Dead Men's Harvest

Chapter 7

One day earlier…

‘My entire resources are open to you. Money, men, weapons. Choose whatever you want to get the job done.’

Kurt Hendrickson was a man of power. He was a significant figure in the criminal underworld of the Eastern Seaboard. He controlled the market in drugs, prostitution, pornography, extortion, and up until recently had been a major player in counterfeiting currency that he traded with terror groups intent on bringing down the mighty dollar. He wielded the kind of influence where he need only click his fingers to make people disappear without trace. However there was a specific man whose disappearance had nothing to do with Hendrickson. This man was under the US Federal Marshals’ witness protection programme and, unusually, this was being overseen by agents of the CIA. Tracing him wasn’t the main issue; killing him without being implicated in the murder was. It was bad enough that he was facing judicial trial; he didn’t need the murder of the key witness laid at his door as well. It served his purpose that Tubal Cain had a vendetta against the same man.

‘All I need from you is his location,’ Cain said.

They were standing in a vault that Hendrickson had installed in the wine cellar of his house. The vault contained row upon row of firearms.

Hendrickson, it appeared, had a fascination with guns.

Tubal Cain wasn’t that interested; his passion was for knives.

That stood to reason, considering his name was derived from the Biblical inventor of cutting instruments. But he was not averse to other weapons of destruction when necessary. He had a Heckler and Koch 9 mm in a shoulder rig. A Beretta 92F, a variation of the famous service weapon of the US armed forces, was in a second holster on his hip.

‘I have a plan in motion. We will have his location within a couple of days.’ Hendrickson picked up an ancient Colt and held it up to admire under the overhead lights.

‘I want to get started now,’ Cain said. ‘I have an idea or two that might put us ahead in the game.’

Hendrickson nodded distractedly, lost in his fascination with the Colt. ‘I killed my first man with this gun.’

Cain sniffed. ‘I find guns so impersonal.’

‘Maybe, but they get the job done. If you only desire a man’s life, then a bullet in the brain will do it every time.’

‘What if you desire more than his life?’ Cain wasn’t being sarcastic or enigmatic. He always liked to take something from his victims — bones in particular — as a reminder of his potency. He wasn’t called the Harvestman for nothing.

‘Death is enough,’ Hendrickson replied. ‘Kill this man for me, Cain. What you do to him afterwards… I don’t care. In fact, it’s probably best that you do take your trophy.’

‘Oh, I intend to.’

‘Good, good.’ Hendrickson placed the Colt down, showed Cain the exit. ‘I have men at my disposal. Use them as you will.’

‘I work best alone.’

‘Yes,’ Hendrickson agreed. ‘But there are others who may need dealing with.’

Involuntarily, Cain’s hand moved to the scar on his throat. The lesion had never fully healed, a puncture wound that separated his trachea.

Hendrickson said, ‘Don’t worry. Like I said, I’ve a plan in motion and already have men on their trail.’

‘They’re good,’ Cain pointed out. ‘Send plenty of men.’

‘It isn’t so much the number as the quality. Rest assured, I have hired only the best in the business.’

Cain eyed him.

Hendrickson coughed low in his throat. ‘They’re not as skilled as you, but they’re sufficient to kill a couple of out-of-practice soldiers.’

‘Do not kill them,’ Cain said. ‘Take them alive. Once I’m finished with John Telfer, I want to reacquaint myself with Joe Hunter and Jared Rington.’