“Gatehouse, what do you need?” A voice answered back.
“You have a PA system in there, right? You know, to alert the neighborhood to things.”
“Yes.”
“Good, get on it and announce that this is being led by the Serial Crimes Tracking Unit of the US Marshals and all rights are suspended under the Serial Killer and Mass Murderer Act.”
“Can you do that?” The voice asked.
“Yes,” Gabriel broke in. “The moment they attacked a group, they all officially became mass murderers or accomplices of mass murderers. This means they can be tried under the SKMM Act. As such, they do not have to be Mirandized. Miranda rights do not apply when tracking or capturing serial killers or mass murderers. That only happens when we turn them over to regular Marshals or other federal officers to be transported. It also means any officer working with the SCTU in an attempt to capture said killers does not have to Mirandize them upon arrest. They will be given their rights when they arrive for their booking.”
“Got it,” the voice said. After a second or two, the PA came on and the announcement was made.
“Well, that will rattle a few,” an officer said to me.
“Yes, it will,” I answered.
House fires made dancing shadows along the street. Smoke created a halo around the tiny moon that hung in the sky. The streetlights were not working, increasing the eerie orange glow on the streets, lawns, and non-burning houses. My nostrils stung from the errant wafts of smoke that came down the street. My eyes fought not to water.
Progress was slow, but steady. Gunfire could be heard in the distance, punctuated every so often by the sound of a large caliber bullet being fired. Reports coming back to me were a mixture of good and bad news. A few dead civilians, a few dead bad guys, a few live ones were being dragged into the streets and put into zip cuff shackles, essentially hog tying them and leaving them on the rough asphalt for pickup.
From what we could tell, their organization had broken down not long after entering the FGN. Each small faction had their own agenda and they didn’t seem to agree. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of a way to use that to our advantage. We were nearly to the corner, directly across from the house of ash, when two guys with automatics moved to the side of a house and started firing. We returned fire, using the burning house to our advantage, forcing them to stare into the dancing flames and watch for our silhouettes. Both men went down. Patterson and I moved forward quickly, both at the ready just in case.
“Dead,” Patterson said of the first body. There were several bleeding holes in his torso, but the one in his face was definitely a kill shot. The second one gave a groan. Patterson aimed, fired, and then he quietly walked over to the man. “Also dead. Come look at this.” Patterson jerked down the collar. The man had the same anarchist tattoo as a few we had seen inside the Fortress.
“Anarchists never really understand what they are asking for,” I told my grandfather.
“I’ve dealt with a few in my day, but they were never this organized. They worked in small, mobish groups. I think you have a full-fledged anarchist operation around here somewhere. Too many of these tattoos are floating around for it to be small.”
“Pull it down a little further,” I told Patterson. The tip of some ink just barely visible caught my attention. It was a skull smoking a cigar and coming out of his flesh. “I saw that tattoo on a guy in New Orleans. A dead guy. He was made dead because he tortured a girl and she came back and got revenge.”
“Coincidence?” Patterson looked at me.
“It is a hell of a coincidence,” I told him. “His had letters under it, but they did not mean anything. It was gibberish, same as this guy’s.” We checked the other body and found the same tattoo and more gibberish under it.
“What if they hired anarchists, but got serial killers instead?” Patterson asked.
“An organized group of serial killers seems like a stretch,” I told him.
“We are organized in the Fortress, so why not on the outside?” Patterson covered the tattoo and stood up. “We have three serial killers inside the Fortress with this exact same tattoo, Aislinn. One of them is Jeffrey Hunter, who we didn’t find in our sweep of the place.” I thought about that.
“Xavier?” I hit the coms button.
“Busy,” he answered.
“Did you see any tattoos on Christian Hunter?”
“I didn’t strip search him,” Xavier huffed back.
“We need to find out if he has a skull smoking a cigar tattoo,” I said.
