by Saul, Jonas
The pool.
It was a circular above-ground pool with a cover. She could tell it was filled with water. She’d walked right by it when she was looking for a way into the house. How could she have forgotten?
It took her no time at all to crawl up onto the window sill. She wrapped the belt around her right wrist and sat there for a second, judging the distance and how she wanted to land.
The house made more noises as she hovered in the window.
Hide when wet…kill to save a life…
That must be what it meant. When she hit the pool she would hide as the men in the front of the house might investigate. They are not going to take her hostage or serve a fancy beverage to celebrate her miraculous jump to safety. No, when she got out they were intent on killing her. The life to save would be hers.
She counted to three and pushed off the sill.
Chapter 30
He heard the smack as much as felt it.
Sam rose back up to his own nightmare. The pain aided his return to consciousness. When he opened his eyes, the gunman was sitting on the table and Blake - at least he thought the guy who had the whip was called Blake - was standing over him, rubbing his hand.
The blood was slow, but still oozing from his leg.
Why bring him all the way out here just to kill him? He reasoned they wouldn’t do a trade for the Roberts if all they wanted to do was kill an evidence clerk from the police station.
He was awake enough now to feel the throb in his leg. The strap was wrapped around it above the thigh. It had been pulled snug into what looked like a decent field dressing tourniquet.
“We need answers. You probably know how this works. Please us and you die quickly, challenge us and you die slowly. That is the only strap my friend has so there will be no more tourniquets. Are we clear?”
Sam nodded, already deducing how he could get to them. Blake stood back by the door now and the gunman was a few feet away on the table. With a bad leg he couldn’t rush them without getting hit by another bullet. It all would come down to science. Where the bullet hit would determine if he got to the guy or not. When the time came he needed to be ready. If he got close enough, his knife would be aimed for the center of the guy’s throat.
“What do the police know? Tell us about the case.”
Sam grunted as he rolled over. It may have looked like he was favoring the leg, but he was angling himself to get better access to the knife.
“What do the police know?” Sam echoed.
“Don’t repeat my questions. Just answer them.”
He got into the best position he could find that enabled him decent access to his knife and allowed his wounded leg to rest with no pressure. Below the hip he was rapidly becoming numb, which was a good thing for he needed to think clearly to increase the odds of taking one or both of them out.
Movement on the table caught his eye. The gunman jumped down and produced his weapon.
“We’re running out of time. Start talking or we won’t need you anymore.”
Sam raised a hand in supplication. “Okay, okay…no need to shoot me again. I’ll talk, just give me a second.”
“Sam, there’s no time left. Tell us what the police know.”
“We know about the kidnappings. The police know that you have Esmerelda, Dolan and Sarah. They’ve attributed the Roberts to you as well.”
“What else?”
The gunman stood there holding the weapon. It was aimed at the wall. The threat was immediate: do as we say or I use the gun.
“We know that anyone associated with this group, whatever you are, has a rip at the base of their shirt. It’s always on an angle.” Sam looked over at Blake because the way he was standing, the rip showed easily. “Like that one,” he pointed.
“I need to know if the FBI has any idea where we are at the moment. Tell us something useful. We didn’t lose two hostages and take all the risks involved to trade for you so that you can tell us stuff we already know. Patience, I haven’t got.”
“They also know that your group is responsible for the two dead cops.”
“That was unfortunate. We don’t like to do that sort of thing, but those traffic cops got involved in something they shouldn’t have.”
Sam eased his leg a little and scrunched his face at the pain. “Batches of license plates were stolen from the same neighborhood. We believe those are the plates that you guys use on all your SUVs. Hey look, could I get some water?”
Gunman shook his head. “No water. Suffer. Now continue.”
“I haven’t been working directly with the FBI but I know Jill Hanover is in charge. I also suspect they know that Jack Tate is involved with you guys somehow because his shirt was ripped and the dead girl found by his house had to be a victim of his.”
“No, not his. The dead girl was planted there. The FBI have been getting close to Jack, watching him. He had us plant the body to shine less light on him as a suspect. The ripped shirt on the girl was an oversight. He was pretty pissed we fucked that up, eh Blake?”
Sam looked over and saw Blake nod.
“What else do you have Sam?”
He leaned back and sprawled flat out. “We know about a recent kidnapping in another state. The girl was spotted here locally. Since you guys are in the area I think the FBI has put it together that she’s been taken by your group.” He stopped and looked sideways up at the gunman. “Let me ask you something. What do you guys call yourself and what is all this for? Is it human trafficking?”
“Don’t you have any guesses?”
