walking along, hands empty and swinging by his side, as unthreatening as anyone else in the street.
‘Hold it!’ Hobart shouted, closing the gap, his gun gripped in both hands, held out in front of him and ready to come up on aim. Hendrickson and the driver adopted similar stances behind and to either side of him.
Stratton heard the voice call out and instantly believed the worst. But he kept walking.
‘John Stratton!’ Hobart shouted, walking briskly behind him. ‘This is the FBI. Stand still or so help me I will shoot you!’
Pedestrians close enough to hear halted as they looked at the three men in the street who were carrying weapons.
Stratton slowed.
‘John Stratton, this is your last warning,’ Hobart shouted as his pistol came up on aim.
Stratton came to a stop although he did not turn to look. He knew that it had all come to a grinding halt for him and even though he instinctively searched for a clue to a way out there was nothing. He was in the street, cars and people either side and nowhere to run. Suddenly he could see Josh in a dirty corner somewhere, hands tied, desperate and hungry. Stratton was almost filled with the urge to make a run for it, even though he knew that he would never survive. But in many ways it would have been an act of cowardice, taking the easy way out of his guilt for failing Josh. Stratton had never felt such anguish and loss before that moment: it was as if a strange sense of invulnerability that he’d had all his life had suddenly disappeared.
At that moment Grant appeared, walking down the sidewalk and clapping eyes on the very man he had hoped to. ‘Hey! You! Motherfucker!’ he shouted at Stratton, completely unaware of the guns drawn in the street. ‘We need to talk. Yeah, you!’
Grant walked out into the road to confront Stratton. ‘Where’s my motherfucken’ five hunnerd dollars? You lied to me, you motherfucker. I’m talkin’ to you, ma—’ Grant stopped in mid-sentence as he saw the men behind Stratton with guns aimed at them both. His mouth remained agape as his hands went into the air. ‘Holy shit.’
‘Keep perfectly still,’ Hobart said to Stratton as he came to a stop yards from his back. ‘Let’s not do anything stupid here. Put your hands up.’
Stratton slowly complied.
‘I ain’t done nothin’ man,’ Grant said, quivering. ‘I ain’t no paparazzi.’
‘Move to one side, please, sir,’ Hobart said to Grant. ‘You stay perfectly still, John.’
Grant stepped to the side, keeping his hands high as Hobart’s driver moved to where he could cover him.
‘Now I want you to turn slowly and face me,’ Hobart said. ‘Nice and easy.’
Stratton did as he was ordered and looked into Hobart’s eyes, recognising the man he had seen only once before.
Hobart also recognised Stratton from somewhere and took his time trying to remember. ‘Santa Monica courts,’ he finally said, mainly to himself, looking forward to interrogating Stratton and filling in the many holes in this case. ‘Before I search you, you got anything? Guns? Explosives?’
Stratton shook his head.
‘Hendrickson. Give me your gun, then search him.’
Hendrickson handed his gun to Hobart and moved in behind Stratton, a hint of nervousness showing through.
Stratton looked several yards beyond Hobart to see Seaton staring at him. They locked eyes as Hendrickson ran his hands thoroughly over Stratton’s body.
‘He’s clean,’ Hendrickson said.
A police car arrived and came to a halt further up the street. Two officers climbed out, guns drawn, and crouched behind their car doors.
‘FBI,’ Hendrickson called out as he held his badge up for the cops to see.
‘Cuff him,’ Hobart told Hendrickson who produced a pair of handcuffs.
‘Hands behind your back,’ Hendrickson said to Stratton.
Stratton obeyed and Hendrickson fitted the cuffs around his wrists and tightened them.
Hobart lowered his gun and closed on Stratton, taking a good look at the man who, up until seconds ago, had been the most dangerous in the state.
‘Sir,’ Hobart’s driver called out.
‘What?’
‘That’s the stolen pick-up.’
Hobart glanced over at it. ‘Anything in there we should be worried about?’ he asked Stratton.
Stratton shook his head.
‘Take a look,’ Hobart said to the driver. ‘And be careful.’
The agent looked in through the pick-up’s windows before he opened the door slowly and peered inside, his confidence growing at seeing nothing that he con sidered dangerous. He searched under the seats and in the glove compartments. ‘Just a bunch of blueprints, sir. No weapons or explosives.’
Hobart eyed Stratton. ‘So where is it? I know you have around ninety pounds of pure RDX. Why don’t you just make it easier for everyone and tell me where it is?’
Stratton held his gaze.
‘Don’t tell me it all went up in the mine because I won’t believe you,’ Hobart said. ‘Yeah, I understand you’re the strong silent type. Well, that’s okay with me. I can play that game too. Officer!’ Hobart called out and the two cops came forward. ‘I want a lock-up truck here as soon as you can. This guy’s going downtown to the Federal jail, a top-security cell, the toughest in the state. We gotta keep him nice and safe while we find his toys. Hendrickson
– you go with him, and I don’t want him speaking to anyone,
you understand. No one. You stay outside his cell until I get there.’ ‘Yes, sir,’ Hendrickson said. Hobart put his gun back in its holster, feeling a little better about the situation although there were a lot of loose ends to tie up, most of all finding the explosives. But it looked as if the case was at last coming under control.
Stratton had no emotions about Hobart. The man was just doing his job. Stratton was too consumed by his own failure to think about anything else. He’d made a terrible mistake in failing to take account of all the factors lined up against him. He’d developed tunnel vision. He’d seen only Skender and his people.
‘You have any idea where little Josh is?’ Hobart asked.
Stratton looked into his eyes. ‘Only that Skender or Cano has him.’
‘Cano?’ Hobart said, quizzically. ‘Cano’s dead. You should know – you killed him.’
‘His brother. You know him as Ivor Vleshek.’
A clang reverberated in Hobart’s head as another piece of the puzzle dropped into place. Hobart glanced over his shoulder at Seaton and wondered what else the Agency knew that he didn’t. When Hobart had arrived in LA and been handed the Skender case file one of the first requests he made was to the CIA for any information they had on the Albanian, knowing that terrorists were using Skender’s international smuggling conduits and that the CIA had their own file on him. They’d given him nothing more than he’d already had with an assurance that he would be updated. Lying sons of bitches.
‘How do you know the Albanians have the kid?’ Hobart asked Stratton, not doubting him but thinking that some proof would be nice.
‘Cano wants to trade me for Josh. Listen to me. You lock me up, they’ll kill Josh.’
‘And your conscience will be clear because that makes it my fault, right?’ Hobart suggested.
Anger flashed through Stratton and he leaned towards Hobart, his stare on fire. For a second Hobart was reminded why this man in front of him was con sidered so dangerous. Hendrickson grabbed Stratton’s arms, helped by the two cops, but Stratton had no intention of striking Hobart.
‘I take full responsibility for Josh’s situation,’ Stratton said. ‘But right now his life is in your hands. You can play this by the book or you can do something about it.’
‘What do you expect me to do? Let you go? Or maybe I can call up Skender and ask him if we can exchange you for the boy?’
‘Let me go and I swear I’ll come back to you when this is over,’ Stratton pleaded.
‘Please. I don’t have the right to make those kinds of decisions and if I did I’d have to say no. You’d die and God only knows how many others you’d take with you. Put him in the squad car until the van arrives,’ Hobart said to
