Cross Cut (26 page)

She frowned. “What good would it do to talk to them? I have no office with which to do so.”

“Do you even expect to get a fee? If Gillham and Mane goes belly up after this—”

“I highly doubt that. Those involved may go to prison, but the company will remain at the time I prove who killed Guy Lynch. The company signed that agreement—not Graham Rudd, or anyone else involved.”

“Right, if you say so. Regarding Melissa—”

“Yes?”

“I was hoping you’d fill the rest in for me.”

She stared at me blankly and offered no response. If she was as lost as she looked, God help Melissa.

Before 5PM came along, I received a phone call from an unknown number. I answered it out on the balcony. I’m rarely edgy about answering such calls; after all, the button to end the call is but a fingertip away. But, when I heard the voice on the other end, it startled me somewhat.

“Ader, it’s me,” the voice said.

“Kacie—” I mumbled. I looked behind at Ryder, who hadn’t heard. “What are you doing—”

There was a pause and some phone static, and then she said, “I’m on a—pay phone. I’m with Melissa.”

“Why?”

Another moment of phone static. “I took her from the cabin. She’ll be okay. She won’t get hurt.”

“What have you done—are you helping Andonian? Has he got something on you?”

There was another long pause. I thought she’d hung up, but then she said, “I can’t tell you that. The line’s broke—Ader—”

The line went dead. I stared at the phone for a while and looked out across the street. Empty, just like my mind.

I rode up to the derelict parking lot and killed the engine outside. It didn’t matter, as there was no entering with a vehicle. The place had been bordered up a long time ago. Chain linked fencing surrounded the perimeter and concrete barriers blocked the single entrance. I imagine plans were on hold to demolish the place, seen as LAX hated having a place nearby where people could park for free. The area was also a prime place for vehicle enthusiasts, intent on practicing their drifting skills. If there was a way inside with a car, it involved heaving that concrete barrier away.

We waited until 6PM and didn’t notice any cars pull up on either side of the building. With both of us armed, at my insistence, we walked inside. Twenty feet in and the place was pitch black on the ground floor. None of the lights worked anymore, and it seemed dumb to venture further. If Huntington had gone inside and expected us to follow, he was either optimistic or just plain loony.

By 6.30 we stood erect against the side of my Lexus. Ryder folded her arms and glassed the barren ground surrounding the area. Just as we were about to call it off, a car approached us from the east, slowly. It pulled up some fifty feet away and a man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses got out from the driver’s side. He stood, feet together for a while as we watched him. There was no cause for alarm, and, eventually, he walked toward us.

I let Ryder walk out into the middle of the road to meet him. My hand was ready to go for my P230, should anything happen.

Huntington lifted up his head, and I could just about make out his chin—and his mustache.

“Kendra Ryder,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

“Quite. I wish I could be more positive about meeting you again—”

“I understand. We all try to forget.” He looked at me and took off his cap and shades. “Hello again, Ader York.”

I just stood in disbelief. I wasn’t amazed, merely taken aback.

“What the hell is this—” I glanced over at Ryder. “He’s that colonel I saw in Quantico!”

He smiled. “I’m not a colonel. As soon as I knew about your visit, and that you were sent by Kendra here, I came to intercept you.”

“But how? Who the hell are you?”

“You already know my name. I suspect you have seen it in the file I gave you.”

I looked at Ryder. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me—why even bother sending me out to Quantico?”

“I didn’t know he would be there, obviously,” she said. “But, when you came back and told me of a colonel with a mustache—I suspected it was information for myself.”

Huntington nodded. “My nickname in the CID is The Colonel. It was a cinch she’d figure it out, and try to contact me. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier, but I couldn’t risk saying anything to you back at base. The whole situation is a little tricky.”

I leaned forward a little and looked at his face closely. In any other situation, I would’ve managed a smile. “Oh, I see, Colonel Mustard.”

“Yes—” He snorted.

I scratched my head. “Why all the hush hush? Couldn’t you two have just worked this out over the phone? Come to think of it, why have you both never come forward on all this? Eight people have died.”

“There is a reason for that,” he said. “Reasons that can only be said in person. I do not trust telephones. As for the latter question—we have remained quiet, but not idle. We’ve had a team working the case since we learned of the murders.”

I frowned at Ryder. “So that’s why you never wanted the case—”

She nodded slowly, almost in an oppressive way.

“Yes.” Huntington smirked. “I was hoping she would stay out of it. But, I always knew this day would come—”

“What did you expect? I know she’s no saint, but you didn’t expect her to keep it bottled up, surely?”

Huntington picked out a piece of gum from his pocket and placed it in his mouth, and then he shook his head. “I don’t think you understand, and it is clear she has not told you everything.”

I looked at her for an answer and she looked away. Huntington gave me a file and as I looked through it, he spoke, addressing Ryder more than myself.

“This is the file nobody knows about. The one you never saw after you were sent home. The real reason for the murders Lee Lynch committed. While originally the victims were killed in a way so as to look like ritualistic killings by radicals, several of them had one connection—transportation.”

“Transportation?” I said quizzically.

“Yes, some of the people killed were in some way related to the transportation of items from various countries into Afghanistan to help the effort and the establishment of the army in Afghan territory—weapons, military equipment, vehicles, commodities, even plain currency. We didn’t even realize the connection until after Lee Lynch was caught, seen as some of the victims were civilians, potential witnesses at the wrong place at the wrong time, as opposed to being directly employed in the various transportation avenues.”

“Wait a minute—” I said. “So something dodgy was going on in that area—that sounds like the work of a group, not just Lee Lynch.”

