The Cipher

by Maldonado, Isabella

  For the first time since their battle began, he read primal fear in her eyes. No longer focused solely on fighting him, she opened her mouth to call out for help. He could not have that.

  He drew his hand back and slapped her across the face with all his strength. Her head snapped sideways, and she went still.

  He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a hypodermic needle loaded with the concoction he had intended for Bianca. Fortunately, the two females were both petite. Injecting Nina with a dose for a normal-size woman could be fatal.

  She began to struggle again, her uncoordinated movements telling him she was still stunned from the blow to the head. If he acted quickly, he would not have to risk concussing her with another strike. The ketamine-based cocktail required an intramuscular injection. He sank the needle into her thigh and pressed the plunger down.

  For a split second, her eyes flew open, then her thrashing stopped, and her lids fluttered closed. A deep sigh escaped her parted lips as she quieted underneath him.

  He put his mouth to hers, tasting coppery blood. Her teeth must have cut the inside of her cheek when he hit her. He deepened the kiss, moaning with a heady mix of pleasure and anticipation. She was even more delicious than he remembered.

  He forced himself to stop, slowly getting to his feet. He surveyed her as she lay supine at his feet, her caramel skin glistening with sweat. He wanted her right here, right now, but he would be patient. First, he had to take her away. Once they were secure in the hideout, he would have all the time he wanted to enjoy her.

  And the world would have a new show to watch.

  Chapter 48

  Wade looked around the Suburban’s dark interior. “Has anyone been able to contact Guerrera?”

  He got the same negative response as before.

  “I’m glad she sat this one out,” Buxton said, goosing the gas to keep up with the phalanx of FBI vehicles making their way toward Falk’s residence. “If she hadn’t, I was probably going to pull her from the op anyway.”

  Guerrera had texted Buxton forty-five minutes ago to say she’d gotten food poisoning and wouldn’t be in until further notice. No one had heard from her since.

  Wade didn’t like it. Nina Guerrera was the only person in the Bureau who wanted Falk more than he did. If he had food poisoning, he’d show up to serve the search warrant carrying a barf bag if he had to. He was certain she felt the same way.

  “Can’t we detail someone over to her apartment to check on her?”

  Buxton shook his head. “This op is all hands on deck. There’s no one to spare.”

  Kent was in the back seat next to him. “What about local PD?” he said. “Request a welfare check from a squad car in the area. She was a Fairfax County police officer until two years ago, I’m sure they’d be okay with that.”

  Buxton’s dark eyes glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “We don’t ask the police to check on an agent who has an upset stomach.”

  “Did you two ever stop to think that maybe she didn’t want to come?” Breck said from the front passenger seat. “Maybe ‘food poisoning’”—she made air quotes—“is her way out.”

  “Out of what?” Wade said.

  “Were you watching the video with the rest of us?” Breck said. “She probably never wants to be in the same room with that bastard again.” She shuddered. “And I don’t blame her.”

  “So you think this is some sort of face-saving way for her to avoid Falk?” Kent said. “I don’t buy it.”

  “We’re almost at Falk’s house,” Buxton said. “If we don’t get any more messages from her by the time we’re finished here, I’ll ask the locals to slide by her place.” He shot Wade and Kent a hard look over his shoulder. “Satisfied?”

  Not really, but it would have to do.

  Buxton touched his earpiece. “When?” he said. “I’ll notify the team.” He angled the wheel, passing a slower car around a curve on the freeway. “No, we do not abort.”

  He tapped his earpiece, ending the communication, and turned to Breck. “Boot up your iPad. Falk’s got a website now. He’s getting ready to livestream a message.”

  Breck flipped open the tablet’s cover. “What’s the URL?”

  “There’s a link from his Twitter account,” Buxton said. “It’s up and running again.”

  “Is he at home?” Wade said. “Can we ping the location?”

  “They’re working on it,” Buxton said.

  Breck held the iPad in front of her and tapped the icon to go to full-screen mode. “Can you guys see?”

