The Devil's Anvil (26 page)

‘How are you bearing up, Joe?’

When Rink calls me by my given name it means he’s concerned.

‘Sore but capable,’ I said.

He made a noise in his throat.

‘I’m OK. Quit worrying.’

‘Glad you agreed to wear that vest again,’ Rink said.

‘Yeah.’ I smiled. ‘It helps hold me together.’

Rink didn’t have the luxury of a bulletproof vest, but that wasn’t unusual. He had come through on gathering the necessary weapons we’d need, though. From Harvey’s contacts he’d sourced us a couple of handguns, suppressors and ammunition, plus a Mossberg 590 pump-action shotgun, Rink’s weapon of choice for when events grew nasty and loud. He’d brought with him an ammunition belt stuffed with three-inch magnum cartridges, enough firepower to drop a small army, or to breach as many locked doors as necessary. He’d forsaken his colourful shirt for a black sweatshirt now that things had grown serious, and his ever-present KABAR was tucked away in a sheath on his hip.

Rink performed a ‘Y’ turn in the road and headed back the direction we’d come. A little way down the service road he took a left and into the housing project. He tucked the SUV out of the way in a cul-de-sac. The car didn’t look out of place, as there were others of its type parked on the driveways of at least two of the houses in near view. Most people had retired for the evening, but inside a few homes TVs still flickered. We sat a few minutes, and I went over the map of the logistics complex Adam had printed for us. I’d memorised the location of the last known signal from Billie’s vest beacon, though it was unlikely that she’d still be in its vicinity. Also I’d taken note of the layout and configuration of the complex of buildings and warehouses, and tried to plot where Billie was most likely being held. It was a lottery, but I’d decided on an order of entry, and once inside I was hopeful of finding someone to point me to her. Rink had also plotted his actions. We weren’t going in together; Rink was our backstop, our extraction man for when I got Billie away from her guards. He was going to run diversion and disruption tactics. In many ways his was the more dangerous job, because his was about thunder and destruction while mine should be subtler. Noah and Adam were non-combatants and our last resort for when the time came for escape and evasion.

Rink’s cell vibrated. I’d handed it back to him earlier. He took it out and held it up so we could both hear. It was Noah calling.

‘I don’t know if it’s important but a limo turned up a few minutes ago. We couldn’t get eyes on the passenger but the guards at the gate stood to attention, and jumped to it pretty sharp when they recognised their visitor. The limo was ushered inside and directed over to that large administration building with the domed roof.’

We knew the building that Noah referred to, marking it out earlier as a probable location for Billie.

‘A few minutes ago, you said?’ Rink sounded displeased at the lapse in time.

‘We thought it best to wait and see where it went before calling it in and keep you holding.’ Noah’s logic was sound. ‘Still couldn’t make out who was inside, but judging by the looks on the faces of the guards it was someone with clout, and not very likeable.’

‘You did well,’ I said.

Adam said something in the background, but his words were too muffled to hear. Noah came back on. ‘You sure we can’t be of more help to you guys?’

‘You are being helpful,’ I reminded them. ‘Sit tight, and if things grow noisy, do as we agreed. Get Cooper and his gang over here quick like.’

‘Stay frosty,’ Rink reminded them, meaning they remain calm and alert. ‘We’re going silent now.’ He switched off his cell, looked over at me. ‘We should roll.’

‘We’re rolling,’ I said and slipped out of the SUV.

28

‘You know what we want from you, so make things easy on us all and tell us the truth.’

It wasn’t the first time the woman had uttered similar words, but Billie knew that frustration was beginning to edge in and before long the reasonable tone would grow more threatening.

Billie was no longer in the cell.

After the arrival of the tall woman the man with the spectacles had come forward and snicked through her zip-ties with a knife, then forced her up and out of the room ahead of him. Billie had glanced down at the mysterious nylon pouch on the tray, wondering again what it held, before she was propelled out of the door and along a corridor. She was taken up a flight of stairs and into another corridor and another set of offices. Finally she was led to a corner room, with windows dominating two of the walls. Outside it was dark, and she could see the far-off lights of a city, or at least a large town. In the night sky the landing lights of aircraft blinked and were low enough over the horizon to hint at a nearby airport. She was seated at a desk and the newcomer had strolled round the other side and sat in a plush leather chair, crossing her long legs primly and placing her folded hands in her lap.

They’d left the uniformed guards behind on the lower floor, but it was apparent to all that the bespectacled man was enough of a threat to keep her under control. He positioned himself behind Billie, his arms folded loosely across his chest, while the tall woman studied her as if she was something distasteful and beneath her attention. They waited, and a minute or so later the other familiar man entered the room. Billie watched her guards’ reflections in the windows behind the woman. As he had in the forest, the younger man presented the nylon pouch to his brother. Billie couldn’t be sure, but she’d assumed that the men were siblings. They looked too alike to be otherwise.

‘Stay with us, Danny,’ the woman said and the younger man took up a position, leaning with his shoulders against the wall to Billie’s left, arms also folded nonchalantly. He wore a firearm holstered on his left hip. Everyone was silent again, and Billie guessed it was a ploy to get her talking. She licked her lips, working up some moisture, but then settled back and folded her own arms in defiance, watching as the woman’s doll mouth pinched tighter and colour blemished her cheeks.

‘We are not unreasonable people,’ the woman began.

‘Aren’t you? Tell that to the man your goons shot to death when they kidnapped me.’

