Stephen Leather - The Long shot

Howard thanked her and hung up. He doubted that Mary Hennessy would be out shopping for pepper mills prior to an assassination, but every call had to be verified. It wouldn’t be difficult — an agent would be assigned to visit the store to find out if the salesperson could identify Hennessy’s picture and obtain details of the blonde’s credit card. It was a simple enough call to check, but it would take several hours. And within the space of ten minutes following the telephone number flashing onto the television screen there had been at least eighty calls and still all the lights were flashing on Helen’s console. The workload was building quickly, and Howard wondered how many men Mulholland would be willing to assign to the case. So far his commitment had been open-ended, but the calls were racking up at a frightening rate.

Don Clutesi had his own receiver pressed to his ear and was frantically taking notes, nodding his head animatedly. He kept saying “yes, yes, yes” as he scribbled. Howard couldn’t hear what else he was whispering into the phone but he was clearly excited about something. He wasn’t just filling out the report form, he was taking additional notes and Howard peered over, trying to read them upside down. Clutesi saw him and he wrote in large capital letters at the top of his notepad — “Got them!”

Howard frowned. The phone on his desk rang but he ignored it as he scrutinised Clutesi’s notes. Helen looked across at him, realised he was otherwise engaged, and took back the call. Clutesi replaced his receiver. “A woman in Baltimore leased a house overlooking the Chesapeake Bay to a woman answering Hennessy’s description,” he said, clearly elated. “Seven bedrooms and three bathrooms. And the woman used a cheque and ID with the same name that Hennessy used on the credit card she paid for the hotel room with. It’s her, all right.” He punched the air and grinned.

“How long did she take the house for?” asked Howard.

“Six months; she paid three months in advance.”

Clutesi waved Ed Mulholland over and quickly briefed the anti-terrorism chief on what he’d learned. Mulholland beamed. “That sounds like it,” he agreed. “Okay, you and Cole take the chopper out there now. I’ll have a SWAT team from Baltimore secure a perimeter around the house. They should be in place by the time you get there.”

Clutesi scribbled down the address of the house and the phone number and address of the woman who’d made the call. “Her name’s Martha Laing; I told her someone would be in touch,” he said. “It’d help if someone could take her out to the house and liaise with the SWAT team commander — supply him with floor plans and the like, in case we have to storm the place.”

Mulholland nodded and took the piece of paper. “I’ll have it taken care of, Don.” He handed a cellular telephone to Clutesi and another to Howard. “Now you and Cole get to it. The chopper’ll be waiting for you at the pad.”

Carlos had smiled when he heard Cramer scream. He knew Dina Rashid’s ways and that a simple straightforward killing wasn’t her way. She had to have her amusement first. In some respects she was similar to Mary Hennessy, but whereas Dina got some twisted, perverse sexual thrill out of seeing her men squirm, Hennessy seemed to do it simply to be cruel. Carlos couldn’t imagine Mary Hennessy having sex with a man before killing him, whereas that was Dina’s favourite method.

Mary had gone upstairs with Bailey to pack and to warn the two Americans. Carlos had grabbed a kitchen cloth and was quickly working around the kitchen, removing fingerprints as quickly as possible from those surfaces most likely to have been touched. He loaded all the dishes and cutlery into the dishwasher and switched it on, and then headed for the sitting room. As he began to rub down the television set he heard two shots, and then silence. He nodded to himself as he worked the cloth around the set’s controls. Dina Rashid was a true professional, despite her sexual quirks, and he much preferred working with her than the two Americans. He moved across to the coffee table and ran the cloth over it. There were several magazines on the table and he gathered them up and took them to the kitchen. As he threw them into a black garbage bag he heard two more pistol shots from the basement, and he frowned. Dina would never need more than two shots at close range. He dropped the bag on the floor and rushed over to the door which led to the basement stairs. He stood to the side and eased it open. The basement was in darkness. “Dina?” he called. There was no answer. “Dina?” he repeated. There was only silence. Carlos slammed the door shut with his foot and turned the key in the lock. He pushed the kitchen table over and jammed it up against the door before walking quickly to the hall. He called the others down and quickly explained what had happened.

“Aren’t we going to see if she’s all right?” asked Schoelen. He looked at Hennessy as if fearful that he was going to get the blame for the operation falling apart.

Carlos shook his head. “If she was all right, she’d have answered,” he said. “There were four shots. We can assume she’s dead.” Lovell smiled and Carlos glared at him. “Unless you want to go down, Lovell?” he said, staring menacingly at the sniper. Lovell averted his eyes.

“So what do we do, Ilich?” asked Mary. She knew how close Dina and Carlos were. It would have to be his decision.

“We leave, now,” said Carlos, his voice level. He looked at Schoelen. “You and Lovell go to the motel you stayed at before you moved here. Take both cars and take Mary and Bailey with you, but keep them under cover in the back of the car. I’ll see you there within an hour. Okay?”

“Okay,” agreed Schoelen.

“What will you be doing?” asked Bailey, nervously.

“I’ll get rid of the evidence,” he said. “First put all your things in the cars.” He pulled a pistol from the waistband of his trousers and gave it to Schoelen. “While they’re loading the cars, you stay in the kitchen. If you hear anything, shoot through the door.”

“What about Dina’s stuff?” asked Mary.

“I’ll take care of that,” said Carlos. “Now I suggest we move quickly. I don’t think we have much time.”

As Mary, Bailey and the snipers carried out their bags, Carlos went up to Dina’s room. Her rifle was in its case on top of her wardrobe and he took it down, opening it to check that everything was there. He found a small leather bag containing tools and cleaning equipment in the top drawer of her dressing table and he took that, too. Her pyjamas were hanging on the back of the door and Carlos held the jacket against his face, breathing in her fragrance. He would miss Dina Rashid, but he had no time to grieve for her. Not just then.

He took the case and the bag, along with his own suitcase, and went outside. He put them in the trunk of the car and slammed the lid shut and then went into the garage where he picked up a red can of gasoline. As he walked back to the house, Hennessy and Bailey came out, each carrying a suitcase. Bailey seemed even more apprehensive than usual and he was continually looking at Mary as if asking for approval. Carlos knew that Mary would be able to calm him down once they were away from the house. Behind them, Lovell left the house, carrying his gun case over his shoulder. Lovell got into his red Mustang and drove off first, while Bailey and Hennessy climbed into Schoelen’s rental car. Carlos headed back into the house.

He started upstairs, in Dina’s room, sprinkling gasoline on the bed and across the carpet to the door, leading a trail which went down the stairs, through the sitting room, and into the kitchen. Schoelen was leaning against the sink, the pistol in both hands. He raised one eyebrow as he watched Carlos pour the gasoline over the floor. “Planning a barbecue?” he asked sardonically.