CHAPTER ONE
Northeast
New Hampshire
Tuesday,
October 16th, 2012 – 12:14 p.m.
Hunting
Keith Banning was like trying to catch a ghost.
It had
been nearly six months since the two men had battled it out with each other.
The fight had effectively ended in a draw, with Banning fleeing, a knife wound
to his leg, and Maguire racing to defuse the explosive vest Banning had
strapped to Melody Anderson’s chest. Since then, Maguire had dedicated every
resource at his disposal to pursuing the man.
He
crouched down on the rocky outcropping and peered out into the valley below
him. Anticipation and frustration seemed to be Maguire’s constant traveling
companions lately.
In the beginning, the New York State Police investigators
assigned to the Banning Task Force had been reluctant to share the
information they had compiled. Maguire understood their apprehension, even if
he didn’t agree with it. They had lost two of their own and didn’t want to risk
anything jeopardizing their investigation. However, as the leads began to dry
up they reluctantly came to accept that the case had gone cold. At that point,
it didn’t seem as if they had anything to lose.
Maguire
brought a wealth of investigative experience to the mix, along with certain
financial assets, which gave him a lot more resources at his disposal. He also
wasn’t encumbered by the same jurisdictional restrictions that they were.
A
gentleman’s agreement was reached that dictated if Maguire uncovered anything;
he would not take any action without notifying the state police, unless there
was an imminent threat to Maguire, Tricia Browning or any innocent bystander.
While
Maguire had agreed to the conditions, he certainly had no intention of
complying with them.
In the
end, Keith Banning was a killer, living in a twisted fantasy world where he
viewed the conflict between himself and Maguire as part of some deranged chess
game. It was a game that Banning would never quit playing until one of them was
dead.
Maguire
fully intended to provide that closure to him via a well-placed shot to
Banning’s head.
It
might have sounded cold and ruthless to some, but the reality was that Banning
had long ago crossed a line from which there was no coming back. Maguire had
seen it before; some people just developed a blood lust. During the fight at
Melody’s house he had seen that same look in Banning’s eyes; the absence of any
compassion or empathy. People had ceased to exist to him. They had devolved
into nothing more than game pieces to be used, moved, and sacrificed for
nothing more than his enjoyment.
There
would be no rehabilitation for him. A prison cell simply held no meaning. For
Keith Banning it would be a place to plan his next move, waiting for the
opportunity to strike. Maguire could not accept that risk. As long as Banning
breathed air he was a threat to the people Maguire loved.
Banning
had already been linked to the deaths of five people, including Maguire’s
parents, and he was considered the prime suspect in the deaths of at least a
dozen others. Tricia Browning, Maguire’s old high school girlfriend, still had
not been found and it was unclear whether she was alive or dead.
The
investigation had proven to be both physically and mentally exhausting.
While they all still referred to him as Keith Banning,
for the sake of investigative consistency, it seemed that no one knew who
Banning really was. In all, they had uncovered at least seventeen different
identities, but the vast majority proved to be nothing more than wild goose
chases. As if the personas he had created were designed, not for his benefit,
but to sidetrack anyone looking for him.
The
state police had gone to great lengths to plaster Banning’s photograph all
throughout the North Country. In the beginning the leads came in droves. He had
been seen from Canada to D.C. and as far west as Indiana. In each case
investigators were sent, but it was either a case of mistaken identity or they
arrived too late. It had become readily apparent to those on the task force
that Banning was toying with them.
The
latest sighting had brought Maguire up to this remote hunting cabin in
northeast New Hampshire.
He had
slipped in under a waning crescent moon, taking advantage of the minimal
ambient light, and set up an observation post about three-quarters of a mile
from the cabin. The cool weather helped to create a nice contrast for the
thermal imaging goggles. He had kept it under observation for two days, but
there had been no movement in or around the place. When he was sure that there
was no one watching him, he made his way slowly down the mountainside to the
small rustic cabin.
