DREAM ON (Mark Appleton #2)

by Patterson, Aaron

  “Is he alive, Mark? Was he alive in your dream?”

  “I couldn’t tell, just that he was here. I think he was, but I’m not sure.” I couldn’t believe I actually had a glimpse of him. Good, Mark. Weston is dead or dying, and you’re thinking about your dream ability.

  Just when I looked down I saw his finger twitch. “I think I saw his hand move!”

  Isis grabbed the end, and on the count of three, we pushed. After what seemed like an eternity, the heavy chunk of concrete gave way. We could now see Kirk down in a cave-like hole that, by some miracle, had formed by the two cars, buried under everything else. It might have saved his life.

  He looked unconscious. Who am I kidding, he looked dead. I climbed in and half fell as I made my way to his side. He had blood all over his face, making it look like he had fallen face first in a pool of red paint. I reached down and took his pulse.

  He was alive.

  * * *

  DARKNESS CONSUMED ITS PREY as it looked for another victim. The sounds of screams, fire burning flesh, and crackling made Kirk jump. He could smell burnt hair and melting metal. He wished he could run far away. His heartbeat sped up, and he started to hyperventilate. The thick smoke was in his eyes and he couldn’t see anything, only darkness. He had to run, had to get out of this nightmare! Sucking in big gulps of smoky air, he gagged at the taste of it.

  “Detective—Mr. Weston, can you hear me?” A soft voice broke into his thoughts and made him feel warm inside. “Kirk, you’re safe now. It’s going to be okay.”

  Kirk slowly opened his eyes and squinted in the light. It stung his eyes. The room came into focus at last and he looked around.

  A picture of a mountain lake and a fisherman standing in the cool water with his fly rod held out in the perfect two o’clock position hung on the wall. Kirk looked up and into a pair of beautiful eyes.

  Isis Kanika smiled at him and said, “Welcome back.”

  Kirk tried his best to smile but it sent a rush of pain through his cheekbones and into his skull.

  “Don’t try to move. You’re one lucky guy to be alive right now. We have the best surgeons working to mend you. Don’t worry, in no time you’ll be on your feet and back to no good.”

  Kirk liked the weird sense of humor this nurse, or whoever she was, had.

  His head swam and the room started to spin as the morphine kicked in. His world went black again, and then the fear came back. He was running from something, nothing. It was after him but he didn’t know what it was. He remembered what his dad used to say. “The dark will show you who you really are.”

  Who was he?

  * * *

  THE NEXT WEEK, KIRK made amazing progress in his recovery. The doctors found he had two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and multiple cuts and bruises. The surgery to pin his ribs in place and do some reconstructive work on his shoulder went just as planned, though the recovery was painful. All in all, he was just happy to be alive.

  Kirk walked down the hall that overlooked the huge command center to the World Justice Agency headquarters. He still couldn’t believe they had brought him here and helped him. He was still bitter about the whole kidnapping thing, but he figured that they saved his life, so that started to make up for it.

  The place was bigger and more amazing than Kirk had ever dreamed it would be. The kind of stuff that ran back-to-back on the Sci-Fi channel. The control room had to be two hundred feet across and just as long. A huge screen made up the far wall and had over a hundred individual screens on it. He leaned on the wall and watched the action before him.

  “How are you feeling?” Isis said from behind him. Kirk hadn’t heard her approach.

  “Good, considering. You sure got one great office here.”

  “Mine is upstairs, remember?” She smiled and touched his shoulder. Kirk liked how gentle she was, but something in her eyes told him she was more dangerous than she let on.

  “So you monitor every agent down here? How many do you guys have?”

  “We employ over three thousand. I know that sounds like a lot, but we are in every country all over the world. So, in the big scheme of things, we’re just a small potato. This center controls the United States, and in each country where we have more than two hundred agents, we have another command center.”

  Kirk whistled. “So you think you guys are doing the right thing? You ever heard of letting the law handle it?” The idea of a single organization taking the law into their own hands scared Kirk. He thought about the public getting wind of it, and he shuddered. “You know, if anyone finds out what you do here, it’ll start a world war.”

