Search and Destroy (18 page)

Lincoln walked over to the remains of Roosevelt. Strips of blackened flesh flapped where his face had been. The Gurkha was gone.

Washington joined his team leader.

“Shit.”

Clay rose as Andrea peered around the motel bathroom door.

“I can’t watch any more.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve heard of snuff films… but I thought they were just urban legends. This is murder.”

Clay nodded. “This is some serious business.” He looked at Danny. “I know someone that can help us disappear while we decide what to do. It’s time to get out of town.”

“Disappear? Where are we going?” asked Andrea.

“I know a guy in the Keys who can help us. He runs a private charter company out of Florida. He’s got a few small jets and twin props. He used to run guns and weed back in the day. But he’s mellowed.”

Danny frowned slightly. “Do I know him?”

“No, but he’s a good friend. He’ll get us out of here and off the radar in no time. We can watch the sunset in Key West while we figure this all out. I’ll call him now.”

Clay walked out of the hotel room, pulling his Motorola from his pocket and dialling a number. Three minutes later he was back. Andrea was still looking green. “It’s sorted, but we’ve got an hour to kill before we head to the airport. Care to take a walk? Danny-boy can watch the rest of the video.”

Clay held the door open for her, then shared a brief look with his brother. He knew better than most that Danny could detach himself from horrors on the screen. Almost like the way a mortician would view a mangled corpse, an unpleasant but necessary part of the job. Although they shared the urge for justice, the younger Gunn could hold the vendetta spirit far longer than any Sicilian could dream of. Many Texans were known for their supposedly stubborn ways, yet Clay felt Danny was capable of wrath of almost biblical proportions when suitably aggrieved. The glower in his eyes and the thrust of his jaw was a look that he’d only witnessed on a couple of previous occasions. Neither of which had ended well for the target of his brother’s anger.

* * *

Andrea heard the video begin playing again as soon as Clay closed the door to the motel room.

Outside, she took a long slow breath. She shuddered, trying to rid her mind of the terrible images she’d just seen. The Nevada sun burned above and she felt its searing effect immediately.

“Can we go and get a drink somewhere?”

“A
drink
drink?” asked Clay, tipping an imaginary glass.

“Yes, a real drink. I could do with one right about now.”

“Damn, woman. I’m liking you more and more. I noticed a bar two blocks over.”

The walk helped steady Andrea’s nerves, but there was a part of her that was sure she’d never be able to feel completely safe again. Especially after what she’d just seen. Clay seemed to read her thoughts, and when he slipped his arm around her shoulders there was no sexual charge to the act. It felt like a big brother looking out for his sister. Andrea let her arm snake around his waist as he pulled her close. They walked the rest of the way without speaking.

The bar had a central door flanked by two plate-glass windows. Neon signs in flickering red and blue told potential customers that both Bud and Miller were served, like there were many bars that didn’t offer those American staples. Above the door, a curved sign declared that Ronnie’s Bar had been open since 1985. In Vegas that just about qualified as an historical site.

The barman looked up as they seated themselves at the long counter. He was no more than thirty with black hair that hung in floppy curtains over his forehead. He flashed a pleasant smile and poured two beers as requested. They drank them quickly, without speaking. Clay ordered another round and scanned the room. There were only three other customers. A man in a fluorescent vest sat at the other end of the bar, his face and forearms deeply tanned from outdoor labour. The other two patrons looked to be a couple. The man was short and overweight. He looked like he spent a lot of time in places like Ronnie’s. The woman with him was much better looking. She gave Clay a quick appraisal and Andrea an envious half smile.

“I still can’t believe it. Shit like this doesn’t happen to nobodies like me.” Andrea took a long pull on her beer.

“Two things: shit like this does happen, and you’re not a nobody.”

“I’m screwed. My brother murdered in front of me. My friends murdered in London. I’m on the run with you two to God knows where, and now we’ve got footage of some maniac slaughtering a girl in a Fritzl basement.”

Clay turned in his seat and held her gaze. “Look Andrea, I won’t pretend this is an easy fix. It isn’t. We need to keep moving and stay off the radar as much as possible. If it helps any, I’ve never seen a situation that Danny and I couldn’t turn around and use against the bad guys.”

