“Did he tell you what it was?” Munoz asked.
“Not in so many words. But he made it clear that he didn’t trust the Feds at all. He wanted a lot of information about you, but the only thing I would tell him was that you were a 35-year veteran with a spotless record and that there was obviously some kind of mistake.”
“How did he leave it?”
“He told me that if I spoke to you, I should have you call him,” said Yolanda.
“So you got a number?”
“I did. But you have to be careful. It might be a setup.”
“I know, Yolanda. But I’m in real trouble here. So much trouble I don’t think I’m going to see Frieda again.” Munoz pulled out his pen and pad. “Give me the number.”
“312-555-1212.”
“Did you check up on whoever it was that called?”
“I called them back. It rang through to a downtown Chicago precinct. I did check on this Sergeant Kevin O’Malley with personnel. He has been in law enforcement for 17 years and with CPD for nine years. I called him again from my friend’s house, and he was the same guy that called me. He wants to talk to you Jose, that’s all I know.”
“Yolanda, I need the make, model and plate numbers for any vehicles registered to Herman Walker.”
“Sure, one sec…” The process was completed almost instantaneously. “Ok, we’ve got a black, 2014 Lincoln Navigator and a green, 2015 Lexus GS. I’m going to text you the plate numbers.”
“Excellent. I guarantee he’s in the Navigator. Did you get in touch with my wife?”
“I’ve talked to her, Jose. I was careful, but I don’t know if anyone was listening in. I called her from my mom’s house. She is so worried, but I told her you were all right, and we would get this cleared up.”
“Ok, Yolanda. You better go. I’ve got a long wait, and you never know how long we can use these prepaid phones before they start monitoring the frequencies.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Abernathy drove past nearby Stockton as he continued moving toward Desolation with the rogue woman and her companion. Zach caught him repeatedly looking into the back seat from the rear view mirror and met his glances with an icy stare.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” said Abernathy.
“Where are we going?”
“None of your damn business. I’ll be asking the questions. Who the hell are you, and what were you doing with the whore?”
“I’m a friend.”
“Bullshit. That bitch doesn’t have any friends. I know exactly where she’s lived all her life, and you’re not her friend. Now let me ask you again: Who the hell are you?”
Zach turned his head away and looked out the window. “I have nothing to say to you.”
Abernathy scowled and ground his teeth. “I’ll look forward to seeing you dissected while you remain conscious,” said Abernathy. “You’ll die in a very painful way, and I’ll make sure I’m there to watch.”
As they rode for several hours in silence, Zach continued to check the side view mirror where he was able to confirm that Anston was following in the rental car. The assailant must have assumed Zach and Sarah were traveling together in her pickup truck and was unaware he was being tailed. The miles rolled by with Anston maintaining contact but at a safe distance. While Jarad’s presence was comforting, Zach wondered how his friend could possibly intervene with any reasonable chance of success. Even if they stopped, Anston was no match for the muscular and powerful Abernathy, and Zach was helpless with his hands bound. In the ultimate irony, their fate apparently depended on mild-mannered Jarad Anston’s ingenuity.
Just outside of Stockton, Abernathy realized he needed more fuel. On impulse, he exited I-5 and turned into a Fast Stop service station that offered a quick fill and easy access back onto the freeway. As the car moved through the parking lot and coasted under the gas pump canopy, Zach glanced at his surroundings and searched for a means of escape. The nylon tie strap was tight and bit into the flesh around his wrists. He pulled hard, but it didn’t loosen.
Abernathy turned around and looked into the back seat, pointing a finger at Zach. “Listen you fucker, I have to get gas. You try anything, and I’ll waste you and won’t give it a second thought.”
Zach looked up and grimaced, aware that there was nothing he could do to stop the stronger man. Abernathy cast a look of disdain in Sarah’s direction, and she slid lower in the seat.
