The Ackerman Thrillers Boxset

by Ethan Cross

  The various faces around the gray-speckled conference table swiveled toward him. “And who are you?” the chief of police asked.

  “I’m a federal agent on the task force that’s been set up to capture this guy.”

  The mayor said, “It doesn’t seem like you did a very good job, Agent ...”

  “Williams.”

  The chief of police said, “You were the one who was his captive.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Just like that woman, Alanna Lewis, who killed one of my officers and is now in there helping perpetrate this kidnapping.” There was a suspicious and accusatory tone to the statement.

  “That’s right. Which means that I know how he thinks better than anyone here.”

  The chief of police said, “We appreciate that, Mr. Williams, but I hardly think that, after your ordeal, you’re in any state, physically or mentally, to help with this situation. Leave your cell number with the officers outside, and if the situation changes and we feel we need your insight, we’ll be in contact.”

  Marcus started to protest, but the mayor chimed in with, “Mr. Williams, do you have any actual information about this situation that will help my son?”

  He closed his eyes and replied, “No, ma’am.”

  “Then you’re just in the way.”

  Marcus and Maggie left the room, gave their contact info to the SWAT commander, and then walked back to the truck. Maggie said, “You didn’t put up much of a fight.”

  “I don’t have much fight left,” Marcus said. “Plus, I can’t argue with them. We don’t know anymore about this than they do, and we haven’t done a very good job stopping him so far. He’s been ahead of us at every turn. Maybe it’s time we let someone else have a shot at him. We can’t be everywhere. We can’t save everyone.”

  “The Marcus I know wouldn’t let that stop him from trying.”

  “I don’t know if that Marcus exists anymore.”

  They reached the truck, and Ackerman jumped from the cab. “What did they say?”

  “That they have the situation under control and don’t need us,” Marcus replied.

  Ackerman cocked his head. “And you just accepted that?”

  “What do you guys want me to do? Drive the truck right through the front glass of the building and go in with guns blazing like some half-cocked moron?”

  Ackerman shook his head. “You’re afraid of him.”

  “No, I’m afraid that I’ll screw everything up again and get all those kids killed.”

  “Is that what he wants? To kill all those kids?”

  “Maybe. He wants their parents to suffer. He wants the people of this city to live in fear. He wants to stage a grand spectacle.”

  “So we’ve been trying to determine where his target would be. Is this what you expected?”

  “No, I thought that he would attack a police station or something along those lines. Hit them where they live. Show the whole city that their police can’t protect them, that they can’t even protect themselves.”

  Ackerman nodded. “But he didn’t do that.”

  “No—he put a bomb in a room with a bunch of kids.”

  “The kids of the people he hates.”

  “Right,” Marcus said. “But how did he get the bomb in there?”

  “Father’s a resourceful man. I’m sure he could find a way. That is, if his real target is the kids.”

  “But if not there...” Marcus looked back at the park where all the SWAT officers were stationed. Where the mobile command center was located. Where the mayor, the chief of police, and all the other top brass of the city were meeting and planning. Then Marcus looked down at the entrance to the parking garage beneath the park. It was a green-roof structure, so the police looked as though they had set up shop on solid ground. But in reality, there were many levels of a parking structure under their feet.

  “Now you’re getting it,” Ackerman said softly.

  Marcus continued his train of thought aloud. “He’s lured everyone he hates, all of his real targets, into one spot. He’s going to collapse the parking structure.”

  Maggie looked back at the park and added, “And kill half the cops in the city with it.”

  90

  THOMAS WHITE STOOD AT THE RAILING OF THE BALCONY OVERLOOKING THE MASSIVE GLASS LOBBY OF THE KAUFMAN CENTER FOR THE PERFORMING ARTS. He watched the SWAT teams scurrying about like the tiny insects they were. He was sure that sniper rifles were trained on him at that moment, but he didn’t care. They knew that he had an accomplice watching the kids, and they wouldn’t risk anything unless they could take both of them simultaneously. The police thought that they had him trapped, but in reality, he was the one who had set the trap. He imagined this was how the spider felt as it watched its next meal become caught and squirm to free itself from the web that would eventually serve as its grave. The police had so easily become entangled in his web.

  He checked his watch. It was almost time.

  His only regret was that the woman he had loved, Melanie, was not there to witness what he had done in her name. He had loved only two women in his life. One had left him and shattered his fragile world. Her betrayal was what had caused him to re-examine all he believed. The second had been stolen from him. He had killed the first, and he had killed for the second. And now he was about to take the lives of many more.

  Thomas White didn’t believe in heaven or hell or God or the devil. He was certain that only cold oblivion awaited human beings when they died and that people following their own carnal desires was the true meaning of existence. But that thought brought sadness, for he wished that Melanie could have been looking down on him and smiling with the same anticipation that he now felt.

  Pulling out his phone, he pressed a button that activated a remote server and brought his new website online—which detailed why he had done all this and released evidence of this city’s crimes.

