“What you need to know, General, is they all have very strong loyalties to the convictions and principles of a man they murdered! Your fine and well-disciplined soldiers will be overwhelmed, just as they were back then. Understand me, that group’s actions are as unpredictable as a cult of religious fanatics. Your men will be no match for them, no matter how long I train them. I can assure you of that.”
“But you will be a match for them?” Straker questioned.
The smugness in his voice made Jake bunch his fists at his sides. One of the soldiers made a sound in his throat. But Jake didn’t back down. “I sure as hell have a better shot than your go-by-the-textbook soldiers.” To press his point, Jake wiggled a few fingers toward the uniformed men standing nearby. “And if they end up killing me, I assure you I’ll kill some of them too. I’ll take Rasner out, this time for good.”
Straker stood face to face with Jake. Calculating eyes looked him over from head to toe. The general nodded once and glanced at his soldiers as if measuring the men by Jake’s words.
“I would prefer Rasner be brought in alive.”
“If it’s possible, I will.”
Straker nodded again, as he considered his options. He then snapped his fingers at one of the soldiers, who turned and exited the store.
“As part of the rehabilitation program, Rasner was under the care of Doctor Harold Obenchain who arranged a position for him at the children’s psychiatric facility in Brookhill, Pennsylvania. He was working as a therapist there.”
“Rasner was a children’s therapist?” Jake let out an involuntary chuckle. “I’d be interested in knowing how you managed that. And kept him from killing everyone in there on his first day.”
“I’m sure you would. You may have heard about an incident at that facility in the national news?”
“I don’t follow current events anymore.”
“You’re probably better off. The Duke Organization raided the facility, leaving Obenchain and three others dead or seriously injured. Rasner was taken. Whether he was aware of the raid or not, we don’t yet know. We suspect Obenchain was utilized in their reacquiring Rasner. They forced Obenchain’s help by kidnapping his son, who was later found bound and gagged in a dumpster near the border of Pennsylvania and New Jersey.”
“Was Duke’s daughter there as well?”
“Based on descriptions from eyewitnesses, Jennifer Duke was the leader.”
The soldier returned from outside, his boots making soft thuds on the tile floor. He held a yellow file folder which he handed to Jake.
Jake stepped to the counter and opened up the folder. He thumbed through the stack of papers, shaking his head with disgust. “I can’t believe you didn’t kill this guy when you had him. Because of you, he’s back out there and that group will be back in action soon enough.”
“Mister Scarberry…”
He slapped a palm on the pile. “All the innocent lives lost from this point on will be on your head!”
“Okay, Mister Scarberry, you’ve made your point.” Straker folded his hands together and leaned forward. “You believe you can figure out when and where they will resurface? If so, then I will permit you to be the first on the scene.”
“It will be soon. Rasner is not the type who waits,” Jake assured him.
“Understand, my people will be right behind you, ready to take over if the need arises.”
Jake glanced up at Straker. Hadn’t he just outlined his stipulations? He examined the page in his hands. This one wasn’t a computer printout as were most of the others. This was a photograph, out of place among everything else. He held it up for Straker to see. “Who’s this?”
“Her name is Clara Blue. She was a patient at the institute. They took her with them, we presume as a hostage.”
Jake turned the picture one way and then another. Something wasn’t quite right. “But why this kid as opposed to one of the adults? I’d think the doctor would have been more to their liking.”
“Perhaps they figured one of the children would make a better hostage?” Straker speculated. “It is you who keeps pointing out the lack of rational logic in their actions.”
“Your presumption doesn’t make sense.” This time Jake spoke more to himself than to the general. “The word ‘hostage’ is not in their vocabulary. They must have had a specific purpose in taking this girl.”
“Regardless, they have her.” Straker pointed his finger at Jake. “She is a ward of the State of New York, in the care of the State of Pennsylvania for psychiatric help. It would be politically best if she were brought back safe and sound.”
