To Rule in Hell Read online

  “Of course, Kenny. Anything.”

  “Can we…” He hesitated. “Can we expect you home at some point, sir?”

  I smiled. It was a good question, and I wasn’t able to answer it until we were stepping out of the elevators onto the roof. I walked him to the Zombie and as he opened the door I said, “It’s a question I have been asking myself a lot lately, Kenny, and I’m beginning to think that the answer is yes. I don’t know when. Maybe I’ll know more after Wednesday.”

  “That is good news, Rosalia will be very happy.”

  “What’s your other question?”

  “Will Miss Marni be with you?” I guess he saw by my face that there was no simple answer to that one, because before I could reply, he said, “Ah, I see, sir. Well, I’d best be getting back then. Perhaps we should leave a few minutes between my departure and yours. We’ll be hoping to hear from you in due course. Goodbye, sir.”

  And with that, he climbed into the car and slipped silently away.

  Two

  The drive to Spokane should have taken six hours but it didn’t. The four wheel drive Dodge, with its V8 growl, is not a car for cruising or looking at the scenery. I hit the I-90, crossed the two bridges, and after Issaquah I was out of the city and burning rubber at 100 MPH, headed east in the afternoon sun. Both me and the Dodge were happy.

  I arrived in Spokane at five PM, dropped the Dodge in a side street and, according to Kenny’s instructions, bought a one way ticket to Chicago on the Empire Builder. I discovered then that there was only one a day. It departed at twenty-five minutes past one in the morning and arrived in Chicago thirty-six hours later, at three fifty-five in the afternoon. It would have been faster by ten hours to drive, but I guess Marni, or Gibbons, was trying not to leave a trail. At some point, I figured, I might find out why.

  Premium was extortionate, but for once in my life I took a leaf out of my father’s book and went first class, because I got a room, a bed and food, all of which I was going to need. I called Abi from a pay phone and told her I was going to be at least a week, maybe two, but that I was more certain than ever that I was coming back. She was quiet, like she was trying to believe me, which made me wonder whether I believed myself. I was pretty sure I did, but I was also in uncharted territory. Family were things I had been running from as long as I could remember. Now, suddenly, I found I wanted to create both.

  After I had hung up, I killed eight hours by getting lost in the city, buying a book, having an early dinner at a restaurant and then downing some drinks and watching TV in a late night bar. At one AM I made my way to the station and boarded the train.

  The rest of the journey was a kind of interminable blur: the relentless rhythm of the train on the tracks, and the endless spectacular scenery of the north, interspersed with chapters from a futuristic dystopian thriller about a guy fighting an unwinnable war against an all-powerful organization that controlled world governments. I wondered if the author knew how close he was to the truth. But eventually, after thirty-six long hours, we arrived at Chicago, and I shoved the book in my bag.

  From the railway station I took a cab direct to O’Hare and managed to get a seat on a flight departing that evening at seven forty-five, arriving at ten thirty. I called the hotel and told them I’d be arriving earlier than expected. I could have booked in at the airport Hilton, stayed the night and caught a morning flight, but it felt like I had been traveling all my life, and getting nowhere. Now I just wanted to arrive, get the job done and go home.

  I finally climbed out of the cab at the Hotel Hive at just before midnight, sixty hours and three thousand miles from where I had started, with still no clear idea of what I was doing there, or when I would be able to go back to Independence, Abi, and the life I was trying to build. I checked in at reception and discovered that Marni had had the good sense to book me a king-sized attic. I rode the elevator up to my room, poured myself a large Bushmills and collapsed on the bed.

  * * *

  I slept in late and had brunch in my room while I showered and shaved, and wondered what the hell I was doing in D.C. So far all the instructions I’d received had been aimed at one single thing, ensuring that nobody followed me. And the only items I had collected had been documents to conceal my identity. Now I was here, in D.C., as Joseph O’Brien, and whoever I was due to meet in the bar would presumably tell me why. But the fact that I was in a hotel in Washington, rather than a dive in the Bronx or a hamlet in the Mid West, could mean only one thing: that Gibbons and Marni were trying some kind of political power play. This clearly involved Gibbons’ political ‘connections’, but what I was struggling with was how it involved me.