Stepping out and walking to the pump, Abernathy inserted his credit card into the machine, pulled the nozzle from its holster and jammed it into the gas tank. While he was fueling, he decided to use the bathroom before starting on the next leg of the journey. He thought about the occupants in the car for a minute. At some point, they would also need to eliminate, especially the woman. He contemplated letting them piss their pants, but that would start to stink after a while, and it was a long trip. He could take them somewhere off the highway, but what if someone saw them and became suspicious? Like it or not, he was going to have to let them go into the station.
He locked the car doors and walked the short distance to the convenience store. There were a few customers inside browsing the shelves or standing at the checkout counter. Abernathy went inside the men’s room and relieved himself. As he washed and dried his hands, he looked around the windowless room, which as far as he could tell, offered no means of escape.
Flushing and zipping up, he walked back to the car, verified his human cargo was still inside, and then opened the front door while looking into the back. “Do either one of you have to piss or take a crap?”
Zach didn’t really have to go, but he knew he needed to take every opportunity to get out of the restraints. “Yeah, I’ve gotta go badly.” Sarah didn’t look up, but nodded as well.
“I can take you in there and let you use the head, or I can find a field somewhere and let you crap out there. If you make one move to try anything, I’ll shoot both of you. Whether I get caught or not doesn’t matter to me or anyone else of importance. I’m taking a risk here, I understand that. But you need to know I won’t hesitate to kill you both.”
“I understand,” Zach said. “I don’t want to die. Just let me use the restroom and that’s all. We won’t try anything.”
“Ok, good,” Abernathy said as he pointed at Zach. “You first. I’m going to open your door and undo the tie strap. You mess with me…”
Abernathy walked to the far side of the car and unlocked the passenger door. He reached inside his pants pocket and pulled out a pocket knife he used to release Zach’s hands while keeping the barrel of his revolver shoved hard against the other man’s ribs. Zach slid across the seat while maintaining eye contact with Abernathy and kept his hands in plain view. They walked together in tandem to the other side of the vehicle where Abernathy repeated the procedure, and Sarah Johansen stepped out.
The pair stood stiffly with Abernathy just behind them, and they walked toward the entrance to the convenience store. Once inside, Abernathy motioned to the facilities and warned them again about the consequences of any type of escape attempt.
Zach went into the restroom and looked around. How could he use this situation to his advantage? He debated leaving a message with the man in the third stall but realized he would probably be regarded as just another mentally ill highway bum. Anyway, Abernathy had already stuck his head through the door once, and Zach expected he might do the same several more times. He wondered if Sarah could find someone to help them but dismissed the idea. She was paralyzed with fear, and any action on her part was unlikely.
Under the watchful eye of Abernathy, Zach urinated and exited the restroom, only to find Sarah already standing outside the door. He shot her a hopeful look, but she just continued staring at the floor. They retraced the path back to the car, and Abernathy once again fastened their wrists, this time pulling Zach’s tie strap even tighter as a sadistic grin crossed his face.
For several seconds, Abernathy continued to stare at Zach, enjoying th
e other man’s discomfort. Without warning, his eyes grew wide, and he belched a muffled, “Ugh,” as his knees buckled slightly. He stumbled forward a few steps while clutching the back of his head just as Zach turned back to see Jarad Anston panting heavily and wielding a bloody tire iron from a couple feet away.
Unfortunately, Anston didn’t hit Abernathy with full force, trying instead to measure the blow to avoid killing him. As a result, he only managed to daze the Benefactor’s lieutenant, who was already regaining consciousness.
Abernathy pulled his hand from his head and saw the blood on his fingers. He turned toward Anston with a look of rage on his face. He rose to his feet and approached with obvious malice.
“Stay back!” yelled Anston as he swung the tire iron wildly.
“I don’t know who you are, asshole, but you just walked into a whole mess of trouble!”
Anston said nothing and continued to backpedal, his eyes wide and glazed. A small group of spectators from the convenience store began to congregate outside the entryway. Abernathy realized he didn’t have much time before someone would decide to call the police. He was loath to pull the gun since he knew it would only hasten the decision to involve the authorities.