  The site also contained all his research. All the details about how he had created his apprentice and what he planned to do next. Although his current apprentice was a magnificent achievement, she still wasn’t perfect. He eventually wanted to be able to do the same thing but while leaving more of the intelligence and personality intact. His apprentice was a wonderful tool with a variety of uses—soldier, suicide bomber, drone worker—but she was also completely dependent on him for detailed instructions.

  He would eventually find a way to create a perfect biological robot, which would follow orders without question but could also function independently. He hoped that some observers would realize that he could never have achieved all this if he had been encumbered by outdated and pointless concepts like morality and abiding by the law. Perhaps that would spark a revolution of more freethinkers like himself. Or so he hoped.

  He checked his watch again. The show was about to begin, and the anticipation was killing him.

  91

  MARCUS HAD SENT MAGGIE TO WARN THE POLICE COMMANDERS WHILE HE AND ACKERMAN ENTERED THE GARAGE TO VERIFY THEIR THEORY. They passed a huge metal sign that read Arts District Garage and pulled up to the mechanical arm of the security station. A group of cops were now manning the station. Marcus flashed his credentials and was told that officers were already inside covering the garage exits. He explained that they wanted to check something else, and after verifying with their supervisor, the officers allowed him and Ackerman to pass.

  The inside of the garage was different from any that Marcus had ever seen before. The same gray concrete composed the structure, but it was also clad in chrome, accented with neon lights, and included modern features such as charging stations for electric cars. Normally the garage was open to the public and provided parking not only for Kaufman Center but also for all the surrounding areas.

  A disposable cell phone that they had picked up on the way from the hospital rang, and Marcus answered. “What did he say?”

  Marcus had decided not to involve the top brass, who had already thrown them out and dismissed their h
elp, but enlist instead the aid of the SWAT commander who had been monitoring the security feeds. In his experience, no SWAT team leader worth his salt would ignore any possible threat like this. The bureaucrats would be another story. On the other end of the line, Maggie said, “He grabbed us a copy of the blueprints and brought in his bomb expert, who says that he sees at least three spots you’d have to hit in order to take down the structure.”

  “Okay—guide me to the first one.”

  Within a moment, they had descended a level and were approaching the spot that Maggie had described. But the farther they went underground, the worse the cellular reception became. She was cutting in and out by the time they rounded the support pillar which marked the first location.

  Marcus’s heart sank as they saw a blue panel van in the space right beside the pillar. A part of him had hoped that their theory was wrong. In his mind, the van’s presence confirmed things, but they still need definitive proof to be able to force an evacuation.

  The two brothers stepped out of the truck at the same time, and Marcus reached for the handle of the van’s rear door. Ackerman said quickly, “Don’t touch that. It’s probably locked anyway, but if not, it could be wired.”

  “So how can we tell if there’s really a bomb in there?”

  Ackerman tried to cup his hands and look through the tinted glass of the rear door, but he soon said, “The window’s covered over. Give me your gun.”

  Marcus passed Ackerman the Sig Sauer that Maggie had acquired for him through Maria Duran. As he did so, he realized that before all this he would never have guessed in a million years that he would ever have been willingly handing his gun over to the likes of Francis Ackerman. But changing times and circumstances had a funny way of altering perspectives.

  Ackerman held the gun by the barrel and slammed the butt of the weapon into the glass of the rear window. It shattered inward, and the pair peered inside. Two large blue barrels occupied the van’s rear with all manner of plastic piping and electronic equipment hooked to each. Ackerman handed the gun back to Marcus and said, “That sure looks like binary liquid explosive to me.”

  Unlike in the movies, there were no flashing red numbers that indicated how much time they had before the van and everything around it would explode and transform into charred rubble. But Marcus knew that time had to be short. His father would want to wait only long enough to ensure that all his targets were in place.

  He pulled out the disposable phone and redialed Maggie. The call connected, but he could only hear a garbled mishmash of unconnected syllables. He cursed and shoved the phone back into his jeans. “No signal,” he said.

  Ackerman looked at the van and said, “What do we do now? Father taught me about explosives when I was young, but compared with him, I’m only a novice. He gets obsessed with things like this and perfects his skills to the point of artistic creativity.”

  Marcus looked his brother in the eyes and said, “You can hot-wire a car, right?”

  92

  MARCUS DIDN’T SLOW DOWN AS HE HIT THE RAMP LEADING UP FROM THE GARAGE AND BURST THROUGH THE MECHANICAL ARM BLOCKING HIS WAY TO THE STREET. Officers inside the small security booth ran out but could do little to stop him. Ackerman followed close behind his bumper in their grandfather’s borrowed truck.

  On the drive from the hospital, Marcus had seen a large vacant lot a few blocks away. His plan was simple. Get the bomb to a place where it hopefully wouldn’t hurt anyone. The problem was that, if his father had come to the same conclusions as the SWAT team’s bomb expert, then there were two other trucks loaded with explosives that could also go off at any moment.

  He pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floor as he called Maggie and yelled out his plan. She screamed back something about him being out of his mind, but his attention was on the road as he swerved in and out of traffic.

