Erased (29 page)

“Stryker played us,” Brandy said. She turned her attention to Sara. “Where did he go? Did he go after Paolini?”

“Yes,” Sara said flatly. Brandy didn’t need to ask her why Sara had gone along with Stryker’s plan. They both knew.

Brandy turned to Lee. “Try to find out where the senator is.”

“I’ll call the Sacramento PD.”

Sara spoke up. “Paolini’s in the city,” she said. “That’s where Stryker was going.”

Brandy and Lee exchanged a glance. “What do you know?” Brandy said. “Did Stryker tell you what he’s up to, Sara?”

“He’s going to kill her.”

Brandy leaned in close and stared Sara in the eyes. “Tell me everything,” she said.

Sara glanced away, and then pulled her gaze back. “She’s got a room at the Hyatt Regency. Stryker’s going to wait for her there.”

Brandy turned back to Lee. “Get your team. Let’s go.”

They regrouped at the van. “Take Murphy with you,” Brandy said. “You can keep a better eye on her.”

“You wanna ride with us?”

“No, it’ll be easier to take my car. I’ll meet up with you at the hotel. Radio ahead that we’re coming. Get some uniforms to the hotel if you can, and keep trying to get a hold of Paolini.”

“Will do.”

Brandy watched the van pull away and then took a long look at the mass of patrol cars, fire trucks, and other vehicles working their way out of the parking lot. Their lights were vivid in the darkness, and they cast a glow in the low hanging fog. Within an hour the fog would be so dense a person couldn’t see ten feet.

Brandy watched them, thinking about the chaotic scene that she’d found waiting for her there. The same thing was about to happen back in the city. In the next fifteen minutes, a swarm of law enforcement and emergency vehicles were going to hit the Regency like a tsunami. Would it be too late?

“What are you playing at Stryker?” she muttered.

Chapter 51

Wendy Paolini did everything that Stryker had said to do, with one exception. She brought bodyguards. She was willing to let him blackmail her if necessary, but she wasn’t willing to die. She knew that Stryker wanted to kill her. That was obvious. But even Stryker was smart enough to know when to take the money and run. A good assassin should know when to cut his losses. She hoped the two burly ex-marines she’d hired would get the point across.

Wendy got the money easily enough. The president of the US International Bank was eager to help a powerful politician in need. He stayed open extra late for her, and did so with a smile. There were certain laws in regards to the withdrawal of large sums of cash, but he was willing to bend a few rules for her.

It also helped that the US International was the largest asset-holding bank in the state. Generally, most major institutions only kept a few hundred thousand dollars in the vault. In smaller banks, that number was usually limited to tens of thousands. The US International Bank kept a minimum of four million in the safe at all times. They catered to the needs of a very wealthy international clientele. Paolini’s half a million was a drop in the bucket, not enough to make him raise an eyebrow.

Wendy didn’t tell him the reason she needed it, of course. That was confidential. The blackmail story must never get out. She had to be sure of that, even if it meant letting Stryker get away with it. She simply explained it away as an emergency and he smiled knowingly. For all he knew that money could have been meant to pay a ransom or bribe a judge, but he just smiled. Wendy definitely classified him as a
predator.

Wendy’s bodyguards met up with her at the bank and then traveled with her to the Hyatt, where they awaited further instructions from Stryker. Her patience was wearing thin by the time her phone rang.
Caller unknown.
Big surprise.

“Where the hell are you?” she said.

“It’s time for you to move. Get in your car. Get on 101 and drive north.”

“North? What for? I thought we were meeting here.”

“You were wrong. Just do it. I’ll be in touch. And I’ll be tracking you, so don’t pull anything.”

Paolini rose from the lobby chair and waved a hand towards her bodyguards. The two
useful idiots
were seated at the fireplace, reading a stack of women’s magazines. “Come on, we’re leaving,” she said. The two giants lumbered along in her wake, unquestioning, eyes scanning everything.

Wendy didn’t hear from Stryker for forty minutes. He finally called when she was just south of Petaluma. “I want you to get off the highway now,” he said. “You’re going to take Bodega Avenue through Two Rock and then follow Highway 1 north.”

