managed, “You won’t lose me, ma’am.”

  “Good. Because I fear this is going to get a lot more deadly before it’s over. Deadly and personal.” On that grim note, McIntosh walked towards the li
fts.

  Jack followed slowly, chewing over her words. It wasn’t hard to guess what suspicions she was talking about.

  It had been so long since he’d thought of his own life in terms of what it meant to someone else. Not to McIntosh or his handler or even the person pointing their gun at his face. But to someone who was at home waiting for him so they could have dinner together, or watch the latest episode of whichever show they were binging, or so they could unleash their own hellish day on sympathetic shoulders.

  That, he’d come to realise over the past couple of weeks, was what he really needed to keep him here. And damn it, he was going to get it back.

  If Ethan didn’t kill him for fucking someone else.

  The No Ones Inn was a pokey little pub down the road from the Neville Crawley Building and a regular for the Office staff. While Lewis and Lydia joined a table of fellow ITA assets, Jack headed to the bar to get a drink and slotted in between a woman on her phone and a suited man with his back turned. “Bourbon, straight,” he said to the bartender and surveyed the pub while he waited.

  Normally after a trip away, this was exactly what he needed to shift him out of whatever mindset work had forced on him and back into his life. Something familiar to plant him firmly back in Sydney, to convince every sense he was home again. The sound of Australian accents all around him, the familiar taste of a local brew, the sight of brands and logos he’d grown up with. Though this new case wasn’t demanding a different persona from him and wasn’t shipping him off to somewhere possibly unfamiliar, he didn’t want to fall too far back into his real life. He might be going in as Jack Reardon, but he wasn’t exactly going in as himself, regardless of what McIntosh said. SSA Reardon was as fake as Jaidev had been.

  “Well, hello again.”

  Jack turned to the voice and found the man in the suit facing him. Under the generic suit, his lean, long body was promising, but it was the sweep of blond hair across a high brow, sparkling blue eyes and mischievously smiling mouth that caught Jack’s attention. Recognition hit him a second later.