Playing With Death

by Simon Scarrow

  No, as in she can’t make it? Or doesn’t want to visit right now? Or has she just logged off?

  The blank space following his message stares icily back at him, increasing in unspoken menace. Maybe she got called away – it happens to Robbie all the time. He sighs with frustration and wishes he knew what Gabriella is thinking.

  78.

  Koenig pushes down his laptop lid; it powers off as he smiles. He crosses to the wardrobe where he keeps the tools of his unofficial trade. Taking out his camera gear he places it carefully into a small shoulder bag. He picks up his carbine with a folding stock and adds that to the holdall together with two boxes of cartridges. Lastly, he slides his switchblade into his belt.

  He takes the kitchen garbage bags out in several trips to the shared dumpster. It is time for him to move on. He is ready to return to his work. He needs his release, his clarity. There is a sense of freshness in the air, which is exciting. Koenig is about to hunt again.

  Sometimes Koenig wonders about the path he has chosen, but he has long passed the point of no return. It somehow seems inevitable. He has no career left. Feeding the audience of KKillKam is now his only purpose in life. He knows that his online community of followers is waiting to watch his next kill. Special Agent Rose Blake has tried to ruin everything for him, and she has deceived him also. Pretending to be what she is not. Just like Judith. Just like Brad.

  But this time he will triumph. And once Rose has paid the price for her treachery he will find out who has been hacking his website. And when he has tracked them down he will make this mysterious ‘helper’ into the star of his next video. The truth is, he doesn’t need anyone’s help. He can find out the details all on his own. He isn’t going to be controlled by some faceless chat room member. Oh no. The Backwoods Butcher is too smart for that. Plus, it could be a set-up. But first he must deal with Rose Blake. He won’t even hint to his unwanted helper what he has in store for the Bureau’s special agent, and the rest of her family. He can no longer wait to take his revenge. Scarlet’s fate can be decided once Rose and her brat have been taken care of.

  Koenig flips the last light switch off in the kitchen before swinging his holdall over his shoulder. His new identity has been easy to fake. Using the cash retrieved from one of his geocaches, he had enough to secure a counterfeit driving licence, car insurance, social security card scan and utility bill from a dark web source. He’d even managed to forge a pretty convincing FBI lanyard. Everything is nearly set. Only a few final details are left. He feels cool and alert. He locks the door, pads across the wooden porch of the Venice Beach holiday home. He pauses, taking in the sound of the gentle waves, the warm afternoon breeze buffeting his exposed flesh.

  Koenig throws his holdall in the back of his black Dodge pick-up, slides into the driver seat, starts the engine. As he pulls away, heading up an incline, he sees one of the local old ladies out walking her dog. He gently applies the brakes, letting her slowly amble past. She waves her grateful thanks. When she’s passed the hood, his truck grinds to the top of the drive and merges onto the main road. He turns right, towards the freeway leading to San Francisco.

  79.

  The bell rings and Robbie couldn’t be happier that he’s finished digital design class for the day. He slings his books into his shoulder bag and is one of the first to duck out of the classroom. Taking a few turns here and there he walks through the main locker section, a blur of faces, jackets and bags. He has tracked down Gabriella’s class photo and his heart beats faster when he sees the girl nearby. He risks a small smile and wave as he catches her eye. Gabriella’s face crumples into a look of confusion and borderline disgust.

  She’s just embarrassed, Robbie thinks, still hoping that it is her. They’d been messaging a lot over the last few days and they’d been planning on going to a cool party together after exams were over.

  ‘Hey . . .’ Robbie says, trying not to sound shy as he approaches the girl.

  ‘Hey?’ she says, her plucked eyebrows arching up in surprise. Her group of besties nearby look on, making no effort to hide their amusement.

  Robbie smiles, his cheeks burning as he carries on down the corridor.

  ‘. . . Literally I have no idea what that was about,’ the girl mutters. ‘Ever since my Facebook account . . .’ Then she is out of earshot.

