DREAM ON (Mark Appleton #2)

by Patterson, Aaron

  Taras was supposed to be home. With thermal imaging, they could see a heat signature in the apartment. The plan was to kill him, and make it look like an accident. The whole team was involved, down to covering every possible escape route. Big B kept them in sight two buildings away with thermal and x-ray vision, and he was scanning the building for possible guards.

  Kirk didn’t expect any. Taras was far too arrogant to think he would ever be caught. It was his main weakness. He never had any protection, he didn’t even try to hide from the law. He just seemed to be able to escape no matter what anyone did.

  The team was split into four different groups: one was in the lobby sipping martinis at the bar, one covered the back, one was circling in a black helicopter just in case Taras decided to run, and Kirk and Isis were the fourth, going in to make the hit.

  They slowly ascended the side of the glass building. Isis signaled and pointed to a window to her right. Kirk pulled himself up and took the right side, and they looked in. The light in the kitchen was on, but no sign of The General. Kirk turned on his x-ray glasses and looked through the rooms leading into the bedroom.

  A figure sat in a La-Z-Boy reading or watching television in the master bedroom. Isis started to set up the glass remover. After she secured the device in place, she hooked a small hydraulic arm and attached it to the side of the building with a suction plate. After Isis had locked in the arm, she attached the other end to the glass. Kirk was amazed how easily it cut the glass. Isis pulled it out, and then the arm lifted the window like a wing door on a Ferrari. Kirk quickly climbed in and Isis followed. Taras, who still sat in the next room, was apparently unaware of their presence.

  Soft music played through surround sound, and a half-empty bottle of wine sat on the dining room table. Isis pulled a canister from the hidden pocket on her arm and unscrewed the lid. It held a single ounce of Lithoyzone, bottled in a small glass vial. Once shattered, it would send out a burst of light that would instantly blind anyone whose eyes were exposed to it. They’d told Kirk that their glasses protected them from the harmful light. But it still freaked Kirk out a little even with the protective glasses on.

  Kirk pulled a dart gun from his hip holster, which held three rounds of a drug that would show up as narcotics. It would hit the target and slide under the skin, injecting a poison that would shut down the victim’s blood flow within seconds. The microscopic dart would then inject the victim with enough narcotics to put down an elephant. The beauty of the drug was that, after death, it would dissipate through the pores, leaving no trace other than extreme stress on the heart and clotting in the blood. The coroner would test the body and find only traces of narcotics. It would be assumed he’d died from a natural condition of the heart, and the blood clots would suggest the same thing. However, the fancy gun was not the only thing he packed—he had his .45 just in case. Isis had laughed at him for lugging “that archaic weapon!”

  Kirk didn’t care much for the whole kill-and-leave-no-trace thing. Considering what the madman had done, he would like to run the guy up for all to see. To let the world judge and condemn him. Isis had looked at him with a “that’s not how we do it here” look.

  Kirk looked over at Isis as she slid to the left side of the doorway. Kirk didn’t need to yell, “Police,” or anything. He was an agent for the WJA now.

  He reached for the door and swung it open as Isis tossed the Lithoyzone into the room. The man in the chair had his back to the door. A blinding light flashed then burned out. They burst into the room. Kirk put two rounds in his neck before he had a chance to react.

  They swung around in a wide sweep of the room, and then came face to face with…Kirk dropped his weapon and rushed for the man strapped to the chair. He was beaten and bloody. Kirk’s shoulders dropped as he realized that the man in the chair had a cardboard cutout strapped to his face.

  The cutout was a picture of Solomon.

  Isis ran for him but saw that he was already dead. He looked like he had been dead a few days. His face was blue and his body was bloated. Kirk froze as he swept the room with his eyes. They had walked into a trap.

  “Abort, abort!” Kirk sounded into his headset.

  “What’s going on in there, man?” Big B said.

  “There’s a corpse with a picture of Solomon tied to his face,” Isis said.

  “Can’t be—can’t be…he’s showing a heat source,” Big B stuttered. “Get out, now. Isis, run!”

