The Ackerman Thrillers Boxset: 1-6

by Ethan Cross

  She wished Blake was there. He would have gladly checked the house for her. And, if the man in the skull mask was waiting in the shadows, Blake would die first, giving her a chance to escape.

  Waiting a few breaths longer, she stuck the folding knife into her pocket. Refusing to give in to irrational fears, she threw her keys and purse onto the counter.

  But, again, a small voice against the back of her neck told her to, Check the closets.

  The skull face popped into her mind.

  Pulling out her phone, she tried to check her Twitter account as if everything was normal.

  Part of her subconscious whispered, Just get it over with. Like pulling off a band-aid.

  “Ughhhh! Fine,” she said aloud.

  Pulling out the knife and extending the cutting edge, she marched into her bedroom and ripped open the closet door, ready to plunge the blade into Skullface’s chest.

  Nothing jumped out at her.

  She probed the depths but found no signs of life. Feeling like a frightened child, she moved to the closet in the spare bedroom.

  She tore open the door quickly, just as she had with her own closet, the knife leading the way, ready to bury itself into any terror that may lurk in the shadows.

  But this time, as she pulled open the bi-fold door, a dark form erupted toward her. She didn’t even have time to scream before it was on top of her.

  9

  Ackerman sat with his eyes closed, his feet shackled to his hands, and both shackled to a metal bar running across the bench seat of the armored transport. He could feel Marcus’s impatient gaze on him from the opposite bench, but he didn’t share his brother’s sense of urgency. Demon was long gone; he could feel it. There was no reason to rush.

  Besides, he didn’t believe in rushing. Every moment should be savored, whether that moment be one of pain, pleasure, or both. Discovering how Demon escaped wasn’t something that could be rushed; it would simply take how long it was going to take.

  “You better not be wasting my time here, Frank.”

  “If I were in Demon’s situation, I would be listening and studying. But I’ve always been a solo act. My escape would depend upon unearthing an inherent flaw or weakness in the current system. On the other end of the spectrum, Demon has nearly endless resources and a whole agency of murderers at his disposal. I assumed he would go big and bloody. It wouldn’t take all that much firepower to take down the convoy.”

  “But they didn’t know which convoy actually held the prisoner.”

  “Information like that is hard to keep hold of. Doesn’t really matter anyway. He didn’t attack. He chose to disappear right under our noses. As if he were truly a creature of immense power whom we could never contain. It’s beautiful psychological warfare.”

  “Focus, please. If you had Demon’s resources, how would you do it?”

  “I’d cheat. Kind of like stacking a deck of cards. I would arrange the playing field in such a way to ensure my victory.”

  “You’re saying the truck has been sabotaged in some way? We’re interrogating the drivers now, but they say it’s the same truck they drive every day. They claim to know it like the backs of their hands.”

  “Demon’s associates probably altered the actual vehicle while it sat on the lot.”

  “The transports are under twenty-four-hour surveillance in a secure area. Nobody is going to roll up with a cutting torch and start going to town on the thing.”

  “Perhaps they copied the vehicles and switched them at some point. It would require a moderate degree of analysis, but it could definitely be done. All the details wouldn’t have to be exact. You’d just need to find a few of the vehicle’s major character flaws, and the ape brains of the two officers would fill in the rest.”

  “Okay, let’s assume for now that they were able to switch or alter the vehicles, which would be another lead to follow.”

  Ackerman said, “That avenue of investigation will be a dead end. A waste of our time and resources.”

  Marcus cocked his head to the side, cracking his neck. It was a small tick, indicative of anger and fight mode, an idiosyncrasy that Ackerman had witnessed his brother display on numerous occasions. Marcus said, “Assuming the van is altered in some way for it to allow his escape, what would the alterations be?”

  “I think you could be better at this game than me, dear brother. Just close your eyes and listen. What does that beautiful mind of yours see? Break down each element. Find what’s wrong. What doesn’t make sense? What’s broken?”

  Marcus didn’t close his eyes, but Ackerman could see the wheels turning. His brother’s brain was falling down a rabbit hole, analyzing every small sound inside the moving transport. After a moment, Marcus reached out, grabbed the bar securing Ackerman’s shackles, and began to twist and push. After a little work, it broke free from its supports. This allowed Marcus to slide the bar down a couple of inches, which in turn gave Ackerman unrestricted movement inside the cabin.

  Ackerman laughed. “Nice work, little brother.”

  “That only gets him away from the bench. He would still need something to pick the locks on the cuffs that he left behind. But you were right, Frank, I did notice a few odd rattles and scrapes. And a few details that don’t belong. Like this bolt.”

  Reaching down, Marcus squeezed the head of an inconspicuous bolt on the floor and pulled it free. He didn’t need to twist it because it wasn’t actually a bolt. It was a key.

  Marcus handed it to Ackerman. “Well, I guess that confirms the transport was altered somehow. But how did he get out of the back without us noticing?”

  Ackerman used the hidden key to unlock the shackles on his wrists and ankles. Then he said, “Switch benches a moment.” Marcus moved over to the metal seat on the opposite side of the transport’s rear cabin. Ackerman got down on his hands and knees and started pressing against the bottom of the van.