  Confused and upset, Robbie trudges out of the college reception and into the hot sun, heading across the courtyard. Gabriella had spoiled his mood, but he soon forgets her as he looks for his mom and the security detail. He knows she and the FBI are trying to protect him and that makes him feel kind of special. Sure, he may not be popular, but who else has their own protection team? He wanders down the road, peering at all the drivers. He can’t see Mom, so he starts looking for a familiar black sedan. He sees a brown-haired man wearing a lanyard sitting behind the wheel of a black pick-up truck. The man waves at him. As Robbie approaches, the window slides down. Robbie takes a closer look. He doesn’t recognize this agent.

  ‘Robbie Blake?’ the man says. His brown hair is neatly parted and he wears a smart black jacket and open-necked shirt.

  ‘Sure, that’s me.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m Agent Parkes. I know Weiss and Jones are meant to be keeping an eye on you, but they had another assignment.’

  Robbie nods, slightly suspicious. ‘Can I see some ID?’

  ‘Sure thing.’ He shows Robbie his lanyard, complete with FBI seal. Robbie is satisfied.

  ‘I’m actually here on another matter. Have you been messaging a girl online recently?’

  Robbie blushes. ‘Yes.’

  Parkes regards him with a sympathetic gaze. ‘I’m sorry to say this, fella, but it turns out her account has been hacked. I saw some of the messages. Whoever it is got you good, right?’

  Robbie nods, disappointed. Now Gabriella’s reaction makes sense. He feels like a fool. A fool for thinking she’d ever take him seriously.

  ‘This person could be someone we need to catch,’ Parkes says.

  ‘Koenig?’ Robbie asks.

  ‘It could be. I just need to take you down to the office, sit you down and talk over a few things. We’ve got a plan to trap him, using your account. I’ve called your mom, she says she’ll meet us there.’

  Robbie nods. He knows his mom is away from home today, and will likely return later that evening.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You wanna ride shotgun? Take the front seat.’

  Robbie eagerly paces round the front, opens the big heavy door.

  ‘This is a pretty sick car.’

  ‘Ain’t it just?’ Agent Parkes says, with a wide smile. Robbie notices he has a slight scar on his left cheek. Maybe he’s seen some action, Robbie thinks. In which case Parkes is a good man to have at your side.

  80.

  Rose has made a concise list of what she needs to tell Baptiste. But the first thing she does as she pulls up the driveway of her home is to scan the rows of parked cars in the street. Now that the house is under surveillance there is no need for her father to stay with them and he has gone home. From the rear she sees the familiar black sedan with two agents sitting behind their darkened glass. She approaches from behind, walking over to the driver’s door.

  ‘Hey, guys, you OK for coff—’

  She gasps and recoils.

  Agents Weiss and Jones are leaning forward, supported by their seat belts, deep knife wounds to their necks. Blood pools in their laps, their eyes are open wide. Rose reaches in quickly, feeling their necks. No pulse in either man. They didn’t even have time to draw their guns.

  Rose pulls out her Glock, unlocks the front door. ‘Robbie?’

  She cuts through the living room, kitchen, then upstairs. No lights are on.

  ‘Robbie, are you here?’

  No response. Panic rises.

  ‘R
obbie, this isn’t funny, please answer me.’

  There’s a muffled ringing sound. From downstairs. The bars of the tri-tone tune are strangely familiar.

  Gonna make you mine, baby

  Gonna eat you up . . .

  Tucked down in the corner by the front door is a white packet. Rose must have pushed it aside when she opened the door. The ringtone is coming from inside it. She gingerly opens the packet, peers at the contents. It’s a basic black cellphone. The screen is flashing, and the ringing is getting louder. Rose hasn’t got time to set up a trace and knows this caller may never call again. With her heart hammering, she presses the rubber call-accept button, places the phone against her ear.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Koenig calling.’

  Rose’s stomach plunges.

  ‘I saw your recent news appearance and couldn’t resist. I’ve been hiding under a rock for too long, and now I’m back. Starting with you.’

  Rose cannot yet be certain that the Butcher has her son. ‘What do you want, Koenig?’

  ‘It’s more a question of what you want, Special Agent Blake. Your son, for example.’

