Seeing Red (Gareth Red Thrillers Book 1) Page 17

  “It’s what we hired you for.”

  Gareth sighed. “Listen. I’ll make sure you get the money back, the half-million that you already —”

  “Keep it.”

  “Come again?”

  “Keep it. It’s yours. It was always yours. We can’t retract it now, and all you need to do is find our local branch in Grand Cayman and tell them your account number.”

  “And what number is that?”

  “Your social security number.”

  “That’s the account number?”

  “And you can access it using a photo ID and passport.”

  “That’s it? I flash some credentials and all the sudden I’m worth half a million?”

  She looked up at him. “One million. I’ve already transferred the rest. It’s your money. I don’t want it.”

  “I can’t take it. I failed the mission.”

  “I hired you because you are the person who will do the right thing.”

  “What does that even mean? I haven’t been able to stop any of this. I haven’t killed anyone, I haven't stopped the sisters from finishing their job, and I’ve been one step behind the entire time.”

  She shook her head. “This is the time. Your decision.”

  “What?”

  “You are the right person for the job, Gareth Red.”

  He sighed. Thought back to the mostly one-sided conversations he’d had with Roderick in the car. About the men he’d seen killed, murdered in cold blood. He thought about Latia, and her sister, still out there somewhere, conferring and discussing in the silence of the warming winter day. Hiding in the trees, watching. Waiting.

  He could protect her. He could walk outside, look for the best place to hide for someone like him, someone who had been trained. Find the spot that would give him the best view, the widest view, without the possibility that he might be spotted. The spot where the wind would either be neutralized through the trees or at least in his favor.

  That’s where she would be, hiding with her sister.

  He could find that spot, wave them off, or at least get the banker to her house, then seek out Latia and her sister to try to plead with them. He could even threaten them, try to engage them, maybe even fight back with Roderick’s gun.

  But why? She had told him, numerous times, that he was the ‘man for the job.’ Because he would know what needed to be done, when the time came.

  He felt the time had come. The woman, the banker who had started this all, was standing in front of him. Waiting. Everyone, it seemed, was waiting on him. And he was supposed to make a decision. He was supposed to make a call that was impossible to make.

  He knew then, that he’d been here before. Only once, but once was all that was needed. Experiencing this feeling — hopelessness, combined with the feeling that you had only one shot to make things right — was not something he thought he’d ever face again, but unlike anyone else he knew, it was something he had experienced before.

  His mind was made up. He turned to the woman. “Tell me where Latia’s money is. I know how to get it, but where is it?”

  “Same as yours,” she said. “Find a branch. Preferably overseas, not in the States. Less of a hassle. Easier on taxes.”

  “Sounds good. I’m going to find her.”

  “You — you’re leaving?”

  He didn’t stop. Just turned and walked straight for the door and didn’t slow down when he walked over the threshold.

  “You’re leaving? Why? Won’t you help?”

  He reached the gravel driveway, looked out at the smaller building — the manager’s quarters — and stopped. Took a deep breath of the fresh, piney winter air. Turned around, slowly, just half his body and his neck. Craned it around and down so he could see her but he wasn’t facing her.

  “I am helping. Someone once told me what do in a situation like this, and I didn’t listen. I tried to fight it, tried to make sense of it. That was a mistake.”

  “This — this isn’t like that. This is —”

  “Different? How?”

  “It’s completely different, Red.”

  “But it’s why you hired me, right? The whole reason we’re here?”

  “Yes, but —”

  “Then it’s the same thing. Exactly the same thing. That’s just it, you know? People always want to make things a lot more complicated than they really are. Make them convoluted, bogging them down with unnecessary details and nuance and it’s all happening to different people, not ‘you’ or ‘me,’ or ‘someone we’re close to.’ It’s all different to them. But they’re wrong. They’re making it too complicated. It’s not that hard, and it doesn’t need to be.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to do what I didn’t do the first time. I’m going to do what I should have done last week, when I first met your team.”

  He turned back around, sniffed in a good bit of chilly air, and then started walking. Back toward the cars next to the fountain. There was probably a car in the garage, but he didn’t want her car. He didn’t want Roderick’s either, as it no longer had a door and he was sure that would be an uncomfortable ride.

  Sometimes you just need to walk away, Red.

  He didn’t want Latia’s car either, and he wasn’t even sure if it would work. It had been in a wreck, and there was probably something under the hood that was no longer working, but he would take his chances. Maybe she’d see it, come down. Maybe she’d let him take her to the city, into Moscow. Find a bank, give her the money.

  Didn’t matter, either way. He’d be gone, long gone, with no qualms about it whatsoever. Roderick, the woman, the sisters — they were the past. He’d wanted to make things right, to put them back to square one, but that was just it — he wasn’t the person to do that. He wasn’t in any position to make anything right or change anyone’s life or do anything at all that wasn’t already written in the stars as done, finished.

  He was a man, and that was it. He was Gareth Red, and he could see that now.

  He made it to the car when the woman came out of the warehouse. She probably hated it in there, all stuffy and dark and deathly. The memories she was imagining that lingered in there, all the memories of people she’d never met, memories she’d never had to suffer through making.

