DREAM ON (Mark Appleton #2)

by Patterson, Aaron

  The cab driver made a sharp turn, and the conversation ended. They were out in the middle of nowhere with grassy hills on all sides and the smell of ocean air wafting from the south. Kirk looked at his watch and couldn’t believe how the time slipped by. They soon were parked behind Mark’s car, and up ahead, a lone beach house stood surrounded by shadows.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I FELT A SHARP pain in my shoulder when I tried to move. My eyes were swollen but I managed to open them just in time to see Emily punch me in the face. I didn’t feel anything when she hit me, but I figured it was from the mixed signals my brain was getting from every other part of my body that screamed in agony.

  “Not so tough now, are you? Mark, open your eyes and look at me. Look at me!” Emily was quivering with rage as she stood over me with a three-foot long metal pipe in her hand. I tried to speak, but couldn’t get anything out other than a gurgling sound.

  I was strapped to the same table Solomon had been strapped to. Solomon! I suddenly remembered him and his bloody body. It hurt to think of my friend, and the father he was to me, as being dead.

  Emily busied herself with a handful of sharp instruments that she placed, side by side, on a wooden table. They looked like ice picks and scalpels mixed with other torture devices that I was sure I would soon get to experience. Think, Mark, you’ve got to keep your brain working!

  It was just then that I noticed a dark figure standing in the doorway, motionless and powerful. Emily looked up from her work, and a huge smile spread across her face. “Taras!” She jumped like a kid on Christmas who’d seen what Santa had just brought her.

  My heart sank when I heard the name. It had to be a mistake, some other guy named Taras. But, deep inside, I knew. Taras Karjanski stepped into the room and took off his ball cap.

  “Sis! It has been too long.” He stepped into the room and hugged his sister.

  Sister?

  “Oh, where are my manners? Taras, I want you to meet someone!” Emily was acting almost hysterical—her voice was high pitched and shaking. Her mood gave me a little hope. Hysterical people did not make the best choices. “This is the pig that killed my husband. Mark Appleton, I want you to meet the Red Dog.”

  Taras looked down at me, and I stared back into his dark eyes. He didn’t look like evil incarnate—just a guy in jeans and a t-shirt. “My sister has told me a lot about you.”

  My memory flashed like a movie screen as the pieces came together. Emily ranted and paced the room as Taras looked on, taking some sort of sadistic pleasure in seeing his sister so upset. “You’ve done so well getting America scared. My hat’s off to you, Chaos.”

  “You!” Emily pointed a long finger at me and her anger boiled once more. “You killed John. He was at the cabin the day it exploded, and you did it. Took me long enough to find you. It was near impossible. But what I can’t figure out is why?”

  I couldn’t tell her that I’d seen the future—and had seen the bombers blow up a grocery store that my wife and daughter were in. It had been my first dream, I’d seen the destruction, and then I woke up to find that I still had a family, they didn’t die in a bombing, and then I knew where the evil men were and what they planned on doing. I could stop them. I could save all those people’s lives. So I did. I detonated the bomb in their faces.

  “My brother could have been killed too, but he was running late and he saw you leaving the cabin, he saw the whole thing. You just walked away as if it was no big deal.” Her lower lip was quivering now, and Taras grinned at me with something hidden in his eyes that I could not explain.

  “I guess being late has its advantages,” Taras said, “but I still got to kill that sniveling little brat who ratted us out. Pat Rotter was a worthless worm, I shot him in the back of the head where you had him tied up like a criminal.”

  Emily took a sharp hook from off the wooden table and held it up for me to see. “You killed my husband, and after years of searching and waiting, I will kill you. But your death will not be quick as was my husband’s. I want to see you die a thousand deaths and make you suffer as I have suffered.

  “You know the best part, Mark? You were just a bonus. I had all but given up on ever finding you. I was going about my Chaos business when my brother told me he had found you. And then, when he said that you were with the World Justice Agency, I just had to laugh. You never had a chance. And now you will pay for what you’ve done.”

  Emily turned the sharp instrument in her hand. It gleamed as it caught some light from the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. It looked like a dentist’s cleaning hook, but much bigger. Emily stepped forward and stuck the hook end into my abdomen. I felt it pierce my flesh and a wave of pain washed over my body like hot lava. The last thing I saw was Emily’s face as she smiled and twisted the sharp hook inside of my body.

  A shot pierced the room.

  I didn’t even feel the bullet go in, but I felt my life slip away as I died.

  * * *

  TARAS LOOKED AT HIS sister, remembering when her name was Natasha Karjanski. She looked different now, after a little plastic surgery and implants. He almost did not recognize her, but when he looked into her eyes, he knew it was his little sis.

  Mark Appleton didn’t look like much, Natasha had worked him over pretty good. He could smell blood as it dripped from Mark’s body and filled the room with that familiar, metallic smell. Taras closed his eyes for a moment to savor the sweet smell. His sister was rambling on and on about her husband and blah, blah, blah. Why won’t she just shut up and kill him already?

