“Why are you here?” I ask.
“I don’t know, man,” he stammers. “I don’t know you. I ain’t never seen you before.”
I frown dramatically. “That, too, is the wrong answer.”
Knowing what it means for him, Julio struggles to break himself free, but the thick plastic of the zip-ties holds him fast.
“Come on man, you don’t need to do this,” he screams. “What do you want, man? I can get it for you. Whatever it is—money? Drugs? Just tell me what the hell you want!”
“Right now, I think I want your hand,” I say.
“No! No! Stop it, man! You don’t need to do this!” he howls.
I lean down and place the head of the hammer against his hand. Julio is twitching, panicking, trying to move his hand out of the way.
“This might hurt a little bit,” I say. I swing the hammer up and hold it high above my head.
He starts to scream before I even bring it down, but when his bones shatter, he goes completely silent. It’s kind of eerie, but he stares at his bloody and bruised hands, his eyes wide, his face paling even further.
“Come on, man,” Deion grunts. “Get us some help in here, man. We’re gonna die!”
I give them both a grin. “Oh don’t worry, that’s the idea.”
They both scream and thrash against their bonds, desperate to break free. Eventually, they both realize they can’t and settle back in their seats, their faces etched with fear.
“Now that I have your attention,” I say, “can either of you tell me why you’re here?”
I hold up the hammer, letting them both see it—and recall the price of an incorrect answer. The two men glare at each other, but perhaps their shared situation has allowed them to call a temporary truce. It’s just a shame that truce didn’t come before Sherise Williams ended up dead.
They both turn and look at me, their faces blank as they run through the list of evil shit they’ve done in their miserable lives, trying to figure out which act it was that landed them here.
I slide a picture of Sherise I’d clipped from the newspaper out of my jacket pocket and unfold it. I stand and walk over to the two men, first showing Julio and then Deion.
“What is her name?” I ask.
“How the hell should I know?” snaps Deion.
“Hey man, I don’t touch little girls. That ain’t how I roll,” Julio stammers. “If somebody told you—”
The crack of my hand meeting his flesh is as loud as a gunshot. Julio’s head rocks to the side, and a thin rivulet of blood spills from the corner of his mouth. He looks at me with a rage in his eyes that would probably scare most people. But like I’ve said before, I’m not most people.
I hold up the picture again and look at them each in turn. “What is her name?”
“I don’t know man, I don’t—”
“Wrong answer,” I growl.
I lean down and smash Deion’s other hand, then follow it up by doing the same to Julio just to keep things fair and balanced. I give them a minute to scream it out—and another minute to let them call me and my mother every name in the book. I hold the picture up again so they can both see it.
“Her name is Sherise Williams. She was eight years old. Pink was her favorite color, and she wanted to be an astronaut,” I say. “And you two pieces of shit murdered her.”
It’s only then that I see the light of recognition in their faces. Even though they knew they killed a kid, neither of them even bothered to look at a paper to see what she looked like, let alone learn her name. Neither of them has the slightest shred of remorse. Not the slightest shred of decency.
“At least now, here at the end, you recognize the promising young life you snuffed out,” I say. “And realize why I’m taking your lives.”
They both scream, shout, and promise me everything short of the moon to let them go. As they do, I tuck the picture of Sherise back into my pocket. I pull out my phone and write up an email for Danette, Sherise’s mother, with a simple message—“The scales are balanced. May Sherise be at peace.”
I put my phone away and now pick up a five-gallon gas can. Julio and Deion start screaming and thrashing wildly. But I pay it no mind.
I start pouring the gasoline over their heads. I splash the walls and the shitty furniture with it, making sure everything is soaked. When I’m done, I toss the gas can down on the floor between the two men and give them both a long look.
There are more humane ways to make my point. A bullet to the back of the head would end this efficiently. But I want them to suffer. I want them to scream. I want them to feel the life leaving their bodies as they howl in agony.
Am I a monster? Maybe. But I don’t want to think about that right now.
“Okay then. I think we’re done here,” I say.
I turn and walk to the door, their screaming and curses following me as I go. I turn back to them and light a book of matches, and when it’s going, I toss it into the puddle of gasoline. It goes up with a whoosh. It’s not long before the sofa, the walls, and the floor are covered in flames.
Deion and Julio are screaming like the Devil himself was tearing the flesh off their bones. Julio thrashes so hard, he tips himself over as the flames dance closer. I wait until I see the fire reach them, see their bodies catch and start to burn.
Turning away, I walk out of the house, the screaming of the two men growing louder, turning into a keening wail that’s barely recognizable as human.
I feel the heat of the inferno as I walk into the night, never once looking back.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Radio check,” I say quietly. “Radio check.”
“Loud and clear,” Justice’s voice comes back through my earwig.
I walk the grounds outside of Vogel’s house, watching the long line of chauffeured luxury cars lining up to disgorge their passengers before moving on. I’m part of the exterior detail, tasked with watching the arrival of the guests.
