Matt: A Matt Godfrey Short thriller Trilogy Page 15

  From time to time, Matt went out to water the garden and the few plants he’d bought. He was restless, and his patience was waning, but all that changed at around four in the afternoon, when a dark blue Chevy slowly passed the house. Matt took note of the plate numbers, as he had done with all the previous cars, and he looked as closely as he could at the two men inside the car. “We might be on to something with this one,” he said when he gave the plate number to Nigel.

  This time, the information Nigel’s contact dug up was a bit different. The vehicle was registered to a woman by the name of Cherry Dean, who had passed away four years earlier, when she was sixty-nine. A deeper search into the records revealed that Ms. Dean had no children, no known relatives. The odd thing was that the car had been reregistered in May, to the same owner, even though she was dead.

  Twenty minutes later, their suspicions grew even more when the same car passed again. The passenger’s face was clearly recorded by the camera, but in typical Hunterman fashion, that face matched nothing on record with the Bureau; he was just another ghost, like all those before him. The car parked a few hundred feet away and stayed there, as if on a stakeout.

  “It’s gotta be them. Go outside in ten minutes to do a little gardening or something…and don’t forget to wear your vest,” Nigel advised. “Maybe they’ll take it as an official invitation.”

  Matt waited ten minutes, then walked outside and turned on the spigot. He picked up the hose and watered the plants that were already practically drowning. He even splashed his car with some of the cool water, as if to wash off dust that wasn’t even there. He spent a few more minutes outdoors, more than enough for Hunterman to recognize him. He then replaced the hose, turned off the water, and went back inside.

  On the television, the close-up camera captured one of the men in the car, talking on his cell phone.

  Matt looked at Nigel and smiled. “Just a matter of time now, partner.”

  “Yes, Mathews, but we aren’t partners, buddy. You’re just…my tool.”

  “No, you’re the tool, you idiot,” Matt mumbled to himself.

  As per the plan, Nigel gathered his things, a bottle of water, and a few apples and went upstairs, so it would appear that Matt was alone in the house. Nigel was stationed in the room facing the street, what would have been the master bedroom in any ordinary home. He held his rifle and took post, looking through the rectangular window, one of the few in the house that wasn’t barricaded with a sandbag. He had access to the camera view with an app on his phone. There was another phone on speaker, lying to his right, so he and Matt could talk to one another if necessary.

  Matt, stationed just in front of the main door, relied on the TV as his eyes. All the scenarios led to one point of entry, and he was there and ready.

  Three hours passed with no action, but Matt and Nigel expected that. They knew Hunterman would attack at night. The blue Chevy hadn’t moved an inch, but the house was clearly being watched; it was obvious to the occupants of the car that Matt was inside.

  When darkness fell, the light in the living room came on, and from time to time, other lights went on and off inside the house. Matt turned them on and off sporadically, to make sure the Hunterman men did not realize they’d been noticed. As Nigel had told him, he had to act normal.

  More time passed, and Matt’s and Nigel’s eyelid began to grow heavy. At one point, Matt fell asleep, but his snoring beckoned a condescending shout from Nigel that woke him up with a start, and he never dozed off again.

  At 12:40 a.m., all hell broke loose. The house went black, not a single light, thanks to the Hunterman invaders cutting the electricity. The TV was still on, as it relied on backup power.

  The blue Chevy moved fast, and another black 4WD car followed at a high speed. They both stopped at the house, tires squealing.

  “It’s on!” Nigel shouted.

  Within seconds, three men got out of the black car and were heading to the front door, all of them wearing masks. The two from the blue Chevy hurried to the back. Truly, it was like a scene out of an action movie, only it was very real to Matt and Nigel, especially when the front door burst open.

  “Now,” whispered Nigel as he took out the man in back.

