The Warriors Series Boxset II

by Ty Patterson

  Nope, he had no clue where Rouse went.

  Matt Rouse had a bank account. It was inactive. There was a large sum of money in the account – the proceeds from the sale, and several withdrawals, after which the account became dormant.

  They questioned co-workers at the law firm where he had spent a year. Not many remembered him. He was strictly low level. A receptionist had dated him and going by her comments it was semi-serious, but he had broken it off.

  ‘We used to go to his apartment. For a gopher, he sure had fancy digs. He said he was training for a different job, but never said which.’

  She didn’t have anything more for them.

  A coffee break for Meghan to drink some kind of organic juice which Zeb stared at for a moment.

  ‘It won’t kill you, Zeb.’

  ‘I don’t want to find out.’

  More shoe time and SUV time, as they checked out Rouse’s hospital, spoke to doctors, nurses.

  Not a single one had heard from him again. Zeb showed them the video Leon had captured. They all agreed that could be Rouse. The height, the eyes, the whiteness of the hands, all matched.

  Chang suggested going public with his image.

  Zeb shot down the idea. ‘We haven’t been wildly successful with that. Besides, no point in tipping him off, if he’s our man.’

  They showed Rouse’s photograph to the families of the victims. Regina Hunnicker went hmmm, but wasn’t sure and couldn’t recollect where she had seen him and in which capacity.

  If she had seen him in the first place. Zoe snuck out as they were leaving and watched them with her wide blue eyes, but she didn’t say anything.

  They went to the victims’ workplaces. Matt Rouse never worked there.

  He had vanished.

  He hadn’t turned up dead though. Meghan had checked out hospitals, morgues, funeral parlors, all those places where bodies ended. No Rouse.

  Over dinner Mark joined them and listened quietly as the sisters briefed him. He was more comfortable with Zeb now, but still had an air of reserve in his presence.

  They talked about his vanity, his looks, and the stuff he bought to wear. Zeb swirled the soda in his glass and watched bubbles rise to the surface. They broke, tiny ripples spread and died.

  Something moved again in his mind. Something from a previous mission.

  Broker and Bwana were involved.

  It came to him when Beth idly spun Rouse’s photograph.

  ‘His folks said he didn’t want to go under the knife.’

  ‘Yeah. He was adamant about it.’

  ‘What if he did? And then took on a new identity?’

  Meghan jabbed her fork viciously on her plate. ‘We are screwed then.’

  ‘Not quite.’

  The sisters hit the phones with renewed energy the next day. They called all registered cosmetic surgeons in the city.

  ‘Go wider,’ Zeb urged. ‘He could afford the best.’

  They spread the net wider, all over the country. Many cooperated willingly when Meghan explained, a few demurred. Zeb spoke to those recalcitrant few, explained to them the kinds of trouble that could visit them.

  He shrugged when the women arched their shapely eyebrows.

  ‘Rolando hired us just because we can play loosely with due process.’

  They waited for results to come in and turned their attention to Trevor Johnson and Masood and his men.

  Trevor Johnson, The Ghul, was with the Flayer in Central Park.

  It was midnight again and this time The Ghul was alone. He wasn’t wearing a mask; neither was the Flayer. There was no more need. They had too much on each other and that was deterrent enough. It bred a strange trust.

  The two men regarded each other silently, and The Ghul was struck by how similar the two of them looked. But for The Ghul’s darker skin, they could have passed for siblings. Both were of the same height, similar dark eyes and hair, not very different facial features.

  The Ghul sported a thick beard when he was in Iraq.

  He now sported a clean shaven look. Beards weren’t good disguises in America. They drew attention, especially in the current climate.

  Similar even in our love for killing.

  His eyes strayed to the man’s gloved hands.

  The Flayer stripped them off and held his pale hands up.

  ‘An accident many years back.’

  ‘What kind of accident?’ The Ghul asked sharply.

  ‘Automobile. My face, hands, and chest were burned.’

  The Ghul instinctively took a step back. ‘Hospitals will have your records then. The cops too.’

  ‘Whoa, dude. Relax. This was ten years back. Besides, who said I am the same person now?’

  He smiled. ‘New face, new identity, and now a new partner.’

  He saw that The Ghul was still suspicious and irritation crept into his voice. ‘Dude, you think I would be here if the cops had my records? I would be in a cage right now.’

  He has a point.

  He followed the Flayer to the subway on Fifty-Ninth Street and forty minutes later they were walking to the killer’s house, bills of their caps pulled low over their faces, scarves wrapped around their mouths.

  They could have driven, but the Flayer hardly used his car. Cars required records, had plates.

  Inspecting the house was non-negotiable for The Ghul.

  He had made his condition clear to the killer and after several video calls, the killer had finally agreed. The more calls they made and discussed killing methods, secure guises, the more the idea of abducting and killing together had grown on both of them.

  No honor among thieves.

  But we are killers.

  The Flayer unlocked the house and gestured his companion inside with a flourish. He showed him around the house expertly – an ordinary three-bedroom home, semi-detached – and then led him to the rear.

  An exit at the back opened to a small yard which was protected from inquisitive eyes by a tall wooden fence. The fence had a gate in one side that led to the street that ran parallel to the side of the house.