  “Yes, we know. The law is only good and just if it is upheld. We just keep everyone honest.” Isis sounded so sure of herself. “Besides, one day the world will have to know. We just have to wait for the right time to tell them.”

  Kirk looked again at the madness and sheer power that stood in front of him. He was a cop and wanted to see justice prevail just as badly as anyone did, but this was a bit much.

  * * *

  A DARK FIGURE STOOD outlined against the Hollywood skyline. The dark hood made the killer look like the angel of death itself. Checking her watch, Chaos looked up the deserted road that overlooked the beautiful city. Her dark gray pullover hid her dark hair and if you looked at her at a glance, you might even think she was a guy.

  Come on, you better not keep me waiting.

  The headlights of an oncoming car lit up the night sky and attracted her attention. The spot she had picked was outside the city, about a two-hour drive, and had a view that was breathtaking. She had liked the spot from the first time she had seen it more than four years ago. Blue, white, and silver lights sparkled, making the city glow like a star. It was everything New York was not. In fact, she rather hated the Big Apple. She took one last look, turned toward the car, and prepared herself.

  She shoved her hands in her pockets as the dark green Ford Explorer pulled off the road and parked under a maple tree. An overweight man opened the door and peered out as he shut off his lights.

  “You’re late.” Her manner was gruff and commanding.

  The middle-aged man stuttered as he got out of his SUV. “I, um…sorry. You see there was—”

  “Never mind,” She couldn’t believe a man of his age could still be as dorky and unimpressive as he was. “Do you have what I want?”

  He wore a white polo shirt with a Microsoft logo on the pocket. His jeans were baggy, and he pulled them up every few minutes to keep them from falling down. “I have it right here.”

  The manila envelope he handed her was bulging. She sighed with open disgust and took it from his hand. He almost dropped it, which made Chaos even madder.

  The contents satisfied her and she thanked him with a handshake. “Where’s my…uh, money?” he asked.

  Chaos turned around and stared at the man with a confused look. “Money? Oh, money.” She laughed sharply. The thought of paying this chump made her want to gag, but business was business.

  A black leather briefcase sat in the dirt four steps behind Chaos. She turned, picked it up, and handed it to the man. He smiled and took it like a puppy that just got a meaty bone.

  “And please don’t disrespect me by counting it in front of me.”

  He nodded, as if that was common knowledge. Opening the door to his SUV, he tripped over his foot, almost dropping the briefcase. Chaos muttered under her breath and moved toward the edge of the lookout.

  The late spring evening air was warm and had a hint of lavender. She looked out over the edge of the rocky crevice and wondered how many people had died at this very spot. It was a great place to jump.

  The chunky man climbed back into his SUV and drove back down the hill from where he had come, most likely from his mom’s house where he labored day after day to become the most powerful toon on World Of Warcraft, or something just as stupid.

  Nice night for some fireworks.

  Chaos turned and looked after the Ford as it dr
ove down the hill, rounded the corner, and disappeared out of sight. She waited for the man to lean over and open his prize—to see all his glorious money. She knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. No one could.

  “Kaboom.”

  Seconds later, a cloud of fire rose from around the corner and cracked with a sonic boom that made even the killer jump a little. She smiled and wiped her mouth. She loved to burn money. She even liked knowing that there really was one hundred thousand dollars in that suitcase.

  Not anymore!

  * * *

  “MR. WESTON, MY NAME is Mark Appleton. I see you’re getting to know your way around the place.”

  Kirk looked at me with a judging smile and nodded.

  “It looks like you’re feeling better. Shall we walk?” I could tell from his body language that he was still uncomfortable with the whole situation. A feeling I was familiar with—it’d taken a while to get used to the WJA. I started down the hall and he followed without a word. I wanted to put him at ease, but he seemed determined to make it hard. But his comfort wasn’t all-important. I needed his help with the Red Dog case and we needed to move fast.

