Long After Midnight (12 page)

He was tempted to lie but great warriors did not lie to vermin. It was beneath them. “No, only the two pages I faxed you. The others weren’t at GeneChem. She must have them with her.” He paused. “But you have another problem. Noah Smith is still alive. He didn’t die in the explosion.”

There was a silence at the other end of the line. “How do you know?”

“I heard them talking. The woman and the man who came later. She was on her way to join Smith at his motel.”

Ogden muttered a curse. “They’re together?”

“So it would seem. Don’t worry, it will only make things easier for me.”

“Nothing’s easy for a fool who—”

“Enough,” Ishmaru said softly. “I will hear no more. Locate them and let me know. I’ll take care of the rest.” He replaced the receiver before Ogden could answer.

He would have to kill Ogden, he thought objectively. But not right away. Ogden provided a service. He was the quiver that held Ishmaru’s arrows, the pony that bore him in his search for glory.

He was the scout who pointed the way to coup.

Ishmaru took the threaded needle he’d laid in readiness beside the phone. First he must take care of this trifling wound, and then he would return to his medicine cave to refresh his powers. But he could not stay long. Kate was waiting.

Pain seared through him as he plunged the needle into his flesh and brought it out on the other side of the gaping wound.

He wanted to scream.

He did not scream.

He plunged the needle in again and took another stitch.

See how I suffer for you, Kate?

See how worthy I am of you?

“Idiot.” Raymond Ogden crashed the phone down and glowered at William Blount, sitting in the chair across the room. “And you’re another one for recommending the son of a bitch.”

Blount shrugged. “You needed someone who you could trust not to talk. You didn’t complain about his work on Smith’s plant.”

“He fumbled that job too. Smith’s still alive and Kate Denby’s with him.”

“Not good,” Blount said. “But not terrible either.”

“What do you mean? Do you think Smith’s going to wait around and let us take another swipe at him? He’ll go underground until he’s ready to surface.”

“Then we’ll just toss out a net and find them.”

“How?”

“It’s a small world.” Blount smiled slightly. “Everyone is connected to everyone else. We just have to find the appropriate connection and follow it.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll make a few calls.”

“You’re damn right you will.” Ogden stood up, moved over to the mirror, and straightened his tuxedo jacket. “But not only to your mob friends. I can’t run the risk that they’ll screw this up too. I have to protect myself and widen the scope.”

He didn’t like that, Ogden thought as he watched Blount’s expression in the mirror. The young punk liked to feel in control. Well, he wasn’t in control. Ogden ran the show and he wasn’t about to let the bastard think anything else. He’d never liked the prick anyway, with his perfect teeth and uppity airs. He’d hired Blount as his assistant because he was the illegitimate son of Marco Giandello and the connection was useful for getting things done. But it wasn’t like the old days; now the dons sent their kids to college and they came out like Blount with his gleaming smile, Armani suits, and veiled contempt. Well, let him sneer. Ogden might not have gotten any further than eighth grade, but he had built a pharmaceutical empire and he was the one who paid Blount’s salary and pulled the strings. “I want you to call Ken Bradton of Bradton Mutual Insurance, Paul Cobb of Undercliff Pharmaceutical, and Ben Arnold of Jedlow Laboratories. Arrange a meeting for two days from today.”

“Is that discreet?” Blount asked. “I thought we agreed that the fewer people who knew about RU2, the better.”

We.
The little turd thought he actually had a hand in Ogden’s decisions. “If Smith goes public, I’ve got to be ready for him. I don’t swing a big enough club to squash RU2 by myself.”

“It would be more discreet to allow my father to handle the matter.”

And let those dago creeps get a stranglehold on Ogden Pharmaceutical? Not a chance. “We’ll do it my way.” He straightened his bow tie. “I have to make an appearance at the governor’s fund-raiser tonight. I’ll be back home in a few hours and I want you to tell me that meeting is set.”

“It’s almost midnight here now and Ken Bradton is on the East Coast.”

“Then wake the bastard up. Wake everybody up.” He turned away from the mirror. “Tell them I said if they want to save their asses, they’ll be here in two days.” He started for the door. “And while you’re at it, call Senator Longworth in Washington and tell him I want him here too.”

“For the meeting?”

“No, a day later. In private.”

