To Rule in Hell Read online

  “He’s dead. Take your clothes off.”

  “What?”

  “Take your clothes off.”

  “What are you…?”

  “Do it now or I’ll do it for you. Everything, including your underwear.”

  She began to strip. I took her clothes and threw them in her case along with her cell phone, her watch, her necklace and her earrings. She watched me do it and began to sob.

  I said, “I’m sorry.” I pulled some socks, a pair of jeans and a shirt from my bag and tossed them on the bed for her. “Put them on. Fast. We need to get out of here.”

  She started pulling on the clothes I’d given her, still sobbing convulsively and wiping her eyes with her forearms. “Why are you doing this? What…” She stopped to swallow and breathe. “What did you do that for?”

  “I’ll tell you in the car. Let’s go.”

  “I need shoes…!”

  “I’ll get you shoes tomorrow. Now we have to get out of here. Right now.”

  I wiped everything I could think of that we had touched, including the goon’s automatic. Then I pushed Cyndi out into the lot, closed the door and ran to the car. I threw the case in the trunk and said, “Get in, fast!”

  I got in and she climbed in next to me. We slammed the doors, I fired up the engine and we pulled out of the lot. Joseph O’Brien was now a man on the run, and needed to vanish. He needed to do that fast, and I needed to put a lot of distance between the motel and the car before I dumped it. As of the next day, when they found the bodies, Joseph O’Brien was going to have both Omega and the Feds on his tail.

  I turned onto I-44 and floored the pedal. I could see there was woodland on either side of the road, but it was hard to make out any detail. Eventually, after about four miles, we passed under a bridge and I saw a turn, a track, on the right. I killed the lights, slowed and pulled off onto that track. It led to a smaller road which I followed to the left, and soon there was another dirt path leading in among woodland to a large pond. I stopped, killed the engine and opened the trunk.

  Cyndi was watching me and asked, “What are you doing, Lacklan? You’re acting crazy.”

  I said, “Give me a hand. Take the cap off the gas tank.”

  She did as I said while I carried her case over near the pond, concealed by the trees. I laid it on the ground, opened it and pulled out a cotton blouse. Then I ran back to the car where she was waiting for me. There I fed the blouse slowly into the petrol tank until it was sodden, then I pulled it back out again and carried it to the case where I put it in with the clothes, her cell and her other possessions. Then I scrounged for broken branches and pieces of wood, and piled them on top. Finally I lit a cigarette and with Cyndi watching me like I was a maniac, I threw it into the case. It gave a whoof! and a small jump as the gas ignited and the entire collection of her possessions began to burn.

  I turned and went back toward her. “Let’s get out of here. We’re six hundred miles from Albuquerque, that’s eight or nine hours driving.”

  She didn’t move. She just stared at me, standing in the clothes that were far too big for her, in socks with no shoes. She was shaking her head and began to cry. “I can’t do this! You just killed four men! And now…” She held out her arm, pointing with an open hand at the burning case, breathing like she was hyperventilating, “…now you burned all my stuff! Why did you do that!”

  I went to her and held her, counting the seconds in my head. I spoke quietly. “Get in the car. The fire department and the sheriff will be here in a few minutes. By the time they get here, we need to be long gone. Come on, Cyndi. I’ll explain in the car.”

  She allowed herself to be guided back. I put her into the passenger seat, then climbed in the other side, slammed the door and pulled back onto the highway. I accelerated away, west, and after I had counted thirty, when I couldn’t see any lights in my mirror, or approaching on the other side, I switched on the headlamps.

  Cyndi was sobbing uncontrollably. I was exhausted. I had slept one hour in the last forty-eight and we had a nine hour drive ahead of us. At some point soon I would need to rest. And think. If I was exhausted I would not think straight. I would make mistakes. I could not afford to make mistakes.

  After a few miles, her sobbing subsided and her breathing slowed. Eventually she asked me, “Why did you do that? It was a crazy thing to do. Why did you burn all my stuff? My phone, my earrings for God’s sake!”

  I waited a moment, then told her.

