Matt Hilton - Dead Men's Harvest

‘What if you desire more than his life?’ Cain wasn’t being sarcastic or enigmatic. He always liked to take something from his victims — bones in particular — as a reminder of his potency. He wasn’t called the Harvestman for nothing.

‘Death is enough,’ Hendrickson replied. ‘Kill this man for me, Cain. What you do to him afterwards… I don’t care. In fact, it’s probably best that you do take your trophy.’

‘Oh, I intend to.’

‘Good, good.’ Hendrickson placed the Colt down, showed Cain the exit. ‘I have men at my disposal. Use them as you will.’

‘I work best alone.’

‘Yes,’ Hendrickson agreed. ‘But there are others who may need dealing with.’

Involuntarily, Cain’s hand moved to the scar on his throat. The lesion had never fully healed, a puncture wound that separated his trachea.

Hendrickson said, ‘Don’t worry. Like I said, I’ve a plan in motion and already have men on their trail.’

‘They’re good,’ Cain pointed out. ‘Send plenty of men.’

‘It isn’t so much the number as the quality. Rest assured, I have hired only the best in the business.’

Cain eyed him.

Hendrickson coughed low in his throat. ‘They’re not as skilled as you, but they’re sufficient to kill a couple of out-of-practice soldiers.’

‘Do not kill them,’ Cain said. ‘Take them alive. Once I’m finished with John Telfer, I want to reacquaint myself with Joe Hunter and Jared Rington.’

Why Hartlaub and Brigham and, more pertinently, Walter, wanted to waste time showing me the horror wrought by Tubal Cain was beyond me. All Walter needed to do was pick up a phone, contact me at Imogen’s house and tell me what had gone down. I’d have answered his call to arms in a heartbeat.

His reticence was possibly because the last time we’d met it had been on shaky ground. Walter had used Rink and me in a scheme spearheaded by our old Arrowsake commanders. We had been forced into a showdown with a group of white supremacists intent on bringing down the government. That sounds like a noble cause, but not when Arrowsake were prodding the group to action in the first place. They had planned to use the threat of domestic terrorism to raise funds and support for the intelligence community they served. It didn’t matter to them that an innocent family were targeted, or that Rink or I might die, only that their ends were met. Coming clean about the entire plot, Walter had felt deep shame. We’d kind of cleared the air, but maybe there was still some residual embarrassment in Walter’s heart. His lying about the eventual fate of Tubal Cain wouldn’t be helping either.

Shit! The man had lied to me about the plot concerning Carswell Hicks and Samuel Gant, but that was because he’d been under orders to do so. Keeping Cain’s survival a secret was his own doing. I’d be justified in telling him to go fuck himself, to deal with the problem on his own, but he knew I wouldn’t turn my back now that I’d seen Cain’s latest atrocity. I’d just lost one old friend in Bryce Lang, and I wasn’t going to lose another.

Rink was more than a brother to me. We had both served Arrowsake, watching each other’s back, and we’d done the same since leaving the forces, not simply through a sense of friendship or duty, but through a loyalty that transcended even the bond of blood. It’s a terrible thing to admit, but his disappearance meant more to me than the danger my real brother faced now that Cain was back on the loose. I didn’t doubt that John was under the protection of some of the best people Walter could field, but Rink was on his own. Rink was as tough as whalebone, and as capable a warrior as any I’d known. But he was also human and, unprepared for a sneak attack from a monster like Tubal Cain, he could be taken down as easily as anyone.

Rink can be a mother hen with me at times; he doesn’t trust me to behave when I’m out from under his calming influence. Even when he knew I was spending a few days with Imogen he couldn’t help checking up on me. I’d last spoken with Rink yesterday and he was his usual self. No concerns, just getting on with the day job. He was working on uncovering a low-key insurance swindle, nothing that would have forced him into deep cover. Unless he was purposely hiding, the CIA team sent to bring him in should have found him.

‘Give me your phone.’

Brigham said, ‘I already told you; they can’t find Rington anywhere.’

‘Maybe he doesn’t want to be found by you.’ My words were hopeful, but a gnawing sensation in my guts said otherwise. Unbeknown to even these guys, Rink and I had secret ways to communicate. Once we’d used the relay system set in place by Walter, but since the recent shady goings-on with Arrowsake, we’d deemed it necessary to have our own structure put in place. Harvey Lucas, our friend out in Little Rock, a wizard with computers, had built our very own network that piggy-backed various communication satellites without leaving a trace. In my haste, I’d thrown my mobile phone in my pack with my clothing and it was outside in the SUV. I held out my hand for Brigham’s phone. The younger agent sought guidance from his superior, but all Hartlaub did was shrug.

I took the phone from Brigham and walked away from them, seeking a place where I wasn’t stepping in blood. I keyed in numbers, listened, but as I feared the phone went unanswered. I pressed more buttons and left an encrypted message at a voicemail box that only Rink could access. Then, on a whim, I decided maybe the most direct route was best and called Rink’s office.

‘Rington Investigations,’ answered a voice with the slightest inflection of his Hispanic inheritance.

‘Velasquez… It’s Joe.’

‘Jesus, man, me an’ McTeer have been tryin’ to get hold of you all day. We even called your girl up in Maine, but she told us you’d already gone.’

Velasquez and McTeer were ex-cops. Both men now worked with Rink at his private investigations business. They were hard cases, not the type to be easily ruffled. By the sounds of his voice though, something concerned Velasquez more than my apparently being incommunicado.

‘Do you know where Rink is?’

‘No, man. That’s why we’ve been trying to get you.’

‘He was working the insurance scam, right? Where was he headed when last you spoke to him?’

‘Somewhere down in the Everglades… Pocahontas Swamp or somewhere. Shit, man, I had a deskful myself, didn’t take much notice when he headed outa the door. I didn’t even realise he was late back until some spook-types busted into the office and asked about him.’

‘And he hasn’t been in touch since…’

‘We’ve been trying to get hold of him all day, too. McTeer is out driving around, scouting all the case’s locations on the chance he’ll find him. But I’m starting to think that’s not going to happen. What the fuck’s going on, Joe?’

I considered telling him about Tubal Cain, but decided against it. I presumed Walter wanted this kept under wraps at all costs, and that was why he’d brought me in quietly like this. Still, I wasn’t prepared to put McTeer or Velasquez at risk.

‘The shit has hit the fan, Velasquez. This is what you’re going to do. Call McTeer in. Then shut up shop and go home. Don’t come anywhere near the office until you hear from me or Rink.’

‘What the fuck?’

‘Trust me. You don’t want to be linked to either of us, not while this is going on.’

‘Rink’s my boss, but he’s also my friend. If he’s in danger then-’

‘Listen,’ I cut him off. ‘Just do as I ask, OK? You’re both good men, and the last thing I want is for something to happen to either of you.’

‘We can look after ourselves.’