DREAM ON (Mark Appleton #2)

by Patterson, Aaron

  Isis came in and sat across from him in a love seat that was in the corner of her office. “He’s asleep. I hope he finds out something. Anything at this point would help.” She wore a dark blue sleeveless blouse, and a pair of black slacks with tiny white pinstripes. She leaned back and closed her eyes. It had been a long night, and they had been up for fifteen hours now with no sleep. Kirk was still wearing an old beat-up t-shirt with “AC/DC” stamped on the front, and a pair of stained blue jeans.

  “So you believe this dream stuff?” Kirk thought it sounded like a much more reasonable question in his mind, but coming out sounding antagonistic. However, he didn’t take it back. He didn’t want to put his faith in magic or prophecies or whatever Mark did.

  “Yeah. I didn’t at first, but he’s saved my life before with information from a dream, and he knows things he couldn’t have known otherwise. Why? Do you think he’s making it up?” She looked at him with a sideways smirk.

  “No, I’ve just never seen anything like it outside of the county fair and an old hag with a crystal ball.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see. You find out anything in that book?”

  “The pages are blank. It just seems weird. You ever seen it before?”

  “No. And Solomon never mentioned it.” Isis sat up and ran her hand through her hair.

  Kirk looked at the cover again, then placed it on her desk and walked around to where Isis sat. “Come on, you look like you could use some coffee. The cafeteria should have a fresh brew.”

  Grabbing her hands, he pulled her up, and for a moment, they stood face to face, just inches from each other. She looked up and stared at him with her big, dark eyes, unflinching—just content to look at him. Kirk could smell her faint perfume and felt the heat rising in his face.

  “The world is going to hell all around us, and all I can think about is you.” The words came out without Kirk even thinking, but there they were.

  Isis smiled, pulled him close, and hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder. The soft movement was simple and filled Kirk with a warm sensation that flowed from his head down to his toes. Kissing the top of her head, he closed his eyes, and they stood there for a while. It didn’t matter; he had found someone that made him feel alive again. The mystery that surrounded her made him love her even more. The timing stunk. They had a terrorist on the loose, Mark came back from the dead without a reasonable explanation, and the president and FBI were hungry for his hide unless he found Taras quickly. And now he was falling in love with a woman he had no business even being with. She was way out of his league and yet she gave him the time of day.

  I love you, Isis. I swear, I will love you forever!

  * * *

  DEEP INSIDE THE TWISTED mind of Red Dog, something was hiding. Something that shouldn’t be there, and yet it watched in the shadows like the grim reaper. Taras looked out the window at the Merc building and listened to the voices in his head as they battled. Control was no longer his, but something had to be in control. Soon he would be alone again, which was the way he liked it. Granted, he loved his wife, or at least liked being with her. But something was always off when she was around. He thought about confiding in her and letting her see his other side, but something stopped him every time he got the urge to spill his guts. She wouldn’t understand! Just tell her what she wants to hear. Women don’t want the truth no matter how they whine that all men are liars! They wanted to be noticed and loved, it didn’t matter if their men meant it or not. If she knew the truth, she would leave you—or worse, turn you in. You have to finish her before she betrays you.

  He grunted and folded his arms across his chest like a soldier looking out over a battlefield. What did he care if she loved him or not? All she cared about was what she perceived him to be and what she thought he felt toward her. She didn’t want the truth. She would be happy to live a lie and believe her own perfect, little world than hear the ugly truth.

  Truth?

  There is no truth. Truth is what you made it be.

  Taras was bigger than one person. He was not only Taras, but also the Red Dog, and The General. The dark passenger liked to keep him in the dark, and would only let him have a few memories of the others. He wondered how many in total made up who he was now. And he’d sometimes hear other voices in his head that felt new…but they disappeared quickly.

  Taras turned his head and watched the form of his wife.