  He watched as Natasha dug the sharp tool into Mark’s abdomen, and he could see the color wash out of Mark’s face. He was going to pass out any second, and Taras wanted him to see what happened next. With a slow deliberate movement, Taras drew the handgun from its holster and pointed it at his sister. The look on her face was worth every agonizing second he had been forced to experience with her. The shot rang out through the room. Taras smiled as she sank to the floor. She looked up at him in confusion, and the only word she got out was, “Why?”

  “I don’t need you anymore. Thanks for catching the dreamer for me. I guess I’ll have to finish him off for you. You don’t mind, do you?” He had to laugh at the timing of his sister’s demise. She had waited so long to have her revenge, and just when she had it in her grasp, she failed. “You should have never taken off your vest. You never know who you can trust.”

  Looking at Mark, Taras saw he was out cold. His breathing was slowing, and with the blood loss he didn’t think he would make it even if there were a doctor nearby. Stupid girl. Don’t you know how to torture someone? You have to keep them alive!

  He turned back to his sister who had drug herself over to the table where her gun lay. The Red Dog grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, shoving the gun hard against her neck. He pulled the trigger, sending blood splattering all over his pants and the wall. He smeared his finger in the blood that dripped from his leg and brought it to his nose. It smelled so good, it made him want to drink it.

  Releasing his grip on his sister’s hair, he let her body drop to the floor. Then he untied Mark and slung him over his shoulder. He would bury him and save the next person the trouble. He would bury them all. He was in the mood for some manual labor. So he buried Mark Appleton alive, and then threw Solomon and Natasha in a second pine box to spend eternity together. “If you can’t work out your differences in that amount of time, then I’m afraid you’ll never get them resolved.”

  With that, Taras Karjanski left the way he had come, walked through the living room of his clean white beach house, and poured himself a glass of wine.

  He did love a good wine.

  * * *

  THE WORLD WATCHED TO see what would happen to America. Everyone fell under the spell of fear cast on them by a single terrorist. But no one knew who it was. Taras Karjanski was still unknown and walked where he wanted and did as he pleased, unencumbered.

  The president of the Un
ited States called a press conference to address the people and try to calm their fears before the inevitable.

  The small room was packed with reporters and photographers taking pictures and yelling out for an answer. The president walked out to a barrage of flashes and questions. He looked in control and sure of himself, even though he felt quite the opposite. The press secretary held up her hand and calmed the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of this great country, I stand here before you enraged and humbled by the events of the past few months. This country has survived wars, floods, and natural disasters that would put most people in the ground. We now have an enemy that is a ghost and a coward. He hides behind letters and threats in order to control us by fear. But we will not be scared. We will not be driven from our way of life because someone doesn’t like it. No, we will fight, and we will win.”

  The crowd cheered in a burst of energy as they felt the rush of hope. Holding up his hand for silence, he continued.

  “This goes out to the people who are calling in and voting on who will suffer and who will not. Stop playing their game, stop giving them what they want: control. I urge you, America, give him silence. Give him your answer by living, and living well. We are Americans, and we will not negotiate with terrorists.”

  Turning from the reporters, he left the stage without answering any questions. Nevertheless, one made it through the noise and haunted him later. “Who is behind the letters? Who is Chaos?” He rubbed his chin and cursed under his breath. He had no idea who Chaos was, and he was not the only one.

  As he collapsed in his chair in the oval office, he said, “Jill, get me the FBI and the CIA. I want them here in one hour. You know the drill, Defense Secretary, Chief of Staff. I want them all here. One hour!”

  After Jill left, he sat back and looked out the window overlooking Washington, DC. It was a beautiful day with the sun high in the sky, making the shadows flee for cover. He had a knot in the pit of his stomach and a sick feeling that things were about to get a whole lot worse.

  * * *

  KIRK WAITED IN THE dark as a soft breeze sent the bitter smell of salt through the air. Isis was next to him with binoculars, scanning the house and the rolling hills that surrounded it.

  “Looks vacant. I’m getting some readings of a heat source coming from behind the house, though. Let’s go check it out.”

  Kirk pushed off the safety on his .45 and held it low as they moved silently through the tall grass. Isis carried a weapon she had helped create in the lab. It was a sonar gun that acted like a shotgun, but with sonar waves. It sent out a pulse without making any sound, and anything in front of it would feel the waves pulse through their body. In a few seconds it would literally crush them from the inside out. It was only designed for close range combat and would cause permanent hearing loss for anyone on the receiving end, if they lived through the experience.

  Kirk preferred his old-school Colt .45.

  The house was dark, and as they worked their way around to the back, Kirk saw fresh tire tracks in the dirt road leading around the house. A yellow Lamborghini sat quietly next to the house as Kirk rounded the corner. Isis cleared the house with her scope using the infrared option. Anyone inside couldn’t hide unless they happened to have a lead-lined room.

  Kirk signaled to Isis and they walked around it, looking for any signs of life. Taras must have gone underground or somewhere other than the house, because there was no sign of him anywhere. Kirk had a dark feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn’t right. The house stood empty and stared back at them like an evil presence. Kirk looked over his shoulder with worry.

  With a flip of her wrist, Isis motioned for Kirk to follow her inside. They would clear the house, and then call for backup to seal off the area. If Mark or Solomon were in the area, they would find them. As for the Red Dog, he was on a short leash, and the dogcatcher was coming.

