Assassins: Assignment: Jerusalem, Target: Antichrist (25 page)

That was a step, Buck decided. But it wasn’t enough. In the guest room Buck had wept until he fell asleep, praying for Chaim. At nine in the morning he was still exhausted. He had hoped to get another firsthand look at the two witnesses, but he promised Chloe he would stay on schedule and visit Lukas Miklos in Greece on his way back. The new friend they called Laslos would be the key contact in that part of the world for the co-op.

It was 7 A.M. in Le Havre when Rayford and the Turtles bluffed their way through customs as Thomas Agee and lan and Elva Hill. Trudy was to rent a car and check into two rooms they had reserved at Le Petit Hotel south of the city. It was an expensive, secluded place unlikely to draw curious eyes.

Dwayne would use another rental car to drop Rayford off a couple of blocks from the address on Rue Marguerite where Bo Hanson had said his brother and Hattie were hiding out under assumed names. Rayford planned to simply show up at their apartment and talk them into opening the door by warning them that the GC was onto them and that they had to move. Rayford believed Hattie would deduce that Bo had led him to them and that thus the GC story must be true. Rayford would offer them a ride and to put them up in an obscure hotel if they were prepared to flee immediately.

The three would rendezvous with Dwayne and improvise. Either in the process of getting into the car or by some scheme along the way, Rayford and Dwayne would ditch Samuel Hanson and let him fend for himself. He was the one with a plane. They could sort out their differences back in the States.

Rayford wanted to surprise Hattie and Samuel as early in the day as possible, so he and Dwayne took the first available rental car. With a quick farewell to Trudy, who was to load all their bags into her car, they were off. Dwayne bubbled with ideas of how to outwit Samuel.

“Are you sure you want to insert yourself this far into a Tribulation Force operation?” Rayford said.

“Are you kiddin’ me? I’ve been itchin’ for some action ever since I got saved. Now listen, we can ditch this boy soon’s we get in the car. You could tell him to step outside with you for a minute because, like, you’ve got a private message for him. Like from his brother. You get out and walk him behind the car, and then you tell him you forgot the note in the car. You jump back in, I take off, and there we go.”

“Could work,” Rayford said.

“Or how ‘bout this one?” Dwayne said, following Rayford’s directions as he sped through town. “When you first bring ‘em to the car, I get out all mannerly and such and we do the formal introductions. I open the door for the lady and get her inside. Then I give this Hanson character a big ol’ Oklahoma shove. He’ll roll twenty feet, but it won’t hurt him. By the time his head clears, we’ll be long gone.”

Rayford studied a city map and the note from Bo. “They’re using the names James Dykes and Mae Willie. Sometimes you have to wonder. ...”

“Here’s another idea,” Dwayne said, but Rayford cut him off.

“No offense, Dwayne, but I don’t much care how we do it, as long as we get it done.”

“You gotta have a plan.”

“We have plenty. If it doesn’t feel right for me to invite him out of the car, you know what to do.”

“You got it, pardner.”

By now David was despairing. It was midmorning in New Babylon, and he and Mac were huddled in Mac’s office. David had programmed his own secure phone to dial Rayford’s every sixty seconds and to leave a digital message that simply read
ABORT
and gave David’s number.

“If I’d known it was gonna be this way,” Mac said, “I could’ve flown to France and intercepted him myself by now.”

David, feeling helpless, brought up on his computer phone calls between Leon and his intelligence enforcement chief, Walter Moon, the day before, the day of, and the day after the announcement of Hattie’s death. When David finally hit pay dirt and heard something that would help Rayford, he felt even worse.

“This’ll make your day, Mac,” he said. “Listen to this. It’s Leon and Moon.”

“What’s your plan on the Durham situation, Wally?”

“It’s done, Commander. She made it so easy. How long we been looking for that―”

“Too long. Now what’s done? What did you do?”

“Like we said, we got rid of the pilot. He was usin’ the name Dykes, but we traced the plane to Sam Hanson out of Louisiana.”

“By got rid of …”

“You want to know or you want to not know? Let’s just say Sam’s had his last bowl o’ gumbo. We put the filly in the Brussels lockup. She was usin’ the name Mae Willie, so we booked her under that so she could hide out even inside if she wanted.