  As I thought about it I realized there was a second possibility, and that was that I had been duped and I was here to meet Ben. D.C. was Ben’s turf, and twice already I had been brought here to his office at the Pentagon. But the last time I’d met him here had resulted in the deaths of several senior members of Omega, and one former president. I was pretty sure that next time I met Ben, he’d be trying to kill me, not talk to me.

  It was unlikely, I decided, to be a trap set by Ben, but I was also pretty sure that he would be making an appearance sooner or later.

  I spent the afternoon in my room working out and killing time, and at five thirty I went down to the bar. There was a lot of red brick, dark wood and artsy elegance. I ordered a martini very dry and found a table near an open fire. There I sat to wait. My contact arrived at five fifty-nine with a luminous sign on his head that said ‘Navy Seal’. All six foot two of him stood in the doorway in his Italian suit and his Ray-Ban shades, assessing his immediate environment and seeking his target. I sighed and looked at the small flames in the hearth. After a moment I heard his large feet cross the floor to my table.

  I looked up at him and smiled. “Hello.”

  He spoke with no inflection at all. “How is your extension progressing?”

  I nodded. “Well, you know, it’s a work in progress. Sit down and order a drink, will you? And try to stop looking like a damn Navy Seal.”

  His right eyebrow twitched. “Sarah asked me to hurry. She has the roast on. We can have drinks when we get there.”

  I shook my head, drained my glass and stood. As I grabbed my coat I asked him, “You ever consider a career in Hollywood? There is something so natural and believable about your delivery.”

  “You ever consider a career as a comedian? You’re funny.”

  Outside it was getting dark and there was a bite in the air. He started across the sidewalk and I saw he had a black Grand Cherokee Laredo waiting with its hazards flashing. As he moved around to the driver’s door, he said, “In D.C., this is blending in.”

  I sighed for the second time. Maybe he was right, at that. We spent the next hour driving all over the District of Colombia, as far north as Fort Slocum Park and as far south as Wesley Heights by way of the White House. All the while he seemed to have his eyes fixed more on the mirrors than on the road. I decided he was thorough, and made up in attention to detail for what he lacked in innate intelligence. He was a well-trained gorilla.

  Eventually he seemed to relax and we headed, by way of many side streets, toward Trinidad. On Montello Avenue he turned right into Penn Street and stopped outside a slightly dilapidated, double-fronted red brick that looked like it might have been new in the 1890s. The front lawn was running to seed and the Georgian gabled portico was shedding its white paint. He glanced at me. “This low-key enough for you?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, your ninety grand Cherokee fits right in here.”

  “Quit griping. She’s waiting.”

  “Who is?”

  “Go and find out, hot shot.”

  Just for a moment there was hostility in his eyes. Resentment? Hurt pride? I climbed out and made my way across the lawn, along the cracked concrete path toward the front door. I heard the big engine whine and watched the red taillights move away into the dark.

  The door was plain wood with peeling varnish. I
tried the bell. It didn’t work, so I rapped with my knuckles. After fifteen seconds the door opened. The hall inside was dark, but I could make out the form of a man holding a gun. He said, “Step inside, put your hands on your head and face the wall.”

  I didn’t move. “How about I break your neck instead?”

  “I wouldn’t do that. You’re covered on three sides. Besides, I just want to check you for weapons. Quit being an asshole and step inside.”

  I went in and put my hands up. He kept his distance, closed the door and snapped on the lights. I was in a dingy hall with a staircase opposite, and a door on either side. There were two men, both with the same Special Ops look: short hair, expressionless eyes and shirts that didn’t fit across their chests. The guy holding the gun on me was in his fifties, the other was twenty years younger, with dark hair and dark eyes. He said, “Face the wall.”

  I gave him the dead eye and said, “No.”

