by David Carter
“I think you’re right,” Ryan agreed, without looking up from the photographs. “Hey, did you notice this?” He pointed to a faint, thin line across the woman’s abdomen.
“Yes, of course. It appears she had a caesarean at some point.”
“Have you tried tracking down her child?”
“Trust me, I’ve exhausted every option regarding that. And do you want to know what I found?”
“What?”
“Nothing; the child was never registered. There’s no evidence to suggest she ever gave birth before she died. But we know from her autopsy, she did in fact give birth by way of caesarean.”
Ryan chugged back the last of his espresso. He let the rich taste linger in his mouth as he absorbed the wave of information. Then after a minute’s silence, he asked, “Why have you kept this particular file a secret when it’s possibly the biggest lead you have?”
Doyle looked away.
“There’s something you’re not telling me...” Ryan probed.
Doyle exhaled heavily through his nose. “The victim’s name is Gwendoline Dyer. She went inside the brotherhood as an FBI asset. Obviously they discovered her true identity.”
“I see,” Ryan sympathised. “Sometimes these things happen to agents in the field. Don’t blame yourself. She would’ve known the risks.”
“That’s the thing...” Doyle stared off into space. “I hired her on the sly. It was an unsanctioned mission. It‘s my fault she died in the field, and I’ll never forgive myself.”
Chapter 35
“You sent an operative into the field without authorisation!” Ryan exclaimed.
“Yes, but she was willing, and was just as determined to bring down the brotherhood as I am.”
“But why? How? When? What on earth were you thinking?”
Doyle began his explanation. “I first crossed paths with Gwendoline while investigating her sister’s kidnapping, and ultimately, her death. Her sister’s body was found in the Adirondacks some five years ago. And while interviewing her, I happened to mention that I’d made a request to my superior to send a mole inside the brotherhood and report back with their movements, and that I had been denied on numerous occasions. So without a second thought, she volunteered. I tried to talk her out of it, as she wasn’t trained and that it was far too dangerous. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer. So we made a plan to hook her up with one of the local members and get him wrapped around her little finger. She was quite the looker and was accepted into the brotherhood like clockwork. Unfortunately she didn’t last long. After only a handful of communications, she went off the grid. I was in a constant state of panic. Then, just like the other fifty-seven victims, she wound up dead in the Adirondack Mountains.”
“And nobody in the FBI suspected a thing?”
“Nobody cared. I’ve been the laughing stock of the agency ever since I started working the case.” He paused. “And to be honest with you, I’ve discovered that sometimes in life you have to break the rules and dabble in the grey area to achieve justice. I’m not proud of what happened to Gwen by any means. But her death gave me the proof I needed to show the brotherhood are up to something up there. No one would give me the time of day until her body showed up. The fact that a pair of sisters turned up dead, in similar fashion, finally struck a chord within the agency, and bought me a few extra dollars and resources. But after months of research and investigation, I had nothing concrete to show for my efforts, so my funding was pulled and the case was shut down, until a body showed up in the Hudson two weeks ago, with the same brotherhood symbol branded on her neck. With all the information I had gathered about the brotherhood over the past few years, I had one last card to play, and asked my superior for an asset to go inside The Tombs. And with Blaze I finally got what I needed—with the FBI’s stamp of approval.”
Ryan knew exactly how Doyle felt. “I understand your position: I’m not exactly a model detective when it comes to following the rules. In fact it’s the very reason I’ve been assigned with locating Blaze. If I can’t bring him home to face his murder charges, well, let’s just say it would be better for me to never go back.”
“It seems to me we could make quite the team,” Doyle said. “And you have my word that if Blaze completes his mission, I’ll personally escort him to the airport at gunpoint to make sure he gets on the plane.”
Ryan scoffed. “You’re dreaming if you think it’s gonna be as simple as that. He’s gonna be pissed when he finds out I’m here.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have the entire agency run him to ground, if necessary.”
Ryan liked the sound of that. He finally had a conceivable plan to guarantee Blaze’s safe return.
Doyle’s desk phone rang. “Yes,” he said into the receiver. “Right away, sir.” He hung up the phone. “My superior is ready to meet you now.”
“Right, let’s get this over with.”
They filed out of the room.
Doyle’s superior sat behind his desk with a less-than-friendly look on his face. “What is the meaning of this, Doyle,” he asked sternly.
“Sir, I’d like you to meet Detective Cameron Ryan, from New Zealand, no less. I happened to cross paths with him and his offsiders while keeping tabs on Blaze after he was accepted into the brotherhood.”
“And what was this Detective Ryan and his offsiders doing at the brotherhood’s clubhouse when you happened to cross paths with him?
“Well, long story short, sir: he knows the true identity of Blaze, and was sent to the States to track him down and escort him home.”
“For what reason?”
Doyle hesitated.
“I’m waiting...”
“He’s a wanted criminal, sir.” Doyle quickly explained Ryan’s situation.
Doyle’s superior was unimpressed. “You mean to say the asset I approved for your mission murdered New Zealand’s head of police?”
