Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series)

by M. P. McDonald

  "You may not be so glad to see me when you hear what I came to tell you, but it can wait a few moments. I'll just sit in the back until you're done."

  After casting him a quizzical look, Mark returned to his customer, and Jim wandered to the back of the studio to a few chairs arranged around a coffee table spread with magazines. A water cooler that matched the one in the office area gurgled in the corner. He took a paper cup from the dispenser and filled it before sitting. Breaking the news wasn't going to be easy. Especially not after what Mark had said the other day about not being of any use now that he no longer had the camera. Jim had scoffed at the time, but here he was about to confirm Mark's suspicions.

  He leaned back in the chair, sipping the water as he listened to Mark explain his pricing and timeline for the photographs. He sounded upbeat and friendly. Exactly the kind of guy anyone would want to buy photos from, and not at all like a man who'd been through what he had endured in the last three years. Jim had to hand it to the guy; he was as tough as they came.

  Mark passed by the waiting area as he escorted the customer, a woman with a little girl, to the back door. He waved at the child and grinned, telling her what a great job she'd done. He turned the smile on the mother. "Thanks again. I'll be in touch."

  As soon as the door shut, the smile dropped off Mark's face and he turned towards Jim. "So, what's it this time?"

  Jim motioned to one of the chairs. "Why don't you have a seat?"

  Eyes narrowed, Mark sat on the coffee table instead. "Just tell me what this is all about." He glanced at his watch. "I have another client arriving in about twenty minutes."

  Jim gave a short nod and crumpled the paper cup, dropping it into a wastebasket beside his seat. "Okay. I had a call today from Langley. I was informed that I have to let you go as an asset."

  Mark tilted his head as though waiting for more. "And? That's it? Hell, I could have predicted that even without the aid of the camera." Hands braced on his knees, his head dropped as he gave it a shake. After a moment, he slapped his palms on his thighs and stood. "Well, I guess that's that. Do you need me to sign something to make this official?"

  "No, I just need you to return the phone. Basically, it just means I can no longer put together teams to investigate your 'leads' without approval, whereas when you were my asset, I could do it at my discretion."

  Mark strode to his desk and returned with the phone in hand, and thrust it towards Jim. "Here you go."

  Jim took it, and stared at it blankly for a few seconds as awkwardness built.

  "What about the camera? Are you guys going to try to find Mo and get it back?"

  "Mohommad will be placed on the watch-list as having been sighted in the area, but as far as the camera goes, I can't promise anything. It's not a priority."

  "I suppose not, since it's just an old camera to your people."

  "You know that's not what I think. I know it has powers and I'll do what I can, but I can't make promises."

  "Hell, Jim. It doesn't matter anyway." Mark shrugged and moved to the back door, slamming the dead bolt home. "I have a feeling I'll never see the damn camera again. Once your guys get a hold of it, it'll be gone forever, but at least that's better than the bad guys having it. I think." Mark turned his head, his eyes fixed on the window, but his gaze was far away.

  Jim tapped the phone against his palm twice, and finally stuck his hand out. "It's been an honor, Mark. I mean that."

  Mark's hand remained at his side as he shook off whatever it was he was seeing in his mind and lifted an eyebrow. "An honor? I doubt that." He gestured toward Jim's outstretched hand. "Besides, I thought we were friends, sort of." Crossing his arms across his chest, his mouth set in a hard line for a moment before he nodded. "So, I take it the ball games, the friendly games of pool— those things are all just a part of the job? Keep the informant happy and all that?"

  Caught off guard, Jim let his hand drop to his side while he formed a reply. “You know none of that had anything to do with the job.”

  Mark stared at Jim coldly, and abruptly turned away, striding into the studio area. Jim heard backdrops retracting and walked around the corner to find Mark pulling a new backdrop down from a frame.

  "Listen, Mark, I had no choice in the matter. I tried to convince them, but they didn't listen."