  He frowned, like the moon had just risen in the west. “Face the fucking wall!”

  I spoke to the older guy. “No. Frisk me if you want, but I’m not turning my back on you until I know who you are and why I’m here. And if you try to take my weapon I’ll break your arm. Now I came to D.C. because you asked me to, so let’s get this fucking circus over with or I’m going to walk out that door and go home.”

  His frown deepened. “You have a weapon? You came here with a weapon?”

  “Sig Sauer p226, I have a knife in my boot. And make no mistake, I’m serious. Touch them and I’ll break your arm. I don’t know who the hell you are or why you asked me to come here. And frankly, your reception stinks. Start explaining, pal.”

  The older guy hesitated. He wasn’t prepared for the unexpected. Few people ever are. When people hesitate, that’s when you take charge. I said, “I gather I am here to meet somebody?”

  His face said I was right.

  “Keep me covered. Take me to them. If I am satisfied that I am not in danger, I’ll put my weapons on the table.”

  He sighed and jerked his head toward the door behind me. “Through there, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  His young pal pulled his Glock and opened the door. I followed him in. The older guy stayed behind me. I was in a long room the stretched from the front of the house to the back. There was a fireplace that was cold and black with ash. A coffee table stood in front of it with a seedy sofa and a couple of threadbare armchairs. Heavy, sage green drapes were drawn across the windows at the front and the rear, and the light, which was dull, was from a couple of old lamps with flyblown shades.

  There was a woman sitting in one of the armchairs, watching me. I recognized her. She was younger and more attractive in the flesh than on TV. I guessed she was in her late thirties, with densely curled copper hair and dark blue eyes. Her clothes were expensive, as you’d expect, but understated and elegant.

  I nodded. “I should have guessed, Senator Cyndi McFarlane.” I turned to the older guy. “I’m going to put my weapons on the table. I’d appreciate it if you holstered yours. We’re friends here.”[2]

  McFarlane looked at them and nodded. “Major Hawthorn, Lieutenant Garcia, this is Captain Lacklan Walker. He is a friend. I would like you to leave us alone now.”

  They left reluctantly and she turned back to me. “Please, leave your weapons where they are. The drinks are on the sideboard. Mine is bourbon. May I call you Lacklan?”

  I spotted the bottles. As I poured I said, “If I can call you Cyndi.”

  When I handed her her drink, she was smiling. “Well, as it seems we may be spending some time together, I don’t see why not.”

  I sat and raised an eyebrow at her. “Does it? Are we?”

  “Yes indeed. Your instructions are to…”

  I was shaking my head and interrupted her. “I’m sorry, Cyndi, there has obviously been a misunderstanding somewhere along the line. I don’t work for anybody, and nobody gives me instructions. I was asked to come here by an old friend, and I am here because I am doing her a favor. Let’s be clear about that right from the start.”

  She stared at me for a long moment. Then she raised her eyebrows and stared into her drink. “I see. Well, I stand corrected, but this poses a problem, because now you are privy…”

  I shook my head again and interrupted her for a second time. I could see it was getting on her nerves. That was OK with me. “I am privy to nothing so far. I was asked to come and see you by a friend. So I came. I don’t know the details and for now nobody has used the magic word. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  She was staring at me hard now and looked like she might be about to get mad. “I have to say, Captain Walker…”

  “Mr.”

  “Mr. Walker, that I am not accustomed to being interrupted constantly or being spoken to in this way.”

  “I can see that, Cyndi, but if you want my help you had better get used to it. Now, how about we start again from the beginning, and this time you tell me what it is you would like my help with. If I agree, then you can make me privy to any details.”

  Her cheeks had flushed and her eyes were bright. There was an edge to her voice when she said, “Yes, sir!” I waited, and after a moment she went on, “Without making you privy to any details: I need to travel to a given destination to meet with your friends. You can imagine what we are going to discuss, so I needn’t tell you just how important it is that I get there in one piece. Your friends suggested that you were the man for the job.”

