by David Carter
“Oh, fuck yes,” he said and he took a long drag. The sight of Mickey straining to stay upright gave him a sense of sadistic joy. “Who sent the package?” Blaze demanded.
“Cut me down and I’ll tell you,” Mickey gurgled.
“Fucking brilliant idea,” Blaze replied. He retrieved the shiv from the floor and violently slashed it across Mickey’s face. He screamed as his cheek tore open. Blood started flowing down over his jawline, pooling on the floor. Blaze got comfortable on his bunk once more. “I’ll ask again; who sent the fucking package?”
The psycho-switch inside Mickey’s brain activated. He started laughing, a high-pitched cackle, mocking his aggressor. “You’ll have to kill me,” Mickey shrieked.
“As you wish,” Blaze obliged.
He jumped up and let fly an array of swipes at Mickey’s chest and abdomen. The shiv’s thin blade cut through the pasty white skin and moles, leaving a spiderweb of bloody incisions behind. Mickey screamed as the pain finally caught up with him. “His name is Agent Doyle!” he revealed.
“Doyle?”
“Yes! He wanted to see you. I was told to tell you that he said he’s sorry.”
“He’s sorry? That’s it? Sorry for what? Fucking answer me!”
“I don’t know, I swear!”
“Yes you fucking do!” Blaze worked the shiv into Mickey’s left nipple, cutting a neat little flap of skin his fingers could purchase. “Tell me or I’m tearing it off!”
“I swear, I’ve told you everything I know!”
Mickey’s screams were heard by every prisoner as Blaze removed Micky’s nipple, tearing a large strip of skin from his torso; it peeled away unevenly, as if removing a stubborn strip of wallpaper, exposing a sea of bloody muscle beneath. But that wasn’t enough for Blaze. He kicked Mickey’s legs out from under him; the noose tightened around his neck. Mickey’s will to survive was impressive. He struggled to get back on his tiptoes. He fought with every ounce of strength he had remaining until Blaze put him out of his misery.
“See you in hell, Mickey.” He stared into his bulging, bloodshot eyes as he placed the shiv on his neck before ruthlessly slashing his carotid artery. Blood pulsed out in intermittent sprays as his heart pumped him dry. In a matter of seconds Mickey’s body dangled quietly, motionless; a sack of human waste; one fewer oxygen thief for the rest of mankind to contend with.
Blaze knew he’d made a huge mistake. His anger had gotten the better of him, again. He had to act fast. His plan was now in full effect; there was no turning back. If he failed, the warden would show no mercy. He figured he had an hour or two to deal with Beppo and Joey Jackson, and to get the information he needed from Cyrus. Not an easy task by any stretch. He hoped more than anything Doyle would make good on his word and spring him from The Tombs. That was what spooked him. Something didn’t feel right.
Why did Doyle come to tell me he’s sorry?
He sat back on his bunk with his back to the wall, watching Mickey’s body gently creaking back and forth. He picked up the packet of cigarettes.
How the fuck did Doyle know I smoked Camels?
That was when it hit him. Blaze knew he had been stabbed in the back.
He was on his own.
Chapter 49
Ryan stepped out of the elevator at the top floor of the newly built high-rise apartment building. The hallway still smelt fresh; the carpet had only been laid a handful of weeks before Ryan’s arrival.
Jane checked the peep-hole before opening the door after Ryan pressed the buzzer. She liked what she saw. “Hello?” she said as she opened the door till the security chain was at full stretch.
“Jane Adams, I presume?” Ryan said in a friendly tone. “Hi, my name is Detective Cameron Ryan. I’d like to ask you some questions regarding your husband, Beppo, if that’s all right?”
“Um, sure.” She unhooked the chain and let Ryan inside. “Your accent; it sounds familiar.” She hesitated. “Where are you from?”
“New Zealand,” he replied with a smile. “You may have heard a similar accent from a mutual acquaintance of ours.”
“Oh, really? Who?”
“I believe you may know him as Blaze.”
She gasped. “How could you possibly have known that?”
“Have you got a minute? I can explain everything.”
“Sure. And call me Jane,” she replied.
Jane pottered about the kitchen making a pot of tea. Before long they were sitting at her luxurious lounge suite sipping and discussing Blaze’s past at length. “So he’s on the run from the New Zealand authorities?” Jane surmised.
“Yes. I was sent here with some of his MC buddies to run him to ground.”
“For murdering the police commissioner and his daughter?”
“Yes. At this stage he and the MC are the main suspects.”
“So if he’s a wanted criminal, why did he help me?”
“Because, as I’ve tried to point out to many people, Blaze is good at heart. He’s a protector. He’d never admit it, of course, but still, it’s the truth. He’s had a somewhat troubled upbringing and he’s recently been through a great deal of personal grief. Coming to the U.S. was his chance to get away from it all. I believe he saw you as a damsel in distress and stepped in to help. It’s what he does.”
“He is kind-of my hero.” She blushed. “Benji likes him, too, which is quite the achievement.”
“How so?”
“Sorry, I didn’t explain. My son is on the autism spectrum. He doesn’t take to strangers well. But when he saw Blaze rush into our house and rescue me from Beppo, he took a real shine to him.”
