Abduction (22 page)

“Not if you do exactly as you’re told,” Logan said.  “Lie to me or make any sudden move and I’ll cut your head off.”

ACE
stopped looking at the monitors.  He found that he was imagining movement that wasn’t there.  The two other guys in the room took it in turns to stare at the screens.  You could only give them full concentration for an hour, maximum.

Ace went across to a corner of the room where a small metal table was set up as a refreshment bar.  The twelve-cup Mr. Coffee machine was drip feeding, and automatically paused in its operation as he lifted the pot out and filled a ceramic mug.

Maybe Logan had decided to hightail it back to wherever he’d come from. He’d got the kid back and caused a lot of grief to Cady.  What else could he gain by staying in town and continuing to come at them?  It wasn’t logical.  But it always paid to be extra careful.  You courted nothing but trouble by thinking that you knew what another person would do.

Sipping the strong coffee, Ace recalled a mark who had almost taken him out back in oh-two in Cleveland, Ohio.  He had been all set to double tap the guy in the Cathedral Plaza parking garage on E 9
th
Street.

They were on the second floor.  He watched as Peter Carlton ‒ a crime reporter for
The Plain Dealer
, the major daily newspaper of Cleveland ‒ came out of the elevator and angled across to his Nissan sedan in an ill-lit slot.  Carlton had upset the boss of the Cleveland crime family, seemingly stupid enough to believe that he would not be hit for digging the dirt. But the Mafia doesn’t like bad press, and individuals that went too far risked having fatal accidents or being whacked and made an example of to deter others.

Sitting in the driver’s seat of his Hertz rental with the window down, just two spaces away from the Nissan, Ace smiled at the sound of the locks being disengaged as Carlton thumbed his remote as he approached.

His mark stopped to open the door, and then went off script, to quickly turn, drop to his right knee and shoot at Ace.

Ace ran the tip of his finger along the horizontal scar on his cheek, where one of the slugs from Carlton’s pistol had come close to ending his life.

He had returned fire, to put four bullets in the guy: one in his chest, one in his shoulder, and two in his face.  Peter Carlton’s aspiration to win a Pulitzer Prize died with him on the ridged concrete that he was now laid and bleeding on.

Ace took another mouthful of coffee.  That had been a good lesson.  Always be ready for unanticipated behavior, and never overestimate your own capabilities.  He was extremely competent and confidant, but was aware that other people had their strengths.  Logan had proved that he was a formidable adversary.

“Do you get regular test calls on the radio?” Logan said to Josh.

“No.  We’ve been instructed to maintain silence and only use them if we get a sighting of you.”

“What if you
thought
you’d seen something, but weren’t sure?” Logan said as he used his left hand to frisk the man and found a handgun in a shoulder holster, which he removed and tossed into bushes twenty feet behind him.

“Phone it in.”

Logan reached out and picked up Josh’s Uzi by its strap.  He detached the extended magazine and ejected the bullet from the chamber of the Israeli manufactured weapon.

“So make the call,” Logan said, drawing the Glock and sheathing the knife again as he climbed off Josh and moved back, out of reach.  “Take a few deep breaths, then phone Moran and tell him that you think you saw movement at the end of the car lot.”

Josh fumbled his cell from a pocket with trembling fingers and hesitated for ten seconds while he regained a little composure, then brought up a contact list and made the call.

“Yeah, Josh?” Ace said.  He always used first names with staff, because doing so made them feel important.  “Why the call?”

“I could be wrong, but I thought I saw movement out here in the parking lot.  Just a blur from the corner of my eye.  It may have been a reflection off the river.”

“Meet me at the door,” Ace said.  “I’m on my way down.”

“Now what?” Josh said to Logan.

“Do what the man says. Meet him at the door.  I’ll be standing alongside it pointing this gun at you. Give me away and you won’t be worrying about what happens after that.”

Ace drained his cup, unbuttoned his jacket, but did not draw his gun from the shoulder holster he wore.  Newcombe was still a newbie to the firm and obviously nervous.  But he was alert and had showed commonsense in phoning.  There was absolutely no way that Logan could have got in, or infiltrated so far without being seen or showing up on the cameras.  But he would bolster the young man’s confidence by having a look round and then telling him to keep up the good work.  And a break away from the control room wouldn’t hurt.

As he opened the door he saw a tell in Josh’s eyes.  It was subtle, but rang warning bells.  He took in the whole picture.  The fucking magazine was missing from the Uzi.  This was a trap.

Without any hesitation he shouldered the open door back against the wall as he reached for his gun.

Logan was standing against the brick wall, thirty-six inches to the side of the door, which he had judged to be a regular thirty inches wide.  Even as it slammed against the wall he was moving out, holding the Glock two-handed and now pointing it at the man who was curling his hand around the butt of a gun that was still in its holster.

“You’ll never clear leather with that,” Logan said.  And to Josh he said, “Is this Moran?”

Josh nodded.  He was terrified.  Moran didn’t move, just stared at him with an accusatory stare that held the promise of pain and suffering.

“Ease the gun out, finger and thumb, and get rid of it,” Logan said to Moran.  “Then interlock your fingers, put your hands on top of your head and kneel down.”

“How’d you get in, Logan?” Ace said as he complied with the instructions slowly and carefully.

“Take a guess?”

Ace noted the mud on Logan’s face and the gloves he was wearing, and that his clothing was wet.  “From the river?”

Logan nodded.  “Your guy on the pier was an amateur.  They all were.”

Ace said nothing.  He believed beyond doubt that all the guards had been incapacitated or killed.

“You can drop the Uzi now,” Logan said to Josh.  “And then go through your boss’s pockets.  I want his cell and his wallet.  If he’s carrying another weapon, then toss it away from you.”