  The turn into the lot was blocked off with a chain-link fence, but he simply closed his eyes and slammed into the obstruction at full speed. It buckled and clanged off the front of the van, metal scraping and glass cracking.

  The van bounced and jostled over the weeds and uneven terrain of the lot. He aimed for the center of the open space and skidded to a halt.

  Marcus was about to step out and go back with Ackerman in the truck to retrieve the next explosive-filled vehicle when he heard a whirring and pumping sound emanating from the machinery in the back of the van.

  His eyes went wide, and his aching and malnourished muscles nearly froze up.

  Ackerman pulled the truck up beside the van’s driver door, and Marcus didn’t even bother to get into the cab with his brother. He simply vaulted over the side and into the truck bed, pounding on the rear glass and screaming, “Drive!”

  The truck peeled away, and Marcus quickly dialed Maggie. As soon as the call connected, he yelled, “Get out of there now!”

  The words had barely left his mouth when the van exploded into a brilliant ball of flame. The heat wave rushed over his body, licking at his exposed skin and scorching his hair. The pressure pounded inside his skull, and flaming debris struck the sides of the truck. The air was like hellfire, filled with the smells of a million molecules of different substances combusting at once.

  Ackerman kept the truck barreling forward until Marcus felt the intensity of the heat recede. His relief at being alive was short-lived as he realized that the two other bombs had just gone off directly beneath Maggie’s feet.

  93

  WHEN MARCUS’S FIRST PHONE CALL CAME IN, MAGGIE WASTED NO TIME. She told the SWAT team leader who had been assisting them that the threat was very real and that they needed to evacuate immediately. He relayed the order over his radio. Then Maggie joined the rushing throng of police officers as they tried to escape the danger zone.

  She was almost back to the entrance of the garage when Marcus called back a second time. She only needed to hear the tone of his voice to know what was coming next.

  She tried to brace herself for the blast. She widened her stance as if she were standing on a boat and preparing for the rise and fall of an incoming wave.

  Her efforts were pointless. When the bombs detonated, the ground jumped three feet toward the sky and then suddenly collapsed. It was as if she had been bounced up on a trampoline and then the trampoline had disappeared out from beneath her.

  She slammed back down to the ground, which had dropped several feet. She couldn’t breathe and confusion set in.

  A cloud of concrete dust and dirt filled the air. Maggie heard screaming. She pulled herself to her feet. She heard men shouting orders but couldn’t see through the fog of debris. It stung her eyes and burned her nostrils.

  Moving in the direction she thought she had been going before, which was away from the blast, her shins knocked against a broken ledge of concrete, and she stumbled over another busted slab and landed on a sidewalk.

  She ran out into the street and looked back toward the chaos. The haze wasn’t as thick as it was inside, but she could still only see vague shadows in the fog. Geysers of water shot skyward in steady streams from broken pipes. The smell of sewage and burning metal hung in the air. The mobile command center and the sections closest to Kaufman Center had slid toward the collapsed center of the garage and disappeared, but it didn’t seem as though the entire structure had fallen. Only certain sections had crumbled. Maybe the van that Marcus had removed had kept the chained explosions from having the intended effect or perhaps the structure had been built more sturdily than Thomas White had anticipated. Either way, the damage could have been much worse.

  As Maggie looked around, she saw that the evacuation order had come just in time because a large number of officers were now stumbling out into the street, their black tactical gear covered in dust. She wanted to believe that every member of the KCPD was safe and accounted for but she knew there must have been some officers who wouldn’t have been able to make it to safety in time. Still, the damage was nothing compared with what it could have been if they’d had no
advance warning.

  Then she realized that Marcus too must have been close to a blast of his own. She dialed the number of his cell phone and thankfully heard his voice a second later. “Thank God,” he said. “I thought...”

  “Me too.”

  “We’re on our way back to you. What’s happening there?”

  “Chaos.” A thought struck her, and she said, “Your father will use the confusion to escape. This isn’t just an attack. It’s his exit strategy.”

  Maggie scanned the faces of the SWAT team members nearby and spotted the man who had been helping them. “I’ve got to go, Marcus,” she said and disconnected the call.

  Then she ran over to the team leader, grabbed him by his tactical vest, and said, “We need to take the building now! We need to get those kids to safety.”

  The large dark-haired man looked around at the destruction and death surrounding them and then down at her. He gave a curt nod and started shouting orders to his men nearby who were trying to get their bearings.

  94

  THOMAS WHITE WATCHED THE GROUND HEAVE AND COLLAPSE. He felt the tremors shake the floor of the balcony and heard the glass front of the building protesting against the shock wave. The building’s alarm systems began to sound. He steadied himself against the white metal railing and let out a shout of victory.

  But as the smoke cleared, he noticed from his raised vantage point that the damage wasn’t nearly as significant as he had predicted. That was a disappointment, for sure, but there was little he could do about it now, and the event would still make the significant statement he had hoped for.