This was an unwelcome event, and Abernathy despised deviating from a plan. He frowned and spoke in his most intimidating voice. “Listen,” he said. “I have a gun in my waistband. If you don’t give me that jack iron and get in the car, I’m going to drive out of here and kill your friend.”
Anston stopped backpedaling and held his ground. He was aware of the growing crowd at the convenience center and wanted to bring as much attention to the confrontation as possible. “You leave my friends alone and stop threatening to kill us. And who the hell are you?”
Anston’s voice was loud, and Abernathy recognized he was losing control of the situation. To compound matters, Zach started kicking at one of the car’s fenders, creating yet another distraction. Without deliberating further, Abernathy charged at Anston, who stood stiff like a deer caught in the headlights. There was a blunt collision as the muscular shoulder slammed into Anston’s soft stomach. With an audible umph, the two men toppled over and hit the hard ground just past the edge of the parking lot.
Far more schooled in the pugilistic arts, Abernathy took advantage of his superior position and began pummeling the defenseless Anston, who raised his arms up in a feeble attempt to fend off the blows. Abernathy was administering a terrible beating, and Zach could hear the muffled cries for help between the groans of pain.
Still standing just outside the car, Zach shook with rage. He felt helpless with his hands bound. Still, the sight of his friend taking a savage pounding forced him to act on instinct. Without thinking, he ran at full speed and plowed directly into Abernathy, which sent both of them sprawling to the ground. Once he overcame the shock of the unexpected attack, Abernathy stumbled over to Zach and dragged him to his feet.
“You prick!” he hissed through clenched teeth. He drew back his fist and punched Zach square in the face, sending the smaller man reeling backwards until he fell hard on his left hip. “Just for that I’m gonna kill your friend.” Abernathy turned and walked back to Anston who was sitting up with his hands covering his bloody face.
Zach was balanced on his knees and unconsciously focused his anger at the retreating Abernathy. He began to visualize a stream of hot plasma burrowing through a wall of iron.
Struggling to his feet, he moved closer to his adversary, caught up in a growing wave of temporal projection. Besides minor intervention, Zach never attempted to inflict telekinetic harm on anyone other than the Dark One, and that was only in self-defense and within the context of a vision. Briefly, he wondered if it would work and worried about the consequences.
The densely-packed cerebral energy slammed into Abernathy’s brain with an impact that sent psychic shockwaves throughout the immediate area. Several bystanders who gathered on the convenience store landing covered their ears and experienced momentary nausea. Zach was momentarily stunned by the rebound waves but regained his senses and resumed the assault. Thomas Abernathy was not as lucky. He clutched at his head and staggered erratically, trying to clear the growing pressure inside his cranium.
Zach focused his concentration and penetrated the frontal lobes of his foe. Wading through layers of memories, he attacked the synaptic centers that controlled coordination between the brain and limbs.
Abernathy jerked spasmodically as his arms and legs betrayed him. He floundered in a cryptic dance that made it appear like he was having some sort of seizure. He dug frantically at the sides of his head, producing deep scratches that oozed fresh blood. Muted cries and screams of pain came from his paralyzed vocal cords. Veins protruded from his temples in high relief as trickles of blood surfaced through burst eardrums.
Anston remained motionless, his eyes glued to the prone and writhing form of Abernathy. He was vaguely aware of a shriek that came from one of the women outside the store.
“Get us out of here!” Zach yelled to his friend. He abruptly withdrew from the confused mind of Thomas Abernathy, certain that he had caused significant damage.
Anston found his way over to Zach and pulled him to his feet. Together they staggered back to Abernathy’s car and helped a cowering Sarah step out from the back seat. Anston used a key from his ring to stretch the nylon tie straps until both Zach and Sarah were free. They moved past Abernathy, who was still thrashing absently at the air, and approached the rental car.
The crowd at the convenience store changed the focus of their concern as Abernathy lay writhing in obvious distress. Several of the men appeared to argue before a small group decided to cross the pavement and intervene.
