Unfinished Business

  Unfinished Business

  Copyright © 2018 by David Archer.

  All right reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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  Published by: David Archer

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  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

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  PROLOGUE

  The news had spread around the world within only a matter of hours. Pierre Reynard, a well-known international assassin, had been killed in Denver, Colorado. He had been working on the job, manipulating one big corporation into doing what another wanted, but his plans were thwarted by Sam Prichard. Reynard was killed while trying to carry out just a part of his assignment, and his associates felt the impact in cities around the globe.

  In an office building located in the small French city of La Turballe, a meeting was convened to discuss the implications of his death. Eight men and two women sat around the conference table, and four others were involved via teleconference. While the passing of Pierre Reynard was the reason for the meeting, the topic of discussion was the continuing contracts with which the organization was involved.

  There were three such contracts. One involved the elimination of a German tax official, a second was designed to force certain Russian events to unfold in a manner desired by the client, and the third contract employed the organization to coerce a merger between two corporations, one British and one American.

  Reynard had been in charge of the third contract, and had actually been well on the way to accomplishing its goals when he was killed. It was decided that one of the executives at the table would make contact with the client, Benjamin Hickam of Starbright Enterprises, LTD., to determine whether the contract should proceed. The Americans were making noises about trying to prosecute Hickam, but he was well entrenched in the British aristocracy. So many of the peerage were connected to him or invested in his company that it was highly unlikely the Americans would ever be able to make a charge the Brits would allow to stand, and the Americans’ relationship with the U.K. was far too important to risk over something as trivial as a murder charge.

  Bastian Marchand, the chairman, turned to one of the women on the large digital screen.

  “Gabby,” he said. “I think you should take Pierre’s place. You were his backup, and you already know the people he had in place. Have you read their reports?”

  Gabriella Fabron, whose nickname since she was a child had been Gabby, nodded. “I went over them last night, once the news was announced,” she said. “I had a feeling you would throw this at me.”

  There were a few chuckles around the table, and Bastian smiled. “That is because you are so capable, mon cher. I can give you this task and forget about it.”

  “Filling the shoes of Pierre is no easy matter,” said Gagne. “He was one of the founders, you know, he was one of our best.”

  “He was getting old,” Gabby said. “We should have let him retire long ago, before he could slow down so much. He was leaning far too much on his proteges, making them do most of the work while he waited for the glory. That was his undoing. This Prichard, he's not the average policeman; if you read the dossier on him that we got from the CIA, you will see that he's one of those that the American government has called in to handle special cases. This is not a man that Reynard should have challenged.”

  “Apparently,” said LaChappelle, “nor was his wife. She took down the pair he sent after her, even though she could not have known they were coming. Can you imagine what she could have done if we had found her when she was young?”

  “That is wasteful speculation,” Bastian said, “and we do not have the luxury of time. The client is due to speak at an event in New York City this week, and that presents the best opportunity to proceed with the operation. I suggest, Gabby, that you will be most useful there.”

  “I agree,” she said. “I should be leaving tomorrow morning. There are some arrangements I want to make, first.” She turned her attention to Gagne. “Who are your most promising pupils? I want two teams sent to me in New York, and preferably Americans.”

  Gagne frowned. “I'm running low on Americans,” he said. “You can have Dale and Claire, I suppose. Oh, how about a Canadian team? We have William and Deanna, they both came from Alberta. They should be able to pass for American, don’t you think?”

  Gabby nodded. “Please tell them to pack, and give them my direct number. Get them on the way as soon as possible, I want them in New York by tomorrow evening.”

  “Yes,” Bastian said. “I believe we can arrange that for you.”

  Gabby cut off her connection without another word, then attacked the keyboard of her computer. She called up a document on its screen, scanned it for a moment, and then dialed a number she found in it.

  “Hello?” The voice that answered had a decidedly British accent.

  “Mr. Hickam? Is this line secure?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, but then Benjamin Hickam said, “Yes, it is. Who is this?”

  “My name is not important,” Gabby said. “What is important is that I've been instructed to complete your contract. Please be aware that we're invoking the penalty clause, since this contract has become rather expensive.”

  “Oh, bloody hell,” Hickam said. “Haven’t you people caused me enough problems? I think we need to simply cancel our agreement, it’s gotten to be…”

  “Cancellation is not an option,” Gabby said. “Our organization has built its reputation on completing these contracts successfully, and we can’t afford for this one to be considered a failure. I'll be in New York when you arrive, and I'll contact you then. Do not even think about trying to back out of our arrangement, Mr. Hickam. You would not like the consequences.”

