Hannibal Rising

“What about you?” Tom wanted to know.

“I’ll climb a tree. When I see who it is, I’ll stalk them like they’ve been stalking us. When I’m close I’ll jump them and kill them and the two of you will be safe.”

“I like it,” Sam said.

“I don’t,” Tom declared. “What if you don’t spot them? What if they catch on that you’re stalking them and jump you instead? Or what if they decide to kill us before you jump them?” He shook his head. “There’s too much that can go wrong.”

“None of us might not reach the hunting lodge if we don’t do something.”

“I’ll take my chances. I say we stick together.”

“Please, Tom,” Sam said. “You’re being stubborn.”

“You’re damn right I am. My life is at stake.”

“I trust Skye, Tom. He’s doing all he can to keep us alive.”

“So it’s Skye, is it?” Tom smirked. “If you want to trust him, go right ahead. But don’t expect me to.”

“Be reasonable, will you?”

“The three of us should stick together,” Tom insisted. “I’ll watch your backs and you watch mine.”

Fargo bit off an impulse to swear a blue streak. They couldn’t afford to stay there squabbling. “I know you hired Brun and Anders.”

“What?”

“I know you hired them and the sheriff will want to know, too. But I’ll keep my mouth shut if you’ll do as your sister wants.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Well?”

“Well nothing,” Tom spat. “For your information I didn’t have anything to do with Anders and I hired Brun to help me in the hunt and nothing more.”

Fargo almost believed him. But if Tom didn’t hire them, who did? Roland? And if Roland hired them, who hired the brother and sister?

“Will you do it if I beg you?” Sam asked her brother.

“I might have. But not now. Not after your scout has insulted me. We’re sticking together and that’s final.”

“You heard Skye. The killer will catch us.”

“You’re already caught,” said a voice.

Fargo spun.

It was the brother. He stood six feet away, a Remington revolver in his hand. “I should thank you for making it so easy.”

19

Tom Clyborn started to stand but the click of the revolver’s hammer turned him to stone. “Don’t!” he bleated, throwing his hands in front of him as if to ward off searing lead.

Fargo didn’t twitch a muscle. He knew how deadly this killer and his sister were.

The young man showed no more emotion than a rock. He said in a cold tone with the same hint of an accent Fargo had noticed before, “I do so hate cowards. Sit down, fool, and keep your hands where I can see them. The same applies to both of you,” he addressed Fargo and Samantha.

Fargo sank but he contrived to coil his legs under him. He placed his hands in plain sight.

“Who are you?” Samantha asked. “What do you want?”

“Don’t be stupid,” the young man said. “Someone in my line of work doesn’t ever say who they are. As to what I want, my work speaks for itself.”

“You’re an assassin,” Sam said.

“For want of a better word, yes.” The man took a step to the left, the Remington unwavering. “I don’t flatter myself when I say we are two of the best there are at what we do.”

“We?”

Fargo said, “Him and his sister.”

The assassin’s dark eyes flitted to Fargo. “You remember us, do you?” he sarcastically asked.

“Folks who try to kill me tend to stick in my mind.”

A hint of a smile touched the young man’s mouth. “Forty-three times we’ve been hired, and you are the only person we’ve ever failed to kill. Your reflexes are the fastest we’ve ever seen.”

Fargo said nothing.

“Who hired you?” Sam asked. “Will you tell us that much at least?”

“My employer will make himself known soon enough. He desires to talk to you before we finish it.”

“What about?”

“He didn’t say but I suspect it is the chest that your pere”—the young man caught himself—“sorry, the chest that your father buried.” He paused. “You haven’t found it yet, have you?”

“If I had I wouldn’t be sitting here,” Tom said. “I’d be claiming what is rightfully mine.”

“To you it is everything, yes?”

“Of course. We’re talking millions of dollars.” Tom swore. “And you called me a fool.”

“You are a family of fools,” the assassin said. “There is enough money for all of you. You could have agreed to work together to find the chest and divide the money between you. But no. In your greed each of you thought to be the only one to inherit.” The young man shook his head. “Such a waste.”

“Who the hell are you to judge us? You kill for a living, for God’s sake.”

“Oui. An honorable profession, despite what you might think.”

Sam said, “Where is the honor in killing?”

“The honor is in how it is done. My sister and I are well respected in our small fraternity for always fulfilling the terms of a contract.”

“When I get my hands on Roland,” Tom said.

The assassin glanced into the trees. He took a gold pocket watch from a pocket and opened it and checked the time. Closing the watch, he put it back. Then he pointed the Remington at the ground and fired twice.

“What on Earth?” Samantha blurted.

“It’s a signal,” Fargo said.

The assassin nodded. “Oui. You are as smart as you are fast. I wonder. You have it figured out by now, do you not?”

“I reckon I’m not as smart as you think,” Fargo said dryly.

The young man smiled. “It is diabolical. I would not have thought of such a thing but then I have too much honor.”

“There you go again,” Tom scoffed. “You and your honor. You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“Were that true, you despicable wretch, you would already be dead.”

Tom started to respond but the young killer motioned with the Remington and said, “I have listened to enough. You will keep your mouth shut until they get here.”

“May I ask you a question?” Sam politely inquired.

“Oui.”

“Was it you or your sister who shot my brother Emmett?”

“The youngest one? Neither of us. It was the man called Anders.”

“And my other brother, Charles? Was it your sister who cut him to ribbons?”

“My sister. She likes to work with knives. She likes to cut and see the blood.”

“My cousin Amanda? And my sister Charlotte? Who murdered them?”

“They were my kills.”

“You feel no remorse?”