The Warriors Series Boxset II

by Ty Patterson

  ‘I am sure of it. There’s a reason he’s dumped Krantz’s body and it’s not just to taunt us. Killers don’t readily give up their trophies.’

  Beth shivered and huddled closer to her sister.

  Chang’s fingers stilled on his phone just as it buzzed.

  Simultaneously, Pizaka’s, Zeb’s, and the Petersens’ phones rang.

  Zeb saw several other cops pat their pockets.

  It’s him again.

  His phone had a stark message from Rolando.

  Get back immediately.

  He looked at the others and saw the same message on the sisters’ phones.

  Pizaka looked grimly at him. ‘You are a fortune-teller. Let’s head back.’

  A shout stopped them in their tracks.

  A detective trotted up and whispered something to Pizaka. A lot of nods and head shakes later, Pizaka caught up with them as Zeb led them back to his vehicle.

  ‘A video was uploaded on the internet. It was taken down within minutes.’ Pizaka shouted over the roar of a passing truck. ‘The video was by him. It was titled Flaying the Internet.’

  Their return was in complete silence, traffic compressed to a thick streak, outside sound a continuous stream that rushed past their windows.

  The beast in Zeb strained at its leash.

  Not yet.

  Doors opened even before Zeb had wheeled to a stop. Chang jabbed impatiently at the elevator and when it came, willed it to go faster.

  They entered the conference room and were greeted by grim faces. Rolando’s eyes were flat, hard, and black.

  Zeb had seen them like that just once, back in Somalia.

  ‘He uploaded the video at a café near Central Park at 10 a.m. this morning. We got that from the IP address and it went up on the usual websites.’

  He waited for the new arrivals to seat themselves.

  ‘Within five minutes it had been viewed ten million times. That became twenty million in fifteen, and spread across countries in Europe, Asia, and South America. We spoke to the sites and got the video taken down at 11 a.m.’

  ‘What is it?’ Meghan asked him curiously.

  Rolando nodded at a technician and a blue screen came up.

  He looked back at the two women, the only two females in the room. ‘I wouldn’t recommend viewing it.’

  They didn’t move.

  His eyes flicked to Zeb’s and a second later he gestured at the technician. The video ran.

  A room with a central overhead light, very much like those seen in operating theatres. There were shelves on the walls, stacked with what looked like medical instruments.

  A room that also looked like it stored a life’s entire jetsam.

  Except that it wasn’t.

  The screen moved jerkily and a person’s breathing filled the speakers as the recording device was moved around the room.

  The first focal point was a cabinet. A gloved hand opened it to reveal shiny instruments, knives, scalpels, steel hammers, chisels and pliers, as well as many others. A lower drawer opened to reveal restraints of all kinds, from simple scarves to handcuffs and chains.

  The camera moved to a vertical shelf which had bottles and jars of all kinds.

  Beth hissed as the video focused on eyes, fingers, skin, and various human organs in colorless fluid. Each bottle was neatly labeled.

  The camera panned to take in two large glass tanks.

  One of the detectives retched as the image became clearer.

  A pale body in the first tank, a woman’s body floated with parts of it missing.

  The second body became clearer.

  Each of the tanks had a small note on top. The names of the victims, Christine Kohler, Peggy Krantz, typed in bold, with dates underneath the names.

  A voice chuckled in the background after the camera paused for long minutes on the tanks.

  ‘Now that you’ve seen my museum, let’s get to the main act.’

  Zeb strained to catch an accent, he didn’t get any.

  The video trembled as the recorder was placed on something firm, and the center of the room came into view.

  A large steel table on what seemed to be plastic sheets.

  On it lay a nude woman, her mouth taped, her arms and legs restrained by cuffs.

  Blood poured from multiple cuts on her body. Her skin was peeled from the chest down, her nipples were missing.

  Zeb squinted, it looked like her toes and fingers were missing.

  A black clad figure came into view.

