He remembered the Taxi drop-off point, and turned the car down a small side street, looking over at Mark. He noticed a blood stain was leaking through his shirt. His shirt was tattered and looked burnt as well. “You okay?”
Mark looked up with a start. “Uh, me? Oh, yeah, I just got blown off my bike and shot at, but most of the damage happened when I met the concrete. Tough customer.” Mark managed a weak smile.
“Still a smart aleck. So what do you want to do about the psycho woman?” Kirk sat rigid in his seat and had a death grip on the steering wheel.
“I have a feeling we won’t have to do much of anything. I think she’ll find us. She had a chance to kill me, but she didn’t take the shot. And I don’t think it was out of conscience. I think she wants something we have, or maybe she just wants to kill us in her own way.”
Kirk thought that over and nodded. Between him and Mark, a lot of people wanted them dead. “Could be an old score.”
“Well, whoever she is, we’ve got to put her on hold for now. Taras Karjanski is in Africa, and with the coordinates we got from Mooch we can be within thirty miles of him in less than an hour. I can’t chase a crazy woman around and lose Red Dog. But don’t worry, we’ll catch her. For Mooch.”
Kirk sighed and relaxed a little. He couldn’t get the picture of Mooch pleading with him out of his mind. He’d called the hospital and found out that Mooch was in a coma. I’ll get her, Mooch. You can bet on that!
* * *
I FELT BAD FOR Kirk. Even though he played the tough guy, I could tell he was broken up over Mooch. Everyone else Kirk knew thought he was dead, and the only person in the world who knew otherwise was now in a coma. And I wasn’t exactly a close friend, in fact, I was forced on him due to the case. I picked up my cell phone and dialed Isis. She would need to come into the field on this one, now that Mooch was out of the picture. I had been planning on taking him with us to have a code breaker onsite.
“Isis?”
“Hey, Mark, I heard. Tell Kirk I’m so sorry.” Isis was an understanding person, and I could tell she had a soft spot for the detective. She was drawn to strong men.
“I need you to meet us in Africa. We got a lead. I’m sending the location over now.”
I loved the weird techie stuff the WJA had. The portable device in my phone could upload files or photos in seconds from online or from my PC at the office. I’d picked up Mooch’s IP address and uploaded everything on his hard drive. He had some info I didn’t want getting into the wrong hands.
“Okay, I’ll meet you there, and be careful. This guy shows no mercy. I also sent a cleanup crew to Mooch’s to dispose of the computers and secure the house.”
After I hung up, I called home and talked to K. I had been gone a few days and I missed K and Sam immensely. When I told her how much I missed her, the line went silent.
“I know you’re not some insurance salesman,” she said.
“I know,” I said quickly. “I know you’re not dumb. You’re—”
She cut me off. “I’m playing dumb because I trust you,” she said. “But when you’re gone for so long like this, it really pushes me.”
I almost told her then what I did, it was on the tip of my tongue. But flashes of what people would do to her if they knew she had secrets loomed in my mind. I couldn’t tell her—it was one way I could protect her. The silence between us felt heavy. “How’s Sam?” I asked.
K sighed. “Good. She’s doing great at school. Almost has her reading down and is starting to do some addition. She’s one smart kid, just like her dad.”
I hated to say it, but I had to tell her that I wouldn’t be home yet. So I said it all in one big rush. “I have to stay out of town for a few more days. I was hoping to be home this weekend, but it doesn’t look like I am going to make it.”
It hurt her to hear, I know. I could feel her pain through the phone. I swallowed. Hurting her was the last thing I wanted to do.
Finally, she said, “Be careful, and keep out of trouble, okay?” I could hear the stress in her voice, but she masked it so fast I wondered if I’d just imagined it. If she saw my arm and the burnt shirt, I think she would have a different tone in her voice, but I shook off the feeling and tried to think about protecting her and not my feelings.
“I will be careful, and you keep my side of the bed warm for me. I love you, K.”
