Driven

by W. G. Griffiths

  “Perfect,” he said deeply, then looked at the clock. It was nine o’clock. “I’d like to reserve a flight leaving Republic Airport at exactly twelve-thirty.”

  “And your name, sir?”

  “Mel Gasman. I’ll call back with my credit card number in about an hour.”

  “Very good, Mr. Gasman. And thank you for choosing Executive.”

  With a laugh, Krogan hung up the phone. “Oh, but it is I who should be thanking you.”

  He went back into the bedroom and reached under the bed, slowly withdrawing a large black case. Inside the case was his father’s ninety-pound-draw hunting bow—a Browning. Mounted in foam rubber on the case’s lid were a dozen arrows, three of them already fixed with broadhead hunting tips. He freed one of the arrows and smiled as he saw sunlight reflect off the silvery triple-razor head. He tapped the point with his index finger; a small, round drop of blood appeared.

  His breathing quickened with excitement as he pulled his bed out of the way of the window. The old sash weights could be heard as the window opened. The spider dashed away as its web tore in half. The screen was already gashed open with a hole large enough that he didn’t have to bother removing it.

  Looking out, he cursed. There was a problem. The arc he would need to hit his target was blocked by a dead tree branch. He had to change his vantage point. Quickly snatching his three razor-sharp arrows, he exited through the back door and went left through an overgrown empty lot marked with a No Dumping sign. Judging by the litter, the sign had not been much of a deterrent.

  There was no need to hurry; his prey had less of a chance than the spider’s bug.

  Krogan passed unnoticed behind his target, taking note of a Thermos and clipboard on the seat of the open cab. Perversely, he continued further so his shot would not be too easy—he wanted to make the game interesting. He finally came to an abandoned and stripped car at the curb and set his arrows on its rusted trunk.

  He grasped the bow tightly in his powerful left hand. It felt good—even better than it had when he used to target shoot with his father, before he was half the warrior he was now. He picked up an arrow and made sure the three feathers aligned perfectly with the three glistening blades as he had been taught. After a slight adjustment, he placed the arrow on its rest, then drew back on the high-tension string with three fingers of his right hand. His back and shoulder muscles rippled as he dropped to one knee and brought the string to his cheek. He estimated his target at about seventy yards. A long shot, but his bow had enough power to drop a Kodiak bear at that range, if the shot was accurate.

  He calmed his breathing as the man working from the bucket fell into his sights. The man appeared to be wrapping up his work. Perfect. If his job was completed they would likely assume he had left to go to his next assignment. Whatever. He exhaled slowly through his mouth, breathed in and held… then released, making sure the arrow was safely on its way before moving the bow.

  Sssssssssss. The arrow silently whizzed by a couple of inches behind the back of the man’s neck and disappeared over distant tree-tops. Krogan’s eyebrows raised; he was surprised he’d missed. He wondered briefly where the errant arrow would land. Hopefully in someone, he thought as he nestled out of view.

  The man in the bucket had immediately turned around, presumably hearing or feeling the wind as the arrow passed by. He continued to scan the surrounding area for another twenty seconds or so, then went back to putting his tools away.

  Krogan’s laugh was low and raspy as he set the next arrow. This was fun. The fool didn’t have a clue he’d just been granted another minute of life. Back in position, with the bow drawn in full, Krogan adjusted slightly to the left.

  Ssssssssppp. Krogan heard the thunk as the arrow found its mark in the man’s left shoulder. The man screamed in terror, looking down at the arrow sticking out the front of his light-blue shirt, which was rapidly darkening. He dropped into the bucket, presumably to hide.

  “Just when you figure it’s a beautiful morning,” Krogan laughed as he loaded his last arrow.

  With only the man’s hand visible on the controls, the boom began to lower. When the bucket touched the truck, the man’s anguished face appeared over the top. Krogan drew back again. He knew the man would have to try to get out of the bucket and into the truck. The inexperienced fool was terrified enough to chance that it had all been a terrible mistake. The blood alone would convince him he needed to get to the hospital… fast.

