Kill Devil

by Mike Dellosso

  Jed sprang and landed with his knee on the guy’s chest. The man panted and grimaced like he’d just run a mile at full throttle. Sweat soaked his face and hair.

  “Who are you?” Jed said. “Who do you work for?”

  The man said nothing.

  With the heel of his hand planted firmly against his attacker’s forehead, Jed pulled the man’s eyelid up with his thumb, fully exposing the eyeball. He then raised a fisted hand and let it hover above his opponent’s face. “Tell me. Who do you work for?”

  Still the man said nothing.

  Instead of dropping his fist on the man’s eye, Jed slapped him hard across the cheek. “Is it Murphy? Do you work for Murphy?”

  No sign of recognition altered the man’s expression. He stared past Jed, at the ceiling, a glassy, distant look in his eyes.

  Jed supported himself with both hands and kicked his adversary’s fracture site. The man moaned and gritted his teeth. His eyes rolled back in his head. Saliva ran from the corner of his mouth. He’d been professionally trained, that much was obvious, and part of his training would have been to ignore pain, even to welcome it. Jed had endured the same training. Pain is weakness leaving the body. That’s what he’d been told over and over.

  Jed kicked the injured leg again. And again the man reacted but did not talk.

  Finally Jed wrapped his hand around his attacker’s neck and squeezed. The man’s eyes bulged and his face immediately turned a deep shade of red. “Who hired you?”

  But the man remained silent.

  Just before ending the man’s life, Jed released his grip and backed off, getting to his feet. On the floor, the man coughed and sputtered. He pawed at his throat and face, smearing saliva and blood across his cheeks.

  Jed could have finished him, maybe should have, but he didn’t. He wasn’t a killer anymore. He searched the man and took a phone from his pocket. Then, without saying another word, Jed retrieved both guns from the cell and headed down the corridor, into the mazelike tunnels of the dungeon.

  SEVENTEEN

  • • •

  The map led Jed through a labyrinth of corridors, all similar in lighting and dampness. Without the map it would have been easy to get turned around or lost in the subterranean prison. Cells lined each wall until eventually the corridors became walls on either side, tunnels that wound tighter and tighter through the rock of the island. Finally the passageway led to another door, this one equipped with a thumb scanner much like the ones Jed had encountered leading to the Centralia bunker.

  Jed paused at the door, placed one handgun in his waistband, wiped his palms on his pants. He had no idea what lay behind the door. It could be an ambush, a squad of armed men waiting to take him into custody. It could be more tunnels, more cells, more dim lights and damp floors. It could be Lilly, waiting for him with tear-filled eyes and outstretched arms. Or it could be a bullet in his brain.

  Holding one handgun with his right hand, he placed his left thumb on the scanner and whispered a prayer.

  A second later the door’s lock disengaged. Jed depressed the lever and pushed open the door. A concrete staircase lay behind it, leading deeper into the ground beneath the prison. At the top of the stairs, mounted on the wall, an exposed bulb cast light down several of the steps. But after that, the passage succumbed to the darkness and the steps were swallowed in lightlessness. If he continued to follow the path as directed by the map, he would have to descend into the abyss. His skin crawled; his heart thumped. The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood erect.

  Every fiber of his intuition told him not to go down there. He’d be helpless in the dark. Sure, he’d done night missions before: raids, stealth attacks, even rescues; but he’d always had night vision to aid him. Walking blindly into unknown territory with unknown threats lurking was not only careless, it was madness.

  Jed’s first inclination was to abandon the mission. He’d tell Murphy to go off himself and find another way. There was always another way. But this time was different, wasn’t it? This was not a rescue mission to retrieve a military hostage or a raid on a high-value target. This was his daughter. Eight years old. He couldn’t take any risks; he couldn’t go rogue and improvise. He needed to at least appear compliant. For her sake.

  God, be the light to my path.