“Hey... hey,” called out one of the bystanders as he reached out to the fallen man. He looked up at the retreating threesome and said, “My God, what the hell did you do to him?”
Zach encouraged his companions to quicken their pace as they crossed the parking lot to Anston’s car. “Hey, you, come back here! What did you do to this guy? He looks like he’s dying!”
Another bystander arrived and rolled Abernathy on his back while loosening his tie. “Oh yeah, dude’s messed up. Someone call an ambulance, quick. We need to stop those people from leaving, man.”
The onlooker took a few tentative steps toward the trio, but they hastened their pace and reached the rental car just as several people started running to try and intercept them.
“Get a license plate number,” shouted one of the men in the pursuing mob.
Three doors slammed almost simultaneously, and Anston fired up the engine. Tires squealed and rubber met pavement while the angry mob yelled insults and gestured emphatically.
The car hit the frontage road swerving and spraying rocks. “Which way?” yelled Anston as he fought to control the vehicle. Zach turned to Sarah, who was curled up in the back seat with her legs drawn up and wrapped tightly in her arms.
“Do you know where he was taking us?”
“Yes, but we mustn’t go there,” Sarah said. “He will destroy us all. Go anywhere but there.”
“Where, Sarah? Where is he?”
“I won’t tell. If I tell you, you’ll make me go back there. I won’t go back there.” She grabbed at strands of her own hair and pulled down hard.
Zach turned back to Anston. “We were heading south, so just keep going in that direction. I’ll try and talk to her some more.”
Anston hit the south entrance to I-5 while Sarah moaned in the back. Several minutes later, Zach said in a low tone, “I’m not sure what to do. If she won’t tell us where we need to go, we could pass right by it.”
“Can you pry it out of her?”
“I’m afraid not. She’s very mentally fragile right now. We’ll have to hope she changes her mind before it’s too late.”
***
Bulgarian Prime Minister Ivan Petrov sat at his desk holding a tall glass of vodka in one hand and a 9mm Glock pistol in the other. He already polishe
d off one bottle of Armadale and he was working on a second. From deep in his underground bunker in the remote city of Krichim, Petrov watched the endless scrolling of the secure computer screen as it tallied civilian casualties and tracked the country’s waning military assets.
As was expected, the Turkish response to the Bulgarian sneak attack was devastating. Despite the damage that Bulgarian Special Forces had inflicted on Istanbul, the Turkish Air Force launched a catastrophic counterattack on Sofia, Plodiv Varna and Bugas. Reports coming in indicated that each city had suffered 40 percent casualties. That meant at least a million Bulgarians were dead.
Petrov stuck the gun to his temple with a shaking hand. He had been at this dark intersection once before and recognized the malodor of despair and hopelessness. It was well over 35 years ago and only the intervention of Mr. Cox stopped him from pulling the trigger that dark evening.
When the war started, the unfolding horror of slaughtered and maimed Bulgarians appeared on nightly CNN international broadcasts, well beyond the censure control of the Petrov government. As the Bulgarian defenses were overwhelmed by the superior Turkish army and air force, the capital of Sophia was on the verge of collapsing.
Petrov squeezed harder on the trigger. He pushed the gun deeper into his temple. One click of the hammer and it would be all over. The firing pin gave way; sweet release was imminent.
He swore he heard a muted click, but nothing happened. Petrov winced and tried to pull his hand from the gun, yet it wouldn’t move. When he shifted his gaze and looked up, he was looking into the penetrating raven-black eyes of Mr. Cox.
“Mr. Prime Minister, tsk tsk. What would your constituents say if they saw you now, especially during a war when the country needs your—leadership.” The Benefactor lowered the pistol and removed his own finger, which was lodged between the firing pin and the chamber. “Did you really think I would allow you to kill yourself with such unfinished business? Am I mistaken? I thought we had an arrangement.”
The Suicide Society Page 25