Depths of Darkness: A Nick Hunter Novel (A Nick Hunter Thriller Book 4) Read online

  Depths of Darkness

  A Nick Hunter Novel

  Vallon Grey

  Depths of Darkness

  A Nick Hunter Novel

  Copyright © 2022 by Vallon Grey

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise – without prior written permission of the copyright owner.

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

  OTHER TITLES BY VALLON GREY

  Nick Hunter Thriller Series

  Into the Fire

  The Wages of Sin

  Memories of the Past

  Depths of Darkness

  Nowhere to Hide

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  Contents

  1. Prologue

  2. Chapter 1

  3. Chapter 2

  4. Chapter 3

  5. Chapter 4

  6. Chapter 5

  7. Chapter 6

  8. Chapter 7

  9. Chapter 8

  10. Chapter 9

  11. Chapter 10

  12. Epilogue

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  About the Author

  Prologue

  The tall copper-skinned man was clearly unhappy.

  “Lost him? What do you mean you’ve lost him?” he demanded.

  The man in the suit shrugged. “I’m sorry Mr. Obregon, I mean we can’t find him. Splinter’s gone to ground, and the trail’s gone cold. I get the occasional bit of chatter that suggests they’re still operating, that he’s still in the field, but that’s all.”

  “What about this Klass woman? What about Splinter’s operation in Washington?” Obregon demanded.

  “Vanished,” the other man said. “There’s nothing left I can trace. I’ve got feelers out everywhere, but they’ve upped and gone. I will track them down again, but it’s going to take time.”

  Obregon’s fist came down hard on the coffee table in the hotel room. “Damn it, I don’t have time. The cartel is pushing for this to get done, finished. They have other needs, other operations for me. They want me to put the Washington distribution network back together, as if that’s as important.”

  “The income-”

  “To hell with the income!” Obregon cut him off. “This is more important! That was my operation at Gatlinburg. It was my sting here in DC. He’s making me a laughing stock. I want him. I want him dead.”

  The man in the suit nodded. “I understand, but even with all the NSA facilities I have access to, I can’t find him.”

  Obregon glared at him. “It’s your job!”

  “If I may make a suggestion,” the other man said. “Perhaps you could try some private-sector assets. They do have different information channels. They might have more luck.”

  There was a moment’s strained silence before Obregon replied. “Very well. Do you have anyone particular in mind?”

  The man pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. “A shortlist. The top five, with the most successful records.”

  Obregon snatched the envelope out of his hand and stood up. “Fine. Your failure will be reported… to the highest level.”

  After the tall man left, the man in a suit pulled out a phone and called a long-distance number. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he gave his report.

  “It’s exactly as you said, he’s taking this far too personally. I believe it’s impacting his performance and his role in your organization.”

  He listened for a moment and replied. “I can do that, yes. All of the civilian assets I gave him are on my board. I’ll let you know if he does anything that might draw attention to your operation.”

  There was a pause before he added, “No, I don’t think he knows I have this channel. I appreciate the trust you’ve put in me. I’ll keep you posted.”

  He put the phone down and stared at the door the other man had left through recently.

  “One way or another, you’re going down, but you’re not dragging me with you.”

  Chapter 1

  Nick Hunter rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, hearing the click, as he got off the Greyhound. It hadn’t been the most comfortable way to spend a night, but the long-distance bus was the best way to travel when you were trying to keep off the radar. After what had happened in DC, he was pretty certain Splinter was being monitored by someone with access to decent surveillance assets. Obviously, those above him had come to the same conclusions. He’d had no missions for the last two months. Instead, he’d been shuttled around between locations all over the country, changing identities every time.

  Based on the message he’d received a couple of nights before, at a dead drop near a cabin outside Princeton Alabama, he was back in business. The message had included instructions on his circuitous route to a small town in the Florida panhandle. Now that he’d arrived, he took in a deep breath, enjoying the smell of fresh salt-laden ocean air. The peace of Alabama had been nice, but the ocean held its own special magic.

  He walked out of the bus station, heading toward the ocean, following the scent. After two blocks, he crossed the main road and walked into Howie’s Diner, a small wooden structure set in the middle of its own large, and largely empty, parking lot. To one side was a park. It was, Nick thought, a good choice. There was really no way for anyone to approach without being seen.

  At the counter, he greeted the middle-aged server with a grin and the words, “My uncle Thomas said you guys have the best key lime pie in Florida. Can I have some, please?”

  The surprise that ran over the woman’s face would have been unnoticed by anyone without the sort of training and experience Nick had. As it was, she brought herself under control quickly enough to impress Nick.

  “Sure, Honey,” she told him. “Take a seat up back. You want coffee with that?”

  He nodded. “Black.”