“And that’s another thing; how does Danny know how to do the things you say he can do? And more importantly
why
does he?”

“I’ll answer the how first. He knows how to do what he does because he’s a tenacious little shit who was born in the wrong century. He believes in a code of honour. You know he was a soldier, but that’s not it. He learned to shoot and fight in the army but most of what he does comes from in here.” Clay tapped his head then his chest, over the heart. “There’s something inside him that won’t let him back down. He’s intense, but even if he wasn’t my brother he’d still be my best friend.”

“So is he some kind of vigilante?”

“Not in the way you mean. He doesn’t cruise Gotham City looking for criminals or any of that crap. But he will do everything in his power to put right what he thinks is wrong. Men like him are called ‘fixers’.”

“And he fixes the bad guys, right?”

Clay raised his glass in salute. “He fixes them good.”

“So why does he do it?”

“He’s just got something inside him that won’t let him sit by. He sometimes gets paid for jobs but most of the stuff he’s done is out of his own warped sense of justice.”

Andrea grinned. “I’m glad he’s on our side.”

“So am I.” Clay looked deep into her eyes, holding her gaze. “So am I.” He drained his beer. “Come on, time to go.”

The flirtatious woman made a show of smiling provocatively at Clay as they stood to leave. Her male companion turned angrily. After seeing the Texan he turned back to his drink without challenge.

“I bet you get that a lot,” said Andrea, blinking as they stepped out of the bar into the sunshine.

“Get what?”

“The look that the Lycra princess in there was giving you.”

Clay shrugged. “I do okay, I guess. A lot of the girls are put off by these.” He ran his fingers over the scars on his face.

“Their loss if they can’t see past a few war wounds.” Andrea scowled at the imaginary females in question.

“I’m used to it now. They see someone as big as me with a scarred face and they think ‘desperado’.”

“They’re hardly disfiguring. If your hair was a bit longer you would hardly see the one on your forehead.”

Clay gave another dismissive shrug.

“How did you get that one?” Andrea ran a finger down the narrow white line that began at Clay’s right eye and continued down to the corner of his mouth.

“I was working as a bouncer at a bar in Austin. I went to put a guy out for getting too fresh with the ladies. He was only a little guy but he had a straight razor hidden up his sleeve. My fault for not paying attention.” Clay shook his head in self-admonishment. “Never made that mistake again.”

* * *

Danny opened the motel room door upon hearing two sharp taps near the base, then positioned himself behind the door. One look at Clay and Andrea, and he put down the pistol he’d been holding.

The screen of the laptop was showing the Windows logo. Andrea gave the screen a sideways glance. “Horrible.”

Danny nodded. “It is. But remember, there are two mp4s on the drive—the other one is quite different. Your reporter friend, he did most of the work for us. I think we can use this.”

He tapped the touch-pad and the screen displayed two videos paused side by side. The left-hand one was clearly a still from the torture video. The masked man was turned, with most of his back to the camera. A puckered semi-circular scar was clearly visible. It looked at first glance like a shark bite. The curving scar ran from the base of his shoulder blade to the waist of his trousers.

“Quite distinctive,” said Danny. He then pointed to the right-hand still. A handsome man with thick dark brown hair and a strong chin. He was dressed in expensive board shorts and was surrounded by smiling children in swimsuits and sportswear. The man had his back turned and was looking over his shoulder in a candid pose.

“Look.” Danny pointed to the faded scar on the man’s back. “Pretty sure that this is the same guy maybe fifteen years on. Just to be sure, look at the moles at the top of his arm.” Danny pointed out the three blemishes that formed an isosceles triangle on the subject’s right deltoid muscle.

Clay squinted at the screen. The two pictures displayed the same scar, the same geometry of moles. “Fucker, they
are
the same.”

“Now all we have to do is put a name to this guy.”

“Any ideas how?” asked Andrea. She stared at the unmasked face. “He looks vaguely familiar.”

