THE THOUSAND DOLLAR HUNT: Colt Ryder is Back in Action! (8 page)

Chapter Four

Talia Badrock was waiting for me in my new room when I arrived, already naked in my bed.

I dropped my things on the floor and looked at her. She was stunning, there was no doubt about it; olive skin and deep green eyes framed by curls of dark hair that fell to her smooth-skinned shoulders.

But I looked at her differently now, knowing what I knew.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I asked her.

‘Tell you what?’ she purred softly, eyes questioning.

‘That you’re the general’s daughter.’

‘Would it have made a difference?’ she asked, her expression unchanged.

It was a good question. ‘It might have,’ I said.

‘Why?’

Damn – another good question. Her blasé attitude about what she’d been made to do by her father left me confused, not knowing how to carry on the conversation. It was unlikely I’d been the first person she’d been asked to ‘entertain’. What effect would that have on a person?

But then again, she was an adult. Didn’t she have a choice in the matter? And if she did, and she chose to do it anyway, then what did that say about her?

But then again, I knew firsthand how convincing her father could be. How much would a lifetime of brainwashing affect someone? Would she really have had any choice? After being under his influence for so long, was it possible for her to make her own mind up?

And even if he hadn’t completely dominated her mentally, there were always the physical threats the man could make. How free was
I
to leave this place? If I tried anything, I’d have fifty ex-military killers on my tail; I didn’t imagine that Talia would have it any easier.

‘It might have made a difference,’ I answered her finally, ‘if I’d known you were being forced into it.’

‘But you must have assumed I was a hooker the first time, or at least something similar, you must have assumed I was being paid for my services.’

‘I guess so,’ I replied weakly.

‘And that was okay with you.’ It was a statement more than a question.

‘I didn’t really think about it at the time,’ I answered, and it was the truth too. The furthest my brain had got was
never look a gift horse in the mouth
. Shallow? Perhaps; but then again, I’d never claimed to be anything else.

I spotted a fridge in the corner of the room and walked over to it, hoping the general had stocked it properly. I wasn’t disappointed as I opened the door, and pulled out a bottle of Bud. ‘Want one?’ I asked, holding a bottle up for her to see.

‘Why not?’ she said with a smile, and I bit off the cap, moved across to the bed and passed it to her.

I sat on the edge of the bed as I opened my own and took a large, satisfying gulp.

I turned back to her, her supple naked body propped up on the pillows, sheets resting in a silken pool at her lap. ‘I’m sorry,’ I told her.

‘Sorry?’ she asked with surprise as she sipped her beer. ‘Sorry for what?’

‘I’m sorry that your father’s been using you. Sorry you’ve had to do . . . the things you’ve done.’

Talia regarded me coolly for a few moments, then burst out laughing. I was caught off-guard; the laugher seemed quite genuine.

‘You think he makes me do this?’ she asked, before putting the bottle back to her lips. ‘I’m twenty-two years old, you think he can keep me here?’

I looked in her eyes, trying hard to read her. ‘Yes,’ I said eventually, keeping my gaze on her. ‘Yes, I think he can.’

She opened her mouth to say something else, then seemed to think better of it, drinking more of the beer instead. She tried to speak again, but the words wouldn’t come.

I walked back to the fridge, pulled out two more Buds. ‘Fancy another?’ I asked her.

She nodded her head, and I passed her one, noting that the sheets were now pulled up to her shoulders, her body covered.

I sat on the bed next to her, reclined back on the pillows and enjoyed my second bottle of beer, giving Talia some time to get her words out, not wanting to pressure her into talking.

‘I can’t leave,’ she said eventually, in a voice little more than a whisper. ‘I can’t.’

I still didn’t respond, knew that if I just gave her the space, the words would come.

And finally they did.

‘I didn’t see my dad that much growing up. Boarding school all the way, you know? Mom died when I was young, and he was a hot-shot army officer. How could he have time for his kids?’ She shook her head. ‘He couldn’t. And I didn’t hold it against him . . . Or at least I didn’t think I did. But then I made some choices, some bad choices, and I think I did it just to get his attention, get back at him somehow, you know?’

‘I think so,’ I said gently, encouraging her to continue.

