The First Daughter, page 16
‘Igor, what are you doing?’ Andrei demanded.
‘It’s for the greater good, Andrei. Russia must be purified of all inferior races. Russia must take its rightful place as the dominant global superpower. As the master race that we are. Your sacrifice will not be in vain.’
‘Fuck your sacrifice!’ Andrei spat.
Ivan put his own pistol away, and began raising Andrei’s to aim it at him. But before he could bring it level, there was a sharp report, followed by a pink mist.
Ivan’s lifeless body, with an additional, bloody hole between his eyes, dropped to the rooftop. Two more shots were fired in quick succession, Igor’s men having being lulled into a false sense of security in thinking that Jack was carrying nothing but a lump of inert metal.
Igor tried to reach for his gun, but his fast drawing days were long behind him.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I was you,’ Jack said, aiming at Igor’s chest. ‘Andrei, take his gun.’
‘Da!’ Andrei said, approaching Igor and taking his weapon from him. He then back handed Igor across the face for good measure, before stepping away.
‘Your, your gun?!’ Igor muttered, nursing a bleeding lip.
‘Ah yes, about that. Andrei, point his own gun at him, and pull the trigger.’
‘Much as I’d like to–’ Andrei began.
‘Just trust me, Andrei,’ Jack cut in.
‘Okey dokey,’ Andrei muttered, probably having heard it somewhere on western television. He brought the weapon up into the aim.
‘No, please, don’t!’ Igor whimpered in Russian. A dark stain emanated from his crotch.
Andrei squeezed the trigger. There was a metallic click, but the weapon didn’t fire. Igor gasped in relief, which was short lived as Andrei re-cocked the weapon with a fresh round, the unfired 9MM spitting out from the slide. Igor flinched again as the the trigger was pulled, and again, nothing happened.
‘You didn’t think I wouldn’t check the weapon you issued me with over?’ Jack asked with a sneer. ‘I could see the firing pin had been tampered with. I removed the slide, switched it out with yours and took your weapon while you were sleeping.’
‘Now what?’ Andrei asked.
Right at that moment, Jack got a prickling sensation at the nape of his neck. It wasn’t something he could explain in words, but it was a sensation he had long ago learned to trust.
Without question.
‘Down!’ He shouted at Andrei.
Jack and Andrei went to ground, quickly getting out of the line of fire from across the road. Igor hadn’t been so lucky, his head all but obliterated where a large calibre rifle round had disintegrated it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The sun was high in the sky over the desert road, the red tinted sand and brush stretching to the horizon in all directions. There were unique and stunning geological displays of breath taking, jaw dropping rocky landscapes rolling by as the miles wore on.
Brian was at the wheel now, tapping away at the wheel contentedly as The Clash’s Should I stay or should I go blasted out as they crossed the Hoover Dam, crossing over from Arizona into Nevada.
As the song ended, Brian shut off the sound system.
‘Fifteen miles out, time to switch on,’ he said.
Carson and Brooke sat up a little straighter and began actively panning their heads around at the landscape around them, looking for any points of interest that stuck out. They soon turned north onto Lakeshore Road, desert scrubland stretching towards the blue waters of Las Vegas Bay on their right, and low lying, rocky hills stretching out on the horizon beyond the scrubland to their left.
They soon passed a trailer park on their right, all of the trailers gleaming white in the sun with panoramic views over the azure blue of the lake. Further along there were small, single storey holiday homes dotted along the coast of the lake. As the road veered away from the lake, the landscape became nothing but desert scrubland and low lying, rocky hills.
A short while later, the road wound west, and they saw the town straight ahead in the distance. The small town was built predominantly to the south of the road, with an upmarket suburban development on the eastern edge of the town. The generously proportioned homes were built mainly of sandstone coloured brick work, with gleaming white wooden cladding edging the windows, topped with slate blue tiled roofs. The homes had sizeable grass lawns around them, white picket fencing, and most of them flew the ubiquitous Old Glory.
