Steel Force

by Geoffrey Saign

  “Don’t make us shoot,” said the tall man, remaining hidden. “Just put your gun down.”

  Steel was surprised they were willing to risk a gun battle in public. He crouched to shoot beneath the cars at their feet but twisted when an engine roared.

  The black Cadillac screeched to a stop at the end of the row and a black man with a silenced FN P90 leaned out the passenger window. He released a spray of bullets, blowing out the car windows on either side of them.

  Steel dropped to his knees, pulling Grove down too, as glass pattered against their backs.

  When the shooting stopped, he was aware of the other two men standing and aiming guns at them. He placed his on the pavement.

  The man holding the P90 said, “Into the car, fast, or we do you now.” He leaned over the front seat and pushed open the rear passenger door of the car.

  The two gunmen behind them motioned toward the open door of the Cadillac.

  Grove went first.

  Steel noted Grove’s trembling hand. He didn’t consider swinging the briefcase. Three guns were still aimed at him and the men behind him kept their distance. He heard sirens. Too far away to help.

  A brown sedan pulled up behind the Cadillac. The man Steel had shot was lifted into it by two men. The third gunman jumped into the same car.

  Steel followed Grove into the back seat of the Cadillac, two guns trained on him from the front seat, neither close enough to grab unless he lunged forward. They were being very careful. The driver had wide shoulders, a wide head, and thick forearms. The front passenger had a thick neck and wore a silver grill on his front teeth that sparkled with tiny diamonds—his P90 was trained on Steel.

  Steel was also aware of the tall man outside the car, aiming his gun at him through the open door from five feet away. The man was kneeling between two cars so his gun wouldn’t be easily visible to anyone else in the parking lot.

  The gunmen weren’t worried about Grove.

  Fighting scenarios flashed through him. He could maybe take the two in front, but he had no way to shut the door and avoid a bullet from the tall man. All three of his captors had clear eyes and easy, practiced movements. They would react quickly to anything he tried.

  The driver pointed a pistol at Steel and tossed a black hood onto his lap. “Put the brief on the seat. Now. Then hands in your lap.”

  Steel complied.

  The driver kept talking. “See the handcuffs by your feet? Put them on your left ankle and right wrist, then pull on the hood and sit on your left hand. Keep your head between your knees.”

  Steel leaned over his knees and saw that the handcuffs were attached to a very short, thick chain bolted into the flooring. He put them on his wrist and ankle, and then pulled on the hood and sat on his left hand. The short chain forced him to remain bent over. He was aware of the tall man getting in and felt the man’s pistol pushed into his ribs.

  The Cadillac took off. The whole thing took ten seconds. When they exited the lot, Steel sensed the Cadillac taking a left, heading back to Richmond.

  “Please, we don’t know anything.” Grove sounded panicked. “Take the briefcase. I haven’t even seen the file yet. Then you can let us go. Please.”

  The driver said, “Get the brief up here.”

  Steel was aware of the tall man passing it up front, and heard it click open.

  “Hey, bonus,” said Charlie.

  Steel knew Charlie had found his spare Glock.

  “Quit playing around,” said the driver.

  “Hey, Rusack, mellow out,” said Charlie. “We got it, don’t we?”

  “I have a wife and kids,” said Grove.

  “Ain’t that sweet,” said Charlie.

  “Shut up and get ready,” said Rusack.

  “For what?” Grove sounded hoarse.

  Charlie said, “Hey, Rusack, should I tell him what we’re going to do?”

  “What are you going to do?” Grove’s voice broke.

  “We’re going to let you go.” Charlie sounded happy.

  Rusack made a few turns, and then stopped the Cadillac. “Just so you know, Steel. I will shoot you if I so much as see you move a millimeter.”

  The tall man pushed his pistol harder into Steel’s side.

  Steel heard the front passenger door open, and in a few moments the rear passenger door was opened.

  “Get out,” said Charlie.

  Steel felt the weight on the seat shift as Grove complied. He heard some grunts—Grove was being hit.