  With a sarcastic laugh, Mark shook his head. "Why does that not surprise me?" He tightened the backdrop then turned to Jim. "Look, I understand that it was all a part of the job for you. It always has been, hasn't it? Whatever it takes." He rubbed the back of his neck before sighing and spreading his hands. "Crazy as it seems, I kind of admire that tenacity and dedication." Mark stepped forward, hand out. "It's been...an experience."

  Jim clasped his hand in a firm grip. "I'll be seeing you, Mark."

  Chapter 9

  Jim Sheridan saved the file he'd been working on and clicked the off button. Another week over. He stretched while the computer whirred as it closed programs and shut down. The weekend loomed before him with nothing on his agenda. He chuckled at the thought of how just a few months ago, that was the norm, but lately the weekends had been crammed with activities.

  Lily was a whirlwind, with lots of friends, and most accepted Jim, despite some initial awkwardness. As a CIA officer who headed the Chicago FBI field office, he didn't quite fit in with her free-spirited crowd, but she didn't seem to mind. She never forced him to be one of the gang, but made sure to include him in conversations.

  Since they'd started dating, he had met dozens of new people. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest. He felt like an old dog trying to learn new tricks, but he was loving every minute of it. It surprised him how much he enjoyed the shows and concerts she invited him to. They had gone to see some of the improv. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so hard tears had come to his eyes.

  He sighed and rolled his sleeves down, buttoning the cuffs. Lily had been gone only a few days on the trip she'd planned with a friend months ago, but he missed her already and wasn't quite sure what to do with his time for the two weeks.

  The computer screen darkened, and he stood, grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his chair. As he shrugged into it, his desk phone rang. For a half-second, he thought about ignoring it. It was Friday, and he'd put in twelve hours today. Duty won out, and on the fourth ring, he answered.

  "Officer Sheridan." He tucked the phone against his shoulder and ear as he buttoned the jacket.

  "Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, and I'm not sure if this is important or not, but Washington called, relaying a message that there was attempted activity on your phone."

  Jim stilled. He only had one encrypted phone registered to him and Mark normally just called him via his cellphone. "What time?"

  "About an hour ago."

  "An hour ago? And I'm only just now hearing about it?"

  "I'm sorry, sir. The main offices there have closed for the weekend, and the switchboard only just now called about it."

  "Never mind. Just give me the message."

  "That's the thing. The call never went all the way through. I wasn't even sure if I should bother you with this."

  Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's probably nothing, but I'll call the phone back and see what's up. Thank you for telling me."

  After hanging up, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Mark. After several clicks, it disconnected. It could be broken, so Jim set the phone on his desk and used the land-line to call Mark's regular cell. It rang four times before going to voicemail. Jim left a short message for Mark to return the call. Then he called the studio and got a busy signal. That was strange. Between the cellphones, voicemail and call-waiting, he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a busy signal on a phone.

  Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of the studio. It was probably overkill, but he grabbed his weapon from his glove box and put it in his suit coat pocket. He tried the front door, but it was locked. He rounded the building to the back alley. Dus
k put the alley in shadows, but he sighed in relief when he saw Mark's van parked by the back door. He knocked on the door and waited.

  After a second knock, he tried the doorknob, surprised when it turned in his hand, but rationalized that Mark was probably in his darkroom and unable to come to the door. He stuck his head in. "Hello? Mark?"

  The light above the darkroom wasn't lit, so that was ruled out.

  He blinked, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim interior. Mark's desk was completely clear. He smiled. It was about time the guy cleaned it up. Jim turned to go up the steps to the loft when he heard a groan.

  Reaching into his jacket pocket with one hand, he bent into a defensive crouch and took a closer look at the office. He noted a mug on the floor against the back wall, a handful of pens, pencils and paper clips scattered around it. It looked like the desk hadn't been tidied up so much as swept clean—except for a puddle of water at one end. A strip of duct tape dangled raggedly from the back of the desk. He wasn't sure what to make of that. Half beneath the desk, he spotted the phone he'd given Mark. Not a good sign.

  Another groan, louder this time, came from behind Lily's desk. His heart skipped a beat, but he reminded himself that she was lounging on the deck of a cruise ship about now.

  Glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody was coming down the steps, he hurried to the desk.

  Mark lay on his side, his arms bound behind his back with duct tape. Blood trickled from a swollen cut just above his temple. Jim's stomach churned. Now what had Taylor gotten mixed up in? He bent and gave Mark's shoulder a gentle shake. "Mark?"

  Mark blinked, his eyes unfocused. As Jim reached out to shake him again, Mark flinched away and mumbled, "No."

  "Hey, whoa. Take it easy." At least Mark was somewhat awake. "I'll be right back. Just sit tight." Jim wanted to make sure the site was secure before he let down his guard. A quick check of the studio and closets revealed nobody, and as much as Jim hated to leave Mark, he had to check the loft too. As he passed the back door, he shut and locked it.

  Jim crept up the stairs, noting the wide open door. Gun ready, he slipped inside. A survey of the room revealed closets with contents tossed about, dresser drawers open with clothing draped over the edges. Whoever was responsible for the disarray was gone. It was possible Mark had interrupted a burglary in progress, but he recalled the expensive camera equipment still in the studio. It didn't make sense that they'd left it all, especially since Mark had been bound and beaten unconscious.

  No longer worried about making noise, Jim hurried down the steps and found Mark trying to sit up but failing miserably without the use of his hands.

  Jim wasn't sure Mark should be sitting, but assisted him with a steady pull on his elbow. The collar of Mark's shirt and the whole back was soaked. He glanced at the puddle on Mark's desk and a large plastic cup that lay on its side beneath it. In the scuffle, the drink must have spilled.

  Mark swayed and Jim steadied him before moving behind him to tear at the binding. The tape was triple wrapped, and he couldn't rip it. Mark's hands felt cold and lack of circulation caused them to turn a dark red. The tape had been on awhile. He reached over Mark's shoulder and opened Lily's center desk drawer. Rising up on one knee, he spotted the scissors and cut through the tape.

  "There you go." Jim tossed the scissors back in the drawer as he moved around in front of Mark.

  Mark closed his eyes and grunted as he eased his arms in front of him. He rubbed his wrists while gingerly rotating his shoulders. "Shit! My shoulders hurt like a sonofabitch."

  Jim sat back on one heel and gave a relieved chuckle. At least Mark sounded okay. He pulled out his cellphone.

  Mark opened his eyes at the sound of the buttons. "What are you doing?"

  Jim paused before hitting the second '1'. "Calling the police and the rescue squad."

  With a grimace, Mark shook his head, wincing at the motion. He put a hand to the goose egg topped by the cut. "No. Don't."

  "Why the hell not?"

  Mark stood, leaning on the edge of the desk for support, his knuckles white. "Because I know who did it." He straightened and took a deep breath. "And he stole the camera."

  Jim spotted Lily's desk chair lying on its side in the corner. He grabbed it, rolling it behind Mark. "Sit down and tell me what happened."

  Blood still trickled down the side of Mark's face and Jim found a roll of paper towels, folded several into a pad, and wet them with water from the cooler. He handed it to Mark, who pressed it to his head. "Thanks."

  Mark's desk chair was shoved into the far corner, and Jim pulled it to the other side of Lily's desk and sat waiting until Mark had mopped up the cut and was ready to talk.

  The desk started rattling, and at first the sound puzzled Jim until he realized it was Mark's leg bouncing. He'd forgotten that nervous habit.

  "Mo did it."

  "Mo?” Jim tried to remember why he knew that name.

  "Mohommad Aziz."

  Of course. "How did he get in?"

  "I hadn't locked the front door yet." Mark folded the pad and winced as he pressed it back to the injury.

  Jim shook his head. "Not a good move, but I meant how did he get in the country? He shouldn't have been allowed back. I'm sure that was a stipulation of his release. Did he say anything about it?"

  Mark shrugged, his eyes downcast, but his voice dripped with sarcasm as he said, "He didn't tell me, and I didn't have a chance to ask him. Maybe next time he beats the hell out of me, I'll try to remember to ask the pertinent details before he gets to the waterboarding part."

