THE DIRECTOR PULLED THE SUBURBAN RIGHT UP TO THE FRONT DOOR OF THE DILAPIDATED FILLING STATION. Graffiti covered the front of the building, and weeds had taken over the lot. Vines snaked up the sides of the old gas pumps. An oval-shaped sign still stood on a large metal pole out front, but the logo of the business was gone with only the skeletal structure of the sign surviving. He could understand how the place had gone out of business. They were miles from a town or any houses on a road that was barely traveled.
He could see through the station’s front window, and the light shining from the garage area betrayed the fact that although the building was not in service it was also not unoccupied. He pulled out his Beretta pistol and chambered a round.
From the passenger seat, Fagan said, “Let’s try to reason with him first.”
The Director nodded and put the Beretta back in its holster. “Of course. Just being prepared.”
As they exited the Suburban and walked toward the entrance of the abandoned filling station, a cold breeze made the hairs on the back of the Director’s neck stand at attention. He heard the clanging of a loose piece of sheet metal, and the rhythmic sound of metal on metal reminded him of the tolling of bells.
They entered through a small room that had served as the station’s storefront. Now, it was empty except for some racks that had once contained rows of oil, a desk, and an ancient cash register. Fagan was first through the door to the garage. The Director followed at his heels. Although he didn’t have his gun out, he still scanned the room in his mind in the same way he would have if they were breaching and clearing the building. Then his eyes focused on Andrew. Blood covered his friend’s face, but the worst damage was a foot that appeared to have been smashed by a sledgehammer that the Director spotted sitting upright nearby. The sight of it made the Director’s blood boil toward eruption.
Even in his ruined state, Andrew had enough presence of mind to think tactically. He caught the Director’s eye and then looked toward a small oak door at the side of the garage. The Director placed his hand over his gun and was about to move toward the door when he heard a voice behind him say, “Don’t. Take it out slowly. Two fingers and lay it on the ground.”
He glanced back to see a large black man aiming a pistol at them. The man wore the same kind of dark tactical clothing that the mercenaries at the farmhouse had favored. He had apparently circled around the building to get the drop on them when he heard their vehicle pull up.
The Director complied with the man’s demands and then said, “Where’s Craig?”
“Right here,” Craig answered as he emerged through the door that Andrew had indicated. His dark fatigues were pulled down around his waist, exposing a white tank top stretched tight across his thickly muscled chest. He held a blood-stained towel, using it to wipe one hand and then the other.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Craig?” Fagan asked.
“My job.”
“I hired you to capture and contain Ackerman. Then you were ordered to eliminate him. You failed. Your job is complete. What would compel you to detain and torture one of my agents?”
The Director noticed the way that Fagan had taken ownership of Andrew as one of his men. Maybe there was hope for the bureaucrat yet.
Craig tossed the towel onto a nearby shelf. “I’m reacquiring the target, sir. And to be perfectly honest, the mission parameters changed the moment your agents decided to kill one of my men!”
Fagan shook his head and glanced over at the Director, accusation in his eyes. He said, “That’s unfortunate, and a situation that will be dealt with internally. Your services are no longer needed, but you will, of course, be paid in full. With an added bonus for the loss of your man.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll just take my payment in blood.” Craig pulled a gun from the small of his back and pointed it at Andrew.
The Director stepped forward, but Fagan stopped him with a hand on the chest. Fagan said, “Mr. Craig, we’re professionals here. Let’s not be rash. I’m sure that we can come to some mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“Can you bring back my friend?” Craig said, sighting down his gun’s barrel at Andrew’s bound form.
This time, the Director did step forward, placing himself between Craig and Andrew. He said, “You want vengeance? You want someone to blame? These are my people. Andrew’s my friend, and I’m responsible for him. You want an eye for an eye? Blood for blood? Take mine. Kill me and let him go.”
Craig stared at him for a long moment. The Director saw the barely contained rage bubbling just below the surface. Craig was only one step away from the men whom the Shepherd Organization hunted, and the Director wasn’t sure if there was any way to reason with him. He could very well kill all three of them without a second thought.
Craig’s finger tightened against the trigger, but then he lowered the gun and shoved it back into his belt. “Take him. He’s already told me where the others are headed anyway. And you can keep your blood. I want Ackerman. He’s the one who started all this. I want that bastard’s head mounted on my wall.” Craig gestured toward his man, and they gathered their things and left through the back of the station while keeping a cautious eye on the Director.
As they headed for the exit, the Director said, “Do what you feel is necessary with Ackerman. He can handle himself, and he probably deserves much worse than you can give. But if anything happens to Maggie, I’ll hunt you to the ends of the Earth.”
Craig didn’t respond. He backed out of the room without another word. Once they were gone, the Director rushed to Andrew’s side. As he worked at removing the bonds, he asked, “Are you okay, Andrew?”
Andrew looked at him as if the older man had lost his mind and replied in a rasping voice, “Not really.”