by Thomas Kies
“The drug dealer from that night. Guy by the name of Monk. You killed him?”
He shrugged. “Loose end. He was in the notebook. Plus we found out he was a snitch.”
“What about Judge Preston?”
“Another loose end. He got a case of the nerves when he heard Merlin Finn was out. We told him he had nothing to worry about, but he didn’t believe us. Wanted to cut a deal with the Friends of Lydia. Thankfully, Eva was there to intervene.”
“Do you honestly think you can fool everyone into thinking that Bogdan is Merlin Finn?”
Valentin twisted dramatically to look at his brother. “We only need to take him out and show him off when we think it’s necessary. Like when he killed the judge and that woman. It was Bogdan’s idea to wear the bondage mask.”
I considered the video for a moment. I’d been convinced it was Merlin Finn. The cops were convinced it was Merlin Finn. “In the video that night at the marina, Bogdan was asking Preston and Tillis a question. They both kept shaking their heads. What was the question?”
Valentin turned his attention back to me. “He was asking the judge if he’d already given any information about us to the Friends of Lydia. Bogdan was certain he hadn’t. He’d already tortured them both. But the best motivator can be the fear of death. He thought it prudent to ask one last time.”
“You’re not handling the day-to-day operations and Bogdan certainly isn’t. Who’s going to run the show?”
He winked at me. “Good question. We needed someone the Brotherhood will respect and fear. Merlin’s long-suffering wife, Bristol, has stepped up to take the lead, and her right-hand man will be Finn’s old lieutenant, Karl Lerner. They will continue to live here in this house, even though Corsair Properties officially purchased it from Bristol. Bogdan wants to have easy access to this room. It’ll bring him hours of enjoyment. You’ll be his first guest here. He had to use one of our warehouses in Bridgeport to entertain Mr. Tomasso, Niles Preston, and Ms. Tillis.”
I tried to keep my growing horror in check. “How are you associated with Wyatt Investments? How did Wolfline get the contract to build the mall?”
“The money flowing through Wyatt comes from Moscow and illegal operations all over the world. The investment company launders billions of dollars on a global basis.”
“Who’s Corsair Properties?”
“Corsair is a subsidiary of mine, bankrolled with Wyatt’s money. That pain clinic and the pharmacy next to it, by the way, are incredibly lucrative. I know you were in there. The guard at the pharmacy sent me your photo. Just so you know, we’re going to open pain management centers all over the tristate area.”
One more question. “How did Galley Media know about the mall? How did they know before we knew at the newspaper?”
He squinted at me. “Galley is one of my legitimate investments. I own a great deal of stock in it. Wyatt Investments also holds a great deal of stock in Galley. They told the CEO of Galley that your newspaper would be a good acquisition. Your boss was ready to sell cheap.”
Goddamn. Ben was right. Galley knew beforehand.
I took a breath. I was out of questions.
But Valentin had more to say. “So now we come to you, dear Geneva. As I said before, if only you hadn’t driven out to Lockport. I don’t know how you found out that Eva was linked to Finn’s escape. She was very careful to keep her identity a secret while she seduced Mr. Dempsey and persuaded him to make Finn’s escape a reality.”
Except for that one drunken photo taken by the barkeep.
He continued. “When you drove to Eva’s house last night, a friendly cop spotted you. One who you’d met earlier in the week. He let us know you were there. Then I called Eva and instructed her to tell you everything she knew. You weren’t going to be able to use the information anyway.”
The cop who’d passed me as I pulled into Eva’s cul-de-sac. The bastard’s working for the Russians.
He leaned back in his chair. “Right now, you are the newspaper headline.”
I blinked at him in confusion.
He glanced at his watch. “It is just a little before nine o’clock in the morning, December twenty-fourth.” He showed me his teeth. “Christmas Eve.”
I’d been unconscious for fifteen hours? “What the hell did Eva slip into my coffee?”
He explained, “Yesterday, I duped Mr. Stillwater and Miss Neese into what I’d hoped was a trap we’d set for them, using Merlin Finn as bait. Unfortunately, we had to shift gears when you showed up at Eva’s house. We couldn’t have you there with your GPS device, so we devised another plan.”
“I don’t understand.”
“At about ten o’clock last night, your car was discovered abandoned by the side of a road just inside the city limits of Danbury. It was found by John Stillwater, who received a frightening text from you and tracked you using the GPS device we took out of your pocket and put back in your bag, which we left in your car. Once he and the police found your vehicle, there was no sign of you. However, on the passenger’s seat, they found your bag with the usual contents, of course, but with one addition, an envelope with fifty thousand dollars in cash. Oh, and your cell phone is missing, along with your thumb drive, of course.”
I had the sudden, horrible realization that Caroline must be worried sick. I hadn’t called last night, and now the police were searching for me.
He grinned at me, all teeth. “The two-word headline in this morning’s Sheffield Post: ‘Reporter Missing.’ Delicious being part of the news instead of writing it.”
I felt my heart pounding. “What was the text you sent to John?”
“He received a text message from you saying Help me, John. Finn has me.”