  The impact of what was about to happen hit Kirk like a ton of bricks. He turned just in time to see the blood soaked writing on the wall behind them.

  Game over, Detective.

  “Isis!” Kirk grabbed her arm and nearly pulled her off her feet. He dove through the door leading to the living room, dragging Isis the whole way. She regained her footing, and, with a quick glance his direction, they ran for the open window.

  A high-pitched whine filled the room as the explosive solution inserted into the dead man’s body mixed and ignited. Kirk and Isis went for the quickest escape route—the window. We’re dead either way. Falling three hundred feet, or blown to bits.

  Isis was right in front of Kirk when they reached the window. Without slowing, she dove headfirst out the window and into thin air. Kirk followed a half second behind her, just as the apartment exploded. The blast shattered the windows for five floors. As Kirk fell, he felt the heat and glass hitting his back with brutal force. He didn’t even hear the explosion or see as half of the building tore itself from its framework, leaving a gaping hole five floors deep. A rain of metal and glass showered down on them.

  Kirk regained his composure as the wind hit his face. He looked frantically for Isis. She was stiff and straight, as if in total control. He saw immediately what she was planning. The building just ten or twelve feet from them was made of glass, as well. She was diving straight for it. Kirk pulled his arms to his side and straightened. He saw Isis hit the side hard and flatten out, grabbing the side of the building as she tried desperately to get a grip on the glass.

  Kirk fell into the building. Hitting the glass wall, he grunted and bounced off like a rock skipping across a pond. The wind in his ears was so loud he had trouble even thinking, and the fact that the ground was fast approaching did not help matters either. Reaching out for the window, he clawed and hit the glass with open palms, trying, hoping the suction devices in his gloves would activate.

  Kirk had a brief thought. If he could punch through the window and hurl himself inside, at least he would land somewhere other than the concrete below. The ground was coming up fast and in one last effort, he slammed both hands on the glass in front of him. The gloves activated and Kirk slid down the side. Using the momentum from his fall, he swung his legs down in an arch and broke through the glass. Now the glass he’d been attached to broke into a thousand pieces as Kirk flew through the open space and tumbled head over heels into a storefront. The sound of falling glass hit the ground like a hailstorm. He opened his eyes and rolled off the rack of fur coats that had broken his fall.

  He’d broken Macy’s storefront window to pieces, and the path he’d taken was covered with glass and a dark red streak of blood on the tile floor. Gathering himself up, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. It was bleeding, but all he could think about was Isis. Walking to the open hole, he looked out to find that he was standing on the ground floor. The street was scattered with bits of metal and glass, paper floated in the air, and small fires were burning everywhere as fire trucks roared down the street. Looking around, he saw Isis limping toward him with her hood ripped off, leaving her jet-black hair hanging down over her shoulders.

  “Isis, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Kirk ran to her and pulled her close. He kissed her all over her face, hugging her before he realized what he was doing. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I, uh—”

  “I’m fine. Oh, you’re bleeding!”

  She looked him over and saw that, outside of a few small gashes, they were fine. Isis took Kirk’s hand and pulled him around t
he corner and into an alley. They had to get out of sight before the police started looking for witnesses.

  “You guys okay?” Big B asked.

  “We’re alive,” Kirk answered. “Come get us. We are on the corner of—”

  Isis interrupted. “Search the area in a five-mile perimeter. He had to set that bomb off by remote. He has to be close by.”

  “Roger that. You two hang tight. I’ll send in the ground team to pick you up. Did we make it out with everyone?”

  Isis looked down at the ground. “Not everyone. We didn’t have the chance to get blood samples on that corpse.” Her eyebrows creased in worry, and Kirk shared the look with her. They feared it had been Solomon.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  TRAVIS FOUST LOOKED THROUGH the dust-filled room in amazement. He choked and coughed as he staggered from his hiding place. A huge hole lay open in the center of the room and the dirt from it was piled all around, looking like a giant gopher had just dug a new entrance to his tunnel. Testing the ground, he made his way to the edge of the crater to investigate. He eyed the room and noticed the only exit was buried. He was trapped.

