The Abbey (a full-length suspense thriller)

by Chris Culver

  “You ready, Cinderella?” asked Byron, gesturing for me to stand with the muzzle of his weapon. I shot my eyes from Byron to Tony. I didn’t recognize the gun Byron carried except that it was a semiautomatic about the same size as my Glock 17. Guns that size usually held ten to fifteen rounds, so even if he were a bad shot, he’d have plenty of opportunities to put holes in me. I was less worried about Tony. He aimed my Beretta at my chest, but he had kept the safety on, so it wouldn’t fire no matter how hard he pulled the trigger. It was hard to be intimidated by stupid henchmen.

  I straightened and put my hands back on my head.

  “I’d like to see Karen, now.”

  “She’d like to see you, too,” said Byron, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me in front of him. He pressed his gun to the small of my back. “Be respectful when you see her this time. We’re watching.”

  He pushed me forward, and I acted as if I had stumbled, drawing laughter from the stooges. I looked back at them quickly. Byron favored his left side; I didn’t know if that was helpful or not, but it might slow him down in a footrace.

  We stopped in front of a wooden door with a chest–high frosted glass window. The light was on inside, but I couldn’t hear anyone speaking. Tony nudged me forward with his gun, so I went through first. It was a corner office, maybe fifteen feet on a side, with empty floor–to–ceiling bookshelves and a behemoth of a desk in the center. There were two large windows with the shades drawn. Karen leaned against the desk while Hannah sat near her in a metal folding chair with her wrists zip tied in front of her. Her breathing was shallow and quick, and her lower lip quivered when she saw me. My finger nails bit into my palms.

  “Where’s Megan?” I asked.

  Karen slid off her desk and walked over to me. She smelled like Dove soap again.

  “She’s asleep in the room next door,” she said. “We let your wife read her a story. Believe it or not, we’re not animals.”

  I looked at Hannah, and she nodded almost imperceptibly, never taking her gaze from Karen’s back.

  “I’m here now, and I’ll do whatever you want,” I said. “Why don’t you let them go?”

  “Soon,” said Karen, putting her hand on my chest. My wife stirred, but made no move towards us. Karen looked at her henchmen, but kept her hand flat on my chest. “Were there any problems?”

  Tony held up my Beretta.

  “He was carrying this, but we neutered him.”

  The two of them snickered, and Karen nodded.

  “Tsk, tsk, Ash. Bringing a gun to a friendly meeting,” she said. “How do you expect me to trust someone like that?”

  I reached into my pocket for the Swiss Army knife I had used in the parking lot.

  “Your guards missed this when they frisked me,” I said, pulling it out and glancing at Karen’s thugs. They grimaced simultaneously. “They’re also loud when they walk, Tony doesn’t know how to disengage the safety on that firearm, and Byron limps on his left knee. If I wanted them dead, they would be. That’s why I expect you to trust me.”

  Karen looked at her goons and shook her head.

  “It’s hard to get good help these days, isn’t it?” she asked, turning back towards me.

  Especially if you’re an evil bitch.

  “I’ve shown you goodwill,” I said. “Now show me some. Let my wife and daughter go.”

  Karen smiled.

  “I will,” she said, taking a seat behind the desk and gesturing towards an upholstered chair in front. “Have a seat. We’ve got a few things to discuss about your trip.”

  I looked at Hannah. With Karen behind the desk, she and Hannah were about a meter apart. My wife was a fierce woman, but Karen was armed with a knife. Hannah didn’t stand much of a chance if I started a fight. I sat down and glanced at my watch as I did. My heart was starting to beat faster. It was ten after eleven, which meant Bowers and his crew would be there any moment. I was supposed to have my family safe by then, but I didn’t know if that was possible.

  “Relax,” said Karen. She held the knife in the palm of one of her hands. “Consider this as a chat between friends.”

  “Since we’re friends, what’s special about Hong Kong?” I asked. “They have a lot of slayers there? Or am I visiting a new vampire coven?”

