The Forgotten Holocaust

Chapter Sixty-Four

If Ben had been keeping his ears open instead of focusing every shred of attention on the rifle that was pointing at him, he might have heard the laboured noises of a mortally injured man crawling up the stairs, inch by blood-smeared inch. The staggering footsteps making their way towards the study door—

There was a sudden crash. Big Joe McCrory filled the doorway. His face was streaked with pain and rage and blood and his teeth were bared like an animal’s. His breathing was a tormented rasp as he lurched into the room with the last of his strength, eyes wide and fixed on the man who had taken his life. His own son.

‘I’m going to kill you, boy,’ came the croaking wheeze. Blood bubbled from the old man’s lips as he spoke. He was dying on his feet, and yet the force of the willpower that had driven him all his life kept him moving.

Big Joe raised a bloody fist. In it was clenched one of the old six-guns he’d kept on the wall downstairs. The hammer was cocked. The trembling barrel pointed straight at his son.

Finn McCrory looked stricken, beyond horror. He turned the Winchester he’d been pointing at Ben towards his father.

The two gunshots filled the room in a single ragged crashing explosion. The express bullet from the Winchester caught the old man in the chest, blowing out his heart and killing him instantly. The .45-calibre soft lead slug from the old six-gun caught Finn right in the centre of his brow. It didn’t have the energy to blast an exit wound through the back of his skull. It ricocheted and rattled around like an angry bee inside his head, carving wound channels in so many directions that his brain was churned to jelly before his knees even gave way under him and the rifle slipped from his lifeless hands.

Father and son hit the floor almost simultaneously, both stone dead.

Ben stood looking from one to the other. The chronicle of blood and deceit that was the Stamford line had ended forever, tonight, in front of his eyes.

He left the study and went back for Erin.

Outside, the night had grown sultrier, and the clouds that had gathered to blot out the stars were pregnant with rain. The Dodge Ram sat deep in shadow under the trees. Ben took the key from his pocket and was going to clunk the central locking when he realised that the back door was hanging open.

Erin was gone.

She might have opened the door from the inside. Might have gone to hide in the house, or wandered off among the ranch buildings to look for him. Or someone else might have popped the central locking from outside and taken her. There was no way to tell. Ben scanned the grounds, but saw nothing, no trace. He was berating himself for having disabled the alarm system. Either way had been taking a risk, but he understood now that this risk had been worse. It was too late now. He just had to find her.

‘Erin!’

Nothing.

He felt the first fat plop of rain hit his face. Then another tapped his shoulder. Then the clouds let go, as if they couldn’t hold the weight of the deluge any longer. The water soaked his hair and drummed on the roofs of the cars. Within seconds it was spouting from the gutter pipes of the ranch house and running in rivers across the ground.

‘Erin!’ he called again, louder.

‘Right here,’ said a voice that wasn’t Erin’s.

Ben turned.

Ritter limped out of the trees. He had Erin clutched to his chest, her body in front of his like a shield. One hand was clamped over her mouth and the other held a pistol against the side of her neck. Ritter’s face was pale. Ben could see that the gun was shaking slightly and that Ritter was swaying on his feet.

It had been him on the stairs. He was badly wounded from at least two shotgun blasts, and must have lost a great deal of blood. He was frightened, and more dangerous than ever before.

They faced each other through a curtain of rain. Erin was struggling in Ritter’s grip, but he had her tight and helpless. Her eyes were locked on Ben’s and full of terror.

Ben laid down Moon’s rifle.

‘You don’t give up,’ he said.

‘Neither do you.’ Ritter’s voice was unsteady and racked with pain.

‘Let her go, Ritter. Everyone’s dead.’

Ritter blinked rain from his eyes. ‘Not everyone.’

‘Let her go,’ Ben repeated, ‘and we’re done. You can walk away from this.’

Ritter dug the gun harder into the side of Erin’s neck and his eyes flashed.

‘It’s not her you want,’ Ben said.

Ritter gritted his teeth and said, ‘No.’ He took the gun away from Erin and pointed it at Ben. ‘On your knees. Fingers laced on top of your head.’

Slowly, Ben raised his hands in plain view. He spread his fingers and interlocked them against his wet hair. He kneeled on the ground, head bowed, peering up at the man with the gun. The rain streamed from his hair and down his face. He could feel the cold wetness soaking into his trousers where he knelt.

Ritter’s face was hard and expressionless. The gun wavered in his hand. He blinked again. Then let go of Erin and shoved her hard. She stumbled and fell.

Then Ritter fired.

Ben keeled over backwards into the dirt.

Erin screamed.

Ritter stepped closer. Smiling now.

Ben rolled on the wet ground. The pain in his chest was blinding. He tried to focus.

Ritter aimed the gun down at Ben. Now he’d finish him. He was in no hurry. Then he’d kill the woman. Then they were done.

‘Say goodbye, asshole.’

‘Goodbye, asshole,’ Ben said. He pulled McCrory’s .44 Magnum from the back of his belt. It had two rounds left.

He fired them both into Ritter’s head.

Ritter crashed backwards as if he’d been hit by a truck. The pistol cartwheeled out of his hand and he went straight down and landed spreadeagled on his back on the wet ground.

‘Ben!’ Erin picked herself up and ran to where he lay. ‘Oh, God! Ben! No!’

The pain was blinding. Ben flung away the revolver. He propped himself up on one elbow as she reached him and fell to her knees beside him. With his other hand, he unzipped his jacket.

Erin stared at the vest that Ben had taken from O’Rourke. The bullet was a flattened lead disc circled by splayed-out petals of copper jacketing. It slid down the front of the Kevlar and disappeared in the wet grass.

‘You’re not shot,’ she said, stunned.

‘Might have cracked a rib.’ He held out his hand and let her help him clamber to his feet.

‘You took a bullet just to get him away from me,’ she said. She brushed her dripping hair away from her face, looking up at him with big wondering eyes.

Ben shrugged. ‘Seemed like a good idea at the time.’ He looked down at Ritter. The rain was washing his blood into the dirt.

Ben took the dead man’s phone from his pocket. There was one last call to make before this was over. First, he took out a set of car keys and tossed them to Erin.

‘The Plymouth.’ She’d never thought she’d see it in one piece again.

‘Not a scratch on it,’ he said. ‘It isn’t far away.’

She nodded. ‘Where are we going?’

‘You’re going home.’

As they walked back to the car, Ben used Ritter’s phone to call 911. He told them they’d find the mayor dead at the scene of a shooting at Arrowhead Ranch, along with several detectives from the Tulsa PD including the police chief. He told them to call FBI Special Agent Dobbs. They might also like to send some officers to Adonis and check out the remains of Big Bear Farm. That was going to keep them busy for a while. Ben said all he needed to say, then threw the phone into the bushes.

By the time the flashing lights lit up the sky and the fleet of police descended on the ranch, the Plymouth was already long gone.

‘You won’t be staying, will you?’ she asked as they drove back towards the city. The wipers were beating fast, lashing away the rainwater.

He shook his head. ‘The FBI won’t waste time turning up at your door. I don’t intend to be there when they do.’

‘Aren’t you even going to come back to my place tonight?’

He looked at her. ‘You can drop me off on the edge of town.’

‘You mean you’re just going to disappear into the night.’

‘Something like that.’

‘Where will you go?

Ben kept his eyes on the road ahead and said nothing.

‘I wish you didn’t have to leave,’ she said softly.

He reached across and clasped her hand. Squeezed it for a moment, and then let it go.

On the outskirts of Tulsa, he told her where to drop him off. He watched the car disappear into the night, then turned and walked off to make his own way.

Like he always would.