  Jed descended the steps slowly, carefully, until the light waned and darkness overcame it; he then took them one step at a time, his back against the concrete wall, weapon head-high, clutched with both hands. As darkness enveloped him, his other senses sharpened. The faint hum of electricity vibrated along the concrete. Far off down the corridor a pipe knocked, rattled, then quieted. And somewhere near, faint but present, he could hear the easy rhythm of breathing. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

  Jed froze and remained motionless while he listened, straining his ears to pick up the sound of breath. It was difficult to tell how near it was or from what direction it came. The concrete walls, floor, and ceiling toyed with the sound waves, tossing them around like a piece of driftwood in rough water. The source of the breathing seemed to be all around him, right next to his ear while at the same time some distance away.

  Inching his way down the steps, Jed eventually came to the bottom. He paused to listen. The dripping continued as did the steady breathing. He began to think maybe it wasn’t breathing at all. Maybe it was merely the pulsations of the ventilation system or heat ducts working to overcome the damp coolness of the underground chambers.

  Until the soft patter of footsteps and then the light scuff of soles on concrete disrupted the background noise. Again, Jed went still; his index finger rested lightly on the trigger of the gun. The footsteps did not seem to grow closer, but rather to move along the length of an unseen corridor parallel to where Jed stood. He’d heard stories of the ghosts that resided in the Alcatraz prison and even more so in the dungeons beneath the prison. How many more called this dungeon below the basement their home?

  Jed scolded himself for allowing such stories to rattle him. Ghosts were not real. The spirits of infamous prisoners did not roam the caverns below the cell house. Either there was some other explanation for the footsteps, or the conglomeration of sounds bouncing around the hollow space was playing tricks on his mind.

  Moving once again, Jed sidestepped along the wall, feeling with his feet and back as he went. Before him darkness loomed so thick he could not see the handgun in front of his face. He came to a corner and stopped, remembering that another tunnel intersected with the one he was currently navigating. He’d seen this on the map. He was to keep straight, which meant crossing the intersection, exposing himself on all sides.

  After taking a deep breath, Jed hurried across the intersection. Quickly he felt for the wall on the other side, then pressed himself against it. Standing still again, he heard another sound. This one slithered through the black tunnels like a menacing serpent, tickling his ears but in no way playfully. It was a familiar sound, human in source . . . the soft susurration of a whisper.

  Jed held his breath and listened. The words took form as they traveled around him like a mist: “Vengeance is mine.” The words were drawn and spoken in an unearthly hiss.

  Jed shut his eyes tight. It was not a ghost. There had to be another explanation.

  “Vengeance is mine. Kill.”

  Jed slid his leading foot forward with each step, feeling for any changes or obstacles in the floor. The unseen footsteps followed him, keeping pace, and occasionally the voice would hiss, “Vengeance is mine. Kill the devil.”

  Wading through the darkness, being trailed by disembodied footsteps, Jed could not stop his mind from visiting a foreign land . . .

  Though the air is cool, the sand radiates the stored heat from the day. The sky is as black as octopus ink and dense. He can almost feel the darkness as it creeps in and presses against him from every side. The darkness in this place is not just physical; there’s a moral gloom, a spiritual void. There is no happiness here. Not now, and Jed wonders
if there ever was.

  “We’re on, Jedi.” His spotter sidles up beside him, on his belly, and adjusts the spotter scope.

  Jed peers through his scope at a world illuminated in fluorescent green. He scans the village below.

  “Where?”

  “On your one. Can’t miss him. Big guy. Looks like he’s had a few dozen too many pitas. All those carbs’ll do that to you, man.”

  There, the target. A hundred and fifty meters out. Below him nearly thirty meters the team approaches the village, cloaked in darkness, and moving as silently as any cat on the prowl. It’s his job to provide protection. He’ll take out the target first, cut off the head of the serpent; then the team can execute their maneuvers. Big Brother will be watching and protecting.

  As the team nears the outer border of the village, Jed brings the target into view again and plants the crosshair on his chest.

  One shot. One kill.

