Day 2: May 16, 2230 Hours, Daylight Saving Time
Old Town Winchester, Virginia
ON MY WALK back to my rental car parked along a side street adjacent to the Old Town Walking Mall, my inner radar began pinging and my eyes began swiveling around looking for the reason. In the shadow of a building, I slipped my .45 semiautomatic out and held it close to my side so not to attract attention. As I did, I noticed a dark-colored Mercedes three cars ahead of me on my side of the street. A few steps from the front of it, the door opened and a dangerous man stepped out and faced me.
Dangerous was an understatement. He was a skilled assassin and a professional mercenary. His skills in combat were twice mine. Yep, hard for me to admit that. I’d learned much from him. He was average height with dark hair and a narrow, dark-skinned face. Without light I knew he had two scars along his left temple but couldn’t recall the story of how they came to be there. The last time I’d seen this man was nearly six months ago just outside Kandahar. He’d been sitting across the table in a dusty café waiting to deliver a message to me.
This time was different, though. This time, he held his hand inside an overcoat strategically draped over his arm. He would be holding a weapon. My guess was a silenced .22 in case anything untoward happened.
“Well, Shepard. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Hello, Hunter.” Shepard gestured to the rear door. “He wants to chat.”
“I know he’s pissed at me,” I said and gestured to the coat draped over his arm. “He’s not that pissed at me, is he?”
Shepard allowed a thin smile. “You’ve made enemies around here, Hunter. I’m not taking chances.”
Did I mention he was a smart guy?
As Shepard returned to the driver’s seat, I climbed into the rear seat of the Mercedes and came face-to-face with a short, thin man with thinning gray hair and a round, friendly Germanic face. This was, of course, my friend, mentor, and omnipotent master, Oscar LaRue.
LaRue hid his physique inside khakis and a starched white dress shirt without a tie. His aging blue eyes considered me through his round bifocals that were in constant need of cleaning. Don’t let his slight appearance fool you. LaRue was a hardened intelligence operative as lethal as they come. Though he rarely pulled the trigger or threw the switch. That’s what Shepard and I did. No, he gave the orders.
That required more than guts. It required strength. But in his day, decades before, of course, he was a machine. A deadly, brilliant machine.
“Well, Hunter, you have made quite an impression around town. This is Winchester, not Doha. You cannot go around shooting and fighting and getting into trouble.”
“I’ll make a note.” I settled into the leather seat and turned to face him. “You owe me $879,928.66.”
“I know.” He grinned and removed his eyeglasses for a cleaning. “Now, however, I require an update.”
LaRue and I had known each other forever. We met at Fort Bragg when I was young, brave, and stupid. I was toughing through the Army’s elite Special Forces training to earn the long tab and a Green Beret. LaRue had been recruiting for his CIA operations and trolling for new cannon fodder. Somehow, I was on a shortlist and had volunteered—unknowingly. For years, I’d followed him on one wild ride after another, in and out of the Middle East, Northern Africa, and even a few testy episodes inside the former Soviet Union. Our years and adventures formed a bond. He was my CIA mentor and my greatest benefactor for paying jobs—good paying jobs.
I liked to think he lived vicariously through me. Or, I was expendable.
“How about you get my money before I update you, Oscar?” I said. “You know, in good faith.”
“Good faith?” He gave me a curious smile. “You left Doha without even discussing it with me. Where was your good faith then?”
Touché. “Look, Oscar, my brother—”
“Yes, yes, of course. I am sorry.” He flipped on a small interior reading light that wasn’t bright enough to penetrate the tinted windows. “You have gotten crossways with the authorities and riled some very dangerous people. Is there anyone who does not want you killed? No, of course not.”
I said nothing.
“Considering your brother’s murder, I will overlook all that.”
“Thanks.”
“However, there is one thing.” A steel finger stabbed the air and the lashing began. “One of my people does not disappear without my notice. I was at Dulles airport when you arrived from Frankfurt.” He looked away dismissively. “Your passports are compromised.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“You disappointed me, Hunter.”
“It’s a curse.”
LaRue folded his hands on his lap and looked out the side window away from me. “So, you’re through? Retired? Or shall we simply call it what it is—unemployed?”
Here we go. “You’re here, so I guess I’m not unemployed.”
“No, not yet. But you will have to pay for your error in Doha.” He turned to face me now. “Leaving the theater abruptly, without authorization, caused me issues. I am responsible for your performance and your income.”
“Yes, missing income.” I hate it when he’s right. I explained to him about receiving Kevin’s letter and returning home late just in time for his murder. “I’m sorry, Oscar. I expected to be back before my R & R was up. Things spun out of control. But the moment I realized what was happening, I called you.”
“Yes, you did. I have been concerned you would embarrass me.”
Embarrass him? “Well, I nearly got killed at the river. I was blown up at the mall. I tangled with a Russian thug, and got into a brawl with two Arabs just now. Did any of that embarrass you?”
“Not yet.” He removed his eyeglasses for a polishing. “Begin at the river. Leave nothing out. But do not be redundant. You know I hate that.”
“You reminding me is redundant.”
He frowned. “Begin.”
I did. It took me nearly thirty minutes to go through the details of the past twenty-four hours. I started with Kevin’s murder and the events at the river. Then we discussed the mall bombing, my discovery at Christian Run in Manassas, and my message to him. In all, the two things that made his eyes widen were the Russian who took Noor captive earlier and the FEMA biohazard crew at the river.
When I was through, he sat silent with his hands folded and his eyes seeing nothing out the window. After several moments, he turned back to me, and his face was grim.
“It is worse than I feared. Much worse.”
Huh? “Which part?”
“Tell me again what Kevin said to you at the river.”
I thought about that and told him. “He mentioned Khalifah and gave me the partial address to Christian Run. He also said something about finding G and that ‘it’s not them.’ Oh, and he repeated ‘Maya in Baltimore.’”
He turned away from me again. “You are certain of these words?”
“As much as I can be. He was dying, Oscar.”
He lifted his chin and removed his eyeglasses to rub his eyes. “You are sure the intruder at Noor Mallory’s home was Russian?”
I remembered LaRue spoke Russian. “He said otyebis.”
“Understandable.” He allowed a thin smile. “I would not worry about him any longer. He has been removed from the game.”
The game? “Ah, what’s that mean?”
“We have him.”
“What? How’d you get him? You just got into town …”
He gazed out the window again. “Some of us move a bit faster than others, no?”
“Oh, come on, Oscar. Give me a break. I’ve done pretty well for only being on the ground a day or so.”
“Bravo for you. Imagine what you could do with patience and polish.” LaRue narrowed his eyes on me. “Now, let’s be clear on your situation.”
Situation? “How about a few answers first? Then my money.”
“Of course. But first, you must earn your place back on my team.” He faced me again. “One must pay penance first. There is a cost for you leaving Doha.”
“Let me guess, the cost is $879,928.66.”
“You can earn it back.”
“I already earned it.”
He looked at me with his chin up and his eyes locked onto me.
I was had. “Okay, Oscar, but if your assignment entails deserts or routing out former Arab dictators, count me out. I gotta stay here for a while. I’m officially retired from overseas skullduggery. I’m going to find Kevin’s killer.”
LaRue signaled Shepard to drive. “Kevin identified ‘Khalifah.’ Extraordinary coincidence.”