Romeo's Tell (A disappearance mystery turned international thriller)

by William Neubauer

  “So which letter from each word?”

  “I don’t know, but I say we start with the simple case first and just try using the first letter of each word.”

  “Okay, where do ya start? Do the date and the salutation count?”

  “I don’t really know,” Morgan said. “Let’s assume not, since they are not really part of the body of the message.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “Okay, you got a pen?”

  “And a piece of paper,” Jane responded. “I’m ready.”

  “Okay, I’ll read ‘em off, you write ‘em down. Here we go. I for I’m, T for truly, S for sorry. Then there’s a comma, so I think we ignore the rest of that line.”

  “Okay, what’s next?”

  “M for maybe, I for I’ll, C for call, H for home, A for and, E for explain, L for later. I think that’s as far as—”

  “Oh my God!” Jane couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “It’s Michael.”

  Morgan eyes widened as she looked at Jane. “Michael? Who the hell is Michael?”

  Chapter 68

  As he sat at his desk planning the next moves in the Chad Swan case, Milton Fox was so deep in thought that the sudden sounding of his office phone hit him like an electric shock. A quick glance at the caller-id told him the point of origin was Langley.

  “Fox,” he answered simply.

  “Hey Milt, it’s Dan.”

  Dan Streets and Milton Fox had been friends for a long time—since going through the academy together over twenty years ago. They worked as partners for almost six years early in their careers with the FBI. Streets had saved Fox’s life two years in; Fox had returned the favor six months before Dan left the Bureau for an opportunity at the CIA.

  “Well, it’s good to hear from an old dog. How you been?”

  “Good, ya know, trying to keep out of the fray when I can. You?”

  “Pretty much the same I guess.”

  “I wish I could say I just called to catch up, but truth is, I have a specific reason for contacting you.”

  “You’re not going to complicate my life, are you?”

  “Possibly, but that’s for you to judge—it’s about your boy, Chad Swan.”

  Fox felt a glimmer of hope. “What about him? You know where he is?”

  “No, but I’ve received reliable intel that he was not working with the Chinese and was in fact set up.”

  Fox felt some initial resistance to this idea. “Really. How reliable?”

  “Very. I’ve heard the recording myself. Two individuals died in the process of acquiring the information.”

  “None of yours, I hope.”

  “No, the source and a freelancer, but my guy found them. There’s more too. According to what the source said on the tape shortly before being killed, Swan was set up by the Conclave.”

  Fox and Streets had discussed the Conclave before, whether the group actually existed, what evils it was likely causing, and how the two agencies might work together against it, if it did exist. Since 9/11, it was all about inter-agency cooperation, and that idea was fine with both Fox and Streets.

  Focusing specifically on Swan again, Fox asked the next likely question. “Any idea why they would set him up?”

  “No, but according to the source’s statement, they first tried to kill Swan by rigging his car, but his wife was killed instead.”

  Fox knew about the accident that had killed Becky Swan and that she had been driving Chad Swan’s Triumph. The information from his old friend seemed more and more plausible. As Fox thought about it, he realized that Swan’s history had always seemed a little out-of-synch with the image of a self-serving traitor, with only one exception—the leak to his sister-in-law. Fox became quiet as a wild idea began to take shape.

  “Milt?”

  “Sorry, Dan, just thinking. Who else knows about this?”

  “Nobody. At this point, it’s just you, me, and the agent who gave me the recording. That’s it.”

  “Can we keep it that way?”

  “Actually, that might be a good idea anyway. Another tidbit picked up as a part of all this is that we may have a rodent problem here.”

  “Sorry to hear it. At least you know, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Dan, what I’m thinking is that there may be a way to use Swan to get to the Conclave.”

  Streets didn’t see it right off. “Really? Doesn’t seem likely to me.”

  “Just let me think through the angles and the details and I’ll let you know what I come up with, all right?”

