DREAM ON (Mark Appleton #2)

by Patterson, Aaron

  He was glad to be back in his apartment. After a long shower, he pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He was getting close to his goal, but he had a loose end that needed to be tied up before he could finish all that his little heart desired.

  Picking up the phone, he ordered room service and dinner off of the expensive menu. He felt like having a steak and a bottle of wine. He loved good wine, and even if he hated America, he loved a good American steak.

  Watch yourself, you need to be careful! He was getting tired of his own thoughts, and with each murder or devilish act, he heard his own voice less and less. He was free to do and go where he wanted. The police and the FBI would never find him or catch him. He was going to be world famous in a few short weeks. Who could stop him now?

  Maybe I will kill someone just to show I can. That would be good for me. He was getting the urge, and tonight would be just as good as any other night.

  The steak came and the wine followed. He drank half the bottle and finished the entire steak. He wanted to go out. The clock showed two minutes to midnight.

  Perfect.

  Taras walked out into the summer air and looked up and down the street. He was on the hunt, and it felt good. All this business was wearing on his emotions, and he didn’t like pushing the desire down. Psychiatrists always said it was bad to push feelings down and not deal with them.

  A cab stopped and he climbed in. “Where to, mister?”

  “Anywhere. A club, with lots of people, and expensive. I feel like blowing money tonight.” He handed the cabby two thousand dollars and smiled. “You be my ride for the rest of the night. I will pay you that amount for each stop. One condition: you can’t quit on me.”

  The driver smiled and drank in the sight of the money with large, greedy eyes. He readily agreed, and drove out to the center of Club Lane. New York City had some of the most exclusive clubs in the world, but if you had enough money, you could get into just about any of them.

  The neon lights and signs made the Red Dog feel like singing. He was going to party like there was no tomorrow because, for someone tonight, there wouldn’t be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THE BLACK BUILDING, COVERED with hanging lights and glass, made The Posh Club a hot spot for celebrities and up-and-comers. From the street, it looked like red, yellow, and blue lights were embedded in the building, the colors flashing as if from thousands of mirrors. Taras Karjanski made it in without much problem, since he paid the door attendant well over what the normal bribe would be. The big, bald man let him through with a nod.

  The place was almost dark. Black light filters clouded the lights and fog rolled across the floor from dry ice machines, giving the room the look of a rock star’s stage. Here, everyone was the rock star. The club was three stories with an open floor and overlooking balconies. It had everything a girl or guy could want in a club—dancing, a full bar, loud music, and private rooms for those who could afford them.

  Taras went to the end of the bar next to the main stage where a beautiful girl was singing with a full band backing her up. The place was classy, yet urban in its own right, and crawling with women. He liked it right away. And the lighting would do fine for what he had planned.

  What are you doing? Are you crazy?

  Shut up! I am the Red Dog, I will do what I want. His mind sprang back and forth as he looked around the room like a spider choosing its prey. With each second that passed, he grew more and more anxious. This is not the plan. You’re going to screw everything up! A tall woman sat down next to him and shot a smile his way. She looked strong and confident, she reminded him of someone. The woman in the airport. Shelly.

  “May I have the pleasure of your name?” Taras leaned down, reached for her hand, and kissed it.

  “Well, if you’re going to ask like that, then I guess you may. I’m Heather. I saw you come in and was thinking to myself, that man looks like he knows what he wants.” Her eyes sparkled.

  Taras smiled with all the passion he could drum up. He was only thinking about the sweet sound of her neck snapping in his hands, and had to concentrate to keep from smiling like an idiot. “I do, and you may be just what I am looking for.”

  “May be? Well, maybe I’ll be on my way then, after you buy me a drink!” She laughed and Taras nodded to the bartender who made up a Bloody Mary.

  Interesting choice. It’s as if the world has looked on and picked you for this very evening. She had on a simple black dress that hit her just above the knees, and a designer necklace with a diamond encircled by white gold. Taras liked how perfect she looked, just right, not overdone and not swanky.