‘My goons?’ The woman glanced past Billie at the brothers and smiled. The men laughed disparagingly at the insult, but Billie wasn’t sure if it was her words or the woman’s apparent pleasure they were responding to.

The woman went on. ‘I heard that your friend was first to employ violence. My
goons
only responded in kind.’

‘Well pardon me if I disagree,’ Billie said.

‘We won’t hold it against you. Like I said, we’re not unreasonable. We’re happy to play nice if you’re willing to work with us on our mutual problem.’ The woman showed her teeth in a smile that held all the warmth of an attack dog’s snarl. ‘Answer our questions truthfully, make things easier for all of us, and we will find happy resolution.’

Billie stared at the woman. ‘Are you for real?’

‘Very much so.’ The woman sat back, flicking imaginary lint off her thighs. ‘And very much to be taken seriously.’

‘I don’t even know who you are.’

‘You may call me Amanda. I represent the interests of a certain party keen on finding resolution to our mutual problem.’

‘You’re a merc like this lot?’ Billie jerked her head at her stoic guards.

‘A mercenary?’ Amanda sneered. ‘I take it you mean a soldier for hire. No, Mrs Womack, I’m no soldier; I’m something far more dangerous. You should take note of that.’ She allowed her sneer to smooth out, again forming a congenial smile. ‘You do understand why you’re here?’

‘I’ve guessed. Something to do with my dead husband, right?’

Amanda laughed at Billie’s sarcasm, and it was a soft rasp. ‘Something to the tune of thirty million dollars.’

‘You probably know everything about me,’ Billie said. ‘If so, you know I’m an artist who barely scrapes a living from her work. If I knew anything about thirty million dollars, don’t you think I’d have made a better life for myself?’

Amanda shook her head so softly it barely disturbed her curls. ‘You’ve been our guest for . . .’ she checked a watch on her wrist, ‘the best part of twenty-two hours? In all that time you’ve barely said a word, or raised a complaint about your mistreatment. You strike me as being incredibly calm and patient. A self-controlled individual might have the presence of mind to inhibit her spending, in order not to raise suspicion about her actual wealth.’

Laughter crackled in Billie’s throat. ‘You think
I’ve
got your damn money?’

The woman leaned forward, placing her interlocked fingers on the table. ‘Have you?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘It’s a fair question, Mrs Womack. Like I said,’ Amanda flipped open one hand, palm up. ‘You know what we want from you, so make things easy on us all and tell us the truth.’

Gripping the arms of her chair, Billie also leaned forward. Behind her the bespectacled man moved slightly but Billie ignored his looming presence. ‘You want the truth? Well here it is. My husband was a thief, a liar, and an adulterer. He
murdered
my daughter. He died and it’s the only thing he ever did that made me happy. Do you think that’s the kind of man who would leave me a nest egg of thirty million dollars? If you do then you’re
fucking nuts
!’

Blinking slowly Amanda sat back in her chair. Billie still leaned forward, nodding in emphasis with jerky movements of her head, her eyeballs bulging. Amanda looked beyond Billie, offering a subtle nod. Billie felt the stirring of the air before the hand that clamped down on her right wrist. She tore her gaze from her inquisitor to look up and saw her angry face reflected in the lenses of the man’s glasses. ‘Get off me, you pig!’

The grip on her wrist was resolute. Billie attempted to twist away, but then the younger man – Danny – had hold of her opposite wrist.

‘Erick,’ Amanda said, ‘put her hand on the desk please.’

‘What are you doing?’ Billie’s cry was rhetorical, because it was apparent. The bespectacled man – Erick – forced her arm straight and held her hand on the desktop. Billie squirmed, but she was going nowhere, particularly now that Danny bunched his other hand in her collar and forced her down in the seat.

‘Open your hand,’ Amanda commanded.

‘Go to hell!’ Billie clenched her fist.

‘Erick?’

Erick forced the tip of his thumb into the soft flesh at the juncture of Billie’s thumb and index finger. A dull pain grew, then pulsed into white fire as Erick targeted the deep nerve. Billie croaked in agony, and her hand sprang open involuntarily. Erick mashed her hand to the desk, holding it in place while he looked at Amanda for further instruction.

‘You know what to do, Erick,’ the woman said.

‘Ma’am,’ he agreed, and wrapped his callused fingertips around Billie’s pinky finger.

‘Do you wish to try again?’ the woman asked Billie. ‘I did warn you that I was dangerous.’

‘Torturing me won’t make a difference. I don’t know where the money is!’

‘Erick.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Billie screamed as Erick yanked her pinky back against the knuckle. She felt the tendons ripping, the cartilage popping. For an artist her hands were her living, but right then and there her career wasn’t a consideration; all that mattered was the agony that washed over her like a wave of black ink. Erick released her finger, and Billie stared at it through watering eyes. She expected to see the digit malformed, at an unnatural angle, but her finger merely contracted on itself, hooking under her palm. It had been a shade from dislocation, but Erick was skilled at his job.

‘We can keep this up all day,’ Amanda said, ‘or you can do as I ask and answer my questions truthfully. There are three answers I’m looking for: where is Richard Womack; how are you in contact with him – email, telephone, blind letter drop? – and lastly: where is the money?’

Billie’s assaulted finger trembled and the shakes went right up her arm. The pain was replaced by numbness that also invaded her mind.

‘Again, Erick.’ The skin around Amanda’s eyes crinkled.

The soldier forced Billie’s pinky straight, wrapping it in his palm. Billie cried out in anticipation.

Amanda flashed a palm at him and Erick relaxed his grip. ‘Are you ready to speak, Mrs Womack?’