  “Sure. Fine. Meantime, it goes no further.”

  “Sounds good. And Dan, thanks for the call.”

  Chapter 69

  Coming back to consciousness in strange places and uncomfortable positions was starting to get really old for Chad Swan. This time, he found himself hanging from the neoprene-coated chain above Michael Murdoch’s horrible dissolving tank. He still had his clothes and shoes on, which surprised him, albeit pleasantly. Naturally, his mouth was still duct taped. His wrists were tied together and the rope binding them was hooked to the end of the overhead chain. His feet were also tied together. And he had a splitting headache.

  He was not blindfolded, a fact that allowed him to see Michael Murdoch scurrying around his death cave. Chad couldn’t believe it, but apparently Michael was serious when he said he would be enjoying popcorn and Coke while watching Chad slowly melt into agonizing oblivion. Michael had set up a director’s chair and a side table for the show.

  Chad didn’t know exactly why, but it was clear to see that the floor in the death cave was quite wet, as if it had been hosed down. Maybe something to do with the poor soul the sick bastard had taken out of the tank? Chad had no way to know what an important difference this would make.

  It didn’t take Michael long to realize that Chad had rejoined the party. “Welcome back, Chad. Sorry I had to put you out again. It seemed too risky to be moving you around when you were conscious. I’m really glad you’re awake now though. You were probably looking forward to being naked when you woke up. Sorry to disappoint, but I use my own proprietary blend to achieve a one-step process. We’re gonna liquefy you, clothes and all.

  “I think we’re ready,” Michael sang out obnoxiously.

  Chad wanted to at least tell Michael what a sick fuck he was, but he was unable even to do that. He realized that, barring the occurrence of an outright miracle, this was going to be it for him. What a way to go, at the hands of a depraved, psychopathic maniac.

  Michael walked to the control panel, looked over at Chad, and issued that evil, slithering smile. He reached up and pressed the hoist control to start lowering Chad into the dreadful tank. When Chad’s feet were about six inches from the deathly surface, Michael hit the stop button.

  “I’m going to set the hoist on automatic now. An inch a minute ought be about right I think.” He adjusted a few settings, then looked back over at Chad. “I bet you’re wondering why you’re not in the steel cage like Dora was. It just seems so much more personal without it, don’t you think? And I’m overdue in changing the chemicals in the tank, so I’ll just fish your bones out when I do that. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention—you really are a lucky man. As you disintegrate, you will be mingling with the liquefied remains of at least six or seven beautiful women. Talk about bodily fluid exchange, right?” He paused for what Chad assumed was dramatic effect. “No, Jill isn’t one of them I’m afraid. I didn’t have the tank set up in time for Jill. She’s with the worms.”

  This guy has to die. Somebody please kill this soulless son of a bitch. Chad really wasn’t one to pray. He’d always felt that with all the pain and suffering in the world, if there were some all-powerful being out there, He, She, or It had far more to be concerned about than Chad’s problems. But he still liked to believe that there was some equalizing force, some eternal principle, something that would eventually tip the scales ever so slightly so that evil was somehow defeated in the end.
He prayed to that force now, not so much to save himself, but to put an end to Michael Murdoch.

  Michael reached up to the hoist control panel, put his finger on the button, looked back over at Chad one last time with that nauseating, maniacal smile and—

  The security signal sounded. Someone was at the front door of the house. Michael checked the video screen. “What’s this? A ghost? If I was afraid of ghosts, I’d definitely be scared right now.” He looked a little more closely. “No, that’s not the ghost.” Straining to remember, he finally came up with it. “It’s the ghost’s . . . sister. It’s little Jane. My, she has grown up nicely.”

  He looked over at Chad, who, once again, needed everything he had just to show no reaction.

  “Now, what could she be doing here? Don’t tell me you’re doing her now? Chad, Chad, Chad. What am I going to do with you?” Michael seemed to assume all the stereotypical behaviors of the quintessential maniac, short of laughing out loud uncontrollably like a rabid madman.