  The rear of the diner was empty of customers. Nick took a seat at a table where he could keep his eyes on the rest of the room, placing his battered canvas duffle bag on the seat beside him. The woman came out of the kitchen in a few minutes, carrying a tray with a large plate of pie and a big cup of coffee with her. She placed it in front of him, her eyes drifting briefly to the bag on the seat before she left.

  The pie was very nice, though Nick doubted it was the best in the entire state. He slipped his hand under the tray, sliding the envelope out. A name and the name of a local hotel were clearly marked on it. He slipped it into the pocket of his leather jacket pocket in a single smooth movement. A single glance had been enough for him to memorize the details. Then he spent some more time savoring the pie and the, actually rather good, coffee. When he was finished, he rose and walked to the door.

  As he pulled the glass door open, he caught a reflection of the server moving a cleaning cart to his recently abandoned table. The rubbish bag on the cart would be more than large enough to hold an old canvas travel bag.

  The ‘hotel’ was a group of six small modern cottages in the middle of what pas
sed for downtown. On one side was the sheriff’s office. Across the road was the county government building. As Nick slid the instructions from the envelope and started reading them he smiled at the irony. Neither office would be particularly happy with what he was going to do. Well, the best way to keep them happy would be to make sure they never knew what happened.

  His newest identity, with its extra licenses, was as Jim Graham. The pictures matched him, but with several days’ growth on his face. He made a mental note not to shave. The vehicles he’d need were already in town. The rather battered-looking 1975 Series III Land Rover he’d already spotted in the hotel car park. They weren’t particularly common in America, even when they had been made in the country, but it suited his role quite well. The other vehicle he’d pick up in a day or so.

  He checked the wardrobe and drawers. Yep, the clothes were his size and matched the sort of gear he’d need. Most of it was worn and rugged, but there were some better quality linen shirts among it all. He’d have to pack that up in a bag soon. Beside his bed was a thick manual. Under them, were two academic papers.

  He checked over the material from the envelope again, making sure he had the players in his head. He knew he didn’t need to, but what had happened in Washington had thrown him a bit. He’d nearly been killed, and that did make him wonder just how good he really was. What if Splinter had made a mistake in his modifications? What if Splinter’s handiwork was slipping, fading away? He shook his head. Nope, his memory was as accurate as ever.

  He took the two sheets of paper to the bathroom and dropped them into the toilet. The familiar fizzing and the slight chemical tang told him that the material was now an indecipherable chemical scum. He flushed the remains away. He needed a shower after the bus ride. Then it would be time to start reading.

  Chapter 2

  The sun had long set when Nick started up the old Land Rover and pulled out of the parking lot. The town’s streets were pretty empty, but the parking in front of Pepe’s Cantina was packed. Nick parked around the corner and walked back, his ears picking up the Latin beats from the bar as he approached.

  Inside, the Cantina was in semi-darkness, the lights mostly illuminating the stage with four musicians pounding out something that sounded vaguely Hispanic, and the bar, where several customers were gathered. Nick ordered a beer and scanned the room, his sensitive eyes trying to pick out the face he’d memorized from his instructions. For a moment, he drew a blank. Then he spotted him and sighed.

  Two men were standing in a darker corner of the room, gesticulating. One he recognized, the other, blond-haired and muscular, he didn’t, but it was clear that they were arguing about something, and to Nick, it looked like they were about to come to blows. Given that the man he was looking for seemed to have difficulty standing, Nick suspected that any fight would be short and painful for him. He moved quickly, but carefully through the crowded room.

  “...don’t understand… too dumb to…,” Nick heard the drunk man’s slurred voice as he approached the pair.

  “Shut up, or I will shut you up,” the blond man retorted.

  “You wouldn’t… wouldn’t… dare,” the drunk informed him.

  Nick noticed the other man’s muscles tightening. He saw the arm raise. His own hand shot out, grabbing the man’s fist before he could swing and yanking it up behind his back. The man let out a yell of pain.

  “I need to talk to this guy,” Nick said calmly into the blond man’s ear. “Go now, and there’ll be no trouble.”

  “Okay, okay,” the man said. “Just let me go.”

  Nick released the man’s arm and stood back. The blond-haired man looked at him with a grin and nodded. Then his arm shot out, swinging for Nick’s head. Nick ducked under the blow and delivered two sharp punches to the man’s midriff. He heard the air puff out of the blond man and felt him double up. With a flick of his foot, Nick swept the blond man’s feet out from under him, dropping him into a nearby seat.

  “I think you should stay there,” Nick told him.

  The blond man managed a brief nod, sucking back air and wiping tears from his eyes.

  Nick turned away, in time to see the drunk man staggering away. He moved quickly, dropping an arm over the drunk’s shoulders. The man tried, feebly, to escape his grip, but Nick quickly guided him toward the door.

  “I think you need some air,” he told him.