  Karen laughed, and the thugs behind me snickered.

  “Do you really think a tenured professor of molecular genetics would believe in vampires?”

  I shrugged.

  “You dress in black lingerie and spend your weekends at a vampire bar in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Vampires were a means to an end,” she said. “My nephew and I needed money for research, so we gave social misfits something to believe in. In return, they did whatever we needed.”

  “If you’re not interested in vampires, what’s in China?”

  Karen smiled and leaned forward, dropping the Swiss Army knife beside her elbow on the desk blotter.

  “A billion Chinese people.”

  “Besides that, Captain Obvious,” I said.

  She laughed but didn’t say anything.

  “What did you really inject me with?” I asked.

  As soon the words left my lips, the building went dark and the hum of the air conditioner ceased. For a moment, time held its breath and stopped. The room was so quiet that I could hear crickets outside. I don’t know who broke that silence first, me or Karen, but I screamed for Hannah to get down while Karen ordered her men to open fire.

  I thrust my hips back and dropped my left shoulder to the ground while simultaneously bringing my knees to my chest. Tony and Byron raised their weapons while I grabbed my revolver and pulled it from my ankle holster. Bullets thwacked against the desk behind me and ricocheted against the concrete floor. Splinters struck me in the back and side, and something hot skimmed my right shoulder, rocking me back as I raised my revolver. The blood roared so loud in my ears that I couldn’t hear a thing.

  I squeezed the trigger four times, putting two center of mass shots in each man. The first hit Byron in the shoulder, spinning him, while the second hit him in the neck. Robbie’s revolver wasn’t accurate, but it did the trick. I had better luck with Tony. Both shots hit him in the chest, and he fell backwards. Adrenaline rocketed through my body. With those two down, I jumped up, my ears ringing and the room stinking like sulfur. I ran around the desk, holding the revolver in front of me and breathing heavily.

  Karen was on the ground unmoving while Hannah leaned against the desk, a dented folding chair between her and the wood. Despite the shield, her shoulder bled, and there was a deep cut on her cheek. She waved her arms and screamed, but my ears rang so hard I couldn’t hear. I shouted that I was deaf, so she slowed down, mouthing one word over and over.

  Megan.

  My stomach dropped, and any pain I felt in my shoulder disappeared as I sprinted out of the office and into the hallway. Their voices sounded hollow, but I heard Mike’s men shout ‘clear’ as they searched offices in another part of the building. I ran in the opposite direction and crashed into the only room I could find. It was a narrow storage room with shelving made from elbow brackets and plywood. There was an empty Winnie the Pooh sleeping bag on the ground and a broken window on the far wall.

  I dove through the window without thinking, catching my shirt and jacket on shards of glass still protruding from the frame. I escaped major lacerations and rolled onto a patch of gravel outside. Glass crunched against my back, but I hardly felt it. I put my hands on my knees to catch my breath. I was alone on the far side of the warehouse facing the tree line. I spotted movement in the woods ahead of me. I sprinted, my lungs burning and my arms pumping against my sides. I only had two shots left. I should have grabbed another gun before running out.

  The woods were thicker than they looked, and I crashed into them at full speed, tripping on roots. Thorns and twigs bit into my hands and face as I fell. I ignored the abrasions and pushed off. I could hear leaves crunching and twigs breaking ahead of me, and I
thought I heard my daughter crying.

  “I’m coming.”

  I screamed it as loud and as clear as I could, but it sounded more like an animal’s snarl than my voice. It gave my quarry pause as he looked over his shoulder. I was almost close enough to make out his features in the moonlight. Megan kicked in his arms. My feet pounded against uneven ground. The soil was loose and light, so it felt almost as if I were running on snow. Tree branches whipped me in the face.

  I chased him for another dozen yards, tripping twice, but never slowing down. The terrain rose in front of me, and the figure I was chasing slowed to a stop at the foot of the hill. It was Azrael. My daughter squirmed and cried as he held a knife to her throat.

  I raised my firearm, my hand shaking.