“Are you sure he’ll come? This is going to be a hot one for any politician.”

“He’ll come. He likes money and I know where the body’s buried.” He gave Blount a sardonic smile. “You two will get along great. He’s big on discretion too.”

“I meant no offense.” Blount’s perfect teeth shone in a brilliant smile. “I’m sure you know best, Mr. Ogden.”

“You don’t make things easy,” Robert Kendow muttered as Seth got into his car at the Los Angeles airport. “You always expect results overnight. These things take time.”

“I don’t have time. I have to be somewhere three days from now. I made a promise.” He leaned back in the seat. “And one of those days is almost over. Where does Ishmaru stay when he’s here?”

Kendow gazed at him in exasperation. He had known Seth Drakin for over ten years, and his single-mindedness was nothing new. When he had first met him, he had been fooled by that easy, low-key manner and thought his formidable reputation blown up out of all proportion. He had remained blissfully ignorant until he saw him in action. Drakin was easy only as long as he got what he wanted. Cross him and he became both difficult and lethal.

“Ishmaru,” Seth prompted. “You said he still lives here in L.A.”

“I said I’d seen him here several times. I don’t know where he lives.”

“He was raised here. Does he have family or friends?”

“No family. Friends? You’ve got to be kidding. The bastard’s psycho.”

“There has to be someone.” Seth smiled. “I want him, Kendow. I’ll be most unhappy if you don’t help me.”

Kendow instinctively tensed. Seth’s tone was soft but he had heard it before. He took a deep breath. “I’m trying. There’s a man he used to know. Pedro Jimenez. A total slimeball. When Ishmaru first started out, Jimenez handled the contracts for him.”

“He doesn’t now?”

He shook his head. “Ishmaru left him far behind. But he probably knows more about Ishmaru than anyone else in town.”

“Where is Jimenez?”

“Still in East L.A.” Kendow grimaced. “It’s a great recruiting ground for shooters. He has two young Hispanics under his wing now.”

“Take me to him.”

“I haven’t located him. He moves around a lot.” He added hurriedly, “I’m supposed to meet a man tonight. I promise you that you’ll see Jimenez tomorrow. I can’t promise you that he’ll talk. He’s smart enough to be scared of Ishmaru like everyone else.”

“Oh, I think he’ll talk,” Seth murmured. “I’ve always been surprised how obliging people can be when they’re given a chance.”

Beads of sweat coated Jimenez’s forehead. “I can’t help you, senor. I told you that I don’t know where he is.”

Seth studied him for a moment. The plump little man was every bit the slimeball Kendow had called him. Seth would have to press just a little harder. The bastard knew he’d just as soon break his neck as look at him. Seth had made sure of it during the ten minutes he’d been in the bar. “I think you do know. You must have had to contact Ishmaru to set up his jobs. I doubt you hung a red flag out the window.”

Jimenez gave him a sickly smile as he shakily lit his cigar with an ornate initialed gold lighter. “That was a long time ago.”

“You haven’t seen him lately?”

He shook his head emphatically.

Seth believed him. Jimenez had about as much backbone as a squid. “Or heard anything?”

Jimenez moistened his lips. “Someone saw him yesterday afternoon.”

“Here?”

He shook his head. “He never goes in bars. He says liquor dirties his soul.”

“Who saw him?”

“Maria Carnales. She runs a shop a few blocks from here. He always buys his incense from her.”

“Incense.”

Jimenez shrugged. “I never asked him what he uses it for. I never asked Ishmaru nothing. Why don’t you go ask her if she knows where he is?”

“Because you know.” He leaned forward.
Press hard. Let him see the edge.
“And you’re going to tell me.”

“He’d kill me.”

Seth smiled.

“I tell you, he’d kill me if I told you.”

Seth reached out and gently, almost caressingly touched Jimenez’s jugular. “And what do you think I’ll do if you don’t?”

Jimenez slammed the car door shut and pointed at the woods stretching before them. “There’s a cave about a mile from here. He calls it his medicine tent. He has it camouflaged with branches.” He stuck out his chin. “I’m not going any farther.”

“Yes, you are.” Seth started down the path. “I may need you.”

Jimenez reluctantly followed him. “Why would you need me?”

Seth lifted his brows. “Why, to stake out for the tiger.”