‘So I got into alcohol in high school, messing about with boys when I was too young, you know the sort of thing. Dad ignored it, or maybe didn’t even realize it was happening. Still made it into college though, but the drugs I’d started dabbling a bit with at boarding school got harder. First pills, then coke, but then I was smoking crack every day, running with the wrong people, and I mean the
really
wrong people, I ended up turning tricks to pay for it, working for a pimp who supplied me.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Dad finally found out,’ she said. ‘Or at least he finally
had
to pay attention when he was forced to bail me out of jail.’

I drank some more of the ice-cold Bud to help soften the blow of what I was hearing, the liquid sliding wonderfully down my throat as she continued her sorry tale.

‘It almost killed him, you know? Could you imagine the damage to his reputation if people found out about me? His drug-addict crack whore daughter?’ She shook her head sadly. ‘The number of people he had to pay off to keep my name out of the papers, off the TV, it was incredible, as he kept on reminding me. He told me names, what he’d had to pay them, made me repeat it to him until he was happy that I appreciated what he’d done. He retired from the army too, I’d ruined his chances of ever making it further, and he never let me forget
that
either.’

That explained the unknown family scandal that my friend had told me about, at least.

‘He booked me into a private clinic too,’ Talia continued, ‘to clean me up. Eventually brought me up here to his ranch to start over, a ‘new life’, he told me.’

There were tears in her eyes now, and I put an arm round her shoulders, her head nestling on my chest. ‘The new life didn’t last long,’ she said in a ragged whisper. ‘He said that I owed him, that I needed to work for him now. He told me I’d proved what sort of work I was good for.’

There was bitterness in her voice now, and who could blame her? The desire to kill her father, to wipe General Roman Badrock off the face of the earth, emerged like a jolt of lightning deep in my guts. But still I didn’t speak, knowing there was more to come.

‘I don’t have to do as much as when I was on the streets,’ she said at last. ‘And it
is
a lot nicer here.’ She paused, deciding how to phrase what she wanted to say. ‘But at least on the streets I had the drugs,’ she said through her tears. ‘At least they helped numb the pain . . . I could pretend none of it was real. But here,’ she waved a hand around the room, ‘I
know
it’s real. He makes me “entertain” special guests, his high-rolling hunters, I’m like a free call girl at a Vegas casino. And I know he’ll kill me if I ever try and leave.’

I breathed out slowly, my impression of the general damaged beyond belief, beyond restitution. A man who would prostitute his own daughter, who would
kill
her if she tried to escape.

Talia sighed then, wiped the tears away, and drank some more beer – at least a little something to numb the pain. ‘I don’t know why I’ve told you all this,’ she said weakly. ‘You’re one of them now, you work for Vanguard, you work for
him
.’

The guilt flooded me, but the feeling was momentary; there were things that could be done to help redress the balance.

‘You told me because you know I’m not like the others,’ I said as I held her tight. ‘Because you know I can help you.’

‘Help me how?’ she asked softly.

‘Help you get out of here,’ I said, stroking her hair. ‘But first,’ I continued, thinking about the plan that had occurred to me back in the armory, ‘you just might be able to help
me
.’

Chapter Five

I lay in the long grass, feeling the warm breeze wash over me, the crescent moon above casting its silvery glow across the plain below me.

I could see well enough just from the moonlight, but through the FLIR T75 long-range thermal sight mounted to my FN SCAR 7.62mm battle rifle, the images were crystal clear. But with a sight that cost just shy of seventeen thousand dollars, I supposed they should be.

The rifle wasn’t exactly easy to get hold of either, purpose designed for the US special operations community. The first batch had actually been used by my old unit, the 75
th
Rangers, but it was after my time; I’d been used to the good old AR15.

The new weapon was good though, and I’d zeroed it in on one of the outdoor ranges earlier that evening. That session had actually turned into something of an impromptu shooting contest, and was the reason why I had the rifle, and the guy lying next to me was the spotter; it had soon become apparent that I was a better shot than any of the other Vanguard employees. The guys had bitched and moaned, but the results spoke for themselves and I was taking the lead on this little two-man fire team.