  “Stop moving, Megan,” I said between breaths. Sweat dripped into my eyes, down my nose, and across my brow. My chest and shoulders rose with each breath. “It’s okay, honey. I’m here.”

  “Back off,” said Azrael. He pulled my daughter’s chin up to expose her throat. “I’ll kill her.”

  “It’s over,” I said. My heart pounded from the exertion, but it was slowing. “Let her go.”

  “No.”

  I took a step forward, and he jerked my daughter back. I put my hand up again, hoping to calm him.

  “She’s four–years–old. Her name is Megan. She likes to do mazes. She draws pictures of her family and sings songs she makes up with her Mom. She’s a child. Let her go.”

  I inched forward, but Azrael didn’t move. I didn’t trust my firearm, and as tired as I was, I didn’t think I could hold my arm steady enough to shoot him without hitting my daughter. My breath came out in quick spurts.

  “Her best friend’s name is Sarah. They go swimming.”

  Azrael looked down, and I saw him shift his grip on the knife as I took another step forward.

  “She wants to be a nurse like her mom. Her favorite food is guacamole. Come on. Let her go. She’s a kid.”

  Azrael shifted again, and I saw him swallow.

  “Back off, man,” he said. “I know what–”

  He didn’t finish speaking.

  I heard the crack of a firearm and saw a cloud of blood before Azrael collapsed. Mike Bowers stood about ten yards to my right, a tactical rifle in his hands.

  “Get your daughter.”

  Chapter 27

  The paramedics treated us as well as they could at the crime scene. I probably would have been fine going home, but since Hannah was pregnant, they wanted a physician to check her out before releasing her. The nurses in the ER patched up my minor cuts fairly well and a second–year intern was able to get some practice with stitches on my arm. Judging by the placement of bandages on my wife, we’d have matching shoulder scars. It was almost romantic. Megan didn’t have a scratch on her, and with luck, she’d forget the whole thing eventually.

  After we got patched up, the nurses wheeled Hannah into a private room for observation. Megan wouldn’t leave her side, and the nurses didn’t have the heart to pry her away. Me, on the other hand, they had no problem prying away. I stayed in a waiting room on an upholstered wooden chair and had what was probably the best night’s sleep of my life.

  We went home the next day, but not before I saw a newspaper in the lobby. Our bust made the front page. The Chief of Police who had absolutely nothing to do with the events at Karen’s warehouse got most of the credit, but he did mention me. He claimed I was an invaluable, undercover member of Mike Bowers’ elite anticorruption task force investigating a potential law–enforcement connection with narcotics trafficking. It was nice to hear that I was invaluable. There was no mention of my wife and daughter or Karen Rea; apparently they weren’t convenient for the department’s narrative.

  We took a cab home. I expected a detective or two to be on our front porch waiting for us, but it was empty. That was nice. Hannah and I unloaded the munchkin and put her on the swing set in the backyard and started the long, arduous task of cleaning our house. Unfortunately, we didn’t get very far because someone pounded on the plywood sheet that was our front door about ten minutes after we arrived.

  It was Mike Bowers.

  I went out the kitchen and met him on the front porch. He wore black jeans and a navy–blue shirt with a police shield on the chest, the same thing he had been wearing the night before. He half–smiled, half–grunted when he saw me.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked.

  “We need you to come in.”

  I looked over my shoulder. I couldn’t see it, but I heard the swing set creak as my daughter played on it.

  “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do today. Maybe later.”

  “I let you go last night so you could spend some time with your family,” he said. “Please don’t make me regret that.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I didn’t expect a guilt trap. You seem like more of the browbeat type.”

  Bowers crossed his arms.

  “I’ve got a teenage daughter. I do what works. Now come on, I did you a favor. Please do me one.”

  It’s hard to say no to something like that.

  “Give me five minutes to change.”

  Bowers gave me a quick once–over. I was wearing a white T–shirt and the same jeans I had worn the night before. Both had blood stains. He shook his head.