“His daughter, too, sir.”
“This changes things,” Doyle’s superior said abruptly. “I was happy to use this Blaze character when I thought he was some nobody-thug, that if killed in the field, no one would give a rat’s ass about. But to be wanted for a homicide of such importance...” His voice tailed off.
“Sir?” Doyle hesitated.
“The mission is scrubbed.”
“You can’t do that!”
“I can, and I will. We must cut him loose.”
Ryan was delighted at the news. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “When can I expect him back at this facility? I’d like to make travel arrangements as soon as possible.”
“Who said anything about pulling him from The Tombs? He’s a wanted criminal. He will rot in prison until I’m told otherwise.”
“Excuse me?” Ryan said. “You’re not going to release him? He went inside knowing he’d be pulled out!”
Doyle’s superior ignored Ryan’s plea, then said, “Doyle, gather whatever useful intel you can from Blaze, then cut all ties. That is a direct order.”
“But sir–”
“That will be all. Both of you may be excused.” Doyle’s superior returned his attention to the paperwork on his desk.
They turned around to leave.
“And Doyle–”
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t try anything stupid like throwing away your career. You, too, detective.”
They both nodded and left the office without another word.
Chapter 36
“What the hell was that?” Ryan fumed as they returned to Doyle’s office.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea things would play out in such fashion,” Doyle replied.
“In such fashion? Is that how you see it? You may as well throw me in The Tombs with Blaze for all the good you’ve done!”
“Look, we’ll figure something out, all right? Give me some time.”
“I hope you’re a man of your word, Doyle.” Ryan said curtly.
“In what context?”
“That you like to dabble i
n the grey area. Because at this point that’s the only way I can see us springing Blaze from The Tombs.”
Doyle understood his frustration. “I promise I won’t leave you high and dry. It’s not as though my own objectives have been made any easier.”
Ryan calmed a little. “I know. I’m sorry for snapping. But shit just hit the fan like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Why don’t we sit down and see what we can achieve in the meantime.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I’ve been over the victims’ reports time and time again and come up with very little. Perhaps a fresh set of eyes would help?”
“All right. I’ll take another look while you start thinking of a way to help Blaze.”
Ryan retrieved a handful of files and laid them out on the desk, opening the covers on each one. Five mutilated bodies stared back at him; he envisioned each victim screaming for help, only to be met by the ruthless hand of death. How could people commit such atrocities? And why are the brotherhood killing these women? Why are there no male victims? What is the connection between each woman?
Ryan spent the next few hours carefully flipping through numerous reports. His eyes were bloodshot and he was physically spent. Right when he was about to call it quits, he spotted something. He tapped some words into Doyle’s computer, conducting a quick google search. “Doyle...” he said from behind the screen.
“Yes?” He looked up from the set of blueprints on the other side of the room.
Ryan saw them and scoffed, noting the layout of the Manhattan Detention Complex on Doyle’s desk. “You aren’t seriously trying to find a way to bust Blaze outta there, are you?”
“Maybe,” he said sheepishly. “I don’t see you coming up with any better alternatives. What was it you wanted?”
“Oh, right, er, where did you say that agent you sent into the brotherhood was born?”
“You mean, Gwendoline?”
“Yes.”
“Pretty sure she was born right here in New York.”
“What about her family?”
“I’m positive their lineage is Eastern European. Her grandparents migrated to America.”
“What about Kayla Maunder?” He held up her picture. “What’s her family background?”
“From memory, her family’s Scandinavian.”
“And this one: Angie Ede?”
Doyle scratched the back of his head. The hour was getting late; his memory wasn’t running at full capacity. “Pretty sure her ancestry is German.”
“And this one: Deb Wilson?”
“Swedish.”
“Do you see the pattern emerging here?” Ryan quizzed him, slapping the files down on the desk.
Doyle took a moment to reply. “Obviously all the victims are of European origin.”
“Yes, but more specifically, what race?”
Now Doyle started to see what Ryan was getting at. “Nordic,” he replied.
“Bingo.” Ryan grinned, then started reading from the computer screen. “The ideology of Nazism was based upon the conception of the ancient Aryan race being a superior race, holding the highest position in the racial highrise and that the Germanic people were the most racially pure existing people of Aryan Stock.” Ryan paused, skim-reading down the page, then said, “The European (Aryan) race was identified with five subtype races: Nordic, Mediterranean, Dinaric, Alpine, and East Baltic, with the Nordic race being considered as the strongest of the five.” Ryan looked up at Doyle. “Now put that into relative terms for me.”
Doyle knew exactly where Ryan was going with this. “You mean to say that every victim was kidnapped based on her Nordic bloodline?”
“That makes sense, doesn’t it? The brotherhood want the cream of the crop for what they’ve been doing all these years.”
“Which is what?”
“Come on, Doyle. You’ve been working the case for how long now? And you can’t see what’s right in front of you?”
“See what?”
Ryan let out an exasperated sigh. “You told me yourself that the brotherhood’s numbers have been growing worldwide for the past decade or so. Sure, people in prison join the gang because of the whole ‘safety in numbers’ principle, but you also pointed out that the average age of new members is at its lowest point in their history. What does that tell you?”