  What was he supposed to do, tell her he was not Taras, but he was…then it hit him: he didn’t remember who he was anymore. You are what I make you! The thing ground its teeth and tugged at the controls. Yes, this was his destiny, his dream, his desire. He was the Red Dog, and in time, he would be so much more than that.

  The alarm clock would go off in an hour, waking his sleeping wife. Her flight would take her to Spain, he had one of the only airplanes left that travelled. She’d be leaving him to get on with his plans for a few days more without her to distract him. Sliding back into bed, he made sure he didn’t make too much noise. She needed her sleep.

  The shadows made black shapes all through the room as the moon shone brightly through the open window. Taras didn’t fall back asleep, and when the buzzer went off, he closed his eyes and breathed in deep, holding it for a moment, then let it out like a rush of wind. The sounds of a man far gone in another world was lost in his dreams.

  But then that, too, was a lie—wasn’t it?

  * * *

  NAYDA KARJANSKI ROLLED OVER, hit the alarm, and sat up placing her feet on the floor. She looked over at her husband and noticed his breathing. He always was a deep sleeper.

  She only had a half hour to get ready, so she quickly started the hot water in the shower and pulled her luggage out from under the bed. Clicking on the TV that hung from the wall in the large bathroom, she brushed her teeth and gave only half of her attention to the news. The same dribble over gas prices and the mad bomber who called himself the Red Dog or something dumb like that. People were scared, but somehow, it didn’t seem to bother her. Things were always better than the news media wanted you to think. They got off on getting people all worked up. Besides, she’d seen none of the rationing that the media spoke of—Taras hadn’t stopped his excess in any way. Which meant she got to keep being spoiled.

  The steam from the shower fogged up the mirror and she turned away from the television to get in—just as a picture of her husband came up on the screen behind her.

  Shutting the door, she let the warm water wash through her hair, and a shiver crept its way up her body. The television was on mute so she wouldn’t wake her beloved husband.

  In a matter of seconds, the story changed to the local weather. It looked like it might rain. Cats and dogs.

  * * *

  THE NEWS CONFERENCE CALLED by the president of the United States of America made it across the airways into Africa and to the coasts of Japan. The stock market was hanging on by a thread, and the oil industry wouldn’t recover any time soon. A bombing in Baton Rouge took out the highest-producing refinery in America. Just about five hundred barrels went up in a cloud of thick black smoke each day. The fire would burn for weeks, if not longer, as emergency crews tried to contain the blaze.

  The FBI finally caught one of the terrorists. He wouldn’t talk, but they discovered five million dollars in his bank account. They had to assume there was a bounty on oil refineries…whoever took one out got paid. And paid well. Three days after they took him in, he committed suicide…or someone had killed him and made it look like suicide. Either way, he was a dead end.

  The president called a news conference as soon as the story hit. The people of America would be in mass panic if they didn’t see some sort of an end to this madness. They needed hope.

  “You’re on, sir.” The intern with a clipboard pushed his thick glasses up on his nose and waved at him from the edge of the deep blue curtain. He smiled and adjusted his tie, which was fine to begin with, but he had to do something to calm his nerves. Camera
s flashed like exploding cannons in the dark as he walked up to the podium with the presidential seal on the front.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I come to you tonight as a fellow American, and a father. We are under attack by a terrorist group living here in the United States. The cowardice and violent nature of the attacks are proof that we are dealing with a weak and scared adversary…with no rational thoughts.” The last few words came out like a pounding gavel on a hardwood desk. The president stood tall and looked at the cameras, stern and in charge. He felt just the opposite inside. As he spoke, he thought about the decision to challenge Taras Karjanski. It could go over horribly and enrage him, but they needed to get him to make a mistake. Something to draw him out. The military was mobilizing, and all airports, schools, and utilities were on lockdown. He was going to break the news that the country was going under martial law. He hated to do it, but he didn’t have a choice.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I WAS COVERED WITH sweat and my mouth felt like I just stuffed a handful of cotton balls down my throat. I ran to the window and looked at the street, following the building all the way up to the top. A new penthouse was just being finished that overlooked the park and the Merc building.

