Chapter 42

The biorhythms of the human body and mind are at their lowest ebb between the hours of three and four in the morning, and it’s said that more people die during those hours than at any other time of the day. It’s certainly true that most people are sound asleep then, a solid reason why police launch early-morning raids on criminals in an attempt to unsettle them and catch them unprepared. When I was actively involved in seek-destroy missions on terrorists, most of my work was done during this dead time.

It would make sense to launch our assault on Huffman but for one fact: Huffman would know that this was when I’d likely be coming for him. He still had some of his killers with him — not to mention Larry Bolan — and he would make sure that they were all alert and ready for the attack. So, I decided to let the bastard sweat, but not for too long.

I couldn’t get my head round what Huffman was really all about. This had started with him protecting his investment in an up-and-coming town in Kentucky but now things had changed. It was almost as if the man had taken me on as some form of personal challenge.

I’ve fought some crazy and dangerous killers in my time. Even after retiring from the unit I have made war against Tubal Cain, a man responsible for taking the bones from dozens of his victims, and also against a contract killer who fancied himself as the fallen angel Dantalion. Both Cain and Dantalion were supremely insane, but to some extent at least I could understand what motivated them. Huffman remained a mystery that I couldn’t work out.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of me. In fact, judging by the times we’d talked on the phone, he sounded like he was relishing making my acquaintance.

In his own inimitable style, Rink weighed him up better than I did. ‘Don’t you get it, buddy?’ he said in his languid drawl. ‘The asshole’s playing games. He thinks he’s at the centre of some shoot-’em-up video game and he loves every goddamn second of it.’

‘You think so?’

We were back at the cabin, sitting out by the fire that Rink had rebuilt, waiting for the sun to cast a finger of light over the lake. The burgers I’d baulked at earlier were now something I looked forward to. Harvey was playing chef. He pointed the tongs he was using to turn the burgers at me. ‘Either that or he wants to prove something.’

‘Like Cain,’ Rink added. ‘He wanted you on his list of victims because he thought it’d make him into some sort of big guy.’

‘It’s different with Huffman, though. He doesn’t know who I am. He has my name but nothing about my background.’

‘That was before,’ Rink pointed out. ‘You can bet your sweet cheeks he’s been diggin’ around and knows exactly who you are now.’

‘Wouldn’t be surprised if he knows who we all are,’ Harvey said, loading a burger into a bun and passing it my way.

I shrugged my shoulders, and remembered that was a bad idea when my wound shrieked in protest. Gritting my teeth, I inspected my late supper, or early breakfast, or whatever. It looked all right. I took a bite and chewed perfunctorily. It tasted better than it looked.

‘I don’t think he has those kinds of resources,’ I said. ‘I had Kate’s phone with me for a day and a half. If he had connections he’d have been able to trace it. The same kinds of connections would’ve been able to dig up information on me. He hasn’t acted on tracing the phone, and I don’t think he’s found anything out about me. Nothing about my past anyway.’

‘First rule of engagement?’ Rink asked.

‘Never underestimate your opponent. But that’s not what I’m doing. I just can’t understand why he would want to face me. What would it achieve?’

Rink wagged a burger-loaded bun at me. ‘You’re forgettin’ what you’ve accomplished. You’ve killed half his people; destroyed one of his buildings, fucked up his entire operation in Kentucky and taken Kate back from him. Maybe there’s a little grudging respect in him.’

‘It’s still weird.’

‘And the rest of your life has been normal?’

I had to acquiesce.

‘Larry Bolan I understand. As far as he’s concerned I murdered his brother. If the tables were turned, I’d want me dead too. I just don’t get Huffman.’

‘So don’t bother,’ Rink said. ‘Let’s just go kill the frog-giggin’ son of a bitch and get our asses back to Florida.’

Rink’s suggestion seemed as good as any other. I chewed on my food as the sun broke over the skyline behind me. It was that false dawn that stretches through the still hours before the rest of the world comes alive. When I’d enough carbohydrates inside me, I washed the greasy taste away with strong coffee. Junk food and caffeine is never the choice of athletes, but I was hoping to get this over with quickly and not run a marathon before my enemies were dead.

Harvey had a mission to perform before we could set off. He’d promised that the M24s would be back with the sergeant at Fort Worth Joint Reserve Base. This time we wouldn’t need the rifles, it would be all close stuff. Plus, we had to use guns that would be untraceable on any data base. When Rink and Harvey had fired on the two out at Quicksilver Ranch, we’d relied on the fact that the Winchester bullets would pass through their targets and be lost on the vast prairie. This time there’d be no way to avoid leaving behind incriminating rounds.

Harvey returned within ninety minutes. Meanwhile we had cleaned up the cabin, wiping prints, and ensuring there was no trace of my blood anywhere inside. There was little likelihood that the three supposed-fishermen who’d rented the cabin would be tied to what was to occur in the coming hours, but you could never be too careful. Then we’d prepped our weapons. I had my SIG and a KA-BAR knife, and Rink elected for the Glock 17 and his trusty Mossberg combat shotgun. He too had his knife. I knew that Harvey packed a semi-automatic handgun and he’d be ready to go. We all wore black jackets over T-shirts, jeans and boots: Rink and I looked like doormen from the roughest bar in town, but Harvey still looked sharp.

