The Auctioneer

by D. J. Williams

  Dax wasn’t far behind, except when he hit the floor he groaned in agony. Grabbing his arm I helped him up.

  He moaned, “Hopefully that’s not how we get outta here.”

  A sea of people, all wearing animal masks, bumped and grinded in an underground gallows while a rapper onstage spit his rhymes in a heavy African tongue. The more rapid the lyrics, the crazier the crowd’s response. It was a human circus. A ringmaster stepped on stage once the music stopped. A slender Brit, late twenties, handlebar mustache, dressed in a black trench coat and top hat. He waved his hand over the crowd and they quieted as if in a trance. Like a Vegas prize fight announcer or a televangelist preaching to sinners for salvation, his charismatic voice filled the gallows.

  “Madams, gents—” he bowed— “and degenerates.” He paused as the crowd shouted their approval. “The time has come to transform our pumpkin into a priceless carriage. One so rare, so magnificent, it has garnered the presence of a bloke from across the pond.”

  He picked up a sledgehammer, walked over to a giant pumpkin on stage, and aggressively drove the sledgehammer into it. The crowd erupted again, even crazier than before, like animals controlled by a demented Old McDonald. He paused to catch his breath, which only heightened the suspense, before his voice boomed again.

  “Oi! Only those with holes in their pockets dare bid. So, without further ado, I introduce to you — the Auctioneer!”

  Bright lights swooped down, landing directly on me. The crowd erupted as if I’d scored a winning goal at Wembley Stadium.

  Dax stepped out of the spotlight, but stayed close enough to shout in my ear. “This dude could sell ribeyes to a vegan.”

  The ringmaster called out, “What have you brought us to salivate over, Auctioneer? Wait! Better we’re surprised.” He removed his top hat and waved it in the air. The sound of metal clanked above the stage as the lights shifted away from me toward the ceiling, sending the crowd into a fever pitch. My adrenaline pumped as the Bugatti was lowered on a set of train tracks crushing what was left of the giant pumpkin.

  Showtime.

  Strutting toward the stage I sounded off, “What you have before you is a 1936 Bugatti Type 57SC Atlantic, a rarefied monument to history.” Once onstage, I stepped over pieces of pumpkin, and grabbed the mic from the ringmaster. “A flat out badass car.”

  “Brilliant,” the ringmaster countered to the crowd. He leaned in close, and whispered loud enough for me to hear. “No invitation for failure, mate. Nothing less than forty mil. You have three minutes.”

  I glanced overhead to see a screen mounted above the stage with a clock that was already counting down. I had no idea how the bids were tracked or who had swagger in the gallows.

  “Twenty million,” I began blindly. My eyes darted toward a red flashing light from a cell held up high. A bell rang, followed by a thumbnail image of a horse that matched the mask of the first bidder appearing on the scoreboard.

  Dax moved deeper into the crowd and waved his cane so I could see the next bidder. In a daze, I checked the scoreboard a second time and realized we were at twenty-two million.

  “Who’s got the balls to go twenty-five?” Shaking off the nerves I paced the stage like a lion on the prowl. A rooster raised a red flashing light to the approval of the crowd. I rattled in rapid succession, “Twenty-five from the crowing rooster, now who’ll give thirty?”

  Finding a groove, my cadence quickened as the bids picked up pace. Another bid from the rooster and the horse, followed by a pig and chicken. The clock ticked down to two minutes as more bidders filled the scoreboard. No one would’ve guessed this crowd of masked animals were filled with wealth beyond comprehension. The Hardeman blood flooded through my veins as I stood auctioning one of the rarest cars in the last century, in a London gallows with bidders from a virtual wealth farm of rabid collectors.

  Dax waved his cane as the rooster raised another bid.

  “Which one of you animals will give forty?” I shouted, allowing myself to be lost in the moment. Bidding stalled. Holding my breath, it was as if my heart stopped pumping blood to my vital organs. A bell chimed marking sixty seconds left. I exhaled once a red light flashed from the horse. Another bid. “Forty million dollars!”

  Dax pushed his way to the front of the stage yelling, “He took back his bid.”