“I know that whatever it is, it’s completely crazy. You can’t kill cops and not expect a manhunt.”
“That’s why we’re moving shop. We’ll be halfway across the country within days. Enough about that. What else can you tell us?”
“I was trying to work this case myself but I kept hitting a wall. So at this point I don’t have anything else.” He bent at the waist so he’d get better access to the knife. Without knowing it, when these guys shot him they opened his pant leg two inches from the knife. The tourniquet was an inch above that. Sam had no idea how they missed the blade when the tourniquet was put on.
“So you don’t know that Sarah escaped?”
He shot his head up in surprise. “What? Sarah escaped? When?”
“That’s not important. As we searched for her we decided to trade you for her parents to see what the cops knew. As we can see they don’t know much more than we thought. At least they have no idea what we’re doing. Sarah must’ve never made it to society. It’s a long walk.”
“What is it you are doing?”
The gunman turned to address Blake. “You see Blake, they are stupid. They have no idea what we’re doing here. Our operation isn’t in jeopardy. Go take care of the rest of the prisoners - we won’t be needing them anymore - and then come back here to help me dispose of Sam’s body. Reassure our investors that all is well in the Nation. Then we need to move the remaining girls to the new compound.”
Blake opened the door and stepped out, closing it firmly behind him.
“Girls? New compound?”
“Yes Sam. This is all about girls.”
The gunman turned away. Sam heard the magazine in his gun unclip. The guy was checking his weapon, getting it ready to use again. He was out of time. With deft fingers, Sam reached into his pants, said a little prayer and yanked the blade free. He had no idea how he’d be able to stand to plunge the knife in. A pivot turned him into a strong enough position that maybe he could get up, but his leg screamed in the process, making him slouch for a second.
Then the door opened.
“We found Sarah.” It was the guy with the black glasses that Sam had met as soon as he got out of the SUV. “You won’t believe where.”
Sam clutched the knife in his right palm, blade angled down by his wrist. It was completely out of sight of both men.
“Tell me,” gunman said.
“In our resting home. Can you believe it?�
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“Did they kill her?”
“They didn’t know she was even there until they set the house on fire. Luke saw her in a window and shot at her. He’s staying behind until he’s sure she’s dead.”
Fire! Sam prayed Sarah would make it. But then he knew her to be in worse situations and walk away. Even a burning building hadn’t stopped her before.
“This is crazy. What are the odds?” the gunman said, smiling.
“We’re all ready to go, so finish up here and we’ll leave in thirty minutes.”
They nodded at each other and the guy with the glasses left.
“You were saying how this is all about girls. What were you talking about?”
All he had left was talk.
The gunman looked at him. “I’ve got a few minutes so I’ll humor you. We are an extension of a large group that brings girls in from all over the world, the U.S. included, for the rich and elite. Some of us have been at this for many years. Armond, or as you know him, Jack Tate started it way back when he was a cop. It began as a massage parlor in the seventies and then to a condo and finally it escalated to Armond picking girls up that were requested.”
So it was true. Jack Tate was the leader. “Requested girls? How does that work?”
“Certain men have a taste that is hard to satisfy. Armond would go all over the States to get what they wanted at a price. He got rich fast, but ultimately he needed help.”
“You keep saying Armond. Is that Jack’s real name?”
“No one knows his real name, but that doesn’t matter now.”
The gunman clipped the weapon’s safety off and lifted it to aim at Sam’s face.
“So basically you guys are all pimps. Glorified whores. What next, male prostitutes?”
On the spur of the moment he wanted to say something to keep the guy talking, something that might jar him a little. This seemed to work. The gun faltered and lowered again.
“No, it isn’t that simple. We offer a service. Some of the richest men in the world pay us to enjoy the benefits of sleeping with a girl at any age they request with complete anonymity. We have no restrictions other than confidentiality. Our rule is, break that and your price is one of your children. If you have no children then we castrate them and leave the snitch maimed for life. Break confidentiality twice, instant death. That’s it. Pay your bill, have fun, keep your mouth shut and walk away clean.”
Sam shook his head. He pushed back and leaned his upper body against the wall. “You do know how crazy that is, right?”
“No, not crazy. Genius. It is something that men all over the world are already doing but with great risk. Pay the right price and get whatever you want risk-free - it’s a solid business venture.”
“Then why the psychics? Why run the risk of kidnapping people you won’t use and killing cops too?”
“Oh we use psychics all the time. We kidnap at least two to three psychics per year to have on staff. We find one out of every ten who seem like the real thing. They help us in finding the right girls we’re looking for and they let us know if our risk factor increases with the police. When they refuse to help or simply can’t anymore, they’re executed. Sam, the only people who get out of here alive are the ones who pay money to enter. That’s it.”