“What then?” Wendy said impatiently. “Can we just get this over with? I’ve got other things to do.”

“Soon,” Stryker said.

“Where am I going? Can’t you at least tell me that?”

“Bodega Bay.” Stryker gave her the address. It was the fish factory. “Now, I want you to shut your phone off.”

“Fine.”

“Remember, I’m watching you. If you make a call, I’ll know it, and these movies will go straight to the Examiner.”

“Fine.”

Wendy hung up and glanced at the beefy security guard in the passenger seat. His name was Joe. He was in his early thirties. His partner Timmy in the backseat was in his mid-twenties. They were both strong, but there was no telling what they were made of. Wendy knew that strength didn’t account for much going up against a guy like Stryker. If they didn’t have the moves and the speed to deal with a pro, she was in trouble.

The two of them worked for Pinkerton. Wendy had been forced to use contractors because of her situation. She glanced down at the bulge in Joe’s suit coat. “You know how to use that gun?” she murmured.

“Six years in Iraq, ten years as a contractor,” he said. “We’ve got you covered.”

“You better,” Wendy said. “’Cause if you don’t, I’m not the only one he’ll kill.” The two men exchanged a glance. Wendy wasn’t paying attention. She was too busy looking for the right exit.

Chapter 52

Brandy stopped for gas in Bodega Bay before heading back to the city. She stood at the pump, gazing down at the Tides Restaurant. Two old men were out on the patio next to the docks, playing a game of chess. She could hear their gravelly voices echoing up the hillside. The gas pump rolled on
.
In the almost unnatural silence of the small harbor town the
clickety-click
sound reverberated up and down the hillside and across the bay. She wondered how far the noise traveled.

Brandy watched the old men playing chess, listened absently to the bits and pieces of their conversation that came drifting up the hillside. It was an oddly picturesque scene, almost Rockwellian, but dark. There were no stars, no moon. The sky was a gray haze that quickly faded into blackness beyond the reach of the lights. The fog churned and drifted over the bay and pressed down on the town, washing the color out of everything.

The thought kept rolling over in the back of Brandy’s mind that Stryker had been manipulating them all along. He’d brought them up north to make sure they wouldn’t be in San Francisco. He’d assured himself an easy kill and made them look like a bunch of fools. That didn’t sit well with Brandy, especially after what she’d gone through in the last two days.

It felt good to have Sara Murphy safe in custody at last, but things had taken a new twist. It was almost too much for Brandy to keep up with. She was especially bothered by the fact that through it all, she’d been playing right into Stryker’s hands.

“Check,” one of the old men grunted. He sounded quite pleased with himself. Brandy replaced the pump handle and then stood there another moment, watching.

The second old man took a few moments to plan his next move. Then he did something that was completely unexpected. He moved a piece clear across the board and then laughed a great, bellowing laugh. In a voice like sandpaper, he said, “Check-mate.”

His partner fell back in his chair, muttering to himself. He took a long swig from a tall glass of ale and said, “Shoulda known you were settin’ me up, ya crafty ol’ bastard.”

Brandy knew just how he felt.

Chapter 53

Shortly after Stryker’s last call, Wendy turned her cell phone off. She was tempted to call the police, or the FBI, but Stryker had said he was monitoring her phone and she wasn’t sure if he could really do it or not. It wouldn’t have surprised her. Stryker and his team had access to technologies that no one knew about, not even the military. They were designed and built for use only in that shadow-world inhabited by assassins, double agents, and black ops programs. Stryker may very well have turned those technologies against her.

Wendy didn’t really want to call the police anyway. If they showed up, questions would follow. She had already gone to great lengths to avoid that.

At the outset, it had seemed like such a simple plan. When she’d set it all into motion, she couldn’t imagine anything going wrong. Stryker was old, slow-witted, off his game. Konrad was young, ambitious, and completely amoral. Apparently, Wendy had overestimated the value of Konrad’s ambitiousness. They had both underestimated Stryker. Wendy was pretty sure that Konrad was dead because of it. She was just beginning to get an inkling of the can of worms she’d opened when she double-crossed Stryker.