  “Do you have a name?” She looked at him with her dark blue eyes, and he could tell he was falling in love with her with every second that passed.

  “You can call me Taras, Taras Karjanski.” He didn’t mind telling her his real name; she wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about him anyway. Not after he was done with her.

  “Is that Russian?” She brushed a strand of unruly hair from her face and looked at him with curiosity. Taras liked the color of her hair, it was like a smooth cup of coffee, so rich and dark, and her skin was like milk.

  “Yes, and how did you know that?”

  “I had a teacher in college that was Russian, it sounds like a Russian name, and your accent gives you away, too.”

  He smiled and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come with me, my dear. I have something I want to show you.”

  Leading her to the front door, she giggled and followed him. The cab waited on the street as he had instructed, and the cabby opened the door as they approached. Taras smiled, and they got in the back seat.

  “I thought you would be in a limo or something.” She sounded disappointed, but Taras blew it off with a wave of his hand.

  “Normally I would, but tonight, I have something special planned. Tonight, I have a show for everyone, and you, my dear, are the star.”

  He could smell her perfume as they drove. He wanted to hold her, to tell her that everything would be all right, but he held back. No use lying to her. He knew what he was thinking, and he knew what he wanted. “Heather, may I kiss you?”

  She giggled and nodded. He felt a rush of excitement rise inside him, and he quickly grabbed her by the neck and pushed her face into the seat. The cab driver swerved and skidded to a stop. “What are you doing, sir?” The driver craned his head around with a look of confusion on his face.

  With one hand, Taras pulled a gun and pointed it at the driver’s head. He was breathing hard and Heather was gasping for air and kicking her legs in spastic motions. “You move, you die, understand?” The driver nodded. “You were paid, and you will be paid much more if you play along. If you go back on our deal, then I will be forced to kill you.”

  “Please, I don’t…Please!” He ran a chubby hand through his greasy hair and shook his head back and forth.

  “Here’s the deal…” Heather’s movements were slowing. “You drive and mind your own business, and you live with over fifty thousand dollars in your pocket by the end of the night. You don’t, I kill you and hunt down your family and kill them, too, one by one.”

  Taras didn’t realize it at first, but he was panting and screaming at the cab driver. He calmed, and pulled Heather toward him, his arm still around her neck. She was sobbing as he placed the gun down on the seat next to him.

  “Please don’t kill me,” she said. “I don’t want to die.” Her frantic kicking and fighting slackened, and she slumped in her seat.

  The Red Dog was silent and quick as he pulled out the long, sharp knife that he had used to sheer sheep back home in Russia. He slashed her throat with his left hand and beautiful Heather was dead before she even had time to scream. Blood splattered across the cab and hit the driver in the back of the head. He whimpered but didn’t look back.

  Twisting her neck, he felt it snap like a twig, and then he felt happy again. It was like a warm cup of his favorite coffee on a rainy day; it always made him feel
good inside. “Drive cabby, back to the club.”

  The cab driver spun the cab around and floored it back to The Posh Club, stopping in front of the now-crowded building. Taras stepped out and dragged Heather’s body by her right arm from the car and up the red carpet to the door attendant. The huge doorman reached for his gun but thought better of it when he saw the one Taras had pointed at him.

  “Got a gift for you, doorman!” Dropping the woman’s limp body on the ground like a trash bag, he turned and walked back to the cab.

  The screams from onlookers filled his ears like praise from millions of fans. He was beginning to like the spotlight. He didn’t want to hide anymore. He didn’t want to sneak around. He was the Red Dog, and the world would bow before him, or he would kill them, every last one of them.

  * * *

  NEW YORK WAS HOME, and I was glad to be back. Being away from K and Sam was wearing on me, and I couldn’t wait to see them. As soon as I finished typing up my report in my office, I’d get out of here.

