by Ciana Stone
Ciana Stone
That Which Suvives
Copyright 2017, Ciana Stone
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Ciana Stone
Cover by Syneca Featherstone
All rights reserved.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
That Which Survives © 2017 Ciana Stone
Cover art by Syneca
Edited by S. Gower
Electronic book publication Feb 20, 2018
Print book publication Feb 20, 2018
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Syneca Featherstone
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
For the love of my life.
Prologue
March, 1992
An Nasiriyah, Iraq
”But I don’t want to go without you,” the woman protested. “Besides, we’re safer together and—”
“No.” Her husband took her by the arms to still her. “Listen to me. We can’t take the risk. You have to leave. The driver will take you to Al Basrah. Your tickets will be waiting at the airport.”
“Please. Come with us,” the woman pleaded.
“I can’t. You know that. If I stay, their attention will be on me. They’ll think I’m trying to cover—”
“What difference does it make? We’ve burned all our notes. No one will figure it out. Look how long we’ve been trying and we’re still stumbling around trying to make sense of it. Just come with us. We can start fresh when we get home and—”
“Sir, the car is ready,” she was interrupted by the announcement from the door.
“Go,” her husband directed. “Please, I must know you’re safe.”
“And you?”
“I’ll follow soon.”
“And what if—”
“I’ll be careful,” he promised and pulled her close for a brief embrace. “Now, please, you must hurry.”
For a moment she clung to him, and then abruptly pulled away. “Two days,” she warned, “then I come back for you.”
He smiled and nodded and she gave him a parting kiss then hurried away. She paused long enough to pick up a large shoulder bag then went outside where the driver was waiting by the car.
Inside the house a teenage girl stood behind the half-opened door, listening and watching. She waited until her mother left the house then slipped from her hiding place. She ran down the hall to her father’s office.
“Why are you sending us away?”
In the process of stuffing papers and notebooks into an old-fashioned attaché case, the man stopped in midmotion. “Mouse! Why aren’t you in the car?”
“Why?” she repeated the question. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The man walked over to her.
“Then why do we have to leave?”
An exasperated sigh preceded his reply. “We’ve finished our work here. There’s no need to stay any longer.”
“You’re lying.” She looked up at him with a worried expression.
He pulled her into a tight hug and kissed the top of her head. “Listen to me,” he whispered. “I need you to trust me on this. Can you do that?”
She drew back and looked up at him adoringly, but still worried. “I always trust you.”
“Good, then listen very carefully. This is important.”
She nodded in silence and he began to whisper to her softly but rapidly. When he finished he withdrew a cigarette lighter from his pocket and handed it to her. She didn’t comment or question but slid the lighter into the pocket of her pants.
“Now go,” her father directed. “And I’ll see you soon.”
She gave him a quick hug. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, Mouse. Now scoot!”
She ran outside to find her mother getting out of the car. “I was about to come looking for you.” Her mother slid over to make room on the back seat.
“I forgot something,” the girl lied.
“Well, get in. We have a plane to catch.”
“Why do we have to leave?” the girl asked as the driver closed her door and got in behind the wheel.
“Your father and I thought it would be nice for you to spend your sixteenth birthday at home.” The woman looked out of the window as she spoke.
“But we still have two months before school starts! And Dad promised I could go to the dig next week and—”
“Please!” The woman smiled apologetically as soon as the sharp word was spoken. “I’m sorry, honey, but it’s already decided. Dad will meet us at home in a couple of days.”
The girl opened her mouth as if to argue then closed it and slumped back against the seat to stare out of the window. The woman turned and looked back at the small house they were leaving. Her uneasiness grew the farther away from the house they moved.
She didn’t notice her daughter taking a cigarette lighter from her pocket. The girl stared fixedly at it for a few moments then flicked it open and thumbed the wheel. A flame appeared. The mother turned to look at the daughter and at that same moment a bright blossom of fire lit the sky behind them, followed by a deafening explosion.
The woman and her daughter both turned at the same time to look. “Oh my god,” the woman whispered at the same moment the girl began to shout, “Stop the car! Did you hear me? Stop the damn car!”
The driver paid the girl no attention. “Mom, make him stop!” the girl screamed. “We have to go back! Mom! Mom? Mom?”
The woman felt as if her heart was about to explode in her chest. There was no doubt in her mind that the house she had just left had exploded. Just as there was no doubt that her husband was dead. That was why he was so eager for her to leave. He had known they were coming for him.