  Within seconds, bullets were flying. Matt shot the first guy through the door, a perfectly aimed shot, courtesy of the camera. The second man quickly moved into the house, but he was taken by surprise when he realized there was no place for him to hide, thanks to Matt’s clever layout. In a panic, he began firing his gun in every direction. With sweat dripping down his face, Matt closed his eye, took a deep breath, and aimed for his target. Shots were exchanged, and the intruder was lethally hit in the neck. Matt, on the other hand, took two bullets in his thigh, and another left a serious wound just above his chest, close to his shoulder.

  For a second, footsteps could be heard on the roof, followed by a big bang, and the two men from the blue Chevy quickly entered the house through the hole they’d made. When they landed near the top of the stairs, they were quickly met by Nigel’s rifle and, within a split second, both shot in the head. Nigel heard footsteps outside and made his way back to the window. From that vantage point, he saw a taller guy, running to the front door.

  Nigel quietly moved toward the stairs and looked down in horror. There, the man he identified as Willis, was pointing a gun at Matt’s skull. In another world, he would have let Willis take The Pinner down; the man was a sick murderer after all and had confessed to his crimes. Now, though, he needed Matt. Moving up in the ranks in his world meant he needed a powerful connection inside or an act of patriotism. He had nothing of the sort when it came to connections, so Matt was his ticket. He counted to three in his mind, then aimed for Willis’s hand. The bullet found its target, and Willis’s gun fell to the floor.

  Nigel quickly descended the stairs and took aim again, this time at Willis’s right leg. He jumped the last two steps and pulled the handcuffs out of his pocket. Willis was trying to crawl away, making his way to the front door like the worm he was, but Nigel quickly smacked him in the head with the butt of his rifle and sent him off to Dreamland in no time flat.

  After Nigel slapped the cuffs on the unconscious Willis, he checked his surrounding, no one was left. He then went over to check on Matt, who was fighting pain and bleeding heavily. He pointed the gun at Matt, but Matt only smiled at him, said a few words, and fainted.

  Nigel had already signaled an SOS emergency tick to the Bureau when the blue Chevy parked and the 4WD parked out front. He knew that particular distress code would summon the Bureau to the location faster than a thunderbolt, and he estimated they’d arrive within two minutes.

  While he waited, he looked Matt over. His injuries didn’t appear to be lethal and would likely heal quickly; within a week, Matt would be back to normal. Nigel hated the idea and felt he had to do something, anything that would make Matt feel the pain he had caused others.

  He went to the kitchen, took out a sharp knife, held Matt’s right hand up, and cut off his thumb in one quick swipe of the blade. He then took a gun from one of the attackers and fired some more shots right and left, thankful that all the guns were equipped with silencers, as no one wanted to hear the equivalent of the Gulf War right there in suburban Virginia. He knew the extra shots would confuse the Feds and even wreak havoc on their best forensics investigators. He then carefully cleaned his fingerprints, looked around for the last time, took care of some final details, and went outside.

  Minutes later, cops were everywhere. Ninety minutes after that, Nigel was at the office, where he’d just finished his report. An hour later, he had a meeting with a Bureau committee, and then he had to offer Willis a deal he couldn’t possibly refuse.

  The meeting with the committee lasted over forty minutes. The panel consisted of a woman from the White House, another man and woman Nigel had never met, who only introduced themselves by first name, and a gray-haired man he knew well, the head of the East Coast Division of the Bureau.


  Nigel explained the confrontation. “I received a call from Matt about an hour before we were surprised by the men, and he urgently requested that I come,” he lied. Nigel explained to them that he was ready within minutes after the call. “I took several arms and vests, just as a precaution, and took a taxi. I was dropped off at the other end of the street and walked to the home, so I wouldn’t alert anyone if the house was being watched. When I got there, Matt said he had noticed a blue car that had passed by several times over the last hour. He suspected something and believed the men were armed.”

  When the panel said nothing and just continued staring at him and taking notes, he continued, ”Within minutes of my arrival, two cars parked in front of the house, loaded with men. I made the quick decision to give Matt a gun and a vest, and he quickly moved the furniture around. We took posts to handle the invaders, and I signaled the Bureau. Five minutes later, the clash happened. In the end, the assailants were taken down, and two men were injured, Matt being one of them.”

