“Then why would I help you try to find him? If I was the Judge, why would I reveal my methods like that?”
She shrugged. “Part of the profile described an overabundance of arrogance. Serial murderers have been known to help the police in their investigations. They get a thrill at seeing how close the authorities can get.”
Jack snorted. “You sound like Adam.” God, if he was dead . . .
“He knew his work.”
Past tense. Jack swallowed a sudden burst of fear. Hoping like hell it didn’t translate to his voice, he said, “You’re the ones who contacted me.”
“Hmm, very serendipitous.” Dumay gave him an expression that bore only a superficial resemblance to a smile. “However, we have redirected our thoughts regarding the Judge’s identity. You fit the profile, but so do a lot of other people.”
“No. Something else happened, while I’ve been here. The Judge made another move. Something I couldn’t do from in here.” Another killing?
It was Dumay’s turn to be reticent. “Tell me about Bangkok, Mr. Reardon. What were you really doing there?”
She left him no other recourse.
“I’d like to talk to my supervisor, please.”
The calm façade cracked, just a millimetre, and only for a second, but Jack saw it. Dumay was right. There was no one in this building willing to show Jack any sympathy.
“As I said, we’ve tried to contact him.” Her tone turned grim. “In the meantime, help us, Jack.”
Someone knocked on the door, saving Jack from another request to talk to Axworthy. Dumay fixed him with a glare, then stood and went to the door. Opening it, she leaned out, listened for a moment, then turned back to Jack.
“We’ll take this up where we left off very shortly, Mr. Reardon.”
“I’m sure we will.” But she was already gone.
And it was back to waiting. To chewing over the small morsels of information he had gathered, finding very little of any substance. The Judge in this building. Adam, probably dead. Ethan was still an unknown quantity. The other largely confusing bit was Eve Garrote. She had to mean something to all of this for Dumay to have mentioned her. Try as he might, Jack couldn’t fit her puzzle piece in with the others.
When he began to wonder if Ethan knew her, if they met for drinks at an assassin bar and discussed the killer-for-hire topics of the day, he knew he’d been too long alone with his thoughts.
By his shaky estimation, he’d been in this room for nearly eight hours. Most of the day gone and he knew little more than he had at the start of it. Lucky he’d missed his morning coffee otherwise the pressure in his bladder would be more than it currently was. It also meant he’d been awake for a solid thirty-six hours. He felt the fatigue dragging at his shoulders, hated the ache in his bones. His arse hurt from sitting on the hard chair for so long. The chafing on his wrists had rubbed the top layers of skin away, leaving red marks. He’d broken the time limit on his deodorant about twelve hours ago. His clothes were starting to feel grimy with multiple applications of sweat—angry sweat, exertion sweat, panicked sweat.
When the door opened again, he had his mouth open to demand a visit to the toilet, but it died on his lips when he recognised his next visitor.
“Ma’am.” He’d never been so fucking happy to see Donna McIntosh in his entire life.
“Uncuff him,” she commanded one of the cops escorting her.
“But—”
“You heard your superintendent,” McIntosh said patiently. “Mr. Reardon is being released into my custody. Uncuff him.”
Finally, the Office had come for him. He’d never thought McIntosh would come for him personally, though.
Jack was released without any more fuss, and he followed his director out of the interrogation room, his legs tingling after so much inactivity.
Thankfully, their first port of call was a toilet. As Jack dashed in, he heard McIntosh berating the cops for not showing him any common decency. Smiling, Jack unleashed his bladder, feeling more than just physical relief. He was getting out of here. It was only a matter of an hour, tops, before he could get out there and start hunting down Ethan.
“Jack.”
Startled, the last piss splattered across the floor as Jack jerked at McIntosh’s voice. “Ma’am!”
“Are you blushing?”
Stuffing his dick away, Jack glared at her. “Of course I am. Jesus.”
McIntosh waved aside his affront. “It’s the closest thing we have to a secure room at the moment. Wash your hands. Leave the tap on.”