“Like the one we saw in New Orleans?” Caleb came on the line. “I got two dead guys with that same tattoo. Different letters under it, but the same tattoo, nonetheless.”
“Do they also have anarchist tattoos?” I asked.
“How’d you know?” Caleb came back. I looked at Patterson.
“I think it is safe to say we have an organized group of serial killers. New Orleans was just the first clue,” I told everyone. “They are hiding as anarchists.”
“Yeah,” Gabriel said. “I found one, but the anarchist tattoo is fake. It left black smudges on my hands when I checked for a pulse. However, the skull did not.” I took some blood from one of our dead guys and rubbed it on the stylized A on his neck. Sure enough, it was not immune to the fluid and streaked.
“I’ll be damned,” Malachi said. “I have three here, all dead. I saw one of these skull tattoos in the Fortress, but didn’t think anything about it. One of mine, the latest letter is very fresh. It’s still red and swollen, but the other letters aren’t.”
“Marking themselves with their kills,” Patterson said what I was thinking.
“Jeff Adams just thought he was in charge, but someone else is involved in this,” I said.
“Someone who wants serial killers loose,” Malachi said.
“Yep,” I said.
“We only need one or two of these guys to talk, the rest we can burn,” Gabriel said.
“You are beginning to think like a serial killer,” Malachi told him.
“Maybe,” Gabriel said. The chatter stopped. We had others. The insanity had reached its peak. It was hard to contend with serial killers that had a membership to a club for serial killers. I wasn’t even sure where to begin.
Killer's Club
The network had been decimated. Destroying files and moving servers was the least of his concern. He needed new computer geniuses to work on his website. He needed to pack up and move to another part of the country. He would start over, as he’d done before. It wasn’t that hard.
It bothered him that it had once again failed. That made four attempts in two years, all of them foiled by either the SCTU or the VCU. They were more than a nuisance. They were a threat to his way of life. He had dropped the contract on Lucas McMichaels because it hadn’t gotten him anywhere. He needed a new way to bring them down. However, nothing he had done so far had worked. There were too few weaknesses.
He set the house on fire, got in his car, and drove away. Next year, he would try again, after he rebuilt everything. The fire would look like an accident or better yet, part of the failed attacks on the federal neighborhoods. He went to the grocery store and began shopping for food. He would wait until he was contacted before he bought new housewares. That would look suspicious. His cell phone rang while he was in the check out.
“Sir, are you alright?” The voice on the other end sounded concerned.
“Yes, how are they doing?” He asked.
“Making progress, sir, but your house, we’ve gotten reports that it is on fire.”
“I guess maybe it’s time I moved into an FGN instead of just outside of one,” he sighed, trying to sound tired. “Any leads?”
“Not at this time, sir, but we have fire and rescue on the way. Where are you? We’ll send agents to pick you up.”
“I left for vacation this morning, Jones, or did you forget?”
“Is your lake house secure?” Jones asked.
“Yes,
no one knows I own it, so I’ll be fine. However, if you want to send Secret Service to the house, I’ll be there in a while. I’m out picking up supplies now, forgot that it doesn’t get stocked regularly,” he said.
“We have FBI agents en route,” Jones said.
“Thank you,” he answered. “It will make Dana and the kids feel better. I don’t know how I’m going to tell them about it. Another house,” he sighed again for emphasis. “See you in a bit, Jones.” He hung up.
The director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations walked out to his waiting SUV. He wondered if Jeffrey Adams was dead. He’d been so easy to manipulate, so easy to control. Maybe next year, he’d get things right and get rid of the stupid VCU and SCTU. He had some time to plan. After all, he needed to find some men to fill the rank and file of his club.
This week and weekend were going to be all about pleasure. It was the last time the kids could swim in the lake. His wife could do some shopping. He could do some hunting. That would relieve his stress. The clerk wasn’t really his type, but he could find one on his way down to the lake, before the damned agents showed up to protect him from his own club.