Doyle shrugged. “That they’re an attraction for many juvenile delinquents that live on the streets?”
“Dammit, Doyle! Whose bloody case is this?” Ryan snapped. “Think about it: women with Nordic blood are turning up dead in the mountains, the brotherhood’s membership is at an all-time high, and the average worldwide membership age is at an all-time low.” Ryan produced one last photograph for Doyle. “The proof is in this picture—of your missing agent.” He pointed at the scar across Gwendoline’s abdomen.
“Her caesarean scar? What’s that got to do with–” Doyle froze before finishing his sentence. All the pieces of the puzzle came together in that moment, shocking him beyond all comprehension. Things were worse than he could ever have imagined.
Chapter 37
After a whole day of introductions and touring The Tombs’ facilities, Blaze immediately set to work. He made some observations while choking down his pathetic excuse for a dinner in the mess hall. It was the size of a basketball court, completely enclosed by concrete walls. Two guards perched on a mezzanine floor with their rifles at the ready. Blaze sat right at the end of the row of tables nearest the side wall. There was a clear divide among the prisoners. Everyone sat among those of their fellow race: whites on one side, blacks on the other. But there was one face Blaze couldn’t find. The reason he’d let himself get sucked into this realm of human waste, Jane’s husband was nowhere to be found.
“Hey, Sharkie,” Blaze said quietly.
He looked up from the brown slop on his tray. “Yeah?”
“I was wondering if you’d seen a friend of mine. I thought he’d be here when I arrived, but I ain’t caught sight of him yet.”
“What’s his name?”
“Beppo Adams.”
Sharkie’s teeth protruded through his lips as a smirk formed on his face. “Ah, you ain’t seen Beppo because he’s in The Box.”
Blaze hung his head in frustration, letting out an exasperated sigh. “What the fuck did he do?”
“Punched out one of the screws the moment he got here; put him in fucking hospital.”
“Shit. Is there any way I can see him?”
Sharkie hesitated.
“Is there or isn’t there?” Blaze asked impatiently.
“Look, man, officially there ain’t no visitors allowed in The Box.” He lowered his voice, and continued, “but if you’re prepared to do some special favours, there is a way you can get inside.”
“What do you mean, special favours?”
“There’s a screw who guards the solitary wing: Sick Mick, we call him. He’s a fucking nut case, but he’s open to bribes when no one is looking.”
“How much do I need to pay him off?”
Sharkie’s toothy grin disturbed Blaze as he said, “He’s not looking for cash payments, man. You have to pay with your dignity.”
“You mean he’s a fucking queer?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. It’s the power trip he enjoys; bringing criminals to their knees, making them gag for favours.”
“And no one has done anything about it?”
“He’s the only way into The Box, man.”
Shit, all three people I’ve come inside for are in solitary. How the fuck do I pull this off?
That was when Blaze had one of the most twisted ideas of his life. “Hey, Sharkie, when was the last time you had a riot inside?” he asked.
“I’d say the best part of twelve months. The odds aren’t in our favour like they used to be. It’s almost a fifty-fifty ratio of blacks and whites in here now...and then there’s the guards...” He motioned towards the guards towering over them on the mezzanine floor.
“What if we distracted them somehow? If there’s been no signs of violence for the past year as you say, they may have become complacent.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, we pull a rabbit out of a hat with our left hand, while the right is committing murder, so to speak.”
“Go on...”
“Not here, back in our cell where there’s fewer ears.”
Blaze returned to the steaming pile of goop on his tray, shovelling it down and feeling the warmth slide down to his stomach. He had a daring plan; it might even work if executed correctly.
At this point he had nothing to lose.
Chapter 38
“Are you ever going to talk to me, Elizabeth?” Hampton said as he meekly stood on her doorstep. Her small cottage was located within the grounds of the Glendale Christian Boarding School.
She slammed the door in his face without reply.
“So I’ll take that as a no?” he said through the door.
“I’m not helping you send Bobby back to prison. I’d rather he was out there on the run!” she snarled.
“You’re being stubborn, Liz. A woman of your morals and standing in the community would seek justice for any man who’d committed murder. God has given us clear instructions on how to live, declaring that murder is one of the most dishonourable acts of mankind. Surely in your heart you know Bobby isn’t exempt.”
“You have to prove his guilt first! You’re all assuming he killed the commissioner and his daughter even though it’s never actually been proved!”
“While that is true…” Hampton chose his words carefully, and continued, “with the evidence we have I think a jury will almost certainly find both Bobby and the members of the SAS guilty.”
“Then you may as well leave. I don’t want any part in this endeavour. You and I are finished!”
Hampton’s heart almost broke in two. He loved Elizabeth dearly. Their brief time together as a couple had been the highlight of his life, and there was no way he was going to relinquish her so easily. But a mother’s love for a son was a tough nut to crack. So he decided it was time to play his trump-card. “What if I said we could get Blaze off the hook?”