Ryan chuckled.
“What’s so amusing?” Jane asked tersely.
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to sound rude. It’s just that Blaze doesn’t exactly take to strangers well either. I just can’t see him hitting it off with a child.”
“Well, perhaps you underestimate him. Benji told me it was Blaze who realised I was in danger after Beppo was arrested, and came back for me. He followed me to the hospital and sat with Benji, bought him crisps and a soda, and got him talking so he could help me. That was how he knew it was Scarface who attacked me. Benji trusted him enough to explain what had happened.”
“Is that so? Well I guess there is more to Blaze than I first realised. Which leads me to the subject of why I’m here...”
“Go on,” Jane encouraged him.
“Who or what was your husband in terms of the Aryan Brotherhood?”
Jane’s positive vibe quickly dissipated. “He was next in line to be promoted to the rank of general. He’s a brute; loyal, provided for me and Benji, but an abusive man all the same.”
Ryan made a mental note, then continued. “Can you tell me if you know of or heard about any brotherhood operations taking place in the Adirondack Mountains?”
“I’m sorry, the what?”
“The Adirondack Ranges–”
“Yes, I know what they are; what I don’t understand is what they have to do with the brotherhood.”
Ryan sighed. “You might want to put on some more tea. This could take a while.”
Jane obliged. After she poured a fresh cup for both Ryan and herself, Ryan explained how Doyle and Blaze had met—through Skinny-Jay’s underground fighting ring. Then he explained the dead women with the brotherhood’s logo branded to their necks, and the likely explanation as to why the brotherhood had murdered them.
Jane sat silently in shock. She couldn’t believe the sordid tale. Finally she said, “You mean Blaze went to prison for me? To kill Beppo? And to get information for this Agent Doyle friend of yours?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Why doesn’t the FBI question the brotherhood? Surely one of them would talk if bribed or pressured enough?”
“Apparently that’s already been tried over and over, and for no result. Which leads me to two observations: that members of the brotherhood are sworn to take the secret to their graves
, or, they are simply unaware of what their leaders are up to.”
“Well that actually makes sense,” Jane replied.
“How so?”
“Well, the brotherhood run their operations like the army: they have ranks: each member has a job and purpose, and they answer to anyone of higher rank. It’s no different to any organisation really. Managers don’t tell their floor-staff company secrets and agendas. The brotherhood is no exception to that principle.”
“That’s most interesting...”
Jane continued. “I’ll never forget the day Scarface ordered Beppo to kill a man for no other reason than the fact he was black. Beppo was on probation with the brotherhood, and his time had come to prove himself. And he did it: clobbered him to death with a baseball bat.” She paused in reflection. “It changed him. The man I used to love became a monster. He did what he was told, when he was told. The only thing in my favour was the money Beppo brought home. I had no other way of providing for Benji. I felt so helpless and trapped. We still lived on the ugly side of New York in a moderate apartment, but Beppo was saving to buy a new home like this one I have now. I don’t know where he kept the money, though. That was how he controlled me. I only had what money he gave me for food and amenities. But it was always his dream to live the high life. And thanks to Blaze’s generosity, I now have it—free of that bastard husband of mine.” Tears started flowing down her cheeks. She dried them with a tissue. “But as for your initial question, no, I’ve never heard anything about the Adirondacks in any conversations. Your hopes rest with Blaze where that’s concerned. Speaking of which, when is he getting out?”
“Yes, well, about that...”
“Yes?”
“Agent Doyle made a deal to spring Blaze from prison as soon as Blaze had contacted him with the information he needed. But there’s been a snag...” Ryan explained how Doyle’s superior had thrown a spanner in the works.
“You mean Blaze is stuck in that rat hole for good? He can’t do that! Why hasn’t anybody done anything?”
“Trust me, Jane, Agent Doyle is doing his best to remedy the situation. But arguing with a high-ranking FBI official is like pulling the trigger on your career. So we’re working on an alternate solution.”
“You’re busting him out?” she whispered.
“I didn’t say that.” He winked.
“When?”
“Tomorrow, if everything goes to plan.”
“Can I help in some way?”
“No, you’ve been more than helpful as it is. No need to ruin the life you have now.”
“Can I see Blaze if you manage to pull it off? I’d like to thank him personally.”
“No promises, but I’ll do my best.”
She thanked him and waved him off with mixed emotions running through her mind, knowing Blaze was stuck in prison because he couldn’t let Beppo go unpunished. It didn’t matter to her that he was a wanted man. He’d saved her life, and rid her of Beppo for good. She wished she’d let him do it the first time he’d offered at her apartment. To Jane, Blaze was her knight in shining armour. Her only hope was that one day she got the chance to repay his kindness.
Chapter 50
The drivers of the previously hijacked army trucks were of no use. The answers they gave Hampton were identical to their original transcripts. Hampton sat frustrated as he waited for the most recent and final driver to enter the interrogation room. Perhaps the commissioner was right and I am wasting valuable time and resources, he thought.
