Dead Men's Harvest

Chapter 30

Tubal Cain watched a young girl leading a smaller boy by the hand. The boy couldn’t have been much more than five years old, the girl a little older. She had the reddish hair and slightly upturned nose inherited from her mother, but the boy was definitely his father’s son. Cain could even detect a little of his Uncle Joe in the boy. Those bluish-green eyes with a hint of brown at the outer edge of the irises must have been a trait from his grandmother’s side of the family, as Tubal Cain knew that John Telfer and Joe Hunter had different fathers. The boy even had that same straight-backed shoulders-held-high walk as the brothers; maybe that was inherited as well and not a stick-up-the-ass attitude they carried with them.

They were too young to be walking these streets alone, so it was no surprise to find that Jennifer was a few paces behind them, deep in conversation with another young mother whose brats trailed in their wake. Jennifer puffed on a cigarette between sentences. Every so often she glanced up, checking the progress of her offspring. She must have gone out to collect the kids while he was sampling the delights of the tea shop.

Cain watched Jennifer say her goodbyes to her friend, then she hurried the few steps to catch up to her children and ushered them through the entrance to their building. She wasn’t laden down by grocery bags this time, and Cain noticed that she used the stairs, sending the kids off at a gallop ahead of her. In no major hurry to follow, Cain hung back in the alley that had become his surveillance point. While he waited for the Telfer family to settle in he studied the graffiti. Why do all ignorant people have a fascination with genitalia? he wondered. Someone had daubed the legend manu for the cup in bright red paint. A different artist, but equally industrious, had scored through the final word and written the word chop. Under it in even larger letters they’d added city rules! Cain was unfamiliar with soccer, but even he knew that there was a rivalry in this city where wearing the wrong-coloured jersey could get you a whupping.

The floor of the alley was littered with a filthy collection of debris, including broken glass, crushed drinks cans, cardboard and other things he didn’t care to imagine. The carcass of a rat had rotted down to the skeletal bones, but they held no interest for him. Cain looked up to the window of Jennifer’s flat. He could detect movement there. Good. Hands in his coat pockets, he walked out of the alley and on to the road. From his left three figures emerged. They were dressed like the bicycle-riding kids he’d seen this morning, their hoods pulled up, and their sneakers whitened to a gleam. It didn’t matter what colour jersey you wore, these were the kind of youths who were going to kick your ass just for being different. Already he’d noted their posture had changed. There was a lot of hand-flicking going on, gruff expletives exchanged that he couldn’t understand. Cain didn’t have the inclination to waste time with these punks.

They moved close, enclosing him in a three-sided box.

Ordinarily it would have been a fatal error to allow them to shut down his options like that, but Cain didn’t fear them. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that it might draw unwanted attention he would quite happily butcher them.

‘Hey, mate, you got the time?’ The elected leader postured in front of Cain, bouncing loosely on the balls of his feet. Another of the boys fiddled with a cellphone, as though engrossed, but really readying himself to sucker punch Cain from the side. All he was waiting for was the nod from the leader. The third youth was standing at the leader’s shoulder, ready to leap on board as soon as Cain was hurt.

‘No, but I’ve got some of these.’ Cain drew the Recon Tanto from one pocket, then the box-cutter from the other. The youths took a step back, but they were used to dealing with sharp-edged weapons. Nevertheless some of the cockiness had gone. Now they were trying to decide if this was such a good idea. Cain gave them even more to think about. He slipped the box-cutter away, snaked his hand under the tail of his coat and pulled out his Bowie. ‘Then there’s this motherfucking brute!’

Subtly the distance between them had widened again.

‘And if that’s not enough…’ Cain put away the Tanto and pulled out the Walther P99. ‘There’s always this.’

‘Fuck me,’ the leader said.

‘I haven’t the time.’ Cain lifted the barrel of the gun so it was aiming directly at the youth’s groin. ‘So I suggest you just get the fuck out of here. All of you.’

‘Fuckin’ psycho!’

‘Yes.’ Cain gave them a death’s-head grin. ‘I am.’

The three spun away and headed off the same way that they’d come. There was little swagger in their mincing steps now. He glanced around himself, checking that the small drama hadn’t earned him any unnecessary attention. The incident had gone unobserved. He slipped the gun away. The trio had made it to the far corner of the street. Feeling brave they offered him the finger, plus the two-fingered salute particular to the UK. Cain mimed an oral sex act, then mouthed, ‘Blow me.’ The youths decided there were less dangerous victims to be had elsewhere and headed off out of sight.

Cain scowled, his anger directed internally. He loathed degrading himself, lowering himself to their base level, but ‘when in Rome’. These young thugs understood only one language. They were sufficiently cowed to stay out of his way, so that was one bonus. He looked up at Jennifer’s flat. It was time to get on with something more productive.

Settling his clothes over his weapons, he walked through the glass doors and into the foyer. Having experienced the foul-smelling stairwell once today, he elected to call the elevator. A dull groan announced it was on its way down. Under his heels Cain could feel the grime adhering to the tiles. Unmoved as he was by gore, the thought of germs gave him the creeps, made him feel unclean. He shivered.

The doors shuddered open and Cain stepped aboard. The doors juddered to, then the lift set off for the designated floor. It was a short ride and he found himself in the hallway along from Jennifer’s flat.

He recalled a conversation with John Telfer in which the thieving asshole had bemoaned the fact he’d let down his wife and children. It was clear from the way in which he’d delivered his words that Jennifer and the kids still meant an awful lot to him: not so much as to stop him going on the lam to the USA, but enough. John was the type who’d come running if he knew they were in danger, and if not John, then Uncle Joe certainly would.

