Blood and Ashes (9 page)

Even the man with killer’s eyes won’t be enough.

Chapter 11

Ordinarily direct action is the order of play. Throughout my military career and beyond I’ve always believed in taking the war directly to my enemies. Sitting around waiting to be attacked never plays well with me. Except this time I’d no option.

I looked across to where the two small children clung to their grandfather’s legs, staring up at him with a mix of adulation and fear. Clearly they loved the old man, but they were astute enough to pick up on Don’s disquiet. He had been careful to avoid mentioning anything in front of the children but his body language screamed his unease to all in the room.

Beth and Ryan were full of questions, most delivered by the whites of their huge eyes, and Don tried to reassure them with hugs and pats of his trembling fingers on their heads. The kids cast occasional glances my way and I smiled at them. That didn’t help. On the contrary, the children grew more concerned; maybe my smile looked more like a grimace of pain.

Finally, Don ushered the children across the sitting room.

‘Who wants ice cream?’ he asked. Anything to distract them.

‘They haven’t had breakfast yet. They’re not allowed treats until after they’ve eaten.’

Adrian Reynolds had met us at the door with enough disdain that it radiated from him like a chill wind. He hadn’t spoken since, and now that he did it was with a continuation of his apparent disapproval. He scowled my way, then at Don.

‘I think we can make an exception this time, Adrian,’ Don said, his eyes steady on the younger man’s face. ‘What do you say, guys? Ice cream . . . or would you prefer pancakes?’

‘Pancakes,’ Ryan said.

‘Ice cream,’ Bethany corrected.

Ryan’s face split into a grin. ‘Pancakes
and
ice cream!’

Don chuckled, but the humour sounded forced. He snapped a final look at his son-in-law, before leading the children from the room. ‘Pancakes and ice cream it is.’

Adrian snorted and folded his arms on his chest as small feet rushed towards the kitchen. It was like Don had said earlier; where the kids were concerned Adrian had no say.

Following Adrian’s lead, I crossed my arms.

Body language again spoke volumes.

The tableau held for a half-minute while we both studied each other from across the room. Finally Adrian asked, ‘So, are you going to tell me what the hell
you’re
doing here, buddy?’

‘I’m Joe Hunter.’

‘I didn’t ask your name. I asked what you’re doing in my home.’

‘I’m not your buddy. Call me Hunter. Then maybe we can start again.’

Adrian sneered. ‘OK,
Hunter
, what the hell are you doing here?’

‘Don asked me to come. You don’t want me here . . . fair enough. But I’m not here for you.’

‘Then get the fuck out of my house.’

‘No.’

Adrian grunted. He took a step forward but then thought better of it and rocked back on his heels. He was a big guy, as tall and muscular as my friend Rink. The difference being Adrian’s muscles looked the product of gymnasiums and personal trainers, not the type developed in the brutal arena of warfare. In the corded tendons of my crossed arms he probably recognised the futility of getting into a pissing competition he couldn’t win.

‘Don hired you? What are you, some sort of bodyguard?’

‘I’m just an old friend.’ The final word came out after the briefest of pauses, but Adrian picked up on it.

‘Friend? Don doesn’t have friends. All he has is people who owe him or people who hate him. Which are you, Hunter?’

‘I don’t owe him a damn thing.’

The big man gave a bark of laughter. ‘Maybe we do have something in common after all.’

‘If you’re referring to keeping the kids safe, you’re right.’ I allowed the corners of my lips to turn up, but the smile had as much effect as it had on the children.

‘Has Don suckered you into his bullshit paranoia?’

You’re not paranoid if everyone is after you
. The thought brought back the quack-wisdom of one of my combat instructors at Arrowsake. The arms instructor had been drilling his troop on the importance of being constantly aware of the potential for danger, using a traffic-light sequence to explain the heightened level a soldier must work on while in the field. ‘Red always,’ he’d bawled. ‘Green’s for cattle, orange is for civvies. You don’t stay at red, boys, you’re fuckin’ dead!’