“Well, your reporter friend—”

Andrea looked pale. “Jeremy. His name was Jeremy Seeber.”

Danny nodded. “Jeremy thought the man is or was a government minister. That must mean he’s British. I was just about to start googling the details from the second video.”

“Which are?” asked Andrea. She sat on the end of the bed and stared with contempt at the smiling face on screen.

“It’s a local BBC News report on a charity event—a London school raising money for a new swimming and sports centre. The guy with the scar was one of the celebrities enlisted to help with the fundraiser. The fact that he’s a politician means it will have been well publicised. I’ve never met one that didn’t like mugging it for the camera.”

“Doesn’t it say who he is?”

“No. He’s just in the background, no interview, no specific reference to him on the voiceover.”

“Damn.”

Clay laughed. “You said it.”

“So once we find out his name, we send the video files to CNN, right?” said Andrea. “Once he’s exposed, he’s finished and this will all be over.”

Danny tilted his head. “Let’s find out what we can on this guy; then we’ll figure out what to do and how best to handle it.”

“What’s to think about? We need to expose him quickly. I want my life back.” Andrea felt a flare of anger.

Danny sat back, looking her full in the face. “Guys like this are protected. If we make any mistakes we could be on the run for the rest of our days.”

“Protected, how?”

Danny pointed to the masked man, frozen on screen. “Look, this guy has killed before and probably after this film. That obviously wasn’t his first murder. Serial killers build up to that level of intricacy, usually over years. And you don’t stay undetected and have a political career by leaving things to chance. This guy will have power and connections. The fact that he could initiate a hit against you proves he’s powerful. He, or someone close to him, initiated and funded the Trident teams that have been after you. They’re well-trained men. They cost a lot of money.”

“I hate them.” Andrea clenched her fists.

“They’re not on my Christmas card list either.” Clay had produced yet another bag of Cheetos. An orange handful hovered between the bag and his mouth. “But don’t forget, those mercenaries really believe that you have stolen intel. That you’re an enemy of the state. They’ve received that mission brief from their controller at HQ. So that means either the company knowingly accepted a false brief or someone in the intelligence services created the false info trail and used it to sell the story.”

Exasperated, Andrea ran her fingers through her hair. “So we go straight to the nearest news network and show them the video. The media loves to bring down stars and politicians, they’d snap this up in a moment, surely?”

Clay and Danny shared a glance, then Clay shook his head. “I get where you’re coming from, but your friend worked for a big newspaper, didn’t he?”

“The
Herald
.”

“Right. He knew what he had, would know better than most what would happen if the video came out. And they got to him anyway. I don’t think you’d be safe even after it hit the news.” Clay laid a hand on Andrea’s shoulder. “Depending on who this guy is and who he’s linked to, you’d still be a target. Even if the man in the video was put on trial, there’s still a chance that the contract would remain active. He wouldn’t want you around to testify or fill in any of the blanks. And there are two men on that tape—don’t forget the one behind the camera. We have no way of identifying him, so we should concentrate on the guy in the mask, but we really don’t know how far this thing goes, or how many people are involved.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Andrea’s voice was full of a desperate fury. “Run for ever? Lie down and die? Turn myself in and hope for the fucking best?”

Danny rose from his chair and wrapped his arms around her in a comforting embrace. “Easy girl. Clay isn’t saying we’re beaten. We just need to think this through very carefully. One wrong move and these operatives will have us. Let me look into this guy some more, then we’ll decide together how best to proceed.”

Andrea rose and rubbed the tears from her eyes. Tears of anger and frustration. “I want to see that smiling psychopath pay. Do it.”

Danny seated himself in front of the laptop again and logged on to the motel’s Wi-Fi, then loaded a search engine. He started by entering the name of the school in the news clip: Newtown Central Academy in Brentwood Hill, one of the newer London developments. Clearly the fundraiser had worked: the new sports centre included a swimming pool, a gym, and a set of four all-weather playing fields complete with the latest incarnation of AstroTurf and halogen floodlights.

Danny smiled to himself. When he was a kid you felt lucky if you had a decent-quality football to kick around the streets. The new generation didn’t realise how good they had it.