  He was across the street the whole time! The FBI and CIA were looking all over the country for the terrorist, and he was right across the street. For the first time ever, I felt like my purpose in life was clear. I knew what I had to do, and I was the only one who could do it. I had put so many lives in danger, and this time it had gone way past personal. I was a killer, a vigilante, or whatever name you wanted to brand me with. Maybe I was doing the world a favor by cleansing it of the filth that plagued its streets, or maybe I was a little loose in the head. Whatever the outcome, I knew one thing: Taras Karjanski had to die.

  I slipped from my room and silently stole down the hall to the elevator. I had to think this through. Was it wrong? Was I now just as bad as he was? Then, I came to what I thought might be the answer. I knew that in life, sometimes you’ve just got to do what you’ve got to do. Sometimes, you have to get your hands dirty and get it done. This was one of those times. Besides, this is what I was trained to do.

  I was an assassin.

  The basement was all but abandoned, which was fine by me. I didn’t want to be seen, and if I died, I didn’t want anyone to have reason to blame themselves. The weapons room held everything I could dream of, from high tech armor to bio-weapons under lockdown. I needed the lightest armor with the strongest defense against whatever Taras would throw at me. I found what I was looking for hanging in a liquid-cooled container. The suit molded to your form and adjusted to your body temperature. We called it, “second skin.” It would take a bullet at point-blank range, was fireproof, and waterproof. It didn’t exactly breathe like a cotton t-shirt but it wasn’t too uncomfortable either.

  I had a good idea that Taras would know I was coming for him. If I felt him, then he would be able to feel me. The dream was too close to the inside of the madman, and I had no illusions that I could go that deep into his head without being discovered. I felt a tinge of fear. I didn’t consider myself a brave man or even very out of the ordinary. I just did what had to be done. Nevertheless, something about this mission had me a bit scared…okay, very scared.

  Zipping up the last of many zippers and strapping a knife to my calf, I stole from the weapons room and down the hall toward the elevator. I had to get out of the building without drawing too much attention. Isis, and even Kirk, would insist on going along to help. I needed to know that they were safe.

  The elevator was empty, and the parking garage had only a few cars left in the many parking spots. I ran along, staying in the shadows, ducking between cars and the thick, round cement pillars that held up the building. A car was pulling into the parking garage. I could hear the squeal of tires as it made its way up the circular ramp. I hurled myself over the rail, grabbed the edge of the railing, and looked down. The two flights offered a soft landing in a flowerbed below. I took it. I hit with a thud, rolled, and came up on my feet, looking around to see if anyone had seen me.

  So far, so good. The street had light traffic compared to a normal day. Jogging around the building, I came to the back alleyway and scanned the tall building in front of me. It took sunlight in and threw it back at a thousand different angles. The newly remodeled building had huge stone-covered columns rising up the side and stopping at the penthouse on the roof. It was like a spider sitting on a wall with its legs dangling down. The high-rise could crumble beneath it, and the lavish penthouse would still stand unharmed. Not bad, Taras, way to plan for the worst.

  * * *

  A LITTLE OLD LADY with silver hair pulled back in a simple bun served Isis a steaming cup of coffee and smiled. The media was going over the president’s address for the tenth time on the TV in the background.

  Kirk had brought the book with him. He thumbed through each page and looked at the blank white pages hoping to find something or see some words magically appear.

  “What’s with the book?” Isis looked up from her coffee with a curious look in her eyes. “Kind of hard to know what it says if there is nothing written down.”

  “I don’t know. I just have this feeling that it means something. Why have a book this old with blank pages? It doesn’t make any sense.” Kirk swore and shut the cover with a thud.

