The Suicide Society

by William Brennan Knight

  “Let me die,” Petrov wailed. “Please, just let me die.”

  Mr. Cox set the gun down and walked in front of the desk and leaned over, placing his face within an inch of the Prime Minister’s. Petrov recoiled as he saw glassy eyes filled with fluid streaks of blood and fleeting glimpses of horrors he could not quite comprehend.

  “I shall accommodate your desire for death, Mr. Prime Minister. I have no quarrel with you there. In fact, I have a number of horrific scenarios in mind that will satisfy your wishes and my need for entertainment. However, there is the important business of the state that must be attended to first. After all, business before pleasure, don’t you agree?”

  Cox grinned and chuckled in a low tone. “I was going to detonate the bomb on a timing device, but I thought I would give you the honor. Go ahead and dial in this deployment number. Admit it; you’ll enjoy knowing that the filthy Turks will have their skin flash-fried off of them while countless children die the painful death of radiation poisoning.”

  Petrov shook his head and wept. “I can’t… I can’t be responsible for such destruction…”

  “You sniveling fool. You were all too eager to accept my generosity. You had no misgivings in taking the riches, power and fame that I offered. For many years you enjoyed the best that life had to offer. You dined with kings and reveled in the splendor of everything the Benefactor provided. Yet, when it is time to repay your debt, you sulk and slink into a corner of self-pity. You made a bargain with me, Mr. Prime Minister, and I have come to collect the debt.”

  “I—I can’t. I won’t”

  “You won’t?”

  “No—I…” Petrov never finished. He felt an uncomfortable fullness in his abdomen that quickly grew in intensity. He lifted his shirt and saw the protrusion just above his naval.

  “Wha… what is this? What have you done to me?”

  The lump continued to grow and stretch the skin until it looked taunt and ready to burst.

  “What is inside me? What have you done to me?” Petrov stumbled around the room as the skin at the apex of the swelling began to spontaneously rupture. A gorge of blood erupted from the wound. The prime minister stared down at the bloody mess in horror, and he screamed as the head of a serpent emerged from the hemorrhaging hole.

  With his hands wrapped around the head of the snake, he continued to stagger, fighting for control as the creature snapped its fangs indiscriminately. “No, no, no,” he whined piteously before slumping against a wall and shutting his eyes tight.

  Just as quickly as it appeared, the hole in his stomach vanished, and Petrov was left clinging to an imaginary reptile.

  “So, you won’t, Mr. Prime Minister?” said the Benefactor. The corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes flashed an iridescent blackness. “You disobey me, and I’ll do far worse to you.”

  Petrov howled and jumped at Mr. Cox, but he never came close. An unseen pressure closed around his throat and squeezed ever tighter. He grabbed at his neck in a vain attempt to free himself, but it was to no avail. Mr. Cox walked over slowly as Petrov fell to the floor gasping for air.

  “Well, Petrov, are you ready to fulfill your end of the bargain, or should I allow the buzzards to pick at your open liver?”

  Petrove wheezed; his words were a hoarse whisper. “I will do it.”

  “Good,” said the Benefactor as the smile returned to his lips. “Then let me help you up, so you can enter the code.”

  With his breathing restored, a gasping and coughing Petrov stumbled back to his desk. In the middle of the walnut polished surface sat a black box with a single centered dial pad. A small LED display showed a video image of a plastic suitcase, which was partially hidden from view underneath a shrouded table. The picture shook occasionally as someone walked by, but the bomb remained secured in its casing.

  With a shaking hand, Petrov entered the sequence of numbers the Benefactor had given him. He removed his hand from the keypad and fell back into his chair. A few moments passed before a bright flash lit up the LCD screen, and the wall map instantly glowed red along the Turkish border.

  Mr. Cox licked his lips and smiled widely. “Congratulations, Mr. Prime Minister. You have just killed well over 30,000 people. By the time the fallout and mayhem subside, a million will die. But really, who cares? After all, they are just filthy Turks, right? Not only that, but you have the honor of being the first of six martyrs for the cause.” The Benefactor paused a moment and moved toward Petrov, reaching out and gently stoking the side of sullen man’s face. “Oh, and you have my permission to kill yourself now as long as I can watch. You no longer serve any purpose to me.”

