The Forgotten Holocaust

Chapter Fifty-One

Erin sat waiting in the car for eight long minutes, then ten, with nothing to do but stare into her lap and try not to imagine what Ben Hope was doing to the man inside the lock-up. The scream she’d heard earlier had been cut abruptly short and she’d heard nothing since. The silence from behind the steel shutter was even worse.

Waiting made all kinds of dark thoughts pass through her mind. Who was this guy Ben? How the hell had things gotten so desperate that she’d resorted to hooking up with some crazy ex-military type tooled up with guns and ammo and dragging her into a personal revenge quest of his own? Could she trust him? Should she just take off? The key was in the ignition.

But she didn’t touch it. He isn’t like that, she kept telling herself. He’s one of the good guys.

When a whole quarter of an hour had gone by and she couldn’t stand it any longer, she was about to shove open the door when the shutter suddenly screeched up and Ben walked out and stepped towards the car. He had the .40 calibre auto taken from Kurzweil tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

She stared at him. He wasn’t spattered from head to foot with blood, or grinning maniacally clutching gory implements of mutilation. He didn’t look like someone who’d just tortured a man to death. But then, what did she know about torture?

‘Well?’ she said. She peered into the lock-up, but it was too dark to see. There was no sound from inside.

‘Well what?’

She frowned. ‘What happened in there?’

‘We talked,’ Ben said.

‘I heard a scream.’

‘And you thought what?’ Ben asked, looking at her with the faintest of smiles.

Erin suddenly felt embarrassed.

‘It’s what I wanted you to think,’ Ben told her. ‘Him too. I wanted him to believe I’d sent you away so you wouldn’t have to witness something horrible. Then when I told him I was going to cut off his fingers one at a time, he didn’t take a lot of convincing.’

‘You haven’t—?’

‘The scream was just me giving him a little pinch. Didn’t even break the skin. After that, he was ready to tell me anything.’

Erin stepped inside the lock-up. Kurzweil remained tied up in the chair. There was no blood. He still had all his fingers attached, both his ears, and appeared undamaged apart from the fact that he was stone-cold unconscious again.

‘There was enough in that syringe to knock out a rhino,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve just put the last few ccs into him. He’ll be out of action for a bit.’

‘What happens to him next?’

‘Dump him. I don’t need him any more. I know everything he knows.’

Erin looked at him quizzically, but he made no reply. That was when she spotted the torn-out notebook page lying on the workbench. Peering at it, she saw that some notes had been written on it. All she was able to make out were the words ‘BIG BEAR’ before Ben followed her eye and snatched the paper up before she could read more.

‘What’s big bear?’ she asked.

‘It’s not important,’ he replied, folding the paper into his pocket. He turned away and walked back outside towards the Barracuda, got in, fired up the engine and reversed the car through the open shutter and half into the lock-up.

‘Looked like something to me,’ Erin said as he got out of the car.

‘Help me get him in,’ Ben said, and Erin sensed that he was deliberately holding back from her. Together, they tipped Kurzweil over backwards and heaved him, chair and all, into the trunk. It was large enough to take a chair on its side with a large man strapped to it. Ben slammed the lid, then got back behind the wheel, put the Plymouth in drive and nudged the gas, edging forward far enough to clear the shutter. Leaving the engine idling, he climbed back out and grasped the shutter sill.

‘Aren’t you going to tell me anything?’

‘We’re leaving now.’

She stepped outside into the morning light, and watched him as he pulled the shutter all the way down on its rusty fittings and replaced the padlocks to secure it in place. He shrugged on his jacket to cover the pistol in his belt, waved for her to get into the passenger seat, then got back behind the wheel. He revved the gas and the powerful V8 propelled the car away from the lock-ups and back out into the street. He was beginning to get the hang of Tulsa’s geography.

‘That’s the real reason you sent me out,’ Erin said tightly after a few minutes’ silence as he gunned the big car through the city streets. ‘I get it now. You didn’t want me to hear what he told you. You found out where McCrory’s arsenal is, didn’t you?’ She could see from the look in his eyes that she was right. ‘Looked like a set of directions you’d written on that notepaper.’

‘Forget about it.’

‘Big Bear,’ she said. ‘Is that a town? I never heard of it before.’

‘Erin, enough of the questions. I won’t answer them.’

‘Why won’t you tell me? I’m just as involved in this as you are.’

‘Because what you don’t know can’t hurt you,’ Ben replied.

‘If you’re going, then so am I.’

He shook his head emphatically. ‘No way. I’m doing this alone.’

‘Don’t do this to me. I’ve come this far. You can’t leave me hanging.’

‘You’ve been lucky. Now you need to quit while you’re ahead. Too many innocent people have been hurt already. I can’t take you where I need to go. I can’t be responsible for you.’

‘So, what, I just sit tight in that Perryman roach-hole?’

‘We’re not going back there. I’m taking you to a better place, downtown. You’ll be safe there for now, as long as you keep a low profile.’

Erin just looked at him and made no reply, but he could tell she didn’t like it. Ben pointed backwards with his thumb. ‘Then I’m going to offload Sleeping Beauty there. He’ll wake up in an hour or two, counting his fingers and feeling the joy of living like never before. Then if he’s got any sense he’ll start running and not stop until he’s in Barrow, Alaska.’

