EIGHTY-FOUR

Choppers,” Theo said.
Pierce and Theo and Billy had just reached the bodies at the edge of the yard, slumped figures facedown beneath the trees with decorative floodlights throwing shadows behind them. Pierce had been prepared for up to a dozen people, had plenty of plastic handcuff ties in his back pocket.

Pierce looked up.

“He hears them,” Billy said.

Pierce removed his gas mask. They were far enough away from the house and upwind of it. Seconds later, he heard the choppers too. Pierce followed the noise with his ears, and then that became unnecessary as searchlights opened up from the darkness of the sky. Four blocks away. East. Close enough to understand that backup had betrayed him. Far enough away, he’d be safe from the distraction. Once the SWAT team discovered there was no threat at the false address, no way would they dare incur more wrath of Influentials by sweeping the entire neighborhood.

As Theo and Billy removed their own gas masks, Pierce yanked the darts loose from the backs of the three from the house, expertly handcuffed their hands behind them with plastic ties, rolled them over, and used his flashlight to confirm their identities. Wilson. Dawkins. Charmaine.

No Caitlyn.

He felt the blackness of failure. The only way this op would have been justified is if he’d found them with Caitlyn. Wilson would have been exposed for unauthorized abduction of an agency target; that would have tied it to Dawkins and Charmaine and a widening investigation that would clear Pierce’s rogue actions.

Unless Caitlyn was dead and he could find her body in the house.

Pierce slapped Wilson’s face. Patty-cake. Fast, light slaps, designed to deliver as much stimulus as possible.

From his days as a field op, Pierce was familiar with the regressive stages of a fear pheromone blast. During the panic scatter and subsequent fetal ball, targets were incapable of coherent thought. This lasted roughly ten minutes, with about a five-minute lag before regaining motor skills. During that stage, casualties felt a mild euphoria of relief combined with thought process recovery. Many spoke freely, and a majority would confess intimate and inane details of their lives in rapid-fire, often to comical effect. Despite the agency’s best efforts, many of these confessions had become lore among field ops.

Pierce knelt beside Wilson. When Wilson’s breathing shifted from ragged to even, Pierce spoke in a friendly tone. “Hey, buddy,” Pierce said. “Wilson. You all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Wilson said. “Wow, the stuff hits you, doesn’t it? Remember our training, when each of us got blasted with it? There was that blonde, she had a lot to say about you, didn’t she, when she came out of it? Like truth serum. Would have been okay, except her friend had your name on her lips too. Those were the days, weren’t they, Pierce? Before crap like this, when all you had to worry about was how you spent your weekends.”

“Different times,” Pierce said, knowing he had a short window to get Wilson to spill in the same way. “Makes me wonder how we got here. Never guessed you’d flip me like this. Thought we were friends.”

“Crap, crap, crap,” Wilson said. He began to sob. “Hated doing it. Anyone else might have been okay. But not you.”

“Give me a reason,” Pierce said. “Let me believe.”

“Reason, reason, reason. Yeah, reason. You can kill me now, bud, but if I had to do it all over, even knowing it would end like this, I’d still do it.”

“How’s it going to end?”

“Already ending. Thrown away my career. Thrown away your trust. Thrown away your respect. Had to do it. Would do it over. Yup, would do it over. Hate me for it, but I can’t change it.”

“Why?” Pierce asked.

“Why, why, why. Guys like you and me, what we’ve seen over the years, watching someone else’s pain is like water off a duck’s back. Right? Until it’s your own kid. Pierce, I had to do it. Little Luke. Needed the blood. It’s a choice that’s no choice, between him and you. You can take care of yourself. He can’t. He’s dying. This blood, this magic blood, it’s what’s keeping him alive. I did what I could to protect you all along, but in the end, knowing if it came down to Luke or you, I had to go with Luke. Someday, if you have kids of your own, maybe you’d understand. Put me in jail; take away my career; don’t let me see Luke again; even shoot me. It’s all worth it, the price to keep him alive. Oh, hell, look at me. Bawling my eyes out.”

“See any agency people around?” Pierce asked.

“No, I don’t,” Wilson said. “Nope. None.”

“Didn’t want this going down officially until I had a chance to hear you out. Decided I’d be judge and jury. Hoped there was a way I’d understand.”

“Can’t tell you I’m sorry for what I did,” Wilson said. “I’m not. Just sorry for how it turned out.”

“It’s what I needed to hear,” Pierce said. Maybe there was a way to rescue all of this in the next few minutes.

Good hunters prepared for the moment. Prepared thoroughly. Mason knew that and enjoyed the painstaking pursuit of details it demanded. It was what had made him legendary as a bounty hunter.

It was a testament to this that he was here, now knowing that Caitlyn was trapped inside the house, with Billy and Theo and the uppity jerk from the agency in his sights.

But preparation wasn’t everything. Good hunters also needed luck.

Mason’s luck was that Pierce’s pursuit of the man he’d called Wilson had taken them to the edge of the property, almost to the landscaped bushes that hid Mason.

Not only had it given Mason the perfect place to overhear what he needed to learn, but there was little open ground he’d have to cover to pounce.

The big stupid one had eluded him once, so he shouldn’t underestimate him again. Same with the pesky little one.

Still, the situation demanded that he first take out Pierce. Pierce was the most dangerous. And he owed Pierce. Pierce was the one who’d broken his arm back in Appalachia. Mason hated Pierce almost as much as he hated Caitlyn.

Mason took a moment to visualize how he was going to do it. He had a couple of weapons to choose from, but what gave him satisfaction was his knife. Mason loved knife work, and before this one began, he knew how it was going to end.

