Black Mountain (23 page)

‘We’re tourists,’ he said, holding it out slowly to the talker.

The man shook his head, his eyes never wavering from Alex’s. ‘Drop it and kick it over.’

‘Careful, there’s all my holiday money in there,’ Alex said as he obeyed.

He tensed, waiting for the scarred officer to look down at the full wallet, but the man ignored it and reached down to his holster to unclip his gun. He lifted it free in a smooth movement, the weapon comfortable in his hand. It was a big Sig Sauer, a P228, much larger than normal US law enforcement issue. Something wasn’t right . . . small-town cops were never this sharp and professional.

The man’s companions had drawn their weapons too, but their guns were different. There was something about the way they looked that wasn’t quite right either, but he couldn’t determine what it was with the flashlights in his face.

The men fanned out a little more. They took up equal positions around him and Adira, but all remained facing him, ready and on edge. The scarred officer crouched for the wallet, but still his eyes remained on Alex.

‘Cover him while I call this in,’ he told his men.

He removed the driver’s licence, letting the wallet fall to the ground. He walked a few paces back towards his SUV, pulled a slim phone from his pocket and talked softly into it.

Alex let his eyes slide to Adira. She returned his gaze with a flat stare. Alex guessed what she was thinking: if the cops called in their names, they’d start a trail a mile wide that could be followed. They’d need to trash their cleanskin IDs and start again. He gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head; he wanted to let it play out a little longer and see what happened.

As he watched her, the air around her seemed to blur, like a cloud of oily smoke was settling over the road, and the burning knot of pain in his skull ramped up its nagging intensity. Fifty feet away, the officer with the scar spoke softly into the phone – out of earshot of everyone except Alex.

‘It’s them all right.’ He paused, then spoke again. ‘Yes, but I don’t like the look of him – he might be a problem.’ His head came up and he turned; his eyes were emotionless as he stared back at Alex. ‘Roger that. We’ve got a plastic sheet to wrap him.’

He came slowly back to the group, his face a mask of indifference. ‘Put your hands on your head, turn around and kneel. I’m just going to put some cuffs on you.’

The pain began to flower inside Alex’s skull. ‘What’s the problem, officer?’

‘No problem, sir. Just do as you’re told.’

Alex grimaced from the explosion of pain behind his eyes as he raised his hands. He turned his back on the officer, and saw that Adira’s face had changed to a mask of anger and her fists were balled. He let his eyes travel to the two officers behind her. It dawned on him what he’d thought was out of place. Their uniforms were perfect, expect for one thing – the belts were just plain black leather; no baton, spray, tasers . . . or cuffs.

From out of nowhere, a soft insistent voice sounded in his head. Was it Adira? It spoke urgently.
No cuffs. This is an execution – yours. Kill him.

Alex slowly lowered his hands. ‘You’re not really police, are you?’

The answer was the almost inaudible sound of pressure on a trigger.

The pain in his head disappeared.
Kill them all.

Alex exploded into action. He spun and yanked the gun from the man’s hand and flung it into the darkness. His hand came away warm and wet, and he noticed that one of the man’s fingers was missing. He had ripped the gun free with such force that he’d taken the digit with it.

The man, instead of grabbing his wrist and howling, went into a fighter’s stance. He lashed out with a hammer blow that caught Alex on the chin and kicked his head back. He immediately followed with a front snap-kick aimed at Alex’s groin. Alex was quick but not enough; he caught part of the boot in his testicles and the burst of pain and nausea made his head swim.

Who are these guys?

Alex lunged forward, taking another blow to his cheek, which he ignored. He grabbed the scarred officer and spun him round so his body shielded Alex’s in the same moment as the officer yelled, ‘Shoot him!’

Alex heard the men curse as they saw he’d deprived them of an easy kill shot. Alex had planned to simply subdue the scarred officer, but the voice came again in his head –
No survivors
– and it was as if something took over his body. He gripped the man’s shoulders harder and pulled him forward, smashing his own forehead into the bridge of his nose with a sickening crunch. Blood ran into Alex’s eyes, but it wasn’t his own. The scarred man fell like a boneless sack at his feet.

