Vince Flynn - Consent To Kill

"Back up a minute," said McMahon. "There were a fair amount of people running around here after the explosion. When I arrived on the scene I remember at least one person with a bike and who knows how many had already come and gone. How do we know it wasn't some neighbor who made that track?"

"Can you give me one good reason why a neighbor would carry their bike twenty feet into the woods, lay it down on the ground, and then lie down next to it?"

"Not off the top of my head."

The man looked back at Coleman. "I'm going to take a look at the path and see what I can find." He held up a Nextel two-way mobile phone. "I'll check in with you in fifteen."

"You want me to come with?"

The guy shook his head. "This tango is long gone." Without another word, the man took off jogging down the street.

"Who the hell is he?" asked McMahon.

"He's the best sniper I've ever seen. He can track anything."

"He works for you now?"

"Yep."

"Lovely. God, I hope you don't end up with the FBI on your doorstep someday."

"You and I both."

The sheriff returned, mumbling something under his breath. It was obvious things hadn't gone so well at the roadblock. "This TV crew is getting really pushy. They know we're stonewalling them. I spoke to their news director myself and he says we have five minutes until he gets a lawyer and judge involved. They're demanding to know the status of the husband, and they said they don't care if he worked for the CIA and neither will the judge."

Before McMahon could answer, Coleman said, "Sheriff, will you give us just a minute?"

The sheriff appeared hesitant at first and then consented. Coleman pulled McMahon a few feet away. "Can you take your FBI hat off for a second?"

"Do you really have to ask me that?" McMahon had proven to Coleman in the past that he was willing to look the other way.

"Throw the TV crew a bone. Have the deputy tell them Mitch is dead."

"Why in the hell would I want to do that?"

Coleman stared at him with a look that said, Do I really have to explain this to you? He would have preferred to not have this conversation with a law enforcement officer, but there wasn't a lot of time. "This was not an accident. It was a contract kill. One guy, maybe two."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"So why do you want us to leak to the press that Mitch is dead?"

"Theoretically speaking, in this line of work you get paid anywhere from a third to half of the fee as a down payment, and then when you complete the job you get the rest of the fee. If you don't complete the job, you don't get the rest of the money."

"And your point is?"

"If the media reports that Mitch is dead, this person will get the rest of the fee. Money will have to change hands. Probably a lot of it. That creates a trail."

"What if they get paid cash?"

"No trail, but my guess is a professional contract on Mitch would run at least four million dollars, maybe double that."

"And your point?"

"That's a lot of cash. Not the type of thing you want to try and get through customs. When you start talking that kind of money you're better off setting up dummy offshore corporations and transferring it electronically. The amount of money that's moved around every day is astronomical. It's like the old needle in the haystack."

"Then how in the hell are we going to find it?"

Coleman grinned. "We wait a few days…maybe more, and then we let it be known that Mitch is still alive. Whoever ordered the hit is going to be pissed. They're going to demand that this guy finish the job or give the money back." Coleman shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe we get lucky and they simply reverse the wire transfer. Same banks…same amount. The original transfer will be made tomorrow or the day after, and the refund will be made within a day or two from when it's announced that he's still alive. We could trace it."

"And if these guys decided they'd rather finish the job than give the money back?"

Coleman's face took on a wolfish smile. "Well, now that'd be even better, wouldn't it?"

McMahon got real uncomfortable. "Scott, you guys need to sit this one out and let us handle it."

Coleman let loose an ominous laugh. "Yeah, right. I talked to Irene on the way over here. He's awake." The former SEAL stopped and looked at McMahon for a long moment. "He knows she's dead. When he gets out of that hospital what do you think he's going to do? Sit on the sidelines like a good little Boy Scout while you guys push your subpoenas through the courts and try to get foreign governments to cooperate? Best-case scenario your investigation will take two years." Coleman shook his head. "It ain't gonna fuckin' happen. I'm telling you right now he's going to kill every last motherfucker who had anything to do with this, and there is nothing any of you can do to stop him."

McMahon ran a hand over his face and sighed. He knew Coleman was right. "Jesus, this is going to get ugly."

"You're damn right, and I've got a word of advice for you. Skip. Just get out of the way and tell anyone you care about to do the same."

Gould awoke to the sound of the TV and Claudia crying. It took him a moment to even remember where he was and he looked at the TV and saw a photo of Anna Rielly. They'd first heard the news on the radio the night before, driving through Columbus, Ohio. Claudia cried for the better part of an hour. Fortunately, he had told her the truth, which was that he didn't know if the woman had survived. He had waited as long as he could before triggering the explosion and when he left the scene she was in the front yard.

When they reached the hotel in Indianapolis, Claudia cried herself to sleep and now here she was in the morning shedding yet more tears. This pregnancy thing was really screwing with her emotions, and Gould didn't know how much more he could take. He'd tried to console her with words, he'd tried to comfort her by holding her, but nothing was working. This was not the first time he'd killed someone other than the primary target, and she had never so much as had a sniffle before.

Gould rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom. After relieving himself he stood in front of the mirror staring at his reflection. He looked the same. Same hazel eyes, same wavy brown hair, same broken nose. Nothing had changed, inside or out, for him, but something had fundamentally changed for Claudia. As they were falling asleep in the hotel room, Gould reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder. It was a gesture he'd made countless times. It was silent in nature, but it communicated the simple message that he was there for her. He did not expect his touch to cause her to shudder and whimper with even greater intensity. Although her reaction hurt his feelings, he was too tired to pursue something that he knew words could not solve. This was going to take time.

Gould was still tired. After leaving Rapp's house he'd thrown the bike in the back of the pickup truck and whipped a quick U-turn. Back on the paved roads he made his way over to U.S. Route 301 and took it south across the Potomac River and into Virginia. He'd located Caledon State Park on a map, and it looked to be the perfect place to dump the truck. It was only a few miles across the river into Virginia. Gould drove past the main entrance and continued down Virginia State Route 218 until he found a secondary road that led into the park. A half mile into the park, with no one else in sight, he put the truck into four-wheel drive and turned onto an overgrown trail. Once he'd made it far enough in that he could no longer see the road through his rearview mirror he shut the engine off and grabbed his backpack and helmet. Gould took the license plates off, shoved a hand towel from the hotel into the gas tank, and then doused the cab and the rest of the vehicle in gasoline. The forest looked pretty dry so he took a few steps back before lighting the match and then let it fly.