  He thought about his girlfriend and the dinner he would surely be missing tonight with her family. Oh, well, he didn’t like them much anyway. Time to see how this adventure played out.

  The pile of dirt was well over his head, but he climbed it without much effort. At the top, he looked down to see a hole that seemed to be empty. Dropping his backpack from his shoulder, he retrieved his flashlight and clicked it on. The small light flooded the darkness and shone on the face of a man.

  Travis gasped and just about fell back head over heels, but he caught himself. “Hello! Are you okay? Hey, mister. Can you hear me?”

  The man was covered with blood and wasn’t moving. Noticing the shattered wood around him, he could tell that the man was in a simple pine casket. He sat down hard, startled, and tried to think of an explanation for what he’d just seen. Maybe an earthquake had just occurred and jiggled the dirt loose around the grave? It was a stretch, but nothing else made any sense at the moment. He swung the light around the room to see if there was any other means of escape, when a grunt jolted his attention back to the hole. A groan came from the darkness. Swinging his flashlight around, he shined it into the gaping hole.

  The man moved.

  He was still alive.

  * * *

  I OPENED MY EYES and saw a bright light. Just like I imagined—a bright light you follow into heaven or some afterlife. The pain was gone and everything felt like a dream. I wonder if you dream in heaven. The last thing I remembered was a blinding flash and a sonic boom, and then everything went black. Someone was yelling at me, maybe it was my spirit guide. I hoped I would have one. This whole death thing was new for me. “Hello, you okay? Hold on, I’ll get you out, man!”

  He sounded more like a human than an angel or a spooky, glowing ghost. Then the light went away and my eyes adjusted to the soft glow coming from the open air above me. I turned my head to see the lid of the casket torn to pieces and jammed into the side of a crater. Wood pieces were everywhere.

  As my memory came back, I realized I wasn’t dead. To the contrary, I was alive, and not only that, something had happened to me. The pounding had come from deep inside my own body. My head had hurt so badly a few minutes ago, but now it felt fine. I looked at my fingers and saw they had black soot or ink on the tips. I bent my arm and struggled to my knees. The stench hit my nose as I stood up. I was covered in dried feces and urine. My body was caked with blood and sweat, but everything seemed to be working.

  “Hey, man! What was that? I mean, I’ve never seen anything like it. You like blew the ground right up off you.” The dark man went on and on about the miracle, but I didn’t hear much of what he said. I was alive! How in the world am I alive? Was this what Solomon was trying to tell me? He must’ve known. He knew all along. And now he was gone.

  I forced the questions and betrayal from my mind and focused on what was at hand.

  “You got a rope or something?” My voice was hoarse. I rubbed my eyes and felt something warm. My fingers were hot to the touch. Almost scorching hot. I looked at them, but they looked fine. They didn’t hurt.

  “I’m Travis. I was doing some exploring when this, I mean, that—whatever—happened!” Travis stammered and tossed down a blue, woven climbing rope. “You strong enough to climb up?”

  “I think I can.” I grabbed the rope and started to pull myself up.

  My muscles ached, and it took a few tries to make it to the top. Their lack of use had turned them into Jell-O, not to mention the fact I was starving, and my mouth was dry from lack of water. How long had I been down there?

  Travis grabbed my shoulder and hauled me out of the hole. He took a step back after I stood, panting, beside him. He just stared.

  “You’re one lucky dude,” he finally said, “or very unlucky.”

  I swallowed. “Both, I guess. I’m lucky you were here.”

  “No problem, man.”

  My eyes lit on the water jug strapped to his backpack, and I grabbed it without even asking and drained it. Nothing had ever tasted so good. After devouring the rest of his lunch that he offered me, we sat. I owed him some answers. I filled him in on the very vague details: I was kidnapped and had been buried alive by a madman. He didn’t need to know much more than that.

  My body was ravaged by scalpel wounds and bullet holes, and I could barely walk.