  As predicted, the man rose, his right hand clutching his shoulder, his fingers split around the protruding arrow. He clumsily tried to lift one of his legs over the rim of the bucket.

  Ssssssssssppp.

  This time the man was knocked to the back of the bucket, the arrow having gone cleanly through the bottom of his neck, held only by the feathers from going completely through. The man then fell forward, back to the bottom of the bucket, where he would surely stay.

  The chance his victim was still alive and suffering was exciting to Krogan. He sought to thrill himself further, trying to sense the horror of pain and fear in the man’s mind, then remembered what was to come. There was so much to do and he didn’t want to be late for his appointment. He hoped the keys were in the ignition of his new vehicle—and that the coffee in the Thermos was still hot.

  22

  Pierce,” called a voice, just as Gavin was about to open the hospital entrance door for Amy. They both turned to see Katz walking slowly toward them alongside a short, elderly man with a thick white beard and yarmulke skullcap. The man kept one hand on Katz’s left arm. He wore dark sunglasses.

  “This is my Uncle Hiram,” Katz said with a proud smile. “Uncle Hiram?” Gavin said.

  “Yes. He’s spent most of his life studying the ancient Scriptures in their original language. I thought he might be able to help us if Karianne speaks in ancient Hebrew again. As I mentioned yesterday, ancient Hebrew is a read, not spoken, language, but Uncle Hiram reads the Scriptures aloud. Always has. He’s used to hearing the language from his own mouth.”

  Gavin didn’t know what to say. He wanted to keep the interrogation as low profile as possible, and Uncle Hiram might be all that was needed to push Fagan over the edge. Gavin didn’t exactly cherish a conversation between Fagan and Lieutenant Sandel. On the other hand, the old man might be helpful. Besides, what was he to do—tell Katz to send his uncle back to wherever he’d found him, wasting more precious time and insulting the psychologist he desperately needed? Inwardly, Gavin sighed.

  “Hello, sir. I’m Detective Pierce and this is Amy, my assistant,” he said extending his hand.

  “Oh, thank you, my son,” Uncle Hiram said as he took Gavin’s hand and held on to it for additional support.

  Gavin fell into step with Uncle Hiram and glared at Katz.

  “Maybe we should get him a wheelchair,” Amy said.

  “That would be excellent,” Katz replied.

  The old man nodded approvingly.

  Maybe we should check him in while we’re at it, Gavin refrained from adding.

  TICK, tick, tick, tick, tick…

  Gavin leaned against the window wondering if he too would be hypnotized as he listened to the beat of the metronome and Katz’s mesmerizing voice. He’d had maybe four hours of sleep and was feeling it. He looked at Amy, who sat hunched and bleary-eyed at the foot of the other bed. Last night after dinner she had further impressed Gavin with her computer skills as they collaborated and brainstormed into the wee hours. In all that time she’d failed to retrieve any further useful information. According to Amy’s research, Krogan didn’t exist.

  Chris, who sat next to Amy, appeared in better shape than she, and he was still in a wheelchair. Next to Chris and also in a wheelchair was Uncle Hiram, who for all Gavin knew was asleep behind those dark sunglasses. And watching from the back of the room was Doctor Fagan, who had simply been told Uncle Hiram was an expert linguist.

  Karianne’s arm was raised, indicating to Katz she was ready. Katz had been
right about her being able to slip into her hypnotic state easier the second time. Earlier, Karianne had asked Katz, “What now?” He had explained that the most significant and common thread found in both the conscious world and her hypnotic state was the word shadahd. The bartender had heard the killer say it, and though Karianne didn’t remember it consciously, she had confirmed her knowledge of it while under. Katz also seemed fascinated by the fact it was an extinct word from very ancient times, something he said his Uncle Hiram confirmed. Gavin worried that Katz’s agenda went beyond the case at hand. Regardless, they had all agreed shadahd was a logical place to start.

  “Karianne,” Katz said in his soothingly deep voice, “I want you to go back in time to the Seahorse Tavern. Are you there?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly in a hushed voice.