My spotter – an ex-Marine I’d buried in the shooting comp – was obviously still pissed, and kept his communications with me to a minimum, which was just fine by me. I’m not the most talkative guy at the best of times, and I had absolutely nothing to say to the Vanguard man next to me. He could scan the area in front of us, and give me a target to shoot at if any came up, and that would be it for our interaction.

Kane was out with us too, lying on the opposite side to my spotter, his fur warm against my skin. I would be more likely, I believed, to get a decent conversation out of
him
.

The variant of the FN SCAR I was using tonight was the SSR, the Sniper Support Rifle, and it was accurate out to a range of a thousand yards; but with its twenty round magazine it was also designed for rapid semi-automatic fire, and it was easier to get rounds down quickly than with a standard hunting or sniper rifle, which was why I was using it.

I was on overwatch duty, protecting the man who had paid Badrock one hundred thousand dollars to go hunting lion.

Ian Garner was an international banker, a big shot financial whiz kid from the Big Apple who wanted to trade the urban jungle of Wall Street for the real one lying here in New Mexico, at least for a couple of nights. He was part of the hunting party booked for tomorrow night, but had turned up a day early. Not wanting to turn down his offer of a hundred grand for an extra night’s hunting, Badrock had quickly adapted, and agreed to his demands.

Garner had explained to me over dinner that he simply didn’t have time to get over to the game reserves in Africa, he was far too busy; and so why not visit the famed Badrock Park? If he enjoyed it, he would become a regular here.

The man made me sick to my stomach, and it had taken everything I had not to bury my fish knife through one of his bespectacled eyeballs.

But I knew that if I did, my chances of destroying the general’s little hunting wonderland here would be seriously damaged. And so instead, I did as I was told – I went out with the hunting party, responsible for observing the area around the client from a nearby ridge, my own rifle primed and ready to defend him from anything that might be creeping up on him.

Would I shoot if I saw something? Or would I let the banker get ripped to pieces?

I still wasn’t sure, to be honest. He was a vile little man who wouldn’t be missed, but I had to be seen to be doing my job, at least for now.

There was also the fact that the general was right next to him, lying there in wait for their prey. If something attacked Garner, it would get Badrock too. And what a way for the man to go!

But I wasn’t the only Vanguard employee keeping an eye on things out here – several more snipers were out and about securing the area, and I suspected that some of them might even have their weapons trained on me.

So I had to keep the two men secure, despite myself.

I traced my sight across the prone form of General Badrock, thinking how satisfying it would be to put a 7.62mm round through his spine. I wondered if I could do it and get away with it; shoot the general, disable the man next to me, and escape from the park before the rest of the men knew what was happening.

But I knew that such an escape would be unlikely – the Vanguard crew had night vision, thermal imaging, and they probably had access to helicopter support too, not to mention enough firepower to lay waste to half of New Mexico.

No, I decided in the end, there had to be a better way.

A way that would result in the good general getting what he deserved, and me getting away safe, sound and alive.

I considered the mission I’d given – or perhaps
offered
would be a better word for it – to Talia earlier that evening, wondering how she was getting on. I’d asked her to try and access her father’s computer systems, to see if she could come up with any hard evidence against the man, and I hadn’t had to ask twice. She was motivated to get back at the man who had given her so little, and was taking so much, and the danger of being caught no longer seemed to phase her. It was as if my presence there lent her a strength that she had previously lacked.

And now – with this surprise nighttime hunt, and her father and a large contingent of Vanguard staff out of the house – she had a great opportunity to go through with it.

I prayed that she might have something for me when we returned.

Putting her out of my mind, I turned my attention back to the hunters. They were on a raised hillock right out on the plain, close to a herd of antelope drinking at the edge of a small, winding river which sparkled in the moonlight. Through my scope I could see Garner and Badrock lying on their sniper mats, the general acting as a spotter while Garner aimed through the thermal scope of his own rifle.

The lions which stalked the herd of antelope didn’t have access to thermal scopes or high-powered rifles; but then again, they didn’t need them. Evolution had equipped them with incredible night vision of their own; and razor-sharp retractable claws, massive canine teeth, and the ability to run at fifty miles per hour and clear almost forty feet in a single bound, meant that they were more than capable of hunting down and killing their chosen prey without any hi-tech equipment.