  Two silenced shots were fired. His Glock.

  The gun reports echoed in Steel’s ears as he heard Grove collapse to the pavement. A terrible sadness and despair filled him. He had brought Grove into this. Grove’s death was his responsibility.

  Charlie jumped back in the front seat and shut the door. “Should we do Steel next, Rusack? Pow!” Charlie laughed. “You’re the lucky one. Ain’t he, Rusack?”

  Steel’s arms tensed. But not out of fear. Fury. They weren’t ready to kill him yet. When they released his handcuffs he would act.

  The Cadillac raced away.

  Steel couldn’t help wonder who would be sadder, Grove’s wife or Janet Bellue. He didn’t think anyone would miss Jack Steel.

  CHAPTER 34

  Steel wondered if he would see Rachel soon, a possibility that gave him some comfort. His head was down between his knees for the rest of the drive.

  When the car stopped, the tall man exited the vehicle. Steel prepared himself. Somehow the chain was released from the floor, with the handcuffs still on his wrist and ankle.

  Rusack said, “Get out, Steel. To your left. Slow.”

  He slid over the seat, able to sit up a little more, his wrist still attached to his ankle. Carefully he swiveled and exited the car, hunched over, standing on two feet. The car pulled away. With the hood on he couldn’t see much. He guessed two guns were aimed at him. It smelled musty and the floor was cement.

  A garage door was lowering. Footsteps approached from the left. He was pushed hard and fell onto his side.

  “Take off the hood,” said Rusack.

  He used his left hand to pull it off. Rusack and the others stood ten feet away, their guns aimed at him. The garage was huge. Maybe a converted first floor of a building. One small bulb provided dim light. Yellowed scraps of paper and stains covered the floor. Stained plasterboard formed the walls.

  Rusack tossed a small key in front of Steel’s face. “Unlock the cuffs and get on your knees.”

  Steel followed directions.

  “Now crawl straight ahead.”

  He crawled. Five feet ahead of him the ceiling had two-by-six wooden beams running across it. From one beam hung two ropes six feet apart with slipknots in the ends. The ropes ran through holes drilled in the beam and the slipknots were a foot off the floor. There were also two ropes lying on the floor, also with slipknots on the ends, running from large eyebolts set eight feet apart in the concrete.

  He considered strategies. None felt winnable.

  They motioned him forward to the hanging ropes with three guns on him, still from ten feet away. Rusack told him to slide the floor slipknots over his feet. Charlie and the tall man snugged them tight around his ankles, pulling his legs four feet apart.

  Next, Rusack told him to place his wrists into the hanging slipknots. When he did, they pulled the ends tight through the floor eyebolts, pulling him off the floor to a standing position. He gripped the ropes so they didn’t wrench his shoulders. When he stood, his arms and legs were spread wide and he couldn’t move.

  Patting him down, they found the flash drive.

  Charlie sat in the shadows on a stack of wooden pallets, the Glock and P90 in his hands. The tall man stood behind Steel, near the garage door, smoking, his pistol cradled in his crossed arms.

  The driver, Rusack, went to the
far end of the garage, talking on a phone.

  Steel couldn’t hear what he said. It didn’t matter. He knew what they were going to do, and he knew why they were waiting. He tried to loosen the ropes that bit into his wrists and ankles, but they didn’t budge. His legs and shoulders ached from the tension on the lines.

  As he stood there, feeling vulnerable, he tried to summarize his life. Encapsulate it into a meaningful image or a few words. At one time it would have been easy. Now it seemed impossible. A failed marriage, a missing daughter, and a ruined career came to mind.

  He felt empty. But he didn’t want to die.

  Rusack got off the phone and walked over, looking at Charlie. “Burn it.”

  Charlie put down the guns and sauntered closer. Steel noticed his greasy sweatshirt and jeans. None of it matched the sparkling grill, but maybe Charlie had dressed for work tonight.

