Only the Strong

by Ethan Cross

  The Director said, “My guess is that Demon offers a package where he ensures that the killings can’t be traced back to the client because the killer involved does his thing on more than just the people who could be tied to the group paying for the murders.”

  Marcus nodded in agreement. “A smoke screen to insulate the client if the killer is ever apprehended. But in this case, we can work it in reverse. We know the client and can use him to lead us to the killer. Exactly like Demon planned for us to do.”

  Val said, “Our agent disappeared shortly after that recording was sent. We have to assume that Agent Fuller is the man who Oban Nassar mentions as ‘knowing too much’ and requiring ‘decisive action.’ If we’re right, then we have very little time to get our man back alive.”

  “You think the Gladiator plays with them? Forces them to fight? That would explain how he earned the nickname. And that also explains the boxer and the marine. He’s choosing worthy opponents,” Marcus said. “But from what I’ve seen on the news there were also a couple of female bodies found skinned. That doesn’t seem very sporting for someone who considers himself some kind of ultimate warrior.”

  Val took a sip of coffee and replied, “Judging from the female torsos, they were actually rather petite women. Not well muscled. So it’s not as if they were MMA stars. And we haven’t found a way to positively identify the female victims to see if they could be tied back to King.”

  The Director chimed in, “But we have a theory. I asked Stan to reach out to some of his contacts in the digital underworld to see if any of them had ever heard of the ‘Diamond Room.’ There is apparently some site out on the Dark Web known as the Diamond Room.”

  Marcus knew the basics of the Dark Web. It was a term used to refer to websites found on Darknets, overlay networks which use the public Internet but require specific software, configurations, or authorizations to access.

  The waitress returned with their food, placing a plate filled with grease and protein in front of him. Marcus said a quick silent prayer for the meal and the victims of such carnage before digging into his Elvis-inspired breakfast. With a mouth full of eggs, he said, “So what’s on this site, the Diamond Room?”

  “Stan can’t access it, and neither can his friends. The rumor is that it’s a place where you can watch people fight and die on a live video feed.”

  Val’s breakfast was a bowl of fruit and vanilla yogurt. He mixed the two together and said, “I inquired with our cybercrimes unit, and they told me that the Bureau has been trying to get a glimpse of the footage or access to the site for a couple of years now.”

  “Sounds like our friend, Gladiator, is streaming his killings to the web,” Marcus said, shoveling the eggs into his mouth and trying to remember the last time he had eaten.

  The Director said, “Stan’s friend has apparently seen one still image from the Diamond Room. He said that the Gladiator wears a metal mask in the shape of a deformed skull. That led us to—”

  A small cough grew to a full, body-shaking hack, and the Director held his napkin up to his face. Marcus thought that he saw blood when his boss wadded it up in his fist. Even after he had brought the cough under control, the Director couldn’t catch his breath.

  Coming to his old friend’s rescue, Valdas said, “The skull mask connection led us to a recent urban legend in the San Francisco area that they’re calling Skullface.”

  Marcus rolled his eyes. “An urban legend?”

  “Someone hacked into a bunch of woman’s social media accounts and doctored their photos, adding a man in a skull mask somewhere in the background of every photo. Really freaked a lot of people out, but harmless, right? Until some of the hacking victims went missing. The SFPD has a task force trying to track down the missing girls and this Skullface hacker.”

  “And you’re thinking that the Gladiator and Skullface are actually the same guy?”

  The Director, eyes still watery and his voice like brittle leaves, said, “Yes. We’d like you to work with the local task force and see if their investigation has uncovered anything useful.”

  Marcus replied, “But we also need to focus on King and his organization. And we’re going to have to hit hard. We’ll need to color outside the lines and get to information faster than the Bureau can through strictly legal means.”

  Val sucked in his lips as if he wanted to hold back his next words.

  Marcus asked, “What aren’t you telling me?”

  The Director slid a manila folder across the table and said, “We don’t have the time to work a plea deal or anything like that in order to get a reference or quick access to King, or at least someone high up in his organization. Without a reputation or connection, we can’t get anywhere close to King. But we think you may be able to convince an old friend of yours to do us a favor.”

  Marcus didn’t have to open the file. He saw a name on the folder’s tab that told him all he needed to know: Caruso, Edward.

  He dropped his fork, ran a hand through his hair, and leaned back in the booth. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  The Director said, “You have history, and you know damn well that he’ll help you. If you swallow a bit of pride. Kiss his ass a little. Tell him what he wants to hear. It’s just words, kid.”

  Marcus started to object, but the Director added, “And that’s not all. Once you earn Caruso’s help, we plan on sending Ackerman in undercover with you.”

  “Absolutely not. He’s not ready.”

  Val said, “He did a hell of a job during the Foxbury incident. Saved a lot of lives.”

  “It’s out of the question. He shouldn’t be put in a position like that. Listen, I really think he wants to help, to make amends for all he’s done. But he’s not afraid of anything, including the consequences of his actions, and he simply doesn’t understand how to behave. He needs a filter, someone to guide him.”

