Blood and Ashes (21 page)

‘Yeah, Everett was real. He was a young junkie who murdered his grandfather during a bungled robbery. He was also suspected of beating a cop to death with a PR24 baton, not to mention a number of rapes where he first throttled his victims within an inch of their lives with a guitar string. He was as heavy a white supremacist as any in Gant’s outfit. Shame he turned up dead after overdosing: he should have gone to prison for a long time, maybe in a cell alongside some brothers.’

Yes, that would have been justice, rather than the relatively easy way that Everett went. ‘The FBI kept his demise a secret, I’m assuming, and you slipped right into the role.’

‘The name helped. I’ve been called Vince by all my friends since kindergarten, so I was never going to mess up and forget to answer someone calling my name.’

‘There was more to it than that.’

‘Of course there was. I had to get into his mind, become Vince Everett in every way. I had to think like him, act like him, do what he would do. It wasn’t nice being in his head like that, but I had to show those assholes that I was a worthy ally. Plus there was the fact that Everett was just the kind of guy Sonya Madden found irresistible.’ Again the agent’s eyes clouded. ‘Madden by name but mad by nature. It’s a shame she was such a psychopath, ’cause underneath it all she was quite a girl.’

‘Forgetting that she was part of a radical extremist network, as well?’

‘Yeah, there was that.’ Vince straightened his cap, winning a few seconds to compose himself. While he ordered his next words, Fluffy sauntered across the desk beside him. The cat glowered at him like he was something to be utterly and contemptuously destroyed. Vince broke open a carton of cream and offered it to the tom. ‘Peace offering?’

Fluffy sniffed and sashayed, but then settled down to lap the cream from the tub. Its occasional glance my way demanded to know what I was worrying about, now that Vince was his new best friend.

‘Traitor,’ I called the cat. It turned its back on me.

Vince grinned at the cat. ‘He has a lot in common with me, I guess.’

I squinted at him, not quite getting the reference. Vince said, ‘To Gant and Carswell Hicks I’m a traitor to their cause.’

‘Little notice Hicks will take. Last I heard he was dead.’

‘You and millions of others . . .’

I didn’t like the undertone of Vince’s delivery.

‘What exactly are you saying, Vince?’

‘Carswell Hicks is as alive as you or me. The death story is just that.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘Why would I lie to you?’

‘You’re a feebie. You’re undercover. You have your own agenda. Take your pick.’

‘Christ, you’re a cynic, Hunter.’

‘It tends to keep me alive.’

‘And you’re full of pithy sayings.’

‘Good guy one-o-one, I told you.’

Vince sipped coffee. I mirrored him. The cat nudged the empty cream carton along the desk, unaware of or indifferent to the silence between the two men in its presence.

Finally I placed the empty Styrofoam cup down. ‘Carswell Hicks. Where is he?’

‘Sure wish that we knew. As you probably heard, an attempt was made to break Hicks out of prison when he was transferred to a less-secure hospital wing. The hospital’s medi-vac chopper was hijacked but later went down off the coast with no apparent survivors. Hicks’ body was never found, although the general public wasn’t informed of that in case it caused a furore. It was while Obama was running for president, and his supporters wouldn’t take kindly to someone possibly back in the public arena who’d make it his mission to destroy a black presidential candidate. You could say Hicks earned a modicum of protection from the same government he’d tried to disrupt all those years. Go figure, man!’

‘Sounds ridiculous, but not unheard of,’ I said, as disgusted as Vince was. ‘The British government released IRA murderers, and actually settled them on the mainland, under the Good Friday Agreement, gave them new identities so that no one would know who was living in their midst. Talk about pandering to your enemies.’

‘As far as everyone’s concerned, Hicks is dead and no threat to the president or the stability of our country. The reality is that the corpse they displayed was that of a homeless John Doe who bore a passing resemblance to Hicks. The guy had fallen into a river and drowned, so he fit the part. But to further disguise him, the JD was liberally doused in aviation fuel and burned.’

