Page 93 of Shadow of Death
“You know Hunter is close. He probably knows already.”
“I do know he’s close, and I’m counting on it. But we don’t know what he saw. We must let this get as close as possible to... Well, we have to play it out. He’ll know when to...when to stop it.”
“Before you die,” Aidan said.
She nodded. “I will be fine! But wemustcatch this person, Aidan. Please! Go, go quick so I can retie myself!”
He stared at her a moment longer and tried one last time. “Amy, at least let me stay with you.”
“Aidan, please. Make sure I’m saved tomorrow—” Amy grinned reassuringly “—and not from my sins. I’d like to keep my heart in my chest!”
At last, he looked at her, nodded, checked out the drunken man snoring open-mouthed against the wall, and agreed.
He ducked low and, despite the moonlight, disappeared into the tall saw grass surrounding the shack.
Amy quickly returned to her cot. She gathered the ropes and retied her ankles and then her wrists. Even so awkwardly, it was difficult to make the knot look as poorly tied as the one her captors had set on her.
She laid back down, closed her eyes, and even managed to doze off.
She would need all her facilities in the morning when the sun had fully risen.
Hunter quickly realized he’d startled Aidan, but to his credit, Aidan didn’t let out a sound. He shook his head, studying Hunter and the array of vines and foliage he’d donned to blend in well with the night.
They were too close to the shack to take a chance on conversation so Hunter motioned the two of them needed to move back to the old hunter’s shelter where the hammock rose an inch or so behind the tangled roots of several banyan trees.
“She made me leave!” Aidan told him. “She said it was important for you to know everything. A guy named Don Blake was involved—he was one of the guys who took us. But he couldn’t have been a bigwig because one of the other guys shot him. Who those guys are, I don’t know. They never took their masks off. The one man called whoever is the bigwig here—and Amy said you needed to get every tech department trying to figure out where he is. Apparently, the puppet master doesn’t like being hot and sticky and getting bitten by mosquitoes.”
“Neither Amy nor I ever met Don Blake, but we did suspect him,” Hunter told Aidan. “But I saw his face and I recognized him from pictures. We are lying low in this area tonight, ready to follow in the morning.”
“She said we need tech to try to find out where this top guy is. He’s somewhere close, but where there’s air-conditioning and creature comforts,” Aidan pressed.
Hunter nodded. He had to move his phone around for a minute to get a connection, but he did. It was late at night but Mickey Hampton answered his call on the first ring.
Hunter reported what was happening.
And told Mickey he’d be there through the night and would follow the kidnappers in the morning. Ryan and Sean were still in the field as well, across from his location on the other side of the broken-down shack.
He learned other units were still out in the field. There were units from both agencies; and while they were grateful for the FBI, FDLE was going to be in on this. It was Florida, and it was the life of a Florida agent that was at risk.
“Keep an open line the minute you begin following in the morning,” Mickey said.
“You got it, but I’ll have you on mute. I don’t want to give away my location.”
“Seriously? That’s a given, Hunter.”
“Right, sir. We know another archangel is appearing—and hopefully that will end the reign of this horseman, and maybe even show us the true master,” Hunter murmured.
“Let’s get these people tomorrow,” Mickey said. “Alive, if we can. We may need them to lead us onward—because a puppet master will come—but we’re not sure yet from where. I have another piece of news for you. Your suspect, Malcolm Barrington, owner of the advertising agency, isn’t answering his home phone or his work line. We sent plainclothes agents to his home. If he’s there, he’s ignoring everyone.”
“Right.”
They ended the call. He had barely hung up before the phone vibrated in his hands. Mickey was calling back.
“Banyan Bend,” Mickey said.
“Pardon me?”
“Ask Aidan about it. My secretary said our archangel might be there. The community is actually quite old—just west of the northern Broward County cities and barely out of the Everglades. In the 1920s, there was an architect who envisioned a community created to resemble a Norse fishing village, one that was accessible by water. Anyway, the original old houses are worth a small fortune. We’re going to start a discreet investigation. One of our techs grew up there, and he said he loved it when he was a kid—but the city government became wildly corrupt and used tax money for ridiculous art projects. They would fine people for putting trash out a minute before set-up time for pick-up. Imagine the worst homeowners association, and this city government makes it look like child’s play. Anyway, we are FDLE, and we’re going to begin some inquiries.”
