In the four corners of the ceiling were cameras, but if the dormant red lights were any indication, they weren’t recording yet, as the tiny bulbs had yet to shine.
The other man spoke to Fred.
“What the hell is going on? Why didn’t you take us to the exercise yard?”
“No more fighting,” Fred told the man, as a guard walked in carrying a pearl-handled .45. “Tonight’s game is Russian roulette.”
The man’s knees gave out and Fred grabbed him beneath his arms and guided him into one of the chairs.
He watched Fred lower the man into the seat and begin securing his hands, and then eyed the gun on Fred’s belt. He could grab the weapon, but then what? He would die, that’s what would happen. Even if he managed to kill everyone in the room there was still the matter of escape and having to deal with the rest of the guards alone.
He stared at the .45, one in six, a one in six chance that he would die in this stark, evil room and never see Jessica again, those were his odds and there was nothing he could do to change them.
He took the other seat, and as he did, Judge Maynard walked in with another man. By the way the guards and the deputies deferred to him, he knew that he was looking at Warden Grayson.
The Warden was about his age, but shorter, a slight bulge at his waistline spoke of his appetite, while the faint dusting of white powder in his moustache spoke of his weakness.
Warden Grayson pointed at him.
“He’s the one, isn’t he?”
Judge Maynard nodded.
“Yeah, and look at the son of a bitch, if you didn’t know better you’d think he was sitting at that table waiting to order dinner.”
Grayson walked over with two guards beside him and stared.
“You aren’t afraid, why not?”
“There’s nothing to fear.”
“What? You don’t fear death?”
“It will come, fear it or not, and one in six odds aren’t the worst I’ve faced.”
Grayson turned his head and smiled at Maynard.
“I see what you mean.”
“Yeah, he’s a pisser, Amos?”
“Yeah, Judge?”
“Make sure this dude goes first, maybe his luck will run out early.”
***
Once the two of them were locked in the chairs, one of the guards placed a single bullet in the cylinder, before spinning it several times. When he was done, he sat the .45 onto the middle of the table and gave them a warning.
“Any dickhead knows how Russian roulette is played, so just keep passing the gun back and forth until one of you wins. Try to get slick and kill the other man, and we’ll kill you anyway, hell, it’s a fifty-fifty chance, beats the lottery,”
And with those words, the man left the room.
The lights on the cameras lit up, and after that, the electronic locks released their hands. At the sound of the locks being demagnetized, the other man, the accountant, let out a yelp and defecated in his pants. The odor was pungent.
“They want me to go first,” he told the man.
He picked up the weapon, placed it to his temple, and pulled the trigger.
The clicking noise that followed seemed like the loudest sound he could ever remember hearing.
When he placed the gun back on the table, the other man reached over with a trembling hand and picked it up.
As the hammer fell on the second empty chamber, the man wept and thrust the gun at him.
He took it, placed it to his temple, and again, pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
Now the other man was bawling like a child, and as he brought the gun to his head, the end of the barrel slid along the sour sweat soaking his face. When he pulled the trigger, his head exploded and covered his opponent, as well as most of the room, with his blood and brains.
There was a window in the doorway, and outside in the hall he could see the deputies and guards settling personal bets that they had made on the match, as they were doing that, he stood and whipped his shirt off to face one of the cameras so that the writing upon his chest was visible.
The red lights went out and the guards entered and took him in their grip, as Maynard and Graves followed.
Taylor Graves cocked his head as he read his chest, he then looked up into his eyes and asked a question.
“Who the fuck is Dave Callaway?”
He laughed in Taylor Graves’ face, and a moment later was knocked unconscious with a leather sap.
CHAPTER 15
Jessica stared open-mouthed at the photo of Marie Stevens, as her hands began to tremble.
She was seated before Chief Dent’s desk, seated beside her was Traci Vargas.
“Rob? Could he really be behind everything?”
“I think Rob Stevens is a sick and dangerous man. He’s obsessed with you, Jessica and he won’t stop until he owns you.”
Jessica tossed the picture onto the desk as her face turned gray.
She looked at the chief. “Bathroom?”
Dent pointed to a door in the corner of the room and Jessica rushed to it and ripped it open, a moment later she was in front of the toilet, vomiting.
When she returned and took her seat, Dent handed her a roll of mints.
“Thanks, the thought that I’ve been giving sympathy and aid to a man who tried to kill my husband was gut-wrenching. And you’re right, Jack, just last night he tried to prey on my loneliness and uncertainty by asking to sleep with me.”
“Let me guess,” Traci said. “He told you that it would help ease the pain?”
“Not in so many words, but yes, that was the tone. When I turned him down he became apologetic, and this morning he left a note telling me again that he was sorry.”
Traci nodded.
“Smart, don’t seem too eager, don’t force things, I bet that he was counting on time and shared tragedy to break down your defenses.”
“Where is he? Is he at your house?” Dent said.
“Actually, no, last night he said he had a few errands to run and later on he had an appointment with the real estate agent. The meeting was to take place at three.”