‘Jesus, that’s brutal.’

‘Had to make it look real, Hunter.’

‘OK. So what happened? Hicks took his freedom but that wasn’t enough for him? He has reinitiated his old hate campaign?’

‘Yes. He laid low for a while, but then . . . Bam!’ Vince waved his arms like the flourish of a magician. ‘Suddenly he’s back and people are beginning to die. We’re concerned that he’s planning something big.’

‘But you’ve no idea where he’s currently hiding, so it’s difficult to check?’

‘It’s why I infiltrated his group, to try to get a lead on his location.’

‘And when you find him he’s going to be taken right back to prison?’

Shaking his head, Vince smiled, and it was like a reflection of the smile I often view in mirrors. ‘Don’t forget, Hunter, he’s already dead. Can’t suddenly dump him back in the system, can we?’

‘Your job is to take him out?’

‘What I sometimes have to do isn’t FBI procedure.’

‘Assassination isn’t even CIA procedure these days,’ I said, though I knew differently. Another thought struck me. ‘The attacks on Don Griffiths and his family have nothing to do with revenge, have they? Don found him first time, and now Hicks is making sure that history doesn’t repeat itself.’

‘It’s worse than that, Hunter. I wasn’t party to everything that was said – unfortunately all our orders came via Gant – but what I understand is that Hicks wants
something
from Griffiths. And if Griffiths doesn’t hand it over then his family will pay.’

I went very still.

Vince studied me, noting the coldness slip into my face. ‘Your killer eyes are back,’ he said.

‘Yes.’ My voice seeped across to him like a freezing fog. ‘You knew that Gant was going to attack the family, yet you allowed it to happen.’

‘I didn’t have an opportunity to call it in, not with Sonya at my side every second,’ Vince said. But he knew his excuse sounded lame.

‘No. You wanted them to get what they wanted from Griffiths. You fully intended helping them. That way, Gant would trust you and then lead you back to Hicks. It’s why this FBI task force was on hand and in such numbers.’ Fisting my hands, it was a struggle to keep them on the desktop.

To his credit, Vince didn’t attempt to lie. Instead he said, ‘Sometimes small sacrifices have to be made. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.’

‘And you call me pithy.’

Vince threw up his arms. The sudden movement startled Fluffy, who instantly reverted to his former self. The tom arched his back and spat and then retreated to crouch between the protective walls made by my forearms. Wary of both the cat and the man, Vince said, ‘Well it’s all fucked, isn’t it? My cover’s blown, there’s no way I can get close to Hicks now.’ He waited a beat before saying, ‘I guess we move to Plan B and send a new man after him.’ Vince grinned. ‘We have, of course, got someone in mind. In fact, Walter Hayes Conrad endorsed the idea and says he knows the ideal person for the job.’

Chapter 29

The following morning found me sitting in a plastic chair, again sipping coffee, this time from a waxed-paper cup. The room was as utilitarian as the interior of the command unit vehicle, except this time the smell wasn’t of perspiration mingling with ozone, but the antiseptic odour characteristic of all hospitals. From beyond the closed door came the soft clinks, the hurried footsteps, the low conversations familiar to a medical facility.

I was in a small antechamber off the main waiting area of Hertford City Medical Center, twiddling my thumbs and upping my caffeine quota. I didn’t like sitting around like this.

Earlier, I’d visited Don Griffiths’ sickroom, but the old man was heavily sedated and had given away nothing save for the one answer I’d been seeking.

I’ve never appreciated the term
assassin
spoken alongside my name, but I wasn’t so blinkered that I’d lost sight of what my military designation had meant. I could dress it up in fancy metaphors, argue that I was simply a soldier doing his duty, but when all came to all I was charged with killing those deemed enemies of the countries under Arrowsake’s protection. However, that was then. Now I was no longer under the Arrowsake sanction, and would argue vehemently against the notion that I’d ever again become the guided missile of the past. Not that it was a serious argument: twice in the past year I’d become just that. Dantalion had been a personal kill, as had those who’d died as a result of hunting Kate Piers and Imogen Ballard, but when taking down Luke Rickard and Tubal Cain, I’d been working to some extent on behalf of the shadowy agency. Arrowsake was no more, but it seemed that its influence resonated to this day.

