We heard the news about Imogen’s miraculous escape on the car radio and a tsunami of relief crashed through my senses and left me dizzy. I’m not a praying man, but I said my silent thanks to God.
We’d bypassed Culver by then, but Rink immediately spun the car in the road and headed for the small town. It was taking a big risk because the area would be swarming with cops, but I needed to satisfy myself that Imogen wasn’t merely safe but unharmed. I also wanted to speak with her. It was possible that she could tell me who my enemy was.
We were still a couple of miles from Culver when Rink’s phone chimed. He put it on speaker so we could all hear. Harvey Lucas was already doing his magic with his computer.
‘Law enforcement’s trying to track a plane that took off from Trenton without filing a flight plan. They think our boy’s on board ’cause the pilot’s doing his damndest to avoid radar.’
‘Direction?’ I asked.
‘South.’
‘Back towards Florida,’ Bryce Lang assumed. ‘We came here for nothing, just like I said.’
‘Not for nothing,’ I told him. ‘I came here for Imogen Ballard and I’m not leaving until I’m sure she’s out of harm’s way. I owe her that: she shouldn’t have to suffer for our crimes, Bryce.’
‘Everything we did was lawfully sanctioned, Hunter.’
‘Lawfully sanctioned, my arse! Even if it was an approved hit, does that make what happened to Jimena and the boy OK with you?’
‘That’s the way of war. Collateral damage is—’
‘The death of innocents,’ I finished for him. ‘Whichever way the CIA looks at it. And I’m not prepared to let that happen to Imogen.’
‘It hasn’t happened to Imogen,’ Bryce argued. ‘She’s safe now. We should go after the killer instead of wasting any more time.’
I stared at him until he closed his eyes in defeat. The silence was rather strained. Harvey coughed, maybe to remind us he was still at the other end of the phone. ‘What’s the latest from Tampa, Harve?’ I asked.
‘Mixed messages at best. Ballistics have shown that the weapon used to kill the two cops was an M40 sniper rifle. They know now that you couldn’t’ve been the shooter, but your guess that they’d assume you had an accomplice is still the main theory.’
‘So they’re still looking for me?’
‘Big style,’ Harvey said. ‘Rink, too, seeing as he’s harbouring a felon. And because he has marksman training.’
Rink grunted, sounding amused.
It stood to reason that we’d be on the Most Wanted list, but right then I didn’t care. If we stopped the real killer everything would be put right. I was thinking about the rifle that the shooter had used to kill Castle and Soames. The M40A1 is a specialist rifle developed for and handmade for Marine Corps snipers by craftsmen at Quantico, Virginia. Based on the Remington 700, it was a heavy barrelled rifle, bolt action and fed by an internal magazine of five 7.62 mm rounds. Not the kind of gun that was readily available on the open market. It made me think again that the shooter came from a military background. Maybe he’d even trained at the Marine Corps Training Unit in Quantico.
I told Harvey my theory.
‘I’ll look into it and cross-reference names against anyone who has served in Colombia.’
‘Thanks, Harvey,’ I said. ‘Keep us updated with anything on the plane’s whereabouts, OK?’
‘Will do. What’s your plan now? You heading back home?’
‘Not yet. I have to see Imogen first.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Give her my best, huh? I’ll see y’all back in Florida.’
‘You’re flying over?’
‘I am. I’m more use to you there than I am in Little Rock.’
We said our goodbyes while Rink aimed the 4x4 along the last quarter-mile of road to Culver. The town was very small, with the number of cops on scene boosting the population tenfold. Really it was just a collection of houses strung out along the road that hugged the coastline. Most of the police cruisers were parked near to a timber-framed house that looked like the one Norman Bates called home. A narrow track was cordoned off with crime scene tape, leading no doubt to the boathouse where Imogen had made her break for freedom.
‘She’ll be gone from here by now,’ Rink said.
‘Nearest hospital?’
‘More likely she’s been taken to a police station,’ Bryce said. ‘They’ll want to interview her as soon as possible.’
The parked police cars bore the livery of the Hancock County Sheriff Department and also some from the local police. Often the sheriff and police departments shared offices to keep down running costs, so it was no stretch of the imagination to think Imogen had been taken to Ellsworth, the nearest large town.
Rink was cautious passing the throng of police and we barely registered with them as we went past. Then he stomped the throttle and we headed for Ellsworth. On the way I came to a decision.
‘No way can I con my way into a police station. Neither could you, Rink. By now our faces will be on every bulletin board in the USA.’
Bryce peered across at me. ‘You want me to do it?’