“Assuming she’s not dead already. Considering how trigger happy that group always was, I’d guess she’s most likely a goner by now.”
“Just keep her in mind in case she isn’t.” Straker made it sound like a request, although to Jake, it sounded more like an order.
“You implied you had an idea of their next target?” One of the two soldiers asked, but his query only brought him awkward stares from both Jake and General Straker.
“I assume his target would be an obvious one.” Jake looked eye to eye with Straker and smiled. “I know who my target would be if I were there instead of here.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Clara leaned against the kitchen counter watching the members of the Duke Organization, around the small table. Derrick’s Long Island home was now their current headquarters. Well, they’d told her it was Long Island. Couldn’t prove it by her, she’d never been here before. Wherever in the world they were, she noticed that none of them were overly worried about being found here by the cops.
Derrick sat in an office chair made with leather cushions and wheels at the bottom. She got the impression he was the only one allowed to use it. He sat with his back toward the big picture window, his laptop in front of him on the table; she couldn’t see the screen. Soda cans, juice bottles, and empty breakfast plates cluttered the table. Hers still sat on the corner of the table. She’d eaten most of the eggs and bagel. Wasn’t great, but a lot better than the shit at that place.
The guy they called Jorge sat at the end of the table on Derrick’s left, holding a half-filled glass of clear liquid, which he kept shaking while tapping his forefinger against its rim. The tapping drove her crazy.
On Derrick’s right at the other end, lounged Jun Sanaga. An Asian guy, just like Doctor Barnes but the similarities ended there. Sanaga was much taller with a chiseled body that showed even through his white T-shirt. The guy mostly just sat like a stone. He held his back light-pole straight and his hands folded in a martial arts meditation style.
Jen and Rick stood side by side across from Derrick. Rick leaned forward, his hands flat on the table’s surface. Jen stood straight with her hands on her hips. Clara kept trying to figure which one was the boss. First she thought it was one, then the other.
Clara, behind Jen and Rick, remained still and quiet, happy to just be out of that place. She watched these people, trying to figure out who they were, what they were. She got the idea they were like the mission impossible guys. Clara knew they had all killed before, and it didn’t really matter to them. Which she found really awful. She killed one person and couldn’t sleep all night. Every time she closed her eyes, the backlash from the gun jolted her awake. Like Mr. Rasner said, that Miller bitch deserved to die for all the awful things she did to kids, but—she sighed—why did he have to make her do it?
Rick turned around. “Are you all right?”
She gave a quick nod and he went back to the group. They were talking about killing someone else. They wouldn’t make her do it, would they? Was that why they brought her here, to do their dirty work? No, they didn’t mind killing. Probably they wanted her for housework. And it sure looked like they could use someone.
Hard to fathom, they were discussing killing like they were talking about what they wanted for lunch. Funny. They were killers. She was accused of trying to kill someone. The woman lived and Clara got locked up any
way. Why weren’t these people in prison? What was with a world that let people like this stay free? Clara didn’t know what scared her more, the fact she was surrounded by people from a world so crazy she couldn’t possibly fit in, or that they thought she could fit in here.
After breakfast, the group met around the table. They’d been here over a half an hour without making a single decision. They threw lots of ideas about, though. A lot of talk, mostly to Rick, about what they’ve all been doing since they saw him last. Clara followed as much of the conversation as she could, but her mind continuously wandered, mostly to thoughts of her grandmother.
My dead grandmother.
What was wrong with Miller that she couldn’t tell Clara the truth? How could her not knowing possibly help her recovery? She wondered how many people attended the funeral and whether anybody had missed her, or thought about her. The funny thing was, deep inside, she’d kind of known. The way you know you’re getting an F on a science test. Not that her grandmother was like a science test, but…damn, she died over a year ago. How sad was that?