  Medium height, mask over his face, he stood at the body’s head.

  ‘Let me introduce myself to those who haven’t heard of me by now. People call me the Flayer. I like that name. My thanks to New York’s media for coining it.’

  He gestured at the room.

  ‘Now, I know all those watching, especially the NYPD will be desperately trying to work out where I am. You guys will loop this tape over and over again to spot something, some clue.’

  He shook his head. ‘You will be disappointed. But I am sure that won’t stop you.’

  He looked down. ‘This fine lady here, she’s still alive.’

  He picked a knife and cut open her thigh. Blood flowed slowly, the body jerked after a slow moment.

  ‘But not for long.’

  ‘By now you may know who she is, or maybe not. You guys, the NYPD I mean, are turning to be pretty incompetent.’

  ‘If you don’t know, here’s a clue.’

  He picked a large knife, lifted a hand and the knife came down. The body jerked and a deep groan filled the room.

  The same cop retched again.

  The Flayer held the bloodied finger up for the camera and turned it around to show a tattoo.

  A pair of entwined hearts was delicately etched on the back of the index finger. ‘That should get you somewhere.’

  He picked another knife. ‘I am interested in seeing how long the body can survive without its covering, its skin. How long can it survive after experiencing loss of other organs?’

  He placed the sharp blade, looked at the camera and his lips widened in a smile under the mask.

  ‘Let’s find out, shall we? I am sorry you didn’t get to see my procedure right from the start on this lucky lady. Maybe next time.’

  He bent down and his arms flexed.

  The video ran on for forty-five minutes as the killer carried out his gruesome work. He maintained a commentary all the while, not just about what he was doing, but also how he felt. He stopped once to measure his pulse, mentioned it.

  The table ran with blood, the floor was slippery by the time he finished.

  He looked at the camera one last time.

  ‘I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. That’s what those artist folks say don’t they? Regretfully, I have to end this now. Things to do and all that stuff. Until next time.’

  The screen went blank leaving them with the weight of the woman.

  If collective rage was all that was needed, it would have throttled the killer. Zeb tamped his down brutally, locked it down, along with the beast. He saw the horror and anger reflected in the women’s eyes and in every other person in the room.

  Pizaka and Chang were shaken. Many other detectives looked unnerved. Quite a few had gone pale, had their hands in front of their mouths as if to ward off a stench.

  Zeb started speaking without conscious thought.

  ‘Some years back I came across some men, killers, who went on a raping and killing spree in the Democratic Republic of Congo. These guys were mercenaries who had lost all sense of right and wrong, who had stepped beyond the line that separates men from monsters.

  ‘Those men aren’t around today. But Flayer reminds me of them.’

  ‘This,’ he nodded at the now blank screen, ‘might haunt you for nights. It will bring nightmares. In those moments, in the dark of the night when doubts are the most, remember this.

  ‘There are monsters out there.

  ‘You are monster hunters.’ />
  Chapter 9

  October 29th – Nov 4th

  The same day, in a different time zone, the four met again, this time in a different part of the desert, surrounded by several goats.

  A small tent provided shelter, food, and water to the visitors. Goats didn’t normally graze there, there wasn’t any forage for them, but the animals provided a camouflage for the visitors.

  Omar greeted them silently as they entered his tent. Razaq was first, then Hamdaan and the last was Tayyib.

  The three were equal but had unconsciously taken on a hierarchical role in order of their numbers. Omar smiled grimly at the thought. The three were excellent strategists, but their deference to hierarchy would always hold them back.

  ‘We are meeting too often, it’s dangerous,’ Razaq said. His tone was respectful, but Omar knew he was envious of One’s access to the Supreme Leader. The four of them met the leader once every three months, but Omar met with him at will.

  ‘We will meet as and when required,’ Omar rapped out and saw Two’s eyes fall in acceptance.

  The three of them settled themselves and looked at Omar expectantly. It was he who had called for the meeting.

