***
A half hour later Flaut sat, unable to move, satisfied as if he had eaten a good meal. He took off the goggles and retrieved the flash drive from the computer. The video was one of several in a collection, all rendered from videos he had taken of prisoners in various places. For this one he had positioned the camera on a shelf in the room. The memories were priceless to him.
He wondered what else Steel had to play with.
A weighted pistol and haptic suit lay near the computer. He had noted the VR programs on the computer. The equipment was easy enough to put on, and he selected a program for planet Bok, a laser, a thousand aliens, and a chase. It was complete carnage.
***
After he took off the VR suit and goggles, he finally floated down from his white heaven surge.
Rusack stared at him, wide-eyed.
The live wire near Rusack’s leg made Flaut smile with sudden inspiration. Something to add to his collection.
CHAPTER 39
Halfway into Richmond, Steel got text alerts from his western border. Not long after, alerts arrived from his barn and house cameras.
The intruder was alone and had a different build than the other man who had entered his land. This intruder went straight to his barn. Maybe Rusack had a partner. There was nothing in the barn that mattered. And even if freed, Rusack wouldn’t contact Quenton to tell him he had botched the job and given up contact information.
Steel felt his plan was still viable.
He reached King’s Bar parking lot and sat in the Jeep, watching the patrons come and go for a few minutes. Satisfied, he went inside. The interior was dimly lit, the tables shadowed. Muffled voices created an ebb and flow of sound.
Ignoring stares from a few patrons, he walked up to the bar. The bartender was husky, about fifty, with a scruffy beard and nearly bald.
Steel took out a hundred-dollar bill and slid it across the counter. “Bourbon, and a message for Quenton from Rusack.”
The bartender stared at him, then at the hundred. Slipping the hundred into the pocket of his dirty apron, he poured the bourbon and walked away.
Steel picked a corner booth and slid into the curved seat with his back to the wall. He stared into the eyes around him until they looked away. His drink sat untouched.
In a quarter hour a thin man in his mid-twenties entered the bar and approached the bartender at the far end of the counter. The bartender said a few words and the man nodded.
The young man walked directly from the bar to Steel’s table. He had short hair and was dressed in a red sport shirt, black slacks, and black shoes. Sitting across from Steel, his eyes seemed too bright even in the dim light.
“What does Rusack have to say?” asked the man.
Steel lifted his chin. “Rusack says Quenton might like a hundred thousand to tell me a name.”
The thin man’s bright eyes gave no reaction. “Quenton doesn’t talk to anyone.”
Steel pulled out a wad of bills. “Here’s five thousand. A small down payment.” He smiled. “Don’t cheat Quenton. Word might get back to him and he might get upset.” He paused. “The offer’s only good tonight. I’ll wait here a half hour, no more. I want to meet with Quenton in person.”
The man took the five thousand and left.
Steel took a sip of the bourbon. It warmed his throat and gave him a little diversion from his pain. He rarely drank, but he finished the glass. Leaving the table, he strode to the restroom.
It was dirty inside, the floors and walls grungy, the stall messy. The paper-littered floor smelled of urine and feces. He took out the Glock and set it inside the waste bin, under some paper towels. Then he moved the S&W revolver into the front of his belt.
He returned to the bar and ordered another drink. The alcohol had settled him down and helped with the pain. The second drink he left alone on the table.
It took the whole half hour, but the young man returned. Along with a bigger companion with a smashed nose and barely open dull eyes. They slid into the booth on either side of him.
“Your piece,” whispered the young man.
Steel lifted up his shirt. The big man grabbed the S&W and stuffed it into his own belt. The young man patted Steel’s jacket pockets but left the other five thousand on him. Next he ran his hands down Steel’s back, his hands sliding along both of his legs to his ankles. He missed the OTF knife in the belt-sheath.
The big man just stared at Steel without blinking.
Sitting up again, the young man wore a passive expression. “Quenton will meet you, but not here.”
Steel nodded. “Wherever.”
All three of them slid out of the booth, but Steel strode from them to the restroom. The two men stared after him, and the younger one said, “We’re leaving now.”
Steel paused, turning to them. “I sat for thirty minutes waiting for you. It will just take a minute. You’re free to join me.” He turned without waiting for a response.
He went into the restroom, pulled the Glock from the trash, and stuck it in his belt in front. The most obvious place. He flushed the toilet with his foot and went out. The two men stood at the bar, staring at him as he walked past them.
A black Cadillac was parked in front of King’s, the evening warm and humid. The big man motioned to the car.
Steel got into the back, sliding over the leather seat. The men sat on either side of him. The driver had an afro and didn’t look at him. They drove in silence. Steel noted the turns.
They stopped a few miles later, and he exited the car with the two men. The driver remained with the car.
They entered a warehouse that showed signs of fire, with hollow black openings for windows and doors. Steel walked behind the younger man, the big one behind him. A short entryway led into a large room with cinder block walls and a cement floor littered with trash.