Dent taped a finger on the photo of Marie Stevens.
“Despite this picture, we have nothing on him. All of the evidence still points to Dave Callaway.”
“I’ve hated Callaway for weeks, now it looks as if he’s even more of a victim than I am.”
“That reminds me, I need to cancel all the alerts on Dave, there’s no sense looking for a man who’s most likely dead.”
Jessica took out her phone. “I’ll call off my search as well.”
***
Carly Zhang and her boyfriend Michael Hartmann were in Carly’s bedroom, in her bed in fact, when one of her laptops began emitting a unique beeping sound.
Carly sat upright.
“Michael, that sound, that’s the alert I set-up to tell me if there was anything other than news chatter about Officer Callaway.”
Carly grabbed her robe as she jumped from the bed; behind her, Michael appeared dejected.
“Can’t you check it later? I mean we were just about to...”
“Don’t be selfish, this could be the lead that Dr. White is waiting for.” Carly checked the source of the alert. “Hmm, it was a photo, but they’ve already taken it down, however...” Carly’s fingers flew swiftly upon the keyboard, and as she retrieved the image, she gasped. “Oh my God,”
Michael came over and stared at the photo. It showed a man, his face splattered with blood and brain matter, and with words written on his bare chest, seemingly also in blood, words that spelled the name Dave Callaway, the name of a man that he knew his wife would be attempting to track down.
“Holy Shit!” Michael said. “That’s Dr. White’s husband.”
Carly jumped up from her seat and hugged him.
“He’s alive!”
And as she reached for her phone to call Jessica, the caller ID displayed her name.
“Dr. White?”
/>
***
Carly sent all the information she had on the photo to the email address that Chief Dent gave her, and soon the State Police Internet Task Force was at work deciphering it.
Jessica stayed at the police station, to await any further developments, and as she waited, she stared longingly at the photo of her missing husband.
Traci went out for burgers, and when she returned, she and Jessica sat in the chief’s office.
“Writing Callaway’s name on his chest was ingenious; I suppose he has a lot of faith in your researcher, he knew that if that image made it onto the Internet that she’d find it.”
“Carly is a gem,” Jessica said, as her food grew cold. She traced a finger over her husband’s face and whispered three words. “So much blood,”
The chief entered with a piece of paper in his hands and a solemn look on his face.
“What is it?” Jessica said.
Dent sat behind his desk and consulted the paper.
“It seems that picture was from a video that was filmed weeks ago. Where it was filmed is still a mystery, but the man that posted the photo on the web is in Argentina.”
“Argentina?”
Dent took a deep breath before he continued.
“The man told the Argentinian authorities that the still is from a black market video of an Internet broadcast, in its entirety, it showed... it showed your husband being forced to participate in a game of Russian roulette.”
Jessica closed her eyes.
“Do they know where it was filmed?”
“No... and they say it may be impossible to track down the broadcaster, something about shifting I.P. addresses.”
The room grew silent, as Jessica once again traced a finger across the photo.
“He’ll survive, he’ll survive and he’ll come back to me, but before he does, I want Rob Stevens locked away.”
Dent stood up.
“Let’s go see if we can make that happen.”
***
In an area called, The Pines, three college friends enjoyed the warm spring weather by riding through the woods on their ATV’s. As they weaved through the forest, one of them cried out as he was thrown from his vehicle.
His friends ran to him.
“Kevin, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just a little shaken up, but hey, help me right my ride.”
As Kevin grabbed onto the handlebars, his friends prepared to lift from the rear, as he reached down to grab hold, the boy on the left let out a shriek and fell backwards into a pile of leaves.
“Dude, what’s wrong?” Kevin said.
The boy simply pointed at a spot near the left rear tire, when Kevin and the other boy looked where he was pointing, their eyes grew wide.
“Is that...?”
“Yeah,” Kevin said, while taking out his phone. “That’s a human skull.”
They had just stumbled across the remains of Officer Dave Callaway.
CHAPTER 16
Stevens had come and gone at his house, but when Jessica returned home with the chief and Traci, they found him out front playing with the dog.
“Hey Jessica, come see the new trick I taught him.”
Jessica said nothing in response. She simply walked over to him and held up the photo of his dead wife.
“Why did you never mention the fact that I could be your wife’s twin?”
Stevens appeared shaken for a moment, but soon recovered and sent her a shrug.
“With everything, with so much death around us, it hardly seemed appropriate to mention that you resembled a dead woman.”
“We knew each other months before that chopper went down; there was plenty of time to bring it up.”
“There was no reason to.”
Jessica stared into his eyes.
“Are you behind all this? Are you obsessed with me?”
Stevens pointed at Dent.
“He’s poisoned you against me, hasn’t he?”
Jessica kept staring.
“My husband is alive, Rob.”
“I know that you want to believe that but—”
“No, it’s no longer in doubt. There’s now photographic evidence that he’s alive.”
Even as she finished delivering the news, she could see the disappointment in his eyes. She took a step backwards.
