Back Track (26 page)

‘Leave the engine running and get out,’ Abraham said.

Bishop got out. Abraham came round and handed him a ring with a single large key on it. ‘Unlock and open the gate, then come back here.’

Abraham was waiting by the open passenger door when he was done, gun pointing nowhere in particular. ‘Okay, jarhead,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

Bishop opened the driver’s door and got back in. Abraham was already seated and waiting. The man was quick, he had to give him that. But speed wasn’t everything. Without waiting to be told, Bishop drove towards the shacks, reaching the first one a minute later.

‘Well, here we are, asshole,’ Abraham said. ‘End of the line.’

Bishop came to a stop and Abraham pulled the handbrake and removed the keys from the ignition. He removed a small flashlight from the glove compartment, checked to make sure it was working, then motioned for Bishop to get out. Bishop opened the door and noticed Abraham locking Tatem’s .38 Special in the glove compartment before he got out, too. That was good. Now he’d only have one gun to deal with. But the Sig held a fifteen or nineteen round magazine capacity. He’d have to assume nineteen. And that was bad. Very bad. But not insurmountable.

The cabins were in an even worse state than he first thought. Bishop guessed they dated back to the twenties or thirties. All one- or two-room structures. At least, they were once. There were five of them arranged in a loose semicircle, with a sixth shack on its own twenty yards further back. They all looked as though they might collapse at any second, with rusted, caved-in roofs and deteriorating window frames and doorways.

Abraham pointed to the one on its own and said, ‘Over there. Get going.’

Bishop walked in front of Abraham and studied his surroundings. There wasn’t much to see. Just brittlebush and overgrown weeds everywhere. There were no sounds other than the crunch of their footsteps. No cars driving by. No birds. Nothing. This was a bad place. He could feel it in his bones. People had died here recently. Probably courtesy of Abraham or one of his cohorts.

Yeah, a bad place
, he thought.
And it’s about to get worse
.

He slowed as he reached the remote shack. It was no different from the others. Maybe fewer windows. Beyond the doorway, he could see only darkness within. Abraham prodded the gun barrel into his back and said, ‘Go inside and turn left, but move very slowly. I’m just looking for an excuse.’

Bishop walked up to the doorway, stepped inside and turned left. It was dark, but there was enough light to see. What few floorboards remained were either badly warped or broken. There were two halves of an old bicycle frame in one corner. Leaning against the south wall were a few landscaping tools. All looked rusted. A rake with only two prongs left. A hoe. A broom with no bristles. Part of an old cultivator. And a round point shovel. The type with just a staff and no handle. That stood out. It was old and rusty, but not as much as the others. And it was almost free of dust, which said it had been used recently.

‘Here,’ Abraham said, and threw the handcuff keys at Bishop’s feet.

Bishop picked them up and unlocked the cuffs.

‘Leave the cuffs and keys on the floor,’ Abraham said. ‘Then grab the shovel and come on outside.’

Bishop turned and saw Abraham standing just inside the doorway, gun and flashlight pointed straight at him. Realizing he couldn’t do anything in here, he went over to the tools, took hold of the shovel and walked back to the doorway. Abraham kept his distance and backed out first, watching him every step of the way.

Once they were both outside, Abraham pointed east and said, ‘Walk.’

Bishop began walking, watching the ground as he went. After only ten feet, he noticed some medium-sized rocks to his right, grouped together by some weeds. He memorized their position.

After another thirty feet, Abraham said, ‘Okay, stop right there.’

Bishop halted. He was standing in the middle of a bare patch of land. No vegetation within a twenty foot radius. Not even weeds. Bishop looked carefully but saw no sign of recent disturbances in the earth. Not that that meant anything.

‘Okay,’ Abraham said from behind him, ‘pick yourself a nice spot and start digging. You know what size to make it.’

Bishop looked at him. Studied the shit-eating grin of a man safe in his superiority. The illogical part of him wanted to tell Abraham to take a hike and to do the work himself, but what would that get him? A moment’s satisfaction, followed by a bullet in the head and a shallow grave. Right now, he needed time. And digging would give him some. And Abraham might be more willing to talk now he believed he held the winning hand. So he took a step forward and with the shovel blade started to draw a line in the dirt.