“I love you, too. Hurry home.”
“I will—bye.”
I hung up my cell and sighed. I felt like I was lying to her even though she knew I had to keep secrets. I pulled into my mind what I was a part of. I thought about the future and could see the very thin line I walked.
The thought of the agency going bad plagued my mind. The power it gave us was bordering on supernatural. I knew Solomon would keep everyone in check, but I wondered who would keep him in line if he lost it someday.
I knew one thing: this had to be for a reason.
Much of my thinking was a little obsessive, but I knew what Solomon was thinking. He wanted me to lead the WJA into the next phase, after he was gone. The decisions I made felt heavy on my shoulders, and every person I killed, no matter how much they deserved it, haunted me. Not only in my dreams, but also in my waking dreams, my glimpses.
Kirk interrupted my thoughts. “What’re you glaring at, man? What are you thinking of?”
“Oh, the usual: bad people, overthrowing governments, the fate of the world. You know, normal stuff.”
“I see. I was thinking that I need a burger. Oh, and a Coke. You game?”
“Come to think of it, I am starved.”
“Drive-through or dine in?” Kirk was acting more pleasant than his normal grumpy self, which meant he was not himself. I gave him some leeway. He had lost a friend today, and I had a feeling he didn’t have many. “Let’s go in, wouldn’t want to take the Taxi on a full stomach.”
“Good point. What do you want to do about your, uh…appearance?”
I looked down at my shirt, the blood spotting it here and there, and grinned. “I think the safe house should have something I can wear. Guess we will be going through the drive-through after all.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE WASHINGTON POST RAN the second note on the front page. They were told if they didn’t run it, a movie theater would be bombed, and not an empty one.
The headline read: Eeny Meeny Miny Moe
Dear World,
The time has come to right the wrongs and to bring justice back into alignment. The CIA, FBI, and other Agencies have tried to find me, and have fallen short in a laughable way. This is my message: Listen or die! Drink, drink the water of life, and you will not feel the grip of death. Try the bottle and feel safe to find that you have sealed your fate!
Now, catch a tiger by its toe…
With all my hate,
Chaos
The paper went on about the city’s water treatment plants shutting down to search for any poison or contamination that may have been put in the drinking water supply. Every brand of bottled water was pulled from the shelf, and mass panic washed over the city. The city’s water was shut off until further testing could be conducted to confirm that it was safe to drink.
Chaos had the city in an uproar. She was getting exactly what she wanted—chaos!
* * *
SOLOMON SAT IN THE large conference room and looked at Big B, Jamison, and Captain Jordan. Captain Jordan was ex-marine and special ops. He had joined the agency a few years back after he was left to die in Iran with three of his men. The military didn’t see the need to risk more lives on a rescue mission for so few.
The men in the room were silent as they looked at the notes from the person called Chaos. “Men, I believe they are talking directly to us.” Solomon pointed out the highlighted areas on an overhead, 3D hologram projection system. “As you can see, the words World, Justice and Agency all show up in order, and in both letters.”
“This last one is addressed, ‘Dear World. The time has come to ri
ght the wrongs and to bring Justice back into alignment. The CIA, FBI and other Agencies…’”
The captain looked up with a scowl on his lined face. “What are they trying to tell us?” He chewed on the end of his ballpoint pen and looked around the room with dark brown, pinpoint eyes.
Big B cleared his throat. “They don’t seem to be asking for anything, they just want us to chase them. I think it’s a big game to them.” His huge frame all but crushed the poor office chair he was sitting on, and it creaked and moaned in protest.
Solomon ran his hand through his white beard and paced the room. “This is my fear: they are going to bomb places in the name of the WJA and try to make us look like terrorists. They want us to try to stop them before they can do it.”
The screen switched to another image and Solomon used a laser pointer to show them the new information. “We just uncovered this. I hope it will help identify Chaos.” The picture was of a hooded person, fuzzy, as if it came from a cell phone camera. It looked like a woman or a small man. It was from the back, and it was the only photograph they had. The image zoomed in, and the computer was able to turn it from side to side creating an image of what the computer thought the bomber might look like.