  The case was looming, and things were getting worse. The trip to Africa had unlocked something in the case that made the capture of Taras Karjanski even more important. The tracking device had a few more days left on it, and it showed that he was back home as well. I was deep in thought when I felt something in the pit of my stomach. It was happening again.

  I saw a long, dark hallway leading down into a deep pit. It was man made, but looked to be hundreds of years old, maybe an old slave tunnel or part of the Underground Railroad. The humidity made me sweat instantly, and I guessed I might be in the South. I had my weapon drawn and was ready as I descended into the dark, musty air. Pulling on my sunglasses, I clicked on night vision. I could see an old, wooden door at the end of the hall with a new lock on it. I was alone, and from the response on my COM stat, I was off the grid.

  Where am I? Why don’t I have backup?

  I could sense the presence of someone or something watching my every move. I looked around for any clue, so when I was here in real life, I would have the advantage. I was getting better at knowing if I was experiencing a glimpse or not.

  Coming up to the wooden door, I saw that the lock was open. I turned to thermal vision on my glasses and looked through the door. I saw two heat sources. One standing, as if waiting for me, and the other lying on some sort of table. I approached and opened the door, thinking I was ready for whatever was waiting for me.

  “Hello again, Mr. Appleton.”

  I was not prepared for who I saw. I remembered the crazy woman I’d chased through the streets on a hot rod bike. I just about lost my life in that battle because I’d underestimated Emily Dobson. I did not plan on making the same mistake again.

  “Emily, I see you’ve been up to no good.” She had a shotgun pointed at Solomon’s head.

  “That’s far enough. Drop the gun or he gets a face full of lead, and I don’t think he can afford to lose any more blood.” Solomon looked up at me with a washed out pale face. There was a pool of blood dripping from the table and it made a puddle on the floor. He looked weak, and it took everything inside me not to rush over to help him.

  “What do you want?” I lowered my gun and looked at the mad woman who held my boss and friend hostage.

  “I want you, Mark. I want to watch you die.”

  * * *

  I WAS BROUGHT BACK to reality when Isis came into my office with a worried look on her face. I spoke before she did. “Solomon is missing. I know.”

  She nodded and said, “We just received a tape that I think you need to see. We have it set up in the conference room down the hall.”

  My head was spinning. Going in and out of a glimpse was like dropping from an airplane and then expecting to carry on as if nothing happened.

  The small conference room was set up at the end of the hall on the same floor as my office. The Merc building had office space on most of the floors, and I was on the fifth floor, along with Isis and many others who worked for the publication.

  Jamison and Big B sat waiting for me, and I looked around for the captain. He was missing, and from the pained look on Jamison’s face, I knew he was dead. “Everyone okay? Jamison, you look like you’ve been through a war.” I scanned Jamison and Big B to see if they had any serious wounds. They both looked beat up, but outside of some scratches, they seemed okay.

  “Yeah, Chaos, aka Emily Dobson, blew up an entire town,” Big B said. “We thought Solomon was dead until we got a tape this morning. Take a look.”

  I was not surprised. I wished that every once in a while what I saw when I blacked out would turn out to be just my imagination.

  Kirk came in and sat down without a word. The television was on, and Isis hit the play button. The screen was black and then, with a wobble of the camera, Emily showed up, with Solomon behind her. When I saw Solomon, I gasped, along with everyone else in the room. I knew it was coming, but still wasn’t prepared to see it live. He looked severely beaten, and with his body stripped, it was hard to watch. When she began her cliché threats, I had a feeling this was my fault somehow. She was after me. I had to set things right.

  When the knife went in the first time, Isis closed her eyes. After the knife went in for the second time, I knew what I had to do.

  When the tape was finished and the screen returned to its original, black state, I looked around the room. “I think you all know what has to be done. It’s me or him, and I can’t let him die for me.”

