Maximus: A Harvey Nolan Thriller #1 (Harvey Nolan Thrillers)

by Abbey, S. C.

  Harvey considered the advice of his counsel, not that he didn’t know, he was a law professor after all. “Whoever it was who set me up probably knows I’m looking for Christina, hence he got to Shia, someone that the police can connect me to, which also means that he would come up with more ideas to get me to stay here as long as possible. I can’t risk that.”

  Katie nodded her head in agreement. “What do plan to do then?”

  “I need you to cross check Charlotte Jones and Christina Jenson with the list of FBI missing persons. Find out what their similarities are and search for others with the same traits. Shia was an anomaly because he did it to put the police’s spotlight on me, but you should be able to get something from the rest.” Said Harvey, his hands supporting his chin.

  “And one more thing, get Bert. He would be able to help.”

  Chapter 37

  THE GUARD CLEARED the metal tray from the floor where it was placed, the food barely eaten. Harvey didn’t had the appetite for lunch when he was alone in an FBI holding cell. He had tried very hard to close his eyes and rest but sleep just eluded him like a slippery fish. He was left in his thoughts, lying on his back against the bench, staring at the concrete ceiling. After Katie had left, Detective Frost had continued to interrogate him for a good 2 hours more before he had decided to keep him in custody in the cell he was in. The mental anguish from an interrogation drained his already fatigue mind even further, a headache was starting to make itself known from the right side of his temple.

  “Nolan, you have a visitor. I must say you have some powerful friends.” Commented agent Darrow as he unlocked the gate to the cell and waved the visitor in. A well-dressed man with impeccably combed silvery hair stood at the entrance of the cell.

  “Harvey, I must say this makes for a good magazine cover, you lying in the cell. You look pretty suave like that.”

  “Bertram, thank god you are here.” Cried Harvey as he sat up from his undignified posture on the bench. He waited till Darrow relock the gate and left his sight. “You’ve got to get me out of here. I’m innocent!”

  “Of course you are my boy, of course you are.” Replied Bertram. “But first and foremost, I am here to deliver a message from Miss Moulin.”

  “Katie? What is it? Did she find out something?”

  “Katie told me and I quote, ‘Tell Harvey he was absolutely right about a connection, Christina and Charlotte were both widowed before they went missing, and I cross-referenced the FBI list with this in mind, I ended up with 5 other widows and 4 other women who had lost loved ones before they went missing. One of them lived with her sister right here in Manhattan in the home they were staying with their father before he passed. I’m going to pay her a visit’.” Said Bertram.

  “I knew it! I knew I was right.” Harvey exclaimed as he stood up. “The drug smugglers, they pray on the weak, the mentally fragile women who were at a low point in their lives. Scumbags of society, the bunch of them.”

  Bertram flashed a look of disgust. “Harvey, you have to do something about this, you have to clear your name and look for your friends, them Christina and Shia. Or else they will end up like Charlotte Jones, they will die.”

  “But I’m stuck here, Bert.” Harvey said as he slumped back into his bench. “I can’t do anything about the situation when I’m here. And Detective Frost, he would never believe me. He’s too adamant to admit that there is a chance I might be right.”

  “Then I fear for your friends.”

  “Bert, can you get me out of here?” pleaded Harvey. “Pull some strings? Ask for some favors?”

  “I’m afraid then even I do not have the power to disrupt an FBI investigation.” Bertram sighed. “Forcing my way in for a visit is one thing, getting you out is an entirely different kind of difficult.”

  “Am I to just sit here and wait?” Harvey replied in a dejected tone.

  Bertram took a seat next to Harvey on the bench and stared out of the cell. He maintained this position for a good 5 minutes, as if he was battling a decision mentally. With a determined look, he whispered to himself into the silence. “He might be able to help.”

  “Who? What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Harvey I need you to listen to me. Look to my coming, at first light, on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East.” Said Bertram with a serious look on his face.