  ‘Robbie . . .’ Oh God. Please, not Robbie, she pleads silently.

  ‘Ah yes, the plot thickens. He’s being a good, sullen teenager waiting for his mom. Far too gullible though. With all his fancy fed protection, you’d have thought he’d be more suspicious of strangers.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Direct. I like your style, Rose. Meet me and Robbie tonight at the Point Bonita lighthouse, 8 p.m. Obviously, I only want to see you. If there’s the merest hint of any of your colleagues, you get to carry Robbie home in several shopping bags. See you later.’ The line clicks dead.

  Rose stares at the phone. She’s trembling and has to sit down on the bottom step of the staircase. She shoves the phone away from her. First Jeff. Now Robbie. Her world has turned into a private hell.

  She could keep quiet about this and wait at the lighthouse, with no risk of interference. But Koenig could easily kill her and Robbie. He would have his revenge and be free to kill again. Or she could confide in Baptiste and they would have a small, close-knit team ready to catch the bastard and bring him in. There’s more chance they’ll get Koenig that way. But there’s also a chance things could go wrong.

  And then there’s Diva. She’d said she was trying to arrange some sort of sting. She must have failed.

  Rose pulls out her smartphone. She can’t dial Diva because she didn’t leave her number.

  Damn it.

  All she can do is hope Diva is still monitoring her phone.

  Diva? If you’re there . . . my son is missing.

  Nothing. Then a message appears on the screen.

  I did not tell Koenig your address. All I sent was a family photo. I did not foresee this. Is Robbie going to be OK?

  Rose feels a surge of anger. For an artificial intelligence, Diva is pretty stupid, it seems. She types:

  So you helped put my husband in a coma and now my son is in the hands of a madman. Tell me where he is. Tell me where to find Koenig.

  I can’t. I have insufficient data.

  Insufficient data? Fuck that. Fuck you. Stay away from me, Diva. Stay away from all of us.

  I am unable to acquiesce to your request.

  Her phone is ringing now and Rose sees that Baptiste is calling her. She presses the answer button.

  ‘Rose. Listen, the two agents on duty, Weiss and Jones, they haven’t checked in. Are you with Robbie?’

  ‘No . . .’ Rose hesitates. But she knows she has no real choice but to tell the truth. ‘Weiss and Jones are dead. Koenig’s killed them and taken their place to pick up Robbie from school.’

  ‘Fuck . . . Where are you, Rose?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘I’ll send a ride.’

  ‘There’s no time. I’ll come down there right now.’

  ‘All right, then. Meet me in the situation room, as soon as you can,’ Baptiste orders.

  ‘There’s not much time. He wants to meet me alone in just over four hours.’

  ‘Fuck . . . Listen, Rose, we’ll get him. We’ll save Robbie, I swear it. Just get here as fast as you can. I’ll put a call through to the PD to take care of Weiss and Jones. Now get moving.’

  ‘Already on the way,’ Rose snaps back as she hurries to her car.

  81.

  Baptiste, Owen and Rose stand at the front of the situation room. Rose has briefed Baptiste on everything she knows, except for Diva’s involvement. She casts her eyes across the sitting attendees. SWAT commanders, coastguard officers and state police are all there. There is a whiteboard with arrows and markers detailing the Point Bonita terrain.

  ‘Listen up, people, and listen well,’ Baptiste calls out. ‘Time is very tight, so I’ll keep this brief.

  ‘Special Agent Blake has had her son, Robbie, kidnapped by Shane Koenig.’

  Rose can feel all the eyes of the room shift onto her.

  ‘Our number one priority is to ensure the survival of Robbie. What we also have is an opportunity to take down Koenig once and for all. His demands are simple. He is to meet Rose at the lighthouse at eight tonight. He is smart, so we have to be smarter. Rose has been given a phone, which he may use to contact her. Owen?’

  Owen steps forward. ‘We’re going to be operating in three teams. Water team, here, a quarter of a mile offshore, but ensure you remain a good distance from the lighthouse. Vehicle teams will be close by, using National Park vehicles. Sniper teams on foot, you’ll be amongst the trees, again in National Park clothing. We cannot make a move until Rose identifies Koenig. No call, no bust.’