  “You can’t just leave!”

  He winced, knowing she shouldn’t have yelled. She shouldn’t have come out at all, really. She was safest in the place she’d helped build, the place she’d allowed to exist. The place she’d tried to ignore and disregard and justify in her twisted mind.

  But she couldn’t feel safe in there, even though it was far less safe out here.

  He made it to the car and opened the door. The keys were there, where he’d left them. He turned them, heard the engine struggle for a moment and then start. It ran smoothly, no clunking or grinding, and he tested the steering wheel. It spun, easily, as if nothing had happened to the front corner of the compact sedan, so he sat down and fumbled with his seatbelt, then put it in drive and rode around the perimeter of the fountain.

  He was facing her now, in the street, but she moved out of the way. She stared at him, waiting. He didn’t stop. Just kept driving, not caring any more about anything at all related to her or this mission.

  She watched, staring, both of them knowing it was finally over.

  He passed her, aimed for the dirt road leading back to the highway and Moscow, and watched her in his rearview mirror.

  Whatever hand was guiding the timing waited for him to stop looking. His eyes flicked back to the road, out through the windshield in front of him, and then the shot came.

  He heard it, felt it even, crisply ripping through the snappy air and landing in its target. He didn’t watch it, didn’t even try to look for it in the rearview mirror. He knew it was there, knew it was going to happen, and he knew it was over.

  Finally over.

  THERE’S MORE to the story!

  Get the second book in the series, C
hasing Red, today!

  THE ENIGMA STRAIN

  Continue the fun! Turn the page for a preview of book one in the bestselling Harvey Bennett Thrillers series, The Enigma Strain!

  * * *

  The Enigma Strain

  PROLOGUE

  1704, Northwest Territory, Canada

  The sound of another exploding tree caused Nikolai Alexei to jump. He could hear the men behind him snickering, but he didn’t turn to address it. It wasn’t worth his time, and it was poor leadership to acknowledge pettiness. He grumbled under his breath and marched forward through the knee-deep snow.

  Nikolai enjoyed the nostalgic characteristics of winter. This land reminded him of home; of the countless kilometers of deep black forest, filled with the same animals he used to hunt, the same trees he used to climb, and the same bitter cold he used to long for. He remembered the smells, too – the ripe evergreen scent, the fresh blankets of snow thick enough to halt a horse, and the sheer emptiness of the air.

  He knew the sounds as well. The frozen tree sap inside the trunks of the pines would expand, causing the bark and wood to explode. His father had explained it to him on a wolf-hunting trip when he was a boy, and he had often lain awake at night, counting the rippling explosions as they worked their way through the wooded area around their cabin. He was more comfortable in the woods than any of his men, with the possible exception of Lev.

  Still, the laughter of the men frustrated him. It wasn’t a sign of insubordination as much as it was a sign of their laziness. For three months they’d made their trek over mountains and across valleys so high and so deep he’d thought they wouldn’t make it to the other side with their entire crew intact. They’d crossed tundras, plateaus, and wetlands, all without losing a man. Their hunting excursions were always successful, and most nights ended around a large bonfire with a deer roasting on a spit. Breakfast was hot soup, and they snacked on smoked meats throughout the day.

  Nikolai had to admit that it was, so far, one of the more successful trips he’d been on, and he knew God was smiling on them in this new land. But he knew it made them weak; it made them soft. They had grown fat and sluggish, traveling fewer kilometers every day than the day before. Their energy and excitement had been replaced by restlessness, and their stories and poems told around the fire had devolved into passionless songs.

  Without turning around, he called back to the twenty-seven men behind him. “Where is the doctor?”

  A short, thin man rushed to his side. Nikolai did not slow his pace. “What is our status, doctor?”

  “We are well, commander. We are full, and morale is high.”

  "But we move slower each day,” Nikolai said. “We have caught more game than we can eat, and we build fires larger than we can burn in one night. The men are fat, and they are growing complacent.”

  “But they are happy, sir,” the doctor said.

  “Happiness is as much a curse as a virtue,” Nikolai said, turning to the shorter man. “We will stop and make camp when we next find a clearing. The river is to the north, and we can fish there for as long as we like.”

  Nikolai was a man of his word; a man of integrity. He had promised his superiors back in Russia a map of the deep terrain of North America, and he intended to deliver it. His expedition had grown mundane, and it was time to bring it back to life.

  “Split the men into crews of two and three,” Nikolai said, “and I will send them out in the morning to chart the area. The comrades will find pleasure in a change of scenery, and I myself will enjoy an excursion of a more solitary nature.”

  “So you will wander alone through these parts?” The doctor asked.

  Nikolai laughed. “I will take care to not lose myself in the fog, if that is what you are asking. Sometimes a man must wander, my friend,” he said. “But rest assured, we will gather together after three days.”

