Sanders didn’t require much in the way of sleep, so he spent the majority of that night deep in contemplation. He had moved fast, in fact if he reported to anyone he might have caught some heat for moving too quickly. As it turned out though, from looking at the news, he had put some extra heat on Mr. York. That was a double edged sword. On the one side York knew just how far he would go and judging by his military background he would also probably have gone underground somewhere making him more difficult to find. But it also meant that the police’s efforts would be redoubled and Sanders had resources there.
Sanders would prefer to find him on his own though, less likelihood that he would slip through the cracks. Ms. Delaney’s book had provided some info. He had read it and reread it. It was actually part address book, part diary. She had far more information in here than was good for anyone to have; SSN, email address and password, bank account information. If the lovely Susanna had realized what her employer had here then she would have thought twice before giving it to him. There was also a picture of her, Mr. York, and someone called Jose Gutierrez. They had their arms around one another and were somewhere with a beach in the background.
None of this was any immediate help. If she used her cell phone it was possible that his contact in the police department would be able to let him know. She wasn’t wanted, not yet anyway, but he’d put his feelers out for her. What he really needed now was to call in his hounds, men that he could trust to do what was necessary without fear. Owen was such a man, but he had been useful more for his business acumen. No, his hounds were for the real dirty work.
He sent a message to the leader of these men, Jordan Leonard, via a secure website. He knew that Jordan would receive the message and reply in short order. Satisfied that everything would soon be in worthy hands, he rested. He awoke to find a short message on his phone. It gave the coordinates of a meeting place and a time. The place was a parking deck near a small airport. The time was this afternoon at three.
Sanders stepped out of the elevator and onto the top level of the parking deck. Wind whipped at him. The level was only about fifty percent full and none of the cars appeared occupied. He heard the scrape of a heel on concrete behind him. “Hello Jordan.”
A voice with the faintest traces of the Outback answered him. “Hello… what is it this week? Oh yeah, Sanders.” He needled his boss, but there was still a healthy amount of respect and fear there.
Sanders turned to see the whip thin, Aussie smoking a cigarette and squinting. His hair was reddish brown and slicked back close to his skull. It accentuated his vulpine features. “I have something that’s just up your alley.”
“Well that’s comforting. Hate to think you’d make me drag my arse out of bed at this gods forsaken hour for something I wasn’t good at.” He took one last drag on the cigarette and flicked it to his right. “A fair amount of mayhem keeps a bloke healthy wealthy and wise, my mother always said.” He rummaged in the distressed and weathered brown leather jacket that he always wore for his next smoke.
“That’s sound parenting. I suppose you’ve heard about Owen.” He took a few steps toward Jordan.
“Yeah.” He lit his cigarette. “I’d say it was a shame, but I never cared much for the fella. Still I suppose he was useful enough for somethin’.”
“Yes. Our organization will miss him. I want you to track down the man that assassinated him and take him out.” Sanders held out a manila folder. “Here’s all the information we possess on him.”
Jordan took it and opened it. On top there were several pictures and a sheet with his military background, anything that wasn’t classified. There were also pictures of Robin, Jose, and Matt’s mother. “You don’t have much do ya?”
“No.” Sanders was a little annoyed. “We haven’t had much time on this one.”
“Time enough to kill some folk.” Jordan looked up. “No offense boss, but those cops and that religious fella had your prints all over them, in a manner of speakin’.”
“I failed to anticipate some things. That doesn’t matter right now. What does is that you assemble your crew and neutralize him. Do it as quickly as possible. I would love to do it myself, but I have other things to attend to.”
Jordan thought to himself, you fucked it up good and now it’s on me and mine. But he knew better than to voice it. “Crews already assembled.” He thrust his chin at Sanders.
The large man turned to see two other scruffy looking rascals. The first was Pasquale, a chubby Italian in a long black coat with jeans and a long sleeve shirt in matching hue. The other was Ian, a Scot with jet black hair that hung in front of his eyes, yet was shaved at the back of his head. He wore urban camouflage pants tucked into Doc Martens and a long sleeved shirt advertising some obscure punk band. They didn’t look like much, but he was familiar with there work. If you needed someone found and killed they were well up to the task. “Good enough.”
Jordan walked up to stand beside Sanders. “So any idea were we might find this Matt York?”
“No, not exactly. But I anticipate that his mother’s house would be a good place to start. Both of his friends seem to have gone AWOL according to my sources so you may well find them too. Feel free to kill them as well. I need this wrapped up in the next forty-eight hours if you think you’re up to it.” He turned to look at his lieutenant.
“No problems chief. Me and the boys here will take care of this little headache for you.” He looked at his crew. C’mon boys. Let’s go sniff this jackass out.” They headed for the stairs laughing to one another.
Sanders watched them go. He didn’t envy anyone that went up against his hounds.
The trio got to the bottom of the structure and piled into the black panel truck. The inside smelled like spoiled meat, cigarette smoke, and beer. Every square inch of the floor was covered in black rubber. Chains hung, suspended from reinforcements in its ceiling. “Alright boyos, we head back to our place, wait for nightfall, and then go pay this York’s ma a little visit.”
Ian smiled, his teeth filed down to points. “Good. I haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.” Pasquale just nodded and looked at the row of knives, held in place to the truck’s wall by powerful magnets. The rolling charnel house started up and motored down the road.