  The question was directed at Wade and Kent. Buxton kept his eyes on the road. This warrant service would stop for nothing.

  Wade nodded in response as he saw a masculine figure wearing a black cloak step in front of the camera.

  “I’m the one you call the Cipher,” he said. “Welcome to my sanctum.”

  “I really hope he’s at home,” Kent said. “I’d love for him to have an up-close-and-personal meeting with the HRT.” His wistful look said he longed to be the team’s door-banger for tonight’s mission.

  Wade was absorbed in watching Falk. The man’s calm, self-assured manner was unsettling. Anytime a sociopath was relaxed and pleased, someone was suffering. Certain Falk would not have gone to the trouble of setting up a website unless he had something dramatic to show the world, Wade found himself holding his breath.

  “Let me show you around,” Falk said, picking up the camera from whatever stable platform it had been situated on. No longer in the frame, his muscular arm protruded from the wide sleeve to gesture toward the far wall. “I built this structure myself,” he said. “It has everything I need.”

  The wall was covered in a pale green, textured foamy material. “Soundproof,” Falk said, bringing the camera close enough to see more detail. “And there’s more insulation behind the drywall. No interruptions tonight.”

  Fluorescent light spilled down from above, bathing the scene in an odd glow. Wade pictured a long industrial-style rectangular light fixture. The space resembled a prefabricated construction building, and the interior looked to be about the size of a two-car garage.

  The cinema verité show continued as Falk rotated in a circle, showing all four plain walls. “And now, for the main attraction.” He placed the camera back in its holder and angled the lens down for the first time.

  “No!”

  Wade heard Kent’s guttural shout before his mind fully processed what he was seeing.

  Nina Guerrera lay spread eagle on a wooden table in the center of the room. Unlike in the previous video, this time she was faceup. She was also either unconscious or dead.

  “What’s going on?” Buxton said as he maneuvered the SUV around a tractor trailer.

  “Falk’s got Guerrera.” Wade barely managed to get the words out through his painfully constricted throat. As his boss cursed, Wade’s fists clenched so hard he felt his nails dig into his palms.

  Still addressing his unseen audience, Falk strode over to Guerrera. “I have a special visitor tonight.” His voice was husky. “And when she wakes up, the world will watch what happens to the Warrior Girl.”

  “Step on it,” he said to Buxton. “We need to get there before he starts in on her.”

  “But first, the big reveal.” Falk reached up and pulled the hood of the cloak down to expose his scalp, which had a day’s growth of blond stubble. As he continued to pull the fabric down, a pair of crystal-blue eyes in a chiseled angular face peered out at his spectators. “No more disguises.” He let the thick garment drop to the floor. “My name is Halberd Falk.” A feral smile crept across his face. “I am the future of the human race.”

  Stripped to the waist, his lower body encased in blue jeans, Falk’s heavily muscled torso bore the marks of a recent scuffle. Guerrera had put up a fight.

  “No more worries about DNA,” Falk said, stepping closer to her. He bent down to lick her cheek with a languid stroke of his tongue.

  Grateful
she was still unconscious, Wade leaned in, making out the interlocking triangles spanning Falk’s rippling lats. Photos of Falk at his MMA matches had been disseminated during the search warrant briefing. Wade had looked up the design, concluding that they had been right about Falk’s god complex. His body art marked him as a powerful and divine being, far above petty mortal justice.

  “No more nitrile gloves either,” Falk went on. “This time, it’s flesh on flesh.” He edged around to the far side of the table so his massive body wouldn’t block the view and reached out to touch the base of Guerrera’s throat. His fingertip traced a leisurely trail down the center of her inert body. He paused at her narrow waist, splaying his palm and fingers wide to cover her entire abdomen from hip to hip. “So small,” he breathed, before his big hand moved relentlessly toward the juncture of her spread legs.