  He pointed to another gate, almost invisible, in the back of the fence that bordered the neighboring house at the rear.

  ‘That goes to the neighbor’s backyard which has a gated exit to the street. They never lock their rear door so, if needed, we could exit through their house.’

  The Ghul nodded absently.

  If they had to exit in that manner, they had already lost their anonymity.

  ‘Who’s in the house by the side?’

  The Flayer grinned. ‘That’s mine too. Both houses are owned by two guys who don’t exist. Layers of anonymity around the ownership. But thankfully, those two dudes pay their taxes and bills on time.’

  ‘You own them outright?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  A man of means. The Ghul filed it away in his mind. It might come in handy sometime.

  They went to the utility room next to the kitchen, the killer pressed a panel on a wall and it flipped open. He pressed keys on an electronic pad and a square on the floor popped up an inch.

  ‘You would need specialized equipment to detect the basement entrance. I got it installed by a firm that does security for high risk folks.’

  They went down a wooden ladder; the killer flicked a few switches and swept a hand around.

  ‘This is where I hang out.’

  He was enjoying The Ghul’s reaction, who was impressed.

  The Ghul wandered around admiring the killer’s operating room. He opened a few shelves, fingered the knives and power tools, tapped the two glass tanks and watched the women.

  ‘Relax dude, they won’t bite.’ The Flayer laughed. ‘They are –’

  The Ghul raised his hand. ‘I don’t want to know.’

  The killer shrugged. ‘Bit too late for that, but have it your way.’

  The Ghul faced him across the steel table. ‘What about phone lines and internet?’

  ‘No phone. Probably the o
nly two houses in New York that don’t have a phone connection. I use a throwaway phone for an internet connection. But most usually I go to a random Wi-Fi hotspot and upload my videos.’

  The Flayer didn’t show him the door behind the rack. He didn’t mention the tunnel.

  No need for him to know.

  If the shit hits the fan, it’s each man for himself. His problem to figure out how to escape.

  The Ghul went to one of the tanks and eyed the body. He had seen enough bodies in his life, but none preserved in this manner, none without their skin.

  What drives him?

  ‘What do you work as?’

  The killer told him and at that The Ghul nodded. ‘That’s how you know your victims.’

  The smile flashed again. ‘Yeah. Neat isn’t it?’

  ‘Surely the cops would check that angle out?’

  ‘I was a different person then, worked in a different job, looked different.’

  I could kill him right now and take over the houses.

  The killer read his eyes and snorted.

  ‘Dude. Don’t even think of it. I would take you apart so quick your head wouldn’t know your body is no longer attached to it. You kill from safety. I go out and hunt my victims. Big difference. Bigger balls needed.’

  The Ghul ignored him. A pissing contest isn’t what I am after.

  ‘So what are your plans?’ The killer broke the silence.

  ‘You need to know only two parts. Penn Station, nineteenth of February.’

  The killer’s eyes widened and he darted to a small desk. He shoved papers aside and pulling out a diary, he rifled pages.

  He whistled. ‘Perfect. You couldn’t have picked a better location and date.’

  He explained when he saw incomprehension on The Ghul’s face.

  ‘One of my target victims will be there.’

  ‘We’ll save her.’

  ‘But not in the way she’s expecting.’

  Chapter 24

  January 22nd – 28th

  No reputed cosmetic surgeon had operated on Matt Rouse.

  ‘You sure we have contacted all of them?’ Zeb asked Meghan as he went down the list she handed to him.

  ‘Believe it, Zeb.’ She replied impatiently. ‘We contacted all those who belonged to the American Association of Plastic Surgeons, which is their representative body.’

  ‘What if he went abroad?’ Beth interjected.

  The silence in the room was broken by Meghan who snapped her fingers in excitement. ‘He sure wasn’t short of money. Good stuff, sis. Stick around with me, you’ll go far.’

  Her sister made a rude sound and bent toward Werner to write another search.

  ‘Flights, dates, passport, image recognition,’ she murmured under her breath.

  ‘He might have gone under a different identity and outgoing passengers are not really checked in any way,’ Zeb reminded her.

  ‘Still worth a shot.’

  Zeb idly threw one of Beth’s airplanes. It flew silently in the air, dipped, and crashed into Broker’s strip of putting green. Silent. Undetected.

  ‘He could have killed at an earlier age. What was to stop him?’

  Meghan tucked an errant hair behind her ear and looked sideways at him. ‘We ran this down remember? That’s how we came across Carl and Leon.’

  ‘Nope. We looked for similar kill patterns. That cut pattern. But what if he killed randomly before he struck a pattern? What if he has left bodies before the first, Janice Morales?’

  She blew hair out of her face as she thought about it.

  ‘We would have to wade through thousands of cold cases,’ she said doubtfully.

  He threw another plane – there were several lying around the office – and watched it float, circle, and land gently near the window. He walked over and while picking it up saw a patrol car flash past, down below.

  ‘Attack it differently.’

  ‘Check out those places the guy traveled, vacations, college, and then see whether there are cold cases in the vicinity.’