  “What are you drinking?”

  “A Bloody Mary.”

  “Now you’ve been there long enough for the big man to come up beside you. Do you see him?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “He tells you his name is Krogan, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “He speaks a word to you. Shadahd. Do you understand what he means?”

  “I… I don’t understand.”

  Katz frowned. “Do you tell him you didn’t understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what does he tell you?”

  “He orders more for us to drink.”

  “Then does he explain?”

  “He doesn’t have to. After a few more drinks I know.”

  “You know what?”

  Karianne paused. Her expression seemed to struggle a bit, then stabilize into a grin that made Gavin feel quite uncomfortable. It was the same strange smile from the day before—almost feral. Finally she said, “I knew everything.”

  Katz looked at Gavin and then back at Karianne. “Why does Krogan say shadahd?”

  Karianne lifted her chin upward as her expression hardened. “Shadahd is a battle cry,” she said proudly.

  “For what?”

  “The war.”

  “What war?”

  “There is only one.”

  Katz paused at that statement. “When did the war start?”

  “Before ‘when.’ ”

  Katz frowned again, then straightened up and went to Gavin’s ear. “Her answers are incredibly emphatic and real to her even if they seem abstract to us. I’m going to repeat some of yesterday’s questions and see if we wind up in the same place. If we do, we’ll explore. Maybe we’ll find Krogan between the lines.”

  Gavin nodded, although he wasn’t sure what Katz was talking about and wondered if even Katz knew. He grabbed Katz by the elbow as the psychologist started to turn back. “Just do us a favor: if she starts to speak in ancient Hebrew again, make sure your uncle translates what she says into English, loud enough that we aren’t all left sitting here in the dark.”

  “I’ll try,” Katz replied.

  Katz repositioned Uncle Hiram closer to the bed and found his own spot at the bed’s foot. Karianne still had her left arm in the air. Her countenance was proud.

  “I want you to go back to when you first met Krogan. Are you there?”

  “Ken.”

  Great, Gavin thought sarcastically. Here we go again with the ancient Hebrew lesson. Now he had to consciously remember ken meant “yes.”

  “Is Krogan with you?”

  She nodded with a satisfied smile.

  “Where are you?”

  “Yecko.”

  Katz frowned. “Where is Yecko?”

  “Maveth nahar al.”

  Uncle Hiram paused long enough for Gavin to wonder if he even remembered he was supposed to interpret, then said, “I don’t understand what she means.”

  “Don’t worry about what she means, Uncle Hiram. Just translate what she says,” Katz said kindly.

  Uncle Hiram, who had begun nodding while Katz was speaking to him, said, “Death river near.”

  “What?” Gavin said in a hushed voice.

  “In Hebrew the verb comes first, then the subject then the direct object and its modifier, if there is one. If anything, English is backwards,” Katz explained. “ ‘Death river near’ would mean ‘near river death.’ ”

  “Oh, now I understand perfectly,” Gavin said with quiet sarcasm. “Are you sure he’s interpreting correctly?”

  Uncle Hiram nodded. “ ‘The river death.’ She said she’s near the river that dies,” he said softly. “Whatever that means.”

  “ ‘The river that dies’?” Katz said. “What country or nation are you in?”

  “Lo coy. Arabah.”

  Again the old man took his time. “She said there is no nation, only desert.”

  At this rate, Gavin wondered if they would be done by midnight.

  “You’re not in a country, you’re in a desert?”

  “Ken,” she said with a nod.

  “Does everyone speak your language?”

  She continued to nod affirmatively.

  “Why does the river die?”

  “Amets. Lo chayah.”

  All eyes went to Uncle Hiram, whose white eyebrows dipped below his dark glasses rims in wrinkled confusion. “I don’t know,” he said. “The dialect is broken. It doesn’t seem to make any sense, but I think that she’s saying,‘Strong. No live.’The river dies because it’s too strong to live.”

  “Too strong to live? How? What’s too strong?”

  “Melach.”