Josh approached Ace and frisked him.  Found his phone and wallet and backed away.

Logan slipped his rucksack off and opened the top and withdrew a thick roll of duct tape and tossed it to Josh, who caught it with his left hand.

“Put the wallet and phone down on the ground and then tape him up,” Logan said. “Wrists and elbows first, behind him, and then his ankles.”

As Josh moved toward Ace again, he partially obscured him from Logan’s view, and that was the instant Ace took advantage of and made a move, springing up to his feet and pushing Josh in the chest, propelling him into Logan, who was caught off guard and stumbled back on his heels and fell with Josh on top of him in an awkward embrace.

Raising the Glock through the gap between Josh’s left arm and body, Logan pulled the trigger.  The bullet struck Ace in the forearm, taking out some muscle as it went through, but not striking bone, and a flesh wound wasn’t going to stop him.

Lashing out with his foot, Ace got lucky and the pointed toe of his western boot struck Logan’s wrist, causing him to drop the gun as the blunt force against the tendons deadened his fingers. 

There was no time to pick up the Glock.  Logan was already pushing Josh up and off him, so Ace drew his foot back and unleashed another kick, aimed at Logan’s head, but Logan jerked his head to the side and Josh took the full impact of the boot in his left temple and keeled over on to the ground, unconscious.

Logan stood up, arms out and crossed in front of him to take the force of the next kick that came in a classic defense move.

They stood facing each other.  The gun was just a few feet from them, next to Josh, but neither of them made a move for it.  They just stared at each other and waited.

“So let’s do this,” Ace said, ignoring the stream of blood that was running out of the cuff of his sleeve to drip off his hand.

Logan said nothing.  Why waste words on someone you intended to kill in the next few seconds.  He didn’t blink, just stood balanced, ready for whatever Moran might do.

Ace turned and attempted a side kick, aiming for Logan’s left knee but coming up short as Logan stepped back.  The slight widening of Moran’s eyes had been the reflex signal that he was going to attack.

Ace was still off balance on one leg when the fist exploded in his face.  He felt his front teeth snap and the jagged stumps mash into the inside of his lip, but ignored it and made ready to launch a further assault.  He was too late.  Logan hunkered down, picked up the Glock and shot him twice, and Ace could not ignore either of the two small but deadly slugs of hot lead that sizzled through his throat and the bridge of his nose.  There was just a microsecond of partial realization that he was dying, as he fell to the ground and the now ruined back of his head slammed on to the gravel-covered surface.

Logan felt neither joyful nor sad at what he had done up to this point in time.  Moran and the others had been a part of the lowest subculture within society; the kind that were like black, rotten, stinking teeth that infected healthy gums and needed to be pulled out and disposed of.

The duct tape had rolled six feet away from where Josh lay.  Logan retrieved it and bound and gagged him.  It would have been quicker to just cut his throat or put a bullet in his skull, but he thought that the young man was just a pawn, and that he had not realized how deep he was in, or what kind of man he worked for.

Picking up the rucksack and placing the strap over his shoulder, Logan entered the stairwell and walked up the flight without any pause or stealth. Whoever was up there would believe that it was Moran returning.

The door to the control room was still open.  Sloppy; it should have been locked.  It was a lack of professionalism and a false sense of belief that they had nothing to worry about.  They were relying on technology, not taking into account that someone who knew that they employed it could outsmart them. Stepping into the room he looked about him and took in the whole setup.  There were two guys, both under thirty.  One was looking at monitors, totally concentrated on the screens.  The other was over in a corner, pouring a cup of coffee.  Neither of them even looked at Logan.  He thought that they were just geeks, not privy to the criminal affairs of the man that they were employed by.  To them this was just top-notch security for a rich guy.

“You need to put your coffee cup down and go sit next to your buddy,” Logan said.  “If either of you start pushing buttons or trying to be smart, I’ll kill you.”

Harold Dunn and Elmore Kingsley just stared at the extremely tall man.  His face was coated in drying, cracking mud, and he was pointing a gun at them.

Harold put his cup down, walked over to the chair next to Elmore’s and sat down.

Logan still had the roll of tape in his left hand.  He threw it to the nearest man and said, “Secure your buddy’s wrists behind him, then his ankles together, nice and tight.”

Harold did as he was bid, then sat down again.

“What’re your names?” Logan said to them.

“Harold Dunn.”

“Elmore Kingsley.”

“Well, Harold and Elmore, here’s the deal.  You answer some questions, and then I leave you both taped up and still breathing.  How does that sound?”

“Like a good deal under the circumstances,” Harold said.

“Best on the table,” Logan replied.  “Is the main gate manned tonight?”

“No.”

“Can you unlock it from here?”

Harold’s eyes flicked to the console.

“I’ll take that as a yes, so do it,” Logan said.  “If you press an alarm button I’ll gut shoot both of you.”

Harold pressed the button that released the lock on the gate.  He had no intention of doing anything that would put his life in danger.

“What make and color of car do you drive?” Logan asked him.

“A white Ford Fusion,” Harold said.

“Where’s it parked?”

“Left of the door, about three up.”

“Put the keys on the desk.”

Harold took them out of his pants pocket and set them down.

“So far, so good.  How would Moran get into the house?” Logan said.

“I would advise Mr. Cady by intercom that he was on his way over, and Mr. Moran would let himself in with his key card.”  He pointed to the intercom.  It had a keypad next to the speaker.  “The main house is reached by pressing number one.”

Logan reached into his pocket and took out Moran’s wallet, to throw it to Harold and say, “Show me the card.”

Harold opened the wallet, found the card in one of a half dozen compartments and held it up.  It was plain white with a mag strip on the back.

“Put it and the wallet on the desk, and then place your arms behind the back of your chair and interlock your fingers.”