The housing estate stretching away to the south soon gave way to the main drag, which had older, characteristic turn of the century buildings. There was a saloon made of sturdy, red brick walls, inset with wooden decking and a wood covered walkway supported by white painted wooden pillars along the pavement to its front. Beyond this was a 7/11 convenience store, a diner, a post office, a couple of small coffee shops, a hairdresser, a library, and a small elementary school. Further back behind the main business area were the smaller, older buildings of the original town, somewhat smaller and less salubrious than the upmarket homes on the estate further to the east side of town.
These houses had been quickly thrown up to house the miners for the gold mining that necessitated the towns founding near the end of the nineteenth century. In the distance to the south, you could see evidence of the old, now redundant mine works in the hills. The only buildings north of the road were a lit-up service station, and a few, single storey units in a small, fenced in industrial yard. Directly across the road from the industrial unit was a roadside diner and bar.
As they approached the western edge of the town, they passed a long, low, single storey building with stucco exterior walls, the local police station. There were a few deputy cars parked outside, one of the cars parked near the main door had Sherriff emblazoned across the beige coloured Suburban in big, bold, blue letters, Willow Shade running along beneath it, and in-between was a Nevada State Police badge, embossed in gold paint, with Highway Patrol written around the bottom of the crest. A couple of men wearing grey uniforms could be seen talking to one another through the window panels of the double doors of the reception entrance as they drove on by, the terrain either side of the road giving way to rocky scrubland almost as soon as they cleared the police station.
‘Turn around, now, and head straight back to that petrol station,’ Carson said.
‘Don’t you mean, gas station?’ Brian drawled in parody, but turned the Humvee around anyway. He too had clocked the camera overlooking the road from the police station. Better to look as if they’d just decided oh wait, we need fuel, food or whatever, than being noticed returning later on in the evening.
‘Nobody talks that way,’ Brooke said. ‘You sound like a freaking cartoon.’
‘I’ll talk however I bloody please, so shut your laughing gear,’ Brian retorted.
‘What is that supposed to mean? Can’t you speak in plain English, or is that beyond an old tosser like you?’ She replied, putting on a mock English accent as she said tosser.
‘Listen, sweetheart –’ Brian began as he pulled into the service station, putting a deliberate emphasis on the word.
‘Christ’s sake, I’ve had enough of you two bickering,’ Carson cut in before they blew up again.
Brian and Brooke hadn’t spoken to one another much during the day, but when they had it was acerbically and leaning more towards bitter animosity, than banter between oppos. It had been fraying at Carson’s nerves for a while now, and those nerves had just snapped.
‘We’re supposed to be working together as a team. I don’t know what the issue is between you two, but sort it the fuck out. Now, I’m going into that bar for a chat with the locals and a pint or two. Fuck knows I need it!’
‘Stay on comms!’ Brian yelled before Carson’s door slammed shut.
Carson stalked away, not looking back, the evening sun glowing in his new ginger buzzcut.
Brian and Brooke both fell into an uneasy, sullen silence for a while, neither willing to break it. A couple of moments later, they watched as Carson stepped from the pavement into the saloon.
‘So, what is your issue?’ Brian asked at length.
‘Oh please, isn’t it obvious? You’re an old man with outdated sentiments. You don’t think I should be involved because I’m a woman. Am I right?’
‘You couldn’t be more wrong, swee –’ Brian stopped short as Brooke’s hand shot for the door handle. ‘Look okay, let’s get everything out, try and see if we can’t come to an understanding with one another, alright? Sorry if I’ve been a bit of a pillock, but, the lads right. We need to sort our shit out.’
‘I’m listening,’ Brooke said, taking her hand from the door.
‘Your wrong about me,’ Brian said after a few moments. ‘I’ve worked alongside some very impressive operators who are women. Even as far back as the eighties when I was working with 14 Det, that’s the –’
‘I know who 14 Det were, Grandpa, spare me the history lesson. They were one of the many units we studied at length in Quantico. An intelligence unit in Northern Ireland, living and working undercover amongst members of the Real IRA. That about right?’