But the human ability to manufacture weapons to overcome our natural shortcomings was, of course, the reason that we are the apex predator on the planet. Without claws, sharp teeth, strong jaws, speed or endurance, we rely upon technology to see us through; and in the arms race, we have no equal.

Which is why I knew it was only a matter of time before Ian Garner put one of his North Fork 300 grain .375 PP rounds through one of the lionesses that were quietly stalking the antelopes. The cartridge had a small ring cut into the ogive that guaranteed full expansion of the bonded-core softpoint within two inches of penetration, creating an extremely effective kill shot.

It disturbed me somewhat to discover that cartridges were being specially manufactured for the express purpose of taking down big cats, but it didn’t surprise me. Human ingenuity was capable of being used for any endeavor. And, I supposed, if people were going to hunt these animals anyway, it was actually better for them if they were killed quickly. Inefficient cartridges would only prolong the agony, the animal limping off to safety before succumbing to its painful wounds perhaps days later.

I still wasn’t sure what I thought of hunting anyway. In a way, it was a part of our human history, encoded in our very DNA. The hunting – and then cooking – of meat had enabled us to evolve shorter guts than our primate cousins, allowing us in turn to use the spare energy to evolve ever larger brains. In a way, hunting animals is what made us who we are today.

But that was to
eat
, to
survive
. I had no problem with cultures or societies that killed things in order to eat them; it made sense to do so. And hunting also made sense if it was used as part of a tactic to limit animal populations, such as the legal hunting of cougar in several US states.

Trophy
hunting, however, was something I struggled to come to terms with; especially here, where the animals were supposedly protected, quite often members of an endangered species.

I’d killed my fair share of men, yes; I had even sometimes hunted them down.

But it was never as a trophy. The men I’d killed – and sometimes women too – were dangerous, a threat to others. Terrorists, assassins, the leaders of criminal gangs – they were my targets, and the world was a better place without them.

The animals here were supposed to be protected, to have sanctuary so that their numbers could be rebuilt; it seemed wrong to hunt them, to kill them.

But, I supposed, if I was willing to kill my own fellow human beings – sometimes in cold blood – what right did I have to preach to others?

Kane nuzzled me from the side, and I stroked his warm fur.

That’s right
, I thought to myself.
Animals are innocent
.

And some humans aren’t.

Kane’s body jerked under my hand as a muffled shot rang out in the still night air, and I saw the thermal signature from Garner’s rifle through my sight.

I quickly swept my rifle toward the big cats, praying that a lion had not been hit.

I adjusted the focus, and was relieved to see that the animals were running, along with the antelope as they all reacted to the shot.

But one of the lionesses was moving slowly . . . Too slowly.

‘Yeah baby,’ the spotter to my left breathed lecherously, ‘that hurt the bitch for sure.’

I watched helplessly as she managed to crawl twenty feet from the killing field . . . thirty . . . and then she stopped moving altogether, collapsed to the floor.

I stared through my scope, saw the chest continue to rise and fall; and then, finally, that stopped too.

‘It’s a kill shot,’ I heard Badrock announce through my earpiece. ‘Delta team, approach on foot and confirm. All other teams keep watch.’

I confirmed the message with a blip of my radio, then swept my sight back to the raised hillock, saw the two men still in their positions, Garner’s rifle still trained on the animal.

I looked again toward the lioness, once so proud and majestic and now just meat, to be sliced up and put on Garner’s wall, and felt slightly nauseated by the thought.

‘Good fucking shot,’ the man next to me said admiringly, but I just ignored him; it was safer for him that way.

Two men then emerged from concealed positions near to the river, and approached the animal. One knelt by its side while the other aimed a shotgun at the big cat’s head.

But there was no need – the first man’s hand swiping across his own throat in the classic ‘kill’ symbol confirmed that the lioness was dead.

Back on the hillock I saw that Garner was on his feet now, rifle pumping up and down in the air in a victory celebration, stout little legs hopping about in a sick little dance.

‘One shot,’ I could hear him across the plain even from this distance, ‘one fucking shot! Fuck yeah!’

I watched him through the scope, the reticle sighted directly on his chest.

It took everything I had not to pull the trigger.