In previous circumstances where Walter Conrad had shown his hand, I’d convinced myself that my quest was personal, that I’d have taken on the mission without official approval, and that Walter’s help was only a means to achieve my end. Pushed into this latest situation, the same terms could apply.

Looking at the problem objectively, I’d come to Pennsylvania to help an old friend whose family was being terrorised by bad men, and though the dynamics had altered, the problem persisted. The only way that the Griffithses would ever be safe was if their enemies were stopped. Gant and Darley were the patsies of Carswell Hicks, which made Hicks the major factor in the problem. As ever, I preferred going directly for the largest bully in the gang. Without its fountainhead, Hicks’ organisation would rapidly dry up, and any remnants would blow away on the wind or be mopped up as necessary. If the FBI, CIA or any other acronym-headed organisation chose to give me the weapons necessary to get the job done, then so be it.

I’m no killer for hire, and never will be, but I’ll do it for free where need dictates: I often laughed at the absurdity of that.

But now, having looked at the old man, who – even through a heady cloud of anaesthesia – still moaned in agony, I wasn’t laughing.

I’d decided I was going to accept Special Agent Vincent’s offer: help him to take out Carswell Hicks and my slate would be wiped clean.

Under congressional ruling, the CIA was no longer allowed to conduct their activities within the United States, and torture and assassination were strictly forbidden. I knew otherwise. Walter was like a surrogate father to me, but sometimes even the most loving father uses his children for his own selfish ends. I was under no illusion. This was a case of
plausible denial
: in other words, if I fucked up it would be on my own back. The government would deny all knowledge of or involvement with my actions.

In one sense this was good. It meant that they’d keep the hell out of the way. Red tape and bureaucracy were always a stumbling block to the fulfilment of a mission. I’d use their resources to find Hicks, but once I’d found him, it would be down to me.

Not that I was above accepting help, especially when the offer came from my friend, Jared Rington, who had answered the call to arms without question. The questions would come later, after Rink verbally kicked my butt for getting us into another mess. My big friend liked to think himself the voice of reason, but he was as much up for action as I was. The kick in the backside would be followed by Rink’s toothy grin and the query, ‘So when do we start, brother?’

There was a knock at the door, bringing me back to the present. I stood up, subconsciously putting my back to the wall and facing the entrance, as though meeting the advance of an enemy. It was too soon for Rink to have arrived, and for a moment I didn’t recognise the man standing on the threshold.

He was clean-cut, with short hair in a side parting, a pristine white shirt and steel-grey tie under a flawlessly tailored dark suit. His shoes were polished to a mirror-perfect sheen, as black and glossy as the attaché case he carried. The only thing that spoiled the preppy good looks was the stripes down his cheek where Fluffy the cat had marked him.

‘You going for the DiCaprio look this time?’

‘This is the
real
me,’ Vince said, stepping inside the room. ‘You don’t think I’m really into that old-time stuff? Jesus, Hunter? Elvis is dead, haven’t you heard?’

‘Not true,’ I said, straight-faced. ‘His death was a cover-up; didn’t you know he was an undercover DEA agent? He had to go into hiding after making some nasty enemies in the Colombian cartels. I know . . . I’ve met the man.’

Vince stared and I shook my head ruefully.

Vince surprised me by shrugging. ‘Maybe you have a point. The world thinks Carswell Hicks is dead, but really he’s still running around. Those stories about the King flipping burgers at a joint in Seattle might not be as crazy as they sound.’

I’d been suckered by the old double-bluff. The kid was as sharp as his new look. I made a point of keeping that in mind.

Vince was still grinning when he placed the attaché case on one of the plastic chairs. He flipped open the lid, pulled out a blue zip-lock bag, and then held it out like an offering.