“This is our bomber. This was taken by accident and ended up on the internet, which is where we found it. The bombing happened a few minutes afterward. On the mall’s surveillance cameras, you can see this person leaving the parking lot a few minutes before the explosion. We need to move quickly before the trail goes cold. I want this person found.”
Jamison was ripping a piece of paper into tiny shreds when Solomon looked at him. “You have something on your mind?”
“Well, I think I do. I say we play their game, but we play it and win!”
The room grew silent as they waited for an explanation. “Try this on for size: I say we send a letter from our friend Chaos to the paper and see what they do. No one will know it is a fake except Chaos. The paper will run it and we can send them a message that we are on to them—tit for tat, as they say!”
Solomon sat down and leaned back. “I think you might be on to something. We can start controlling the situation and possibly cause them to make a mistake, draw them out of hiding.”
The rest of the group nodded in agreement and worked on a letter that would send a message. They hoped it would provoke Chaos to anger and, possibly, to make a mistake. It was time to drag a large net and see what they could catch.
The next day a new letter ran on the front page with the threat of bombing a church on Sunday if they did not comply.
The headline read: If He Hollers, Make Him Pay
Dear World,
You think you are so smart, well I am on to you! I know what you are trying to do and you will not get away with it. One day, at the top of the hour, I will be waiting. Show yourself or die!
Fifty dollars every day…
With all my hate,
Chaos
* * *
EMILY DOBSON LOOKED AT the morning paper and flew into a rage. She threw her coffee mug against the wall, shattering it, cursing and screaming at the top of her lungs. She could feel her face flushing with heat.
“They will pay for this! Who do they think they are? They can’t speak for me!” She paced her hotel room and muttered under her breath.
Okay, they want to play? They’ll get the game of their lives.
* * *
THE SMALL BLACK HELICOPTER swung north and headed toward the Adirondack Park to the town of Day.
Captain Jordan looked over at Big B and shook his head. The man was over six-foot-seven, weighed well over three hundred pounds—most of it raw muscle—but he was scared to death of flying. Big B sat with white knuckles gripping the chair he was strapped to. Jordan wondered how long the seat arms would hold up under the giant’s death grip.
The top of the hour was noon or midnight, but they hoped Chaos would pick noon. That is, if he even showed up. The small town only had a few hundred people who lived there year-round. The beautiful mountains and lush hills drew many campers to the Adirondacks every year with high hopes of good weather and long nights. The Great Sacandaga Lake sat south of the little town and gave a spectacular view of evergreens. The lush undergrowth made the earth look like a green carpet.
The chopper glided through the mountain air and touched down a mile outside town in a clearing. The team wanted to keep their presence a secret for as long as possible, and the woods provided good cover.
Jamison was the first to jump from the helicopter. He grabbed a black duffle bag on the way out. Each member had a bag with necessary equipment, as well as weapons of their own choosing. Without a word, they each assembled their rifles and got ready for the fight that was soon to come.
Captain Jordan had a shaved head and a few scars on his face. He was stocky and well muscled, but quicker than he looked. He lit up a long, skinny cigar and sucked in deep with his eyes closed. Always, he treated each fight as if it would be his last. After he’d drained most of the cigar, he blew out the last of the smoke from his lungs with a grunt.
Jamison was the sharpshooter. He was of a slender build with a head of thick, black hair. Big B was in charge of ground cover, and he had infrared and heat sensing gear. Most of his fun would take place a half mile outside of town and involved a mounted computer-controlled super-weapon. From a laptop, he could control two fully automatic submachine guns. The bullets could penetrate any metal or stone with pinpoint accuracy, not to mention the ammunition was auto-locking.
Jamison was shocked that Solomon himself would venture out to meet this psychopath, but he’d insisted. With the backup they provided in the woods, Solomon would probably be safe in town, though there was always a risk.