“I know the big boss-‘scuse me, the Excell―, His Excellency doesn’t want anything noisy.”

“Right, and anyway, who’d believe she’s Hattie Durham? She’s been reported dead.”

“And she’s the one who did it. We could leave her in Belgium forever.”

“And we’re taking advantage of this how?”

“We informed the pilot’s only living kin, his brother, in a note that looks like it’s from Sam, that Sam would be holing up in France for a while, so don’t expect to hear from him. We figure the brother will eventually get suspicious or run out of patience and come looking for him. We just hope her Judah-ite friends will find her through the brother first, because we have a surprise for them.

“I’m listening.”

“We’ve got a look-alike staying at the apartment, claiming to be Dykes. He plays coy but then promises to take any snoops to Hattie. They wind up in the same situation as the Cajun, if you get my drift.”

“Excellent, Wally.”

Mac shook his head. “You keeping Tsion informed? Rayford’s walking into a hornet’s nest, and those people over there, particularly his daughter, ought to be prepared, in case he never comes back.”

David nodded and reached for his phone, but it was ringing. He zeroed in on the caller ID. “It’s him!”

Mac leaned over to listen in, and David hit the button.

“Captain Steele, where are you, man? I’ve been trying to call you for―”

“Excuse me, sir. This is Mrs. Dwayne Tuttle. You can call me Trudy. My husband and Captain Steele left me to arrange for hotel rooms and take care of the luggage. I saw this phone in the captain’s bag, and I’m sorry but I turned it on out of curiosity. Well, just dozens and dozens of messages have been scrollin’ by, all with your number and this abort message, and I thought I ought to call.”

“Ma’am, thank you. Where is Rayf-Captain Steele right now?”

“He and my husband are on their way to try to find Miss Durham.”

“Does your husband have a phone?”

“No, sir, he sure doesn’t―”

“Is there any way we can reach them?”

“I have the address where they’re going, if you’d like to call the young lady.”

Mac grabbed the phone. “Ma’am, this is Mac McCullum. Remember meeting me in Africa?”

“Yes, sir, how are you feel―”

“Trudy, listen to me and do exactly what I say. It’s a matter of life and death. Do you know that town?”

“Just from the airport to here.”

“Get yourself a map at the desk and have them tell you the fastest way to Hattie’s address. Drive there as fast as you can. If anyone tries to stop you, don’t let them and explain later. At all costs, you must tell Captain Steele to abort. He’ll take it from there.”

“Abort, yes sir.”

“Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Then do it right now, Trudy. And call us to let us know what happens.”

Dwayne drove past the address on Rue Marguerite and stopped a block and a half away.

“Seedy little dump, idn’t it?” Dwayne said.

“It’s perfect, really,” Rayford said. “I’m impressed. This may be the best choice they made in the whole fiasco. Let’s watch awhile and see if she comes or goes.”

Rayford got antsy after ten minutes when only two people left the building, neither Hattie. “If I’m not back in five minutes, come looking for me.”

“They armed?”

“Doubt it. If Sam’s as bright as his brother, he wouldn’t know which end to aim. Hattie would worry about breaking a nail.”

Still, Rayford wished he was carrying the weapon Albie had described. He could never shoot Hattie, and he wouldn’t risk the consequences for a small-time goon like Bo Hanson’s brother. This shouldn’t be that risky, he decided. Hattie would let him in. If she didn’t, he had a story in mind to use on Sam Hanson.

The three-story building had three sets of ten mailboxes built into the wall in the lobby, which was neither manned nor secured. Rayford was surprised they had not chosen a building with at least a buzz-in system. He found “Dykes, J.” on the box numbered 323 and mounted the stairs.

Each floor was reached by a series of four sets of steps in a square pattern. By the time Rayford reached the top floor, he was winded and his knee ached. Apartment 323 was on the front side of the building at the left end. He could have been watched from the time he stepped onto the property. Sam and Hattie could have even seen the car cruise by.

Rayford gathered himself and found the button in a metal box in the middle of the apartment door. His push resulted in a resounding two-tone ring that could have been heard in any flat on that floor. Rayford thought he heard movement, but no one answered. As he reached for the button again, he distinctly heard someone. He guessed they were pulling on a pair of pants. “Take your time,” he called out. “No rush.”

