Iris Johansen - Chasing the Night

“I’ll try, but I may have to come back. You’re a prime bargaining chip in this one, Eve.”

“Listen, you’re beginning to annoy me. I’m not a chip, and I’m not a chess piece for you to manipulate.”

“We can all be manipulated. It depends on the determination factor.” He paused. “You’d be safer if I’m the one who does it. I’m trying to avoid throwing you to the wolf.”

“Are you threatening me?”

She put up her hand as she saw Joe straighten at her words.

“I wouldn’t be that stupid. I’m just trying to keep you from making a mistake. I’ve always liked you.”

He probably believed he was telling the truth, but it wouldn’t keep him from using her. She was tired of arguing with him. “I’m hanging up now, Venable.”

“Change your mind, Eve.”

She pressed the disconnect button.

“The bastard threatened you?” Joe was frowning, his tone grim. “I believe I need to pay a visit to Venable.”

“He said it wasn’t a threat. More like a warning.”

“That’s a fine line where Venable is concerned. I take it he wanted you to do a reconstruction?”

“No, that would make more sense.” Her brow knitted. “I won’t deny I’m one of the best forensic sculptors around.” After her own little girl, Bonnie, had been kidnapped and murdered all those years ago, she had gone back to school and made sure that she had the skill to help bring final resolution and solace to other parents. Out of that nightmare of torment, when she had come close to madness and death, had emerged at least one decent thing from the agony. She could recreate the faces of those lost, murdered children. But not her little Bonnie. Search as she would, she had not found her child. What good was all her fine skill if she couldn’t use it to bring her daughter home to rest, she thought bitterly. Her Bonnie was still lost, and so was her killer.

“Eve?”

She jerked her attention back to the subject at hand. “But Venable doesn’t want me to sculpt a reconstruction, he wants a computer age progression. I’m good at that, but I don’t do enough to be called an expert. He could find someone faster and possibly more accurate just by making a few phone calls. I know the CIA has good technicians.”

“But maybe he doesn’t want to go through the agency,” Joe said slowly. “He’s paranoid about leaks, and he could trust you. Venable doesn’t trust many people.”

“Too bad. I’m not volunteering.”

“You’d be crazy if you did.” His lips tightened. “You’re better off working yourself to the bone than playing in his ballpark. Who’s the subject of this age progression?”

“I didn’t ask. Maybe some war criminal they’re trying to trace? For all I know, it could be Bin Laden. I don’t want to know. It’s not my job.” She gazed down at the bones in front of her. “This is my job.”

“Then do it.” He flipped open his computer. “Let Venable pull his own chestnuts out of the fire.”

At least the call from Venable had made Joe more reconciled to her accepting the reconstruction on Cindy, Eve thought. He was willing to admit that the long, painstaking hours she’d have to spend on piecing the little girl back together was the lesser of two evils.

You’d be safer if I’m the one who does it. I’m trying to avoid throwing you to the wolf.

Wolf. Singular. Not wolves.

Who was the wolf Venable was trying to save her from?

And she was still thinking about Venable’s words, she realized impatiently. Forget him. Forget everything but the little girl who must become something more than this pitiful heap of bones. She had been someone’s child. Long ago, someone had heard her prayers and tucked her into bed for the night. She deserved to go home to her parents and have them tuck her into her resting place one last time.

She reached out and gently touched the cranial bone. It will take a little while, but we’ll get there, Cindy. We’ll bring you home and find the bastard who did this to you.

She felt a wave of sickness wash over her. No matter how many times that she was brought face-to-face with this savagery, she never became calloused. But the sight of these shattered bones was particularly painful.

She couldn’t imagine the barbaric mind-set that would allow someone to smash the bones of another human being…

Salmeta, Colombia

She’d have to break the sentry’s neck.

Catherine Ling moved silently down the path of the rain forest.

She couldn’t risk using even a knife. He mustn’t cry out.

No sound. Every movement had to have purpose and deadly intent.

The phone in her pocket vibrated.

Ignore it.

The other outer sentries had to be eliminated to clear the way back to the helicopter.

She was a yard from the sentry. Now she could see that he was bearded and close to middle age. Good. She hated to kill those fresh-faced kids even though they could sometimes be more lethal. Anyone who worked for Munoz was dirty, but she always had to work to get past that element of youth. Stupid. She should know better. As a teenager, she had made sure that no one performed with more deadly precision than she did.

He was tensing. He was sensing danger.

Move fast.

He was a good six inches taller. Bring him down to her level. Her booted foot sliced between his legs and hit the side of his right kneecap. He lost his balance. Before he could regain it, her arm encircled his neck.

She jerked back and twisted. His neck snapped.

He went limp.

Dead.

She let him fall to the ground, then dragged him deep into the shrubs. She’d already disposed of the other sentry guarding the path along the brook. Her way should be clear the three miles to Munoz’s encampment.

Maybe. She had learned there was nothing certain where Munoz was concerned. She had been assigned to this hellhole for the last three years and made a study of the drug dealer. He was sadistic, volatile, and unpredictable. The stories that circulated about his brutality were sickening. His vicious profile was the major contributor to the storm of anxiety surrounding his kidnapping of coffee executive Ned Winters and his fourteen-year-old daughter Kelly. He was holding them hostage until the Colombian government released his brother Manuel from prison and every day a new and bloody threat was issued.

Her phone was vibrating again.

She glanced at the ID. Venable.

She punched the button, and whispered, “I’ve nothing to report. I’m on my way, but I won’t be at the Munoz camp for another fifteen minutes.”

“Call it off. Now that you’ve located him, we’ll send in the Special Forces to get Winters and his daughter out.”

“And get them killed. They don’t have my contacts and they don’t know this terrain and, by the time they do, it may be too late. Munoz has promised he’ll kill Winters and his daughter unless his brother’s released. Those idiots in the Colombian government are stalling. I think they want Winters killed so they can get U.S. help to stage a full-scale attack on Munoz and the rebels.”

“I don’t give a damn what you think. Back off.”

“No, we made a deal. You agreed to give me what I wanted if I managed to locate and free the Winterses. I can do this. I’ve been watching the Munoz camp since yesterday, and I know exactly how I can pull it off.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

She stiffened. She caught a note in his voice that made her uneasy. “You didn’t give a damn about that when I called you and told you that I’d find a way of getting Winters and his daughter away from Munoz. All you cared about was that it was going to get the heat off the director.”