About thirty minutes later, he found her. She was standing on the side of the road, hood up on her car. He pulled over in front of her, got out and started having a conversation. When he identified himself as an FBI director, she relaxed a little. He liked it when they relaxed. She had someone coming for her, but the tow truck place was busy, she confided. All the better for him. He watched the traffic, waiting for a thin spot. When he saw it coming, he stuck her with the needle and helped her to his car.
They drove about twenty minutes. He turned off on a small dirt lane, one he was familiar with. He’d left his victims here before.
Even in the dark, he found the shack. Carrying the small woman was no problem for him. He kept in shape despite his advancing years. It was one of the things Dana liked about him. He hadn’t let himself go just because he was over fifty. Of course, Dana hadn’t either. However, even after thirty-two years of marriage there were things he could not subject his wife to. His appetites were too vile for the marriage bed.
He sat and munched on Pringles while he waited for his prize to wake up. It was going to be a great day after all.
Thirty-five
The panic rooms had worked. The majority of them were either empty because they were with a neighbor or stuffed because they had more than just their household inside. Halfway down my street, my house was on fire. Lucas, Gabriel, Xavier, Fiona, Malachi, and Caleb had all suffered similar fates. Their houses were burning to the ground as we watched. Like the house on the first street, little was left of them except ashes. They had burned hot and fast, most likely the result of being targeted.
My desire to rush to my house and check the panic room was quelled by the intense heat that the smoldering wreck was giving off. I had a thing about burning to death and judging by the heat, it was exactly what was going to happen if I stepped into the rubble. It would have to wait. Besides, we hadn’t finished sweeping the entire place.
Troops were here though and it was going much faster. Releasing our own army within our own borders didn’t inspire me with confidence, but they were helpful. They also tended to shoot bad guys on site.
Dawn was breaking the horizon, the light of the sun promising to reveal the true horror of our situation. My com buzzed to life as I turned down a new street.
“Apex out,” Xavier said.
“Okay,” I told him.
“We have a lot of dead guys around this building. Apex left some toys for us too.”
“Sounds promising,” I answered.
“You are going to love them,” Xavier said. “How many more streets?”
“Last one, then we start bringing in the paramedics and fire crews,” I answered. We had cleared over two hundred houses, only eight remained. The small groups had all come together for it. The soldiers were leaving. I couldn’t imagine how long it would have taken without them.
A blue house with no glass left in the windows caught my attention. It wasn’t on fire. It hadn’t been searched. It should have had windows. I nodded at it. Malachi swung around, flanking me. We both aimed at the house. A few others joined us.
I took two steps towards it. My chest was struck with something heavy. My body jerked and flailed as the bullets continued to rain down on me. I let myself fall backwards, not bothering to return fire. The moment I was clear, our guns opened up. The walls were peppered with holes. The shooting continued for an eternity.
I watched the sky above me. The sun was now visible, peeking over the edge of the world, threatening to bring light we didn’t need or want. There was lots of shouting. I kept hearing the words “man down.” Then the gunfire changed, the guns changed, something bigger, faster began to spray our line. Our group broke up around me, their shoes moving past my face. I needed to stand up, but I didn’t want to.
A high-pitched whistling noise filled the air. Heat grazed my face. There were other noises, loud noises, wood creaked and groaned. Metal screeched.
Someone grabbed my arm and began to pull me. I looked up to see Eric. Behind him was the massive riot suppressor vehicle. It fired rapidly at the house. Eric didn’t pull me around it, he dragged me under it, his body now crawling along with mine.
“Is the blood trail mine or yours?” I asked, noting the smears on the pavement.
“Yours,” he answered.
“Good, I would hate to think you got a pass out of prison for one day and ended up bleeding to death. Mom and Elle would be so pissed at me.” I thought for a moment. “If they are alive.”
