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Authors: Ernie Lindsey
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was a lie? What if he’d actually murdered the man in the coop and this
was some well-crafted plan to get her out of the way while he smoothed things
over?
No, not Randall. As pissed
as she was, she refused to believe it. He may have been a liar, but he wasn’t
a murderer. He’d killed before, under orders, and would likely have to again
if he were being hunted, but just plain murder ? No way.
“Mary?”
“What? Oh, sorry—I was
just—why would he lie to me? What’s really going on?”
Chuck tapped a finger on the
table.
“Come on, you’ve gotta give
me something. Why am I here? Why am I talking to you? There has to be a
reason he sent me. I’m guessing you already know what happened on the farm
this morning, right? The dead guy?”
“Yes. Enigma.”
“Of course it’s an enigma.
The whole damn thing is—”
Chuck held up a hand to stop
her. “No, his handle was Enigma. The maestro. The dungeon master. The guy
running the game, whatever you want to call him. Erhard Loewe. Defected from
East Germany in the late eighties, before the wall fell.”
Mary said, “A German? He’s
not the one...”
“That got Randall involved? That
would be him. Randall probably described him as squirrely, didn’t he? I
always thought the little bastard was more of a rat than anything.”
“Yeah, but I don’t
understand. Randall said they’d met once, and the German guy told him that
he’d made some most wanted list.”
“I’d say that’s about fifty
percent true.”
“Only fifty?”
“Well, Randall knows him all
right, and he’s definitely one of ten, but if he told you anything other than
that, it’s complete and total malarkey.”
Damn you, Randall , Mary thought. Was anything you told me true?
“Okay, so the guy running
this game, or whatever it is, the one that’s got a group of trained killers
coming after Randall, showed up on his farm this morning and is now dead. Is
that part true?”
“Yes and no.”
“Jesus. Those are your two
favorite words, aren’t they?”
“You can probably guess my
answer.”
She said, “I’m gonna be
straight with you. I have no clue what I’m doing here. I have no idea what’s
true and what isn’t, and I have half a mind to get up and walk out that door.
And honestly, that would probably be the best thing for me, because I’m
shooting arrows at a moving target in the goddamn dark and I’m going to end up
hurting something or someone in the process because of it. Whatever’s really
going on, the one thing I can say for certain is that Randall needs help,
regardless of what the circumstances are. Whether he killed somebody and needs
his buddy in the CIA to make it go away, or he’s really involved in some kind
of scenario where people are trying to kill him, I need to do some thing
because my family might be in danger. Do you understand that?”
“I do.”
“Then please, for the last
time, tell me what you know, or at least what I need to know. Otherwise,
I’m strapping myself down in that junk-pile of a car you mentioned and I’m
going home where I can be close and doing something productive.”
Chuck checked his watch, and
then offered Mary a reassuring grin. “Are you much of a drinker?”
“I’m serious, Agent Bailey.
You’ve got about thirty seconds before I walk.”
“Then walk with me. There’s
a bar next door. You’re gonna need a drink...and I’m buying.”
CHAPTER 8
Randall allowed himself a
yawn and then pressed his eye against the scope. It was a boring, lonely job,
staking out his own farm, waiting on Death to sneak around a corner, not
knowing when it was coming or who would arrive, carrying the scythe. He
wondered if he’d even get the chance to put a bullet through the center of the
faceless hood.
On every single mission
during his stint in the Corps, he’d had an objective and a target to acquire.
He could be proactive. He could
was some well-crafted plan to get her out of the way while he smoothed things
over?
No, not Randall. As pissed
as she was, she refused to believe it. He may have been a liar, but he wasn’t
a murderer. He’d killed before, under orders, and would likely have to again
if he were being hunted, but just plain murder ? No way.
“Mary?”
“What? Oh, sorry—I was
just—why would he lie to me? What’s really going on?”
Chuck tapped a finger on the
table.
“Come on, you’ve gotta give
me something. Why am I here? Why am I talking to you? There has to be a
reason he sent me. I’m guessing you already know what happened on the farm
this morning, right? The dead guy?”
“Yes. Enigma.”
“Of course it’s an enigma.
The whole damn thing is—”
Chuck held up a hand to stop
her. “No, his handle was Enigma. The maestro. The dungeon master. The guy
running the game, whatever you want to call him. Erhard Loewe. Defected from
East Germany in the late eighties, before the wall fell.”
Mary said, “A German? He’s
not the one...”
“That got Randall involved? That
would be him. Randall probably described him as squirrely, didn’t he? I
always thought the little bastard was more of a rat than anything.”
“Yeah, but I don’t
understand. Randall said they’d met once, and the German guy told him that
he’d made some most wanted list.”
“I’d say that’s about fifty
percent true.”
“Only fifty?”
“Well, Randall knows him all
right, and he’s definitely one of ten, but if he told you anything other than
that, it’s complete and total malarkey.”
Damn you, Randall , Mary thought. Was anything you told me true?
“Okay, so the guy running
this game, or whatever it is, the one that’s got a group of trained killers
coming after Randall, showed up on his farm this morning and is now dead. Is
that part true?”
“Yes and no.”
“Jesus. Those are your two
favorite words, aren’t they?”
“You can probably guess my
answer.”
She said, “I’m gonna be
straight with you. I have no clue what I’m doing here. I have no idea what’s
true and what isn’t, and I have half a mind to get up and walk out that door.
And honestly, that would probably be the best thing for me, because I’m
shooting arrows at a moving target in the goddamn dark and I’m going to end up
hurting something or someone in the process because of it. Whatever’s really
going on, the one thing I can say for certain is that Randall needs help,
regardless of what the circumstances are. Whether he killed somebody and needs
his buddy in the CIA to make it go away, or he’s really involved in some kind
of scenario where people are trying to kill him, I need to do some thing
because my family might be in danger. Do you understand that?”
“I do.”
“Then please, for the last
time, tell me what you know, or at least what I need to know. Otherwise,
I’m strapping myself down in that junk-pile of a car you mentioned and I’m
going home where I can be close and doing something productive.”
Chuck checked his watch, and
then offered Mary a reassuring grin. “Are you much of a drinker?”
“I’m serious, Agent Bailey.
You’ve got about thirty seconds before I walk.”
“Then walk with me. There’s
a bar next door. You’re gonna need a drink...and I’m buying.”
CHAPTER 8
Randall allowed himself a
yawn and then pressed his eye against the scope. It was a boring, lonely job,
staking out his own farm, waiting on Death to sneak around a corner, not
knowing when it was coming or who would arrive, carrying the scythe. He
wondered if he’d even get the chance to put a bullet through the center of the
faceless hood.
On every single mission
during his stint in the Corps, he’d had an objective and a target to acquire.
He could be proactive. He could
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