  I jerked my head at the door. “What about Major Confusion and the Subtle Boys?”

  “Do you have to be so insulting?”

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  “Your friends, both of them, said that you were the best there was. Professor…”

  “Don’t!”

  She sighed. “He said that my security team were no match for…”

  “I hear you. He’s right. They may as well go around with neon signs on their heads. The people you are up against are very well funded, well trained and professional. But you know that. You work with them every day.”

  “Will you help?”

  “Do we need to leave the country?”

  “No.”

  “And the meeting is with my friend and the professor?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long will this take?”

  “Well, that depends to some extent on you, but I would imagine it will be three or four days. No more than a week.”

  “OK, I’ll do it.”

  She didn’t look overjoyed by the news. After a moment, she said, “About your fee…”

  “No fee. I told you, I don’t work for anybody. But there are conditions.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “I am in charge of this operation, and you make Major Hawthorn and his boys aware of that. We do things my way or I am out.”

  “Very well. Anything else?”

  “Yes, who else knows about this?”

  “Nobody.”

  “What about your husband?”

  “My… Now come on!”

  “How much does he know, Cyndi?”

  “He is my husband! We have no secrets!”

  “That changes as of now. People’s lives are at stake, not least mine. You tell him nothing until you get back. If that is a problem, we are done here.”

  “Mr. Walker! I have had just about enough…”

  I stood. “Thanks for the whiskey.”

  She was on her feet. “Now you wait just one goddamn minute, mister!”

  I shook my head. “No. I am not prepared to have people’s blood on my hands simply to pander to some silly notion of the sanctity of marriage. You want to play nice, get out of politics. My father murdered his best friend because they told him that if he didn’t they would slaughter his family. When he’d done the job, they promoted him to one of the highest positions in the organization—the organization you are up against. That is the kind of people you’re dealing with. If we do this, the operation is hermet
ically sealed. And that includes your husband.” I took a step closer to her and looked her straight in the eye. “Put this operation in the hands of your band of clowns, and you’ll all be dead before the end of the week. And that would be a shame, Cyndi, because I have always admired you a great deal. They need you, but they don’t need Major Hawthorn—or your husband.”

  I could tell she really wanted to slap me, but I could also see she knew I was right. After a moment she took a big, deep breath and said, “Mr. Walker, Lacklan, will you please sit down.”

  I sat. She sat. I took a sip of whiskey and pulled a pack of Camels from my pocket. I showed it to her and said, “Do you mind?”

  She held out her hand. “I’ll join you.”

  I flipped the Zippo and lit her cigarette, then I lit mine, inhaled deeply and sat back. “Now, make me privy to the details.”

  She sipped and took a long drag. As she let out the smoke she said, “I need to get to New Mexico, Albuquerque, for a meeting with Marni Gilbert and Professor Philip Gibbons. They both say you know Omega better than anybody, and you have hurt them badly in the past.”

  I nodded. “They’re right. OK, Cyndi. Here is how we are going to do this. You are going to go home, and you tell your husband that you have to go out of town for a few days. If he asks you where, or why, you tell him that it is confidential and you can’t discuss it.”

  “He won’t believe me. We have never…”

  “That’s not important. The only thing that’s important is that he knows you are going voluntarily and you don’t want to tell him about it. All we need is that he doesn’t alert the cops because he thinks you’ve gone missing.”

  She spread her hands. “Fine!”

  “What is your normal routine in the morning?”

  “Oh, um…” She shrugged. “I rise at six, breakfast, work in my study, then at nine Charles, that’s Major Hawthorn, drives me to the office…”

  “OK, you’re going to do that as normal, but tomorrow you are going to take a detour and you’re going to go to the public parking garage on 9th Street. Go to the topmost floor. There you get out and you get into my car. I’ll be waiting for you. You tell the Major to wait half an hour before leaving. Then he goes on to your office. He goes to the parking garage there. Waits ten minutes and then continues with his usual daily routine. Have you got all of that?”