Valentin slapped his knee and laughed. “That darned Merlin Finn. Always one step ahead of everyone.”
He pulled my phone and the battery from his coat pocket.
As long as he keeps the phone off and the battery out, they can’t track me with it.
“In a day or so, using your phone and text messages, we’ll lure him into another trap. And finally, he’ll be out of my hair. If I’m lucky, we’ll get Shana Neese as well.” He handed the phone and battery to Bogdan, who placed it on the shelf holding the masks and bondage hoods.
I struggled with the ropes tying my wrists together. My ankles were anchored snugly to the legs of the chair as well.
“So now to you.” He leaned in so close that I thought he was going to kiss me. “You are my Christmas present to Bogdan.”
My eyes involuntarily darted to Bogdan’s face. He was nodding with approval.
“I’m going to be leaving tonight on vacation. My wife, my son, and I are flying to the Caribbean for the holiday. Once I’m out of this room, Bogdan has my permission to unwrap his gift and play with you as he wishes.”
He reached out and snapped the side strap of my bra, chuckling. He waved his hands around the dungeon. “I think you’ll keep Bogdan amused until at least the New Year. I’m afraid this is the last time you and I will chat.”
Terror gripped me. My voice was stuck in my throat. When I finally got the words out, it was a tiny warble. “Please don’t do this.”
He stood up and pushed his chair back. Turning to Bogdan, he growled, “I know you’re anxious, Brother. But limit yourself to an hour for this morning. You have other things to do. Then you can come back and spend whatever time you want”—he glanced back at me—“doing whatever you want with her. Merry Christmas, Miss Chase.”
He opened and closed the dungeon door with a solid thud. My horrified eyes surveyed the room—the whips, blowtorch, chains, collars, hoods, clamps, electrical devices. I strained to look behind me at the wall I knew was there. Hanging from leather straps were knives of all sizes, surgical blades, bone saws, stainless-steel bone spreaders.
I’m going to throw up.
In a
voice so low and gravelly, it sounded like words echoing from a crypt, he said “You’re shivering. You’re afraid.”
My body was shaking uncontrollably.
Bogdan pulled up the same chair his brother had been sitting in. He sat down, leaned forward, and placed his big hand on my left inner thigh, touching it lightly. Then he placed his other hand on my right thigh. He felt and squeezed the skin, gently at first, then more roughly. He made as if to push my legs further apart but realized that my feet were tied to the chair. My legs were splayed as far as they would go.
He pulled a switchblade out of his jeans pocket and flipped it open. “We’re going to have such fun.” Bogdan leaned forward and cut the ropes loose from my left ankle, then did the same with the right.
I kicked at his face as he was leaning forward.
Expertly, he caught my ankle before it reached its target. He smiled. “That’s the spirit. I love it when they put up a fight.”
The lights went out.
We were back into total darkness.
I felt him drop my ankle.
He growled like an angry dog. “Fuck.”
From outside the dungeon door, someone shouted, “Someone cut the power.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was pitch-black again, and I heard Bogdan rush out of the dungeon.
I didn’t hear him close the door.
Why should he? You’re tied up.
But my feet and legs weren’t. And my arms weren’t tied to the chair, were they? I couldn’t see, but it felt like my wrists were tied behind the back of the chair, not to the chair itself.
The seat of the chair was too wide for me to put my legs on either side of it and try to stand. I’d have to maneuver my shoulders high enough to get my arms over the chair back.
I pushed up with my right leg, leaned forward, lifted my right shoulder into an unnatural position, felt a sharp pain in the socket. Chair back too high.
Try again.
Straining, unnatural stance, right leg cramping, lean over, lift shoulder.
Sockets straining.
I can’t do it, damn it.
I sat back down. Panic growing, eyes straining to see in the dark, heart pounding.
Try again, goddamn it.
Pushing up with my right leg, lean over, lift shoulder. Sweat dripped into my eyes.
Right leg shaking, pain stabbed me in the shoulder like a hot needle.
Harder, try harder.
Arms went over chair back. I stumbled forward, nearly collapsing on the floor.
Slick with sweat, I tussled with the ropes on my wrists, hoping to slip out of them.
Tied tight.
Panic swept over me again like a black wave.
Stop, breathe, breathe, slow down.
I shut my eyes and tried to control my breathing.
Calm, Genie. Stay calm. Visualize the room.
Whips, floggers, chains, collars.
Cutting tools! Knives, bone saws, scalpels.
Where? They were behind me somewhere. I couldn’t use my hands to reach out and feel a wall in the total darkness. I turned and shuffled forward, trying desperately to recall what impediments might be between me and the knives. I remembered a spanking table and a St. Andrew’s Cross. Where were they?
Slowly, deliberately, I moved forward, hesitant, careful not to bark my knee or feet on anything, worried that if I walked too quickly into the wall, I’d stab myself with something sharp hanging from the wall.
When I hit it, it was hard enough to push air out of my chest. I turned again, my back to the wall, and felt along behind me for anything to cut the ropes.
My fingers found something metallic and cool to the touch. I carefully wormed my fingers along it and found the blade.
Damn it.
Sharp.
