"No, not really." He tightened the handle on the side of the backdrop frame. "I just...I wanted to talk to you about this one." He gave the handle one last turn then motioned towards the office. "I have the photos on the desk, if you want to see."
She went ahead of him, but looked over her shoulder, her brow furrowed. "You sound scared. What was the dream about?"
"Scared doesn't begin to cover it." Mark sprawled in the swivel chair behind his desk, waiting until Lily had taken her seat before sliding the photos he'd developed last evening across to her side.
He recounted the details of the dream, suppressing a shudder at the vision. It was so clear in his mind. He leaned across the desk when he finished sharing the nightmare. "A...a ritual murder, Lily! How can I stop something like this? I didn't even get a good look at where it takes place. Just a quick glimpse of a street sign and the interior of what looked like a warehouse. And a damn cult—can't forget that."
He lowered his head, elbows propped, and ran his hands through his hair. "I don't have enough details! What the hell does it want me to do?" He slapped a hand down on the photos in frustration and leaned back.
"I don't know." Lily's brow furrowed in concern. "Maybe you can call Jessie? She might know something about cults. At the very least, she might know which warehouses on West Ohio are abandoned and give you a location to start."
Mark sighed and said, "Yeah, I guess. Doing that opens a whole new can of worms, but I need information, and she might have it. Thanks." Lily was right. While he hated involving the police and specifically, Jessie, it didn't seem like he had much choice. If he was going to stop this, he needed some help.
Lily reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. "Promise me, whatever you do, you'll be careful, Mark."
* * *
"Come on, Jess, just hear me out," Mark pleaded, his eyes skimming the photo, ever hopeful that some new clue would turn up. He held the phone with his shoulder as he flipped through the three pictures. Over the years he had found that often clues showed up in one photo and not the others. It was like the camera recorded different points of view. Nothing caught his eye this time. Of course he wouldn't get that lucky. He sat forward in his desk chair and held the phone to his ear, drumming his fingers on the desk. "I just need—"
"Listen, Mark. You know I'd help you if I could, but this isn't my investigation. I could get into a lot of trouble for leaking information. Plus, I'm up to my eyeballs in paperwork on another case."
"I...I know you're busy and I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." He fidgeted with a pencil, then lowered his voice, almost pleading, "Come on...for old time's sake?"
There was a long pause before she sighed and grudgingly gave him the little bit of information she had. He jotted down the details about several empty warehouses that she knew off the top of her head. Her knowledge of the religious sects was a bit sketchier.
"We're investigating one cult that we suspect has been running drugs and a money laundering operation. They don't seem too interested in the religious aspect; they seem to use that as front to recruit members."
Mark shook his head even though she couldn't see him. "What I saw was more than a show. These guys were serious about what they did. Or rather, what they are going to do." The whole time frame perspective always confused him when he spoke about it. None of the events depicted had taken place yet, except in his dreams. "Anyway, thanks for your help. I appreciate it."
There was silence on the other end, and Mark wondered if she was as reluctant to hang up as he was. When Lily had mentioned calling Jessie, he couldn't help the thrill of anticipation that shot through him. He'd have a reason to call her...to hear her voice again.
Jessie sighed, her breath loud in his ear. "I wish I could help you more, but as long as your gift has to remain a secret, there's nothing more I can do. Can you call Jim with this? Would he be able to help?"
Mark tossed the pencil onto the desk. "I thought about calling him, but this isn't exactly a national crisis. I'm pretty sure it would fall under the jurisdiction of local law enforcement—and you know my history with Chicago P.D."
"But he's still heading up the FBI office, right?"
"Yes, that's true."
"Just because he's CIA doesn't mean he can't act in the capacity of FBI. Give him a call. It couldn't hurt."
"I don't know."
"Listen Mark, I know you still don't like talking to the guy. I get that. But you agreed to keep him informed if you see anything that could be a threat."