“Mom?” The girl shook her. “Make him stop the car. We have to go back for Dad. We have to—”
“Shhh…” The mother pulled her close and tried to calm her. For a few moments the girl refused to listen but finally she quieted.
“It’s okay, Mouse. Everything will be fine,” the mother promised. “We just have to get to the airport. Dad will meet us at home in a couple of days. Trust me, everything’s going to be okay.”
“But what if that was our house? Mom, we have to make sure he’s okay. What if he—”
“Dad’s fine. I promise.”
The girl’s look was one of fear and doubts. The mother knew she had to remain calm and strong. She could not let anything happen to her daughter. Once she was sure her child was safe she would return and look for her husband.
It was about a hundred and fifty miles to Al Basrah, where there was an international airport. The woman spent the trip looking out of windows, sure she would eventually see someone pu
rsuing them. When they were within a few blocks of the airport at Al Basrah and she hadn’t spotted anyone, she began to have hope. Maybe everyone believed she and her daughter were in the house when it exploded.
Grief welled up, strong and bitter. She fought to suppress it. She didn’t have time for grief, not until her daughter was safe.
Suddenly the driver swerved and jerked the car to a stop at the side of the road. “Why are you stopping? We have to get to—”
“Get out,” the man ordered.
“But we…” the woman stammered to a halt. It was clear from the look on his face that it was futile to argue. And it would only cost her valuable time. If they hurried they could run the rest of the way to the airport.
“Come on.” She reached for her daughter’s hand. “We’ll walk.”
Her daughter gave the driver a hateful glare. “Sure, it’s not that far.”
They got out of the car, holding hands tightly, and started running. The woman scanned the face of every person they passed. She didn’t know who she was looking for, only that someone didn’t want her to leave Iraq, and that someone was obviously willing to kill.
A crowd of people coming toward them slowed their progress. “What’s with you?” the girl asked as her mother made a small sound of alarm when a man accidentally bumped into her shoulder.
“Nothing, just a little nervous,” the woman replied as she dodged a burly man who stepped in her path. “You know how I hate flying without your father.”
“But why are you acting so weird and why—”
“We don’t have time for this, Mouse!” the woman snapped then continued in an apologetic tone. “I’ll explain everything when we get home but until then I just need you to do as I say. “
“But Mom! I still don’t see why—”
The rest of her words were cut short by a man who ran into her mother, nearly knocking her down. The girl took her arm to steady her at the same moment a man stepped in front of them, blocking their path. “You will come with me,” he said in broken English.
The woman looked around wildly. An elderly couple steered around them. Just as they drew ahead of her, the woman shoved the man, knocking him into the man who had stopped them.
“Run!” she shouted as she grabbed her daughter’s hand.
Shocked at her mother’s behavior, the girl did as ordered. In and out of pedestrians they weaved their way along. It took them only a few seconds to realize they were being pursued. “He’s behind us!” the girl screamed.
The woman bolted out into the street, clutching the sleeve of her daughter’s shirt to pull her along. The sound of tires squealing made them both cringe, but neither stopped.
“Why is that man chasing us? Mom, what’s going on?”
“Just run!” the woman panted and looked around frantically. “This way!”
“No!” the girl shouted but her mother would not stop. They dodged around a group of men on the street and her mother pointed in the direction of the government airport. “There will be soldiers there. We’ll be safe.”
The girl cut a look over her shoulder. “There’s two of them!”
“Keep running!”
They were within view of the airport entrance when one of the men caught up with them. He almost pulled the woman down when he grabbed her arm from behind. The girl started beating at him with her fists but the second man grabbed her and pulled her away.
“I demand that you release me!” The woman tried to sound authoritative, despite her fear and breathlessness.
“You will come with us.” The man’s words were heavily accented and stilted, demonstrating his lack of proficiency in English.
“I will do no such thing!” The woman tried to pull away. “I am a citizen of the United States and I demand—”
A curse, shouted in Arabic, interrupted her. The man who’d been struggling with her daughter was bent over at the waist, both hands cupping his groin.
“Mom!” The girl leaped forward and kicked the man holding her mother in the shin. The woman took advantage of the opportunity and hit him as hard as she could with her free hand. Her hand went numb as it made contact with his nose. But it gave them the moment they needed to escape.
Like fugitives fleeing the law they ran, arms pumping and chests heaving, heedless of the looks they drew as they raced through the airport entrance. The girl ran into a man coming out of the doors to a terminal and all three of them nearly went down. It gave their pursuers time to close in on them again.
The woman looked behind them and saw that they were running out of time. Fear gave her a surge of strength and she pushed her way through the people leaving the airport, hanging on to her daughter for dear life.
