Matt Hilton - Blood and Ashes

‘We’ve used him, too.’

Rink didn’t make comment, he knew that without Walter’s intervention we’d both be doing hard time, or dead.

‘I suppose you’re right. Walter has helped us, but it was always for his own reasons. Maybe he was even ordered to help us, I don’t know. Perhaps that’s why Arrowsake have chosen now to show their faces, so that we realise who it is we’re really obligated to.’

‘I don’t feel like we owe them a thing. They made monsters outa us, then they kicked us loose like we were dog shit on their shoes, remember?’

Dreams still tormented me: the screams of accusation, the faces of the countless dead, all those sent howling into my nightmares because Arrowsake pointed at them and ordered me to kill. In those dreams I was under a bruised sky where the clouds were the shifting faces of the damned, striding across the blood-soaked earth, the arms of my victims reaching for me, tearing at my clothing and flesh, the ground sucking at my boots, trying to draw me into its embrace. Sometimes I’d give in to the inevitable, and wake varnished in sweat, but other times I’d fight my accusers, blasting their faces apart with my fists and my gun that seemed to have a never-ending supply of ammunition. While doing so I’d laugh hysterically, like it was the greatest enjoyment imaginable. Yes, Rink was right when he said that Arrowsake had made a monster of me.

‘Walter’s still our friend.’ There was finality to my statement.

‘I know that you love the old fart, Hunter, but you’ve gotta see him for what he really is. Where his loyalties lie.’

‘I just don’t see him standing by and doing nothing to warn us. Not if you’re right and we’re not coming back from this.’

‘If what he says is true, then there’s little hope of that happening anyway.’

‘There’s no need for you to come along, Rink. I’m the one who has the threat of prison hanging over me.’

The suggestion didn’t merit an answer. Rink shook his head. ‘I vote we tell Arrowsake to go fuck themselves, then we disappear. We could do that, you know.’

Rink was as serious as an April Fool prank. He grinned, shook his head again, resigned to the fact that we were buried in Arrowsake’s plan as deeply as an Arkansas tick in a bull’s ass. It didn’t matter that we were being manipulated into becoming assassins again; I had a personal reason for wanting Carswell Hicks and his followers dead. I’d sworn to end the threat to the Griffiths family and to get that done even Rink could see that it was better we worked with Arrowsake than against them.

The weather front coming down over the Great Lakes had finally spent itself over the Alleghenies, and Hertford was spread out below us, twinkling wetly under the winter sun. Hertford City Medical Center was a series of whitewashed buildings on the northern side of town, and the chopper banked that way, heading directly for the hospital’s helipad. I adjusted my coat. Covering my weapons was a necessity, but I also suspected that the sun didn’t hold much warmth yet.

Disembarking from the helicopter, we attracted a crowd of onlookers who were familiar with the local air-ambulance but not this sleek airship. Maybe they were expecting the men in black, because they seemed singularly nonplussed when Rink and I stepped out. Vince followed, and he did look more like the popular image of an undercover agent. It helped when he thumbed on some obligatory dark shades and strode purposefully for the hospital, his mouth set in a tight line. We shared an amused glance at his expense.

Don Griffiths was no longer ensconced in the Intensive Care Unit, but had been shifted to a private room. It was as much for the privacy of other patients as for Don, due to the number of FBI personnel who’d come and gone over the last few days. There was a guard on his door, who moved away when Vince gave him the signal. Don was lying in his bed, eyes closed, with the soft beep of machines marking his progress back to recovery. Don looked twenty years older than the last time I’d seen him. I turned to Vince. ‘Give me a few minutes, will you?’

‘I want to know everything he says.’

‘Fair enough, but he won’t say anything with you standing there.’

Vince scowled at the old man in the bed. ‘It doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything whether I’m here or not.’

Rink took Vince by the elbow. ‘C’mon. You can go get a coffee with your old pal, Rink.’

‘Oh, so we’re friends now?’

‘So long as you’re buying.’

Vince pointed a finger at me. ‘ Everything he says. OK?’

‘As long as you get me a coffee, too. Strong as it comes, extra shot of espresso.’

Rink ushered the FBI agent away, closing the door behind him. When I was sure that Vince was out of earshot, I said, ‘You can stop pretending now, Don, the feebie’s gone.’

Don slowly opened his eyes, as though checking the coast was clear. He shifted himself on the bed, groaning as much as the springs. ‘How did you know I was awake?’

I nodded at the cardiac monitor, how closely together the spikes and corresponding beeps had become. ‘Bit of a giveaway. Luckily Vince was too busy listening to his own voice to notice.’

‘There’s no fooling you, Hunter.’

Don’s words held more meaning than even he’d intended. His cheeks flushed, a stark contrast to his white hair and beard.

‘I need to know it all, Don. Everything. You ready to talk?’ The question held room for only one reply. Don closed his eyes. He was ordering his words, and I gave him the time. There was a jug of water on a bedside table and I poured a glass, held it out to the old man. ‘Here, take a drink.’

Don sipped, holding the glass in both hands like a chalice. The glass was something he could concentrate on, to help steady himself.

‘When I first came to see you, you mentioned that you’d received an email,’ I began. ‘I didn’t attach too much importance to it at the time, but it’s been there niggling away at the back of my mind. I assumed that you had received a message — perhaps intended for someone else — and had read into it something that wasn’t even there. But when events overtook us, I never bothered asking who it was from or how many times you’d got mail prior to that because by then, well, it was a given that the mail had come from Hicks or someone close to him. I was wrong, wasn’t I?’

Don’s mouth made a tight gash and he dipped towards the glass again. He licked his lips, trying to get his mouth to work in time with his thoughts. ‘You’re partly right, Hunter. The messages did come from someone close to Hicks, only they were without his knowledge.’

‘Someone betraying Hicks from the inside? Not Vince?’

‘No, not Vince. I had no idea… what Vince really was until he came across me at the logging camp and told me.’

‘Who, then?’

‘Better that you understand what than who. Back when I was an analyst for the think-tank, I discovered this man. He was deemed a low threat, no one of any consequence. He had a deep-seated hatred of the government for what he saw as a betrayal of the Vietnam veterans, but he was more hot air than anything and was never going to progress further than nasty words or propaganda. Under the first amendment, he had a right to shout and scream all he wanted, and he was happy to do that. Posing as a sympathetic ear, I got close to him and he began telling me about this other bunch, an offshoot disowned even by the National Alliance, white supremacists who were planning a major event. Are you familiar with The Turner Diaries, Hunter?’

As someone who had been tasked with taking down paramilitary killers I was all too familiar with the book. Written under the pseudonym of Andrew MacDonald, it was actually penned by Dr William Pierce, the founder of the National Alliance, and was about a race war with a group of militant whites successfully overthrowing the US government. Many racists saw it as a prophetic tale of future events and some had used it as a blueprint for their actions. Timothy McVeigh, the man convicted of the Oklahoma bombing, had confessed to attacking the Federal Building after reading the book. Back in the 1980s, Robert Matthews and his group had gone on a spree of robberies and murder before he was killed in a stand-off with the FBI. Matthews was also an advocate of the book.