  In his version of the events, Nigel made no mention of the cameras, which he had carefully disconnected it from the TV. His friend would later disconnect them from the street, and the Bureau would be none the wiser.

  The committee tried to ask for more details, but Nigel stopped them. “We can talk later,” he said. “We have one in custody now, and I think he’s a big shot in the organization. I’m sure he knows a lot, and we can use him. By morning, Hunterman will be alerted and will swiftly make changes, though, so whatever information he gives us will be useless if we don’t get to him soon. I need to go to the hospital now, and we need to be prepared to offer him something in return. I urge you to give me the green light on this,” he finished, then stood.

  The women and the man he did not know just sat there, stunned, but the head of the East Coast motioned to him to go.

  Nigel thanked them and took off like a rocket.

  In his office, Nigel asked his assistant to find out the latest details on Matt and Willis.

  “They’re in the emergency room, under heavy sedation,” she said when she returned a few minutes later. “They’re doing fine, though, and their injuries are being treated.”

  Nigel quickly gathered up the footage of the meetings between Willis and Matt, as well as the report he’d prepared the day he first met Matt. He then handed three documents to his assistant. “Send these to the head of the Bureau,” he said. “I need a signature on each of them.”

  Five minutes later, she came back with all of them stamped and signed by the man himself, the head of The FBI.

  He planned to be straight with Willis. Either he would be charged and rot away in jail, which he likely wouldn’t have the privilege to do, since Hunterman would get rid of him there within days, or he would cooperate with the Bureau and be given a fair deal, jail time in a far more secure prison, one only the Feds knew about, or he would go into hiding in witness protection in some remote, frozen corner of Alaska. Three deals would be offered, and it was up to Willis to act fast and grab the best one. Nigel knew Willis would negotiate, and he was ready to accept whatever Willis preferred, as long as he got what he wanted out of the deal.

  Mr. Willis

  Exactly four hours after he’d shot the man twice and conked him in the back of his bald head with the butt of a rifle, Nigel met with Willis at the hospital. For someone who’d sustained such violent injuries, he was doing quite well and was wide awake.

  There was a giant of a security guard sitting several feet away, the tallest security guard Nigel had ever seen; just the sight of the man sent shivers up his spine. There was also a nurse close by, but she looked like a dwarf in the presence of such a colossal man.

  Willis’s healthy, unharmed leg was shackled to the hospital bed. There was an IV in his arm, feeding him sedatives and painkillers and the nutrition he needed. Other than that, he just looked like a man who’d had a really bad day at work.

  Willis recognized Nigel as soon as he walked in, and his eyes widened. Nigel looked at the digital screen next to the man and noticed that his vitals, his blood pressure and his heartbeat, remained level. Willis truly was cold as ice, just like Matt had once explained.

  Nigel whispered several words to the friendly giant, and the man stood. “I will check in every now and then, sir.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Mr. Willis is a professional,” Nigel replied.

  The giant nodded, then left the room, with the tiny nurse in tow.

  Nigel then sat down in a chair, very close to the Ice Man. “Let’s get down to business, shall we? And don’t go giving me any shit about you wanting a lawyer. We both know that’s not gonna happen. Everyone you’ve ever known would deny who you are, just as you’d deny them if they were caught,” Nigel said. He withdrew his cell from his pocket and showed Willis the footage of a younger version of himself, talking to Matt.

  “As if I care,” Willis said, “but this footage is a bit of a cheap shot nonetheless.”

  “Fair enough,” Nigel said and turned off the phone. “Look, Willis, I have three envelopes with me. Inside each is a single document, one that could have a great effect on your future. Take my word on this though. In exactly twenty minutes from now, the first will be worthless, and it is the best we can offer. The longer you refuse to talk, the less you will get out of this.”