‘Uh, uh,’ Abraham said. ‘Not there, asshole.’

Bishop looked up. ‘
You
pick a spot, then.’

‘I’m just saying you don’t want to dig there. Trust me on that one.’

Which meant he
did
want to dig there. Just not right now. He’d find time later. Bishop marked the spot in his mind and took a few steps to the right. ‘Here okay?’

‘Perfect.’

Bishop studied Abraham for a moment, looking him up and down, then marked out a rectangle in the earth. Abraham was right. Bishop knew what size to make it. Two foot wide. Six foot, four inches in length. The extra inch in case his calculations were off. He didn’t think they were, but you never knew.

Then he began to dig.

Bishop took his time. He saw no reason to make himself sweat. Besides which, it probably amused Abraham to draw this out for as long as possible.

With each excavation, Bishop put intense pressure on the shaft of the shovel while pushing his foot hard against the blade. Seeing how far it would bend. This tool was in better shape than the others, but it was still old and rusty, the wooden shaft rotten and malleable. After a few minutes testing his weight against it, he felt confident that it wouldn’t take too much effort to snap it in two. But not just yet. Now wasn’t the time.

‘All those women you and your two pals grab in the dead of night,’ Bishop said. ‘Do you take a few shots at them before bringing them in to your boss?’

‘Give it a rest, asshole.’

Bishop ignored him and carried on digging. ‘I mean, who’s gonna know? Only those two idiots, and they won’t talk. Hell, maybe they even join in.’

‘Maybe we’re a little more professional than that, asshole.’

‘You?’ Bishop chuckled. ‘Professional?’

‘Keep going, Bishop. I’ve changed my mind. It’s actually fun listening to a man’s last words.’

‘So since I’m not long for this world, there’s no harm in answering my questions, is there? Like who’s your boss?’

Abraham laughed at that. ‘Forget it. Although I give you credit for trying. You really don’t give up, do you?’

Never
, Bishop thought. He said. ‘So besides you three and your boss, how many more of you are there? Five? Six? More?’

‘I forget. What difference does it make to you?’

‘I’m the curious type. So what’s the deal with you people? You dealing in black market organ transplants or something? If so, what’s Tatem doing in there? Or is he just a cover for what’s really going on?’

‘You just got a head full of questions, don’t you?’ Abraham said, yawning. ‘Let’s just say we’re a small, highly specialized organization filling a gap in the market and leave it at that.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning we know exactly what we’re doing, and assholes like you get taken care of before you become a problem. Right now, you’re just an itch that needs scratching.’

‘Like Hewitt and Rutherford.’

‘Right.’

‘And Samantha Mathison.’

There was a pause. Then Abraham said, ‘What do you know about her?’

Bishop stopped and leaned on the shovel. ‘Everything.’

Abraham narrowed his eyes. Then he smiled. ‘No, you don’t. But it doesn’t matter. She’s no longer a problem. And less than thirty-six hours from now, your little bitch will be out of the equation, too.’

‘You mean you’re gonna kill her once she’s of no further use to you?’

Abraham raised the gun. ‘You’re not digging.’

Bishop turned and resumed work. Today was Saturday. Which meant he now had until Sunday evening to find Selina. Added to which, he also had the little problem of escaping his current situation. But then, life was never easy.

‘What’s gonna happen to her?’ he asked.

‘Forget about the woman. She’s not your problem any more. Once a couple more details are taken care of, she’ll just be another footnote. Like you.’

Bishop plunged the shovel into the dirt with more force than he’d planned. Without thinking, he tried pulling it out, but the blade was stuck fast in the hard soil and began to come free of the shaft.

Shit. Too soon. It’s too soon.

He’d hoped to extract more details from Abraham, but that was no longer possible. In less time than it took to blink, his instincts told him to make the best of his circumstances and go through with his performance as he’d planned. So he tried pulling the shovel out and pretended to lose his footing. He made himself fall, stepping hard on one end of the shovel with his whole body weight behind it, catching the shaft about a foot from the blade. The old wood snapped in two uneven halves, leaving a sharp, jagged edge at each end.

He landed on his ass, still holding on to the longer end. ‘Shit,’ he said.