“That’s human trafficking and murder. It sounds to me like you guys have killed more people than a small army,” Sam said as he pushed against the wall on his good leg in an effort to stand. “But what you just said begs another question. If the only people who leave here are the ones who have money, then am I right to assume that if I paid a certain amount of money it would secure my release?”
The gunman was shaking his head. “Sam, I said the only ones are the people who pay to enter. Not pay to negotiate release. But I assure you that you will leave this compound, only it’ll be in a body bag.”
“Not if I can help it,” Sam said and stood to his full height against the wall, leaning completely on his good leg. He felt woozy; a dizzy spell came and went. He was sure the gunman still hadn’t seen his weapon as it was clutched in his fist, the blade erect behind his wrist.
“What do you mean, not if I can help it?” gunman asked as he stepped closer.
Sam coughed. Then he coughed himself into a fit, bending at the waist. He stopped for a second, eyes watering and leaned back up. He intimated that he wanted to say something but couldn’t. The gunman wasn’t close enough. He bent a little and coughed some more.
“I want…” Sam tried and then coughed again. When he spoke next he made it soft and raspy. It came out unintelligible.
“I have no idea what you’re saying Sam, but time is up. Say your piece and then I have to go.”
Sam gestured for the gunman to come closer. He was hoping he wouldn’t faint. His strength was leaving him. He actually did need a drink soon.
One more attempt at speaking and the gunman stepped close enough to touch.
Sam raised his good hand and beckoned a little closer.
With as much speed as he could muster, Sam lunged with his right hand, the large blade exposed now. It sliced at least an inch deep into the gunman’s throat.
His eyes widened in surprise. Sam let out a sigh of relief as the gun fell to the floor. Most professionals would’ve still taken the shot as they died, but not this guy. He was so stunned that Sam had knifed him that he literally died of shock.
In less than a minute, the gunman’s body lay still in the pool of blood that had grown to circle his head and shoulders. He died with his eyes wide open. Sam left them that way. They can dry right out of your head, fucker.
The gun was in his hand now. A rush of adrenaline flowed through him making it feel like he was on a six-Red-Bull high. He limped to the door and peeked outside. Deep, regular breaths had dispelled the wooziness.
The hall was empty. He left the gunman’s body in the empty room and started down the hallway in pursuit of a man named Armond.
Today he gave back to all the people the police couldn’t protect.
Today he’d kill him some bad guys.
Chapter 31
Sarah hit the pool cover hard on her right side. It collapsed and instantly water seeped in around her.
Her legs broke the fall. Each shoulder took the rest of the impact as she rolled onto the cover toward to edge of the pool. The plan was to avoid being dragged down with the pool cover and drowning in a simple back yard pool. Now the edge lay one foot from her right shoulder.
The water was cold and refreshing. Her only hope was that it had been cleaned in the last month.
Did the guy with the gun hear her land? Were they on their way around the side of the house right now?
She had no way of knowing, because she was allowing the pool water to engulf her, taking her to its four feet of cold depth. She took a couple of deep breaths before being completely submerged.
The belt was still wrapped around her right wrist. In the water, on her back she loosened it and wrapped a little around her left wrist too. With caution to avoid swishing the water and making noise, Sarah brought the belt ends apart until it was taut. The perfect garrote. Thick, but it would work.
She looked up through the film of water and saw the house completely aflame. The window she had just jumped from had an orange light coming from it, meaning the flames were making their way through that room now too. The window on the first floor was surrounded in black as the fire had licked through it for some time now.
She estimated she’d been upside down in the pool for twenty seconds. The water seemed to want her to rise again as she lifted toward the surface.
She used her legs to keep herself near the bottom.
It was a cloudless day. Except for the burning house, blue sky and bright sunshine was all she could see. Then a shadow crossed her vision. She stopped moving. Her lungs started to protest. Residual smoke was fighting to get her to cough. Submerged as she was she could hear her pulse in the inner canal of the ear.
She waited. Sometime
s there were more important things to do than breathe. If she got up at the wrong time, she could be shot.
…hide when wet…
The shadow again.
Ever so slightly Sarah pivoted her head down, chin touching chest, and looked at the guy who had shot at her when she was in the upstairs window.
He had his back to her as he stared at the burning house. Either the fire mesmerized his pyromaniac delusions or he was riveted by the fact that Sarah was supposed to be sticking her head out of a window at any moment in search of oxygen.