  Charlie picked up the copy of the Paragon file that sat in Steel’s open briefcase and allowed the papers to slide into it in a scattered loose collection. He grinned at Steel. Pulling out a lighter, he touched the tiny flame to the pile. It went up in a blaze of red.

  Rusack walked in front of Steel, his wide face calm. “We have someone searching your house for copies of the file. You could save yourself some pain if you tell us where they are.”

  Steel guessed that the man his security cameras had picked up on his way to meet Grove was the point person for a larger force that was now on his property. “I made another copy.”

  Rusack’s expression didn’t change so he kept talking. “If they want to know where it is, I’ll give it to them for a trade.”

  Rusack crossed his arms. “What do you want?”

  “My life. Without the file I’ve got nothing on anyone. They won’t find it. And I can promise that if I die, it’ll turn up where they don’t want it to.”

  Rusack looked at him, hesitated, and then walked back down to the end of the room to make another call. Steel could hear him talking, but again couldn’t make out the words. He doubted his ploy would work. He also doubted that the copy of the file would elude them. If they looked hard enough, they would find his cubbyhole.

  Charlie gazed at him with a twisted smile of glitter, flicking the cigarette lighter on and off rhythmically.

  All that was left of the Paragon file was a small pile of smoldering ashes. A cloud of smoke lingered in the air above the embers, drifting to Steel’s nostrils.

  Rusack appeared in front of him again. “They can’t find a hardcopy or digital copy in your house.” He looked at his clean fingernails. “Maybe you’re lying.”

  Steel kept the surprise off his face. “I mailed it.”

  “They think maybe there is no copy. They don’t believe you sent a copy anywhere or gave it to anyone.”

  “I did.”

  “Point is, you’re definitely not getting out of this alive. That’s what the man says. You get to either go quick or with lots of pain. Your choice.”

  Steel stared at Rusack. Despair started to well up in his chest. Abruptly he stopped it. Stay calm, assess options, look for a solution.

  Rusack lifted his chin. “Charlie, come over here.”

  Charlie shuffled over, flicking his lighter on and off.

  “The man thinks he can take whatever we dish out,” said Rusack. “You believe that, Charlie?”

  Charlie grinned and stepped closer, leaving the lighter on.

  Steel retreated into himself and cut off his surroundings and the burning in his shoulders and ankles. He took his mind into its own little room. From there he could watch and observe, and minimize any reaction to the pain that was coming.

  Kobayashi Maru. He would find a way to escape and kill all of them.

  CHAPTER 35

  After a dozen burns, Steel babbled that he had copied the Paragon file to his barn computer. He hoped they would accept that as his final copy. He had endured enough pain to make his admission believable. He also gave the combination to the keypad on his barn door.

  Rusack delivered a number of hard punches to see if he was holding out. After the first three Steel closed his eyes and went limp, pretending to be unconscious, which stopped the onslaught. His head hanging down, he barely cracked his eyes.

  Rusack and the tall man kept their guns on him from a distance. Charlie slipped another rope over one of Steel’s feet, released the floor rope, and then tied his ankles together. There was no chance to fight back so he kept his limbs slack, his body hanging from the ceiling ropes. His shoulders burned from his weight.

  Charlie released the ceiling ropes and Steel collapsed to the floor in a heap. Willing himself to stay limp, he fought the urge from his nervous system to curl up like a fetus on the cold, dirty floor. Charlie tied his wrists together. Steel continued his pretense of having blacked out.

  Snatches of words drifted in and out of his awareness as his senses fought to escape the pain. He held on to the one idea that made him suffer through it without a scream: the pain was temporary, one way or another.

  They picked him up. Car doors opened and they shoved him headfirst onto a bench seat and rolled him onto the floor. Had to be between the front and rear seats. He tasted carpet and smelled the leather upholstery. They sat on either end of him, their shoes on his calves and head. A sack of painful trash to be taken to the dump.

  The car moved, the wheels humming.

  Hang on, he told himself feverishly. He howled inside. Images of Carol came to him. He sought those that would keep him alive and hopeful. But instead Grove’s face replaced Carol’s and guilt shifted to despair. He pushed it away.