  ‘Now if you could just figure out where he’s holed up, Wise One, we would be sitting pretty,’ she replied, an undercurrent of respect in her voice, and picked the phone to Chang.

  Zeb wasn’t listening. He was reading a text from his contact in London.

  ‘Trevor Johnson doesn’t exist.’

  He went to the bubble and called the MI5 man. It was very early in London, but his contact practically lived in his office.

  ‘That legend is a fake, mate.’ The intelligence officer’s private school educated accent washed over Zeb. ‘That firm exists, but they don’t have anyone by that name. Never did. I ran that image past our facial recognition database and didn’t get any hits. So what’s this about?’

  Zeb told him and the line went silent as the MI5 agent thought through various possibilities.

  The United Kingdom had a particular problem with home-grown extremists who went to the Middle East and fought with the terrorists. Zeb knew the agent would be wondering if Johnson was another such extremist.

  ‘I don’t think he is one of your citizens gone to join the HOF or Al Qaeda. Why would he come here if that was the case? He has come here for a specific purpose.’

  The day progressed as he called other friendly intelligence agencies in the Western world. None of them had anything on Trevor Johnson.

  New player. Who’s he?

  Take your own advice. Come at it from a different angle.

  He pored over Masood and his men’s profiles, called the local P.D.s where the men resided. No arrest records, not even a speeding or a parking ticket.

  ‘The mosque they go to is a moderate one. Nothing suspicious there.’

  Keys clicked as the detective in Newark scanned his files.

  Zeb stopped him. ‘Why do you know that? Which mosque they go to? If they weren’t on your radar, you shouldn’t know that.’

  The detective came back with a surprised tone, a didn’t-you-know one. ‘They went on a world tour a few years back. We routinely checked them out then to see if they had gone to join any terrorist organization.’

  Zeb’s voice sharpened. ‘When was this? All of them?’

  ‘Yeah.’ The cop recited dates.

  Zeb ended the call and swung his feet on his desk.

  Another world tour?

  Coincidence?

  He went to the Facebook profile of Masood and read a few posts.

  Beth came over and looked at his page, drawn by the sharpness in Zeb’s voice and hearing his side of the call.

  He looked up at her. ‘Can you work out their current and past itinerary? Which countries they visited, when, etc.?’

  She scrolled down the page and nodded. ‘Sure. They have posts from every country they visit. It will be easy to correlate those with dates.’

  It took her less than an hour and then she disappeared for a late lunch with Mark.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be protecting citizens, ridding the city of crime?’ Meghan taunted him.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m doing. Protecting a citizen.’ He retorted.

  Zeb nodded back at the young man, took the itineraries with him and went to the bubble. The same MI5 officer answered and yawned lustily before he took down the names and passport details that Zeb fed him.

  ‘Remind me, how’s this related to your earlier query? It has been a long night here. We have been tracking down some British men who are traveling through Turkey to join the HOF.’

  Zeb told him and heard the thud of the man’s feet hit the ground as he straightened.

  ‘Yes, those five landed in Heathrow.’ He mentioned dates. They correlated to the window Beth had noted down.

  Now we have something. Where will this string lead if we pull on it?

  He made another request to his contact. Britain was one of the most heavily camera-monitored countries in the Western world.

  There were very few parts in its large cities that were camera free. Zeb remembered a statistic
from somewhere – it had one percent of the world’s population but twenty percent of its security cameras.

  ‘Can you run a facial recognition program against your CCTV database and see where else those guys have come up? And while you are it, run Trevor Johnson through that program too.’

  ‘That’ll take some time mate. I’ll give a shout when I have something.’

  Meghan looked questioningly when he exited the bubble. He briefed her and saw the spark of excitement reflected in her eyes.

  ‘Their first stop was always going to be London. Their world tour can be legit.’ he cautioned her.

  ‘Yeah, but we need to check if they turned up at the other countries.’

  ‘What?’ He asked her when she waited expectantly.

  Her voice was syrupy, but the snark was evident. ‘Shouldn’t you be calling your contacts in those other countries?’

  ‘Gotcha. A lot of things on my mind.’

  He turned back to the bubble, his mind still on Trevor Johnson.

  Where’s he now?

  The Ghul was with the Flayer again.

  He inspected the killer’s knives and scalpels and shook his head. ‘These won’t do. I need a long, thin blade, no serrations.’

  The killer brought his laptop over to the center table and hooked his machine to the internet, through his burner phone. He went through various websites that sold knives and idly asked The Ghul, ‘Which one did you use for all those killings?’

  ‘I use a butcher’s knife.’

  ‘So let’s get one.’ He went to a popular website, logged into it and brought up a page and when The Ghul pointed at one, bought it.

  The HOF killer dug into his wallet and handed over a wad of bills.

  The Flayer stowed away his laptop and faced his companion.

  ‘My turn to check out your security. You had a few guys with you when we met. Who are they? What do they know of me? What else are you planning?’

  The Ghul told him about his compartmentalizing Masood’s men, their world tour, and the different apartments they rented.

  ‘They know you as another cell I am cultivating. Nothing more.’

  ‘What else are you planning?’ The Flayer asked again.