by Ethan Cross
“Perhaps your Director has an associate at the Food and Drug Administration who can put a halt to Gladstone’s brainchild?”
“Hopefully, but I’m not holding my breath. Damnit, Frank, even in death, that bastard is still hurting people. The more I learn about them, the more I think the Gladstone brothers are the most evil men we’ve ever hunted. It’s one thing to take life, but this is … a whole other level of depravity.”
“They were certainly a pair of lost souls, but I get the sense that we’ve yet to see the meaning of the word ‘depravity.’ Just imagine the perversions a mind like Demon’s could dream up.”
Marcus said, “Or someone like our father. But even he only brought two broken children into the world.”
“That we know of.”
“Don’t say that. Two of us is more than enough.” Marcus sighed and leaned his fists against the mahogany desktop. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Frank. Derrick Gladstone used his brother like a hammer to nail down his enemies. I don’t want to push you like that. I don’t know that this life is the best thing for you.”
“Our lives and the direction our paths take is something we can neither control nor hide from. You told me the past didn’t matter. All that’s important is what we do now. We are soldiers, Marcus, in a war that we can’t even see from our limited perspectives. We are those who stand against the darkness by bringing others to the light. It’s our job to save men like these from themselves and prevent them from bringing others down into the depths along with them.”
“Some people are beyond saving.”
“I’m sure everyone said the same about me. Ephesians 6:12: ‘For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.’”
“You and I aren’t exactly champions of virtue and light.”
“I don’t believe we were chosen for who we are, but, rather, who we could be. You and I have been called to rage against the dying of the light inside the souls of men.”
“It seems more like we’re called to be punching bags.”
“There’s some truth to that. But I think we’re more like those inflatable clowns that children pummel. We always seem to pop back up.”
“Until the day comes when we don’t.”
“And what a grand adventure that will be.”
“Where do we go from here? Do we head back to ADX Florence and pay Demon a visit, or do we go after Maggie?”
“You’re the boss, brother. But if I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion.”
“As if you have a problem being bold.”
Ignoring him, Ackerman continued, “I’m afraid that little sister may have bitten off more than she can chew by pursuing the Taker on her own. I say we leave Demon on ice and focus on our wayward team member. Because it’s my professional opinion that if we don’t find her before she finds the Taker … Well, then she’ll be the next one who’s taken.”
Tears brimmed in Marcus’s eyes. “It’s my fault that she left. I should have been there for her. I didn’t know how much she was hurting. If anything happens to her, that’ll be my fault too. So how do we find the Taker? It’s a twenty-year-old cold case that has been poured over by the best minds law enforcement has to offer.”
Ackerman smiled. “But sometimes, dear brother, catching the worst of the worst is a job for the best of the bad.”
122
Oban Nassar had first cut his teeth as a baltagiya working for the Egyptian government and police. The term translated as “hatchet men,” who were basically thugs often hired to attack regime targets and stir civil unrest. The baltagiya had even been trained by the police to implement many forms of sexual brutality against protesters and detainees.
With a head for business, Oban had quickly risen above such menial chores, but even after all these years, Mr. Demon still referred to him as the Hatchet Man.
As he pushed the wheelchair down the boardwalk leading to the beach, Oban strained to understand people’s fascination with saltwater and sand. Growing up in the desert, he had seen enough sand to last a thousand lifetimes. Sometimes, lying in bed, he felt as though the sand had been permanently embedded beneath his skin.
The Marshall Islands also didn’t seem like the kind of place to which the Demon would wish to retire. But it was not his place to ask personal questions of his employer. Oban had the paperwork prepared and ready prior to the deaths of Derrick and Simon Gladstone, and so the entire process had taken only a couple of days to complete. When all was said and done, the holdings of each man—which included the private island on which Derrick had planned to build his new society—were legally transferred to their mother. Then the Gladstone matriarch had gladly transferred control over to the Legion and Mr. Demon in exchange for the best treatment and care on the island for the remainder of her life.
An attendant in a white suit met Oban at the end of the boardwalk, ready with Mrs. Gladstone’s beach lounger and martini.
Oban was glad he wouldn’t actually have to take the old woman all the way onto the beach and risk getting sand in his shoes. For his retirement, he dreamed of the Swiss Alps, but to each their own.
