The Operative (37 page)

‘The people who took him don’t care about the police. They
own
the police.’

‘I can’t believe that,’ she said.

‘Listen to me,’ Stratton snapped at her. ‘They are Muslim Albanians and will never admit to kidnapping him. They want me and when they have me they’ll kill Josh too. They have no hearts, no pity, no code other than never giving way to anything other than death. It’s how they’ve lived for hundreds of years and nothing will change that. Do you understand?’

Tears rolled down Vicky’s face as the truth of what he’d said hit home. Some of the tears were for Josh but some were for herself. She had dreamed about this man she thought might be the shining knight in her sad, lonely life and who was going to take her away from all this, and now it was over. He was an enigma and she realised that she had known no more about him the night before – when she had been prepared to give herself to him – than she did now. She began to wonder if he was actually something dark and terrible. There was evidence of that in his eyes, sure enough. Now they were filled with malevolence of an intensity that she had never seen before.

Vicky did not realise that she had stepped back from Stratton in reaction to a sudden pang of fear, for Josh as well as for herself. ‘Who are you?’ she asked softly.

It was as if he could read her thoughts. ‘I’m sorry for you,’ Stratton said. He stepped away from her, his thoughts on the police around the corner, wondering whether she would tell them that he was there. ‘I’m Josh’s only chance,’ he told her, hoping that she would believe it, then, disturbingly, doubting it himself.

Vicky remained where she was, transfixed as he walked away.

When Stratton was out of sight she lowered her eyes as she felt something inside her crumble away, perhaps her last vestige of hope. Her life’s experiences so far had shown her more than anything else what a rotten world this was. The original idea of devoting herself to healing the lost souls of children had been intended to give some purpose to her life. But after so many years
all she was left with were mostly stories of sadness and broken hearts, and instead of building her own sense of self-worth she had become as much a victim as those in her charge. Perhaps that was why she sympathised with their plight as much as she did: she often felt less like a healing angel and more like the inept leader of a hopelessly lost flock.

Vicky’s hands came up to her face and she began to cry like a baby.

Hobart stood at the bedroom window of Stratton’s former Santa Monica apartment, looking down onto the alley where he could see a large scorch mark surrounding a sizeable scoop in the tarmac. During the immediate follow-up investigation the police had found the apartment manager beaten and tied up in his room. When they took the tape from his mouth he immediately started ranting about how two men had arrived in the early evening, enquiring about accommodation. Then they’d suddenly taken him at gun-point to his room and asked about an Englishman named Stratton. As soon as he had provided a key to the apartment they’d tied him up.

When Stratton’s name hit the police communications network it was automatically filtered out to Hobart’s department as per his request. The occupants of the blown-up sedan had been identified as Chicago hoods and Hobart surmised that Skender had found the identity of Leka and Ardian’s killer and attempted his own revenge.

Hobart was impressed as well as disturbed with the Albanians’ intelligence-acquisition network that had located Stratton quicker than the FBI had been able to. Skender had obviously brought in outside hitters to cover his involvement but Hobart wondered if the man knew precisely who he was up against. This Stratton guy was obviously skilled, judging by the hits in the court cells and the restaurant, but this counter-hit, whatever it was that he had done exactly, displayed an alertness and initiative under pressure
that were, frankly, outstanding. The Chicago goons had obviously come for Stratton and somehow he had turned the tables on them.

One thing that continued to niggle Hobart was Skender’s reasoning behind this attempt on Stratton. Hobart was well aware of the Albanian propensity for revenge but Ardian and Leka were not related to Skender. On top of that Skender must have been angry with the two idiots for stepping out of line in the first place. Going one step further, Skender might even have appreciated Stratton taking revenge for Sally’s murder although that was a speculation beyond Hobart’s knowledge of Albanian redemption protocol. Hobart found it too hard to accept that Skender would risk his special relationship with the Feds for those two idiots. If he was forced to, he would have to put it down simply to the arrogance of the man.

Whatever the answer, Hobart was now faced with a double duty: to find Stratton to protect him from the Albanians – and them from him.

An FBI forensics officer stepped into the room. He was wearing a thin pair of rubber gloves. ‘Okay to do in here now, sir?’

Hobart walked out of the bedroom. He paused in the living room where another forensics officer was at work, brushing the dust off the small dining table and sweeping it into a plastic bag.

Hobart was standing in the apartment’s main doorway when the elevator doors opened. He looked up to see Hendrickson step out and walk down the corridor towards him.

‘Sir,’ Hendrickson said before he reached the door. Hobart could tell from his pensive look that the young man had something urgent to reveal.

Hobart wore his usual dry expression as he walked out into the corridor and waited for his eager young assistant.

‘Sir. Sally Penton had a son. He was with her when she was killed.’

Hobart flashed him an angry look. ‘You’re telling me this now?’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I didn’t see the relevance of it at the time.’

‘
Relevance
? Stratton killed the boy’s mother’s killers. The son was nothing
but
relevant!’ Hobart exclaimed.

‘I was on my way over to the child-protection centre today to interview him and—’

‘Don’t tell me. Stratton’s taken him,’ Hobart said, reckoning immediately that Stratton would want to protect the boy from Skender.

‘I don’t think so, sir. Stratton’s working alone here – at least, we think he is. The kid was abducted by two men this morning, neither of whom matched Stratton’s description. In fact, a witness who was beaten by the men knew Stratton and swears that neither was him.’

Hobart flashed Hendrickson another look as a new set of implications pelted his brain.

‘Stratton’s been in contact with the kid nearly every day since he’s been in LA,’ Hendrickson went on. ‘The boy was due to fly out of here in a couple days back to the UK.’

Hobart looked out of the window at the clear blue sea beyond the palm trees. But he saw only his thoughts. ‘So, what do you deduce from all of this, Hendrickson?’