  EIGHTEEN

  • • •

  Jed’s foot bumped against something solid. He felt with his hand along the wall to a corner that led to another concrete wall. This surface was smooth, newer concrete than the other walls. This one had been poured recently. But there was no door, no entry or exit of any sort. It was just a solid barrier.

  And still, the voice was behind him—“Vengeance. Devil. Kill”—whispering to his ear, slithering through the damp, musty air.

  As much as it sent waves of shivers down his spine, Jed ignored the voice and the footsteps and continued searching the wall. There had to be something. Who would pour a new concrete wall in the middle of a lightless maze of tunnels? There had to be a reason.

  Suddenly the wall began to move and rotate, scraping against the floor like sandpaper across rough wood. As it broke free from the adjoining wall, a light gust of cool air breathed across Jed’s face. He stepped back, out of the wall’s way, but kept one hand on the concrete. The wall rotated until it was perpendicular to its original position. Still there was darkness—whatever passageway the barrier had opened to was just as dark and void of light as the tunnel in which he currently stood.

  Jed felt his way along the wall and into the corridor. The walls here were smooth and cool. When he had fully crossed the threshold into the newer passageway, the scraping of concrete on concrete resumed. Jed retreated and groped for the rotating wall. He found it just as it locked into place, sealing off the corridor from which he came. There was no turning back now. This new tunnel did not have the same musty odor as the previous one, nor was the air as damp. And the voice had ceased as well. Silence deafened him.

  Jed reached his hand above his head to feel for the ceiling. It was there, eight feet above the floor, and lined with electrical conduits and PVC piping.

  Then, as if the mere touch of his hand had switched a sensor, the passageway filled with light from a series of LED bulbs running the length of the corridor. The light cast a greenish tint on the walls and floor. The hallway ran for about fifty feet before ending at a T. Green metal doors lined each wall. But no one was there. The place was as empty and quiet as a school in the dead of summer.

  Jed took a few steps forward, intent on checking to see whether the doors were locked. But before he could reach the first door, it opened into the corridor. A man emerged, wearing slacks and a dress shirt.

  Murphy.

  Jed raised the gun and pointed it at the man.

  Murphy put his hands in his pockets and smiled. “Hello, Patrick. Welcome to Alcatraz.”

  Jed looked past Murphy into the empty corridor. “Where’s Lilly?”

  “Are you going to shoot me?” Murphy said.

  Jed wanted to. His finger trembled; it begged to be allowed to depress the trigger. But he wouldn’t; he couldn’t. And Murphy knew that.

  Murphy kept his hands in his pockets. “I can’t talk with a gun pointed at me. You’ll have to put it down.”

  Jed lowered his sidearm.

  “Thank you,” Murphy said. “You didn’t have to break his leg, you know.”

  He knew about the man in the dungeon, the attack, the fight.

  “He wasn’t there to harm you,” Murphy said.

  “He had a gun.”

  “Only for defense. His orders were simply to follow you.” Murphy tilted his head to the side. “You’re getting a history of aggressive behavior against those who mean you no harm.”

  “I’ve been through a lot.”

  “I know you have. Too much.”

  “Maybe your men should announce their intentions a little more clearly.”

  Murphy shrugged. “Possibly an oversight on our part. I underestimated your survival instinct. Your training.”

  “You’re underestimating a lot.”

  “Quite possibly.” Murphy motioned toward a door. “Now, please, come with me.”

  “Not until you tell me where Lilly is.”

  Murphy frowned. “That’s not how it works.”

  “It’s gonna have to work that way,” Jed said. “I’m not going anywhere until I get an answer.”

  An emphatic sigh escaped Murphy’s mouth. “She’s fine, Patrick. Of course she is. You’ll get to see her soon enough. But for now I need you to come with me.”

  “Where are we going? Why am I here? Why did you bring me here?”

  Murphy’s frown deepened. “So many questions.”

  “You’re not giving me answers.”