  “I told you, you need to start thinking. Now work this through with me. There was no way anybody could have traced the car. It was booked in a false name and we were not followed. So the car was not traced, OK?” I glanced at her. She gave a small nod. I went on, “Nobody could have traced me. None of them—neither the gang yesterday, nor this bunch—knew that I was here. Joe told me yesterday, they expected you to be alone, or with a non-professional. So not the car and not me. That leaves only two ways they could have known we were here…”

  I glanced at her again to see if she was following me. She had gone very quiet.

  I said, “One, you phoned your husband and either he told them, or they tracked you when you switched on your phone. Two, there was a bug, some kind of tracking device, in your clothes, your phone, your jewelry or your case. We didn’t have time for the kind of painstaking search needed to find it. That meant leaving it behind. Does that make sense?”

  She took a shaky breath. “Did you have to burn it?”

  “Yes. We couldn’t leave Senator Cyndi McFarlane’s property lying around in a motel, or in a ditch, so it had to be destroyed, burned.”

  She didn’t answer.

  I gave her a moment, then asked, “Did you phone him?”

  She still didn’t answer.

  “Sooner or later you’ll have to tell me, because we still have a long way to go, and you’ve seen for yourself, Cyndi, that your life is in very serious danger.”

  She gave another shaky sigh. “I did. I made a call. I’m sorry. It was stupid. I didn’t believe the risk would be…” She puffed out her cheeks and blew. “I thought you were exaggerating.”

  I was quiet for a while. Then I said, “Eight men have died so far, in just twenty-four hours.” I turned and looked at her. “You need to get with the program. I’m doing this for you. It’s your damn program.”

  She nodded quietly. “So what now?”

  “Now we need to get into Texas, which is about four and a half hours away, we need Joseph O’Brien to vanish off the face of the Earth, and we need to change the car. And I need to sleep.”

  She didn’t say anything and we sped on along the endless, timeless Route 66, under the vast expanse of the sky, under a trillion cold, distant stars, toward what? I didn’t know. But I knew that death was right there, riding shotgun with us.

  EIGHT

  We crossed the state line into Texas at four in the morning, and fourteen miles over the state line we came to Shamrock. There I slowed and pretty soon I saw what I was looking for. Set back from the road there was a motel and a restaurant, with a large parking lot between them. Both stood dark and silent, and in the lot there was maybe a dozen cars. I pulled in, killed the engine and the lights. Cyndi was asleep, but woke up and looked around with bleary eyes when I stopped.

  I said, “Go back to sleep. We’re going to rest here for a while.”

  She closed her eyes again and drifted off. I waited ten minutes to see if any windows lit up, or if anybody came out to see what we were doing. But the windows stayed dark, like dead eyes. It seemed everybody was sleeping deeply.

  I got out of the Honda and took my Swiss Army knife from my pocket. Then I searched for the dirtiest car in the lot. It was an old Ford pickup. I hunkered down behind it and had a look at the plates. They were caked with mud. I unscrewed them and took them back to the Civic. I removed those plates, collected a bottle of water I had in the door, and carried the rental car’s plates and the water over to a patch of dirt by the parking lot. I made som
e mud, caked the plates with it, and then screwed them onto the pickup. After that I put the pickup’s plates on the rental car. That might give us anything from a few hours to a few days. I thought about buying some spray paint the next day and changing the color of the Honda, but then I figured it was one of the most common cars in the States, painted in the most common color, so maybe the smart thing was to leave it as it was.

  I desperately needed to sleep. But I didn’t want to risk sleeping in the car by the side of the road. The last thing I needed was a sheriff’s deputy getting curious about us and checking out our plates. I had a long shot, but I figured I could make it. I pulled out of the service area and drove twenty miles to the next town, McLean. There I came off the highway and stopped at the Cactus Inn. I left Cyndi in the car and went in to reception. There was a young guy behind the desk, looking sleepy and watching a portable TV with the volume turned down low. He smiled at me as I approached. I checked my watch. It was half past four. I returned his smile and said.

  “Help me out here, will you? We’ve driven here from New York, and man, it’s hard to believe, but we were robbed in Oklahoma. They took my wife’s suitcase with our ID cards, driving permits and credit cards. Fortunately I had the cash in my wallet.”

  He looked genuinely shocked. “Did you report it? Do you want to call the sheriff? I think you need to report it Oklahoma. This is Texas.”