  “What are you talking about?” Harvey said with a puzzled look which transformed into a glare. “Wait a minute, isn’t that – C’mon Bert, you and your ill-timed jokes, quit fooling around.”

  Bertram chuckled before he added. “Oh Harvey, have a sense of humor. But seriously, come.” Bertram signaled Harvey to follow him to the bars of the cell. “Can you see the clock from here?” He pointed toward the clock hanging on the wall close to the gate of the main gate to all the holding cells. “Two hours and thirty minutes from now, you must make a choice. Keep your eyes on the clock, be ready when the time comes.”

  Harvey looked at Bert for a sign that he was still joking but couldn’t find it in the grave features of his foster father. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

  Chapter 38

  ‘DAYS CAN BE sunny, with never a sigh; don't need what money can buy. Birds in the tree sing their dayful of song, why shouldn't we sing along?’ Jerry Mulligan swept across the stage in his American army uniform, dreamily wide eyed, trotting along the city of Paris after the second world war in hopes of a bright future the new world provides. ‘I'm chipper all the day, happy with my lot. How do I get that way? Look at what I've got?’

  Nothing.

  Thought Spector, as he crossed switched the leg he was crossing over the other to the mirror image of what it was.

  I’ve got nothing.

  Designed and built by Milwaukee architects Kirchoff & Rose, the 1740-seat Palace Theatre has been sitting between West 47th and 46th Street in Broadway on 7th Avenue in Midtown Manhattan opposite Times Square since 1913. Its gold and white interior was the epitome of pre-world war two grandeur, and the dusty red seats and hard timber stage, have provided thousands of hours of Broadway entertainment for the past 100 years. It was the most desired theatre to be seen in.

  The female lead had finally appear on the stage and the male lead was mesmerized, drawn to her like a moth to a candle flame. This scene always reminded Spector of the way he met his wife. It was in the early eighties, British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher had just been elected in 1979 and United States President Ronald Reagan in 1980, a provocative shift in Western foreign policy approach towards the Soviet Union was noticeable with the adopting of an explicit goal in dissolving the Soviet Union instead of the snail’s pace thawing of strained relations. Tensions when it came to the threat of nuclear war had never been so high since the Cuban Missile Crisis. The mood was somber when it came to Germany but at its neighboring France, people were more cheery, where the baby boomers came of age. Jacques Chirac had just been elected in 1977 as Paris’s first mayor after more than 100 years, and in 1981, François Mitterand was elected President of France, with a will for his legacy to endure through new architecture. Spector was a stainless young man who had just gotten out of college and was in Paris, he didn’t understand the attraction of the city and wanted to see it for himself. Needless to say, it was life-changing. It was there where he had met a German girl who had been in town with her friends for an art exhibition at the Musée du Louvre. He never felt more stupid in his life before the moment he had built up the courage to approach her, on hindsight however, it was the single best thing he had ever done. The next few days had felt like a dream, a dream Spector never wanted to end, as they spent their days and nights together in Paris, the lover birds both so enthralled and fascinated with each other. The fact that Spector had to eventually return to London, and his new beau Germany, and that the bubble they had so sparklingly built around them would burst at the end of the week did not cross their minds. It was as if cupid had plucked out their brains and replace them with scrambled tofu for al
l you care, they certainly didn’t – logic did not exist in their bubble. The day that they had parted was a monsoon of tears, they had exchanged addresses and phone numbers, but both knew that the chance of their lives ever converging again was indubitably infinitesimal.

  ‘Our romance won't end on a sorrowful note, though by tomorrow you're gone. The song has ended but as the songwriter wrote, the melody lingers on. They may take you from me, I'll miss your fond caress. But though they take you from me, I'll still possess. The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your tea. The memory of all that, no they can't take that away from me–’

  It all doesn’t matter anymore, till we meet again in heaven.