‘More or less. But, as I was saying, I’ve no issue working with women. My issue with you is, and you have my sincerest sympathies, but with what’s happened to your sister, you are compromised. And that’s perfectly understandable. I know what you’re going through –’
‘How can you possibly know what I’m going through?’ She hissed.
Brian sighed.
‘You said spare me the history lesson. For me, it’s my daily reality. I lost my wife and my little boy to an IRA car bomb. A bomb that was intended for me,’ Brian replied morosely.
‘Shit.’ Brook replied at length after a pause. ‘Look, I’m real sorry to hear that Brian, really, I truly am. But you needn’t worry about me. I’m a big girl, I’m a pro. I was in HRT, going after people like this is what I do. I know the person who actually killed Katie is dead, but the people who gave him his orders are still out there. Whatever it takes to get them behind bars or in the ground, I’m good either way, I’m going to do it. I’ll grieve after, till then, I’m all in, cold as ice. Ain’t gonna be no fuck ups on my part, you hear?’
‘Alright, I hear you. Are we good?’
‘Yeah. We’re good.’
At that, they reached over and shook hands between the front seats.
CARSON STEPPED into the roadside diner. It was a sprawling, dimly lit bar, a lit neon Budweiser sign hanging above the optics. The floor was pine, the grimy surface had seen better days and was in bad need of some TLC. A few basic sets of circular pine-wood tables and chairs were dotted around in front of the main bar that had clearly seen a lot of use over the years, the scuffs and scratches in the polished grain giving testament to the barroom brawls it had witnessed over the years. Country rock was playing, and to the right of the main bar was a small dance floor and a raised area for live music. The opposite side of the bar housed a pool table and a juke box, a crowd of young people milling around it as a muscular young man with medium length dirty blond hair took his shot.
Some of the punters certainly appeared to be a little on the young side of legal drinking age.
Carson walked directly to the bar, sat at one of the stools and asked for a pint of beer, whatever the barman liked best he wasn’t fussed. The bar tender poured him a pint of Nevada Pale Ale.
Carson sighed contentedly as he savoured a mouthful, enjoying the hoppy beer. He then grabbed a small handful of peanuts from one of the bowls that dotted the bar, threw them into his mouth, and then grimaced as he chewed. He suddenly remembered reading in an inflight magazine that complimentary bar nuts were best avoided, owing to the number of blokes who neglected to wash their hands after using the toilet, and then placed their unwashed hands back in the same bowls. He drank down another couple of deep mouthfuls of beer, and tried not to think too much about it.
‘That’s a real nice beer!’ He said to the barman, a heavyset man of medium height somewhere around his sixties. He had dirty white hair that had probably been blond when he was younger.
‘You ain’t from around these parts, are ya?’ He drawled in response.
‘What gave it away?’ Carson asked with a chuckle.
‘Irish accent.’
‘Not quite, Scottish actually,’ Carson replied. ‘Just on a road trip with friends, coast to coast. Don’t know why my mate went for a used Humvee, costing us a bloody fortune in fuel!’
‘Where you headed?’
‘Well, we’ve just ticked off the Hoover Damn, so Vegas next, then California, see LA, San Fransisco, Golden Gate bridge and all that, probably finish up in Seattle. The Grand Caynon was stunning!’
‘It sure is beautiful,’ the barman smiled politely. ‘You can take a table if your friends are gonna be joining ya?’
‘Nah man, they’ve had a wee spat, leaving em to it while I have a beer or two in peace!’ Carson laughed.
‘Fair enough,’ the barman said. He made to walk away but Carson stopped him.
‘So, what’s this wee town like, anything to see around here?’
The barman appraised him before replying.
‘Nothing to see here, son. It’s an old mining town. If it wasn’t for the boom in Vegas and the tourism, it would probably be a ghost town by now. Now, it’s mainly a commuter town, with just a few working locally in agriculture. Don’t usually get many tourists like yourself out this way,’ he remarked.