A hundred feet in, a single light bulb hung from a wire. Beneath the bulb was a huge black man with a calm face standing behind a dusty metal desk. The man wore a purple jogging suit, had short wavy hair, and a gold earring in one ear. His gaze focused on Steel.
Fifteen feet from the desk, the big man grabbed Steel’s shoulder, stopping him. Steel noted the steel strength in that grip. Removing his hand, the man stayed just behind him to the right. The younger man leaned against a post several yards to his left, his eyes still bright.
Steel kept his hands at his sides, his weight shifting to the balls of his feet. He ran through a quick scenario in his mind of what he was going to do. Something he had played out many times in VR simulations.
He assumed the young man would be fast, the big one slower but more dangerous because he could absorb blows. The man he wanted alive was in front of him.
“You want a name.” Quenton had a scratchy voice. “A hundred grand. Must be an important name.”
“Who hired you to kill me? I recorded Rusack saying you hired him. That recording is somewhere that will prove inconvenient for you if I go missing. After tonight you better believe I’ve taken precautions.”
Quenton’s eyes narrowed. “That’s blackmail.” He frowned, but then burst out laughing, looking first at the young man and then the big one. He turned serious. “A hundred? Sounds fair. Where’s the money?”
Steel pulled out the other five thousand.
The big man grabbed his arm, his other palm extended. Steel placed the cash in his hand, and the man walked forward, placed it on the desk, and returned to his position behind Steel.
Quenton picked it up and looked at it, his eyes sliding back to Steel. “This is what, another five?”
Steel nodded. “You give me the name, you get the other ninety.”
“Sure, sure.” Quenton paused for a few seconds. “You killed what, four of my men tonight? Very impressive, especially after what they put you through.” He placed his palms on the desk. “Explain to m
e how that’s supposed to make me trust you.”
“Rusack’s alive.”
Quenton’s eye glittered. “I don’t believe you.”
Steel considered that. “I can arrange a phone call.”
“If that’s true, Rusack failed me anyway. Kill him and save me the trouble.”
Steel tried another tack. “Whoever hired you, government or private sector, doesn’t like loose ends. Look how aggressively they’re coming after me.”
“And?”
“You’re a loose end too. You screwed up.”
“Have I?” Quenton straightened and shrugged. “They don’t know where I am. I’m the rat who knows the maze.”
“You won’t be hard to find.” Steel lifted his chin. “Once they learn I have a recording from Rusack admitting that you hired him to kill me, they’ll come after you. Give me a name and you walk away with a lot of money and you won’t have to worry about them.”
“You weave a good story, Steel. And I think you’re right. I will have to be careful. How do I know you’ll pay me?”
“I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder all the time.”
Quenton nodded. “When and where?”
“Tonight. Your two men can come with me.”
“Very enticing.” Quenton looked thoughtful. “I think two more things, Steel. One, you’re lying about the money—word is you’re broke. Two, you’re dangerous.” His eyes shifted to the right of him.
Steel dropped to his right knee and brought his right elbow back hard in an arc, hitting the big man in the groin.
There was movement to the left. Steel lifted the bottom of his coat, pulled the Glock from his waist, and threw himself forward onto his side on the floor.
The young man was swinging a revolver at him.
Steel shot him in the chest, the sound ringing in his ears. Rolling to his back, he saw the strong man still on his knees, struggling to pull the S&W. Steel shot him, and rolled once more to his belly, twisting toward Quenton. The big man held a shotgun.
Continuing to roll, Steel extended his arms as the shotgun fired. Pellets struck the floor and followed him as he fired the Glock while rolling. Two of his shots caught Quenton in the chest and throat, sending him crashing to the floor.
His burns on fire, he scrambled up and hurried around the desk. Quenton was dead. Not what he wanted. A quick search of his pockets revealed nothing. He grabbed his money, stuffing it down his shirt. Watching the doorway, he searched the other two men and found nothing. He took the S&W.
Jogging toward the entryway, he expected the driver to be waiting. Instead a face appeared in one of the broken windows along the front wall. Ducking down as he ran to the door, he expected a shot that never came. At the doorway he knelt and looked out.
Footsteps retreated as a shadow slipped down the street.
The Cadillac was still parked in front of the building. He took it. It took him twenty minutes to find King’s Bar. Relief swept over him that his Jeep was still there. After wiping his prints from the Caddy with his shirt, he drove off in his Jeep.
It wasn’t until he was on the freeway going home that he relaxed again. His burns were on fire.
CHAPTER 40
Steel parked the Jeep in the LLC shed and took the tunnel to the lower level. Text alerts showed that the unknown intruder had left, alone. Maybe sent to kill Rusack? But Quenton had thought Rusack had already been killed.
He took the stairs to the upper level. The barn was dark and he walked quietly along the wall to the platform, gun in hand.
He searched for the dark shape that Rusack should have made against the four-by-four on the other side of the barn. The pole was bare. Freed by the intruder? Maybe still here.
The computer screen glowed brightly, displaying one of the VR programs. He gripped his gun and sidled along the wall. After a silent inspection, he knelt and turned on the light. His gaze swept the barn, his gun following. Nothing.