  “You’ll get answers in time. For now, let’s go.” He stepped through the doorway and out of Jed’s sight.

  Jed looked around the corridor. There was no one else present. Hesitantly he moved toward the doorway through which Murphy had passed. It led to a room, well-lit, sparsely furnished with one table and a few unpadded chairs. In the corner, a large monitor had been mounted to the wall.

  Murphy stood by the table. When Jed entered, he motioned to a chair. “Please, sit. Let’s talk.”

  Jed pulled out a chair and sat, keeping the gun in his hand.

  Murphy shifted his eyes from the gun to Jed. “You won’t need your weapon here. You have no use for it.” He patted the tabletop. “Please. It’s just talk. Nothing more at this time.”

  Jed didn’t like any of this. Murphy clearly had the upper hand. He was calling the shots and it pushed against every fiber of Jed’s being. But he knew that if he ever wanted to see Lilly again, he’d have to comply. For now.

  He put the handgun on the table. “Now what? I’m here, so where’s my daughter?”

  Murphy smiled. “We’ll get to that in due time. First, do you have the drive?” He paused for effect. “The real drive?”

  “I do.”

  Murphy stared at him for a long time as if searching his face, looking for the telltale signs of lying. Finally he sighed, glanced around the room as if he’d suddenly become disinterested in the conversation. “Can I have it?”

  “When you tell me where Lilly is.”

  “The drive first, Patrick, and then I’ll give you what you want.”

  Jed leaned forward. “I want to know she’s safe first.”

  “Fine. She’s safe.”

  “I want to see that she’s safe.”

  Murphy took a seat at the table, then turned his head to the right and dipped his chin. He spoke in a soft voice. “The feed, please.”

  In the corner of the room, the monitor flicked on and an image of Lilly flashed onto the screen. She sat on a bed with a pink bedspread and a pink pillow, her hands in her lap, head bowed. The room had concrete walls, no windows.

  “Not only safe,” Murphy said, “but comfortable. Unharmed, as you can see.” He crossed his legs. “Patrick, this is a business deal. You give us something; we give you something. That’s it. We’re not looking for anything more. Only the drive.”

  “You said you wouldn’t hold her as ransom,” Jed said.

  Murphy frowned. “The situation has changed. Desperate times . . . you know.”

  Jed nodded in the direction of the monitor. “That could have been taped. I need to
see her in person; I need to know she’s safe before I hand anything over. If this is only business, I deserve a fair deal, don’t I?”

  Murphy uncrossed his legs and pushed his chair away from the table. “You’re grasping for control, but you have no idea how little you actually have.”

  Jed reached for the gun, took it in his hand, and pointed it at Murphy.

  “What are you going to do? Shoot me? And then what? C’mon, Patrick, remember your training. Are you planning ahead? Are you working through an escape plan now? You aren’t, are you? Because you have no escape. You have no idea where your daughter is. You have minimal ammunition. And you’re on Alcatraz. The unbreakable prison. Now put the gun down and give me the drive.”

  Everything Murphy said was true. There was no way out of this. Jed knew it now and he’d known it before he even began this journey. He knew he was surrendering himself, putting his life and Lilly’s life in the hands of a madman. But it was the only way. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to be cowed like this.

  Murphy put his hands in his pockets again and smiled. “I understand, Patrick. Of course I do. I’m a father too, you know. I have two sons. I fully understand the paternal instinct, the drive to protect our own. But you have to admit when you’re beat. There is a time to surrender, to stop fighting. History is full of mighty men leading mighty armies who had to eventually surrender. There’s no shame in it. The time always comes and your time is now.”

  By the time Jed registered the faint hissing, his mind had already gone foggy, and the floor of the room began to undulate and swell like the open ocean. The walls closed in on him. He wanted to aim and shoot, but he couldn’t. His mind couldn’t find the right gear. His hand wouldn’t work. His legs grew weak, rubbery. He lost his grip on the handgun and let it slip from his grasp. The lights dimmed.