Abraham let out a bark of laughter behind him. Bishop saw the blade and part of the shaft were sticking out of the ground at an angle. Still connected to each other. That was good. If the blade had come free, Abraham would have simply told him to affix it to the longer shaft piece and carry on as before.

‘Get me another shovel,’ Bishop said. ‘This one’s history.’

‘You’ll have to use your hands, then.’

‘Uh, uh. Find me something else to use or do it yourself. You can ruin your nice suit.’ He turned to look at Abraham, who was still smiling. Bishop jutted his chin at the shack twenty yards away and said, ‘Get me one of those broken floorboards in there or something.’

Abraham thought for a moment, then said, ‘You go and pick one out yourself. I’ll be right behind you.’

Excellent
. Bishop got to his feet, still holding the longer staff piece in his left hand, and walked back to the shack. He aimed for the weeds where he’d seen that group of rocks, rotating the staff between his fingers. Testing the feel of it. It was just over thirty inches long. It felt heavy enough for throwing, but wasn’t nearly long enough. An effective spear needed be two or three feet longer than the height of the man throwing it. And always with a spearhead attached. Even the earliest Neanderthals knew enough to tie primitive flints to the ends.

All Bishop had was a sharp stick. Next to the rock, the most basic weapon of all. But you could only use what was at hand. And he’d been in worse positions with a lot less. It would have to do, that’s all.

As they got closer to the shack, Bishop saw the rocks about three feet away. Time to exploit his newfound reputation for being accident prone.

It almost felt as though he were moving in slow motion. His right foot came into contact with the first rock and he grunted as he ‘tripped’. In the half-second it took to fall, Bishop rotated his upper body clockwise so he was turned towards Abraham. At the same time, he brought the left hand back ready to throw, right arm extended for balance. He could see Abraham standing there four or five feet away. He was watching Bishop with a small smile on his lips, gun still pointing at the ground. It hadn’t sunk in yet.

The moment Bishop’s right knee hit the ground, it did.

Abraham’s smile disappeared and he began raising the gun, while Bishop extended his left leg on the ground to keep him steady.

Then he threw the spear straight at Abraham’s chest.

Bishop knew his aim was off the moment it left his hand. Not much, but enough. But he didn’t have time for perfection. He was up against a gun, and speed of movement counted for more than pinpoint accuracy.

Bishop immediately dived to the right. He heard a grunt and a gunshot as he rolled his body along the ground, out of the line of fire. There was another gunshot and he felt soil stinging against his cheek. He kept rolling, rolling. Once he lost momentum, he quickly got his legs under him, jumped to his feet and sprinted towards Abraham, ten feet away.

The bigger man had his free hand pressed against his upper thigh. Bishop must have scored a hit. But he was already bringing his gun round to bear on Bishop again.

Bishop darted to the left and kept running as Abraham fired off another shot. It went wide. By a couple of inches at most. But he’d halved the distance. He was almost on him.

Bishop loved soccer. A loyal New York Bulls fan, he went to see them play whenever he could. Especially as they currently had a young defender who’d barely made a bad tackle all season. He was amazing. He always got the ball, never the player. Bishop just knew his brain could process the ball’s movement faster than anybody else. And with mathematical precision. He always knew where the ball was going to be. So that’s where
he
would be.

Bishop’s brain worked the same way. When he saw the gun moving back in his direction, he’d already narrowed the distance to three feet. He landed on his left foot, lowered his left shoulder and kicked his right foot at the place where the gun was going to be. Or more specifically, where the hand holding the gun was going to be.

The tip of Bishop’s shoe struck Abraham’s wrist so hard he felt sure he must have fractured something. The impact pushed the arm all the way back and the Sig flew from Abraham’s grasp, landing somewhere in the brittlebush. He didn’t see where.

Bishop followed through with the kick, swivelling his body round so he was facing away from Abraham. Still moving, he swung round again, this time leading with the point of his left elbow. Aiming for Abraham’s left ear. It struck him on the side of the jaw instead.

Abraham fell backwards and landed on his side. Bishop stepped forward and raised his foot high before bringing it down where Abraham’s head was. The big man saw it coming and got out of the way just in time. Bishop kept his balance and turned to see Abraham already rising to his feet, facing him from just a few feet away. He’d forgotten how fast the guy was. And the guy’s wrist didn’t seem broken like he’d hoped. Pity.