  Once outside, the fight seemed to go out of the drunk. He allowed Nick to guide him around the corner to the Land Rover and dump him in the passenger seat. Keeping an eye on him, just in case he made a run for it, Nick moved around the vehicle and slipped into the driver’s seat.

  “Okay,” the drunk managed. “You got me. Go on… kill me.”

  That did surprise Nick. “Why would I do that?”

  “Oh come on,” the drunk said, glaring at him. “I know too… too much. Just do… it.”

  Nick shook his head. “Mr. Vabre, I have no intention of killing you. My name is Jim Graham. You might have been expecting me.”

  “Graham?” Vabre’s eyes seemed unfocused, his mind clearly trying to work against the alcohol. “Graham? Really? You for real?”

  Nick nodded. “Quite for real. But, if we’re going to talk, you need a clear head.”

  He reached under his seat and pulled out a plastic water bottle.

  “Magic water,” he told Vabre, passing him the bottle. “My employers have a little enzyme mix that clears alcohol out of the system. You’re going to have the mother of all headaches tomorrow, but I need you clear-headed now, so drink while I drive you home.”

  Vabre gave the bottle a doubtful look, but then shrugged, opened the bottle, and took a long pull.

  Nick gunned the Land Rover into life and took off through the nearly empty streets.

  By the time Nick helped Vabre out of the car and onto the boat at the marina, it was clear that the other man was sobering up. His eyes were clearer, and his gait less shaky. Nick dropped him on a couch in the boat’s cabin and sat on the one opposite.

  “Do that a lot?” Nick asked. “Drink yourself stupid?”

  “If you know people are going to die, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it, wouldn’t you?”

  Nick had no answer. He simply shrugged.

  “How’d you know this is my boat?” Vabre asked.

  Nick shrugged again. “It was in my instructions.”

  Vbare stared at him for a moment before he spoke again. “Jim Graham? I thought someone was yanking my chain when they sent that message. I’d tried to make State listen. I’d tried the Feds. Hell, I’d even tried the Coast Guard. No one wanted to know. No one wanted to do a damn thing. Everyone said it was out of their jurisdiction. I figured Peppler had gotten to ’em all, was giving them a little kick-back. So, who you work for, Graham?”

  “None of the above,” Nick told him. “Let’s just say I represent an organization that acts when it sees a problem no one else is willing to handle.”

  Vabre grunted. “So, what you want from me?”

  “We have some idea of what’s going on,” Nick said. “But you seem to have the most information. Before I do anything, I’d like to know what you have to tell me.”

  Vabre leaned back in his seat. “It started with Eric, Eric Ody. I knew him at Northwestern. We worked together in the psych department. He was working on behavior control. His work was great, fantastic, though pushing the edge of ethical means.”

  “I’m familiar with his work,” Nick said, his mind going over his background documents.

  “Yeah, well,” Vabre continued. “Did you know he experimented, with students and with himself. He grew weirder. I mean, he’d always been a bit out on left-field, but he started getting even odder. He told me he’d discovered the key to existence, like he was Buddha or something. I figured he’d fried his brains, but the students he’d been working with, they started hanging off his every word, like he was some great guru. Then they started bringing friends along. You know, the sort of folks w
ho felt their mummy didn’t love them or some such rubbish. Basically, he was starting up his own cult.”

  Vabre sat up straight, looking Nick in the eyes. “He had to, of course. Northwestern fired him, and he moved into some old house on the edge of town, still pulling in the unhappy, the kids who felt out of place. He started running out of money, came to me for a loan once. I figured once the cash ran out he’d realize he’d screwed up and come running back to reality. Didn’t happen that way though.”

  “Somehow Peppler, that’s George Peppler, found out about him. Peppler was one of those people who always thought big but was too dumb to pull it off properly. He’d been kicked out of his position managing some outfit under suspicion of embezzlement. Certainly had money to throw around. Anyway, Peppler told Eric he’d help him out. He’d set up a place for Eric to take all these people, start a whole new commune for them, away from people who might disagree. Eric jumped at the chance. He was out for weeks spreading his message, getting more and more people to follow him. Peppler was smart, too, directing Eric to places where the rich kids went. Soon, Eric, had a whole crowd following him, ready to do whatever he said. Peppler put ’em all on a plane and flew them south.”

  “So he set up a cult and moved it out of the States,” Nick said. “Wouldn’t be the first time. What’s the problem?”

  “Problem is,” Vabre said. “Eric’s too damn good. Remember, he used to work in behavior modification. These kids will do whatever he says. Peppler’s been giving them all paperwork. Eric’s been telling them to sign it.”

  “Paperwork?” Nick asked.

  Vabre nodded. “Yeah. I had a look at some, just before they went south. Peppler’s clever. These kids are loaded, many of them. Beyond spending a stack on their very generous living expenses, they’ve signed up to pass everything to Eric’s group, managed by Peppler of course, He’s taken out insurance on all of them too.”