Intuition made Alex leap to the side as bullets came out of the darkness. He was an easy target now, and as he rolled he knew these men, whoever they were, would give him no quarter. These were assassins, and if it was death they sought he’d give it to them.

He saw Adira struggling on the ground with one of the officers. The other stood with legs spread in a marksman stance, trying to track Alex with his weapon. One shaved second was all the man would need, but Alex was moving far too fast for him to get off an accurate shot. He was a blur as he rose up in front of the shooter and in a single motion brought his hand up into the man’s neck, his thumb and finger spread either side of his larynx. The blow crushed the man’s throat flat and he fell, making small barking coughs as he tried to pull in air.

Alex turned quickly, but saw that Adira was kneeling beside the man she had fought with, drawing one of her lethal spikes out of his ear. The man’s legs kicked in a final dance and his eyes registered nothing but surprise.

With all the men down, it was as if a switch had been thrown; his boiling anger began to subside. He crossed back to the officer with the scar on his chin and kneeled to check his status. He was dead; the crushing blow had driven his septum up into his brain.

Alex spoke over his shoulder. ‘Get their weapons, and I’ll see what else they’ve got in their cars. And by the way, I didn’t need your advice back there.’ He glared at her.

Adira looked confused, then she shrugged and moved to the man who was still gasping for breath on the ground. She picked up his gun and looked down at him, her face an unemotional mask. She aimed between his eyes.

‘Wait,’ Alex said.

She ignored him and pulled the trigger, then smiled at him apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, Alex; we’re not taking hostages. He was as good as dead anyway – you made sure of that.’

Alex held her eyes a moment, then grunted and went over to the SUV. He watched her through the windscreen. She was examining the gun in her hand, turning it over. She ejected the magazine to look at the bullets, then frowned. ‘
Shizta
.’ She spun and moved quickly from body to body, rapidly turning out their pockets and patting down their torsos and limbs. Alex shook his head and went back to his search of the vehicle’s interior. Adira was a strange woman. Sometimes he felt he knew her, even had strong feelings for her. But at other times, she was a complete mystery.

He’d thought it was her voice that had whispered to him:
Kill them all
. But now he wasn’t sure.

In the SUV’s glove compartment he found two hand grenades.
Nice
, he thought, and stuffed them into his pockets. As he worked, the scarred officer’s phone vibrated. Adira rushed to snatch it before Alex. She jammed it to her ear and waited. Alex could hear the silence as someone else did the same on the other end of the line. After another moment, Adira threw the phone over the tree line and they heard it splash into the river.

‘Expecting someone?’ he said, not thinking she’d answer him.

She stood there quietly, her face dark and unreadable.

‘C’mon,’ he said, nodding towards the bodies.

It took them another ten minutes to fill the dead men’s shirts and trousers with stones and drag them towards the river. The rushing water snatched the bodies away and they quickly disappeared in the torrent. It would be weeks before they were found, and by then they would probably have washed down to Brownsville.

Alex looked at Adira as he dusted off his hands. ‘Welcome to America.’

*

Salamon pressed his foot down on the accelerator. From the response to his call, he knew the mission had suffered a serious setback.

By the time he arrived at the interception point, there was little to see. A quick circling of the area showed blood underneath a shallow layer of sand beside the road. In the bushes nearby he found a Sig Sauer with a human finger jammed in the trigger guard. Salamon growled deep in his chest as he remembered the general’s words: ‘The American will be a problem.’

He flipped open his phone, typed in a long string of numbers, then waited a second or two for the distant connection.

‘I need more agents,’ he told Shavit.

*

Adira sat in the passenger seat of the SUV they’d salvaged from the attack, while Alex took the first leg of the long drive to Asheville. She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. The weapon she held on her lap had no part number, but that didn’t matter; she’d recognised it instantly – a full-size Jericho 941 pistol, also called an Israeli Uzi Eagle, and weapon of choice of the Mossad Kidon. Now she knew exactly how her uncle had reacted to her running away with Alex. He had sent torpedoes after her. They were marked for termination . . . or was it just Alex who was to be executed? She couldn’t tell anymore. Nothing was staying together for her; there was no logical plan to follow.