  “Keep the clothes on. They’ll help.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I acquiesced and told my wife I’d be back as soon as I could. Bowers drove us to the station like an expectant father driving his wife to the hospital to give birth. He blasted through stoplights, disobeyed every posted speed limit, and tailed other motorists as if he were in the Indy 500.

  “Are we in a hurry?” I asked, grabbing the handle on the door and squeezing.

  “We need to get to her before the Feds do.”

  That was cryptic enough to pique my interest.

  We parked in a handicapped spot outside the station downtown and ran inside to the interrogation rooms. A crowd had formed outside of one. I recognized a couple of the spectators, including my former boss, Susan Mercer. I got a couple of pats on the back and congratulations when I walked up, but Susan didn’t move. Her arms were across her chest as she stared at a computer monitor. Karen Rea was alone in an interrogation room. She wore an orange inmate’s jumpsuit, and her hair was pulled back into a pony tail. There was a bruise on her cheek where something had hit her.

  “Morning, Susan,” I said, stopping beside her. She looked at me and nodded. “Surprised Jack Whittler isn’t here.”

  “That’s complicated,” she said, not batting an eye. “Ms. Rea isn’t talking. Lieutenant Bowers thought you might be able to convince her to speak.”

  I looked at Bowers. He shrugged.

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I said. “But I’m not law enforcement anymore. I sent my resignation to Jack a few days ago.”

  Susan smiled, but there was no levity in her eyes.

  “Jack was arrested last night at an illegal poker game organized by a gangster. Because of that, he’s no longer an employee of the City of Indianapolis, and as acting Prosecutor, I refuse your resignation. The US Attorney’s office is picking Ms. Rea up in half an hour, but I’d like to get what we can out of her first. This is your case, so get in there and talk to her.”

  I didn’t know if Susan could actually refuse my resignation, but I wasn’t complaining. I rather liked being employed.

  “How long has she been in there?” I asked.

  “All night,” said Bowers. “Hasn’t said a thing other than to request food and water.”

  “And she hasn’t asked for an attorney?”

  Susan glared at me.

  “If she had, you wouldn’t be here.”

  I looked back at Bowers.

  “Have you guys searched her house yet?” I asked.

  “Didn’t find much, but yeah,” he said.

  “She had a picture of an Asian family on her desk. See if you can find it.”

/>   Bowers nodded to one of the detectives I didn’t recognize, and the younger man jogged down the hall, leaving us alone for a moment. Susan went back to staring at the computer monitor, and I went to find a coffee machine I thought I saw on my way in. Bowers followed along.

  “You guys find out where Azrael lived yet?” I asked.

  “He the guy who took your daughter?”

  I nodded.

  “Real name was Feng Rui,” said Bowers. “Guy was a doctor, if you could believe that.”

  “PhD or MD?”

  “MD,” said Bowers.

  I nodded.

  “Did you find anything in his house?” I asked, finding my way to a commercial, steel coffee maker beside the detective bullpen’s watercooler. I poured a cup and offered it to Bowers. He declined.

  “About a hundred vials of blood in his refrigerator and a couple dozen of some other substance we’re still analyzing.”

  “Did you find any climbing gear?” I asked, taking a sip of the coffee and wincing. It was scorched and weak. I was tempted to pour it back in the carafe.

  Bowers raised his eyebrows.

  “What do you know?” he asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Whoever killed Rolando Diaz might have climbed through his window. Figured Azrael was good for it.”

  Bowers’ eyes glazed over for a moment, and he rubbed his chin.

  “Yeah. We found nylon rope and some sort of harness in one of his closets. We assumed he was into kinky sex.”

  “Might want to rethink that one.”

  I took another sip on my coffee. It was as bad as the first; I could see why Bowers declined. When we got back to the interrogation room, it looked like Susan hadn’t moved. I offered her my cup of coffee, but she smartly said no. We waited for another five minutes for the evidence guy to come back with the picture, and when he did, it had already been bagged and tagged. Hopefully it’d work.