Did I slice open a finger?
The blade had to be incredibly honed to cut through my skin so easily.
More carefully, then, I lifted the knife by the blade until I felt it slip from the hook on the wall that had held it. Then as quickly as I could, I began to saw at the rope binding my wrists, careful not to cut into an artery.
Sweat on my forehead, dripping into my eyes. Heart pounding in my ears.
Cut, you son of a bitch. Cut!
The rope went slack.
Arms free.
My phone, the battery, on the shelf by the door.
Still holding the knife in my left hand, I went back across the floor, my right hand in front of me, shuffling blindly, moving like a manic zombie.
I surprised and angered myself when I stumbled into the chair where I’d been tied, catching my toes.
The sharp agony made my eyes water. But I didn’t make a sound.
My hands found the far wall, and my fingers scrabbled until they found the shelf. Knocking over leather restraints, I found the familiar rectangular device and battery. I quickly slid the battery home and prayed for power to be left and a signal.
Taking agonizing seconds to power up, I saw I had fifteen percent power left and one bar.
Enough?
I pulled up my phone flashlight app and hit the button. A tiny but intense light helped illuminate the horror show where I was standing.
Then I punched up John Stillwater.
“Genie?” His voice sounded fearful.
My words came out in a breathless tumble. “John. I’m in Finn’s old house on Oak Hill in Brockton. I’m in the dungeon in the basement. It’s the Tolbonovs. Finn’s dead. Bogdan’s alive.”
“Hush. Find somewhere to hide. We’re here.”
Here? Where? Here? How?
“The SWAT team is getting into position. Find somewhere to hunker down. I’m afraid it’s going to get hairy in there.”
The line went dead.
I beamed my light around the dungeon.
No place to hide in here.
I glanced at the door.
Bogdan had been in such a hurry. He didn’t close the door?
Heart hammering, I pushed the door open. It had been painted to look like it was heavy and solid wood. But I saw that it was just like any door, composite wood exterior, hollow core.
Shivering, I shut it behind me.
I stepped out into Merlin Finn’s cellar, a warehouse where he’d filled shelves with bottled water, canned food, clothing, and weapons.
Karl Lerner had called it preparations for a race war.
I found my jeans and sweater wadded up and tossed into a pile on the floor along with my boots.
I tried my best to stop my hands from shaking and put the knife on a shelf filled with cans of beef stew. Then as quickly as I could, I slid into my jeans and threw on my sweater. Before I could get my boots on, I heard someone upstairs shout. “They’ve got a fucking army out there.”
A woman screamed, “Get to the tunnel.”
The doorway to the basement flew open, and a flashlight beam cut through the darkness.
I doused my cellphone light and slid it into my jeans pocket. Then I crept behind the metal shelves of canned food and crouched down as low as I could onto the cellar floor.
Led by Bristol Finn, a dozen sets of feet tramped down the wooden steps, rushing across the floor, not three yards from where I hid. On the other side of the cellar, packed tight with shelving full of disaster supplies, a throw rug was pulled back, and a trapdoor was opened.
Then, one by one, I saw black figures illuminated in the ghostly beams of their flashlights disappear down a ladder into an escape tunnel. The last two people to come down the steps were Valentin and Bogdan.
Reaching the basement, Valentin gave his brother an order. “Kill the girl and then follow us. Kill her quick. No time for anything else.”
Still holding his switchblade, Bogdan grunted, and Valentin and his f
lashlight disappeared down the hole.
Bogdan strode purposely to the torture chamber door, opened it, going in.
Heart thudding, holding my breath, I rushed to the dungeon door, pushed it shut, and locked the deadbolt.
I heard his muffled shout. “Fuck!”
In less than a second, the door shuddered as Bogdan rammed his shoulder into it.
A second attempt, most likely from a kick of his steel-toed work boot, managed a long crack in the composite wood exterior.
Door’s not gonna hold.
I looked down at my hand. I was still holding the knife I’d gotten from the dungeon wall to cut myself loose. It wasn’t much more that an extremely sharp, serrated steak knife.
I ran, flying up the steps to the kitchen, trying to recall what I could of the house.
In the kitchen. Plates of scrambled eggs and toast, breakfast still on the table.
Nowhere to hide here either.
From below, in the cellar, I heard the door to the dungeon explode in a burst of cracking wood and flying splinters.
I shut the door to the cellar and locked it.
This won’t last any longer than the one downstairs.
As if to say I was right, the door shook when Bogdan gave it a kick.
Shining my tiny flashlight into the living room, I eyed the front door to the front porch. Through the windows, I could see dozens of flashing blue and white lights, about fifty yards down the dirt road.
Cops, safety.
Wait a minute.
I go running out there, how many trigger-happy cops have their rifles pointed at this front door? How much adrenaline is pumping out there?
I explored the living room. There was the front door, the door to the kitchen, and a stairway leading upstairs to the second floor.
Do you want to get trapped up there, Genie?
The door to the kitchen ripped open. I turned my tiny light to the kitchen door in time to see Bogdan charging across the linoleum, switchblade in his hand.
I glanced down at my own knife.