“At the moment, you are of more concern,” Eric answered as the sky appeared above me again. Xavier immediately began tearing at my shirt. Caleb helped him. I started to protest, but was stopped. “Let them work, Aislinn,” Eric’s voice was soothing. I closed my eyes and felt someone slap my face. I looked to see Fiona kneeling over me.
“Hey!” I said to her.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep. If you die, I will dig you up and set your corpse on fire,” she told me.
“Interesting punishment,” I yawned. “I do not feel like I’m dying.”
“Some of those rounds went through your vest,” Caleb told me.
“Good thing I was wearing it,” I answered. There was a crashing noise. I picked my head up and found myself staring at the rear end of the riot machine. “What happened?”
“The house went down,” Malachi answered. “How bad?”
“Not bad, I don’t think anything vital was hit,” Xavier answered. “I won’t know for sure though until she gets to a hospital and gets tests done.”
“I’m fine,” I sat up and blood spurted from my shoulder, hitting Xavier. “Well, maybe not.” I lay back down.
“That was arterial,” Caleb said.
“Medic!” Malachi shouted.
“Too slow, help me get her up.” I felt them roll me onto something and then the world was in motion, a jiggling motion that nauseated me. I closed my eyes and heard someone screaming at me. However, there was no way I was opening them back up. Besides, I was tired and my head hurt.
“Oh, Aislinn!” My mother’s voice. Next to her, a dog barked.
“You lived.” I opened my eyes long enough to confirm it was my mother and my dog. It was, so I closed them again.
“We were all at Ivan Daniels’ house. He needed a babysitter. We got into his panic room,” she told me.
“Good, I’m homeless,” I told her.
“We’ll deal with it when you are healed.”
“We are all homeless,” I said, thinking about the destruction.
“Can’t you do something about the bleeding?” I heard Elle scold someone.
“I’m working on it. Thankfully, she has extra,” Xavier shouted at her.
“I’m good,” I told them, yawning. “This is not over yet.”
“It is for now though,” Gabriel told me. “We’ll check Hunter for
the tattoo and see what we can figure out. You just work on not dying.”
“It sounds really bad when you say it that way,” I told him.
“It is,” Gabriel answered.
Thirty-six
The room smelled lightly of vanilla. The soaps in the bathroom scented the entire place. I had never lived in a safe house before, but that was where all members of the SCTU were currently sequestered. My mother, Elle, Nyleena, the children, and Trevor were all in safe houses too. Malachi and Caleb were with us.
Someone was pushing for the elimination of the VCU. They wanted to make all of us SCTU US Marshals. No one seemed opposed to the idea, at least not inside the safe house.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Xavier came into my room. I glared at him. I just wanted to sleep a couple more hours.
“Go away,” I growled.
“Sorry, but no can do. I need to change your bandages, check your stitches, and get your vitals, that sort of thing.” Xavier sat down on the bed and helped me to sit up. I had taken seven that had gone through my vest. Even after a week, everything hurt. The explosion inside the Fortress had caused internal bruising. My foot had required surgery and now had pins in it, holding it together. I had lost a ton of blood, part of my intestines, an ovary that I didn’t need anyway, and suffered damage to my stomach, liver, and lung. That had also required surgery, lots of it. However, for someone that had been blown up, shot, and God only knew what else, I felt like I had come out on top.
Christian Hunter had indeed had the tattoo and fourteen letters under it. Each was the first letter of his victims’ first names. Other than that little detail, he was keeping his mouth shut, thereby proving the theory that we only had a small piece of the puzzle. Something bigger was in play, but we just didn’t know what. Brainstorming hadn’t brought us any new ideas.
Xavier gave me a shot of Demerol. Technically, I was supposed to be off the painkillers at this point, but I’d been through a lot and no matter how fast I was healing, everything really did hurt. Even going to the bathroom was painful. Painful enough that I had made them check me for a UTI, twice, while I was incarcerated in the hospital.
Fortified Dreams Page 24