  “Get your filthy hands off her.” Kent’s words were filled with icy menace. He tore his gaze away from the screen to look directly at Wade. “I’m going to hunt that motherfucker until I find him,” he said in a low voice meant for Wade’s ears only. “And then I’m going to kill him. Slowly.”

  He understood exactly how Kent felt. Memories of the Chandra Brown case flooded his mind. This must have been what Chandra’s last hours were like. If he had only listened, he could have prevented her death. And now, Guerrera would meet the same fate because he had failed to read the situation properly. Again. He was a trained profiler. He thought they had more time, thought they’d finally gotten the drop on him. He should have anticipated that Falk would move on Guerrera tonight. Should have insisted they check on her. He would never forgive himself.

  He whispered his own vow to Kent. “I’ll help you get rid of the body.”

  Chapter 49

  Nina blinked, unable to fathom the torpor in her leaden limbs and the feeling of cotton in her mouth.

  “Does the Warrior Girl awaken at last?”

  That voice. A stream of images came to her, bringing with it a cascade of horror. Fighting in her apartment. Stars bursting in her head after a teeth-rattling slap across the face. A needle plunging into her thigh.

  The monster had taken her.

  Her eyes opened fully as adrenaline dumped into her bloodstream, dissipating the cobwebs. She tried to sit up. The logical component of her brain was finally coming online. Parts of her body began reporting in. She registered pain in her ankles and wrists. Tilting her head upward, she spotted the black plastic zip ties binding her to steel eye hooks drilled into the wooden surface of a crude workbench. She tried to flex her arm, but he had secured her so tightly she could barely move at all.

  “You won’t be getting away this time,” Falk said, following her gaze. “Your fellow FBI agents will no doubt be breaking down my front door right about now. But that’s not where we are. No one knows where we are.” He crossed his arms, looked down at her with those cold, flat eyes, and whispered, “No one is coming to save you.”

  He loomed over her, eclipsing the fluorescent light above. “You defied me twice, little throwaway girl. You will suffer twice as long as the others.” He rested a palm on her left breast. “Your heart is pounding.” He moaned, closing his eyes as if to savor the feel. “You’re absolutely terrified.” He bent down, brushing her lips with his. “As you should be.”

  The contact felt like more of an assault than any beating she had ever taken. His breath was hot on her skin, smelling vaguely of mint. The scent of fresh soap clung to him. He had obviously showered, washing away the remnants of the FBI agent disguise, including the fake black hair.

  Falk straightened and removed his hand. “I’ve waited so long to have you again.” He lifted a brow. “Nothing to say to me?”

  She gave him a hard stare. She would not play his game.

  “What about your fans?” He gestured to his right. “Don’t you have anything to say to them?”

  She turned her head to see a small camera mounted on a tripod in the corner of the room. The lens was angled toward the table, and the little red light was on. She sucked in a breath. The monster was recording every second of whatever sick fantasy he was about to indulge.

  “I’m livestreaming,” he said. “The world will watch you cry out for my mercy. And I will show you none. After a while, you will beg for death. But death will not come until I am satisfied.”

  Fear crept through her, stealing her last vestiges of hope. Buxton and the rest of the task force would be at Falk’s house, but he’d been too smart for that. He’d taken her someplace else. She was utterly alone. And she was in the hands of a madman.

  “I’m in control, you understand me?” He thumped his bare chest with his fist. “I decide when you die. I decide how you die. I am your god.”

  She gazed up at him. He was huge, powerful, and determined to destroy her. He had been biologically engineered to be superior.

  She, on the other hand, had not inherited any special traits. She had no pedigree. Sheer force of will and a willingness to bend the rules had seen her through. As she accepted the truth of her situation, resolve stole through her. She would not survive this night. Might not even survive the next hour. The only choice left to her was to die on her own terms.

  The Cipher wanted her to grovel. Wanted to degrade her in every way possible. She would not give him that. He would take everything she had by the time he was finished with her, including her life. But he would not take her humanity.