  Surprised at Mark's tone, Jim glanced over to the puddle on Mark's desk, not wanting to believe it could be evidence of what Mark was telling him. "Waterboarding? What do you mean?"

  "I could refresh your memory on that interrogation tactic, because it's fresh in my mind." Mark lifted his gaze, his face a mask of anger and pain. "But I'd rather not."

  Confused, Jim asked, "Why would he do something like that to you?"

  His voice had a hard edge when he answered, "Because you guys told him about my dreams and the camera."

  Heat climbed Jim's face, but he pushed down the guilt. "Yes, we told him, but only to try and get him to confess to making up the story about you."

  Mark stared at him for a moment, his eyes searching, finally he looked away with a slight nod. "Well, whatever. Bottom line, he knew, and he didn't believe any of it until the shit hit the fan with the cult and all that hero crap, so I guess it's just my luck staying par for the course."

  "So, now we have an extremist in possession of the camera. All the more reason to call the police and get the ball rolling on this." He reached into his pocket for his phone again.

  "You don't understand. They know all about me. About my life. About my friends."

  Jim's hand tightened on the phone. "Did he make threats?"

  Mark swallowed and nodded. "Against Lily. And no doubt they won't be too happy with me either."

  Blind rage shot through Jim. "That bastard!" He exhaled slowly, checking his anger. Now wasn't the time to let emotions rule his thinking. "Don't worry. We'll find him."

  "I'm so sorry. I should have held out. Now I've put Lily at risk."

  "He beat it out of you. It’s not like you volunteered the information."

  "The other guy was the muscle. Mo just gave the orders."

  "Other guy?"

  "Yeah. Mo called him Hazim. He's the one who had a gun. I think that's what he hit me with." Mark tossed the bloody pad onto the desk and scrubbed his hands through his hair, leaving pieces sticking up.

  "Well, that's even more understandable. Two against one, a gun, and they were using you for a punching bag."

  "They didn't hit me until after I told them. Well, except when they first came in. The other guy hit me, I think. I never saw it coming. When I woke up, my hands were behind my back and I could hear them upstairs. I tried to get out, but I couldn't open any doors, and the phones were broken. I tried to cal
l you, but I couldn't get past that code with my damn hands behind my back." Mark glared at Jim as though he'd programmed the phone himself.

  "Hey, that's the tech guys who do that, but at least you got partially through. That's why I'm here. I got a call that someone tried to access the phone."

  "Yeah, well better late than never, I guess." Mark sighed and closed his eyes, his head cradled in his hands. He remained that way, his voice slurring as he said, "You could take lessons from him on waterboarding. He put your guys to shame."

  "Yes, well, I'll be sure to ask him for lessons when we find the bastard," Jim replied as he studied Mark, not liking what he saw. The guy looked like hell, and when several minutes passed without a return comment from him, Jim started to wonder if Mark had fallen asleep. A streak of red marred his forehead, and suddenly the dangling tape made sense.

  With a groan, Mark folded his arms and put his head down. "I've got a killer headache."

  "Another reason to call the paramedics, but whether they come here or I have to drag you to the ER, you will get checked out."

  Mark mumbled something that sounded like a profanity, but Jim wasn't positive.

  While Mark rested, Jim examined the office, finding clues to what had happened. Clues he'd overlooked before, but now fit into the framework that Mark had constructed. As he rounded Mark's desk, he spotted a large plastic cup beneath the desk and he bent to retrieve it, finding a wad of duct tape beside it. Suddenly, he stopped. What the hell was he thinking? This was evidence and before he ruined it, he had to get some technicians over here. It was a risk they had to take. They needed every scrap they could get to find out where the men had gone. It was a matter of national security now.

  He pulled out his cell for the third time. "I'm sorry, Mark, but I have to make this call."

  Mark lifted his head, his eyes dull with pain and fatigue, but still narrowed in anger as he said, "You're as big a bastard as Mo is, do you know that?"

  Jim clamped his mouth shut. He was inclined to agree with Mark, but despite the risk, he had to make the call.