A freckle-faced Scot named Gregor Stewart fancied himself as the troop clown. He’d quipped, ‘Don’t worry, boys, you’re no’ really paranoid if everyone is after you.’

The instructor immediately swept Gregor’s feet from under him and jammed the barrel of his SIG in the young trooper’s ear. ‘Out there
everyone is after you
, boy.’

After that Gregor stayed in the red zone; at least for as long as it took him to stop blushing.

Shaking my head, relegating the memory to a corner of my mind, I looked at Adrian. I nibbled at a lip in thought. ‘Your wife was killed.’

‘An accident. A tragic accident, that’s all it was.’

‘Maybe,’ I conceded, ‘but Millie was just attacked in her home.’

‘She was
what
?’ Adrian’s arms finally unfurled, his hands spread as he grasped at handfuls of air. For the first time he looked anything but bitter. ‘Is she . . . ?’

‘She’s OK. She’s on her way here.’

‘What happened?’

‘I haven’t had the full story from Don yet, but, reading between the lines, someone broke into the house and tried to attack her. Does that sound paranoid to you?’

Adrian’s dark hair had been perfectly brushed until now. He jammed his sweating palms through it and left it standing at odd angles. ‘Holy Jesus,’ he moaned. ‘Then Don was right? No, that can’t be. Brook was killed in an accident. It couldn’t possibly be connected.’

Horror spread across Adrian’s features and for a second I felt sorry for the man. It was bad enough for me losing my wife Diane through divorce, but to have your wife burned to ash in a road accident was a hundred times worse. To then consider that such a shocking tragedy could have been murder must have been torture.

Adrian shook his head. ‘No. It must be a mistake. Whoever attacked Millie . . . well, it must have been random. Some vagrant who thought the house was empty. Maybe he watched you and Don driving away and saw an opportunity and broke in looking for money or something to sell for drugs.’

He was babbling, his words running together as he tried to find a theory he was happy with. I thought about mentioning the two I’d killed in the early hours but decided against it. ‘We’ll find out when Millie gets here.’

‘That’s another thing!’ Adrian’s hands went through his hair again. ‘Why is Millie coming here? She should wait for the cops at her place.’

‘She didn’t call the police.’ To allay Adrian’s response, I said, ‘Don told her not to.’

‘He did what? What the hell is he doing?’

I don’t know, and I don’t like it, I thought. There was more to Don’s reticence than protecting me from a murder charge.

‘Don told me you know nothing of his past,’ I said. ‘You know he was a cop, right? But what about before that?’

‘Brook told me that he was in the military years ago.’

‘He was a marine,’ I agreed. ‘When he demobbed he went back to university and graduated with honours, met his wife, raised his family. He took another job to make ends meet.’

Adrian was peering at me, mouth open, wondering no doubt what all of this had to do with anything and why it should affect the here and now.

I went on, ‘He worked as an analyst and profiler, Adrian.’

‘That sounds like something the FBI would do?’

I shook my head. ‘Not FBI. Don was recruited by a private firm. It was the equivalent of the modern-day risk assessment companies you hear about; those “think tanks” that work on behalf of the government.’

‘Are you telling me that Don was a spy?’ Adrian laughed out a single syllable that sounded like the bark of a dog. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Depends on your take on the word. He didn’t work in the field, if that’s what you mean. It was Don’s job to collect and analyse information, to identify and then track possible domestic terrorist and extremist groups. Sounds like a modern phenomenon, but even back in the eighties and early nineties radical extremist groups were a substantial threat to the stability of the nation. As the Cold War was ending, more immediate enemies were being identified on a regular basis. White supremacists, right-wing paramilitary groups, religious cults – you name it. Don was tasked with finding these people before they acted out their demented plans.’

‘And that’s how you got to know him?’