Clara felt a sudden change in the air. Tension was mounting. It seemed to be centered between Rick and Derrick. They weren’t punching each other or anything, but Derrick shot dagger-eyes at the computer screen. Rick kept rubbing that bump on his forehead. She never had the chance to ask him about it. There had to be a terrible accident to make a bump like that. Or, maybe the reason he never talked about it was because it was cancer.
Derrick slammed his chair up to the table, making the soda cans rattle. Clara placed her hand over her mouth so no one would notice her urge to laugh. She hoped to see a fight break out. Something to break the total monotony of this place. Not even any music. Shit, it was like being back in that place except no one came at her with a needle or a straitjacket.
“Let me make something perfectly clear,” Jen’s voice made Clara jump. “We are going to free our people. It is an absolute priority and it is not in question.”
People? Our people? Sounds like one of those sects she saw on TV before being locked up. A sect—a bunch of people who all got laid by the leader. Again, her eyes went from Rick to Jen. Right now, Jen looked more in charge.
“I understand that,” Derrick said, banging his hand on the keyboard, “but we need to make that a first priority, not second! Can’t everyone here understand this?”
“No! Straker comes first,” Rick shouted.
“Rick, can you please look past your obsessive one-track thinking for a moment and try to see what’s best for the Duke Organization?” Derrick said. “We need to strengthen our numbers! There are only five of us.”
“We’ll get them out, but later!” Rick slammed his fist against the green plastic table. “Straker must die and it must happen tonight. You can all join me or I’ll do it alone.”
From behind, Clara saw Rick’s head turn, taking in each member, from one end of the table to the other. The tall and skinny Japanese warrior, Sanaga, offered no reaction at all, while Jorge seemed to be enjoying the conflict just as much as she, only he was more obvious.
“I don’t think you’re going to change his mind on this, Derrick,” Jen said.
“Jennie, you at least have a sense of logic and rational thought.” He tried to reason with Jen, but even Clara, who’d really just met this person yesterday, knew Derrick wasn’t going to change anyone’s mind. “You must understand my point here. Going after Straker now—and that’s probably exactly what they’re expecting us to do—with so few in our group, is dangerous. It’s…”
“They could expect us to free our allies as well,” Sanaga said. “Perhaps they are under closer guard.”
“That’s right!” Rick moved around the table. “We don’t need a large group, not for this mission.”
“Rick…”
“You looked him up, right? You said he’s retired. So this shouldn’t be all that difficult.”
“Like any of the other fat rich bastards we took out,” Jen added.
“I hope we all know better than that.” Derrick eyed the group. “Do these people ever retire?”
“Goddammit, Derrick.” Rick shouted.
Jen stepped in his way and put her hands on his upper arms. He shook her off but she didn’t back down. “Both are priorities, we understand this. We need to spread the word to those who would be our clients and those who would be our competitors that we are open again for business. Right now, all we are remembered for was bringing too much attention to ourselves and Straker cutting us off at the knees.”
She pointed a finger in Rick’s chest. “Straker’s execution needs to be by us, and then we can rebuild everything. More specifically, it needs to be by you, Rick, the man he supposedly killed.”
“That would be my pleasure.”
“Fine, I know when I’m not going to win an argument with you people,” Derrick conceded. “Your revenge first, our peoples’ freedom second, I guess.”
“I assume you have his current location?” Jen asked.
Derrick scoffed. “Of course.”
He wrapped his hands around a small pile of computer paper. He dealt them one at a time to each person, except Clara. Shoot, maybe they did want her to be the maid.
“I have his current address, a mansion in Westchester,” Derrick bragged. “I also have driving directions and Straker’s flight schedule. If you want, I can find out what he had for breakfast this morning.”
“Is he home?” Rick barked.
“Based on his itinerary, he should be home today.”
“Then it’s the right time to do this. We go there today!”
“Tonight,” Jen countered. “Now, let’s talk about breaking our people out and getting them back. Derrick?”
