Neither could Court, so he flipped on a flashlight to direct himself forward, covering all but a thin shaft of light with his hand. He then said, “Go straight ahead till I tell you to turn.”
Zack headed off up the path, and Court followed him twenty feet back.
After less than a minute Zack said, “Six, are we in the forest? I smell trees and shit. Where the hell are you taking me?”
“Just walk.”
Zack stopped. “You could do us both a favor and shoot me here, if that is your intention.”
“Yep. I drove an hour just to smoke you in the woods. Walk!”
Hightower mumbled to himself, but he started walking again.
They came to the washed-out bridge and Court took Zack by the arm and helped him along the edge of the creek. Another five minutes found them on the stone path steps on the hill that ran away from the creek. The darkness was impenetrable here beyond the flood and throw of Court’s partially covered flashlight, but he pushed Zack up, deeper into the dark, and he followed behind.
Soon they arrived at the abandoned mill. Here Court pulled Zack’s T-shirt blindfold off and crammed it into his own pocket.
It took the big man several seconds to adapt to the little light out here and, even in the glow of the flashlight, Zack didn’t notice the mill at first. When Court told him to move into the trees, Zack turned around and faced him.
“What’s in the trees?”
Court took his hand from the face of the light and shined two hundred lumens on the building now. “My humble abode.”
Zack looked back. After taking a few steps he saw the mill looming large and dark in the trees, just twenty yards ahead. “Oh hell no. I’m not goin’ in there.”
“Scared?”
“You better believe it.”
“Move,” Court said, and he stepped up and kicked Hightower in the ass. The big ex-SEAL stumbled forward. Court added, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
“Then I guess I’m fucked.”
—
Both men stood on rotten floorboards inside the mill. Zack’s wrists were still tied behind his back, and Court had also used a length of the jute to affix Zack to a heavy weight-supporting beam on the outside wall. Court stood a few feet away, leaning against a stone column around a wooden vertical stabilizer that went up to the roof.
Court didn’t bother to build a fire. Instead he left his flashlight on and put it on the floor between them, with Zack’s T-shirt draped over it to diffuse the powerful glow. It was enough for the two men to see each other here inside the mill, but from the air no one could possibly detect any light.
Court said, “I want to hear what you have to say. You were out there tailing Catherine King so you could get a shot at me. Is that it?”
Zack shrugged in his bindings. “I wasn’t enjoying myself, if that makes you feel better.”
Court just shook his head. “You do remember what happened the last time we saw each other, don’t you? I saved your stupid life.”
“And you remember what I said back then. I told you that if you saved me, I’d just come back and kill you. I was working for Denny. Denny calls the shots. Not me.”
“Well, Denny is full of shit. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Zack licked blood off his lips and spit on the floor. “Tell that to Ohlhauser.”
“If I killed Max Ohlhauser I would only do it because I had reason to. And if I had a reason, I wouldn’t hide it. I’d be proud.”
Zack just eyed Court with mistrust. He leaned back against his tied hands on the beam.
Court said, “I didn’t kill Max. I didn’t kill Leland Babbitt. I didn’t—”
“I killed Babbitt,” Hightower replied casually.
Court cocked his head. “You what?”
“Jordan Mayes said Babbitt was threatening to go public with critical classified material. He had to be taken down. As in immediately. As in permanently.”
Court thought about this. “He had been targeting me in Europe. Maybe Denny cut him out because he failed. Maybe he was going to talk. Shit, Zack. You just fragged an American citizen because Mayes told you to?”
Another shrug by Zack, like it was no big deal. “That’s about the size of it.”
“You know the CIA isn’t supposed to do that without presidential sanction.”
Zack winked. “Good thing I’m not CIA. I’m freelancing.”
Court just mumbled, “There’s a lot of that going around these days.”
“Is that right?”
Court retrieved the Glock 17 pistol he had taken from the phony police officer with the Middle Eastern accent. He held it up, close to Zack’s face. “Take a look at this.”
Zack gave it a half-second glance and then shrugged. “Is it show-and-tell time, bro? That’s a G17, threaded barrel. What do I win?”
“Tell me where I got it.”
Zack just shrugged.
“I took that off a D.C. Metro police officer.”
The man tied to the beam gave Court a double take. “Bullshit.”
Court held up the silencer, as well. “This, too.”
“Why would a D.C. cop have a suppressed pistol?”