  “Salt,” Uncle Hiram said.

  “Salt? It’s too salty?” Katz replied.

  “Ken.”

  Katz’s eyes suddenly widened. “Does the river become very big when it dies?”

  She nodded.

  “Is it also called the Dead Sea or the Salt Sea?”

  “Maveth nahar al.”

  “It is only called the river that dies?”

  “Ken.”

  “Is Yecko also called Jericho?”

  “Yecko is Yecko.”

  Katz’s eyes widened as he slowly nodded. “What is the date?”

  “Lo machath.”

  Uncle Hiram shook his head. “She says there is no date.”

  Katz looked surprised at the answer and paused, his eyes rapidly looking around the room as if there might be a cue card somewhere to tell him what to ask next.

  “Are you aware of what the date is?”

  She shook her head slowly.

  “Are there other people there?”

  “Ken.”

  “Do they know you?”

  She nodded and smiled.

  “What do they call you?”

  “Ehud.”

  “You’re a man?” Katz said.

  “Ken.”

  “Ehud, I want you to look at your feet. Do you see them?”

  “Ken.”

  “What are you wearing on them?”

  “Bilti.”

  “Nothing,” Uncle Hiram said.

  Gavin rolled his eyes and dragged his finger across his throat. He had no idea what this was all about, but as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t getting him any closer to Krogan, or whatever his name was.

  Katz waved Gavin off.

  “What are you and Krogan doing?”

  “Shathah yayin.”

  “Drinking. Drinking wine,” Uncle Hiram interpreted.

  “Have you had much to drink?” Katz asked.

  “Lo,” she said and laughed coarsely.

  Uncle Hiram smiled. “She said no.”

  “No. Hmm. Okay, four hours have gone by. What are you doing now?”

  “Halak.”

  “She says ‘travel,’ ” Uncle Hiram said.

  “You’re traveling. Are you on a horse?”

  “Lo.”

  “No,” Uncle Hiram said, notably more attentive than before.

  “No horse? Does anyone use a horse?”

  “Lo.”

  “You are walking?”

  “Ken.”

  Katz shook his head in
apparent disbelief. “Where are you going?”

  “Mattah Gaanos.”

  “She is going to the tribe of Gaanos, whatever that is,” Uncle Hiram said.

  “Why are you going to the tribe of the Gaanos?”

  “Shadahd.”

  Katz dabbed his sweaty brow with a handkerchief, then leaned over the bed. “How many times have you met with Krogan since then?”

  “Rab.”

  “Many,” Uncle Hiram said.

  “Five, ten, a hundred, a thousand?”

  “Min.”

  “More,” Uncle Hiram said.

  Katz stood upright and blinked. After spending the next few moments staring into space, he took a drink of water from a paper cup, then lifted the index finger of his right hand like a lawyer questioning a witness.

  “You’re moving forward in time. You are going to the moment of Ehud’s death. You will not experience any fear or pain. You will only observe. Are you there?”

  She nodded.

  “How is Ehud dying?”

  “Chanith.”

  “Spear,” Uncle Hiram said.

  “Spear?”

  “Ken.”

  “Okay. Move a little further ahead in time. Ehud has been dead for two days. What are you doing?”

  “Searching,” she said, now speaking in English.

  Gavin didn’t understand why she was suddenly speaking in English any more than why she’d understood Katz’s English before but only replied in Hebrew. Why didn’t she speak English the whole time?

  “Why are you searching?”

  “I’m uncomfortable. Need rest. Need comfort.”

  “What are you searching for?”

  “A body.”

  “What kind of body?”

  “A comfortable one.”

  Katz looked at Gavin and shrugged his shoulders, then indicated he would be wrapping it up shortly. Gavin hoped he would. Amy was busy writing in her notebook.

  “Did you find a comfortable body?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it hard to find?”

  “No.”

  “Move forward in time until you come to, uh, nineteen… nineteen forty-four.”

  Karianne’s head swayed slowly from side to side, then stopped.

  “Are you there?”

  Karianne nodded. “Hai.”