He imagined someone tiptoeing to the door and listening. There was no peephole. Rayford hoped whoever it was was listening to tell if he had retreated. He pushed the button quickly, giving them an earful.

A male voice: “Who is it?”

“Tom Agee.”

“Who?”

“Thomas Agee.”

“Don’t know that name.”

“I’m a friend of the woman who lives here.”

“No woman here. Just me.”

“Mae Willie doesn’t live here?”

Silence.

“May I speak with Mae, please? Tell her it’s a friend.”

Rayford heard the unmistakable sliding action on a semiautomatic pistol. He considered a break for the stairs, but the door opened abruptly to reveal a muscular young man with one hand behind his back. He was barefoot and bare chested, wearing only jeans.

Rayford decided on a bold approach. “May I come in?”

“Who’d you say you were looking for?”

“You heard me or you wouldn’t have opened the door. Now where is she?”

“I told you, it’s just me here. What do you want with her?”

“Who? The one who doesn’t live here?”

“State your business or hit the street.”

“Are you Samuel Hanson?”

The man leveled his eyes. “Name’s Jimmy Dykes.”

“Then you are Samuel Hanson. Where’s Hattie Durham?”

The man started to shut the door. “Buddy, you’re lost. There’s nobody here by that―”

Rayford stepped forward and the door stopped at his foot. “If I’m in the wrong place, how did I know yours and Hattie’s real names? Now I need to speak with her.”

“Dykes” seemed to be considering it.

“You’re not GC, are you?”

“I’m a friend of Hattie’s,” Rayford said, loudly enough so Hattie might hear him.

“You’re not really Tommy Agee, either, are you?”

“We all have to be careful, Samuel. I’m Rayford Steele. I bring you greetings from your brother, Bo.”

Samuel had still not moved. “Hi, back. Hattie’s not here, but I can take you to her. C’mon in while I get dressed.”

Samuel pushed the door open wider and Rayford stepped in. As the door was swinging shut, Rayford heard footsteps flying up the stairs. Samuel headed for another room, and as he turned his back, Rayford saw him move a handgun from back to front.

Samuel set the weapon on the table, still blocking Rayford’s view of it with his body. He grabbed a shirt and had one arm in it when frenzied banging on the door and ringing of the bell made both men start.

Rayford hoped it was Hattie. He ignored Samuel’s look and swung the door open. Trudy?! His life shifted into slow motion as he desperately tried to remember her undercover name. He turned to look back at Samuel, who tore his shirt straightening his arm to reach for the gun.

Trudy screeched, “Abort!” and reached as if to pull Rayford from the room, but he knew neither of them could run from that weapon. The incongruity alone of Trudy showing up with an abort message told him that whoever this man was, he would kill them.

Trudy bounded down the stairs, and Rayford imagined taking a .45 bullet in the back and another in the top of the head. Trudy would be slain before she reached the first floor. Rayford simply could not let this man follow him out of the room unimpeded.

He turned from the slowly closing door and charged the man, who had just fought through his shredded shirt and had grabbed the handle of the weapon. One stride from him and accelerating, Rayford saw him lift the already cocked firearm and slip his index finger onto the trigger.

Rayford didn’t want to take his chances wrestling a man with a gun. He could cover the man’s hand with both of his, but he didn’t like the odds. Instead he marshaled his adrenaline and left his feet, throwing himself at the gunman with his fists drawn into his chest, elbows akimbo, like a corner back taking out a receiver who just got his fingers on the ball.

Rayford’s man didn’t fumble, but he did go flying. Rayford had caught him in the neck with one of his forearms, driving his body back as his head jerked forward. As his momentum carried him back, the man’s bare feet hit the floor and a small table caught him behind his knees.

His feet flew straight up as the back of his head smashed through the front window. He lay there stunned, the gun in his hand, finger on the trigger, as Rayford scrambled toward the door. His feet were moving so fast he could hardly gain purchase on the floor. He felt as if he were in a nightmare, being chased by a monster, and running in muck.

He yanked the door open and peeked back as he fled. The gunman’s head still stuck in the broken window. His torso had wound up lower than his feet, and his kicking and squirming only made it harder for him to get up.

It did not stop him from firing off two rounds, however, deafening, ugly explosions almost simultaneous with shattering wood and flying wallboard.