"Yes, I did, but not garden variety threats, it's meant for national security threats." He slid the top photo to the side, and studied the next one of the girl strung up on the cross. "As horrible as this is, it's not a national threat."
"National threat or not, you should tell him because you could be in danger trying to stop this. You are an asset now. His asset. It's his job to keep you safe."
"He'll just tell me not to save the girl." He had come to respect Jim despite their rocky history where the other man had been head of the CIA team who had interrogated Mark for over a year. "He'll say it's not worth the risk."
"In a way he's right, you know. You could potentially save thousands if there is ever a repeat of 9/11, but if something happens to you..."
He blew out a breath in exasperation. "So you think I should just let her die? Is that what you're saying?"
"No, I'm just saying that you should get some help."
It was useless. At an impasse, Mark ended the awkward moment. "I'll think about it. And Jess, thanks again."
"You're welcome. Just don't let on where you got the cult info, or I'll...I'll..."
Mark grinned, recognizing her playful tone. "You'll what?"
"You won't have to worry about the cult because I'll crucify you myself."
Mark laughed."Thanks. I owe you one."
"You're damn right you do. More than one." Her voice softened. "And Mark? Stay safe, okay?"
Chapter 2
The first warehouse Mark checked later in the evening was dark and locked up tight. It didn't look like anything could happen there anyway. At least, not in the time frame Mark had figured out. It was already eight-twenty and if a ritual was planned, it would have to get going pretty soon if it was going to happen tonight. If only he had a name. Why couldn't the dream have provided some clue as to who the girl was? Sighing, Mark pulled out his flashlight and checked the photos. He still had hopes that maybe, somehow, they had changed. Unfortunately, he still found grisly pictures of the soon to be dead girl.
The night was dark with heavy clouds scuttling across the sky and a cold, damp wind whistled through the alley. Mark hunched into his jacket and shoved his hands into the pockets as he hurried to the next address on his list. Approaching the building, he paused when he heard muffled voices, laughter and a popping noise float through a broken window. He peeked between the shards of glass and spotted a small group gathered around a burning trash can. The men passed a bottle around.
Mark turned back and leaned against the wall, willing his racing heart to slow to a normal tempo. He hadn't even known how keyed up he was until that moment. Obviously, this wasn't the right warehouse either. It was just a few homeless guys seeking shelter from the weather. He pushed away from the wall and headed back towards the street and his last address. His foot kicked a bottle, sending it clattering across the pavement, the sound loud in the stillness.
"Hey! Who's out there?" The voice was deep and rough.
He turned towards the door of the warehouse and saw a shadow moving towards him. As he spun to flee, his right foot hit a patch of something slippery and slid from beneath him. His knee cracked hard against the pavement and he fell onto his side, teeth clenched in pain as he rolled to a sitting position. Breathing deeply, Mark pulled his knee into his chest, rocking back and forth while the pain slowly abated. Damn. It hurt like a sonofabitch.
"You all right, man?"
Mark looked up to find one of the men from the warehouse leani
ng over him. His hair was matted and greasy and his clothes could probably walk away on their own, but the weathered face wore a look of concern. Mark relaxed slightly. Wincing, he nodded. "Yeah. I just slipped." Gingerly, he stretched his leg out and decided that it was in working order.
"Whatchya doin' out here?" The man held out a hand and Mark grasped it as the guy hauled Mark to his feet.
"Thanks. I was just...just looking to take some photos. I'm a photographer and need something edgy for a magazine cover."
Looking Mark up and down, the man said, "Where's your camera?"
Mark hesitated a second. "I left it in my car around the corner. I didn't want to lug it around until I found a good site."
"Sure you did, buddy. Listen, this ain't a very good place for a guy like you to be wanderin' around at night."
Mark stiffened, not sure if he'd been insulted or not. "A guy like me?"
The man laughed, his teeth flashing gray in the faint light. "Yeah. You look like a doctor or lawyer or somethin'. And some folks in this part of town don't like your kind."