  I cursed under my breath as the screen reversed to thirty-eight million. Thirty seconds and counting. Leaning over the edge of the stage, I mustered up the resolve and stepped into Dad’s shoes.

  “After tonight this piece of art will disappear into the hallowed halls of history. No guarantee it will ever surface again.” I pointed emphatically at the crowd. “Are you the one who will own this Da Vinci on wheels?”

  With only seconds to spare, the rooster crowed at forty million and the crowd erupted in pure, unabashed, insanity. Pumping my fist in the air, I held both arms wide as they chanted, “Auctioneer… Auctioneer…”

  The ringmaster and I bowed to the crowd, before I followed him backstage.

  “How will the transaction be handled?” I asked, feeling the adrenaline subside.

  “Bitcoin, mate. Dmitry was bloody right about you.”

  “He said you’d have something for me — an invitation.”

  Before the ringmaster responded, I felt a prick on my neck. Everything blurred as my legs grew weak, collapsing under me. Lying facedown on the floor, his hand grabbed my arm and pulled up my sleeve. My eyes followed as he removed a pen with an armature from his ragged coat. I faded to the sound of a dull hum as his voice floated in my dreams.

  “The Bugatti was not the only prize tonight.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Curtains dropped as the DJ thumped another track, sending the animalistic crowd spinning into a frenzy entranced by rhythms instead of the Bugatti. Dax waited a few minutes before pushing his way through the wave of humanity. Each step was a struggle, but he’d been Chase’s wingman long enough to know disappearing wasn’t Chase’s style. Dax made the mistake of losing sight of Chase once before — hunting Abu Haji Fatima.

  A woman had introduced them to Akram Kasim. That’s how all of it began. When they sat across from Kasim at the Sadoun Tower of Baghdad, they were one step closer to finding a man the US government referred to as the Prodigal. On that day, Kasim was dressed in a dark suit, a total one-eighty from the American-flag-burning jihadist in the online propaganda videos. But there was no disguising his murderous eyes that flared at the thought of funding their attack against the West with stolen Iraqi treasures — including the Artifacts of Exile.

  Dax had left the table to call another informant, but when he returned Chase and Kasim were gone. It was a mistake that haunted him still. Six days later, he received a text message with GPS coordinates on the outskirts of the city. He found Chase beaten and bloodied on the side of the road. They knew going into deep cover that it was a possibility, so both were trained to pass the test.

  For months, they sold artifacts from Kasim on the dark web and transferred the cash to a series of Russian accounts. When the Artifacts of Exile were next in line, Chase convinced Kasim to introduce them to Abu Haji Fatima. And the rest, as they say, is history.

  Hobbling awkwardly up the wooden steps at the side of the stage, those memories flooded Dax’s mind. He ducked behind the curtain using his cane for balance. His legs were unsteady, and the damage done at Tanets lingered beyond the physical. Backstage, the Bugatti loomed in the shadows. An eerie moment passed as the pounding in his chest intensified. Even with the music thumping, Dax heard the footsteps as the wood floor creaked. He spun around ready to defend himself with an iron grip on his cane. Dressed in a tailored white suit, the Bugatti winner approached and removed the rooster mask.

  His eyes widened. “What the…”

  Elena held up her cell. “The bounty is live.”

  Dax snatched the cell and watched a live feed of Chase semi-conscious and handcuffed to a metal cross. “They have to be somewhere in this maze.”<
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  The ringmaster appeared in the frame, wild-eyed. “Prodigal, I expect payment before the deed is done.” He waved a curved blade in front of the camera and continued. “For the rest of you, there is a bonus tonight. An invitation to the Rossino Otto. Let’s start the bidding at say… one million.”

  With Elena on his shoulder, Dax hobbled around backstage until he found a doorway leading to a dimly lit corridor. Beneath the row of incandescent globe lights, they moved with purpose. Dax glanced at Elena, who seemed to be in her element.

  “Bidding is already four hundred thousand,” he said.

  “That will not keep Chase alive for long.”

  The mossy and damp brick walls made any hope of finding a hidden passage like searching for truth tellers in a presidential race. Elena removed a gun from her coat, then handed a second weapon to Dax. When they reached the end of the corridor, they stopped in front of an ironclad door.