He didn’t appear too happy at the idea.
‘No, Bryce. I have to do this myself. I have to see Imogen face to face.’
‘They’ll arrest you.’
‘Probably,’ I said. But I’d been taken prisoner by worse jailers than the HCSD before now, and no one had managed to hold me long. The only difference here was that on those other occasions I’d hurt people — killed others — and that was unthinkable this time. ‘I’m not worried. I can prove I had nothing to do with the shooting of the cops.’
‘There’s always Jessica and her father. They still think you were responsible for that,’ Bryce said.
‘That was before the real killer targeted Imogen. Her testimony can clear things up.’
Rink stirred. ‘Not necessarily, Hunter. Before he died, Linden Case named you as his attacker and his daughter’s murderer. Even if they don’t arrest you they’ll have to talk to you about it. They’ll want to know every detail about how the two cops died in Tampa. Whether you’re behind bars or not, you won’t see the outside of a police station any time soon.’
His words made sense, but I wanted to reassure myself of Imogen’s safety more than I was concerned about my liberty. Also, I was growing tired of running from something I was innocent of and the few hours it would take to clear my name would be time well spent. I’d rather be chasing this man without having to keep one eye over my shoulder in case a well-meaning cop put a bullet in my spine.
‘If I’m still inside when Harvey gets back to you, it’ll be down to you guys to take the asshole out.’
Rink grunted assent, but Bryce looked fearful at the notion.
Arriving at Ellsworth, we took a spin past City Hall and the adjoining HCSD office building.
‘We don’t know for sure if she’s even in there,’ Bryce said.
‘If not, I’ll find out where they took her. If I’m under arrest I’ll demand my phone call and let you know.’
Rink found a motel where they’d wait for my return. I unloaded my SIGs and my Ka-Bar and all the fake documents I had on my person: no reason to give the cops another reason for holding me. I took off the heavy coat and hat as well. No sense in walking into a police station and giving the impression that I’d come packing an arsenal under my clothes. Take everything very easy and reasonable and the cops should reciprocate. Though I’m not a great believer in words like should or could; in my experience things never seem to go that way.
It was a short walk to the sheriff’s office. I side-tracked to a 7-Eleven and picked up a super-large coffee. The caffeine injection helped clear the fog of all the travelling I’d done lately, but it also made my stomach growl — or maybe that was the nerves kicking in. Despite what I’d said to Bryce about clearing my name, I could very well be booking myself a cell in a high-security prison.
When I walked in the door and presented myself at the enquiry desk the front office was deserted. Not surprisingly: everyone was out at Culver or searching Trenton for where the killer had left his getaway boat. Typical, I thought, America’s most wanted man wants to hand himself in and staff shortages makes things impossible.
I pressed a buzzer and waited.
No one was in a rush to answer, so I pressed it again and kept the button depressed. I could hear the annoying buzzer sounding in the room next door. Finally a door opened and a fresh-faced young woman, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, walked into the front office. She smiled: a fixed response.
‘Hello,’ she said. There was no hint of recognition in her face. She was carrying a ring folder and bent down to place it on a shelf under the counter separating us. When she stood up again, I read her name badge. Caroline Lehrer, a civilian support worker. ‘How may I help you, sir?’
‘I think a friend of mine might have been brought here.’
I saw her eyes widen slightly, but it wasn’t in alarm. Sometimes I got the same reaction when people heard my accent. Usually they ask if I’m from England. But Caroline Lehrer was more professional than that and allowed her curiosity to slide. ‘If your friend was arrested they’d be over at our State Street offices.’
‘Witness,’ I corrected. ‘She’s the victim of the kidnapping earlier today.’
Caroline’s shoulders tightened at my words and she studied me more intently. She was weighing and balancing my description against that of the suspect. Colour crept into her throat. She gave me a look that said she expected me to throw myself against the perspex shield that separated us. Her hand crept surreptitiously towards an emergency button under the shelf.
‘I only want to speak to Imogen Ballard. I understand that that may not be possible under the circumstances, but if you get me the sheriff maybe something can be arranged.’
Caroline lifted a finger — at least it wasn’t heading for the panic alarm any more. Not that she didn’t intend rounding up the troops. ‘The sheriff is unavailable. If you just give me a moment, sir, I’ll find someone that you can speak to.’
‘That’s all I want.’