However the VR waterproof helmet was missing from the computer station.
He walked to the sensory deprivation tank. The tank door was locked from the outside. Unlatching the door, he flung it open, pointing the Glock. It wasn’t necessary. Rusack was face down in the water, wearing the VR helmet.
His first thought was to run. That this was a setup for a murder charge. He threw the other deadbolts on the door and rechecked the camera shots of the last intruder, the man’s face hidden by a black mask. Cameras around the house showed the intruder arriving an hour after he had left for Richmond and departing nearly two hours later.
It made him feel creepy that the man had been here that long. The man was a pro to get past both barn door locks. He hadn’t set the other deadbolts, figuring no one was going to come back this soon. Sloppy.
He returned to the lower level and took the tunnel to the house. The house was secure. He was about to leave when his landline rang. The line was for Rachel—he didn’t want her to have a smartphone at age ten. He had often wondered if a phone would have saved her life.
He answered and put it on speaker.
“We have your silenced Glock, Steel—the one that was used to kill Grove. You go to anyone about any of this and your gun goes to the police. Then we’ll kill anyone you talk to. You’ll always have to look over your shoulder. So will your wife. Remember that. You have nothing. We have what we want. Let’s both leave it alone.”
The line went dead. He checked his watch. Three-thirty a.m. He grabbed the S&W and returned to the barn. He clenched his fist over the phone threat, and the idea that whoever had engineered the Komodo Op would get away with it.
The lone individual that had been here had played with the VR system, unafraid of being discovered. It made him feel queasy that someone had been bold enough to come onto his property, hack into and play with his computer program, and sadistically kill a man. Almost as if the killer had no fear of being discovered.
Rusack might have told the intruder where he was going, and the killer could have estimated the time it would take to get to King’s and back. That fit. Still. It left him wary. An unknown adversary was watching, monitoring, and stalking him. He couldn’t think of anything to do to change that for the time being.
He had to talk himself into pulling Rusack out of the tank. Rusack’s ankles, knees, and thighs were tied together, his hands tied behind his back and then bound to his feet. Rusack could have kept his face out of the water only by using his neck muscles. In time he would have tired. The killer had tied him up, then lifted and placed him in the tank. That took strength.
He stared at the body. He couldn’t go to the police and tell them he had kept Rusack hostage, and that someone had murdered him while he was away. Nor did he have an alibi. Unless he wanted to say he had killed Quenton and two of his men.
Returning to the LLC shed, he drove his Jeep to the barn and put a plastic sheet on the floor by the tank. He put on disposable gloves, and lifted Rusack out. Some of the salt water dribbled off the corpse onto his shirt. The salt hit the burns and his skin screamed.
He placed the body on the plastic, wiped clean the S&W, and rolled the plastic up around both. After tying it, he loaded it into the back of the Jeep.
He quickly drove out to the east county road that bordered his property, and south along it, toward the only parked car. It had to be Rusack’s, because no one else was around and no one left cars parked along county roads. The car keys were in Rusack's pocket, and he put them in the ignition. Then he dragged the body into the trunk of the car, and called a fixer he knew.
Standing beside his Jeep, which he parked fifty feet north of the sedan, he waited.
In thirty minutes a pickup truck appeared south of him on the county road. It slowly drove closer, finally parking a quarter mile behind Rusack’s car. It flashed its lights twice.
Steel walked back to the sedan, tossed the ten thousand
onto the driver’s seat, and then returned to his Jeep and got in. In his rearview mirror he watched the pickup pull up beside Rusack’s car. A man exited the passenger side of the pickup and entered the car. Both vehicles quickly turned around and left.
He drove home, spent hours cleaning up, and then returned to the lower level, where he stripped off his clothing and changed his bandages. By the time he was done it was early morning. On the way to his bedroom he had to use the wall to keep himself upright. He was exhausted.
He sat on the edge of his bed, thinking.
Something about Rusack’s murder stirred other memories. Whoever was responsible wanted to torture the man and had been leisurely about it. The time spent with the VR and the tank, and the way Rusack was tied up, indicated an unhurried person who could operate with little time and remain relaxed about it.
He believed it was the same person that had killed Yellow. Someone was still playing tag with someone else. And he still had no idea who it might be. Again he concluded MultiSec’s CEO Torr would be a best guess as to who was behind the killer.
A ragged breath made him shudder and he wished he wasn’t alone right now. Tossing his gun to the side, he lay down to sleep.
PART 3
OP: SERPENT
CHAPTER 41
Steel chased shadows, or they chased him, down dark corridors and around sharp corners, where he sensed a threat waiting for him like a raised knife. He ran faster and faster to find the door out of the maze. Then he was out, through a black opening that led to a steep slope, running down it headlong, nearly out of control.
Carol and Rachel, their faces upturned, were falling over the cliff below him. Unable to grasp their outstretched hands, or stop himself, he fell over the edge with them.
He woke with a gasp, his pillow and sheets drenched in sweat. His arms and chest were sore, his skin tight. The pain had lessened, but the burns still hurt every time he moved.
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