  “I am an up-front kind of guy, Mr. Weston—” I began.

  “Kirk, you can call me Kirk. Makes me feel like my dad to be called ‘Mister.’”

  I nodded and moved on. “I need your help catching Taras Karjanski. I suspect you know him?” I wondered how much he knew and if he had gotten anywhere with his own investigation. He looked at me and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I know this whole thing is a bit much for you to take in all at once. Believe me, I still haven’t figured it all out myself.”

  “You were recruited?” Kirk asked.

  “Yeah, I joined the Agency a few years ago. I was an architect before that.” He seemed to soften a little with the news. “Taras is on a rampage, and we suspect he’s planning something big, and soon. You have been following him and investigating him for the last year, isn’t that right?”

  “Yeah, I lived just up the beach from his villa in Bali. I tapped his phone and bugged his house. He has been planning something codenamed Dreamcatcher. I haven’t figured out what it’s all about, but I’ll tell you whatever I know. I want this guy worse than you do.”

  I took Kirk down to the conference room and we talked for a few hours. He had learned about the legend of the Red Dog, and I took notes as he spoke. The General/Red Dog was a killer, and a good one at that. He was linked to more than twenty killings in the past year alone, and those were just the ones he was suspected to have been involved in personally.

  It worried me a little that he knew about operation Dreamcatcher. I couldn’t help thinking it had something to do with me, but how could anyone else know about my dreams?

  Kirk acted like a caged animal, and he paced and fidgeted as he spoke. I had to address his nerves. “You’re not in prison here, you can leave anytime you want to.”

  “I know. It’s just that I have a beef with you guys, with the kidnapping and all.” His voice turned gruff and his face flushed red.

  “I understand.” Isis had filled me in on the whole kidnapping thing. I shook my head. It was not the greatest idea to pick a fight with a man with nothing to lose. “However, I do believe if we work together, we can bring this guy to justice.”

  Kirk looked at me and I could see the wheels spinning in his brain. I figured he would agree and then use the time spent here to build a case against us. But at this point, I was willing to take that risk.

  “Okay, but we do it my way, with my rules.”

  “Done.” I stuck out my hand and Kirk took it. We shook on our deal, and I smiled. He had no idea what he was getting into. Life was about to get a lot more interesting for Kirk Weston.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE MALL BOMBER SPEAKS OUT

  THE WASHINGTON POST RAN the breaking story on the front page. Kirk stared at the headline as he sipped his black coffee.

  “The person called Chaos sent our own Pete Ross a letter this morning. The following was to be printed or Chaos said a bomb would go off in a school right here in Manhattan.”

  To whom it may concern,

  The bombing in the mall was just the beginning of the end for this wretched country. The time to panic is now! If you don’t believe me then just try to stop me. I am Chaos, and I am here to bring to light what is hidden. The world needs justice, and no agency can stop what has to be done.

  With all my hate,

  Chaos

  Kirk threw the paper down on the table and cursed. The world was going to hell in a handbasket. He felt like he was halfway there himself.

  His ribs hurt, and just about every other part of his body, as well. He shuffled to his feet, stuck two Pop-Tarts in the toaster, and refilled his coffee. He found himself in yet another hotel, but this time, the tab was on the WJA. It was a bit nicer than he was used to, and if it wasn’t for them saving his life, he would be down at the precinct right now telling them all about the ever-so-secret World Justice Agency.

  He got a call informing him of a mandatory meeting in two hours at the Merc building. Not one to scare easily, the only thing that worried him was how open they were with their operation. Either they trusted him completely, or they were dumb as a box of rocks.

  He figured they’d kill him if he decided to turn them in. No way they would open up their books to him and then let him walk away without some accident taking his head off before he could breathe a word about who they were.

  Then there was the part of him that loved what they did. Taking the bad guys off the street, standing up for the little guy. It was every cop’s dream to be able to see the street scum taken down for what they did. But there was no possible way to do it like this and get away with it. Not for long anyway.