  It wasn’t always this easy, waking up from this scene where he used to dream over and over again, waking up to the bare reality 20 years from that. It was like one of those nightmares that were so genuine you could smell the air, listen to the sounds, except this one never ends, it never does.

  He still did get bad dreams though, more from his work than anything else. It took the mental capability of a psychopath to be able to wake up knowing they would have to kill someone that day or take down a political regime for a greater good. He hated that phrase: For a greater good. It was as if the greater good was always justifiable as the ultimate reason to spill blood or get your hands dirty. Who decides what the greater good was then?

  ‘I never wanna hear, from any cheerful Pollyannas. Who tell you Fate supplies a mate, it's all bananas. They're writing songs of love, but not for me. A lucky star's above, but not for me.’

  Maybe it was just not meant to be. Maybe he was just not meant to lead a normal white picket fence life so that he could stand by his backyard watching his kids bicker in the lawn. Then why did God made him the way he was yet gave him the things he had and took it all away when he started to have the slightest hope that it could all actually turn out well? Spector chuckled.

  He was going to leave for London tonight. It was too soon, he was onto something, a haunting from the past. Just when he thought it might be over, it always surfaces again, it always does. It would do him no good lingering here in New York City save him doing something stupid. Besides, his superior had contacted him early in the day about a troublesome circumstance in the Merditerranean that he wanted Spector to attend to himself. More blood on his hands. Someone has got to do the dirty work after all. Perhaps it was high time he engaged a psychiatrist, he might just be able to drive her nuts.

  Spector stood up from the comfortable red cushion seat before the show ended and muttered an apology to the man on his right before walking up and heading out of the theatre. He boarded an elevator to the ground floor of the building and strolled out of it, facing Times Square. He took a left turn and treaded along 7th Avenue. He stopped by outside a Macdonald’s restaurant and considered grabbing a bite – he had since acquired a taste for American fast food after spending some time here. The vibration in his pocket indicated an incoming signal on his cellphone.

  “Spector speaking.”

  “Is that what you go by these days?” chuckled Bertram Moore.

  “It’s hard to keep track of all the last names I have changed through the years. I quite like this one. It’s inconspicuous.” Spector smiled at the recognition of the caller.

  “What’s all that noise? Where are you?”

  “New York? You already knew.”

  “No I mean, where exactly are you?”

  “Macdonald’s.”

  “Jesus, out of everything New York has to offer. I heard you’ve been busy – Mexico City.”

  “Nobody ever hides from Dr. Bertram Moore.” Chuckled Spector.

  “No, no, this one dropped on my lap. I came across a photo of you, a back view, nobody could have recognized it was you, except me of course. I thought you never liked partners.”

  “That one was forced on me I’m afraid. We have since parted ways.”

  “Good choice, heard it was a mess. How long would you be staying this time?”

  “I’m leaving tonight, for London. Was there something you wanted?” Spector frowned.

  “Smart boy–”

  Chapter 39

  HARVEY PACED ABOUT the tiny space in a slow rhythmic fashion, systematically walking up to the gate of the holding cell and stretched his neck to look at the time on the clock hanging from the wall.

  3.45 p.m.

  Watching the second hand tick on the clock was like witnessing paint dry on a wall; every time you looked away and turned back, it always seemed to have not moved at all. He had not been able to close his eyes for more than a minute ever since Bertram had left with the promise of getting him out.

  3.47 p.m.

  Harvey still wondered if it was a joke Bertram had played on him – he still hadn’t been able to fathom the extent of Bertram’s ghastly sense of humor. Harvey snorted. He loved that overweight old man, Bertram was the only family he had left.

  The clock struck 3.49 p.m.

  It had been exactly two and a half hours since Bertram had left. He strode to the gate of the cell and stared hard at the clock as if he was daring the minute hand to move again before anything happens. The guard on duty who sat under the clock did not even look up from the book he was reading.

  3.50 p.m.