She didn’t accept any personal responsibility for Konrad’s death, though. Konrad was a grown man. He knew what he was doing. If the man was stupid enough to think he could kill people for a paycheck and not run the risk of ending up on the wrong end of the barrel at some point, then he was a fool. Either way, it wasn’t Wendy’s obligation to look out for him. But Konrad’s death did serve to underline the importance of the next few hours. Stryker was a man of consequence.

Wendy was calculating just how much she might be able to get away with. As the evening progressed, she began to think that she might come out of it with more than just her life. If she played her cards right, Stryker might even end up dead. Now that would be ideal.

As instructed, Wendy headed north on Highway 1 and went straight to Bodega Bay. As they drove through town, Wendy reminded her
useful idiots
to make sure their guns were loaded, and they rolled their eyes.

The fog was thick and churning as they pulled into the parking lot at the fish factory. The building was a blob of darkness against the docks. The scattered streetlights around the area were burning halos in the sky. The light barely reached the ground. Wendy pulled into the lot and parked, only then taking note of the police tape and shattered glass all around the front of the building. They all crawled out of the car and stood in front of the headlights, staring at the wreckage.

“He must be in there,” Paolini said, eyeing the darkness inside the fish factory. “Stryker! Come on out!”

Nothing. Fog and darkness, and silence. “I’ll check it out,” Timmy said. He was the younger one. He yanked the police tape off the front door and pushed it open. He entered with his gun drawn.

Wendy heard a grunt behind her, and she spun around. “Joe?” She stepped out of the headlights and blinked at the darkness behind the car. “Joe?”

He was gone. Her heart accelerated and her mouth went dry.
He’s just looking around,
she told herself.
He’s out there somewhere, in the darkness.

Wendy shoved her hand into her purse and pulled out a tiny .32 revolver. She took a few more steps around the rear of the car and noticed a dark form lying off the pavement, in the shadows beneath the bushes. Wendy blinked. “Joe, is that you?”

He moved, groaned weakly, and Wendy’s heart almost stopped. The real and immediate danger of her situation struck home. How could Stryker have moved so fast? No doubt Joe was wondering the same thing, if he was conscious at all.
They should have known better then to separate,
she thought.

She scanned the parking lot, the bushes, and the narrow embankment leading down to the docks. Other than Joe, there wasn’t a sign of life anywhere.

He was alive, for the moment, but he sure as hell couldn’t offer her any protection. Timmy… she ran back to the front of the car. “Timmy!” she called. “Get out of there!” She moved cautiously forward, gun leveled at the darkness.

Timmy appeared in the doorway. “Thank God,” she said. “Come here.”

“Where’s Joe?”

Wendy opened her mouth to answer, but Stryker’s face loomed out of the darkness behind Timmy and she went speechless. His hands snaked around Timmy’s enormous shape and yanked him back into the shadows. There wasn’t a noise as Timmy vanished. Wendy gasped.

She turned and made a break for the car. Cold droplets of mist blurred her vision. The sound of her heels echoed maddeningly in the fog as she ran.

The driver and passenger doors were still hanging open. Wendy leapt into the driver’s side and pulled the door shut behind her. She dropped the revolver on the center console as she leaned over to yank the passenger door shut. She hit the lock button. The familiar
kachunk
sound had never been more welcome.

Wendy reached for the key in the ignition, and found empty space. Her blood turned cold. She’d left the key in the car when she parked. It had been there, she was sure of it. Stryker must have taken it. That was the only explanation.

She glanced up and saw Stryker standing in the headlights. An involuntary scream erupted from her throat. “You lookin’ for this?” He held up the key. He tossed it aside and it clattered across the asphalt. He reached behind his back and drew a gun. He pointed it at her. “Get out of the car, bitch.”

Wendy glanced down at the revolver resting on the center console. Could she reach it before he shot her? She might conceivably manage to, and then squeeze off a shot or two, but she didn’t know if her tiny handgun could even fire through the windshield. She had no doubt about Stryker’s, though. It looked big enough to shoot through a tank.