  Marcus said, “We’ve been over all of that. There are no secret escape hatches.”

  “But you didn’t check while the vehicle was in motion. I have a feeling that the mechanism was designed to withstand close inspection.”

  Marcus leaned back with a nod and a narrowing of his eyes. “And a close inspection would never be done while the transport was in motion.”

  Running his hand across the metal and feeling for a release of some kind, Ackerman looked back fondly on his days inside so many cages. He hated being confined like an animal, but even though he hated cages, he found great pleasure in escaping from them.

  Toward the end of the bench closest to the main cabin, Ackerman pushed and was rewarded with the click of a lock being released. He pressed up on the bench, and it moved easily, having been hinged to the sidewall. The hidden hatch opened into the vehicle’s wheel well and undercarriage.

  Ackerman studied the craftsmanship of the concealed release mechanisms a moment and then closed the bench, shutting out the sounds of the road. He sat down and said, “Well, there you have it.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Okay, now he has access to the undercarriage. But he still can’t go anywhere while the convoy is moving and two other vehicles are right behind him.”

  “It was dark. We were all tired. He merely waited for a switchback turn while we were in the mountains. When the transport slowed to round the sharp curve, he rolled to freedom.”

  Marcus banged on metal leading into the front cab of the transport, telling Maggie to drive them back. “Nice work. We’ll find every spot along our path that held switchback curves and focus the manhunt there.”

  Ackerman sighed. “I told you that searching for him like that is pointless. What you seem to be missing is that Demon had no contact with his associates and yet all of this went down, and he knew that it would. He knew exactly how his minions would orchestrate the release. Probably because it’s a plan of his own design. Now, do you honestly think a man with his resources wouldn’t have a car waiting? Or a helicopter? Keep in mind that we’re dealing with a killer as talented
myself, who has nearly unlimited resources. Imagine the kind of things I would have done with his power and finances during my dark years. He’s already five steps ahead of us. Most likely, he’s already slipped the nets and traveled far beyond your reach.”

  “I’m not giving up!” Marcus yelled. “If he’s five steps ahead of us, then let’s start gaining ground. How do we catch him?”

  “Our deceased friend, Judas, left his diaries and a path for us to follow. Why did he do that?”

  “Because he wanted to use us as an instrument of revenge against his mentor. And yes, he clearly states that Demon’s files are in the possession of another killer he mentions, but those leads have stalled out. We don’t know where to find this Gladiator he talks about in the journals.”

  “We’re overlooking something in what he’s left behind for us. Judas’s big production isn’t over yet. Don’t forget that Dmitry Zolotov grew up in the theater. We may not even have reached the end of act one.”

  Marcus ran a hand through his brown hair. “We’ve been over those journals a thousand times. And we can’t trust Judas anyway. His whole game was about betrayal and proving superiority and never allowing yourself to trust others.”

  “But that’s the point. He’s not playing against us. He’s playing us against Demon. He wants us to win. Avenging the murder of one’s soulmate is a pretty damn personal vendetta.” Ackerman was referring to the betrayal which set all of this in motion—Demon’s murder of Judas’s soon-to-be wife.

  “That may be, but I’m not letting Demon just walk away from this. I’m not giving up yet. We’re going to run him down. Trace back whoever helped him and how. He’s only a few hours ahead of us.”

  Ackerman sighed. “I want to go on record as having told you that all that is a waste of time. We need to play Judas’s game. Our path to the Demon’s network of killers and his files is through the Gladiator.”

  “Then find me the Gladiator. Until then I’m going to chase that Scottish bastard to the ends of the earth.”

  Ackerman smiled. “As always, brother, your stubborn, mindless determination is simultaneously endearing and yet as annoying as stepping in excrement.”

  10

  The Gladiator listened as Corin stomped around the house. He heard her check the first closet and approach the second.

  Then his trap sprung.

  She screamed in terror. Then she grunted some unintelligible curse words.

  He smiled beneath the skull mask.

  At the last minute, he had decided that leaving a decoy to frighten her in the closet would cause her to lower her guard, which extended the experience and allowed her to be more easily overtaken.

  With this in mind, the Gladiator had crept from the closet in the spare bedroom, found Corin’s ironing board, and propped it up in such a way that it would fall out onto the next person who opened the door.

  He had known she would check the closets. She had followed the same routine on the previous two evenings. He was inside her mind now, her personal boogeyman. Every noise she heard became his footsteps. She could feel him coming for her.

  After laying his trap, he had moved to the bathroom, pulled back the curtain, and stepped into the shower. He stood there in the dark now, waiting for Corin to follow the rest of her nightly routine and take a shower before going to bed.

  He listened as she opened drawers and gathered a change of clothes. She entered the bathroom and reached inside the curtain.

  He stood at the opposite end of the shower stall, trying not to make a sound, trying not to even breathe. He watched as she rotated the faucet’s handle, tested the water temperature, and pulled the shower release. Water, cold at first, struck his boots and jeans, but still he didn’t make a sound.

  11

  Ackerman had just dropped from the back of the modified prison transport when a man in a black suit pushed past him and intercepted Marcus, jamming a handheld radio toward his brother’s face. Breathing hard, the man in the suit said, “There’s been a development.”