"I...I'm not a doctor or a lawy...look, I have a studio in the River North area. I'm just a photographer."
"And you came all the way out here to take some pictures?" He raised an eyebrow as he took a swig from his bottle then offered it to Mark.
"Uh, no, but thanks for the offer."
Shrugging, the guy took another pull.
Mark began backing slowly away. Time was wasting. "Well, seeing as how the full moon is hidden by the clouds, guess I might have to try another night." Mark didn't buy his own story and from the look on the other man's face, he didn't either.
"Do what you want, but while you're taking your pictures, steer clear of that warehouse across the street. There's some strange shit going on in there."
Mark whipped his head around. He strained to see the warehouse the man spoke of. "Strange...shit?"
"Yeah, the last few nights, we've heard chanting, screams and some creepy yowling."
His mind raced. That was the warehouse. "Thanks, I'll keep your advice in mind."
The man cleared his throat and spat before answering, "You do that."
* * *
Mark crept around the corner of the building and found an entrance. The door hung askew and creaked in the wind. He paused before entering. Maybe he should just call the police. But he shook off that plan. So far, he had nothing to tell them and with his lack of credibility with the Chicago PD, he doubted they would jump into action on his say so alone. He worried he might already be too late. Mark shook his head, trying to dispel the negative thought. Somehow, he would find a way to save the young woman.
Stepping over the threshold, he found himself in what he thought might be an office. It was pitch black, but he sensed walls instead of a large cavernous space like a warehouse. He shuffled his feet carefully, his hands held out before him as he tried to navigate in the darkness. Soon, his eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, and he picked out dark shapes that appeared to be desks and chairs.
He stilled when he heard voices chanting. A chill swept over him. Something about the cadence of the chant sent a shiver of fear to his very core. Every cell in his brain screamed at him to turn and flee as fast as he could and he began to heed the order, but froze in his tracks when he heard a faint whimper of fear.
He couldn't leave—not without at least trying to help. His breathing quickened and his heart seemed to be beating loud that he was surprised the sound wasn't echoing off the walls. He advanced toward the chanting. He found a hallway leading out of the office and followed it around to the right. From the hollow resonance of his steps on the wooden floor, he figured he was in the warehouse now.
A mysterious glow emanated from the far corner. Mark couldn't figure out what caused it. He crept towards the light. It wasn't until he bumped into something that he realized that in front of him was a makeshift wall covered in a dark, rough cloth. Beneath the cloth, he felt a wooden framework. Pallets? Reaching up, he couldn't feel the top of the wall, but since the glow was visible above it, it couldn't have reached the ceiling. One hand skimming the cloth, Mark followed the wall until he came to an opening.
About a dozen people surrounded a naked woman who cowered on the floor—the photo come to life. They circled her, slowly, chanting words he couldn't decipher. Maybe it was a different language, but he wasn't sure. Every few seconds, a man holding a long pole, a staff of some sort, would poke her roughly. Mark noticed numerous bruises on her back and arms. The woman's eyes were huge and her bound hands lifted to try to fend off the staff, a gag choking off terrified sobs.
Bile rose in his throat.
The only illumination came from flashlights held by three people in the group. All wore the dark hooded clothing, masking their features. He thought he definitely heard at least a couple of feminine voices in the group. In the dim light, he could see a post rigged with ropes. He didn't want to think what they planned to do with that, but according in his dream, at some point the woman would be lashed to it.
His mouth felt dry as a desert and his mind raced trying to determine a plan of action. If he hurried, he could get help. That seemed like the wisest choice. He certainly couldn't take on a dozen people by himself. The thought of leaving the woman alone and helpless tore at his conscience, but what choice did he have? Mark backed away from the opening, but as he turned, he crashed into someone. A very large someone who shoved Mark away.