Caroline backed out through the door and fastened it securely behind her. I heard a dull electronic thud and guessed that from somewhere inside a switch had been thrown and the exit door was now also secure. No way could I escape while she rounded up some burly officers to come and take me down. There was a row of chairs bolted to the floor. I sat in one of them and kept my hands open, palms up on my thighs, while I listened to the low buzz of activity beyond the door. There was a CCTV camera aiming directly at me and I could picture a group of deputies staring at the corresponding screen trying to decide exactly who I was. And how dangerous I might be.
A few minutes later the door opened, and I was surprised at the number of people coming to get me. There was only Caroline Lehrer. She had the fixed smile on her face again.
‘Would you like to come this way, sir?’
She opened a door at the end of the desk as I stood up. She held it open for me while I went through and behind the counter. She waved me towards the door to the back office while she again locked up. I pulled open the door, and got my second surprise.
Part of me had expected a group of uniformed deputies standing waiting to arrest me, but instead I found two men in sharp suits. One of them was a gaunt, almost skeletal man whom I did not know. The other was my friend and mentor, Walter Hayes Conrad IV.
‘Hunter,’ Walter said frowning. ‘You took your time getting here.’
Then he came and clapped a hand on my shoulder, giving me a reassuring squeeze.
‘What the hell’s going on, Walter?’
‘As direct to the point as ever, eh?’
‘Things would’ve been much more direct if you’d answered my calls,’ I told him.
He shrugged. ‘I’ve been busy.’
‘So have I.’
He gave me a grimace, then waved at the skeletal man who was watching me with eyes like dark pinpricks. ‘This is Don Hubbard. He’s the Special Agent in Charge from the Bangor FBI field office.’
Hubbard didn’t extend a hand so I didn’t offer him mine. There was nothing ambivalent in his nod of greeting and I guessed that whatever Walter had told him hadn’t fully allayed his suspicion of me.
‘We need to speak,’ Walter went on. ‘All three of us.’
‘I want to see Imogen first.’
‘The woman’s fine. She’s over at the hospital having her wounds treated.’
‘Wounds?’
‘Superficial only.’
‘She’d better have a guard, Walter. The killer might try for her again.’
‘I have agents with her,’ Hubbard said in a gravelly voice. ‘We still need to conduct a thorough debrief with her.’
‘I want to talk to her.’
Hubbard shook his head.
‘I insist,’ I said.
‘You’re not in a position to insist on a thing. In fact you’re very lucky that we talked Sheriff Hughes out of locking you in a cell. You’re a wanted felon, remember? A suspected cop-killer.’ His last words came out with enough venom to kill an elephant. ‘A murderer.’
Somehow I suspected that SAC Hubbard and I weren’t going to get along.
‘But we know that is wrong,’ Walter interjected. Walter is a short, rotund man, bald and pallid, but he has the presence of a giant and the weight of presidents behind him. Hubbard didn’t argue, just continued to look at me with his small raisin-like eyes. Finally he glanced away. Caroline Lehrer was standing nearby, wavering in indecision.
‘Ahem,’ she said, ‘would you like me to take you back through to the office?’
Walter smiled at her. ‘We can find our own way, thanks.’
He waved me before him to a door at the end of the room. I passed desks holding ongoing criminal files and flickering computer screens, wondering where the office’s usual occupants were. I found them outside in a short hallway. Most of them were civilian clerks, but there were two deputies and they gave me a look like I was something they’d trodden in and tracked all over the carpet. I ignored them and walked along the hall with Walter and Hubbard bringing up the rear. Now that we were out of the way the displaced office staff filed back into the room. Passing an open door, I glanced inside and saw a solid, silver-haired man sitting behind a desk. His stare was laser-guided as it met my eyes. The sheriff: pissed off that he’d been relegated to house arrest in his own office while the G-men ran all the shots. Walter flicked him a salute as he passed and I heard him grumble in response.
We entered an office at the end of the hall, a utilitarian area with work desks and PCs and laser printers. There were chairs at the desks but nobody sat.
‘So what’s the deal?’
Walter chuckled to himself. ‘There’s a lot to go over, Hunter, but first things first. I’ve got a deal for you.’
‘Spit it out, then.’
Hubbard crossed his arms on his chest, not fully at ease with what Walter was about to offer but with no recourse but to go along with the black-ops controller’s plan.
‘You’ve been a loose cannon since your arrival in the US. It’s time to change that.’
I looked at Walter. ‘I’m not standing down. Someone’s trying to hurt me and people round me: I’m going to stop them.’
Walter nodded at my words.
‘We don’t want you to step down.’
Hubbard muttered something under his breath, but I paid him no heed. My attention was fully on Walter.
He smiled. ‘I want you to step up. I want you to come back and work for me, Hunter. As a fully sanctioned asset.’
I just knew it.