  Grabbing for the radio, Marcus said, “Special Agent Williams on the line. Someone give me a sitrep.”

  A deep voice crackled through. “Agent, this is Warden Polly. I need you and your team at the west gate immediately.”

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “Someone just pulled up and asked to speak with you by name.”

  Marcus caught Ackerman’s eye and shrugged, seeming to ask for input. Ackerman responded by snatching the radio from his brother’s hand and saying, “Was this person on foot or in a vehicle?”

  “They pulled up in a black stretch limo.”

  Ackerman’s heart began to race. It had been a long time since anything had truly surprised him. Even when he saw the back of the empty transport, part of him had expected as much. But this seemed to be uncharted territory, and for Ackerman, greater uncertainty and danger led to greater amusement.

  But, in this case, he felt differently somehow. He felt a strange tingling sensation that shook him to his core, and he had no idea what to make of it.

  He said, “Tell the driver to get us over there immediately. I would hate to keep our guest waiting.”

  “Who’s in the limo?”

  Ackerman crawled back into the armored transport and replied, “Let’s go find out.”

  Two minutes later, the transport skidded to a halt in front of ADX Florence’s western security checkpoint. Marcus had radioed the rest of the team, including the police officers who aided in the botched prison transfer, to meet them at the gate. Most of those officers had already arrived, positioned their vehicles as cover, and drawn their weapons—good soldiers ready to fend off an assault. Ackerman could almost taste the gun oil and testosterone.

  Marcus keyed his procured radio and said, “Open the gate and let them in.”

  The large metal gate slid back into a wall of reinforced concrete and a long black limousine pulled inside, the barrier slamming tightly shut behind the luxury vehicle and its occupants.

  The driver stepped out first, all guns coming to bear on the man, who was dressed in a formal chauffeur’s uniform. He hesitated a step at the sight of the officers, but apparently having strict instructions, the driver walked back to the limo’s rear door. He pulled it open and unrolled a short velvet carpet.

  Ackerman wondered who would step out. Could it be Demon? Perhaps some representative of his? Someone from the government?

  With the fanfare complete, a well-built and well-dressed man stepped into the frigid Colorado air. The limo’s passenger wore a black tailored suit over a black dress shirt and silk tie. It was the middle of the night, but the man wore dark designer sunglasses. A styled mane of gray and black hair had been swept back from the passenger’s face, allowing a clear view of the man’s many scars, which were only partially concealed beneath a salt-and-pepper goatee.

  Demon said, “Sorry I’m late, but you boys know how I like to make an entrance.”

  12

  Marcus had refused to speak to Demon until the killer was in a holding cell with his Italian suit replaced by the standard white-and-gray sweatsuits worn by the inmates at ADX Florence. For good measure, Marcus also had them add a straightjacket and manacles. Now he stood on the observation side of the glass, staring in at a man who had pulled a dramatic David Copperfield-style escape, only to turn himself in a short time later.

  “What the hell is his game, Frank? This is why you’re here. Get inside his head.”

  From behind him, Ackerman said, “That’s a frightening—yet intriguing—proposition. Can you imagine the nightmarish landscape which occupies his subconscious?”

  Marcus looked to Maggie for support, but she merely shrugged. “Sometimes I feel like I have to translate everything for you. Why would he turn himself in? He beat us in a big way. He clearly had the resources in place to slip our nets. He was a free man, and now he thumbs his nose at us like he’s untouchable.”

  “Perhaps because he is. Or, at least, he perceives hims
elf to be.”

  “I just can’t wrap my head around it. This is where we keep terrorists. Al Qaeda couldn’t break someone out of this place.”

  Ackerman said, “Yes, it doesn’t bode well for those working here the day he decides to make his exit.”

  “He’s not going anywhere.”

  “Remember, when dancing with the Demon, we must consider what someone like me would do with unlimited financial and political resources.”

  “At the first sign of trouble, they would lock the place down and call in reinforcements. This is a fortress. And politically, the Director assured me we’ve kept Demon’s incarceration under wraps for now. Only Deputy AG Fagan knows about it. No one over his head. So even if he had political allies, they—”

  Ackerman rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he made a few phone calls after he escaped and was picked up in the limousine with his tailored suit at the ready. If I had his means and proclivities, in order to escape, I would kill every person working here at the same time.”

  “And how the hell would you accomplish that?”

  “Would you like me to make a list?” Ackerman asked.

  “Actually, yeah. Make a list. Then we’ll use it to make sure he can’t pull off any of your plans.”

  With a wink, he said, “Good thinking, little brother. You’d be well served to put my genius to use.”

  Marcus fought the urge to punch the glass partition separating them from Demon as he watched the smug son of a bitch just sitting there like the cat who ate the canary. He said, “The question remains: Why did he turn himself in? If he wanted to play a game with us, it would have been a hell of a lot easier on the other side of the bars. He could have sent us coded messages or something.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of all he could have done. He’s obviously playing with us. But to what end? I can’t say I have the slightest idea what he’s up to, but I think it’s time we went in there and asked him.”

  *