Steve Hamilton - Ice Run

I stopped and listened.

Nothing.

I took the gun out of my pants. I moved slowly now, stopping behind each tree. I could see the house clearly now. There was at least one light on, in a room on the ground floor. But none of the outside lights were on.

I thought back to when I had been there before. We talked to Chris there, in the main room, on this side of the house. Did we leave a light on? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t be sure.

One way to find out, I thought. I’ve got to get to the house so I can look inside.

I stayed down as low as I could. The snow helped hide me. It muffled any noise, too. For once in my life, I was thankful for two and a half feet of snow on the ground.

As I passed the second house, I thought I could make out a break in the snow. It looked like a long line, leading from the Grants’ house, right toward me. A trail maybe. Someone had come this way, not that long ago.

I stopped and listened. Then I moved around a great, fat tree and saw the path in the snow right there in front of me.

What the hell? It just stopped. Somebody had come through here, then what? Turned around?

Wait a minute, what was this? I thought I saw something in the snow. Something dark. As I moved toward it, I felt myself tripping. As I reached down to catch my balance, I put my hand on it.

Fabric. It was a coat.

Dear God, I thought. I felt the body. I moved up to the head and pushed the snow away. I couldn’t see who it was.

Please, no. Don’t let it be.

I touched the face. It was as cold and hard as stone. A man’s face. The head was tilted at an impossible angle, the neck cut wide open.

He’s been dead for a while, I thought. He’s frozen solid. I bent down to look closely at the man’s face.

It was Marty Grant.

You poor bastard, I thought. This is what happened to you. You called DeMarco and this is what happened.

I was about to get up when somebody spoke.

“Don’t move.”

I turned to see who it was.

“I said don’t move. If you move again, I’ll put a bullet right through your left eye.”

A man was standing there. He had a gun pointed right at my face. He was dressed in white winter camouflage.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s better. Now we’re going to go inside. I think there’s someone in there who’d like to meet you.”

The first thing I thought of was my gun. Then I noticed he was holding it. I must have dropped it when I went down on my hands and knees to look at the body.

“Right this way,” he said. “Please don’t try anything stupid.” He spoke with a French-Canadian accent. He was definitely not the man I saw getting off the plane with DeMarco.

He waved me in front of him. I started walking.

“What’s with the outfit?” I said. “You think you’re a commando or something?”

“Shut up and keep moving.”

“You specialize in Arctic warfare, right? What’s your unit called again? The JTF2?”

“I told you to shut up.”

“I think I’ve got it now,” I said. “You’re not a real soldier at all. You’re one of those losers who likes to dress up and pretend.”

He didn’t say anything. If I’d knocked him even slightly off balance, that was one small thing in my favor.

“You must have been the first man here,” I said. “DeMarco sent you to kill Marty Grant. He was a big man, wasn’t he? It’s a good thing you had a gun.”

As long as I had him out here alone, I had a chance. If he got me into that house, I was probably a goner.

“You should really shut up now,” he said. “Or I’ll show you exactly how I killed him.”

“I’m not nearly as big,” I said. “Put the guns down and we’ll see how tough you are.”

Come on, I thought. Try something right here. Take a swing at me.

He didn’t. He kept walking behind me. He led me to the front door of the house and told me to open it. I did. He stepped in behind me. The bright lights hit my eyes.

“Who do we have here?” a man said.

As my eyes focused, I saw Natalie sitting at a table. She still had her coat on. Across from her was the man who had spoken. It was Albert DeMarco. Now that I could see him up close, it was hard to believe he was in his seventies. A well-preserved sixty-year-old, maybe. Another man stood directly behind Natalie. This was the big man I had seen getting off the airplane.

There were two guns on the table in front of DeMarco, Natalie’s automatic and her grandfather’s Webley Bulldog.

“Have a seat,” he said. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

I looked at Natalie. When our eyes met, I could see her lips trembling. She was trying very hard to keep her composure. She opened her mouth to say something. She couldn’t do it. She shook her head.

As I sat down next to her, I gave the man behind her a better look. Six foot five, maybe 240 pounds. He looked strong. His high cheekbones and close-cropped hair made him look like a German boxer.

I turned and looked back at the man in the white camouflage. He was barely five foot six in his army boots. Not even 150 pounds. He had long black hair tied in a ponytail. Now that I could see his face, he looked at least half crazy.

“I was sure Natalie would bring along some help,” DeMarco said. “I did, too, of course. I’d like you to meet my troubleshooters.”

“Please tell me you really don’t call these guys your troubleshooters.”

He smiled at me. The skin around his eyes didn’t move. It was all plastic surgery, I thought. The hair is probably fake, too.

“I think you should know,” I said. “Speaking of men, I’ve got seven others with me. The whole place is surrounded.”

He laughed. “Natalie, is this the best man you could find? I hope you’re not paying him too much.”

The man in white wasn’t laughing at my little bluff. He looked back at the door. Then he went out.

One man out of the room, I thought. One less gun.

And somewhere out there, I hope to God, Vinnie is watching.

“I didn’t hire Alex,” Natalie said.

He smiled again and looked at me. “Now I understand,” he said. “You always did have a thing for older men.”

I wanted to hit him so badly. Just one shot. But no, that was the wrong thing to think about. I had to stay cool, no matter what.

“Let Alex go,” she said. “He has nothing to do with this.”

“Did he bring the videotape with him?”

“No,” she said.

“Where is it?”

“In a safe place. I’ll tell you if you let Alex go.”

“Stop it,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Come on, Vinnie. Where are you?

“Let me ask you something,” he said. He picked one of her guns off the table. “You see, this gun I understand. This is your regular police-issue Sig Sauer P229.”

He looked at it carefully, like a man at a gun shop. Then he put it down. It was twelve inches away from him. A good four feet away from me.

No, don’t let him see you looking at those guns, I thought. If he notices that, he might take them off the table.

“But this other gun…”

He picked up the old Bulldog and weighed it in his hand.

“This gun is interesting. Note the distinctive shape of the barrel. And only five rounds. Very unusual.”

He looked down the sight line. The gun was pointed at my chest.

“It does have a good feel to it,” he said. “I’ll say that much. But why two guns? It doesn’t make any sense to me. Do you have any theories, sir?”

“A little extra firepower,” I said. “She didn’t know how many men you’d have on your payroll.”

I sneaked a peek at the man standing behind Natalie. He looked down at me with cold eyes. No emotion at all. His huge hands were hanging at his sides, eighteen inches from Natalie’s neck.