  Petrov picked up the gun as if in a trance. He pressed the barrel to his forehead and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Munoz sat patiently throughout the day in the stifling hot parking garage, hidden in a secluded spot under the shadows of overhead halogen lamps. He munched on an energy bar and settled in for the grueling grind of the stakeout. Walker’s shiny black Navigator was parked on the third level about four stalls away from Munoz’ own sedan.

  Several hours later, the slim form of the federal prosecutor emerged from the elevator. Fortunately for Munoz, Walker worked an hour later than usual, so he was alone as he moved slowly toward his car. Level 3 was relatively empty, but Munoz took precautions to remain undetected, and he slipped quietly out of his unmarked squad and crept closer to the target while using the large support pillars as cover.

  Munoz detected the flash of taillights as Walker hit a button on his key fob to unlock the Navigator. The moment he placed his hand on the door sensor, Munoz moved quickly to close the distance until he was able to push the barrel of his revolver directly into the prosecutor’s back. The other man stiffened and instinctively raised his hands into air.

  “Don’t turn around,” said Munoz. “Hand me the keys and get in the passenger’s side.”

  “Look, my wallet is in my back pocket…”

  “This isn’t a robbery. You don’t have anything of value I want except information, but I’ll kill you if you don’t cooperate completely with me. Do you understand?”

  Walker’s body slumped, and he nodded. He reached back and handed the keys to Munoz who moved cautiously around the car, continuing to maintain eye contact with Walker.

  They entered the Navigator simultaneously, and Munoz pushed the ignition button. He pulled out of the space carefully and drove to the exit gate, waving at the guard, who barely acknowledged the gesture. Turning right, he maneuvered through the remnants of rush-hour traffic. The sun was just beginning to set, and Munoz looked briefly at his watch to check the time. He plotted a course through the downtown area until he came to the freeway and turned onto I-90 eastbound.

  There was no conversation as Walker shuffled his feet on the floor mat and nervously rubbed his hands. As dense-pack civilization faded, the prosecutor became increasingly uneasy. Several times he opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. After nearly a half hour of driving, the vehicle began to decelerate as Munoz pulled off the freeway onto the Garcia Road exit, well away from Seattle proper.

  Munoz shut down the engine and parked in the lot of an abandoned high-tech building hidden deep within an industrial park. The detective purposely waited to speak, allowing the tension to build as the sound of crickets signaled that nightfall would soon be upon them.

  Deliberately, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “I have a list of names,” he said. “I want you to tell me who they are and what conspiracy you are involved in.”

  Walker looked pensively at the paper. “Look, if I sent someone you know to jail, I was only doing my job. If you let me go, I can help you. I might be able to get their sentence reduced.”

  Munoz shook his head and smiled. “I find that funny in a very sad way. I checked you out pretty thoroughly, counselor. In fact, you hardly put anyone in jail that actually belonged there. Good people were set up on drug and pornography
charges; you were exceptional in prosecuting the innocent. Real criminals, like Gilbert Adler the heroin dealer, butchered four decent people and walked free. I looked at the case; it’s one of the worst prosecutions in history. Who owns you, Mr. Walker? Why do you let crooks walk free? Who do you answer too?”

  “What are you talking about? I am a federal prosecutor.”

  “You’re a disgrace, Mr. Walker.” Munoz extracted his reading glasses from a breast pocket and put them on, focusing at the list. “Harold Moss, Delbert Givens, John Hansen, Lawrence LaGrew and Thomas Abernathy. Who are these people, Mr. Walker? Who are they, and what are they involved in?”

  Walker sat for a moment, and when he talked, it was in a very low voice. “Who are you?”

  “I don’t need to tell you that. Suffice to say that I’m in law enforcement, and you’re in very deep trouble.”