  The minute hand could wait no longer despite being held hostage by Harvey’s glare. Harvey spun back to face the bench, frustrated. He was planning on taking a seat when he heard a soft but very obvious thump of a body falling over. He quickly looked out of the gate at the guard on duty again, and there he was with his mouth wide opened and eyes shut tight, looking like he was in a deep slumber.

  “Do excuse me, I’m afraid your head is in the way of me and my opening of the gate.” Said a muffled voice.

  Harvey jolted in shock and hit his head against the horizontal iron bar above him.

  “I somehow knew that was going to happen.” Chuckled the voice.

  Harvey stared in astonishment at the man who was talking to him, his mouth wide open. Not that what he saw didn’t warrant such an expression. A man wearing a black hoodie in a Guy Fawkes Mask stood in front of his gate with a smirking expression. Well, the mask was smirking, not the man, but who is to say that the man isn’t smirking as well considering he was wearing a smirking mask, hence the presumption of his intention to depict such an expression can be assumed.

  “Who are you?” asked Harvey, still in awe.

  “Who? Who is but the form following the function of what and what I am is a man in a mask.” Said the man.

  Harvey rolled his eyes. “Did Bertram send you?” He whispered.

  The man fished out a set of keys and began trying each key on the gate. “I shall not answer that on the postulation that the CCTV behind me is fully functioning and that this room might be bugged. Ah hah! There you go.” The gate creaked open.

  “What exactly are you trying to do?” asked Harvey with a half-witted look.

  “What does it look like I am doing, Harvey? Will you quit asking foolish questions? Did you lose it when you hit your head on that metal bar?”

  Harvey continued to stare at the man like he was a talking monkey.

  “Time to go. It won’t be long before they find out I broke in.”

  “Go? Wait a minute. I did not meant for a prison break when I told Bertram to get me out of here. What the hell was he thinking?” Said Harvey in disbelief.

  “My instructions were clear. Get you out by any means.” The man replied. “And what I learned was your friends would be in danger if you do not get out there and do something about it. So, trouble is, are you going to do anything about it?”

  Harvey stood at the crossroads, not know which direction to take. If he were to step out of the cell right now, he had to make sure he was confidant enough to find the real culprit before Frost catches up with him, or else he would be looking at real jail time. That is if he even successfully gets out of the building. His lips pursed in deliberation. He reluctantly made up his mind.
r />   “Screw it. Let’s get out of here. Where do we go?”

  “Follow me.”

  The man treaded along the corridor toward the fainted guard, and waved Harvey to keep up. Harvey look a hard stare at the guard, picturing him waking up anytime now. He did not. They passed through a side door into a room filled with cabinets of stacks of folders, and closed the door behind them. The man started to nimbly climb the shelves till he reached the second highest one where he plucked out the air vent against the false ceiling and heaved himself into it. He reached down with a helping hand.

  “Climb.” He instructed.

  Harvey traced the man steps and found himself in the huge air duct of the office building. The man started leopard crawling and Harvey did not wait to be asked again. They soon reach another air vent and the man put up his hand to signal Harvey to stop. He turned around and put a finger on the smirking lips of his mask. Harvey could hear footsteps and the sound of muttering. He held on to his breath, shivering slightly from the cold. When the silence rejoined them, the man pushed gently and jerked the vent loose. He signaled Harvey to jump out of it.

  “Careful when you land. Pick a corner and stand against it. Keep quiet.” Whispered the man.

  Harvey dangled his legs out of the vent and hopped out of the duct. He landed on his feet and a jolt of pain shot through his ankle. He cursed at his clumsiness. He looked up to see the man hanged from the vent on the opposite side of the one he had pull it out from as he jumped out of the duct himself and landed on the floor with a roll, the vent jammed back into place – this man was clearly a professional.

  “Let’s take the lift.” Said the man as he dusted off his hands suavely. He pried open the elevator door and said, “After you. Hold on to the side ladder. Climb up, fast.”