  She cut off the call and shook her head. This pipsqueak honestly thought he was going to cancel their arrangement? That was ridiculous, especially after he had already spent so much money. Now, with the penalty clause, it was going to cost him nearly three times as much. How dare he even consider trying to cancel?

  She looked at her computer again and opened her email program.
She selected an address from her contact list and began composing a message.

  Reynard is dead, as you are no doubt aware. I'm Gabby, and I'm taking over the contract. I'll be arriving soon in New York but there are certain arrangements I need made before I get there. There is a woman coming to New York in the morning, and I need you to get her under your control as soon as she arrives. She's not to be harmed, but only sequestered. Her name is…

  She finished the email, then looked at the report once again. There were a number of ways she could see to bring the contract off successfully. Maybe it was time for her to demonstrate just what she was truly capable of. She’d been playing backup and second fiddle for far too long.

  1

  Harry Winslow lay in the hospital bed with tubes and wires running everywhere, but he was wide awake and fully conscious. The nurse that was trying to check his blood pressure knew that because Harry was doing everything he could to prevent her from doing her job.

  “My blood pressure is fine, young lady,” he said. “Unless you are making it go higher by constantly bothering me.”

  “Mr. Winslow,” the nurse said, “the doctor wants your blood pressure checked every two hours. If you remember, sir, they took a bullet out of your heart. We have to make sure everything is still working properly, don’t we?”

  “Am I dead? Then everything is working. Now, leave me alone, can you do that for just a little while?”

  “Harry!” said a woman’s voice, and Winslow’s head snapped toward the door. His wife Kathleen was standing there, with Sam Prichard beside her. “Don’t tell me that you’re giving this poor nurse a hard time. She's only trying to do her job, Harry, and you need to behave yourself.”

  “I'm behaving myself,” Harry said. “I've not taken her sphygmomanometer and placed it somewhere that would be very uncomfortable for her. You, on the other hand, may come over here and give me a kiss. I earned it, I took a bullet.”

  The day before, Harry Winslow had indeed taken a bullet. He had shown up in Denver to help Sam with a case he was working on, a case that included dealing with an international assassin named Pierre Reynard. Harry had dealt with Reynard in the past, and felt that his experience and knowledge might be beneficial.

  Unfortunately, Harry was not the type to follow orders well. He had been told by Sam to stay in a vehicle and keep watch over a prisoner who was already taken into custody, but when Reynard came running out of the building involved in a gun battle with Sam and his team, Harry had stepped out and taken a shot of his own at the man. Reynard had responded and returned fire, striking Harry in the chest. The bullet had actually punctured his heart, but Harry Winslow was not one to give up easily. He was still alive when the paramedics arrived, with Sam and Darren Beecher performing CPR.

  At the hospital, however, Harry’s heart had finally stopped. Sam had arrived as they were pronouncing him dead, and had thrown such a fit that the doctor tried a couple more times to bring the old man back. It was useless, they knew, which was why they were so shocked when the heart monitor began to display a slow, weak rhythm.

  Sam was shoved out of the room, and emergency surgery began. The bullet was removed, the damage to Harry’s heart repaired the best it could, and the cantankerous old southern gentleman had not only made it through the night, but had awakened that morning demanding the tube to be removed from his nose and throat. Since he seemed to be breathing on his own quite well, the doctor agreed.

  Sam had called Kathleen as soon as the operation had begun, and arranged a flight for her. She and Harry lived in Florida, and she quickly made arrangements for one of her children to take care of their two dogs, then got on a plane and flew to Denver. Sam had picked her up at the airport at two o’clock that morning, and they had come to the hospital but found Harry asleep and unresponsive.

  Kathy had wanted to stay, but Sam convinced her to come home with him for the night. She went upstairs to one of his guest rooms and got what little rest she could, and then he brought her back to the hospital in the morning.

  She smiled as she walked over to Harry’s head and leaned down to kiss him gently on the lips, then turned to the nurse. “You can’t let him tell you what to do,” she said. “Once he starts, he never stops. You just smack his hands out of the way and do what you need to do.”

  The nurse grinned. “Oh, trust me, I do,” she said. “I don’t let him get away with anything. I'm Jill, by the way.”

  “Kathy,” Harry’s wife said. “Don’t worry, I'm here to help keep him in line, now.”

  “Hey,” Harry said, “you’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “I am,” Kathy said. “I'm trying to make sure you get up out of that bed sometime soon. You don’t honestly think I'm ready to be a widow, do you?”

  “I'm not going anywhere. Besides, Sam already saw to that.”