“Christ.” Jack did as he was told. “What the hell is going on out there?”
“The Judge got inside—”
“Here and killed someone,” Jack said hastily. “They told me that much, while accusing me of doing it. Who died?”
“We don’t know. They’ve kept the lid on it very tightly. It was one of your strike force members, though.”
“Yeah. Got that.” He hesitated, then said, “I think it was Adam.”
Blue eyes regarded him for a moment, and then she nodded. “We’ll keep prying, don’t worry.”
She knew about him and Adam. He’d suspected the Office did. They always kept a very close watch on their assets when undercover.
“We haven’t been able to find either of the Infinity members,” she continued, soft so the water covered their conversation. “Whoever wasn’t killed has gone missing. Whether they ran or were taken, we don’t know.”
That answered the question of what had happened to deflect suspicion off Jack, at least. Which was the only positive he could find right then. “Shit. The Judge?”
“Possibly. We’re not ruling anything out. And neither are the cops. Everything’s been locked down. They’re working nothing else right now. I had to call in the minister just to get you out.”
Jack gripped the sink for support. There seemed to be so little air right then. “Is that why it took you so long to come for me?”
“Not exactly.” McIntosh moved closer, lowered her voice further. “We could have had you out six hours ago, but it was decided here was the safest place for you for the time being.”
This place was safe for him? A building the Judge could get into undetected? That Jack could get into undetected?
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Jack, I’m sorry.” And she really looked it. It had to be bad. “You’ve picked up a ticket.”
Fuck. He’d been working with the Office for nearly eight years now. Worked several high-profile cases, involving some of the deadliest criminals in the world. He’d foiled at least a half-dozen assassination attempts. Taken out a group of terrorists in Canberra. And never once in that time had he ever picked up a ticket. He’d escaped unscathed.
Until now, apparently.
“What for?” He searched furiously through his catalogue of jobs, looking for where he might have slipped up, to get exposed so they knew who to put the ticket on. He was coming to a conclusion as McIntosh spoke.
“The buyer is unknown, but we can make a guess. It’s for the Messiah. His self-stylised Disciples bought the ticket. Most likely.”
“Great. Catching him was pure chance. Fuck.” Knowing the answer, he needed it confirmed all the same. “Garrote picked it up, didn’t she?”
“Half an hour after it was put out.” McIntosh smiled icily. “You should be flattered. She’s number five.”
Jack closed his eyes. “Not exactly a good thing.”
“No, I suppose not.”
He gave his director a bland look. “Remember when you put me on this op? Remember what you said?”
She nodded. “Best-laid plans, Jack. But I am sorry.”
The debrief for the Bangkok job held no surprises. The Messiah, denoted as Theta Subject, had been running rampant across the internet for several years, hacking highly secure systems and releasing very sensitive information to the public. The latest secret to be broadcast, which the Chinese government was still strenuously den
ying, was that the “tragic and accidental deaths” of forty-seven Burmese during a Chinese military exercise on the border between their countries had in fact been a sanctioned operation. The brutal attack, according to the leaked documents, had been in retaliation for a death sentence handed down on a Chinese national in Myanmar for murdering a representative of the People’s Assembly. All of which had been covered up, until the Messiah spilled it across the internet.
Of course, just having the man locked up didn’t alleviate the threat of his stolen information being leaked. There were, at last estimation, over a million Disciples across the world, those who followed the Messiah’s mad ramblings and defended his acts of terrorism as a protest against government conspiracies. It was entirely likely the information had been spread amongst the Disciples, and if word got out that the Messiah had been caught, the shit wouldn’t just hit the ceiling, but explode through it. Making sure the world didn’t know the Messiah was in government custody was paramount.
Jack met up with Lewis on the stairs as they were heading home.
“You never answered my question,” Lewis said.
“Which question?”
“About the boyfriend. Leaving you.”
He should have known Lewis wouldn’t let this go. Of course, it might all be moot now. Ethan hadn’t left Jack hanging for this long since they’d made plans to hook up regularly.