He left Carson at the bar, moving to the other end of it to serve a small group of locals camped out there, opposite from where the youths were bullshitting with one another and playing pool. These locals were older men, some of whom looked old enough to remember when the mines were still in operation. They were doubtless drinking to pass the time, until time took it’s due, and their time ran out.
Carson returned his attention to his pint, looking at the suds floating on top of his drink as his mind turned things over. If they were going to stick around here for any length of time, they were going to have to feign car trouble. Or create it. These small towns usually had a handy mechanic or two.
‘Hey handsome, what are you doing all the way over here all by yourself?’ Carson heard, halfway through his second and last beer.
Carson looked up. One of the scantily clad young women had made her way over to him. She was wearing tight denim shorts, under a red, racy top that exposed her shoulders, with red lace crisscrossing her eye-catching cleavage. She was a beautiful blond with all the right curves in all the right places.
But Carson wasn’t admiring the view. Inwardly, Carson groaned. He could see right away that she was trouble.
‘Hi,’ he replied. ‘Just, you know, chilling with a beer,’ he replied, nonchantly disinterested.
As in, bugger off and find another mark!
‘Oh, I do love that accent, you sound like a movie star,’ she crooned. ‘What’s your name sugar?’ She asked in a honied tone.
‘Andy,’ he responded politely using the name in his passport, while pointedly not asking for her name, hoping she would take the hint and leave him be.
No such luck.
‘Andy, what a nice name. I’m Sandy.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Sandy,’ he smiled politely.
‘Oh, the pleasures all mine,’ she smiled coquettishly, looking him up and down with her eyes. She tilted her head down very slightly but looked up at him with come to bed eyes. ‘Care to buy me a drink, good looking?’ She asked
Oh Christ, I don’t need this, Carson thought to himself. She was definitely up to something, laying it on much too thick. Should I get rid of her now, or buy her the drink, and see if I can find out anything useful from her?
‘Well, sugar, you ain’t gonna keep a lady waiting now, are you?’ She challenged, blinking her eyes at him when he didn’t reply.
Hell with it, what could she possibly know that the barkeep didn’t?
Unless…
‘Sure, okay Sandy,’ he nodded at the bar keep, who approached from the other end of the bar. The surreptitious warning look he flashed with his eyes wasn’t lost on Carson, which he acknowledged with a barely perceptible nod of the head.
‘I’ll have sex on the beach,’ she said to the barman, but with her eyes fixed seductively on Carson’s as she leaned in towards him, pressing her voluptuous bosom ever closer to him.
Carson leaned back slightly, wresting his eyes from her charms. In the mirror behind the bar, he clocked a musclebound meathead with a buzzcut in the far corner who kept eyeballing them. Carson was sure he knew what her game was, but he wasn’t going to play along without getting something in return.
‘Can you take a look at something for me real quick?’ He asked.
‘I’ll look at anything you want, sweetie-pie. Anything!’ She finished equivocality, smiling and raising her eyebrows provocatively, her meaning entirely unambiguous.
Carson played about with his phone and cropped a picture from the internet of the first daughter, quickly adding a filter to reduce the contrast and make it appear older than it was.
‘Oh sweetie, you playing on you phone when you got a sweet little thing like me for company?’ She asked, batting her eyelashes. She placed a hand on his knee and ran her fingers provocatively up his thigh.
Despite himself, Carson felt an entirely unwelcome stirring in his loins.
‘Sorry, just trying to find it,’ he said, before holding the phone up. ‘But, do you recognise this girl?’
Sandy looked at the display, her lip curling up in disgust a moment later, contorting her face from that of a beautiful seductress, into one of hideous malice.
Or more aptly, her mask slipped right off, and Carson was looking at the ugly person this young lady truly was, and would likely be in appearance once time had taken away her only virtues.
‘That’s Sheila Cafferty. Dorky hick of a farm girl from back when I was in high school. Why you carrying a picture of her on you phone?’ She said, her voice positively dripping with contempt when she said the word her.