  Travis was a stout and strong man. He stood five-foot-eight and looked like a cage fighter. His dark eyes flashed when he talked, and I could tell that everything he did was with passion. “Well, you’re not out of danger yet.” He pointed to the entrance, which I remembered crawling through a few days earlier. It was under hundreds of pounds of rock and dirt. “We’re stuck.”

  I grit my teeth. After being resurrected from a tomb, there was no way that I’d stay buried beneath another grave. “Start digging,” I said.

  * * *

  THE PRESIDENT SCOWLED AT Agent Carson and Captain Jacobson. They were alone in the oval office, and the tension was thick.

  “This is unacceptable!” He hadn’t taken the news of the WJA refusing a face-to-face meeting well. “I want this terrorist shut down, and I mean now.” He closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m sorry, this whole thing has got me angry beyond belief. I know you’re doing the best you can, and I appreciate that. Really, I do. Carson, do you have any idea how long until we have confirmed reports on Taras Karjanski?”

  “We know he’s in the country, but what city he’s in is still up in the air. We believe he is in New York, but I can’t say for sure. All the notes have been delivered to The Post, and he seems to like to be close to the WJA. We believe he’s planning to dump the blame for all this on the WJA in order to draw them out into the open. Once the country finds out about this group, we will have another big mess on our hands.”

  The president thought on this a few minutes, and then stood up. He was wearing a suit, but the tie knot was pulled to one side, and the top button was open on his shirt. He shook their hands, and with that, they were dismissed.

  Carson hoped the president would take his advice. The WJA had a lot of power and influence, but if the world found out a group was doling out revenge or overstepping the law, it would spark an uprising and, possibly, a civil war.

  Jacobson didn’t say two words as they rode back. He didn’t share Carson’s ideas about the WJA, and had on more than one occasion voiced his doubts to the president. The president shut him down much too quickly for Jacobson to take it well. Carson was the new pet, and had the president’s ear, which meant he was now in the crosshairs of his boss. The thought crossed his mind that Jacobson would think he was involved in the WJA, or even that the president himself was linked to them. He never said it aloud, but Carson could read it in Jacobson’s face. Only time would tell, and with the country in chaos, the threat of martial law was being seriously considered by
the president and his cabinet. Come on, Detective, we need a miracle!

  * * *

  I BRUSHED THOUGHTS OF what had happened from my mind as Travis drove down the dirt road to the highway. I was still in shock, gazing bleary eyed out the window. The sound of thundering deep inside my chest and vibrating through my skull was imprinted on my mind. And then there was the fact that I was out of my own grave, for no reason other than that something supernatural happened. I used to go to church when I was a kid, and I remember hearing stories about miracles and healings. But when something happens to you, it’s really hard to bring yourself to even consider that something supernatural may have happened. Had Solomon done something to me when I was a kid? I wasn’t sure if it had all been a dream, or if I was going to die of a brain overload or tumor or something. I suddenly remembered what Solomon had told me before he’d died. “Find the book.” Maybe if I found the book he spoke of, I’d find some answers. Travis Foust didn’t say much about what had happened, which confirmed my suspicions that something weird had happened.

  He had dug for hours before we finally saw light at the end of the tunnel. He had to practically carry me out. Once we made it topside, we got in his rig and headed back into the city. His truck was a late nineties Toyota, with more rust on the body than paint. I was just happy it ran.

  Travis started talking, he started telling me about what was going on in the city and around the world. Things were falling apart, and from the sounds of panic coming on the radio, Taras Karjanski had begun his plan to bring the world to its knees. He wanted to see them at his mercy, but I only hoped he had some—mercy, that is.

  * * *

  KIRK COULDN’T FIGURE OUT what he thought or felt about anything. He rubbed his shaved head and closed his eyes as if to shut off his brain for a few minutes. He was flooded with thoughts of Isis and how she made him want to wrap her in his arms and protect her from the danger that surrounded them. Come on, man, she is an assassin! She can take care of herself. He didn’t care what it took. He would do whatever he could to win her love.