She bent forward, leaning on the table with one hand. Derrick punched buttons on the laptop. “I’ve been keeping track of everyone’s whereabouts over the last seven years. At least those I could. Sorry, Rick.”
“And?” Jen said.
“And,” he drew out the word to match hers, “I’ve made a list of those currently detained and in what facilities.”
Derrick rolled his chair back to a printer—on a rolling kitchen cart—in the corner by the window. He reached over and removed a sheet of paper from the output tray and handed it across to Jen who read the names out loud. “Hmm, Donnie’s still in prison—Sheila’s still behind bars but that crazy bitch can rot—Trey we’ll get out—Crys…”
“My father!” Clara blurted out.
All eyes turned toward Clara. It made her feel very self-conscious since none of the glances made her feel welcome. She didn’t want the group to notice how nervous she was, although the constant involuntary tapping of her right foot against the floor probably gave it away. Clara halted the foot by wedging it around her calf.
“M-my dad’s locked up. Can we get him out too?”
Awkward silence, except for Derrick’s fingertips beating the keyboard. Jen turned away from Clara to Derrick. Was that all the consideration she got? Why the hell had they brought her here anyway? Oh right, housework. Well then, why was she hanging around here? She leaned away from the counter and started out of the room. Derrick’s words made her turn back.
“Well, that came up fast.”
“What do you have?” Jen asked.
He read off the information from his computer screen. “Samuel Thomas Blue…”
Hearing her father’s name, Clara stopped in her tracks. She turned and went to stand near him as he spoke. “Fifty seven years old, one known child, never married. Arrested six times, jailed three. The last one was manslaughter.” Derrick looked up from the screen. He glanced quickly at Rick and Jen and then shot a small look at Clara. “Every single charge is marked as drug related, even the two domestic violence charges. This guy is a real piece of work.”
Clara glared at Derrick through narrowed eyes. Her hands clenched into fists. She’d never heard her father’s entire arrest record. At home, they’d always glossed over each arrest, making it t
he cops’ fault, and once, a case of mistaken identity.
“Interesting, he’s actually in the same maximum security prison as Trey. It’ll be tough enough breaking one guy out, let alone a second who, quite frankly, we couldn’t bring in anyway.”
Clara let out a loud exhale hoping to get Derrick’s attention. He, however, focused on the computer screen. She took a few small steps closer to the table, but still he remained oblivious to her approach.
“I’m telling you guys, we put this lowlife on the streets, he’ll be back in jail within an hour, and probably over something stupid.”
Derrick’s blunt statement caused Clara’s arms to tremble at her sides. She leaned against the table, into everyone’s direct eyesight. She could barely contain her anger. Although she could not get Derrick’s attention, she did get Jorge’s, who looked at Clara and laughed. This infuriated her even further. And made Jorge laugh even harder.
“What? What happened?” Derrick picked his head up.
“My father is not a lowlife,” Clara snapped.
Derrick shrugged and leaned back in his seat. “Sorry, kid, but we can’t always pick who our parents are.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head.
What made him so superior and perfect? He was a killer, after all, and not even a good looking one. Could he even really hurt, let alone kill, someone with those pencil-thin arms of his?
“Believe me, I know that firsthand,” he said. “Parents can really suck, sometimes.”
“He is not a lowlife!”
She shifted her gaze toward Jorge. He covered his mouth in a mocking fashion. Rick stepped forward. Jen placed her right hand on his arm. Her eyes locked on Clara, and she wore a slight grin.
“How can you be so sure? Kid, do you even know your father?” Derrick motioned at his screen, as if it was the clear and undeniable proof of his argument. “According to this, he’s nine years into a life sentence. How old are you, like twelve?”
“I’m fifteen!”
She lifted her side of the table an inch or so off the floor and slammed it down. The laptop bounced off onto Derrick’s lap. He snatched at the mini-computer, wrapping his arms around it and holding it against his body as if offering protection.
The Rasner Effect Page 24