  “I’ll have the lab look at it when we get back. It might have some encoded message or something. Solomon had his way of doing things. Sometimes, he lived on the edge of the edge, if you know what I mean. I have a hard time believing he would keep it if it was worthless.”

  That made Kirk feel better, and with everything going on, he needed to focus on the case at hand. Taras was out there, and if the bombings kept up, the country would spin out of control and never pull out of it. “When is Mark supposed to be done with his—whatever he’s doing?”

  Isis just about choked on her hot drink when she saw a dark figure run across the street. “Guess he’s done!” She pointed to a man in a dark hood as he turned and disappeared into the alley behind the new condos across the street.

  “Was that…?” Kirk stood up so fast he knocked over his coffee, spilling it all over the floor.

  “That was Mark.” Isis slid from her seat and bolted out the door with Kirk right behind her. The leather book with blank pages sat on the table, forgotten. But when some of Kirk’s coffee droplets fell on the surface and soaked into the leather cover, something happened. A ripple moved over the face of the book, and for a split second, it seemed to move.

  The little silver-haired lady came from behind the counter to watch the two young people run across the street in an awful hurry. “Excuse me, you forgot your book!” The two didn’t hear her so she picked up the leather bound book and put it under the counter in case they came back for it. She muttered something about the city and how everyone was always in a hurry.

  * * *

  A YELLOW CAB PASSED, and then I ran into the street. In seconds, I was in the cover of a dark alley. The alley stunk of wet boxes and rotting food that filled the dumpsters. Evidently, the Sanitation Department had shut down, too. I ran to the end of the alley and found a door marked “Fire Riser Room,” and picked the lock. The fire sprinkler room was humid, and with the boilers and other pumps running, it was loud. The noise calmed my nerves just enough to take the edge off. I knew my instincts would kick in, but that usually didn’t happen until just before I needed them.

  The fire riser had a pump on it and four different risers all tied into the main sprinkler system. I pulled off the covers to the flow switches and blocked them with a pencil that I’d broken into four pieces. The flow switch would notify the fire department if a fire broke out in the building or a sprinkler head discharged. By blocking them, it would bypass the alarm, and no one would get a signal. Confusion would be on my side for an escape. If I did escape.

  At the back of the riser room was a door that led to the service elevator. It wo
uldn’t go all the way up to the penthouse but it would save me some stair climbing. The door opened with a ding, and a short, round woman with a cart full of dishes glanced up at me. A look of fear crossed her face. I grabbed her, placed my hand over her nose and mouth, and waited for the poison embedded in the fabric of my gloves to put her to sleep. Her heavy body slumped to the ground, and I dragged her into the pump room and laid her on the floor. She would wake up in an hour or so with a bad headache and no memory of how she’d ended up in the pump room.

  I took the elevator up. When the door opened at the top, I looked down the hall to find a service hallway. The lights flickered and gave off a slight green tint, and all the doors were the same, making it look like an old hospital.

  Empty.

  The stairs were around the corner, and I took them two at a time, making my way up to where a murderer was waiting for me. I knew he was there, and I was sure he knew I was coming for him.

  * * *

  THE DARK ALLEY WAS empty when Kirk caught up to Isis. “He’s gone!”

  She huffed and looked around. “What’s he doing?”

  Looking up at the side of the building, Kirk walked around to the back and tried every door on the way around. They were all locked. “Let’s go inside and see if we can find him. He must have seen something in his dream-thing.” Kirk and Isis walked around to the front entrance and through the glass doors that opened into a huge lobby.

  Light from the sun filtered in through etched glass, making the marble floors swim like water. Men in tuxedos were milling around a tall, rounded front desk, helping the occasional tenant with their groceries or the elevator. The high-priced condos ranged from seventy-five million to hundreds of millions of dollars for the larger, furnished ones.

  Isis walked to the register on the wall and looked through the names of the tenants to see if any looked suspicious.

  “May I help you, madam?” A tall, well-groomed doorman looked down at them with an arrogant air.