  “Yeah, I know. We reported it, but we need to get to San Francisco, and I have been driving all night and I am exhausted. To be frank, I am a danger to myself, my wife and other road users. But here is how you can help me out. Let me have a room, for four hours so I can get some sleep. I will pay you cash in advance, and a hundred dollars on top for the inconvenience. Can I do that? My wife is pregnant and we are on our way to see her mother…”

  “Uh…” He blinked a few times.

  I pulled two hundred and fifty bucks from my wallet and put them in front of him. “I will be gone before nine in the morning. Do me this favor, pal.”

  He eyed the money, grinned and said, “Sure, of course, no problem!”

  He handed me a key, pocketed the money and I walked out and drove the car around to the room. I woke Cyndi, hauled my bag out of the trunk and locked the car. Then we staggered to the room and let ourselves in. She collapsed on the bed, but before I allowed myself to sleep, I took Joseph O’Brien’s documents and credit card, burned them and flushed the residue down the can. Then I fell on the bed next to Cyndi and slipped rapidly into deep, exhausted sleep. At some point in the small hours I half-awoke to find Cyndi covering us with the duvet. She put her arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder. I drifted back into slumber as she whispered, “Don’t leave me alone…” and I slipped into oblivion.

  We left the room, just as I had promised the kid, shortly before nine in the morning. We had pancakes and coffee in the restaurant and pulled out of the lot, back onto Route 66, at exactly nine thirty. We were five hours from Albuquerque, about two and a half from the border with New Mexico, we were free from tracking devices, Joseph O’Brien had vanished in the night, and our car was less than a needle in a haystack, because nobody would be searching for those plates on that car. I was feeling almost confident. In five hours I would hand Cyndi over to Marni and Gibbons, have as much of a heart to heart with Marni as she would permit, and then I would be gone, back to Independence—in more ways than one.

  Route 66, the road to freedom.

  The Texas Panhandle is flat, the horizon is vast and driving through it is monotonous. But that morning the sky was clear and the temperature was climbing toward an agreeable sixty-eight degrees, so we had the windows open and the fresh morning breeze battering some of the exhaustion from our brains. I glanced at Cyndi and gave her a bit of a smile.

  “My first dates don’t usually turn out like that.”

  She raised an eyebrow but didn’t look at me, and changed the subject. “What do you reckon, ETA Albuquerque in five hours?”

  “Yeah. We’ll make a pit stop before Amarillo and get you some clothes that fit. Huntin’, shootin’, fishin’ suits you. You could make it the theme of your next electoral campaign: Farm Girl saves the world.”

  Now she looked at me. “Is that an edge of bitterness I hear in your voice, Mr. Badass?”

  I shook my head. “No.” Then I shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s not you, it’s your profession. Politics destroys people.”

  “Well that is about the best example of the kettle calling the pot black that I ever heard. You destroyed eight people in the last thirty-six hours!”

  I nodded. “I agree, Cyndi.” I looked at her. “That’s why I refused payment for this job, and it’s why I am quitting once we reach our destination.”

  She stared at me with a strange expression. “You know the thing with ugly jobs like yours and mine, Lacklan? They require commitment. Real commitment. You can quit being a bus driver, a plumber, a dentist or even a lawyer or a doctor. But what you do and what I do? That is not so easy, because what we do affects people’s lives. Not one or two people, but hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions. When Professor Gibbons, or Marni Gilbert look at you and say, ‘We need you,’ I wonder what you will answer.”

  We crossed the state line into New Mexico at twelve thirty, having pulled off at a gas station with a general store outside Amarillo to get Cyndi some boots, jeans and a shirt. At Tucumcari we stopped for lunch at K-Bob’s Steakhouse, stocked up on first class protein and hammered on through the afternoon, across the Cuervo Mesa and into territory that was not desert, but only just.

  We passed Moriarty at one o’clock and entered the Sandia Hills. Forty minutes later we came down out of the hills and entered the city of Albuquerque, our final destination. As we entered the town and joined the traffic on Central Avenue I said, “Well, here we are, madam Senator, tell me where to take you.”