  I told them that no amount of arguing would change my mind. I was replaceable, but Solomon was not. Big B cast his eyes down and folded his large hands in his lap. He knew what I was going to do, and he knew that if Solomon were in my position he would do the same for me.

  “Mark, you can’t. She’ll just kill both of you.” Isis had tears in her eyes, but the rest of the room knew that they couldn’t talk me out of it.

  I spoke gently, knowing this was a sensitive time. “I’ve seen where he’s being held, and in my glimpse, I was there alone. I think I can get him out, but I have to do exactly what she wants. I have seen her, and she is not going to stop unless we do it her way.”

  I was afraid, but my fear was being smothered by my anger. This was now a waiting game, and we were at the mercy of a woman who we knew almost nothing about. And the little we knew about her wasn’t good.

  “Isis, run anything you can on Emily Dobson. We have her fingerprints from the scene at Mooch’s house. Run them through everything we have. Big B, can you get me an emergency medical kit that I can take with me? And, Jamison, set up a satellite that we can use, so if I go off the grid you can still track me. She knows how we do things and what we will do before we do it. We’ve got to get out of this box and take back the element of surprise.”

  Kirk stood up and started out the door.

  “Kirk, you think you can track Taras? I am going to put you and Isis on it. You know him better than any of us here, and I can’t be both places at once.”

  “I’ll do my best. You be careful.”

  The next twenty-four hours would mean life or death for me or Solomon. We would have one shot at this, and from what I’d seen, it didn’t look good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  KIRK WALKED INTO THE sports bar, sat down, and ordered a Budweiser. He had called Carson and set up a meeting, hoping his old friend would show up. He didn’t know what he was going to say or even what he wanted. Carson was an old buddy, and Kirk knew he was on the task force looking into the WJA. In the beginning, Kirk wanted to bring them down from the inside. But now his viewpoint was different, and he was starting to see the good they were doing.

  Kirk sipped on the cold beer and looked at himself in the mirror that hung behind the bar. The stubble on his head was starting to show like pepper on mashed potatoes. He was fit and tough-looking with his tattoos, and his few scars proved he was not someone to mess with. He looked at life through the eyes of a critic and a pessimist. He liked to make people show their true colors. All people were evil deep down ins
ide. He thought it was only honest to be yourself. Doesn’t everyone always say to be real and true to who you are? Well, he was just that, and not many people liked it!

  “My God, it is you! How the heck are you?” Carson wore a dark blue suit and a clean white shirt without a tie. He was shocked to see Kirk and the look on his face proved it.

  Kirk stood up and grabbed his old friend’s hand. “Good. You look like you lost some weight. The bureau is doing you a service, I see.”

  Carson grinned. “They’ve got a gym in the basement. And I see you’ve trimmed down as well. Gym or starvation?” Carson sat down and motioned to the bartender for a beer.

  “Ha, funny you should say that. I was kidnapped but made it out with my life and a small lump sum of money. So I went out of the country to regroup, and wouldn’t you know it, I was assumed dead. Now, I can’t say I minded. I was sick of the cop thing, and I really didn’t have any reason not to make a fresh start.”

  By the look on his face, Carson had a million questions running through his mind. “Okay. So you’re back in the land of the living, and you call me. Your old boss know you’re alive?”

  “Nope, and I want to keep it that way. Outside of you, not many people know I still exist.” Kirk looked down at his drink and wiped the condensation off the bottle. He was having trouble knowing what to say. He wasn’t even sure he knew what he wanted to say.

  “Come on, spit it out. I know you didn’t come back to life just to have a drink with me. We weren’t that good of friends. Come to think of it, I didn’t even like you. You always were a pest and a grump.” Carson took a swig from his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Yeah, yeah. And you were too pretty to be a cop. The feds suit you better. I do have something that might interest you. First, I need to know everything you have on a group called the World Justice Agency.”

  Just as Kirk expected, Carson froze. He swallowed his beer, and then looked at Kirk. “Not sure what you mean.”