  Sam grinned. “The doctors just didn’t know you like I do,” he said. “If there’s one thing I know about Harry Winslow, is that you never, ever give up on anything. I wasn’t going to let them give up on you, either.”

  Jill, the nurse, finally got her blood pressure and temperature readings and left the three of them alone. Harry was still listed as being in critical condition and was in the ICU, but he was doing well enough that the doctor didn’t complain about visitors. The three of them chatted together for several minutes, and then Sam announced that he needed to get back to his office.

  “Sam,” Harry said, “thank you. Thank you for everything.”

  “Let’s not worry about that,” Sam said. “You just get better. Kathy, I'll see you this evening.”

  He turned and walked out of the room, then rode the elevator down and walked out to his car. He turned on his phone as he got in, and it sounded a chime almost instantly to tell him he had a voicemail. He dialed his voicemail number and put the phone to his ear.

  “Sam, this is John Pemberton. I need you to give me a call as soon as you can, regarding the issue of Mr. Benjamin Hickam.”

  Sam deleted the message and then called Pemberton immediately. The DA answered on the first ring.

  “John? Sam Prichard.”

  “Yeah, Sam,” Pemberton said. “Listen, I wanted to let you know that we transmitted the warrant for Benjamin Hickam to the U.K., but there’s something funny going on. We got a response back saying that they are investigating on their own, so I forwarded all of the evidence that you gave me. I just got notice this morning that they are refusing the extradition, on the grounds that the evidence does not specifically implicate him.”

  “They’re what?” Sam asked, incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We have an email from his account, specifically talking about the shooting at the Web Wide Awards presentation show before it happened, and a recording of him talking about some sort of deal that involves that same presentation show. How can they deny that?”

  “All I can tell you is that they’re claiming that Hickam’s voice cannot be positively identified on the recording, that the recording doesn’t actually implicate him in a crime even if it is him, and that he denies ever sending the email about it. I'm sorry, Sam, but there’s nothing I can do. They’ve even filed an injunction over here to get my warrant quashed, and it’s probably going to be granted this afternoon.”

  “So this bastard just walks? He gets away scot-free?”

  Pemberton sighed. “Sam, unless you can get evidence that actually implicates him, something really concrete, there is nothing I can do. Once the federal court quashes the warrant, I'm dead in the water on this.”

  Sam let out a sigh of his own. “Okay, John,” he said. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Sam ended the call, then dialed Ron Thomas. Ron and his partner, Jeff Donaldson, were in New York City, handling security arrangements for a global internet conference that would begin in a few days.

  “Hey, Sam,” Ron said as he answered. “How’s Harry?”

  “I just left him,” Sam said. “He’s actually doing surprisingly well for a guy who got sho
t in the heart. He’s still listed as critical, but you wouldn’t know it if you saw him and talked to him.”

  “Thank God,” Ron said. “Tell him we're all keeping him in our prayers out here.”

  “I will, but that’s not why I called. John Pemberton just told me that the U.K. is refusing to allow us to extradite Hickam, and they’ve even filed a motion in federal court to kill the warrant John was able to get. He says that motion will be granted today. Should I let it go for now, or go after him?”

  “I think you want to call John Morton and ask him that question,” Ron said. “He is the client on that case, so everything we do is being billed to him. He’s gonna have to make the call on that, Sam.”

  “Okay,” Sam said. “That’s what I figured, but I wanted to check with you before I called.”

  “No problem, you’re in charge back there for now. Talk to John, and then do whatever you need to do. Hey, wait. I just thought of something else that might help, but you have to figure out how to use it. Benjamin Hickam is one of the speakers at this conference later this week. He is scheduled to speak about the future of internet video on Thursday.”

  “Oh, really? Now all I have to do is figure out a way to get a confession out of him. Thanks, Ron, that might help.”

  Sam said goodbye and ended the call, then immediately dialed John Morton at Web Wide Awards. The receptionist connected him immediately, and he quickly told Morton the reason for his call.

  “You can’t be serious,” Morton said. “They actually want to let him get away with this?”

  “I remember Denny telling me that Hickam has powerful friends,” Sam said. “Apparently they’re a lot more powerful than we expected. I spoke to Ron, and he told me to check with you to see if you want us to continue pursuing this.”

  “Oh, hell, yes,” Morton said. “Annie was shocked over her brother being involved, but she's trying to cope with it all. She went up to New York early this morning, to get our townhouse opened up, but I just sent her up there to keep her busy and take her mind off things. Sam, there is no way I want Hickam to get away without being prosecuted. I'll be blunt, Sam, I do not care what it costs. You get that son of a bitch.”