  Once she made this promise to herself, the situation became simpler. Her focus, clear. She would do everything in her power to escape. Keep her eyes open for even the slightest opportunity. Failing that, she would die fighting him, not begging.

  Falk bent down to pick up a black toolbox from the floor. He rested it on the table beside her. She could only turn her head to watch his movements.

  He popped the two latches. “Let me show you what I have in store for the next few hours.” He lifted the lid and fished around inside. One by one, he began removing items and setting them in a neat row beside her. A pair of pliers, an awl, alligator clamps, a chisel, and a vise.

  Each tool he laid on the table conjured increasingly horrific images until her stomach roiled. Whatever he had injected her with, combined with the abject terror rushing through her, sent a blast of bile up the back of her throat.

  Her vision blurred slightly, then settled back into focus. “I’m going to be sick.”

  She felt her gorge rise and turned her head to the side. He had her pinned down so tightly she couldn’t lift herself from the table. Holy shit. She was going to choke on her own puke.

  At least she would not die by his hand. Fate had intervened to provide her with a way out. She did not fight it as the first wave of nausea hit.

  Falk dropped the pliers. “Don’t you dare vomit.”

  She heaved and her mouth filled with sour liquid.

  His eyes narrowed. “Stop it.”

  Her body jerked as more fluid came up.

  Cursing, he pawed through the toolbox until he pulled out a pair of tin snips. He leaned over her and clipped the tie on her right wrist, then reached around the back of her neck and pulled her forward, trying to elevate her head and turn it to the side.

  Left arm still lashed down, she could only lift her body a couple of inches. Some liquid spattered the wooden surface beside her, but most of it stayed in her mouth.

  “Stop it or you’re going to aspirate.”

  Her only response was another convulsive heave.

  “Shit.” He reached across her and clipped the other tie. Once her arms were free, he yanked her upright into a sitting position and slammed her scarred back with his massive hand.

  The remaining contents of her stomach spewed from her body as she coughed and sputtered. Her head cleared enough to realize Falk was automatically responding to his EMT training. She allowed him to tend to her body, freeing her mind to consider her situation. Both of her hands were loose, offering new options.

  She only had a few seconds to formulate a p
lan, and she would only have one chance to act. Stalling for time, she forced out more coughs as she scanned her immediate vicinity. She refused to lie on this table and let the monster do whatever vile things he had planned for her.

  She faked an enormous dry heave, doubling over and clutching at her belly. He had one hand on her thigh and the other on her back. She pretended to choke again, and, as she anticipated, he thumped her back hard. She went with the force of the blow, allowing it to drive her upper body down. She reached out as if to brace herself and grabbed the awl. Before he knew what she’d done, she thrust the sharp point into the center of his stomach.

  He staggered back, cursing as he glanced down at the bleeding puncture wound. With preternatural speed, he snaked out a hand and latched on to her wrist.

  She tried to pull her arm away, but she was no match for him.

  “Fucking bitch,” he said through gritted teeth. He flexed his powerful forearm, torquing her hand and forcing the tool from her grasp.

  She needed to distract him, or he would body slam her to the table and bind her again. She recalled what Wade had told her when he profiled the Cipher before they learned his identity. She merged that with what she’d seen in the fight video.

  “How often did your father beat you, Falk?”

  He paused, still clutching her wrist, but made no response.

  “Is that why you torture girls? Did Daddy mess you up so bad that you can’t get it up without—”

  “Shut up.” Holding her in place with one hand, he clenched the other, pulling it back to smash into her face.

  She maneuvered the cut piece of zip tie in her palm until its jagged edge protruded like the blade of a box cutter. Before his knuckles connected with her nose, she plunged the zip tie’s sharp edge deep into one of those ice-blue eyes glaring down at her.

  He howled and released her, clapping both hands over his injured eye. She grabbed the tin snips and quickly bent to cut both of her ankles free. As she scrambled off the opposite side of the table, he staggered around the room, bellowing like a wounded bull.