  The Pop-Tarts jumped from the toaster and landed upside down on the counter. Kirk burned his hand juggling them, before dropping them on a plate to cool off. Looks like you’re getting yourself into many hot situations these days. Grabbing the paper again, he studied the note from the crazyhead called Chaos. The last sentence was a bit odd, and he wondered…suddenly he saw the hidden layer to the message.

  The note was for the WJA.

  * * *

  TARAS WALKED WITH HIS wife down Fifth Avenue and wandered into store after store, Saks and Mexx and Tiffany & Co., to name a few. The smell of hotdog vendors and the storefront lights annoyed Taras to no end. He was doing a wonderful job of pretending he was enjoying himself; however, it took all of his willpower. Why do I even put up with this? Just leave her and go hang yourself after a good glass of wine! That at least would have a satisfying end.

  His wife was trying on a big hat that looked like it belonged on an eighty-year-old woman in the South on Easter Sunday. She wore a huge grin. She was a beautiful woman, but she looked stupid at the moment. Still, he liked to keep her. The fact that he stole her made him feel alive…as if she was a trophy that could walk around with him.

  “Oh, look at this, hon, don’t you just love it?” Nayda giggled at the big feather on the hat.

  “Wonderful, my love, you look amazing. You should get it.” Taras grinned and held in the urge to slap it from her head.

  “Oh, you think so? It is a beautiful hat. And it would go with my new dress, don’t you think?”

  Taras nodded.

  “You’re the best.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Now all I need is a pair of shoes to go with it, oh, and maybe some earrings and a bracelet.” She rushed to the register to buy the hat and Taras looked up and down the street, searching for an escape.

  People from every part of the world stuffed themselves onto the sidewalk. Stupid drones! Shut up, man, all you do is hate and look down on people. Try to be happy for a change. You never know, you might like it. This inner voice did not speak like that often, and its comment fell on deaf ears, as a heart that was growing harder with each passing day was dead to any input.

  He breathed in deeply as the smell of car e
xhaust mixed with food wafted down the street from the street vendors. Then, another smell drifted up the street, and this one was not so pleasant. The sewers and bums that hung out in the alleyways gave the city a nasty smell and made it look like a junkyard in spots. Most of the drones passed on without a second glance and never looked into the dark alleyways where they knew people of a lower class than themselves lived.

  Taras daydreamed about killing them all, and it brought a smile to his face. Maybe he would. No one would miss the bums. The only thing that kept him going was the fact that, in time, this blasted city, this blasted country, would fall to its knees, and he would be the cause of it all.

  * * *

  I MET KIRK WESTON at the Merc building and escorted him down to the main lobby. It was huge, and I always enjoyed the glass floor with fish swimming underfoot. I looked to find my favorite starfish. It was in its usual spot, stuck to the underside of the clear floor, and I thought I saw a smile on the small face.

  Solomon was a brilliant man, and the design of the building was amazing, from the pillars of stone carved by hand to the two hundred-year-old wooden doors that opened to his office.

  Kirk was quiet. And as I watched his movements, I could tell he was uncomfortable, but not as much as he had been. I hoped he would come to understand who we were and what we were trying to do. And he would accept it. After Kirk checked in, we walked to the large conference room where Solomon and Isis were waiting. Big B was going to be late, so we started without him.

  Solomon stood at the head of the oval stone table and brought up a holographic image that hovered in the center of the heavy table. It was a photo of a large, dark-skinned man who reminded me of a mobster in The Godfather movies.

  “Mohammed Dior. Until a few days ago, he was one of the most ruthless oil tycoons in the world. He had ties to the Taliban and is suspected to have been involved in the attacks on the Twin Towers and countless others. A bombing in Baghdad last December that blew up a bus parked in front of the American Embassy, killing one hundred and twenty-three, was linked to him.” Solomon flipped to another picture, this one of a bombed-out oil refinery. “We all remember two years ago in Alaska, we lost over half of the pipeline in that one. Again, Dior. His attacks brought the price of oil up at an alarming rate, and they’ve risen each year since, making him one of the wealthiest people in the world.”