“Couldn’t you have gotten me detailed inside?” I ask. “It’s cold out here.”
“Sorry Princess, but I don’t control the weather.”
“She says from inside her cozy, warm van.”
Justice laughs. “Hey, I got you on the roster,” she offers. “It’s not up to me where you play. I’m guessing since you’re the new guy, you got the shit detail.”
“Obviously,” I remark. “Looks like the last of the guests are arriving though. I’m going to have to make my way inside soon.”
“I’ve already hacked into the indoor video feeds. I’ll be able to keep an eye on you.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Just doin’ my job.”
I wait another ten minutes or so, watching the line of cars slow to a trickle, then stop altogether. The sound of chamber music from inside fills the air as does the buzz of conversation. It shouldn’t be long before the speeches begin, and everybody’s paying attention to the speakers, giving me my window. I move slowly around the side of the house to the side door I found earlier.
I look around to make sure I’m not being observed as I melt into the darkness. I follow the path, and when I turn a corner, find myself face to face with one of the other guards on patrol. He’s stationed in front of the door I want to go through, and he eyes me skeptically, a small frown on his face.
“What are you doing back here?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you be watching the front?”
“Gotta take a leak, man,” I say.
“You’re new here, yeah?”
“Yeah. Worked in the Dubai office,” I reply smoothly.
He hesitates a moment, looking me up and down.
“Come on, man,” I say. “I’m dyin’ here.”
After another moment, he nods. “Go ahead.”
I give him a nod of thanks then go through the door, closing it softly behind me. I find myself in a long, narrow, dimly-lit hallway.
“Okay, I’m in,” I whisper.
“Good. Now head down the hallway, and where it bra
nches, take a left,” Justice instructs in my ear.
I move quickly, knowing that I can’t be in here very long before they come looking for me. I come to the junction and turn to the left. My blood is pumping, and my heart is racing. The thrill is returning. This is what I live for.
“Turn right at the next junction,” she says.
I follow her directions and find myself in another long corridor. I hurry down the hallway and take another couple of turns as I wend my way through this damn labyrinth.
“Okay, at the next junction turn right, and you’ll come to two doors,” she says. “The one on the left leads upstairs and the one on the right to the basement. Take the one on the right.”
“Roger that,” I say. “How’s it looking out there?”
“All clear for now,” she reports.
I open the door and quickly descend the stairs and find myself standing before another door.
“Shit,” I hiss. “You seeing this?”
I make sure to point the pinhole camera at the keypad on the wall next to the door.
“Yeah, I got it,” she says.
“How are we getting in there?”
“Remember how I made that remark about people of a certain age and tech?” she teases.
“The clock is running,” I say. “Get to the point.”
“Right. Well she can’t air-gap her phone, so I was able to hack into it,” she says. “And on her phone is a list of her passwords, believe it or not.”
“That sounds ridiculously stupid,” I remark. “She’s one of the smartest people in the world.”
“Even smart people do stupid things,” she responds. “Key in number 8.435.92672. It’s the number of the first patent she ever won.”
“That sounds too easy.”
“Try it,” she says. “It’s not like we have any other options.”
She has a point. I key in the numbers quickly, and the light flashes green on the keypad. I hear the sound of the lock disengaging and quickly turn the handle. With one hand near the butt of my weapon, I push through the door, body tense, ready for anything. The room beyond the door is thankfully empty.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter. “It worked.”
“Wow,” Justice’s voice sounds in my ear. “Look at that place. It’s amazing.”
I turn around, taking it all in. Everything is done in black and chrome, giving the entire room—thirty by thirty—a futuristic feel. Along one wall is a row of computer servers, and a large worktable sits in the middle of the room, a round ring of fluorescent lights hanging above it.
In the far corner of the room stands a massive desk that looks like it was made from mahogany. There are some pictures of Vogel and various people—perhaps family—and notable politicians on a credenza behind it.
On the surface of the desk stands a large computer monitor. Other than the keyboard, mouse, pen cup, notebook, and a small clock, the surface of the desk is clear. Very sterile and functional. I take hold of the mouse, and the computer wakes. I groan as I see the password entry box pop up. In the lower corner of the box is the number five.
“Because nothing is ever easy,” I mutter.
“So, did you happen to find the password for this computer on that list you hacked?” I ask.
“I found a number of different passwords.”
“We’ve only got five shots at this,” I reply.
“Wonderful.”
I pull out the chair and sit down, looking at the flashing cursor in the password entry box. I pull on my beard and let out a low growl, my frustration building. It won’t be long before they come looking for me.
“Pick one of the passwords,” I say. “Let’s go.”
“Okay, try Savannah.”
I key in the word and immediately get an ‘incorrect response’ message.
“Shit,” I say. “Give me another one.”
“Try Dominion.”
The incorrect message response comes up again, and I grit my teeth as I bang my fist on the desk.
“We’re down to three tries,” I say. “What are the other passwords on the list?”
She lets out a long breath that matches the frustration I feel. “Damascus, Sanctuary, Helios, Archimedes, Copernicus, and Annapolis.”