  Sighing deeply, Walker looked up as a sad smile spreads slowly across his lips. “I hardly know how to answer you, but I suggest you drive me back to Seattle. Go to your wife and children if you have any and let this play out.”

  “I can’t do that. I need to know what you’re involved in.”

  “I won’t tell you. I—I can’t tell you.”

  Munoz looked past Walker into the surrounding area. An orange-red calliope lit up the sky, a West Coast trademark. “Mr. Walker, there comes a time in every man’s life when he has to take a risk. I’ve stepped deep into this one, but I just can’t let it go. I’m going to tell you what little I already know. Whatever it is, whatever the intent, your conspiracy involves some pretty high ranking people in business, law enforcement and the clergy. That probably means politics as well.

  “It also, and this is strange, has something to do with people who have tried to commit suicide at one time, just like you did, Mr. Walker. I tell you these things because I want you to understand the seriousness of our situation. I will have the information I need, or you won’t live to see another day. Do you believe me?”

  Walker slowly nodded his head. “It doesn’t change anything for me. I may have regretted the path my life has taken many times. You can kill me, but I won’t reveal anything.”

  “Unfortunate. I was afraid you would say that. Give me your cellphone, tablet and any other electronic devices you might have. Empty out your pockets and give me your ID as well.”

  Walker handed over his briefcase, and Munoz picked up the prosecutor’s cell phone and scrolled through the address book. “Certainly enough here to keep me busy, Mr. Walker. Still, some input from you would be helpful. I’ll bet you have children?”

  “You leave my children alone.”

  “I can’t, Mr. Walker. If you don’t give me something, your children will surely grow up without a father if they survive at all. As I said, I’m in law enforcement, and my specialty is interrogation.”

  Walker dropped his head into his hands and began to sob. “I can’t, I can’t. Don’t hurt my children. Please.”

  “I need something, Mr. Walker. Give me something, and I’ll let you live.”

  “Ok, ok… give me a moment. I will tell you something important. Just one piece of information in exchange for my life.”

  “I want more. You need to tell me who’s behind all of this, what they hope to achieve and how I can find them.”

  Walker looked up; his eyes were glassed over and had started to swell. “You can’t understand this. Anything I tell you, he will know. It may take a few seconds or a day, but he’ll find out. I can’t give you what you want. But I’ll tell you something important if you swear you won’t kill me or harm my kids.”

  Munoz cleared his throat and looked away. “All right Herman, you won’t be harmed. Now give me something.”

  “There’s a bomb. It may be nuclear. There are rumors—more than rumors.”

  “My God. Where is it?”

  “I’m not sure. Somewhere in the Midwest, I guess. It could be Cleveland, Chicago or St. Louis. That’s all I know about it. Other bombs may be planted around the world. There, I’ve told you enough to get me killed.”

  Munoz sat in stunned silence for a moment. “My Lord, it’s begun.” He leaned back against the seat and breathed deeply. He wasn’t Seattle PD any longer, and bringing Walker in for interrogation wasn’t an option. In fact, it was Munoz who committed the crime here, not the federal prosecutor sitting beside him.

  “Give me something else. What is the goal of this organization you belong to? Who runs it, and where do I find him?”

  Walker’s head drooped, and he began to cry. “You don’t understand. If I tell you any more, my family would most certainly be butchered… Please, let me go. I’m—I’m begging you.”

  Munoz regarded the corrupt broken man sitting next to him. “Ok, Mr. Walker, get out of the car, but I want the encryption fob for the tablet. You’re a mile or so from the highway. It shouldn’t be hard to get a ride back to Seattle.”

  “So you weren’t going to kill me after all?”

  “No, I’m a cop, not a killer.”

  Walker reached into the glove box and handed over the USB fob. Then he opened the car door and exited the Navigator. He took a couple steps before turning back, motioning for Munoz to roll down the passenger window. “That will unlock everything. You’ll learn the entire command structure of the Network.”

  “Is the information similar to what Moss had on his computer?”

  “No, Moss reported to me. This is the real thing, but it won’t help you. He’ll learn that I’m compromised, and I’ll be dead within a day or so. Of course, so will you. I guess we both lose. If I’m lucky, I can get my family out of the country before he finds out I’ve been corrupted.”