  “Beautiful… beautiful,” the ringmaster sang. His beady eyes filled the screen as he said in a blackhearted voice. “Prodigal, nice doing business with you, mate.” He stepped back with the curved blade and pressed it underneath Chase’s chin, digging into the skin.

  “We are out of time.” Elena unloaded her clip at the lock.

  Sparks sprayed along with ricocheting bullets. Dax slammed his shoulder into the door, tumbling to the floor as it swung open. Before the ringmaster took another breath, Dax rolled onto his back and fired two shots to the chest and one to the head. The ringmaster slumped to the floor, his lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling.

  Elena crushed his cell before ripping off her coat and pressing it against the bloodied cut on Chase’s neck.

  “He is breathing,” she said to Dax. “Keys.”

  Dax crawled over and searched the ringmaster’s pockets. He found the keys and tossed them to Elena, then reached for his cane to pull himself up while she unlocked the handcuffs. Handing her the gun, he struggled to shoulder Chase’s weight as they stumbled into the corridor. Even with the loud music there was no hiding the gunfire. With the stone walls and floors, each round echoed throughout the underground. Dax clenched his jaw to fight through the searing pain. Chase’s shoes dragged against the stone beneath their feet, only slowing their escape. Dax and Elena focused on the opposite end of the corridor — which at the moment felt a hundred yards further than before.

  “Oi,” a gravelly voice yelled. “Who the ‘ell are you?”

  A burly man barreled down the corridor gaining steam. More voices followed once they discovered the curtain had come down on the ringmaster.

  Elena fired several rounds, which only seemed to anger the growing mob. Dax didn’t bother to count how many there were. Instead, writhing in pain, he pulled Chase like a rag doll in a race to escape.

  Backstage, they frantically searched for a way out. Elena stepped back by the corridor and fired more rounds, then barricaded the door shut. She retrieved a key to the Bugatti and waved it in the air.

  “This is gonna get ugly in about five seconds.” Dax pushed Chase into the passenger seat. Elena kept her gun pointed at the door. Voices grew louder from the other side. Time was running out. “Elena, get in the car.”

  “What?”

  “Get in the car, now!”

  Dax followed the chains above which led to a giant lever behind the curtains. With all his strength he pulled the lever, metal clinked, and an iron ceiling opened wide. Heavy rain poured onto the stage, washing over the Bugatti. He found a second lever just as the door splintered into pieces. The burly man and others slipped across the wet stage. At first, they didn’t see Dax or Elena. But when Dax pulled the second lever all eyes were on him.

  The burly man was first to reach Dax, who braced himself as he was tackled to the ground. Dax kept the cane in his hand, and from his knees he swung like a major leaguer. The cane struck the man across the face, knocking him back. It wasn’t a knockout blow, but it was enough for Dax to scramble across the chaos. His fingers gripped the bumper of the Bugatti as it was raised from the dead, lifting higher on the railroad track. Another man grabbed Dax’s leg, but he used his size-twelve boot from the other foot to kick him in the jaw.

  As the Bugatti lifted to the rafters, the engine roared to life. Dax swung himself over the wheel well and glanced below. The burly man stood to his feet, but in the darkness it was impossible for him to see their Houdini escape. The Bugatti rose through the ceiling of the gallows to street level in an alley.

  Drenched, Dax climbed off the car as the pulsing pain in his leg throbbed. He clambered into the cramped interior and held the bloodied white coat against Chase’s neck to keep pressure on the wound. Elena shifted the Bugatti into gear and skidded down the rain drenched streets of London. Only then did Dax notice a fresh tattoo crudely inked on Chase’s forearm. One that hadn’t been there at the beginning of the night.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Laney tightened her seatbelt as the helicopter hovered a hundred feet above the warehouse. Inside the cockpit, the vibration intensified as a pilot skillfully maneuvered the controls in worsening weather. She glanced below to see Vaughn and Yasmin escape the downpour as they hurried back into the warehouse. Plans had changed within the last hour. Vaughn and Yasmin were staying in San Diego to oversee gathering evidence from the truck bombing. Interrogating Akram Kasim needed to wait — again. Everything shifted when POTUS’s inner circle summoned with direct orders for Agent Kelley.