When he was ready, he crept a couple of steps to a small opening between the bushes. He’d be invisible, but even if he wasn’t, their attention was on the people on the ground.

No hesitation now.

Mason started from a squat, pushed upward and outward, and covered the distance between him and Pierce in three large, quiet steps on the soft grass.

Pierce reached for Wilson’s wrists, intending to free his friend.

Something in his subconscious gave him a twinge. A primordial warning of danger. Could have been a sound, could have been a vibration; it was nothing he’d be able to articulate, even given time.

He began to shift in response, then caught a blur of motion.

Pierce always had fast reactions. He slid his head away from the motion, but that was all he was able to do in defense.

Then he was engulfed in a tornado of rage.

Pierce had heard or sensed something and began to move sideways.

Mason was prepared. He swung hard and viciously with a short piece of wood, bouncing it off Pierce’s skull.

Mason expected Pierce to topple, but Pierce had managed to slide his head fractionally sideways, enough that the massive blow deflected instead of hitting square. Pierce had been rising. Didn’t get to his feet. Somehow stayed vertical, on his knees.

But Mason let his momentum carry him and with a spinning move, wrapped an arm around Pierce’s neck. Then pulled and lifted and arched backward so that Pierce’s full body weight sagged on the cartilage of his throat.

Then came the knife.

Mason reached around and slashed horizontally across Pierce’s forehead, cutting a line left to right about an inch above Pierce’s eyes. It wasn’t anything life threatening. All it would take was a cloth held in place to staunch the bleeding.

Mason knew, though, that a wound like this inflicted psychological terror that few of his victims could handle. More importantly, the forehead was a part of the anatomy rich with blood. A gash like this generated an instant fountain that streamed into the victim’s eyes, blinding the victim, allowing Mason the luxury of toying with his victim until the end of the massacre.

Billy and Theo had finally begun to react.

“Don’t move,” Mason commanded them, using Pierce as a shield. He placed the tip of his knife blade against Pierce’s temple. It would be a shame if he had to kill Pierce this way, this quickly. But Mason needed to immobilize all of three of them.

Billy and Theo obeyed instantly, freezing in awkward positions only a couple of feet apart.

In the decorative floodlights, the blood must have terrified them too. Mason yanked Pierce’s head back with his free hand. It briefly showed Pierce’s face. It was a red mask, dripping down his chin, onto Mason’s forearm in the chokehold position.

“Tie each other up,” Mason told them. “Use those extra plastic cuffs.”

“Don’t,” Pierce said. “Whoever it is, take him now, or he’ll kill both of you.”

The logic was impeccable. Another part of what made Mason a great hunter was the knowledge of his prey. Humans usually made emotional decisions, even when logical decisions were necessary.

Billy and Theo had ignored Pierce’s command.

“I’m dead anyway,” Pierce said. “Do what you need to do to save yourselves.”

“Billy,” Mason said. Billy and Theo were paralyzed by the conflicting orders. “On the ground now. On your bellies. Hands behind your back.”

He pushed the knife into Pierce’s temple hard enough to draw a gasp of pain. It was what he needed to topple them out of paralysis.

Billy fell forward, then onto his stomach.

“Theo,” Mason ordered. “Plastic cuffs. Billy’s wrists. Then Pierce’s ankles.”

It all fell into place for Mason. Once Billy’s hands were tied, Theo obeyed and cuffed Pierce’s ankles. Mason shoved Pierce forward and placed a knee on Pierce’s back, pinning him on the ground, keeping the knife in place until Theo had cuffed Pierce’s wrists.

“Now Billy’s ankles,” Mason said. “Then your own.”

Mason watched approvingly. Billy was bound, wrists and ankles. Same with Pierce. And now Theo’s ankles. The two major threats were neutralized, and Theo, not much of a threat, was hobbled.

Mason dropped Pierce and kicked Theo hard, knocking the skinny kid on the ground.

“Hands out,” Mason ordered Theo. Mason finished Theo’s wrists.

Excellent. All three of them on the ground.

Mason evaluated the other three, who had come screaming out of the house. Now conveniently cuffed by Pierce.

Mason decided the second agency guy might be a threat. Mason quickly and brutally kicked the bound man in the head. He didn’t bother to check if it had knocked him out. There was no doubt. Might have killed him. Mason didn’t care.

He didn’t care about the smaller man, dressed nicely but groaning badly. The woman, though, might have some use for him.

Tempting to kill Billy and Theo. But this was more than business. Each of the three of them had done something to Mason to demand special vengeance.

Killing Billy and Theo wouldn’t be good enough. Let them live with Mason in their nightmares, let them live knowing they were responsible for what was going to happen next to Pierce.

Mason stepped on Pierce’s elbow. Grabbed the lower part of Pierce’s arm. Pulled upward, like he was breaking a dry sapling. The crack of bone was the same.

Theo screamed.

“Enjoy that?” Mason said to Theo. “You’re next, for dropping that rock on my head in Appalachia. But first, something for you to think about for a long, long time. Understand? I’m going to snap each of your arms like I did his. But there’s something I need to do first.”

Mason rolled Pierce over. He wiped away the blood off Pierce’s forehead so that Pierce could see again.

Mason grinned. The low floodlights gave enough illumination. Let Pierce have that grin in his memory for the next half hour as his life slowly bled away.

“Breaking my arm in the restaurant in Appalachia,” Mason said, “was a stupid, stupid thing to do. Understand? I’ve broken your arm, but that’s not enough. Not close to enough. Gut wound is one of the worst ways to die. I’ve been waiting awhile to tell you that.”

Mason smiled again. Then plunged his knife into Pierce’s belly, twisting the blade as he pulled it loose.