Matt Hilton - Blood and Ashes

Less than a minute later the van peeled out of the parking lot and drove away. If a white van could look abashed, then this one did.

As soon as they were gone, I pulled out the FBI phone and opened the battery compartment. True to form there was a tracking device under the battery. I slipped it into the grocery bag of an elderly woman walking past. The phone I switched off. I knew that the phone could still be traced by virtue of its internal programming, but that would require time to organise, and maybe they wouldn’t realise that I’d dumped the transponder until they figured out that Joe Hunter wasn’t the type to attend a cribbage league at the local community centre.

I was being obstructive simply for the hell of it, but I didn’t like the feeling that my every movement was being observed, even if it was by a supposed ally. And that was where the problem lay: supposed. I liked Vince, but I didn’t trust him. Even when hunting the most dangerous terrorists in the world, I would never have slept with a woman, then nudged her out of a window to her death, whether or not she was a psycho-killer. I had to keep Vince in mind at all times.

At face value Jared Rington was an anomaly. He was built like a pro-fighter, but he was no brain-damaged pug. His features had more in common with those of his Japanese mother than his Scottish-Canadian father, and yet he spoke with the drawling twang of a country and western singer. He was an imposing man whichever way you looked at him, but he was also quick to smile and carried gentleness within him that was belied by his capability for extreme violence which smouldered beneath his surface like a lit fuse. Like me, he was an Arrowsake alumnus, a graduate of that school of hard knocks, but following his demobilisation he’d managed to integrate himself back into society without carrying the same baggage that weighed me down.

I was damaged. I’m well aware of that fact. On leaving the military, I also had tried to settle back into the mundane life of a civilian, but the impulse to atone for what I perceived as a black mark on my soul ensured that I’d never know peace. Diane left me, though we loved each other, because she didn’t want to see her husband die. Diane knew I wouldn’t — couldn’t — change, and I was the first to admit that she was right. Often I’d reasoned that morality made me a good person, but my knack for embroiling myself in trouble argued against that. The saving grace was that I was helping decent people, and by that virtue it made me decent, too. That was my lot in life. My creed was simple: I didn’t like bullies and I’d go down kicking and screaming before I’d let them have their way. The only problem with my creed was that those loyal to me were dragged into my personal quest, and there was no one more loyal to me than Rink.

Rink would probably love to shake some sense into me, but at the same time whenever I stepped into the fray I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know that my friend was standing right there. That was a given.

I’d just done showering, shaving and pulling on fresh clothing when the big man proved the point. He grabbed me in a spine-cracking bear hug, told me how happy he was to see me, then set me down. His face was like a thunderhead growing on the horizon.

‘Hunter, most guys take off to Vegas, play the slot machines, maybe hook up with a gal for some no-strings fun, but not you. They come back with empty pockets and a shit-eating grin on their faces. When you told me you were taking a couple days out, I thought, great, go an’ do some fishing or hiking or whatever. ’Specially when you headed off to the ass-end of the Alleghenies, I thought, surely he can’t get himself in trouble up there…’

Rink gave me the eyeball.

‘What do you want me to say?’

‘For a start, you can tell me why you didn’t even mention why you were coming up here. I shoulda known when you asked me for a copy of Brook’s file, but I thought you were just planning to make peace with her old man. If I’d’ve known you were gonna get in this kinda shit, I’d’ve come along with you from the start.’

‘I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure if I’d even make it here. I almost turned back, Rink, more than once.’

‘Goddamnit, Joe! I know you, there was nothing gonna hold you back.’

I touched my thigh unconsciously, but the gesture wasn’t lost on Rink.

‘Hunter, you’ve nothing left to prove. ‘Specially not to yourself. You can spout all that bullshit you want about feelin’ whole again, but you’re not feared of the wound in your leg, it’s the hole in your heart you’re trying to fill. The things you’ve done to atone! Shit, man, you’ve done more good than anyone I ever knew.’

‘I’ve also done more bad than anyone.’

‘Bullshit!’

‘Rink, you weren’t there.’

‘You’re talking about that goddamn cult thing, ain’t ya? You didn’t kill those children; it was their own parents that stood them in the way of the bullets to cover their own cowardly asses. If anyone’s to blame it was those clap-happy sonsabitches.’

‘I still pulled the trigger, Rink.’

‘You weren’t to know the children were there. You were given bad intelligence, but you were working in good faith. You shouldn’t hold yourself responsible for other people’s mistakes.’ Rink went stock-still. ‘Oh, wait. I get it now. That’s why you’re here…’

I nodded solemnly. ‘Don Griffiths was the one who supplied the intelligence. It’s why I almost turned back, Rink. I set off thinking that I could help him. By the time I’d made it halfway here I’d changed my mind. All I wanted to do was put a bullet in his heart.’

Rink sat down on the motel bed, the springs creaking ominously under him. ‘So why didn’t you?’

‘As soon as I saw him, I knew I couldn’t. Took me a little longer to realise he was no more responsible than I was, but I got there. I was still going to walk away at first, but something happened to change my mind.’

I told Rink about the men at the Seven-Eleven and how I’d killed them with impunity. It took until then, but the truth struck me as hard as if Rink had karate-kicked the side of my head. Killing the two men had been an excuse, my way of burying my hatred of Don Griffiths. By doling out violent frustration on the two men, I’d exorcised the ghosts of those children who’d died.

‘You’re sure that the two men were with Gant and his crew?’ Rink asked after I finished.

‘I’m sure. In fact, Agent Vincent confirmed it. He asked me if I’d come across them in Bedford Well, called them Rooster and Cabe, described them to a tee.’

‘And you told him?’

‘Rules of the game were that I came clean,’ I said. ‘I think Vince already had a good idea that their disappearance was down to me. I didn’t want a lie to come back and trip me up later. A team was being dispatched to recover them this morning.’

‘They’re cleaning up behind them as they go,’ Rink observed.

‘As far as anyone around here knows, nothing has happened.’

‘You told me on the phone that Don’s son-in-law was killed, that his house was burned to the ground. They cover that as well?’

‘The way they’re spinning the story it was just another tragic but unrelated accident to hit the Reynoldses. What’s the chance of both the husband and wife being burned to death in such a short space of time? Far as I know, the locals are buying it, though.’

‘How’d they cover Don Griffiths gettin’ himself shot?’

‘That hasn’t been mentioned, yet. A story has been put around that Don has taken Millie and his grandkids away for a while, to protect them from the terrible tragedy.’