Seth heard him half swearing, half praying behind him.

He should have left him at the car, Seth thought; he’d probably be in the way. But he wouldn’t trust the worm not to turn. Jimenez was terrified of Ishmaru, and Seth couldn’t be sure that he’d impressed him enough.

It was getting dark, the shadows were gathering on each side of the path.

He stopped, listening.

Nothing.

“What is it?” Jimenez whispered.

“Just checking.”

He moved quickly down the path.

He could hear Jimenez’s strangled breathing behind him.

He stopped again.

“Goddammit, what do you hear?”

“Nothing.” It was what he smelled. Incense. Charred oak. “The cave’s up ahead, isn’t it?”

“I don’t remember. It’s been years.”

Seth drew his gun. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

“I want to go back to the car.”

“Not a step.” He faded into the shrubbery and moved parallel to the path.

The shrubbery was thick, the camouflage so well done he wouldn’t have known the cave was there.

The smell of incense was strong, overpowering.

Before the cave were the ashes of a burnt-out campfire surrounded by stones.

The mouth of the cave was dark.

Ishmaru wasn’t here. But he’d been here. The signs were recent. Seth judged no later than that morning. He’d built a fire, burned his incense. . . .

And what else?

“Jimenez.” He didn’t answer. “Jimenez!”

Jimenez was breaking through the underbrush, his gaze fixed warily on the opening of the cave. He breathed a sigh of relief. “He isn’t here. Can we go now?”

“Give me your lighter.”

Jimenez handed him his gold lighter. “We should leave. He’s gone and he won’t be back until he needs it again.”

Needs? “Come with me.”

“I don’t want to go in there.”

“Come anyway.” He strode into the cave with Jimenez on his heels.

The incense smell was stronger here. Very strong.

He lit the lighter.

Jimenez whimpered.

Scalps.
Seven or eight of them crowning poles driven into the ground in a circle.

Scalps. Of course. A scalp had been considered a badge of honor by Indians, and Ishmaru had made his Indian heritage his religion.

He turned to look at Jimenez. “You knew about this.”

“No, I—” He swallowed. “It had something to do with nightmares and power. I don’t know. He called them the guardians. He’d sit in the center of the circle for hours and burn incense. At first he wanted to take a scalp every time he was out on a contract, but I convinced him not to do it unless it was safe and didn’t get in the way.”

“Very sensible,” he said sarcastically.

“Can we go now?”

“Not yet.” His glance had fallen on a small cardboard box in the corner. He knelt beside it.

Watches. Jewelry. A pocketknife. More trophies?

A book, well thumbed and faded with time.
Warriors.
Obviously Ishmaru’s primer.

As he stood up he brushed against one of the poles. He put his hand out to steady it.

Long silky blond hair.

This scalp wasn’t like the others. It was fresh.

And it was a child’s.

Seth stared at it, trying to control the rage tearing through him.

Evidently Ishmaru had found a new source of power on his trip to Dandridge.

“There’s no use staying here and waiting,” Jimenez said. “He was never here for more than twenty-four hours. He said he never needed more than that to—” He broke off as he saw Seth’s expression. “I never had anything to do with this. I told you, I tried to keep him from—”

“Shut up.” He turned away and shoved the box with his foot toward Jimenez. “Gather all the scalps and put them in the box along with everything else that you can find of Ishmaru’s.”

“You want me to touch them?” He shook his head. “He won’t like it. He’d regard it as desecration.”

“You can either gather them or join them,” Seth said with soft violence. “And I don’t particularly care which.”

Jimenez moved quickly toward the poles.

Five minutes later he was holding the heaping cardboard box. “Now what?”

“Now we go.” He lit the dry grass and branches on the cave floor with Jimenez’s lighter. The flames leaped high.

“Why?” Jimenez wailed.

“I wanted it gone.” Not that he’d be able to forget what he’d seen. He didn’t want to think that Ishmaru could ever come back here. He wanted to hurt the bastard.

“This was his special place. He’ll go crazy,” Jimenez sputtered.

“I hope so.” Seth watched the flames a moment before he turned to go. “Come on.”

“What are you going to do with all this stuff?”

He didn’t answer.

It wasn’t until they reached the car that Jimenez spoke again. “Can I have my lighter back?”