  It seemed like a long while before they stopped and dragged him out, feet first. He kept himself slack even as his head banged hard on the car frame and then the ground. He forced down a cry in his throat. The night air was cool on his skin.

  Rough hands carried him. A car door clicked open. He was lifted and positioned so that he sat upright. A hand against his chest held him up, while his head sagged to the side. Fingers removed the bindings on his hands and ankles.

  He wanted to open his eyes. A little longer. He tried to gather his energy, but he had nothing left. So instead he gathered his rage, focusing the screaming insistence of the burns on his chest and arms into his desire for revenge. Each wave of agony he turned into an image of violence against the men who had tortured him. He visualized what he was going to do.

  An engine started.

  He cracked his eyes, and then opened them all the way. The lit dashboard of his Jeep was in front of him, its headlights spearing empty darkness ahead. The Jeep door was open. Someone was standing beside him, leaning into the vehicle, the back of the man’s head near his chest.

  He flung his pent-up fury into his limbs. Right hand to the shift lever, while he wrapped the other around the neck of the man in front of him.

  Shifting into reverse, he jammed the gas pedal. The engine whined and the Jeep shot back while the man struggled against his arm. Steel couldn’t hold him. The man’s upper body and head slid off his lap and banged against the Jeep door frame before disappearing into the darkness.

  He slammed on the brakes, rammed the shift into drive, and aimed the Jeep at the man rising off the ground in his headlights. Charlie.

  Charlie dove to the side, but the Jeep hit him in midair, sending his body sideways where it bounced off a pile of rocks.

  Dull pops sounded on the door. Steel ducked down as glass ruptured into the interior from the passenger side window, spattering pieces all around him. He reversed the vehicle again, the tires spitting gravel and dirt as he floored it.

  He lifted his head for one quick look. Rusack stood with the tall man beside a parked car, framed in the Jeep’s headlights, guns pointed his way. The tall man ran toward him, firing his pistol.

  Steel hammered the brakes again, put the shift in drive, and floored the accelerat
or. The engine roared. He kept his eyes just above the dash.

  The tall man ran to the right.

  Steel followed him and the fender caught him in the hips. The man banged over the hood and thumped against the windshield, still hanging onto his gun. Swinging the Jeep in a sharp right, Steel braked hard and the body rolled off the hood.

  The other car started, tires screeching.

  Steel drove over the tall man and stopped. Ramming the shift into park, he crawled over glass on the passenger seat. He opened the door, fell out of the Jeep, and hit the ground in a confusion of limbs. Dirt and stones bit into his burns and he gasped.

  It took him some fumbling to find the tall man’s body in the darkness and pry the handgun from the man’s clenched fingers. He stood up, leaned on the Jeep’s hood with both arms, and fired once out of anger at the disappearing Cadillac.

  The gunshot echoed in the darkness.

  Pain numbed his senses. He slumped over the hood. Groaning, he slid around to the driver’s door, using the vehicle to stay upright.

  He stumbled to Charlie, who lay on his back, eyes closed. Steel found his Glock in the man’s belt and took it. The silenced Glock was gone. He wiped the tall man’s gun down with his shirt and dropped it.

  Janet Bellue.

  His enemies would have sent someone to kill her at the same time they were killing Grove.

  Still. His fingers fumbled in his empty pockets and his worry escalated. His phone had either been taken or lost when he tumbled out of the Jeep. He couldn’t go to her house. It might be a setup, with the police on their way. Worse, it would take him an hour.

  He searched Charlie’s jeans and found a phone. He punched Janet’s number. No answer. Without hesitation he called the police, saying he was a neighbor and heard something like a door getting kicked in and a scream. He gave Janet Bellue’s address and hung up.

  The police would be there in three minutes. Wiping the phone free of his prints, he tossed it near the body.

  It took another major effort to get in and drive. He decided to go home. Whoever had searched his property had to be long gone.