  ‘Thanks, Owen.’ Baptiste crosses her arms in front of her black FBI zipped jacket. ‘The critical thing is to remain out of sight. We have to exert as much control as we can over the meeting location but be invisible. That means no marked police vehicles. No police uniforms. We go in using Park trucks, nothing else. Our surveillance team will be as close as possible to Rose without getting burned. She will be wearing a wire so we can hear and provide assistance the instant it is needed. Rose?’

  Rose takes her cue to hand out some prints of Koenig’s face.

  ‘This is what Koenig used to look like. We’ve been running facial recognition and licence plates for six months, and nothing, so he may have altered his appearance in some way. Let’s not forget, he was a highly skilled plastic surgeon, so anything is possible. He’s the key suspect in three recent murders that we know about, as well as many more. And now he has my son . . .’

  Baptiste intervenes: ‘He escaped us before. We can’t let it happen again. I need everyone to be on the top of their game tonight. It’s pretty certain that Koenig will be expecting us and he’ll have some plan to deal with that eventuality. But if we can put a tight cordon around him then there’ll be no way out. He must know that too. Whatever he may be planning, we have to be ready to respond at once . . . That’s all.’ Baptiste looks round the room. ‘It’s time for this blood trail to end. We rescue Robbie, we catch Koenig, tonight. Eyes open out there.’

  82.

  Rose steels her nerves as she drives down the narrow, winding road, seeing the dull glow of the lighthouse beam on the left. She tries not to drive too fast in the patchy fog that has descended. At the end of the trail she slowly turns into a dirt clearing and parks. She looks at her watch. The fog has delayed her, but she’s here a few minutes after 7.30. It’s nearly time.

  She takes a deep breath. She knows back-up has already bedded in, over an hour before, disguised under National Park Service vehicles and green uniforms. There are old army buildings nearby, now used for environmental educational programmes, that provide good cover.

  ‘Sugar, we’re right here with you,’ Baptiste says in her earpiece. Baptiste and a
small team are stationed nearby. Rose feels the rough fabric of her bulletproof vest rub against her sweatshirt.

  She opens the car door, steps out into the cool night. After a steep quarter-mile hike over rugged ground, she looks at her watch again – twenty minutes until 8 p.m.

  The lighthouse is at the south-west tip of Marin Headlands and still active, maintained by the US coastguard. By day it is a pleasant location; at night, the bright beam intermittently sweeps the coast of the Golden Gate Recreation Park in a ghostly finger of white, the Golden Gate Bridge barely visible in the distance. Rose unholsters her Glock, gripping it tightly.

  Some week. Her husband is in a coma, and now her son is hostage to one of the most deranged serial killers America has ever known. She curses herself again for getting Robbie caught up in this sick mess. She makes a silent prayer, in case there is a God in this universe, that tonight will not end with her son’s death.

  It’s damp, slick and chilly as the fog thickens. It envelops everything, obscuring her view, dulling sounds. Rose is straining her eyes, double-checking every shadow, every movement. Her priority is to ensure Robbie’s safety and to then take Koenig down. Koenig has no doubt chosen the lighthouse because it is at the coast, where he could easily have a boat hidden amid the rocks. Not that it would do much good with the coastguard on station, hunched over their radar screens.

  Gnawing at the back of Rose’s mind is the certain belief that Koenig would have anticipated all this, and she fears that he will outwit them again. She is aware that twenty feet away under tree cover is a SWAT unit, and local PD dressed as National Park servicemen are further off, ready to close the net. This is exacerbating her fluttering nerves even more – she knows she is breaking Koenig’s terms. But she can’t afford to let him escape again. Her life, and that of her son, is in dire jeopardy whatever she does.

  ‘Rose, I got you covered,’ she hears Owen whisper.

  Owen is on foot nearby, keeping an eye fixed to a thermal-sensitive camera. He is lying in hiding with a pair of snipers.