She felt anger burning inside. How had the agents found them so quickly? Her mind ran through their convoluted route – and every time she came back to the Egyptian incident. They must have picked up their trail there. Perhaps they’d been behind them all the way . . . or ahead of them.

And now?

She swore again. That phone call had been local. The walls were closing in. The rules had changed again; it was now kill or be killed.

*

Hammerson swore at the empty room. The image from the satellite had been light-enhanced and showed what looked to be three local police officers surrounding Alex Hunter and Adira Senesh. There was nothing the HAWC commander could do but watch and hope things didn’t turn bad.

‘What the fuck?’ Hammerson leaned forward, his face contorting into a frown as, inexplicably, the officer behind Alex lifted a gun to the back of his neck. ‘No, no, no.’

Blurringly fast, Alex spun and ripped the gun out of the officer’s hand. From there, things went as bad as they could get, real fast. Alex took down the first officer, then a second one. Hammerson was surprised by the amount of resistance they put up – more than he would have expected for local police.

Adira lashed out at the third man, striking him in the ear. By the way he dropped, and then convulsed on the ground, he guessed she had punctured his brain with one of her deadly spikes.

Three dead cops and they’ve only been on American soil for an hour. Fucking hell!

Hammerson watched Adira search the bodies, while Alex went over to the vehicle parked nearby. She paused to examine something in her hand. ‘Okay, what have you found?’ he said aloud, and zoomed in to see the gun. He took a still of the weapon, and of the bodies, then watched in silence as the pair dumped the corpses in the river before driving off in the SUV.

He walked slowly to his computer, tapping his chin with one large blunt finger, and pulled up the recording loop, represented as a line on the screen. He tracked back to when the police had first intercepted Alex, then deleted the entire recording up until their departure.

Hammerson blew out a breath through compressed lips and dropped back into his chair. He brought up the image of the gun Adira had been examining; he didn’t recognise the make and was certain it hadn’t come from any US law enforcement armoury he knew of.

He lifted the phone and tapped a few numbers before saying softly, ‘I need a clean-up crew ASAP – several bodies in the Rio Grande outside of Laredo. Find ’em, ID ’em, and then incinerate.’

He sat back and let his mind work, trying to piece together the strange events surrounding Alex’s sudden reappearance and return to America.

‘Why now, son? What’s triggered this?’ He drummed his large blunt fingers on the desk. ‘Are you looking for something?’

He pulled up a map of Texas and printed it out, then drew a circle around it. Dropping the pen, he placed his fingers on his forehead and leaned in close, willing the map to tell him something. Nothing jumped out. He sighed and sat back for a few seconds, then picked up his pen again and wrote a list of names:
Adira Senesh
,
Jack Hammerson, Sam Reid, Aimee Weir
. He thought for a while, then added two more:
Casey Franks
,
Kathleen Hunter
. There were very few people Alex knew well, or had remained in contact with from his past. His job as a HAWC hadn’t allowed it.

He typed each name into the search engine. The usual scientific information about Aimee Weir came up – she was going well in her career as a petrobiologist. As expected, he got nothing on Reid, Franks or himself. But when he typed in Kathleen Hunter’s name, his mouth dropped open.

‘Oh, good Christ.’

It was a small piece in the
Asheville Times
– there’d been an attack on the Hunter property, and its owner, Kathleen Joy Hunter, was now a missing person.

‘Asheville.’ Hammerson got to his feet so quickly his chair fell over behind him. He pressed a button on his intercom. ‘Get Sam Reid in here.’

TWENTY-ONE

‘Rattlesnake? Perfect,’ Matt said, feeling his stomach turn over. He was hardly in the mood for any kind of food, but especially not the exotic variety, which seemed to be all Spirits Native American Diner had on offer.

The attractive olive-skinned waitress smiled broadly and passed around menus and glasses of water, telling them she’d be back in a minute to see if they were ready to order.

‘Nice place,’ Charles said, watching her go.

‘And the food’s good too,’ Sarah added. ‘My version of comfort food.’ She leaned across to Matt and gripped his forearm. ‘C’mon, cheer up.’