  “Who is ‘he,’ Mr. Walker? Please help me. I can keep you safe.”

  Walker shrugged and looked out over the dark landscape, illuminated in shadows by a crescent moon. “You are law enforcement; I should have known. But it hardly matters. As I said, we’re both dead men. I’m going to finish the job I started many years ago, but I want to say goodbye to my family first.”

  Munoz looked up to reply, but Walker retreated quickly into the night, the sound of his footsteps still audible long after the blackness and shadows seemed to swallow him.

  ***

  The voice sounded ragged as it came through the other end of the phone. “They—he—in my head… I feel—wrong.…”

  “Slow down, Abernathy. Where are you?” Alan had been surprised by the call. Abernathy almost always deferred to Watts.

  “I—don’t know. I—feel—strange. Is that you, Doris?”

  “Abernathy, get hold of yourself for Christ’s sake. Where are you? What’s happened?”

  Abernathy looked around for a moment, desperate to clear his head of the pulsating white noise that interfered with his own thoughts. Yet, every time he felt close to regaining some control, the fragile strings that created consciousness would unravel, leaving him in a befuddled stupor.

  During his unexpected encounter with Zach, Abernathy felt like an explosion detonated inside his brain. He remembered wondering if he had been shot in the head before blacking out. When he finally became self-aware, he was sitting in a dirt parking lot staring blankly into a crowd of people surrounding him.

  An obese man holding a 12-pack leaned over and looked closely at him. “Hey bud, you don’t look so good. Are you ok?”

  After some moments, they helped the babbling stranger to his feet and led him slowly to the back office where they laid him on a couch and placed a cold compress on his forehead. The store manager was reluctant to call the police because he didn’t want to be forced to stay after his shift ended, or worse, draw attention to an outstanding arrest warrant.

  “You’ve got to call an ambulance,” said one of the patrons.

  “No, he’ll be ok. Just give him some time,” the manager replied.

  “He doesn’t look good at all.” Another customer expressed his concern.

  “He’ll be fine,” repeated the manager. “He just
needs some water.”

  Over time, the manager persuaded the bystanders to finish their purchases and leave the store with the promise that if Abernathy didn’t recover, he would call the police. As the dazed man began to regain some of his faculties, he asked for his cell phone. Abernathy hit a random number on the speed dial. In his right mind, he would have dialed Watts. Instead, he was connected to Alan.

  “Abernathy, you’re talking like a moron. What the hell is wrong with you and where’s the girl?”

  “Girl? What girl? Do—do you—know who I am?”

  “Listen you idiot. You think you’re being funny? I’ll have my father burn your brain—I’ll…”

  “Hello?”

  Alan paused. This was a new voice. “Who is this?”

  “I am Hassan Abdula. I run this store your friend is in. Do you recognize this man? Can you come and pick him up?”

  Alan paused. So there was something wrong with Abernathy. He should call Watts. Yes, he should, but what had that asshole done other than humiliate him and keep him from having access to his father? Alan had already triangulated Abernathy’s position through the GPS in his phone. He tried to assume a commanding posture when he finally spoke. “No, I can’t come and get him. I’m going to need you to bring him directly to me.”

  “I am sorry my friend, that is not possible. I am very busy…”

  Alan was hardly listening. He entered the name Hassan Abdula into the Department of Homeland Security Redress and Response Records database along with the store’s location. Almost instantaneously, 14 files downloaded into Alan’s workstation. He opened the first one from Equifax, the credit-reporting bureau. He smiled as he picked the phone up.

  “Look, you’re a little puke who works at a Fast Stop convenience store. You’re Hassan Abdula with two kids and divorced. You’re past due on your car loan, and your mortgage is about to go into foreclosure. Oh, and I see you have an outstanding arrest warrant for domestic violence.” Alan paused for effect. “You want me to help you, Mr. Abdula? You want me to pay off your car and your mortgage and tell you exactly where the bitch ex-wife of yours went when she left you?”