Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

“What does it eat?”

Stefan shrugged. “Deer, cattle, sheep. It drags them underground while they’re still alive and takes them to a cavern that is littered with the bones of other creatures. That’s where it kills them, devours them, and drinks their blood.” He stared at them and pretended to look serious. “But, do you know what it really likes to eat?”

The boys shook their heads fast. They were hanging on his every word.

“Its favorite meal is little boys.”

The twins’ mouths opened wide.

Stefan laughed, and ruffled their hair. “Don’t worry. He sleeps during the day. And anyway, you’re right-nothing in the forest is as strong as Daddy, and that makes me the most dangerous creature here.”

The boys broke into smiles and started talking to each other with hushed, rapid words, embellishing the size and prowess of the giant earthworm, creating stories about it, their imaginations fully fired up.

Stefan reached into the sack and withdrew two folded kites, which he assembled and handed to his sons. “Okay, time to have some fun. But remember, no running and try not to get them tangled this time.”

The boys moved to the place they always stood to fly their kites and spent several minutes attempting to get them airborne. Eventually they succeeded, unspooling their lines all the way until the bright red kites were flying high over the valley.

Stefan watched his boys and felt utter contentment and peace. Nothing gave him greater joy than seeing his sons happy and carefree. He took another sip of his tea, withdrew an old briar pipe, filled it with his favorite Ottoman blend, and lit the tobacco. The boys were totally absorbed in their activity, staring at their kites, trying to ascertain whose kite was flying the highest.

They were not looking at him.

He grabbed the penknife, looked to his left, and jabbed the blade into the ground. For one minute, he cut through the surface until he found what he was looking for. Placing the knife down, he reached into the ground and pulled out a small metal box. He opened it, saw that it was empty, shut it, replaced it in the ground, covered it with the loose soil, and punched the soil until it was compacted.

He placed one hiking boot over the other, lay back, and relaxed while continuing to puff on his pipe and watch his darling sons. He’d let them play for another thirty minutes or so before they needed to make the descent to the car. After a sixty-minute drive, they’d be home, the children could rest, and he could prepare history lessons for the classes he had to teach the next day.

He stared across the Black Forest. This had been his home for nearly two decades, first as a single man and now as a husband and father. Every week during that time, he’d come here. But if one day he opened the box and found that it wasn’t empty, then everything would change.

As he glanced back at his children, Kronos hoped that day would never come.

Will called Roger from his cell phone. “He’s not going after me. Unless I back down, he’s going to identify someone I care about and kill that person.” He told him about what had happened two hours earlier. “What’s your status?”

“The team remains static, though yesterday one of them left in a vehicle for three hours.”

“Did you follow him?”

“I made the decision that we stay focused on the bulk of the team.”

“Was he carrying anything when he returned?”

“No. But if his trip was to meet an asset and get weapons from him, the stuff could have been left in the car. You want us to take a peek?”

“Not yet. We can’t risk them finding out we’ve tampered with their vehicles. How many cars do they have?”

“Two. Both SUVs, parked in the hotel garage. Accessible within two minutes of them leaving their rooms.”

“Any sightings of someone who fits Mikhail’s description?”

“Don’t think so, but we can’t be certain. Hotel’s got too many damn entrances for us to cover all bases.”

“Assessment?”

“I reckon they’re still waiting.”

Will said, more to himself, “What for?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

“I might be able to get back tonight. I’ve got a couple of things to sort out first.”

The line was silent for five seconds.

“Your world ain’t exactly brimming over with people who care about you. There’s only one person who fits that description.”

“I agree.”

Sarah Goldsmith, nee Cochrane, Will’s sister.

“You think that person’s been identified?”

“I don’t know! Probably not, but it’s only a matter of time.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Get the person to a safe place.”

“Police?”

“Not a chance.” Will had to entrust his sister’s safety to individuals he knew and who had proven themselves to him. “I’ve got people.”

“Okay.” Roger sighed. “I think you’re right about the witch hunt. But this is getting out of control. The risks are-”

“Bloody obvious!” Will regretted snapping. In a calmer voice he said, “Not a word to anyone about all of this.”

“Sure. When are you seeing her?”

“Today.”

“Good luck, because it’s going to be a fucking difficult conversation.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

Will sat on a bench in London’s St. James’s Park and waited. In front of him was a waterway containing ducks, pelicans, and other wildlife. Visible to his left was Whitehall’s Horse Guards Parade. Red-coated mounted Life Guards soldiers were moving in formation across the square, passing in front of the Old Admiralty’s regal buildings and the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Will wondered if Major Dickie Mountjoy came here during his daily trips down memory lane. He decided he would because Dickie’s raison d’etre was pomp, ceremony, and the celebration of bygone ages, and Whitehall had that in abundance.

A woman navigated her way across the parade ground, grimacing as one of the army horses defecated close to her. In her early sixties, she was slightly dumpy, wearing a winter anorak, tweed skirt, purple hat, and flat shoes, and holding a carrier bag. Will kept his eyes on her as she moved into the park, walked along the footpath adjacent to the waterway, and sat down next to him.

Placing a hand over Will’s hand, she patted it, smiled, and said in a well-spoken voice, “It’s been a while, my dear.”

Will gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s great to see you again. Thanks for coming at such short notice, Betty.”

Betty Mayne shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for.” She reached into the bag and withdrew a loaf of sliced bread. “Make yourself useful.” She handed Will several slices of the bread. “But don’t let the greedy ducks take it all.” She began tearing a slice into pieces and tossing bits of bread into the water.

Will looked at the bread he was holding, felt unsure what to do, then began feeding the birds.

“Not done this before, have you?”

“I can’t remember.”

“That’s no surprise.”

Will tossed a larger piece of bread into the water and watched ducks noisily race toward it. “I need you and Alfie.”

Betty’s husband.

“And Robert and Joanna.”

A retired married couple.

Betty nodded. “What for?”

“Two of you need to camp in my house. The other two need to take a holiday-Scottish Highlands, North Wales, one of the coastal islands, anywhere remote.”

“Babysitting?”

“Yes.”

“Threat to target?”

“Severe.”

“Target’s name?”

Will tore off another piece of bread, held his hand still, and said quietly, “It’s my sister.”