An
examination of the building’s interior, and the surrounding area, revealed
indications that someone had been there recently, but nothing that would
specifically link it to Banning. It was either a case of mistaken identity or
just another game of cat and mouse that he was playing.
Maguire
reached into his jacket pocket, retrieving his cell phone and calling the now
all too familiar number.
“Please
tell me you found something, anything,” said the voice that answered.
“Empty.”
“Fuck.”
Lieutenant Dennis Monahan sat at his desk, at the New
York State Police, Troop B Substation in Keenseville, New York and clasped his
forehead with his hand.
“There
are signs that someone has been here, but nothing that indicates it was
Banning,” Maguire replied. “I’m guessing it was just someone who may have taken
a wrong turn.”
The
lead had sounded promising when it had first come in. A local resident had been
out mowing his lawn and observed an old pickup truck with New York plates
heading up the mountain. He thought it was suspicious because there were only
two other houses farther up the road, one of which he knew was supposed to be
vacant.
Maguire
had been in Nashua, New Hampshire conducting some re-interviews when the call
had come in. Being so close he had offered to do a quick sneak and peek. Given
his background as a former U.S. Navy Seal, he certainly had the capability to
do it covertly. No one had wanted to generate any more attention than
absolutely necessary in order to avoid the risk of possibly spooking Banning.
Monahan
rubbed his weary eyes.
How
much longer will this go on?
he wondered. Something had to give eventually, didn’t it?
“What’s
happening on your end?” asked Maguire.
“Nothing.
Everything has pretty much dried up. In fact I’m beginning to get pressure from
Albany to start releasing personnel back to their units. The feds pretty much
pulled all of their people out after the TV cameras left. In fact, all I’ve got
left now is a U.S. Border Patrol agent to act as an intermediary with DHS.”
“Not to
sound too pessimistic, but he’ll probably be gone after the first week in
November.”
Monahan grimaced on the other end, because he knew
Maguire was right. Everyone did the right thing when their political reputation
was on the line, but once the votes were cast next month things would go back
to normal soon enough.
“What
are you going to do now?” Monahan asked.
“I’ll
take a second look around the perimeter and see if I can pick up anything,”
Maguire said. “Then I’ll do a follow-up interview with the witness. Maybe he
can remember a bit more of what he saw.”
“Ok,
well call me if you find out anything else.”
“I will,”
Maguire replied and ended the call.
He sat
looking out over the picturesque valley in front of him. Below him a crystal clear blue lake sat
nestled in among the trees, reflecting back the image of the white clouds that
hung in the sky, above the water. The fall colors were beginning to take hold
with splotches of red, orange and yellow mixed-in with the green leaves. It was
like an autumn painter’s pallet. In just a few short weeks it would all be
gone, replaced with a blanket of snow that would last until spring.
He felt
a sense of weariness now as he looked out at the foliage. The beauty he saw
belied the truth, which was that death was coming soon. Somewhere, Keith
Banning was waiting for the right moment to strike.
Would
he be ready for the coming battle?
“Not
like this,” he said out loud.
The hunt had been taking its toll on him lately. He
couldn’t remember the last time he had been back home or the last time he had
felt the warmth of her skin on his.
He
looked down at the phone, selected a number and waited for it to connect.
“Hey, cowboy,” Melody said when she answered.
“When are you coming home?”
“I was
just thinking about that.”
“Don’t
think about it too long, I need you back here in my arms.”
“Where
are you?” he asked.
“Maryland
right now,” she replied. “I couldn’t take being cooped up in that fortress you
have created for me, not knowing when my brave knight was going to come rescue
me.”
Maguire
had not wasted any time after the attack at Melody’s house. He had overseen the
complete overhaul of the security arrangements. In addition to the physical
security changes at the home, there was now a twenty-four / seven protection
detail that accompanied Melody and her executive assistant, Genevieve Gordon,
wherever they went.