Cain opened his wallet and slipped out a plastic card.

He shook out the last feelings of revulsion, and knocked on the door.

Voices chimed from within; the kids announcing to their mom that they had a visitor. He waited, heard Jennifer tell the kids to go to some other room, then the sound of footsteps. A chain rattled and the door swung inward a couple of inches. Jennifer peered through the gap at him. She didn’t say anything, just stared at him with suspicion.

Cain held up the plastic card identifying him as Special Agent Kenneth Myers of SOCA. The Serious and Organised Crime Agency was something that most Brits were still unfamiliar with, as it had only been in existence a few years. Joe Public knew that it was akin to the FBI in the US, but then they rarely had any idea what the FBI’s remit was. Cain was relying on the fact that the acronym would hold enough authority to get him inside without resistance.

‘What do you want?’ Jennifer wasn’t the type to fold at the first suggestion of officialdom.

Cain feigned a glance back over his shoulder. ‘I’m here on official business, Ms Telfer. It’s not something I’d care to share with your neighbours.’

Jennifer craned her neck, listening. ‘There’s no one else around.’

‘Ms Telfer,’ Cain said in a hushed voice, ‘I’m here with news about John.’

‘What trouble is he in this time?’ Jennifer’s tone was exasperated, but she couldn’t prevent the sudden widening of her pupils at the mention of John’s name. ‘I have no idea where he is.’

‘Like I said, it’s official…’ Cain glanced around once more. ‘But also very personal. To you.’

Jennifer turned her attention away from him, possibly checking where the children were, or if they were listening. While she was distracted he could have easily kicked the door in, but that wasn’t his purpose. He waited patiently for her to come back to him. When she did, she was frowning, ‘What’s this all about? You’re an American, aren’t you?’

Cain didn’t flinch. ‘I’m an American, yes. I’m a liaison officer, seconded to SOCA to combat international crime that affects both our countries. Look,’ he turned the card over, indicating a telephone number, ‘if you’d like to confirm my identification, you can call this number. They will verify that I’m who I say I am.’

Jennifer took the card from him, studied it for a few seconds, turning it over again to the photo ID and official governmental seal. It was a gamble: if she should deem it necessary to call the number it would only go to a dead line. But it appeared that his bluff worked, because she handed back the card.

‘Thank you, Ms Telfer,’ Cain said.

‘Mrs. John and I were never divorced.’

Cain nodded, accepting her correction, the way an official would under the circumstances. He waited while she closed the door, heard her unlatching the security chain. She opened the door and waved him inside. Cain entered, politely wiping his feet on the welcome mat.

‘Don’t bother,’ Jennifer said. ‘I haven’t had a chance to clean up yet.’

He continued to scrub his feet. The door opened directly into a living room. Jennifer’s words weren’t completely accurate, as the carpet looked freshly vacuumed. Perhaps she was just embarrassed at the shabby appearance of her home. The furniture looked well worn, and possibly handed down from previous families. There were a number of DVDs scattered on the floor in front of the TV, some toys left where they’d fallen. Smoke hung in the air, and an ashtray on a dining table was in need of emptying. Jennifer walked past him, heading for an open packet of cigarettes. She sparked a lighter and held it to the end of a cigarette, inhaled.

‘Well?’

Cain indicated the toys. ‘Your children are home?’

Jennifer pinched her lips around the cigarette. After considering his question, she asked, ‘Why do you need to know where my children are?’

‘I have to arrange transportation for the three of you.’

‘Hold on a minute! What do you mean? We’re going nowhere.’

Jennifer was as tense as an alley cat ready to spring at his throat.

Cain sat down on a couch, defusing the moment. ‘You will no doubt have heard that your husband was involved in a serious incident in America? Since then, he has been under the protection of a federal witness protection scheme, seeing as he is the key witness in the impending trial of a suspected underworld figure. Well, Ms… uh, Mrs Telfer, certain complications have arisen whereby you and your children could be in danger. We don’t wish for that to happen, nor, I suspect, do you. I am here to place you into protective custody while we negate the threat to you and your children.’

There was fear in her face, but not a little resistance. ‘Protective custody? That sounds like prison to me!’

Cain chuckled. ‘Nothing so dramatic, I assure you. I’m just going to transport you to a safe house that is unconnected to you. We have rooms organised in a five-star hotel, Mrs Telfer. See it as a few days’ luxury on the government’s tab.’

Cain stood up, took out the cellphone supplied by Hendrickson’s man and jabbed the hot key. ‘Can I organise a pick-up for four passengers?’

‘Just hold it!’ Jennifer stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘I haven’t agreed to anything yet.’

Cain ignored her, gave the address of her flat and agreed that twenty minutes would be fine.

‘What are you doing? You can forget it. I’m not going anywhere with you until I’ve checked things out. Give me your ID card again; I want to phone your bosses!’

‘Sure,’ Cain said, closing the phone. He slipped it into his pocket and brought out the SOCA card.

As Jennifer reached for it, he snapped hold of her wrist and pulled her on to his lowered forehead. His skull connected with her jaw and Jennifer folded at the knees.

‘You’ve had things tough these last couple years, Mrs Telfer. For that reason I did try to do this the easy way,’ Cain whispered in her ear. ‘But I’m afraid you’ve left me little option.’

From the wallet he took a small syringe.

He jabbed it into the flesh of Jennifer’s throat.

Then he looked over at the door to the kids’ bedroom.