Still, Lewis was his closest friend and had been for long enough now that if anyone would understand, or at least not turn his back on Jack, it would be him.
Letting out a long breath, Jack gave in. “He’s not a boyfriend. Just a . . . regular partner. And I haven’t heard from him in four months, so . . .”
They went down a flight in silence before Lewis said, “Shit, man. I’m sorry. I was sort of just joking, you know. You all right?”
“Yeah.” His voice was rough. “Sorry for being a bastard lately.”
“You don’t have to apologise.” Lewis skipped down several steps. “To me. Claudia, on the other hand . . .”
Forcing aside thoughts of Ethan, Jack decided it was time for a topic change. “You know Tan’s going to make a play for the Messiah.”
“Yeah,” Lewis said. “But you know what? I’m not sure I want to fight him when he does. I’m happy being covered in glory for just catching the bastard. Someone else can wade through the sleaze for all his secrets.”
Before Jack could do anything more than grunt in agreement, Lewis’s phone beeped a message and Jack’s implant pinged. Exchanging grimaces, they checked their messages and, together, headed back up to the tenth floor to McIntosh’s office, where Miller asked them to wait.
“Any clue what it’s about?” Jack glared at the closed door between him and answers. “Theta Subject can’t have escaped this quickly.”
“I don’t know,” Miller drawled from behind his desk. “Can you account for your whereabouts for the past hour, Reardon?”
“Why don’t you ask your mother?” Jack couldn’t wait for the next big drama to happen—to someone else—so everyone could stop poking him about breaking Ethan out of a cell.
While Lewis snickered and Miller rolled his eyes, the office door opened and McIntosh looked over the tops of her glasses at them like they were misbehaving twelve-year-olds. Instantly, they all got serious.
“Gentlemen.” Their director’s tone was dry. “Thank you for being prompt. Miller, start calling up Lewis’s team. I’d like everyone ready to go when I’m done with this pair.”
Jack barely suppressed a groan. This clearly wasn’t a “thanks for catching the bad guy, here, have a week off” chat. Lewis, too, couldn’t quite hide a grimace. Though it was looking likely he wouldn’t have to worry about Theta Subject for too much longer.
McIntosh waved them into her office, closing the door behind them. “I know you were both heading home, but I’m afraid this can’t wait.”
As they sat, Lewis asked, “Theta Subject?”
“Being reassigned to an ETA team for now.” She raised her eyebrows as she took her seat, waiting for the protests. When she didn’t get any, she smiled. “As I thought. Don’t worry, I won’t let your parts in his capture be forgotten.”
Both of them murmured variations of “it was nothing, just our jobs.”
“All the same. I realise you’ve both just come off an intense operation, but this new objective can’t be ignored.”
“We’re at your disposal, ma’am,” Jack said dryly.
McIntosh looked at Lewis. “As unit leader, you of course have your choice of any extra assets required for the job. However, I am assigning Jack as the UC operative, no arguments.” She gave them a stern look. “From either of you.”
Jack internalised a wince. He’d been avoiding undercover roles since the muddle in the desert with Valadian. Fifteen months in deep cover with a paramilitary group had messed with his head in so many ways, it had taken a year to get over it all.
“Don’t give me that look, Jack,” McIntosh said firmly. “This won’t be a long op or a difficult one. It’s not even a deep cover. You will, in fact, be going in as yourself.”
“As myself?” Jack demanded.
It wasn’t as reassuring as McIntosh thought it should be. Undercover usually meant an assumed identity he could hide behind, a barrier against whatever dirty deeds he might have to do to get the job done. In the desert he’d been Jaidev Reed, an Australian-born Indian working as an all-purpose thug for Samuel Valadian. Fifteen months of despicable acts piling up, one on top of the other. Towards the end, even Jaidev hadn’t been able to hold it back, and Jack had begun to lose his distance and perspective. He’d started to enjoy Valadian’s company. If Ethan hadn’t come along to tip it all arse over tit, Jack would have either started to believe in Jaidev’s work or gone on a killing spree amongst Valadian’s forces.