  “Well, I suppose Jane wants to join the party. I’ll have to go over and give her an escort. I’ll be right back, Chad. You just hang tight.”

  Chapter 70

  Morgan moved slowly and extremely quietly. She had known she was on the right track once she saw her father’s rented BMW, which had become visible to her once she had made her way about halfway through the wooded area between the approach to the house and the two outbuildings beyond the house. Jane was at the front door of the residence and Morgan couldn’t see her now, but she could see the entrance to the closer of the two outbuildings.

  Her senses on high alert, she detected a sudden thump. She dropped down low and froze, just in time to see the entry door to the outbuilding swing open. A lone man walked quickly from the building, wasting no time to look around or to lock the door behind him. She did not know what Michael Murdoch looked like, but she’d lay odds that she was looking at him right now.

  He was heading toward the house. Her thoughts flashed to Jane. Would Jane be okay? She would have to be. This was their plan and it was working so far exactly as they had hoped. It just felt more dangerous and unpredictable when they were actually doing it.

  Morgan waited until Michael was out of sight, then began moving quickly and quietly toward the building he had just exited. She slipped inside the building, only to be met by the same sea of barrels her father had faced several hours earlier. But Morgan had one advantage her father hadn’t: the wet footprints left behind by Michael Murdoch.

  She followed Michael’s footprints all the way to the entry point of the barrel maze. Soon she noticed the footprints were beginning to fade as the water they were made of evaporated into the air around her. She was running out of time. She took the risk and called out for her father. No response.

  She continued following what now had become just fading spots of water until they appeared to dead-end into a wall of barrels. Puzzled but determined, she stayed with the faint spots of water and realized the barrels that appeared to be in the way were really a pair of tall mirrors. She eased past the mirrors and followed the path until she saw the hollow ahead, not yet knowing the extent of its dreadful nature.

  She gasped as she turned the corner into the hollow and saw the appalling image of her father hanging helplessly over a vat of who-knew-what.

  “Dad! Hang on, hang on!” She called out, not taking into account that Chad had no choice but to hang on.

  She looked around hastily, eying a step ladder off to the side of the hollow. She rushed over and grabbed it, set it up in front of the tank, and climbed up as far as she could, her first order of business to get the tape off Chad’s mouth.

  The step ladder was only the six-foot-high variety and Chad’s head was probably at least eleven or twelve feet above the concrete. She would have to stand on the very top of the ladder to get to the duct tape, a dangerous thing to do even when there wasn’t a tank full of death just a few feet below.

  Morgan didn’t know exactly what was in the tank, but it smelled bad enough to convince her that she had no desire to find out. She balanced herself carefully on the last step of the ladder before trying for the top, realizing the situation was dangerous, but not fully aware that any loss of balance once she was atop the ladder would send her to a murky, agonizing death.

  She was steady on the top now. She started to lean over to try to reach for the duct tape. Chad knew this was too risky. He shook his head furiously from side to side and grunted disapproval with wide eyes. He jerked his head in the direction of the control panel, trying to tell her to move him in front of the tank and then lower him.

  She finally got it. She worked her way carefully down from the top of the ladder and hurried over to the control panel. How much time did she have? She had no idea. Was Jane okay? She had no idea. Were the police on their way? Again, no idea; but this time, she was actually hoping they were.

  Morgan was pretty good with things mechanical, but she was unfamiliar with this panel and completely rushed. She took her best uneducated guess. “Ready?” she called out to warn Chad. “Here we go.”

  She pressed the button and Chad started moving—down. Chad grunted wildly to make sure Morgan realized what was happening. He had to pull his knees up into a tight tuck to avoid his feet going into the flesh-stripping fluid. Morgan pressed the stop button then frantically looked for some kind of reverse switch.