  “You’ll be there with him. But let’s face it, Marcus, they’ll smell cop all over you. Ackerman will help establish your . . . credibility.”

  “It’s out of the question. I can go in undercover alone. I grew up in Brooklyn and knew a lot of guys from the families, and I’ve never been much of a cop.”

  The Director said, “Let’s take this thing one step at a time. You just worry about Eddie Caruso, and we’ll go from there.”

  Marcus hadn’t talked to Eddie since leaving the NYPD, and their last conversation had not been a pleasant one. “I think you’ve misjudged my relationship with Eddie.”

  The Director laughed. “I know more about you than you do yourself, and I’m confident you can persuade him to help.”

  Val added, “We don’t have time to get anyone to turn. Agent Fuller is probably being tortured as we speak. This guy used to be your best friend, and now he’s a capo working for Tommy Juliano. He’s our best shot at getting close enough to King’s organization to learn something useful.”

  “I haven’t been back to the city in years.”

  “Then it’s time for a stroll down memory lane,” the Director said. “Also, you don’t really have much choice in the matter. Val and I and Deputy AG Fagan are all in agreement that this is the best use of our resources to find the Gladiator as quickly as possible and recover the missing agent. The Bureau is loaning us two of their Gulfstream jets to fly you and Maggie up to New York. Emily and your brother will head to San Francisco in the other jet to prepare for the meeting with the task force. But I’m afraid I’m going to need to steal Andrew for a bit.”

  “This just keeps getting better and better. You’re taking my most dependable team member, and I’m ranking him above me on that, and you want to leave our rookie agent alone with my brother.”

  The Director said, “First of all, I think your brother may be in love with Emily, in his own twisted way.”

  “He killed her husband and destroyed her life.”

  “Exactly. C
ombine that with her many psychology degrees, and it makes her the perfect candidate to keep Ackerman in line. Plus, we always have the implied threat of our failsafe option.”

  “You just better hope that my brother doesn’t figure out the truth of what you implanted in his spine. What if I say no? To all of it. What if I say that I can’t knowingly carry out orders which I feel could put the lives of my team and myself in danger?”

  “Could you give Marcus and me a moment, Val?”

  Without a word of protest, Special Agent Valdas Derus dropped his napkin on the table and headed to the restroom.

  “Listen up, kid,” the Director said. “I’ve put up with your bullshit this long because you’re very good at what you do, but I’m getting way too old and way too damn tired to coddle you anymore. You do as you’re told or you can go back to being the pariah you were when I found you, and the DOJ will hand your brother over to the CIA to do whatever they want with him. I had guessed that they wanted to put him to work for them, but maybe they really just want him so they can cut open his brain and find out what makes him tick, find out exactly why he’s the man with no fear. I suspect it would be pretty useful for them to be able to recreate such qualities in their own assets. So in response to your ‘what if’ question, you either follow orders or you’re out on the street and Ackerman goes back to being a science experiment.”

  “Frank isn’t ready for this.”

  “Your brother is the meanest, toughest son of a bitch I know. He can handle himself undercover.”

  Marcus leaned across the table and looked deep into the old man’s eyes. “First of all, don’t ever talk about our mother like that. Next time, I’ll feel compelled to defend her honor. Second, for the record, this isn’t going to end well. You remember I said that. And third, to be clear, I’m not worried about Frank’s safety. I’m worried about everyone else.”

  ~~*~~

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dr. Derrick Gladstone didn’t believe in God—whether it be the Judeo-Christian God, Allah, or any of the minor deities imagined to rule over the forces of nature. He believed all religion to be superstition and nonsense. His religion was science, and looking at life from a purely scientific standpoint, he could find nothing to suggest he should deny himself any pleasure or follow any kind of moral code. After all, we are here, and then we are nothing—what more is there than to pursue one’s own goals and fantasies? If it benefited him to be kind, then he would do so. If murder or rape or robbery was for his own benefit or the benefit of science and his place in history, then he had no problem with those acts either.

  He knew that people couldn’t simply run around lawless, killing and stealing from whomever they wished. But if you were smart enough not to get caught, then what reason was there not to commit the crime? The answer, Derrick supposed, was fear. The only reason not to act on your own self-interests was for fear of a deity, fear of consequences, or fear of your own ignorance. The first because you may face an inescapable punishment upon your death. The second because you could possibly face criminal repercussions for your actions. And the third because you fear that you are ignorant in your belief that the first two don’t exist and shouldn’t be feared at all.

  What did he have to fear from an imaginary deity or from the law of the land when he was a golden god himself?

  Derrick found it astonishing the things a man could accomplish when he abandoned the laws of gods and men and became his own master.

  He dropped the patient’s file he had been reading atop his desk, rubbed his eyes, and stretched out his arms. A whole stack of neglected paperwork sat beside the discarded folder. With everything going on in his life right now, he found it impossible to concentrate on work. But the privilege of owning an extremely successful company allowed Derrick a lot of freedom with his time. Still, there were some tasks—and some special patients—which required his personal attention and couldn’t be entrusted to one of his many underlings.