  The doctor nodded and fell in line behind Nikolai. Nikolai was uncertain if this plan of his would do more good than endanger them all, but it was a risk he was willing to take. They had found nothing useful thus far; nothing the motherland would be inclined to return for. Cartography was their stated manifest, but he was under no false pretenses. By moving outward in smaller groups, the expedition could cover more territory and more ground than by moving in a single line.

  So far, they had charted the great river to their north all the way from the sea, but they knew that every river began somewhere. Whether it was a lake at the top of a mountain peak or from tributaries caused by glacial melt, he did not know.

  And he didn’t care.

  Nikolai Alexei was here for one reason, and one reason alone. His homeland sought riches, as did his men. All men sought more than what God had initially blessed them with. It was man’s duty to find what he was owed in this life, with all the more blessings to be bestowed upon him in the afterlife.

  This new land was not known for its riches, as it had been settled merely years before, but it was the great unknown that continued to attract new inhabitants, and it was this same force that attracted Nikolai to this opportunity.

  PROLOGUE

  1704, Northwest Territory, Canada

  The first star appeared in the heavens above him, and Nikolai turned to the line behind him. “Make camp,” he ordered his men. “There is a clearing to our left; we will stay there.”

  Immediately, the men filed out from their positions in the line and began to extract poles and tarps from their packs. A few broke away to hunt while others milled about and checked canteen levels.

  They were slow, Nikolai noticed. After the last few days’ effort it did not surprise him, but it did not please him much either. It took over an hour to set up the ten tents and build a fire, but no more than ten minutes for the men to begin huddling around it.

  Soon the sky darkened, and the moon arose above them, nearly full. Food was prepared, a roasted deer and herb soup, and the men began singing.

  Nikolai had had enough. He broke away from the camp and lifted the moose skin parka hood up and over his head. The bitter cold bit into his flesh, and the gentle wind threatened to chill his core, but he didn’t notice. He made for a smaller clearing to the south that he had seen earlier, one with a rock outcropping against a higher mountain cliff. The river they were following had likely cut down into this valley they were currently in, and if he was lucky, it had left some interesting formations for him.

  He reached the clearing and scared away a small mammal that disappeared into a hole in front of a tree. He stepped into the open grassy area and looked toward the outcropping. It appeared that the boulders were precariously situated around a hole near the ground, beckoning him closer. As he approached, he could see in the failing light that the rocks were, in fact, surrounding an opening to a small cave.

  As a boy, nothing had excited him more than exploring unmarked caves and caverns. His father had joined him in a spelunking expedition once, and together they discovered an underground spring that provided water to the well near their cabin.

  He had no light with him, but he ducked inside anyway. Feeling around with his hands and arms, he felt the excitement within him growing.

  Tomorrow, he would head here first thing, bringing a torch with him and a few extra men. This was the type of cave that would have made a perfect shelter for one of the native tribes that might call this place home. So far, they had not encountered any such people, but they had no way of knowing if indigenous tribes lived along these rivers or not.

  A light appeared behind him, flickering and orange. He could almost feel the heat of the torch as it grew brighter.

  “Nikolai?” A voice said, softly. “Is that you?”

  It was the doctor’s voice, a little unsure.

  “Yes, doctor,” Nikolai said. “Bring the light. I would like to have a look at this place.”

  The doctor responded by stepping forward to Nikolai’s side, and he lifted the torch up in front of them.

  Scrawled on the wall in front of them were
dozens of paintings articulating dancing men and women around fires, hunting trips, and deaths.

  So many deaths.

  One particularly macabre painting showed a man and woman lying sideways next to one another, their arms crossed as a representation of death. Six children were drawn below them haphazardly as if added at different times in the past.

  Nikolai and the doctor gazed at the drawings for a minute, trying to decipher the storyline that had been presented to them. Sections of paintings had been scratched out and painted over as if the original author had changed the story halfway through.

  “What does it mean, sir?”

  Nikolai didn’t respond. He took the torch from the other man’s hand and continued walking deeper into the cave. A few feet past this first wall, the ceiling expanded, and he rose to his full height. More paintings continued on the walls to his left and right, and arrows were drawn near the floor. Continuing on, the small cavern twisted to the left and ended in a rounded chamber.

  He swung the torch around this room, at first looking for a continuation of the path he was on. Finding none, he moved the torch near the floor. Stacks of bones and skulls lay atop one another, of all shapes and sizes. Men, women, and children all lay together, separated into what he assumed must have been families.

  In front of these he found baskets made from the sinewy skins of animals, with lids fashioned from skin and bones. The leatherwork was remarkable, and he reached down to grab one. He examined it closer, handing the light to the doctor. Stamped into the sides and top of the basket were designs and symbols that he couldn’t interpret. They swirled around the edges, leaving no section of leather untouched.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered. He twisted the top of the basket, finding the lid secured tightly, either by design or from years of rest. He gave the lid a harder twist and felt a pop.

  The top of the basket came off, sending dust shooting through the air. He waved it away and dropped the lid to the ground.

  He saw what was inside, and only then realized how heavy the basket was. He turned the basket upside down, emptying its contents onto the cave floor. Hundreds of silver coins sprinkled out, bouncing off the rock and rolling around.