G. Moffat - Blindside

‘Maybe we should talk to Webb again,’ he said. ‘Tell him what we found out.’

‘I think that would be sensible.’

Cahill started the car up and pulled out from the kerb. Logan checked his phone and saw that he had two voicemail messages: one from Irvine and one from Ellie. He listened to both and wanted to be back home with them.

‘What time is it?’ Cahill asked him.

Logan checked his watch and said it was after three.

‘Okay, let’s get back to the room to get freshened up, then we’ll grab an early dinner. We can go see Webb tomorrow.’

‘And arrange flights back home?’

‘Maybe.’

Logan wasn’t convinced.

Logan took the laptop from his bag and went to the bar in the hotel to wait for Cahill to finish up in the bathroom. He ordered a bottle of locally brewed wheat beer — Easy Street — and sat at a table by the window, looking out on to the street. The beer was good.

He put the laptop on the table and opened it, settling back in his seat to read the newspaper he had bought that morning while he waited for the computer to boot. The first couple of pages were taken up by some story about illegal campaign donations in a local election. Seemed to Logan like politicians were the same the world over.

The computer beeped, waiting for him to input a password. He typed it in and connected to the Internet via the hotel’s Wi-Fi connection.

He was annoyed by the futility of their search today for the elusive D. Hunter, so he found a local phone directory and typed the name into the search box.

The search returned two of the people they had checked out today, a whole bunch of other, plain old ‘Hunter’ entries, one Dr Hunter and a law firm — Dutton Hunter Green. He thought that the law firm might be more of a possibility than the others so searched again for its own website and then scrolled through the names of all the lawyers. Nothing jumped out at him.

He tried a new Google search: ‘Hunter, Denver’. It returned over a hundred pages of results. He skimmed through the first fifteen pages before he saw one that caught his attention. It was an article from the same newspaper ten years ago — about a young police officer injured in a bank robbery which had descended into a gunfight. It had been an FBI operation that he stumbled into before his very first shift as a uniformed cop. His name was Jacob Hunter.

Logan read the story twice, something nagging at his mind. There was a quote from the Chief of Detectives about the investigation into the shooting.

Logan had a thought: if Hunter started in the force ten years ago, maybe he was a detective now.

D. Hunter — Detective Hunter.

That would make sense. What if Tim Stark had seen something that meant this Hunter was somehow involved in whatever the gang he had infiltrated was up to?

He ran a search on ‘Detective Hunter, Denver’, found a recent news story about a disabled veteran who had been found dead in one of the city centre parks. There was a quote from a homicide detective about some potentially related deaths in recent weeks. As usual, the cop was noncommittal.

The cop’s name was Detective Jake Hunter.

‘What do you think?’ Logan asked Cahill back in their room. ‘Maybe it’s him.’

Logan waited while Cahill read the articles Logan had found.

‘I don’t know,’ Cahill said when he was done reading. ‘I mean, why would an undercover FBI agent have an interest in a city homicide detective?’

Logan thought for a moment.

‘Maybe he’s dirty. The detective. Involved with whatever Stark was investigating.’

Cahill scanned the stories for the third time.

‘We need to tell the FBI, right?’ Logan said.

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We don’t know what his part is in all of this. Or if it’s really his name that Tim sent to himself. If he is involved, could be Tim was simply reminding himself that he was someone he needed to speak to about the case. I mean, you remember what Webb said. Tim was using an alias on the flight because his undercover status had been compromised. He must have known the bad guys were after him and maybe he didn’t know how much time he had or whether he’d make it out alive.’

‘Webb didn’t exactly say that, Alex.’

‘He said as much.’

‘If you’re thinking what I know you’re thinking, it’s a bad idea. Let the professionals handle it.’

Cahill put the paper down and stared at Logan.

‘After everything we’ve been through over the last couple of years, you can say that to me without a trace of irony? You’ve seen the so-called professionals at work. Does that give you the confidence to hand something over to them?’

‘Not the FBI.’

‘Same thing so far as I’m concerned. I mean, I’m not about to trust something like this to those guys. I owe it to Tim to do more than that.’

‘We’re coming up tomorrow,’ Raines said into the phone.

He was talking to his second in command at the mountain compound.

‘What time?’

‘After breakfast. Around nine.’

‘Fine with me.’

‘Listen, we need picking up. I’ve got an FBI tail and I don’t want to drive myself. I can lose them easier on foot in town.’

‘Tell me where and when and I’ll come get you myself.’

‘No. You stay put. Send one of the others.’

‘Just one? I mean, what if you get into a tight spot with the Feds?’

Raines thought for a moment. He didn’t want to get into a war in the city. But how did that Rolling Stones song go? You can’t always get what you want.

‘You’re right. Send two and make sure they come loaded for bear.’

‘Copy that.’

‘I’ll be at the diner. The one we usually meet at.’

‘The Fried Egg on Seventeenth and Market?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘You want the boys to come into town and you can call them when you’re set? They won’t be far away. That way you can make sure the Feds aren’t on to you.’

‘Yeah. Let’s do it that way.’

‘Does this mean we’re doing it now?’

‘It does.’

‘Looking forward to it being over.’

‘Me too. Stay sharp, soldier.’

Raines wasn’t sure if he would be coming back to the apartment from the compound so he packed a bag with enough clothes to last him a week. Then he called Matt Horn.

‘We’re going to get picked up in town early tomorrow. Can you meet me at the diner for breakfast?’

‘Sure. What time?’

Raines was glad that he didn’t have to put up with any crap from Horn this morning. They could probably finish this thing off without him, but it would be safer if he was still on board. No loose ends to worry about.

‘No second thoughts now?’

‘No.’

Raines had expected some hesitation from him and was happy that there had been none.

‘Good. Meet me at eight-thirty in the diner. I need to shake the Feds who are sitting on me first. Shouldn’t be too hard. They’re amateurs.’

‘Don’t underestimate them, Seth.’

‘I’ve estimated them exactly. And they won’t give me any trouble.’

‘What do you want me to do if you’re late?’

‘Order breakfast. I’ll call your cellphone when I’m on my way.’

Raines felt that he should say something more than just giving orders.

‘Look, Matt, this’ll be done soon.’

‘You keep saying that.’

Raines sighed.

‘You’re the one who got fucked over,’ he told Horn.

‘I know.’

‘And I got you out of that shithole hospital.’

‘I said I know.’

‘Nobody else was going to do anything for you. Not the army and not the Government.’

Horn stayed quiet.