Shoved into an operation as Jack Reardon wouldn’t give him the chance to keep it at bay. Whatever it was he would be asked to do would be right there, sitting against his skin without a cushioning layer of someone else’s clothes.
“Yes. Are either of you aware of a serial killer called the Judge?” McIntosh asked.
Both shook their heads.
“I hadn’t expected you to be, actually.” McIntosh handed a file to Lewis. “Two murders, seven months apart, were identified by the National Homicide Monitoring Program as being indicative of a serial murderer three years ago. Both victims were killed in their homes in Melbourne and displayed in similar poses.”
Lewis shared the photos of the scenes with Jack. One was a woman, middle-aged, naked, on a bed, legs out straight and together, arms stretched out to either side, like she’d been crucified. Her body showed multiple stab wounds, though the sheets around her weren’t stained with enough blood to be the site of the actual murder. The second was an older man, posed exactly the same, but on a dining table, also not the place he was stabbed repeatedly.
“They were moved post-mortem,” Lewis said.
“Yes. Both were killed in the bathroom, most of the physical evidence washed away in the shower. The killer then posed them.” McIntosh waved for them to move to the next set of photos. “At both scenes, they found a printed passage from the Bible.”
Pictures showed the notes found with each victim. It had been a very long time since Jack had read the Bible, and he didn’t recognise either passage. Lewis, too, shook his head in incomprehension.
“I don’t see anything here about how they relate to the victims,” Jack said.
“We haven’t had time to source complete files,” McIntosh explained. “This job was only approved two minutes before you walked into my office.”
Jack and Lewis raised eyebrows at that. Both of them, Jack especially, remembered how the last hastily organised operation went down. Jack may have found Ethan through it, but it had taken a year of hell to find peace with it all.
Ignoring their silent questions, McIntosh continued. “Two more recent murders have been flagged as part of the
same serial. Both here in Sydney. The current consensus is that the killer was picked up on an unrelated charge, and when he got out of prison, he relocated and has been driven to kill again.”
Lewis flipped to the newer case photos. One was a young man, early to mid-twenties, slightly overweight, cheeks roughened with pimples and a failed attempt at designer scruff. He was posed on the floor of what appeared to be a computer room. On the edges of the photo, Jack could make out several wide-screens and keyboards.
The fourth victim was another man, perhaps early thirties, very fit and tanned and clean-shaven. He was lying on an unremarkable bed in an unremarkable room.
“Apart from all being Caucasian, there’s no apparent link between them,” Lewis mused.
“Part of why this case is causing so many problems,” McIntosh confirmed.
“So why is it our problem?” Jack asked. “Don’t they have a Behavioural Analysis Unit in Melbourne to deal with these things?”
“They do. With the advent of the two new killings, the police and BAU has initiated a new strike force, called Infinity. They’re operating out of the Local Area Command in Surry Hills. ADFIS also has an investigation running.”
Jack’s head snapped up. The Australian Defence Force Investigation Service was the military’s special policing unit. “Why is ADFIS looking into this?”
“The last victim is Captain Shane Morrissey of the Intelligence Corps.”
Jack whistled. “It’s a wonder ADFIS has allowed the BAU to keep their investigation. With a victim in a position like Morrissey’s, they normally wouldn’t risk a civilian agency getting too close to it.”
“Precisely,” McIntosh said. “ADFIS has been trying to shut down Infinity, but the police commissioner is standing firm. They claim the first three victims as civilians. Officially, Infinity isn’t looking into Captain Morrissey’s death.” Her “officially” couldn’t have been any drier even if it’d been left in the desert for a month.
“Is Morrissey our interest?” Jack took the file from Lewis and began flipping quickly through the admittedly sparse papers. “Are they worried he may have spilled military secrets?”
Why the Devil Stalks Death Page 4