  * * *

  CARSON LOOKED OVER HIS file on Emily Dobson. She was a busy girl. She had two hundred million dollars in one offshore account alone, and he still had six more accounts to go through. He sighed and closed his eyes, replaying the president’s address over again in his mind. He was getting impatient with Detective Weston. And the director breathing down his neck was no help. He could only give Weston one more day to come up with something new before he hunted him down.

  “Come on, Kirk. You’re killing me here.” Picking up the phone, he dialed, and just as he suspected, it went right to voicemail. “Kirk, give me a call. I can’t hold out much longer. It is getting crazy out there, call me.”

  The fresh information on Emily Dobson had come through his personal email account from Kirk’s email address. Kirk was doing a good job gathering new leads, but still had nothing to tell them where she was, or even what she looked like, which was all that they needed. The only photo was from the mall security cameras, and they showed a hooded person from the rear. Not much to go on, and with the votes coming in record numbers, the entire country was waiting to see what was going to happen.

  Just when Carson was about to go out and hunt Kirk down, he heard his computer beep, and the “New Mail” notice popped up on the screen. He didn’t recognize the sender. When he opened it, a photo came into view. It was a dark-haired man in a Russian military uniform. The heading under the picture said.

  General Taras Karjanski, aka The Red Dog, aka The General.

  The next photo was of a woman with long, dark hair and a sweet smile. He thought this might be some kind of joke. The name under the photo made his heart stop for one or two beats.

  Natasha Karjanski, aka Emily Dobson, aka Chaos.

  The pages of information that followed made him just about lose his dinner, from reports of slaughtered livestock to pictures of the latest killing spree in New York just a few days ago. The bodies and the extensive brutality was not human. Carson scanned through them and stamped at the bottom of the last page, he saw a symbol with the letters, “WJA.” The WJA is helping the FBI? He sat down and shook his head. Kirk must have gotten through to someone. The printer fired up, and in a few minutes Carson would have everything he needed to present it to Director Jacobson. It was time to stop the Chaos!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  KIRK AND ISIS CLEARED each room from top to bottom. The house smelled like mothballs and old wood. Taras Karjanski was nowhere to be found and neither was Mark or Solomon. Kirk cursed and looked out the window from the master bedroom. A note was taped to the glass, with red letters still wet from the blood used to write it.

  They’re all dead.

  Isis read the note and a washed-out look crossed her face. “He knew we were watching him. How could he have known?”

  “I don’t know,” Kirk said grimly.

  “Jamison said they lost him on the scanner. They think he went underground. That would be the only reason they would lose him. There has to be a tunnel or a cave around here. I had Jamison patch Mark’s last known location to our GPS devices.”

  Kirk looked at his watch and saw the red dot blink on.

  “Let’s go,” Isis said. “Looks like it’s a few hundred yards south of here. You up for a jog?”

  Kirk nodded. Isis bolted from the room and Kirk followed. He couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that they were not going to find Mark or Solomon. At least not alive.

  They took the stairs that wound around the back of the house and ended up in the kitchen. The house was empty, but Kirk still had a feeling that someone was watching them. It felt like the house was alive—like it could see them as they walked through its chambers. The yellow Lamborghini still sat out back, the owner was still out there somewhere…or maybe that’s just what he wanted them to think. Stepping into the knee-high grass, they started to jog toward the direction indicated on their GPS.

  The hill came to a high point and then fell away into a small valley that was sheltered from the road and anything else that might be close by. Isis looked at her watch and pointed ahead. They spread out and combed th
e area, looking for anything unusual. Isis pawed through some brush and called out, “I think I found something.”

  Kirk rushed over and saw an old wooden cellar door half buried in the dirt. He looked around, grabbed the rusted handle, and pulled. The door opened with a creak. Isis had her weapon out and Kirk did the same. Emily and Taras could be lurking in the shadows somewhere.

  Before they entered the dark tunnel, Kirk noticed something on the ground. Leaning down, he touched the mud. Kirk lifted his finger to his nose and smelled the stench of iron and earth.

  It was blood.

  * * *

  TARAS SAT IN A black, overstuffed chair and watched his sister’s monitors as the duo combed the house for him and now were outside. The detective seemed to make it out alive from just about any situation. He recognized the woman from the airport and realized that he had been under surveillance for a while now. “Shelly, I still owe you dinner and a drink.” He felt his heart race when he saw her and knew that he still loved her.

  He took another sip of wine and smelled the deep almond scent as it filled his palate before he swallowed. He was right under their feet, in an underground room with the walls and ceiling lined with lead and copper. Not bad, sis.

  The pair had found his note and left to search for their friends in the underground caves. He thought of the graves he had just covered. They were in the middle of the first main cave, right off from where the main house was. Taras watched as Kirk led Shelly into the dark and walked right over where his friend was buried. It was sweet to see them scan the area and search. But they wouldn’t find anything.

  Getting up, he slipped through the kitchen and poured himself another glass of wine for the road. His Lamborghini waited for him, and he wanted to be relaxed for the show he was sure to see on TV tonight.