At
first Melody pushed back on the increased security, but Maguire held his ground
and she ultimately relented. Well that wasn’t exactly accurate. After the
incident she had purchased the land on the other side of Meadow Lane and had a
pier constructed. She conceded the new security arrangements on the condition
that Maguire relocate his houseboat from the other side of the Shinnecock Bay
to the new dock.
Maguire
protested, but they both knew it was only a token attempt. It still afforded
him a certain level of autonomy, at least for now. Plus he also enjoyed being
closer to her.
“It’s
not that bad,” he replied. “Is it?”
“We’ve
reached a modified agreement,” Melody said.
“Like
how modified?”
“The
bedrooms are off limits, along with the gym.”
Maguire thought about that for a moment. He knew just how
intrusive a protection detail could be, but at the same time there was a very
good reason for having them there. Both women possessed Melody and Genevieve
were two very strong willed personalities. He knew that it was best to pick and
choose which battles he fought with them.
“That’s
fine,” Maguire said. “What’s left for you to do down in Maryland?”
“Nothing, it’s just
a pit stop actually. Gen and I went to the R&D facility in Montana for a
visit. I left her out there for a few extra days while I came back to do some
paperwork and a bit of lobbying in D.C.,” she replied. “I’m just waiting for
her to get back here and then we will fly back to Long Island together. We
should be home tomorrow afternoon. What about you?”
“I’m
finishing up here and coming home.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep,
as much as you have missed me being in your arms, I’ve missed holding you in
mine as well, angel.”
Melody
leaned back in the burgundy leather wingback chair, swiveling in it until she
was staring out the panoramic window in her office at the rolling hills of
eastern Maryland in the distance. She found herself biting her lip at the image
that was playing in her mind.
“For
how long?” she asked.
“Well if you’re kicking the security people out of certain
parts of the house, I guess you’re going to need someone to keep a closer eye
on you for a while.”
“Then
again, you’re the kind of bodyguard a girl could get used to.”
“My
place or yours?” he asked.
“You
sound tired, James,” she said. “Come over to the house when you get back. Let
me watch after you for a while.”
“Okay,
I’ll call you when I get into the city.”
“Be
careful, cowboy.”
“Always,
angel,” he replied.
Maguire
stood up and walked back toward the cabin. He would take one last look around
and call it a day.
Fifty feet
away, and mounted about half way up the trunk of one of the
innumerable red spruce trees, a camouflaged wireless security camera sat
nestled among the branches. Like a silent sentinel, it sent its signal to a
transmitter which then broadcast the feed through the airwaves.
A
little over one hundred miles away, the man, known simply as Keith Banning, sat
in front of laptop computer watching the image in real time. It was the first time since that fateful
evening in May that he had laid eyes on his adversary. In a way he felt a sense of relief. He had
begun to worry that the state cops had shut him out.
He
reached down and grabbed the pack of cigarettes off the desk. Banning withdrew
one, lighting it up and inhaled deeply.
He had
toyed with the cops for months hoping to instigate a response. Finally, he saw
a glimmer of hope that their game could begin anew.
It’s
good to see you again old friend,
he thought.
Banning
leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk, and looked out the
window of the cabin. He took a drag on the cigarette and tapped it on the
ashtray that sat on the desk.
Maguire
had finally initiated the first move in their latest game. Now it was his turn
to repay the favor.
TB: Maybe deep down I’m Hawaiian? No? Okay, well we vacation
there every year—pick an island, book a flight, and settle in for a week in a
timeshare condo. Well, the Big Island is my favorite and after one trip there
several years ago, I started having flights of fancy about writing a novel set
there. Especially after we saw the black-sand beach at Punalu’u. The place
exudes some kind of magic for me, which I play off in my current project, THE
PAHALA TWIST. 
TB: Other mystery and crime writers, most notably the late,
great Elmore Leonard and Carl Hiaasen. I’ve drawn a tremendous amount of
inspiration from those guys and some others. As for the booze, I really don’t
drink much when I write. Though what qualifies as “much” is relative.
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