same air of the spook about him. Unlike Hartlaub and Brigham, who were active in the field, both of my older friends were the type who directed covert operations from offices at Langley and other institutions. They had the grey pallor and equally grey demeanour of men who spent their days cooped up in hidden places. Someone coming here with the intention of finding Walter Hayes Conrad could have assumed that Bryce was their man. Supposing that they had never met Walter face to face, that is.
If, and I was beginning to believe that I was right, it was Tubal Cain who was responsible for this carnage, he hadn’t seen Walter when we were standing over him in the cavern at Jubal’s Hollow. At the time Cain was so close to death that he must have been searing his optic nerves on the blazing flames of hell. But, if Walter had saved the man for some unknown reason, then there was the possibility that he’d visited with him since. And that begged further questions: what the hell had happened here? Why had Bryce been cut to ribbons? What had his killer been after?
Cain was looking for something.
My brother John.
‘Walter is playing at being dead, that’s it? He wants Cain to believe that he’s dead. And he sent you to bring me in. There’s only one reason I can think why he’d do that.’
‘You’ve had experience with this man before,’ Hartlaub said.
‘So it is Tubal Cain? You’re confirming that?’
‘I ain’t going to lie to you any longer. Cain was being held at Fort Conchar. There should’ve been no way for him to escape…’
‘But he did.’
‘Yes. Despite all the odds, he murdered one of his guards, used the uniform as a disguise. Once outside he gave his pursuers the slip — we don’t know how he managed that yet.’
‘Fort Conchar is a super-max facility, yet he managed to walk out in a fuckin’ guard’s uniform! What about the checks and security points? I’d’ve thought that… Oh, wait. I get it. We’re talking about Tubal Cain, aren’t we? He took the body parts he required to get past the security.’
‘Fingerprints and retinal scans are no problem to someone like him.’ Hartlaub gave me a gentle shove towards the door where Brigham was waiting. ‘C’mon. We’d best get going.’
‘It’d better be to see Walter or we’re parting company right now.’
‘Let’s move then.’
‘Do you have a phone?’
‘I do, but our orders are to maintain silence until we’ve joined Walter.’
I shook my head. ‘There are other people involved in this. If Tubal Cain is out there, then they could be next on his list.’
‘You’re talking about Jared Rington?’
Rink had been with me when I’d taken Cain down, and was as likely a target of the deranged killer as Walter was. Harvey Lucas, too, though I couldn’t see how Cain would be aware of his involvement.
‘Can save you the trouble,’ Brigham interjected. ‘Walter asked for Rington to be brought in. The team sent to find him has come up blank. Rington’s dropped off the face of the earth.’
Chapter 7
One day earlier…
‘My entire resources are open to you. Money, men, weapons. Choose whatever you want to get the job done.’
Kurt Hendrickson was a man of power. He was a significant figure in the criminal underworld of the Eastern Seaboard. He controlled the market in drugs, prostitution, pornography, extortion, and up until recently had been a major player in counterfeiting currency that he traded with terror groups intent on bringing down the mighty dollar. He wielded the kind of influence where he need only click his fingers to make people disappear without trace. However there was a specific man whose disappearance had nothing to do with Hendrickson. This man was under the US Federal Marshals’ witness protection programme and, unusually, this was being overseen by agents of the CIA. Tracing him wasn’t the main issue; killing him without being implicated in the murder was. It was bad enough that he was facing judicial trial; he didn’t need the murder of the key witness laid at his door as well. It served his purpose that Tubal Cain had a vendetta against the same man.
‘All I need from you is his location,’ Cain said.
They were standing in a vault that Hendrickson had installed in the wine cellar of his house. The vault contained row upon row of firearms.
Hendrickson, it appeared, had a fascination with guns.
Tubal Cain wasn’t that interested; his passion was for knives.
That stood to reason, considering his name was derived from the Biblical inventor of cutting instruments. But he was not averse to other weapons of destruction when necessary. He had a Heckler and Koch 9 mm in a shoulder rig. A Beretta 92F, a variation of the famous service weapon of the US armed forces, was in a second holster on his hip.
‘I have a plan in motion. We will have his location within a couple of days.’ Hendrickson picked up an ancient Colt and held it up to admire under the overhead lights.
‘I want to get started now,’ Cain said. ‘I have an idea or two that might put us ahead in the game.’
Hendrickson nodded distractedly, lost in his fascination with the Colt. ‘I killed my first man with this gun.’
Cain sniffed. ‘I find guns so impersonal.’
‘Maybe, but they get the job done. If you only desire a man’s life, then a bullet in the brain will do it every time.’
‘What if you desire more than his life?’ Cain wasn’t being sarcastic or enigmatic. He always liked to take something from his victims — bones in particular — as a reminder of his potency. He wasn’t called the Harvestman for nothing.
‘Death is enough,’ Hendrickson replied. ‘Kill this man for me, Cain. What you do to him afterwards… I don’t care. In fact, it’s probably best that you do take your trophy.’
‘Oh, I intend to.’
‘Good, good.’ Hendrickson placed the Colt down, showed Cain the exit. ‘I have men at my disposal. Use them as you will.’
‘I work best alone.’
‘Yes,’ Hendrickson agreed. ‘But there are others who may need dealing with.’
Involuntarily, Cain’s hand moved to the scar on his throat. The lesion had never fully healed, a puncture wound that separated his trachea.
Hendrickson said, ‘Don’t worry. Like I said, I’ve a plan in motion and already have men on their trail.’
‘They’re good,’ Cain pointed out. ‘Send plenty of men.’
‘It isn’t so much the number as the quality. Rest assured, I have hired only the best in the business.’
Cain eyed him.
Hendrickson coughed low in his throat. ‘They’re not as skilled as you, but they’re sufficient to kill a couple of out-of-practice soldiers.’
‘Do not kill them,’ Cain said. ‘Take them alive. Once I’m finished with John Telfer, I want to reacquaint myself with Joe Hunter and Jared Rington.’
Chapter 8
Why Hartlaub and Brigham and, more pertinently, Walter, wanted to waste time showing me the horror wrought by Tubal Cain was beyond me. All Walter needed to do was pick up a phone, contact me at Imogen’s