  Lightning burst across the sky seconds before thunder rumbled. Her grip tightened around the leather seat as the helicopter ducked and dived heavier turbulence. She counted quietly and tried to calm her nerves. Keep both feet on the ground. Never roll the dice at ten thousand feet. No one wants to fall from the heavens — whether it be pilot error, mechanical failure, or an act of God.

  When she was ten years old, she watched her father fly his Cessna. With the headphones wrapped around her ears, she remembered listening to him relay their coordinates in the midst of a thunderstorm. She didn’t recall much else, except for when the Cessna crashed in a cornfield. Both walked away without a scratch, but the emotional wounds never healed. She swore from that day on she’d avoid flying whenever possible. Since joining the Feds, she’d found herself in and out of dozens of planes and helicopters, but that feeling of rolling the dice with Mother Nature never left.

  She counted down to zero and shifted her thoughts to Michael Hardeman and the wreckage from the Hardeman jet left scattered across the desert. Maybe the vast ocean below would be less forgiving — not a chance. She checked her watch as evening turned into night. Chase convinced her to give him more time. Twenty-four hours was down to less than fifteen. She’d tried to get his location during the call, but a jamming signal, so sophisticated it left the Bureau’s techies scratching their heads, stopped her from bringing him in herself.

  Vihkrovs.

  From the very beginning she believed they were involved, and even after the evidence that’d been gathered, they were still one of the few left at ground zero. Of course, Chase was at the epicenter of it all, but that was different. She missed how close he was with Elena, never thinking she was the linchpin. Why was he so adamant about protecting them? After what she’d done to Chase, Laney shouldn’t have felt betrayed, but she did. He chose to trust the Vihkrovs — known criminals — instead of the woman he’d loved up until a week ago. Yes, she fell in love, but so did Chase. As she pondered the answer to her question she admitted it was possible Chase loved Elena too. That was as bitter as drinking apple cider vinegar straight from the bottle.

  Six months living another life messed with the mind. She’d drifted to the other side because she believed what they had was true love. Maybe she was wrong, and Vaughn was right. He warned her about getting too close, but she didn’t listen. Trust was what bonded partners together. And she needed to rebuild that trust with Vaughn, starting the second Chase and Dax arrived for questioning. She checked her watch again — fourteen hours on the nose.

 
More turbulence rocked the helicopter, only heightening a growing uneasiness that her career teetered on the brink. Her decisions in the coming hours would determine whether she stayed at the Bureau or ended up before a congressional committee. She’d seen how that worked out for those the press-hungry politicians placed in the hot seat. At the same time, she was consumed with finding out what the connection was between the Vihkrovs, Akram Kasim, and the Prodigal — if in fact, he was alive.

  By the time they landed, the weather lightened up. Yet Laney still felt the turbulence rumbling through her bones. She stepped out onto the fairway of an exclusive country club perched along the rugged cliffs of Palos Verdes. A bodyguard greeted her, then ushered her through the clubhouse into a conference room. At the far end stood an elderly man dressed in a bright green sweater, tan pants, and white golf shoes.

  “Thank you for coming.” He smiled with perfect teeth. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Laney recognized him immediately. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

  “Randall Collinsworth,” he answered as they shook hands. “CEO of RC Engineering — and self-proclaimed uncle to Chase. Unfortunate that we are meeting under these circumstances.”

  “I assumed someone from the White House would be here.” Laney paused for a moment, waiting for an explanation. When he didn’t offer one she asked, “Did you know I was undercover?”

  “Chase is like a son to me, so keeping that from him was difficult. However, it was a matter of national security — and a favor owed to his father, Michael.”

  “You helped them hide the Artifacts of Exile.”

  “Deals are made all the time. Sometimes it is for selfish reasons, and other times it is to protect those we love. Michael and Chase asked for my assistance, and I agreed in return for a favor of my own. It was a small price to pay to kill Abu Haji Fatima.”