  She threw the switch that she reasoned was most likely the one that would change the direction of the hoist. If Chad moved down again when she hit the power button, this time he would certainly wind up in the deadly fluid. There was now no margin of error.

  She froze upon hearing sudden sound: crunching gravel, muffled voices. Just outside the building. Morgan had to move quickly—very quickly.

  She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then pressed the power button. But Chad was not pulled up. Instead the overhead hoist system moved him forward, his butt brushing the outside wall of the tank as he passed over the edge to relative safety.

  He dropped his legs when he was clear. Morgan threw the switch back and hit the power button, lowering him to his feet. There was now enough slack for him to slip his bound hands off the hoist chain hook. Morgan ran over and carefully but quickly removed the duct tape from his face.

  “You’ve got to get out of here, Morgan!”

  “You’re welcome,” she whispered, trying to act as calm as possible as she worked on untying his feet.

  “Don’t be cute, you don’t know what this guy is capable of. Now go!”

  “Too late, I’m afraid.” It was the voice of Michael Murdoch. Jane was with him and she was fine, except for her location on the wrong end of a .44 Magnum. “But I am impressed that you got him down,” Michael continued. “Sorry to be so gauche as to use a gun, but there are three of you after all. So, if you like, please go ahead, make my day.” The disgusting smile was back with a vengeance.

  “And do continue Chad. Please tell us exactly what I am capable of.”

  Chad said nothing, stewing in his own rage.

  “Well then, perhaps a demo is in order.” He turned to Jane. “I think I need to show you exactly what happened to your sister.”

  That was all Chad could tolerate. Morgan had freed his feet and he knew there may not be another opportunity, no other chance for them to survive. He figured there was about eight feet between him and Michael. If Chad were in the state of mind to think it through he would have realized he had at best about a fifty-fifty shot of getting to Michael without having his head blown off. Then once he got there, there was also the question of how much good he could do with his hands still tied.

  But Chad wasn’t in the state of mind right now to think it through that lucidly. He was simply a bull, the sole purpose in his existence to maul, mutilate, and pulverize the sadistic monster who was tormenting him and who was about to put a horrible end to his child and the closest living representation of a woman he once loved.

  While Michael’s focus was still on
Jane and what he wanted to do to her, Chad sent his body hurling in Michael’s direction with all the force and agility he could muster.

  Chapter 71

  Detective Tom Drake had been tied up in a frustrating meeting all morning. When the meeting finally ended, he was relieved to find only three voice mail messages waiting for him.

  The first was from Milton Fox. He and Jarboe apparently had not turned up anything new on Chad Swan’s location, hadn’t been able to talk with Angel Cruz yet, and wanted to know if Drake had anything working on his end. It was Drake’s next voice mail that had the surprise answer to that question.

  That next message was from a very excited Jane Mannix. She started by apologetically explaining that she was with Morgan Swan. But more importantly, she and Morgan had reason to believe that the mysterious note Jill Paulson wrote over two decades ago actually implicated Michael Murdoch in her disappearance. Jane went on to say that she and Morgan were heading to Murdoch Vineyards, where they were hoping to find Chad, who they feared was in danger from Murdoch.

  Having examined Jill’s note himself, Drake found it doubtful that it really implicated anyone. He left that thought to percolate in the back of his mind while he directed his attention to his last voice message, which was just an FYI from John Decker saying he was going to be stopping by the station to pick up the infamous paper bag he had left with Drake days earlier.

  Drake let out a deep sigh and started dialing up Jane Mannix to see what she was talking about. The time stamp on her voice mail message indicated she had left it only a few minutes earlier, so he hoped to catch her and quickly put an end to any nonsense she and Swan’s daughter may have cooked up.

  To Drake’s frustration, the call went directly to Jane’s voice mail, as if her cell phone had been turned off. He tried again and received the same result, just as John Decker appeared at his door. Drake motioned for Decker to come in as he left a brief voice message for Jane to let her know he had returned her call.