  Nigel then reached into his briefcase and pulled out the three envelopes. He passed the first to Willis. The signed document inside it ensured Willis that in exchange for his full cooperation, he would be jailed in a comfortable, maximum-security federal prison for five years. If he served his time peacefully, he would then be held under house arrest in a disclosed location for the rest of his life. The government would take charge of all his future expenses. He would have a new name, a new appearance, and an entirely new identity, quite similar to Hunterman’s tactics.

  “As I said, this is meaningless in twenty minutes,” Nigel reminded Willis. ”the second document adds another three years to your jail term, and the last one adds ten.”

  Willis looked at Nigel harshly, and the two held that eye contact for a full minute, with neither speaking a word. Finally, Willis said, “Come closer.” When Nigel obliged, he continued, “I will sign it, but not until I am guaranteed two things. It might seem strange to you, but I do have a human side. I am from Rotterdam, though I haven’t been there in eight years. I have a grandson. He is thirteen now, and he lives alone with his mother. My son died in a car accident six months after the baby was born. I have supported the family over the years in my own way, and I do not want that to stop.”

  “Go on,” Nigel said, nodding.

  “Very well. Second, you must tell me exactly what you guys did after we faced off at that house. And as for your time limits, perhaps it is you who should be watching the clock. Anything I tell you could be ancient history if you delay too long. You have no idea how fast Hunterman can act,” Willis said in his slow, very heavy English accent.

  Nigel quickly explained how the whole mess was cleaned up and where all the bodies were taken. “The police report went out a minute after the Feds showed up,” he said, “and every police car within the state heard the same instructions, to follow two cars. They were told that an unknown white male in his thirties had been shot dead in one of the suburbs, and neighbors had seen two cars fleeing the scene. There was a statewide hunt for two cars, a blue and a white one..” Nigel then showed him the online version of The Washington Post, and everything Nigel had said seemed to ring true.

  Just like that, Willis was in. In the end, Nigel realized he was right all along. While they were all in it for the money, none of those people involved in organized crime believed that was more important than life itself. Those losers loved life, and they would do anything in return for an extra day on Earth.

  An hour later, Nigel pulled out Willis’s cell for him to make the call that would later earn Nigel a Presidential Medal of Freedom. He looked Willis in the eyes and said, “Don’t even
think of screwing me.”

  “I am Willis, not Matt. Remember that,” Willis replied. He then took the Cell phone, dialed a number, and pressed three buttons on the phone. He turned to Nigel and said one thing: “Paris Motel.”

  * * *

  By the end of the next day, 197 members of The Hunterman Company were arrested, and 46 offices were busted worldwide. Five of those arrested were big shots who held roles similar or superior to that of Willis’s. Willis himself was in charge of twenty members, so it was a good catch for sure, and that was just the start. All of the arrests were accomplished by secret cooperation between the FBI, the CIA, Interpol, UK intelligence, German counterparts, Mosad, and half the world’s secret intelligence agencies.

  As the months passed, more and more of Hunterman’s work was disclosed, and more were arrested, as nervous members began ratting one another out. Thousands of cases were reopened, and many Hunterman accounts, people like Matt, who had reached out for help, were back in court after fleeing from justice before.

  Willis, who had worked in his earlier life within U.N. peacekeeper forces in Rwanda, had handled around 675 accounts during his 22 years with Hunterman. Only one other person within the company had more accounts, and he was in custody too. Of the 675 accounts Willis had successfully handled, it took only one to tear down that vast empire, and that one was Matt Godfrey.

  Halden

  Back in his office, Nigel was immersed in his work. Time was running against him, and he’d already made dozens of calls over the past two hours. The whole world was in motion, but Nigel had begun to wear out, and he hadn’t slept for two days.

  He turned off his MacBook and looked around, in a bit of an exhausted daze. His assistant had left half an hour ago, and he was all alone. His crazy office had grown quiet. He was far too tired to make the commute home, so he sent his wife a message and made his way to the green sofa in the corner of his office. It wasn’t the best bed in the world, but it would do.