  Grabbing the push bar of his wheelchair, Derrick spun himself over to the side wall of his office where a small table of all glass held a crystal carafe in the shape of a skull. Fine cognac filled the skull. Four snifters and a few photographs of himself rested beside the liquor.

  One picture showed him in a black wetsuit at a beach in Brazil holding his Mayhem Driver surfboard, which he had preferred because of it’s ability to navigate dead sections and link waves together. He missed his time in the ocean.

  Thanks to good genes, a strict diet, and an intense dedication to his own fitness, Derrick had always possessed a body which rippled with muscle and held no excess fat. Even while bound to a wheelchair, he refused to allow his muscles to wither and had continued a rigorous workout regimen.

  Derrick supposed he would have been the perfect mate. He provided everything any partner could have possibly wanted. If it hadn’t been for his injury . . .

  His impressive physique coupled with a square jaw, perfectly symmetrical features, flawless bronze skin, perfectly coifed head of sandy blond hair, and pale-blue eyes had always made it exceedingly easy for Derrick to attract the opposite sex. But even before the accident, he had little use for the fairer sex, beyond their necessity in procreation. His last long-term relationship had been his high-school girlfriend, and even then he had only put up with her because she was the head cheerleader and the most popular girl in school, and her adoration and the envy of his classmates served to augment his stature as star football player, valedictorian, and all-around alpha male. It was a place of honor that he had achieved through meticulous planning and hard work. Still, beyond the social aspects and satisfying his active teenage libido, she soon became a liability rather than an asset. In college, he found there were more than enough females ready to satisfy his physical needs without the emotional investment required by a mate.

  Derrick picked up another of the photographs. This one showed a younger version of himself on one knee in full football pads. The younger Gladstone leaned over on his helmet and showed that million-dollar smile. Memories of his time on the gridiron filled him with a strange warmth. In another life, he could have played in the NFL, possibly both sides of the ball, offensively as a running back and defensively as a linebacker.

  They had called him Derrick “The Gladiator” Gladstone.

  The phone on his desk chirped, and his secretary said, “Dr. Gladstone, I have your brother on line two.”

  Derrick growled in disgust as he wheeled himself back to his desk. “Thank you, Susan, but I’m quite busy. Did he say why he’s calling?”

  “Dennis said that he’s planning a visit and wanted to work out the details with you.”

  Gritting his teeth, he tried to remain calm. He counted to five and took a few deep breaths. “Thank you, Susan, I’ll take the call.”

  His fraternal twin brother had always been Derrick’s opposite. Dennis had struggled with grades and his weight and had shied away from sports and popularity. Where Derrick had fought with every fiber of his being to be extraordinary in every pursuit, his brother was more than satisfied with mediocrity.

  “Hello, Dennis, to what to do I owe the pleasure of a call from my little brother?”

  “You’re older than me by like ten minutes.”

  “And I always will be.”

  His brother laughed and said, “Same old Derrick. Listen, we’re going to be coming up to San Francisco next week and would love to spend some time with you and Mom.”

  Dennis always was a momma’s boy. “Now’s a really bad time for that.”

  “We both know you can make time whenever you want. That’s the perks of being a big-shot doctor, and Mom isn’t getting any younger. In her condition, there’s no way she’d survive another stroke.”

  “She’s fine. She’ll be alive and well for Thanksgiving and Christmas. You can see her then.”

  “I’ve already made all the arrangements, and I’ve booked a
hotel for Helen and me and the kids. The youngsters would love to spend a little time with their uncle. They adore you.”

  Of course they do, Derrick thought. They probably wish I was their father instead of you.

  “Yes, I love them too, but as I said, now’s not a good time. I have a lot going on with the business, and—”

  “That’s fine. If we only get to see you in the evenings or for dinner, we’ll make do. But we’re still coming up to see Mom. And…I was thinking maybe she could come stay with us for a while.”

  “That’s out of the question. She’s settled in here. Her doctors and caregivers are here.”

  “Yeah, but Helen’s at home and could take care of her, and in your condition, we thought it might help to—”

  “My condition?”

  “You know what I mean. You’re a busy guy and—”

  “I said no.”

  Silence hung over the lines, and Derrick pictured his brother as a little boy bleeding from the nose and mouth. Derrick recalled himself pummeling Dennis’s face, driving his fist up and down as if it was powered by strong hydraulics. Their mother had stood over them, a glass of Everclear and apple juice sloshing in her glass as she forced them to fight for her own amusement. “Only the strong survive in this armpit of a world, boys. You have to fight for everything you have.”

  Despite the fact that Derrick was always the victor in their mother’s encouraged brawls, it was always Dennis who would receive her attention afterward as she stroked his dark hair and called him her “poor baby.”

  Over the phone line, Dennis finally said, “Well, we can discuss it more next week. Send Mom my love.”

  Derrick hung up without a word of goodbye, his anger swelling at his brother’s insistence on a visit. This couldn’t have come at a worse time. His plans were almost ready. Soon, he would have the necessary funds to solidify his legacy, and before that could happen, many preparations needed to be made. He couldn’t accomplish anything with his sniveling little brother staring over his shoulder, still vying for the old witch’s affections.