I scrub my face with my hands and groan. Six passwords, three attempts left. If I can’t get into this computer, this has all been for naught.
“Screw it,” I mutter, keying in Annapolis—which is immediately rejected.
“Down to two.”
“I don’t need the reminder,” I say. “Pick one.”
“Try Damascus,” Justice says. “She works with that Syrian extremist group?”
“As good a reason as any,” I say and key it in.
Another rejection.
“Dammit,” Justice grumbles.
I stare at the blinking cursor, feeling my frustration hitting critical mass. I run both of my hands through my hair and sit back for a moment, trying to get into Vogel’s head, trying to figure out what the right password is.
“Echo, we have another problem,” she reports. “I heard it on the radio—they’re looking for you.”
Because I’m wearing Justice’s earwig, I had to forgo the security company’s comms. Justice is listening to their chatter for me.
“Where are they?” I ask.
“Still outside for the moment,” she replies. “But not for much longer. You have to get out of there.”
“The mission isn’t complete.”
“And it never will be if they catch you down there,” she says. “Get out of there and live to fight another day.”
“I’m here now. This needs to be done tonight.”
“They’re heading for the side door, Echo,” she says, urgency in her voice. “Get out of there.”
I stare at the computer screen and list the rest of the passwords in my head, trying to find the connection. And that’s when it hits me. Archimedes was an ancient Greek who designed, among other things, weapons to defend his home city of Syracuse. I can absolutely see Vogel identifying with Archimedes. If this doesn’t work, I’ll get out of here, and we’ll make a run at her another time.
I quickly key Archimedes into the search box, and immediately, her desktop comes up. I fish the flash drive out of my pocket and plug it into a port. I find a discreet folder to tuck all of these files into and double click on it.
“I’m in,” I whisper. “Uploading the files now.”
“They’re in the building,” Justice hisses. “They’ll be on you in less than a minute.”
“Thirty seconds to file upload,” I say.
“Echo, you may not have time to upload those files and get out,” she urges. “Disconnect and get out now.”
“Fifteen seconds.”
“Echo, abort, and get out of there.”
My stomach clenches, and my heart is racing. I know the risk I’m running right now, but I also know what’s at stake. We are seconds away from achieving our objective. Just seconds away from dealing a massive body blow to the Hellfire Club.
“Ten seconds.”
“They’re still coming, Echo,” she says. “They’re going to turn that last corner any second.”
I watch the status bar, trying to mentally urge it to move faster. “Five… four…”
“Get out, Echo. Get out now.”
“Three... two…”
“They’re a hundred yards away from your position. Get out of there!”
“One.”
The ‘upload complete’ box comes up. I yank the flash drive out of the port. I close out of everything on the computer and get it back to the password prompt. Stuffing the flash drive into my pocket, I’m on my feet and moving for the door as fast as I can and pull it open. Closing the door behind me, I take the stairs up two steps at a time and pause with my hand on the knob.
“Justice?”
“They’re just about to turn the corner, Echo.”
I pull the door open and step out, quickly closing
it behind me. I’m just opening the second door—the one that will take me upstairs—when I hear the voices behind me.
“Hey Hudson, get back here,” he calls.
I ignore the man calling me and dart up the stairs. As I’m opening the door at the top of the landing, I hear the door on the landing below me yanked open.
“Hudson!”
I close the door and find myself in a large room full of people. Men and women in suits that cost more than I’ll make in a year mill about, swilling champagne, talking and laughing together, and generally celebrating the fact that they’re rich enough to spend five thousand bucks a plate just to rub elbows with other rich and influential people.
I weave my way through the crowd, keeping my eyes moving as I scan the room for other guards moving my way.
“I could use a little help here, Justice,” I hiss.
“I’ve disabled their comms. The ones chasing you haven’t been able to report in,” she tells me. “Head for the front doors, Echo.”
I do as she says and make a beeline through the crowded room. I let out a breath of relief when I hit the foyer, then step out into the cool night air. Not wasting another moment, I descend the small staircase and walk down the driveway as if I’m looking for a car. Once I pass the gates and am back out on the street, I turn and run as fast as my legs will carry me to where Justice is waiting.
Only when I am in the rear of the van and Justice has it moving, do I let out a breath of relief.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she says. “I was sure you weren’t going to make it.”
Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it either. But I did. And the objective was achieved. They aren’t going to figure out what I did until it’s too late for them.
“Yeah, that was cutting it pretty close,” I chuckle.
“Good job, Echo,” she says.
“Good job—partner.”
She keeps her eyes on the road, but I can practically feel the pride radiating from her as she drives us away from Vogel’s house and into the night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Turn on your television.”
The moment I hear High Priestess Delta’s voice on the other end of the line, the cobwebs of sleep immediately dissipate, and I sit up. The fact that she called me on the phone sends a hotshot of adrenaline straight to my heart. That’s not her normal method of communication, so I know something big is happening.
Web of Lies Page 10