Before we left Pilot Point for the final time, I had one last task to fulfil. I walked along the shore of the lake while I phoned Kate. Although I told myself that my motive was to check she’d arrived safely at Rink’s office, really I wanted to hear her voice again. We hadn’t spoken about our time in the cabin and I just wanted to reassure myself that she didn’t now regret getting so close. If she didn’t want anything further to do with me, it wouldn’t change the outcome of my day, except maybe I’d be even more heavy-handed than usual.

‘Hi, Joe.’ Her voice was low. She sounded tired, but I was relieved to find that it wasn’t of me. She had put in a few exhausting days, and I’d woken her from her first sleep in many hours. ‘How’s your shoulder?’

‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’

‘Let’s keep things that way, shall we?’

‘You bet,’ I said. ‘You’re back at Rink’s place. Are McTeer and Velasquez still with you?’

‘They’ve set up shop in the front: we’re using the back room to get a little sleep.’

‘Is Imogen OK?’

‘She’s fine, Joe.’

‘I was a little rough on her back there. Tell her that I’m sorry.’

‘She’s fine. Really.’

‘Good. We’re about to set off,’ I said. ‘I just wanted you to know.’

‘I’m not going to say goodbye.’

‘Me neither.’

‘See you later then.’

‘Yeah. Try and get some sleep. I’ll see you tonight, OK?’

‘OK.’

We both rang off before things grew awkward. Then I put the phone away. It was time for my other tools, I thought, and I touched the butt of my gun. When I got back to the cabin, Rink and Harvey were waiting beside the Windstar.

‘Ready, Hunter?’ Rink asked.

‘Let’s roll.’

Some people refer to what I do as vigilantism; they assume that I must be some sort of damaged freak raging at the inability of law enforcement to do what needs doing. Often, vigilantes do have a slightly psychotic outlook, so much so that they become exactly what it is they are fighting against. Maybe a small measure of me could be weighed in that context, but it would be very, very small. As a child, I was the one who’d stick up for the little kid who everyone else thought was a loser. I suppose, instead of a vigilante, I should be looked upon as a protector. And the best way I know to protect is to take the fight directly to the threat.

In the past I’ve been guilty of rushing in and depending on my skills and a huge amount of luck to see me through trouble, but this time it couldn’t be so rash. I wanted Huffman dead, but not at the expense of the lives of my friends, Rink and Harvey; they were owed more consideration than that. With that in mind, I decided my plan of attack on the drive to Quicksilver Ranch.

Last time we’d got no further than the entrance to Huffman’s land. The ranch itself was over the horizon so we had no idea of the layout of the buildings or the surrounding countryside. But it appeared that Harvey’s skill with a computer was up to its usual high standards. While Rink drove the Windstar, Harvey jammed in a mobile broadband connector and brought up aerial images of the ranch. There was little need for spies when you could Google just about anything or anywhere you desired. But Harvey went one further, bringing up the schematics of Huffman’s house by digging into planning and construction records held on file in a Grayson County database.

The house was large by anyone’s standards, with four storeys if you counted the basement and attic spaces. To me it had the look of a colonial mansion house, with an upper tier serving as the living quarters while the ground floor was given over to kitchen, dining and utility rooms. The house was next to a series of large buildings ending in what looked like livestock pens alongside a large rectangular structure. Then it was just grassland for miles in any direction I chose.

‘Won’t be easy getting close,’ Rink said. ‘Not without being seen. We should’ve kept the M24s and took 'em from a distance.’

This from a man who I’d witnessed crawling to within yards of a terrorist training cell in the Libyan desert to set up close target reconnaissance, then lying undetected, gathering intelligence, until the rest of our unit charged in and wiped them all out.

‘The grass will give us cover almost all the way to the house,’ Harvey said. ‘Unless they have FLIR.’

He was talking about technology that military personnel use to locate enemies lying in ambush. Forward-looking infra-red detectors apply digital thermal imaging to build a picture of anything warmer than the ambient background. Heat leaking from even the best-camouflaged person cannot escape the device.

I didn’t think that Huffman had FLIR technology to hand. The people he had working for him came from the criminal underworld and, though they had access to M16 assault rifles, didn’t deem the more esoteric equipment necessary. But I could be wrong.

‘They won’t be looking for us sneaking up on them if I create a diversion,’ I said. ‘I could draw their fire while you two get into the buildings at the back of the ranch. It’s me Huffman wants; they’ll concentrate on me and that’ll give you the opportunity to come in through the back door.’

‘He’ll be expecting us, too.’ Rink was referring to the fact that we’d shown our hand when launching the ambush yesterday. ‘He’ll know that there were two shooters out in the grass because of the angles of the shots.’

‘But he won’t know if you’re still working with me or not. If I play the demented vigilante bent on revenge, I think I can hold their attention long enough to make them forget all about you.’

‘What’s your idea?’

I told them.

Both of my friends shook their heads at the absurdity of my plan.

‘Who do you think you are, goddamn Rooster Cogburn?’ Rink asked.

Conjuring a picture of John Wayne with his horse’s reins between his teeth and a gun in each hand, I grinned. If it was good enough for the Duke, it would be good enough for me.

Fill your hand, Huffman, I thought, you son of a bitch!

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