  ‘The Butcher.’

  Their faces tightened when Omar uttered the words.

  The Butcher’s brazen killing of Ibrahim Kazi in the heart of HOF country had sent shockwaves throughout the organization. After the killing he had the temerity to direct a search party.

  The video he had posted had been viewed secretly by several of the HOF fighters. They had seen the assassin’s cold, hard eyes behind his mask and had heard him denounce Kazi as a fornicator, as a coveter of other men’s women. He had showed proof, a photograph of Kazi embracing the teacher’s wife.

  He had also left a chilling warning.

  The Butcher would hunt anyone who harmed the woman. He would kill any HOF leader who strayed from the path of the true. He signed off with an Al Qaeda slogan, a gesture that heightened the tensions between the two organizations.

  The HOF had turned Fallujah upside down, but they hadn’t figured out how the assassin had escaped. Some witnesses said he had gone deeper inside HOF stronghold. Some speculated about tunnels.

  Hamdaan publicly executed several HOF fighters in a rage and also to send a message to the rest of the organization. Poor security would not be tolerated.

  Omar had his own opinion about the killer’s escape. The assassin had probably stayed put in the city till the hunt for him slackened. There were enough bombed out and deserted structures that could offer shelter. Once the search tapered, he could have escaped to the desert with no great difficulty. He was free once in the desert.

  Omar was sure the man had his camp in the desert and moved it every night. Unknown to the three others, he had organized hunter teams who were even now scouring the desert for the assassin.

  ‘Our men are losing morale,’ Hamdaan shifted uneasily on the cushion. ‘Al Qaeda is winning the battle for minds with this assassin.’

  Omar nodded gravely. ‘This is why I have summoned you.’

  ‘It is time we took back the initiative. We need to show we can reach out and strike spectacularly.’

  He paused dramatically.

  ‘The Ghul will behead someone in America.’

  A second’s silence was followed by drawn breaths and a chorus of voices rang out.

  ‘America?’

  ‘The Ghul?’

  ‘What about the war here?’

  He held his hand up to silence them.

  ‘We have other assassins here who can carry out executions. Imagine the impact of The Ghul beheading Americans in the Great Satan’s backyard.’

  They imagined. It was a dream to behold.

  ‘It’s dangerous and if he’s captured – ’

  Omar turned on Razaq furiously. ‘Don’t I know the risks? The Ghul and I have been planning this for months. The Supreme Leader has sanctioned it.’

  He drew a breath to calm himself down.

  ‘The Ghul will strike in New York. He will use a cell we have cultivated in the city who are ready to be martyrs to our cause. The Ghul will arrange a devastating attack in the city and when confusion and panic is at its highest; he will capture one American and do his job.’

  The Ghul and Omar had already thought about probable locations for the attack, but Omar had no intention of sharing all the details with the rest of the leadership council. There was no need to know.

  ‘When is he leaving?’ Tayyib asked him.

  A slow smile spread across Omar’s face.

  ‘The Ghul’s already in New York.’

  The satellite had been orbiting for years in the vast emptiness of space. Powered by the sun, it listened to the earth and sent its signals to a secretive location in Virginia. A computer analyzed those signals based on various keywords and parameters and any inconsistency was flagged for human insight. The satellite didn’t know what happened to its images, nor did it care. As long as it got sunlight, it would circle the earth.

  An analyst saw the images, wondered why another desert image had been flagged to him and just as he was shutting them down, he paused.

  Goats? There’s no grazing there.

  He zoomed in and used software to clean out ‘noise’ and what he saw made him send the images onward in the intelligence chain. The images reached several desks including those of one grey-eyed, ice cool woman who worked out of a nondescript office near the White House.

  Clare studied the images, read the accompanying analysis and sat back, lost in thought for an hour. The National Security Agency had noticed a significant uptick in the chatter it listened to. That the chatter increased just before and after the HOF leaders met was no coincidence.

