[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
wearing his uniform of sawn-off black T-shirt and sleeveless
denim jacket for most of the trip, but had insisted they stop at a
service station just south of Carlisle so he could find something
warmer to wear. The others had stayed in their cars.
I doubt the shops here will sell clothes, Jay had murmured.
But the street youth had come out with a wool-lined brown
leather jacket. Jay didn t ask where he had found it. He knew he
should be angry; it was a very public announcement of their pres-
ence, ripping off someone s jacket. But he doubted the victim
would run to the police, who would have to listen to a story about
an American Blood on the loose in Carlisle . . .
I fucking hate ugly people, man, said the youth, shuffling
his feet.
Hear that, Mr. Creech? Jay asked. He hates you. Maybe
you d better help me pacify him, or you never know what he
might do.
As if in answer, the youth, whose name was Jiminez, expertly
flicked open a gold-colored butterfly knife.
Reeve made me take him to the island, Creech spluttered.
Yes? When was this?
361
Ian Rankin
Last night.
Does he have any way off the island?
Creech shook his head.
Are you sure?
Positive. He could always swim, but that s about it.
Anything else, Mr. Creech?
Creech licked his lips. No, he said.
Jay smiled and stood up. Cut him, he ordered. Jiminez had
been waiting. The knife flashed across Creech s thigh and he
winced, covering it with his hand. Blood squeezed out from
between his fingers.
We can do you a lot of damage, Mr. Creech, Jay said, walk-
ing around the boathouse. You have some nice tools here, any
one of which could be turned on you. All it takes is a little . . .
creativity. He picked up the hot-air gun. Now, where s the
socket?
I swear to God! Creech said.
What did he take with him, Mr. Creech? Jay asked. You
say you took him to this island, you must at least have seen what
he took with him.
He had a bag, a holdall sort of thing. It looked heavy.
And?
And he had . . . he had a gun.
Like this one? Jay asked, waving the MP5.
No, no, just a pistol.
A pistol? Is that all?
It s all I saw.
Mmm. You didn t see anything else? No traps?
Traps?
Yes, for catching animals.
I didn t see anything like that.
Jay had finished his tour of the room. He crouched down
again in front of Creech. This was his show. He wasn t performing
so much for Creech who had been terrified from the outset
anyway as for his own men. He wanted to impress those
among them who didn t know him. He needed their respect, their
loyalty, and even a measure of fear. That was how to command.
362
Blood Hunt
Anything else, Mr. Creech?
He knew if he kept asking Creech would keep telling. He d
tell until he was telling the tiniest details, because he knew if he
stopped he might start to bleed all over again.
Well, Creech said, he made some signs.
Signs? Jay frowned. What sort of signs?
He made them so they d look old. They were danger warn-
ings, warning about the island.
Warning of what exactly?
That it was out-of-bounds. That it was infected with an-
thrax.
Jay stood up again and laughed. That s crazy! he said. He
turned to Hestler, who was smiling without knowing what the
joke was. Hestler had cropped black hair, a long black beard, and
a face whose blotchiness was disguised by a year-round tan. You
know what he s doing? Jay asked. Hestler admitted he didn t.
He ll scatter those signs around half-hidden, like he s pulled
them up. When we come across one, we re supposed to panic.
And while we re panicking, he picks us off with his toy pistol.
What s anthrax? the other Chicano asked.
A poison, Jay explained. A tenth of a millionth of a gram
can kill you. The army did experiment with it in the fifties. He
turned to Creech again. Isn t that right?
Creech nodded. But the island you re thinking of is north
of here.
And not on any map? Creech nodded again. Yes, maybe
that was his thinking. He chooses an island the map-makers
haven t bothered with and makes it look infected. Too elaborate,
Gordon. Way too elaborate. He turned to Choa. Take Watts
and Schlecht and start bringing the stuff in. Choa led the two
men outside. Watts was tall and as thin as a reed, but deceptively
strong. Jay had come up against him in an arm-wrestling contest
in the gym, and had bet $300 on himself to win inside half a
minute. Watts had beaten him in eleven seconds flat.
Schlecht was someone Watts knew, and that was about as
much as Jay knew. He was small, but with massive biceps and a
bull neck, an Ollie to Watts s Stan Laurel. Schlecht even had
363
Ian Rankin
Hardy s mustache, but his face was like an animal s, nicked and
scarred and mean.
The other three in the team had been suggested by Hestler,
which was good enough for Jay. They were brothers: Hector,
Benny, and Carl. For some reason, they didn t reveal their sur-
name. They looked like the weakest links, wide-eyed during the
flight from L.A., amazed to be visiting hotels and Paris and car
rental offices, like Europe was one giant theme park. One of
them had even brought a camera with him, which Jay had confis-
cated straight off.
Hestler agreed that they acted like kids, but he d seen them
in fights. Once they got going, he said, they were real bastards.
He thought they d had their whole moral training from video
games and spaghetti westerns.
It took a couple of trips to bring all the stuff in. Everyone was
damp, and not liking it.
Start unpacking, Jay ordered.
Hestler looked at him. Are we going now?
Why not?
It s raining hard!
Hestler, we re going to be in a fucking boat. We d get wet
even if the sky was blue as a South Carolina morning. I bet you re
the sort who runs out of the swimming pool when the rain starts.
There was more laughter at this. Hestler didn t appreciate
being its butt, but he stopped questioning Jay s decisions.
Jay turned to Jiminez. See if you can find any oilskins.
Jiminez nodded and set to work. Choa, Watts, and Schlecht
were handing out armaments. Each man had a submachine gun,
either the MP5 or a Cobray M11. They also received a pistol,
ammo, and knife. Jiminez refused the knife, preferring his own
blade. Hestler and Jay were the only two to be given grenades
Jay s orders. The other men could be professional baseball pitch-
ers, he still wouldn t have trusted them with a grenade.
We take those three bags with us, Jay said, pointing to the
ones he meant. If you have dry clothes with you, put them in a
backpack.
Watts and Schlecht handed out the backpacks. They were
day-walker spec, big enough for a change of clothes and some
364
Blood Hunt
provisions. Belts and holsters were next. Creech could hardly
believe the evidence of his own eyes. He didn t feel so bad now
about ratting out Reeve. After all, Reeve hadn t warned him what
he was getting him into.
All Creech hoped now was that he d get out of this alive.
Jiminez had found some waterproof clothing, not quite enough
to go around. Jay examined the two boats, only one of which was
big enough to accommodate all of them. He decided they should
take both: a backup was always useful.
Are these ready to go? he asked Creech.
Might need some fuel, Creech said, trying to be helpful.
Do it. Hector, you watch him. Benny and Carl, go move the
cars, see if you can get them out of sight.
The three brothers nodded. Jay still didn t know which of
them was which. He bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. This mission
was costing Kosigin dearly; he didn t want one single fuck-up.
Hey, Hestler, you ever skippered a boat?
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]