"Uh!' The push sent Mark staggering into the wall behind him. He reached out to catch himself, but his hand tangled in the fabric, and he bit back a cry of pain when something sliced his palm.
"Enjoying the show?" The man advanced and grabbed Mark by the shoulder of his jacket and yanked him towards the opening, sending him stumbling into the midst of the ceremony.
Mark regained his balance quickly and thinking fast, rushed to the woman before anyone could stop him. He had a certain element of surprise and hoped that by doing the unexpected, he might get them both out of this yet. He pulled her to her feet and tried to ignore the flare of hope in her eyes. Escape was far from a sure thing and already cries of protest arose from the gathering behind him.
A soft whoosh gave him a scant half-second warning, but probably saved his life as he ducked, huddling over the victim. The staff cracked across his head with a glancing blow.
Mark staggered. Shaking his head to clear it, he spun, catching the return swing of the pole and yanked it out of the wielder's hands. The suddenness of his movements caught the group by surprise. Mark chalked up his response to adrenaline and the instinct for survival. Sometimes, a bit of fear could work wonders.
One of the men charged him, but Mark held him at bay by a sharp jab to the chest. "Get back!" He crouched, brandishing the staff, swearing when his hand slipped as the blood from his palm turned the pole slick. He tightened his grip. "What the hell are you guys doing in here? Are you people insane?"
"It's none of your business." The answer came from the behemoth who had grabbed Mark a few moments ago.
The man stepped towards the pair and Mark saw his eyes clearly for the first time, and he had to hold back a shudder. No human warmth or compassion showed in their depths, only a flat, cold blackness. Snake eyes...it was the closest comparison that came to Mark's mind.
"It's my business when you try to kill someone!" Mark swung menacingly and the leader stopped. The woman's hands clung to the back of Mark's jacket and he could feel her shuddering. He had to make a move, the longer the standoff went on, the worse his chances. "I'm sorry to spoil your little party here, but we're gonna be going now."
Still swinging at anyone who moved, Mark edged around the group to the opening. He didn't know why they didn't jump him en masse, but he wasn't about to question their motives.
Once Mark and the girl were out of the makeshift room, it was harder going in the dark. Mark tried to watch for pursuers while also attempting to guide the woman back towards the front entrance. They shuffled and st
umbled their way out of the building. Mark dropped the staff and pulled the woman over to a nearby Dumpster for cover.
He tried to control his trembling hands as he fumbled with the rope around her wrists and finally remembered the little pocketknife he always carried. Digging it out, he sliced through the binding and looked over his shoulder when he heard shouting coming from the building. When he turned back, the woman was in the process of removing the gag. "Okay, let's go!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him as he raced for the street and relative safety. It wasn't until the woman stumbled and Mark turned to see if she was okay that he realized she was still naked and trying to run barefoot over the pavement.
Mark shrugged out of his jacket. "Here!" He helped her into it, and then scooped her up in a cradle hold. "Hang on tight."
* * *
Mark trudged what seemed like miles, but was probably less than a half-dozen blocks, looking over his shoulder every time he heard a noise. Nobody followed, which was a relief, but Mark realized he was still in a bad neighborhood and there was nowhere he could call for help. He sagged against an iron gate protecting the front of a pawnshop and hiked the girl up higher. His arms ached, and she was now dead weight, having passed out at some point. A shiver shook his body, the cold, damp air chilling him now that he was no longer moving. Looking around, he got his bearings and was pretty sure that County hospital was only a block or so away. With a grunt, he pushed away from the wall. The girl was slight, but by the time Mark reached the hospital, his arms were shaking with the effort of carrying her.
"I...I need some help...please?" Mark gasped out his plea as he staggered through the automatic doors. "She was attacked...they had a...a pole. Kept jabbing her."
"Grab a cart!" Two nurses rushed up and relieved Mark of his burden and eased her onto the gurney. He stumbled at the sudden removal of weight and caught himself on a wall, his breathing ragged.
Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series) Page 42