  I looked at her. She was staring ahead, expressionless. She took a deep breath and sighed. “Just keep going straight,” she said. “I’ll tell you when to turn.”

  I frowned. “What’s eating you? We made it, and you’re alive.”

  She didn’t answer and we continued along the broad road, among the low, flat buildings under that vast, pale sky. At Carlisle Boulevard she said, “Take a right here. Keep going till you get to Lomas, then turn left.”

  I did as she said and after a moment I spoke quietly. “What’s going on, Cyndi?”

  “Marni and Professor Gibbons will explain it to you. I don’t want to.”

  “Explain what to me?”

  I turned left into Lomas and she pointed through the windshield. “Take Girard Boulevard. Three blocks up, it’s the house on the corner, on the left. Pull into the driveway.”

  It was a two-story, brown, adobe style house. It had a small gravel yard out front with space for two cars. There was a Jeep parked there, and a Dodge Durango parked down the side, under a cane veranda. They both had D.C. plates.

  I sighed. “Jesus Christ, Cyndi. Don’t you people ever learn?” I drove past the house, crossed the intersection, checked my mirrors and pulled over to the side of the road. “Get out. I’m going to lose the car. I’ll see you at the house in ten or fifteen minutes.”

  She stared at me for a moment, got out and slammed the door.

  About a block away I found a university campus parking lot. I dropped the car there, took my bag, then wiped my prints from the wheel, the dash and the trunk. After that I made my way on foot to the house, keeping my collar up all the way. I knew what I was going to find when I got there, and the senator did not disappoint.

  I rang on the bell and the door was opened to me by a six foot two Marine in a dark suit and dark glasses, with a crew cut, baby blue eyes and pink cheeks. I sighed at him, said, “At ease, soldier,” and stepped past him straight into a large living room with mass produced furniture and a wooden staircase going up the far wall. Cyndi was not there, but I could hear a shower going upstairs.

  On the so
fa there were two more men in dark suits with shades in their handkerchief pockets. They looked exactly like Baby Blue, only one of them had a dark crew cut. A fourth sat in an arm chair. He was bigger than the others, and he was black. Other than that he was a clone. The other arm chair was occupied by a fifth, who had struck a blow for individuality by growing a moustache. I studied them all for a moment and they studied me back.

  “Who is your commanding officer?”

  The reply came from behind me. “I am.”

  I knew the voice. I turned. “Hawthorn. I might have guessed.”

  He was standing in the kitchen door with a mug of coffee in his hand. “Correction. Major Hawthorn. And I am not their commanding officer, I am your commanding officer, collectively.”

  “Where are Marni Gilbert and Professor Gibbons?”

  “Where are Dr. Gilbert and Professor Gibbons, sir? And that is ‘need to know’.”

  “Yeah? I need to know.”

  “No, you don’t, Captain. I want you washed, shaved and dressed appropriately by fourteen hundred hours. You will be in car two. Understood?”

  I held his eye for a moment and spoke very quietly. “I’m not in your army, Major. Don’t make me humiliate you in front of your men.”

  I crossed the room and climbed the stairs, following the sound of the shower. I came to a landing with a passage. There was a door in front of me and I could hear the sound of running water through that door. I opened it and went in. I saw a double bed up against one wall. The jeans, shirt and underwear we had bought outside Amarillo were thrown on the bed. Over on the right there was a door ajar onto an en suite bathroom. The water was still hissing and splashing. She had a lot of miles and a lot of blood to wash off. I crossed the room and pushed into the bathroom.

  The shower was in the bathtub, and there was a plastic curtain drawn across it. I could just make out her silhouette. I didn’t pause. I yanked the curtain back. She gaped down at me. She had lather in her hair and all over her body, but it did nothing to hide how good she looked. She clasped her left arm across her bosom and slapped her right hand over her private parts. I reached in. The water sprayed all over my head and back. I put my arms around her waist, heaved her over my shoulder and lifted her out of the bath. She screamed louder than I have ever heard anybody scream. She kicked and thumped. Outside I could hear feet thudding up the stairs. I threw her on the bed, scowled at her and snarled, “If you want to get wherever you’re going with a full complement of men, you had better tell them not to come in. Plus, your toy soldiers are about to see you naked and humiliated on that bed.”