She could see the gate ahead when two men stepped out in front of them. Her daughter was looking behind them and didn’t see the man coming for her until it was too late to stop. The mother saw the man, and the gun he was pulling from beneath his jacket just as someone grabbed her from behind. Knowing that her only child’s life was at stake gave her the strength she needed. She tore free from the man who held her and tried to move between her child and the man who was after her. “Run!” she shouted.
“No, come on!” The girl kicked at another man who tried to grab her. “Mom! Come on!”
As if seeing everything suddenly switch into slow motion, the woman saw the man with the gun take aim. At the same time the man she had broken away from tried to take her arm again. Her daughter was shouting at her to hurry and holding out her hand and people were streaming around them, voices rising shrilly as the gun was noticed.
For a moment she didn’t know what to do. Then she didn’t bother to think about it. The man’s finger began to tighten on the trigger of the gun and her body reacted without her having to think. She launched herself at the man.
Screams erupted as the sound of the weapon’s fire rang out. The young girl’s eyes widened in shock and she froze in place for a split second. Then a look of horror appeared on her face and her voice added to the cacophony. She tried to catch her mother as she began to fall but a man grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back.
“Let me go!” she screamed, tearing at the man’s hands and thrashing around. “Mom!”
The mother looked up from where she had fallen and saw her daughter screaming and reaching for her but she could not seem to make her body obey her commands to get up off the floor. “Please, don’t hurt her,” she rasped as the man began to drag the girl away. “Please.” She managed to raise one hand before total blackness claimed her.
Chapter One
Present Day
Charlotte, North Carolina
”How’d it go?” Paige Landers asked as her partner got into the car.
“Fine,” Detective Ryan Dalton replied. “I’m just glad it’s over. It feels like I’ve been in court for a month. So, what’ve we got?”
“Homicide at the University Hilton,” she replied as she pulled out of the drive of the courthouse and merged into the line of traffic. “The housekeeper found the body when she went in to clean the room, around three. They were short-staffed so she didn’t get around to the room ‘til late.” She nodded to a pad on the dashboard as she made a right turn. “She notified the manager who called it in. We’ve got people on the scene.”
Ryan picked up the pad and read the scribbled handwriting. “Walter Van Dorne?” He looked up for a moment as she made another sharp turn. “What’s that say beside it?”
“He’s some scientist,” Paige filled in. “He was here to speak at the university as a guest lecturer. Got in a couple of days ago and was due to speak tonight. The university’s been notified that he won’t make it.”
Ryan nodded and returned to reading the rest of the notes. He started to ask Paige how the man died but changed his mind. She sometimes got a kick out of ribbing him about the way death turned his stomach. He didn’t feel like her brand of torment today.
Less than fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front o
f the Hilton. An ambulance and several marked patrol cars were present as well as the medical examiner’s car. Flashing his badge to the uniformed officer at the door, Ryan was given directions to the crime scene.
He and Paige took the elevator up to the third floor. As soon as they got off they spotted the uniformed officers posted outside one of the rooms. “Dalton, Homicide,” Ryan said as he approached the room.
The officer nodded and stepped aside. Ryan walked over to where the medical examiner was kneeling beside the body. His breath caught in his throat at his first look at the body.
The man’s clothes and skin were shredded as if someone had taken a knife or some other sharp object and sliced him repeatedly down his arms, legs and torso. Blood drenched the clothing, turning the white shirt a deep red and the once light gray slacks into a dark crimson.
The most gruesome sight, however, was the man’s severed head which was arranged between the victim’s own hands on the center of his chest as if he were holding his head. Between the opened lips and teeth the stump of a finger protruded. It was not difficult to determine where the finger came from. The victim’s right index finger was missing.
Placed directly beneath the hands was a fragment of paper, bloodstained and bearing strange symbols. Aside from the bizarre manner in which the corpse was positioned on the bed, something else caught his attention. There didn’t seem to be any blood on the bedspread.
Ryan had never seen anything like it. Acid bile rose in his throat. The sight of violent death never failed to make him feel slightly nauseous but this one brought images of horror to his mind. He didn’t speak, but watched quietly as the medical examiner worked and the technicians dusted for prints and scoured the room for evidence.
After a few minutes, the ME stood.
“Hello,” Ryan addressed him. “Ryan Dalton, Homicide.”
“Ross Waring,” the ME introduced himself then gestured toward the fragment of paper on the victim’s body. “This isn’t my specialty but I can guarantee that this isn’t ordinary paper.”