He perked up as the driver was escorted in. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Hampton stood as shook his hand. He offered him a chair and returned to his side of the table within the confined space.
Once both men were comfortable, Hampton began the cross-examination. He looked down as he followed the transcript from the driver’s initial interview. “Please state your name and military rank for the record.”
“Private Andrew James Thompson.”
“And where are you currently posted?”
“Jefferson Army Base.”
“Thank you, private,” he said. “Now, I’d like you to cast your mind back to the day of the hijacking. Tell me what happened. And don’t leave anything out, even if you think it’s not relevant.”
“Sure. Well…” he cleared his throat, “I was making a routine delivery run of munitions supplies from Jefferson to Fotheringham Army Base. I’ve made the same delivery many times over without incident, but even so, knowing about the previous hijackings and how my fellow comrades had been held up at gunpoint, there was always a small feeling of angst in the back of my mind.”
“Did the military not think to send a convoy or an offsider with you as backup in case you ran into trouble?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you request support?”
“Yes, sir. But my requisition was declined.”
“And you did not appeal this?”
“No, sir. I follow my orders and carry them out to the letter. No one wants an MP on their case.”
“I understand, but surely one’s safety should outweigh orders, should it not?”
Private Thompson relaxed a little, exhaling heavily through his nose. “The base commander had considered the idea of sending the load with more troops, but as always, the almighty dollar won outright. There was little evidence to suggest anything of a dangerous nature would occur during my run.”
“So you’re telling me you were sent alone anyway? Your safety being considered a second priority?”
“Not my choice of words, but, essentially, yes, sir.”
“You didn’t mention this in your initial statement. You could open a formal inquiry if you chose to do so.”
Private Thompson offered no response.
Hampton continued with his questioning. “Tell me about the journey—from the beginning all the way through to when you encountered the ambush.”
“Quite simply put, I left Jefferson as scheduled and made my way to Fotheringham on my designated route in an orderly time. I was nearing my destination when I stopped to relieve myself on the side of the road, which was when I noticed a four-wheel-drive rapidly approaching my position.”
“Go on.”
“I returned to my truck and signalled to pull back onto the road, but waited for the vehicle to pass, and once it had, it stopped, blocking my passage, and I was surrounded by masked men aiming automatic weapons in my direction.”
“Did you recognise the weapons they were using?”
“Yes, sir: standard military-issue Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns.”
“And you’re sure of this?”
“One-hundred-percent certain.”
“Good. What happened next?”
“I reached for my radio to call it in, but was stopped short as my windscreen was shot out. I was lucky not to sustain any injuries.”
“Indeed you were.”
“Then I was forced from the truck and pinned to the ground at gunpoint. The leader went through my personal effects and threatened my family if I was lying about the fact that I didn’t have time to call in the ambush.”
“Anything else?”
“In regards to what?”
“Did he say anything else to you?”
“No, sir,” he replied, then quickly added, “actually, now that I think about it, he said that if I was lying I’d be hearing from him and Maggie again soon.”
Hampton’s ears pricked up. “Maggie? You never mentioned that in your statement.”
“Sorry, I didn’t consider it relevant; he was referring to his firearm. Then they hopped in the truck and drove away,” Private Thompson concluded.
A pet-name for his firearm; interesting... Hampton thought. “Thank you for your time, private. I know what a nuisance it’s been for me to drag you all this way back to Milton City, but you may have given me something to work with. I appreciate your time. You are free to go.”
They shook hands. Private Thompson took his leave.
Maggie...Hampton mulled the name over in his mind. I wonder who you might be?
Hampton returned to his office. He had another avenue to explore: the missing footage of Papa Bear and Lemon’s murders. If he could find out who stole it, he would be one step closer to finding the Jackal. He’d already scoured the video footage of Brighton Penitentiary’s security room. No one had entered or exited the room during the time, before, or after the murders had taken place. Which could only mean one thing: someone had hacked into the system from an external source and removed the video content from a secure location. Which meant he needed someone with computer skills far above his capabilities to find the thief. He called the commissioner and requested for a technician to be put on the case. The commissioner said he’d get back to him within the hour.
It wasn’t long until the commissioner called Hampton back. “We might have something,” he said.
“Yes?” Hampton replied anxiously.
“The technician I appointed was able to pin-point the hacker’s entry into the system.”
“And?”
“And it appears that someone with access to the system created a personnel file and downloaded the video footage into it before moving it on to a secure server elsewhere.”
“Can you trace it?”
“No. He couldn’t open the file. It’s encrypted. Without the passcode there’s no way to open it and trace the link forward to the external server.”
Hampton paused a moment. “What was the name of the file?”
“It’s hardly relevant. It’s a phoney.”
“Humour me, sir...”
The commissioner sighed. “Kaja Letch,” he said.
“Kaja Letch?”
“Yes. It’s most unusual. I’ve looked into it and it’s a common name in countries such as Sweden and Estonia. We’ve tried every password related to the words’ meanings in Greek and Estonian culture: pure, echo, enclosure, homestead, and we’ve tried number passcodes, too, using numbers that correspond to alphas and other such ciphers that are well above my pay-grade. But simply put, we can’t break it.