Looking down at the carpet as though all the bad memories of those times were hidden in a secret weave of the pattern, I decided that confession might be good for the soul.

‘I was on a team that brought these groups to task. Don was only one of many analysts who fed us the intelligence necessary to complete our missions.’

‘You were with
our
government?’

‘I was a soldier.’

‘But . . . you’re a Brit, aren’t you?’

‘My team was made up of specialists from a number of NATO countries.’

‘Specialists?’

My eyes strayed to the carpet again.

Adrian blinked in dismay. ‘Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions here, but are you telling me that you were an assassin?’

That snapped my chin up, my eyes going as cold as the underbelly of a glacier. ‘I was a soldier.’

‘Whose mission was to take down these extremists? Is there a difference?’

‘We didn’t kill them all.’

I watched as the man went through a range of emotions. Finally, Adrian nodded to himself as though he’d come to some conclusion.

‘Carswell Hicks.’

‘You’ve heard of Hicks?’ That surprised me.

‘Brook once mentioned that her father was involved in his capture. But I never gave it much thought. I assumed he was just one of many cops on the task force that brought him down.’

‘Don wasn’t a cop when Hicks was captured. But he was
the
person instrumental in capturing him. He compiled the file that was handed to the FBI and it was Don’s evidence that guaranteed Hicks received a death sentence for his crimes.’

‘Except Hicks never did get the lethal injection, did he?’

No, he never did. Human rights activists fought for Hicks and had his sentence commuted to life imprisonment in a high-security prison. I thought that of all the extremists Don identified Hicks was the most deserving of a bullet in the skull. Instead I said, ‘Last I heard he died while attempting to break out of jail. Some of his supporters staged an attack on the hospital wing he’d been moved to following an injury. During the getaway, Hicks and his colleagues supposedly perished when they crashed the medi-vac chopper they’d hijacked. But Don believes that he’s back and it’s Hicks who’s trying to destroy him by targeting his family.’

‘But how could that be possible?’

‘Don sent Hicks to prison. But there were others involved in his organisation. Maybe they’re finally looking for payback.’

‘Dear God . . .’

I nodded slowly.

‘Now you know who I am, and what the fuck I’m doing here. Do you still want me to leave?’

Chapter 12

Millie’s arrival was announced by a spray of fragmented shells as she gunned the Lexus up the drive and then swung alongside my Audi with a screech of brakes. She clambered out of the car, ducked back inside and came out holding a bundle in her arms just as Adrian opened the door, with me at his shoulder.

Millie’s face was rigid with fear. No, that wasn’t quite right. Her face was set with anger, and it was directed only one way. Adrian stepped forward, but I pushed past him. As I moved quickly on to the drive my limp was forgotten, and my hand seemed in full working order from the way it dipped into my waistband and came out gripping the matt black SIG SAUER P226 that went everywhere with me. Holding the gun down by my thigh I stalked past Millie and partway along the drive, searching for anyone who might have followed her here. Behind me came the urgent words of Adrian and Millie, which sounded like both were casting bitter recriminations. They were joined seconds later by Don’s baritone. I tried to shut out their voices as I listened to the forest. All that came back was the rattle and hiss of the trees swaying in the breeze, and the drip of rain pattering on the ground. Dissatisfied, I completed a full circle while attuning to the natural rhythm of my surroundings.

No vehicle was moving along the road beyond the gates. I couldn’t discern the movement of bodies slinking through the woods. I caught no clink of metal or brush of a boot heel through the undergrowth, but still I wasn’t happy. I felt that
they
were here.

I could almost feel eyes upon me and it wasn’t a feeling I was about to dismiss. My biggest problem was that I couldn’t vector in on where the unknown watcher crouched. My gaze went back in the direction of the house and the knot of family members all converging in the driveway. Even the children had joined them, and the little ones were fussing over the bundle in Millie’s arms. Christ, I thought, she’s even brought the cat with her.