Leaning down to the old woman’s ear, he said, “The staff will handle your care from this point on, Mrs. Gladstone. I hope you enjoy the scenery. It’s certainly a step up from the dark room in which your sons had confined you. Mr. Demon wanted to pass on his thanks for your assistance. This island and the financial holdings of your sons will certainly aid a great deal in his plans going forward.”
As he headed up the path toward his awaiting AugustaWestland AW109 Grand Versace helicopter—which came equipped with every amenity and a 6.3 million dollar price tag—Oban Nassar thought of the old woman barely able to speak or move and willing to sell out her own children in exchange for a place in the sun. As he climbed inside the cabin of the luxury helicopter, he was reminded of a quote from Helen Keller: “Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.”
<<<<>>>>
I AM VENGEANCE
Ethan Cross
An Aries book
www.headofzeus.com
Contents
Title Page
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part Two
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Part Three
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
C
hapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Part Four
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Part One
1
Two days ago…
Maggie Carlisle awoke atop a sea of bones. Some were brittle as kindling and crunched beneath her weight, sending clouds of dust and spores into her face. Rolling over, she discovered that when her captor had dropped her into this pit, she had landed atop a set of remains no older than a couple of years. She dry-heaved from the rancid smell of the pit, which caused starbursts of pain to explode out from a wound in her side. Pulling up her shirt, she found that a shard from a rib bone had punctured her abdomen. As she debated on whether it would be best to pull the bone or leave it in place, the realization struck that she could currently see inside the pit, although it had been pitch black when the Taker had pulled back the sheet of metal covered with sand, which hid the twenty-five foot drop into his personal den of horror, and threw her into the darkness below.
Searching for the source of the illumination and crawling toward the faint glow, she discovered a flashlight with a crank mounted to its side. It was the kind that didn’t require external batteries and was instead powered by the wielder manually charging the device by spinning the crank. The flashlight’s beam was already growing dim. Without the light, she knew that darkness inside the burial pit would be absolute, but she wondered if that would be for the best. Although, she supposed she still wouldn’t be able to escape the smells of the fresher victims.
The entire floor of the teardrop-shaped pit was covered with bones. Some old and white and free of flesh. Others appeared almost ancient, like something from a museum exhibit. But many of the remains were still bloody and stinking of decay. She noticed some kind of black bugs swarming the fresher corpses, slowly devouring the dead flesh. Perhaps, it would be a small blessing to allow the darkness to take her and escape watching the feast for long. Although, she would still see the gore in her mind’s eye, and imagining those same black bugs burrowing under her skin for their next meal was not a comforting thought. In fact, the idea caused tears to flow down her cheeks and every muscle in her body to tremble, which caused her even greater pain.
Having decided to leave the bone in place—fearing blood loss and dehydration more than infection—she allowed the light to go out for a moment while she tried to bring her body under control and regain some of her strength. Pushing aside thoughts of her impending death, she instead concentrated on happier times and tried to ignore all the pain and death surrounding her at the moment.
In the darkness, her mind focused in on her baby brother, Tommy. She had always loved playing hide and seek. She and her brother would spend hours playing the game. Each aspiring to be the one to stay hidden the longest. She remembered climbing up into the rafters of the barn at her grandparents’ farm, and her brother finally giving up and enduring the shameful process of announcing his defeat and conceding to her superior skills.
But then her brother was taken, and she learned that her hiding and seeking abilities were not nearly as astute as she believed.
After twenty years of banging her head against the wall with little to no progress in the case, help had come from two of the most unlikely of sources: Francis Ackerman Jr.—an infamous serial killer turned government consultant—and a random photograph her mother had received in the mail.
Ackerman had glanced over the same papers that she had spent years of her life studying and had pulled out several new threads for the investigation. During his time as a consultant for the Shepherd Organization, she had witnessed Ackerman save literally hundreds of lives, including her own. Despite all that, and the fact that she had accepted his help as a necessary evil, she couldn’t allow herself to forgive the killer for his crimes, which included the murder of one of her closest friends.