“Oh my God, it’s true, you really did try to kill him, and you murdered Juliet.”
“Jessica, honey...”
Jessica stuck out her hand. “Key, now!”
“What?”
“Give me back the key to the goddamn door.”
Stevens reached into a pocket and came out with a house key, and Jessica snatched it away.
“Now get out of here, this instant, or so help me God I will kill you.”
Dent gestured towards his police cruiser.
“Perhaps we can offer you a ride?”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not at this time, but I do have more than a few questions for you.”
“Talk to my lawyer,” Stevens said, as he walked over to his car. As he was about to climb in, he looked over at Jessica. “I’m innocent, and someday you’ll see that.”
Jessica answered him with a cold stare, and Stevens drove away.
Traci walked over and placed a hand on Jessica’s shoulder.
“As sick as he is, you know that this isn’t over.”
“I know.”
“I’m posting a man here tonight, just in case,” Dent said.
***
After eating a dinner that consisted of leftover lasagna, Jessica decided to go to bed early.
When she stepped from the shower, she felt a bit woozy, but attributed it to fatigue and stress. But when she reached for her robe after toweling off, she dropped it and leaned against the door.
While still naked, she stumbled towards the bed to take a seat, but found that she didn’t have the strength to sit upright and fell over atop the comforter.
“Something’s not right,” she mumbled. A moment more, and she was asleep.
Two hours later, Agent Rob Stevens of the FBI pulled up beside Officer Carl Ryan and sent three shots through the window of Ryan’s cruiser.
He then drove boldly onto Jessica’s property as the security system activated, and entered the home by using a key that he had copied days ago.
After disabling the alarm system, he crept up the stairs, but when he reached her bedroom, he thrust the door open and found her lying naked atop the bed. On the floor, the dog lay as still as his owner.
When Stevens tapped her cheek in order to gauge her responsiveness, Jessica’s eyes flickered open and filled with fear.
“Rob...what did you drug me with?”
“You’ll be fine; I just put a dash of Rohypnol in your wine. Tonight was to be our night, Jessica. I was going to throw a world-class pity party and later seduce you with help from the drug. Once our love was consummated, there would have been no going back, but of course that cop, Dent, ruined everything.”
Jessica was having trouble staying awake, but a thought came to her that opened her eyes.
“My dog; did you kill him?”
“No, I spiked his food. I actually like that mutt.”
“And the cop out front?”
“I’m afraid I showed less finesse in dealing with him.”
“Oh God, you’re so sick,”
Stevens ran a hand over her breasts.
“I might very well be insane, but I know what I want, what I need, and at last, I’m going to get it.”
He positioned himself between her thighs and began unzipping his pants.
CHAPTER 17
At that same moment, but hundreds of miles to the south,
Joe Cowley watched as the stranger continued his workout. He had lost track of the number of push-ups the man had done somewhere around the count of eighty-two. That was five minutes ago.
There were three of them in the cell, him, the stranger, and the freckled-faced man
named Gary, whose freckles appeared sickly against his pallid skin. The fourth man, the man Joe thought of as the accountant, had perished in the game of Russian roulette, while across the hall and two cells down, more of their group languished. They have been kept locked up for weeks, while barely fed, and all three of them sported full beards.
“I don’t know how you can work out like that,” Joe said. “I barely have enough strength to stand.”
“It’s a necessity; as soon as I see a chance to escape I’m taking it.”
They were interrupted by the sound of the deputies approaching. When they reached the cell, they saw that the deputies had the guard named Simmons in handcuffs, and he was bleeding from a beating.
After taking off the handcuffs and tossing him in the cell, the deputies left, and the three of them stared down at their new arrival.
“What the hell is going on?” Joe said.
Simmons rose from the floor slowly, while pressing a hand against his right side.
“They found out that I’m a DEA agent, and my name isn’t Simmons, it’s Szabo, Steve Szabo. I came here undercover to investigate Grayson’s cocaine business, we tried coming at him from the other end and lost three agents. All I’ve learned so far is that he’s laundering drug money through the prison, but I take it that’s nothing compared to what else is going on. They’re making you fight, am I right, they’re making you fight to the death?”
As Joe moved aside, he helped Szabo to a cot, where the agent lay back and sighed.
“They’ve moved on,” he told Szabo, “Now they’re forcing us to play Russian roulette,”
“Good God,”
“Nevermind that, you’re a guard here, were a guard here; is there any way to escape?”
“Escape? You’ve seen the towers, the dogs, the triple fences topped with razor wire, without someone on the inside, it’s impossible.”
“Not impossible, in fact, I have a plan, but for it to work, that electrical panel in the lower level has to be disabled, the one by the kitchen door.”
“Why that panel?”
He threw a thumb at one of the other cells.
“Over there is a man named Patel, he’s an electrical contractor, I described the location of the panel to him and he said that’s the panel that controls the electronic locks on these cells, he also says that it powers the lights downstairs.”
The TAKEN! Series - Books 1-4 (Taken! Box Set) Page 41