Jamison and Captain Jordan exchanged a significant look and then stepped into the thick woods. Dark shadows covered the ground like a thick fog, making the midday sun seem unimportant. Jamison silently made his way through the trees and over logs and rocks like a panther. He was completely at home in the woods. Captain Jordan was slower, as his skills were better in urban areas.
Jamison couldn’t help but wonder what this Chaos person wanted with them and the WJA. Is he an ex agent? Or maybe FBI? He had a hard time believing the FBI would bomb a building just to make a point. No, this was a rogue agent, or worse.
They covered the ground without much trouble and soon had the little town in view. The cobblestone streets and the old-time storefronts screamed tourist town.
At one time, the town had been a logging camp, and then it had turned into a camping spot. Now it stood alone, but still thrived in the summer with the lake that drew boaters and fishermen to the area. The winter proved no less profitable with cross-country skiing and a modest downhill ski resort nearby. All in all, the entire town had been renovated and looked almost brand new. Investors and bankers had moved in with a healthy flow of cash and had made this sleepy little town into a mountain paradise.
The meeting with Chaos was a meeting of the minds—to hear Chaos’s demands. The WJA had to stop the threats and the possible bombing of schools and libraries.
A small outcropping up ahead put them about a thousand yards out, which was plenty of room for Jamison to get a clear shot. He set up his sniper rifle as Captain Jordan swung around and took another angle on the small town. Jamison soon blended into the woodland landscape, branches covering his body. There was only a small glint of light coming from the rifle scope as he scanned the area. In the middle of the town was a fountain with an oval pool surrounded by stone benches and a food court. He could see Solomon sitting on a bench with his back toward the wooded hillside where Jamison lay in wait. With the “All clear” sounding in his ear, he answered back, “In position.” The Captain was in his location, covering the only road in or out of town. Big B had the whole town covered on his perch high above, where he had a clear view of the courtyard and all possible exits.
A slender woman walked towards Solomon. “Got a possible target approa
ching, no heat signature to lock.” Big B scanned the woman as she sipped on a soda and took a bite out of a hotdog.
“Got her,” Jamison said as he looked through his scope. She sat down next to him and took another bite of her lunch. The lack of a heat signature worried Jamison. Everyone had one unless they were wearing a suit that masked it.
The woman had long dark hair and a mini skirt with thigh-high black boots. Jamison took his finger and clicked the safety off, waiting for the signal from Solomon. They had an implant in his ear and as soon as they spoke, everyone on the team would hear it. The tension was thick and Jamison felt a single bead of sweat run down his back. Come on, say something!
Finally, the woman spoke in a clear, calm voice. “Hello, Solomon.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I FELT LIKE THROWING up, and when I looked over at Kirk, he was bent over a trashcan doing just that. The Taxi was something you just didn’t get used to, and every time you rode it, you felt dizzy for fifteen minutes or so afterward. I didn’t know if it was the drugs or the G-force. Either way, it was a rush, and not in a good way.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Holy crap, that thing makes you feel like your insides were tossed in a blender.” Kirk stood up and grabbed the wall for support. “You get used to that?”
“Nope, you just learn not to lose your lunch.” I could feel the heat in the room as it reflected the air outside, and from the feel of it, the day was going to top the one-twenties. Africa was hot, dry, and dusty.
The sight of Isis made both of us jump, as she stepped from the shadows.
“You boys okay? I see the Taxi has you over a barrel.” She was amused with our discomfort, you could see it in her eyes.
Kirk strained a nod and tried to brush off his churning stomach. “I’m okay. I had a late lunch, no problem.” He was green but put on a weak smile.
Isis laughed and rolled her eyes. “Hmm, I see. Well, let’s get going. Karjanski is booked on a flight out of here in fewer than six hours. We need to get a visual on him before he gets on that plane.”
DREAM ON (Mark Appleton #2) Page 11