She didn’t deny that he was a different man than he was during what he referred to as “The Dark Years,” and she supposed that a more enlightened person would be able to move forward and start anew. But that was something that she couldn’t do. Maggie was amazed by a women like Emily Morgan, who had gone from one of Ackerman’s victims to his counselor and friend.
Despite any good he’d done or atonement he’d achieved, she hated him. A part of her felt guilty that she couldn’t release those negative emotions. Ackerman had proven himself time and time again. He had been the one who opened the door and sent her on this journey, one she hoped would finally complete the game of hide and seek that she and her brother had been playing for the past twenty years.
Regardless of her feelings, as Special Agent Maggie Carlisle sat in the dark, atop a sea of bones, her only comfort was that she knew Ackerman would find her and kill the man who had stolen her brother—an unsub whom law enforcement had dubbed the Taker.
She knew Ackerman would kill the Taker because that was what he did. He was a hunter, a predator. She simply needed to give him a target and motivation, and her becoming the Taker’s next victim would provide both. Her bones were about to join the mass grave of countless others, and when Ackerman found her body, she knew that he would make the Taker pay dearly for his crimes.
And even if Ackerman didn’t, she knew that the man she loved would finish the job.
Special Agent Marcus Williams was Ackerman’s brother and a hard and dangerous man in his own right, but she had known him in ways that she suspected no one else ever had, even the mother of his son. Marcus was gruff, stubborn, and never passed up the opportunity to make a smartass comment, and yet, he was also kind, funny, and loyal to the point that she had no doubt he would die for her without even the slightest hesitation. The pain of her guilt nearly overshadowed the pain from her wounds, but this had been the only path she could imagine to flush out the man who had taken her brother.
Certain that Marcus and Ackerman would be coming for the Taker hard and fast, she realized that the game was already won, the case all but closed. Like a sacrificial pawn, her demise would pave the way for justice to finally be done. Thinking of all the bones that now surrounded her, all the lives this man had stolen, she supposed that her own life was a small price to pay to ensure that no other families, no other sisters, would be torn apart by the perversions of the Taker’s twisted mind and blackened heart.
2
When Liana Nakai was eight years old—after having seen Annie for the first time—she had prayed to the Great Spirit to take her away to live with a rich white man like the little girl in the movie. Upon waking the next morning, she had found her hogan empty and had feared the worst. She had imagined herself being used as a lesson for her people. The story of the girl who wished away the world. Her mother had
been out tending to the blue corn that her family used to grow when they lived in the valley. Even though the fear had been nothing more than a shadow, the incident had given the eight-year-old Liana Nakai nightmares for months to come.
She had thought the lesson learned, but apparently, she had a bad habit of not being careful with her wishes. Right before the man calling himself Frank walked into the Roanhorse Police Outpost covered in blood, Liana had wished for a strong man to save her from the monotony of her dead-end life in this dead-end place.
She had been assigned desk duty on the slowest night of the week during the slowest shift of the week. The other three officers in her tiny department treated her like a child in need of protection, clinging to their people’s traditions of the proud male warriors protecting the feeble females.
Liana resented them tremendously for underestimating her. She could hold her own with any of her male counterparts physically, and she trumped them all in brains and schooling. Having received a degree in criminal justice, she often wondered how she ended up right back on the Rez, working as a tribal police officer and making a quarter of what she could have been making as a paralegal in one of the belegana cities.
But she supposed it was no mystery why she had come back. Grandmother was sick and refused to leave the only home she had ever known. Liana couldn’t really blame the old woman. At first, even she had been intimidated by the idea of living among the whites. There hadn’t been much of a choice. She couldn’t abandon Grandmother, and the fading matriarch refused to budge. So, for the foreseeable future, she was still confined to the cage she had been fighting to escape her whole life.
Liana had been expecting an uneventful night pretending to fill out reports while listening to an audiobook. Instead, only an hour into her shift, the door to the small station house burst open, and the most handsome man she had ever seen stepped inside. He wore a pair of blue jeans and no shirt. His exposed torso was all muscle and sinew, and fresh blood covered his whole body.
Her initial thought was that there had been an accident of some kind, but then she noticed the man’s demeanor. He wasn’t frantic or afraid. He seemed to be without a care in the world. A man without fear. Her police training told her that he must have been in shock.