  She reached a decision and forwarded the email to Zeb along with all other reports. She copied in several other people in that email and made her recommendations.

  It was time the most lethal person she knew was aware of all that the HOF might do.

  Zeb and the Petersens were still at One PP, with the task force.

  There had been some progress made. They knew the victim in the video.

  Lena Diaz.

  Diaz’s husband had reported her missing and so had her employer, earlier in the day. The tattoo had helped complete the identification. A counseling team from the NYPD was with the shocked husband and daughter whose world had just turned into a nightmare.

  Forensics had compared the cuts on Krantz’s body to McCallum’s. There was a good match, not enough to stand by itself in a court, but enough to link the victims.

  Zeb tuned out Chang’s narration; it merely confirmed what he had suspected.

  The Flayer had been active in the four years, just in other states.

  Zeb had been toying with visiting the other states, had even informed his contacts, and this development firmed his plans.

  Pizaka and Chang rose to their feet and began allotting tasks to the various assembled detectives. They had been in the room for four hours now and the clock was just touching 7 p.m. mark, but the air in the room was electric.

  Beth nudged her sister. ‘Look at them. Just a few hours back they were drooping.’

  ‘The Wise One’s speech has snapped them out of it. Who would’ve thought he could speak like that?’

  ‘I recorded it and sent it to Broker and the others. Broker texted back says we should go easy on the pot we have got Zeb hooked on. Bwana says The Wise One’s become The Wordy One.’

  They chuckled, then straightened and put on a straight face when Pizaka glared at them.

  ‘It’ll take more than a speech to crack him,’ Meghan muttered and Beth couldn’t stifle her grin.

  Pizaka ignored them. ‘We know the last message she sent was from near her office.’ He pointed to three detectives. ‘Canvas that area. Videos, witnesses, cabs, talk to everyone, and find out where exactly she was, who she met, whether anyone saw anything.’

  He directed two more cops to check out the café. If th
ey were lucky it might have video and if luck was shining really bright on them, the cameras would have caught the killer full on.

  The five cops left and Pizaka went back to his notes.

  ‘Can you play back the tape?’

  All heads turned to Zeb who stood up. ‘There something I want to show you guys.’

  Chang nodded at the technician.

  The video played again, and fast forwarded and then played normally on Zeb’s gesture.

  The killer opened the cabinet to reveal the instruments.

  ‘Pause.’

  Zeb looked at Chang and Pizaka. ‘You see what I see?’

  Chang’s brow furrowed and he whispered softly. ‘I’ll be damned.’

  The instruments were all neatly arranged, but it was the mark on them that Zeb had spotted. Every instrument had the manufacturer’s logo and brand on it.

  ‘I am guessing that’s a high-end brand. Look at everything else in that frame. The printer in that corner – I bet that’s the one he used to send those notes – is a high-end one. That cabinet is a well-known premium brand. Now, I have no clue about that brand of instruments, but any guesses that they don’t come cheap?’

  He continued when no one in the room disputed his reasoning. ‘I will also lay a bet that he procured those instruments as a set, not individually.’

  ‘Kovac, Garcia.’ Pizaka rapped out. ‘Chase this brand down. Dealers, orders, you know the drill.’

  Zeb directed the technician and the video moved and stopped on the tanks.

  ‘Krantz’s body was immersed in formaldehyde wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Chang referred to his notes. ‘That was the major residue on her body.’

  ‘Check those tanks out. How much liquid would they hold?’

  Beth got where Zeb was leading to.

  ‘He would have bought the formaldehyde in bulk! He got them delivered or picked them up himself.’

  Pizaka’s shades – he wore them everywhere - glowed as if lit by an internal fire. He didn’t need to issue any more orders. His gaze rested on various detectives and they moved out to track the liquid down.

  Chang’s sleepy eyes turned to Zeb. ‘Anything else, Great Speaker?’

  Zeb’s lips twitched in a small smile and directed the technician again.