‘I’m glad you didn’t hurt him. You’re a good man, Ben.’

‘You don’t know me that well.’

‘I’m worried about you going after McCrory alone. Let me come with you. Please? There’s got to be something I can do to help. I could … I don’t know. Keep watch, or something.’

‘I work best alone. Always have.’

‘Even if it means getting killed? It’s insanity. People don’t do this kind of thing. Not in the normal world.’

‘There is no normal world, Erin. Just this one.’

‘You’ll be dead. I won’t ever see you again.’

He glanced across at her. It almost sounded as if she cared.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back for you when it’s over. Then you’re going home.’

Erin was checked into room 421 at the Hyatt Regency on East 2nd Street, under the name Rosie Lang. The plush decor and amenities were a welcome change from the Perryman. Ben thought she’d earned it. He stayed with her until she was safely in her room, which was spacious and comfortable with floor-to-ceiling glass that looked out over neighbouring scenic gardens. He told her to lie low and wait for his call, promised he’d see her soon and then left quickly, saying no more than he had to.

Back out on the street, he got in the Plymouth and sped away, heading southeast across Tulsa. Mid-morning, the sun was hot and he kept the windows rolled down to blast the inside of the car with cool air as the Muskogee Turnpike took him through the adjoining city of Broken Arrow. A few miles beyond, he left the highway and followed a series of turnings onto progressively smaller and quieter roads, past dotted farms and holdings until an unsurfaced country lane took him to the quiet kind of spot he was looking for. He stopped the car in a cloud of drifting dust and climbed out into the heat. There was nothing around but patchy scrubland and rocks. The grass was tall and burned, and the air was full of the buzz of insects.

Ben popped the lid and manhandled the chair out of the trunk, then dragged it a few yards from the roadside to a spot screened by bushes. Kurzweil was still semi-conscious, his head lolling sideways like a drunk’s. Ben left him sitting there and walked back to the car to fetch his bag and the shotgun, then returned to join his slowly awakening prisoner.

Ben sat a few yards away on a rock, laid his bag down at his feet and the shotgun next to him. He removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The chirping of the crickets was loud, a harsh pulsing rasp from all around. Ben closed his eyes. A stolen moment of reflective stillness. The quiet before the storm. It would be soon.

He thought about Ritter and Moon. They’d been through a level of training reserved for the cream of the world’s dedicated warriors. They were younger than him. Faster. And they’d got the better of him twice already.

He lit up his last cigarette and took his time over it, knowing it might be a while before he had another. It might equally be never. But Ben didn’t let that thought concern him. It never had in the past, and there was no need for it to now.

While he waited for Kurzweil to wake up, he checked the Stamford journals. They looked a little more beaten-up since he’d dived out of the moving Jeep with them, and one of them was scored along its cover from the bullet that had gone through the bag during the car park shoot-out.

He thought for a while about what to do with the journals. He’d no further use for them himself. They’d served their purpose, as far as he was concerned. The rest was just paper and leather. He wasn’t much of a bibliophile. But he couldn’t bring himself to dump them, and there was no denying their historical value. After a few moments’ reflection he remembered the little museum in Glenfell. It was decided, then. If he came through this okay, he’d send the books there for posterity.

And if he didn’t come through it okay, then maybe one day they’d be found again by someone who gave a damn. Or maybe not. It would be out of his hands then.

He sat and smoked and soaked up the sun’s heat and watched Kurzweil until the last Gauloise was just a stub. He flicked it away and ground it into the dirt with his heel. By then, the prisoner’s eyes were open and gazing resentfully at him from the chair. The eyes followed him, widening, as Ben reached once more into his bag and drew out the US army trench knife.

Ben stood up and walked over to Kurzweil, slipping his fingers through the knuckleduster hilt and unsheathing the blade. Kurzweil began to struggle again before he realised that Ben was cutting him loose. The ropes fell slack and Ben stepped away. Kurzweil eased himself stiffly from the chair, grimacing with discomfort and rubbing his chafed wrists.

‘I told her I’d let you go,’ Ben said. ‘Because that’s what a good and decent person would do. Because it would have upset her if I’d said that things don’t work that way. You understand?’

Kurzweil nodded. Acceptance.

Ben drew the forty-calibre from his belt. It was cocked and locked, a round in the chamber and the safety on. He tossed it to Kurzweil, and Kurzweil caught it.

‘First move’s yours,’ Ben said.

A sharklike grin spread over Kurzweil’s face. He hefted the gun. ‘You’re a crazy man. You coulda killed me.’

‘I’m not an executioner,’ Ben said. ‘I was once. I can’t do it any more.’

They locked eyes. For two long seconds, they stood completely still. Then Kurzweil went to shoot. In the time it took for him to punch the pistol up and out at arm’s length and disengage the safety and square his sights on Ben, the shotgun was up off the rock and a blasting roar of flame ripped from the sawn-off muzzle. The Brenneke slug hit Kurzweil in the sternum and cut him in half.

Ben picked up the pistol and wiped the blood off it, then collected his things and walked back towards the car, leaving what was left of Kurzweil spread out over the ground. The buzzards would find him soon enough.

The Plymouth rumbled into life and moved off in the dust haze.

The killing had started.