‘Deduce, sir?’

‘Yes. To deduce. To draw a logical conclusion from something already known or assumed by a process of reasoning. It’s what we’re supposed to do for a living, goddamn it.’

‘Well … Skender’s people killed Stratton’s best friend’s wife—’

‘What?’ Hobart interrupted.

‘Yes, sir,’ Hendrickson said, feeling like a schoolboy who had forgotten to hand in his homework. ‘I only found that out from our people in London before I left the office this morning. Stratton is or was in Brit special forces.’

‘Wait up a minute,’ Hobart interrupted again. ‘Stratton’s a civilian now?’

‘No, sir. He works for the British government, that’s a certainty. It’s just that it’s unclear who he belongs to, the SBS – Special Boat Service – or SIS. Jack Penton was also in the SBS – they’re like the SAS but they also do seaborne operations. Penton and Stratton were on an op together in Iraq a month ago when Penton was killed. Stratton is also Josh’s godfather, Josh being the kid’s name. But Stratton isn’t on the special forces books, like he’s been moved. All enquiries to the SBS about him are deferred to the Brits’ Ministry of Defence. That’s why it’s been difficult to get anything on him.’

Hobart readjusted his thoughts. ‘Go on with your deduction.’

‘Okay,’ Hendrickson said, looking into space as if this was a quiz. ‘So … Stratton revenged Sally Penton’s murder because of his relationship with the family. One of Skender’s people then decided to avenge the deaths of Bufi and Cano—’

‘Why’d you say one of Skender’s people and not Skender himself ?’ Hobart interrupted again.

‘Because Skender’s not related to either of the men. He himself should have had them punished but he didn’t for some reason. I think Skender is less of an Albanian today than he was before he came here. He wants to stay in the States so he’s trying to adapt his m.o.’

Hobart nodded. Hendrickson’s reasoning was crude but interesting. Hobart himself hadn’t gone so far as to suspect someone else in Skender’s organisation but it was undeniably worth considering. ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘Well, maybe Skender but most likely someone else orders a hit on Stratton which backfires and so the kid is abducted.’

Hendrickson stopped there and Hobart looked up to see he was not about to continue. ‘Why?’

‘To get at Stratton, swap him maybe, I don’t know. I doubt whether the kid will survive those guys.’

‘And the possible repercussions? What now?’

‘Now … now I think the faecal matter could hit the air-oscillator. This Stratton guy is no pushover. He’s showed that he’s capable of taking on Skender’s people and winning. But not like the David and Goliath concept. More like a small guerrilla group taking on a professional army. He has advantages in being alone and being able to move freely. I don’t know what his skills are other than explosives but the guy kicks ass. The score is five to one if you count the kid. I think Stratton’s gonna go for them.’

Hobart found himself broadly agreeing. ‘So what do we do now?’

‘Look for Stratton.’

‘Of course. But should we give Skender protection?’

‘Not for me to say, sir.’

‘Off the record. What would you do?’

‘I don’t want to say even off the record, sir.’

Hobart knew that like everyone else on the team Hendrickson would like to see Skender and his people burn in hell. The thought of protecting the mobster was anathema. But Hobart had a job to do. How to achieve that was another problem. Skender would refuse any overt protection and if he suspected even a covert operation to protect him he’d accuse the Bureau of spying on him, which was against their special agreement.

Hobart decided to deal with that later. Right now he had to find Stratton. He would also put a team on the abduction but he knew that there was little chance of finding this kid Josh if the Albanians had him. Hobart needed more information on Stratton. A photograph would be a great start. The Brits would eventually help, once they accepted that their man was involved in a civilian homicide. But depending on how high up the ladder Stratton was they would want to get involved too. That could take time.

Then Hobart had a thought. The Brits worked hand in hand with the Americans in Iraq and in other matters too. There was
therefore a good chance that Stratton had worked with American intelligence at some time and if so there would be a file on him somewhere in the USA. Then Hobart’s thoughts went back to the explosives that Stratton had acquired while in the US and suddenly the chance that he had once associated with US intelligence became more than just a possibility.

‘Sir?’ Hendrickson asked, taking Hobart out of his thoughts.

‘What?’

‘What do you think, sir?’

‘About what?’

‘My deduction.’

‘I think it was pretty good, Hendrickson. I want you to put out an APB to every US intelligence and special forces unit in this country.’

‘What’s an APB, sir?’

‘Don’t you watch old cop movies, Hendrickson? An all-points bulletin. Keep it simple. No information or mention of the homicides. All you need is a response to a British military operative named John Stratton. Cover everyone, and I mean everyone including the Salvation Army and the Boy Scouts. And make sure it’s in yellow,’ he said, referring to the highlighting of the text that everyone who read it would know meant highest priority.

‘Yes, sir,’ Hendrickson said.

‘Now,’ Hobart said.

Hendrickson nodded and turned away.

‘Hendrickson,’ Hobart called out. ‘I was joking about the Salvation Army and Boy Scouts.’

‘I know, sir,’ Hendrickson said. He hurried to the elevators only to discover that they were both on the top floor. He moved to the emergency stairs.

Hobart glanced back at the apartment. He did not expect to find anything in there that would lead to Stratton’s discovery so he headed for the elevator and pushed the call button. He
considered Stratton’s likely options from this point on, assuming that the guy would expect the cops to be looking for him now. He’d probably go strictly cash, withdrawing as much as he could each day from various ATM machines. He’d also move to a low-profile and cheap local hotel. The main question was, how might Stratton go about getting Skender to hand over the kid? The obvious method would be to offer up in exchange something that Skender valued more than the kid – or more than Stratton, in fact. That would probably be Skender himself.