Huntington nodded. “Precisely. And it was all in-house. The scandal was much more than the murder of civilians by our own men—it was corruption of the highest grade. If it ever got out—I don’t even want to think of the consequences.”

I took a step back while Ryder remained motionless. The air around us whistled and I whistled back with my own deep breathing. I probably should have been asking a lot more, but the words never came.

Huntington continued, “The operation was weeded out, but never cracked. After the trial, things returned to normal, but whatever was stolen, including two hundred million in US currency, was never seen again. It was over. It was covered up and never thought of again.”

“Until three years ago,” I said.

“Yes. It was a big shock, of course. But, after time, we couldn’t find any connection to the events in Afghanistan. But that all changed when a man named Guy Lynch died. And I dare say the surname alone was what enticed you out, Kendra, even though you had never met Guy Lynch back then.” He waited for her to nod and he continued, “Thing is, we had no idea what was going on with him throughout the years. But when news of his death came through, we had a theory as to why he had been murdered. Even though everything from back then was finished, the fact remained that Guy Lynch turned on his brother, which in turn meant he betrayed the group involved with the treasonous theft of military itinerary. So, we considered this was payback, by those remaining in the group. But it took them ages to find him, given his witness protection status, and then his moving around. Perhaps it took them that long to suspect he’d ever revert to his real name. Who knows.”

I shook my head vehemently and looked at Ryder. “But that’s a load of horse shit. The murders before Guy Lynch had nothing to do with that—and I doubt the people we think killed Guy Lynch were involved back then either.”

Huntington smiled. “Of course. That’s why I am here now. I fear both Kendra and I have been suffering from the same problem of not knowing how both the present and the past fits together. She has reliably informed me she has come up with a solution.”

“Yes,” Ryder said. “One that would make sense in hindsight. But, I’m afraid it does little to support your theory someone from twelve years ago is involved.”

There was a slight scowl on Huntington’s face, then he replaced it with an honest grin. “Very well. Perhaps you would enlighten me.”

“No,” she said. “First, I wish to know why you never told me about what happened after Lee Lynch’s arrest. That was my case—why was I let down, was it because of what I knew? Because I knew nothing. Nothing whatsoever.”

Huntington sighed. “You just don’t understand, do you? It was for your own good. When I pulled Lee Lynch away from that table, and—his victim was still breathing, what else was to be done?”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “The final victim survived?”

No one had time to answer. To the west there was the sound of an engine. Several engines, making headway to our location. At such a speed, in a desolate part of LA, it was as ominous as we perceived. Before I could even hear the gunfire, Huntington had hurled Ryder back in front of my Lexus. I followed likewise, and peered over the hood. There were three cars heading straight for us. We were in a hopeless position, as this wouldn’t be a standoff. They wouldn’t simply stop in front of us and allow us to return fire gracefully. No, this would be a drive-by, from each side. A torrent of sub machine gun fire that we couldn’t possibly hope to avoid.

Each of us armed, but only with our standard handguns. I had extra clips, but they were in the glove box. As they came nearer, we had a decision to make. Do we go for an easier target, and fire at windscreens, hoping to impede their view? Or do we go for tires, and hope to stop them dead in their tracks? Either way, we needed to cut short their advantage over us. If we allowed them to pass unhindered, we were nothing but target practice.

“Aim for the driver,” I said. “I’ll take the two on the left. Colonel, you take the one on the right. Get behind me, Boss.”

“Nonsense, my aim is exceptional,” she said.

I didn’t bother arguing, as I was too busy preparing myself for two difficult shots on two separate moving targets. They were driving toward us in a relatively straight line, so I could get one in the head easy, but I doubted I could get both within such a short amount of time.

It turns out my assessment was correct, but I had a little luck. I nailed the car closest to us and it steered off into the direction of the other. They didn’t collide, but it made the other driver steer off sharply. The man in the backseat of the first car was now firing almost directly at me from fifty feet away. He was a lousy shot, and I had four more of my own to take him out, which I did.

With the other car and its occupants slightly off in the distance, I checked to my right, to see the final car steer wildly into the chain linked fence of the parking lot. Two thugs came out. Ryder and Huntington had obviously wrecked their windscreen and vision, but not taken out the driver.

I placed my hand on the passenger side door and said, “I’m going in to get an extra clip, stay down and watch your six, there’s at least two others.”

Ryder nodded and continued aiming out toward the parking lot. By the time I got inside and retrieved a clip, one of the thugs was shot dead. The other was taking cover inside the backseat and firing wild shots out the window.

I could have taken him out there and then, but it would have taken a fair amount of ammunition. It is a common misconception that your average car door is capable of shielding a bullet. However, it would have required a little guess work on my part to hit him.

My frugal use of ammunition was a mistake. The ten seconds I waited for an opening allowed the two thugs from the vehicle to my left to open fire on Ryder and Huntington. After I managed to take out the guy on the right, I told them to move round.

I exchanged fire with the remaining two thugs, leaning out the passenger side, but the odds weren’t in my favor. Their rate of fire meant I couldn’t stay inside the Lexus, otherwise I’d die by the misconception I was talking about. I decided to make it look like I had been hit by not returning fire, keeping my body below the windows, hence keeping out of their line of vision, while in the meantime joining Ryder and Huntington outside, on the driver’s side.

Ryder was bleeding from the left shoulder, in silent agony. Huntington was even worse. He was gut-shot, and it looked unlikely he would make it. He was already gargling blood, trying to speak, but I told him to be quiet.

I waited for the two thugs to approach. If they were smart, they’d take me from either side. I waited for the footsteps and realized they weren’t smart. When I judged them to be fifteen feet from the car, I jumped out. I shot the first thug in the heart, and double tapped the other guy in the neck and somewhere around the sternum.