The Suicide Society

by William Brennan Knight

  “Who are you?”

  “That’s none of your goddamn business. I can make things a lot worse for you too. Let me see—maybe I start with your daughter’s private school. I wonder if you told them about your arrest record?”

  “How—how could you learn of these things?”

  “I know more than you could possibly imagine. But don’t worry, you happen to be at the right place at the right time—or maybe the wrong place at the wrong time. Do as I tell you, and you could win the fuckin’ lottery of life. But I’m not someone you want as an enemy.”

  There was a long pause. “I—I can’t. My kids…”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll have someone pick up your kids and take them to your mother’s house on… on Elm Street, right?”

  “Yes, that’s… Who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter who I am. Are you going to play ball or not?”

  Abdula let out a long sigh. “Ok, ok. Tell me where to go.”

  “Good, I see we’re getting somewhere. You get my friend back in his car. It’s a black Chevy sedan, California plates. Is it there?”

  Abudula scanned the parking lot. “Yes, I see it.”

  “Get him into it. Don’t hesitate or the deal is off. You can use his credit card for gas, but I need you to drive him straight to Desolation, Arizona. It should take you about 10 hours to get there, and I’ll know if you make any detours.”

  “Arizona? I’m in California. I can’t possibly…”

  “I don’t give a shit. You drive him to Arizona, or I’ll fuck you up bad. I can get you deported.”

  “I don’t even know where Desolation is.”

  “Abernathy has a GPS built into his car. I’m putting directions into it right now.”

  “I… ok, give me half an hour.”

  “I’ll give you five minutes to get ready. If you don’t leave within five minutes, child protective services will be calling on you within an hour.”

  Abdula let out a whimper. “No, no, I am on my way.”

  “Excellent, Hassan. But don’t get any wild ideas. I’ll be watching you, and don’t be surprised if I have another mission for you on the way.”

  Alan smiled and hung up the phone. His father would be pleased. In fact, Alan relished the opportunity to deliver the news to him in person. It would be just the kind of event that could elevate him in the eyes of the Benefactor.

  The beatings he endured as a child, the horror of watching his mother abused and humiliated, none of it seemed to matter. Still, he burned with desire to be included in the inner circle, to eliminate Xavier Watts and become his father’s closest confidant.

  Alan rose from the desk and made his way to the closet. He really didn’t get out much, what was he to pack?

  ***

  The emergency session of the full United Nations membership convened in New York amidst one of the worst catastrophes the world had ever known. The unexpected nuclear explosion in Istanbul sent global financial markets crashing, severely impacting international trade. Every military in the industrialized world was on their highest alert status.

  Several hours passed since the detonation. Upon learning of the suicide death of Prime Minister Petrov, acting President Velosi Vustoyovich had surrendered to the United Nations under the threat of massive retaliation. He was at the UN meeting under heavy guard, unsure of his status and wondering if he would be tried as a war criminal.

  The efforts to appease the Turks dragged on through the night with the Turkish Prime Minister, Ahmet Cemil, steadfastly insisting on retribution of the worst kind toward the Bulgarians. Cemil had been in Ankara when the explosion occurred. His absence from the capitol allowed the government to continue functioning, but the mood of the surviving Turks was angry, and they demanded revenge.

  The United Nations Secretary General Butros Butros Acbar faced Cemil directly; his eyes were demonstrative and pleading. “Mr. Prime Minister, we ask for your restraint in this most unfortunate crisis. The Bulgarians—apologize for the actions of their dead ex-Prime Minister. He was an obvious madman, and now he is deceased.”

  “The Bulgarians have shown their aggression repeatedly,” said Cemil. “The Turkish people demand that the Bulgarians are completely disarmed and left with no ability to wage war against us.”

  The American ambassador looked up from his computer. “What are your plans, Mr. Prime Minster?”

  Cemil sighed deeply. “As we speak, we have launched a massive retaliatory strike against Sofia. For the time being, we have avoided using nuclear weapons and we are dropping 2000-pound conventional bombs into residential neighborhoods. The people demand satisfaction, and we shall give it to them.”

  Butros Butros Acbar’s shoulders slumped, and he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “This is terrible. Does it end here?”

  Prime Minister Cemil shook his head. “With our air strikes and the coming ground invasion, the infrastructure of Bulgaria will be thoroughly destroyed. They will never be in a position to threaten us again”

  “And Turkey?” asked the Chinese Ambassador.

  “I’m not sure what our future holds in Instanbul. We are having severe power blackouts, and much of our was destroyed destroyed by the EMP. Our hospitals aren’t functioning; refugees are streaming into the other cities. The fallout is poisoning many of the survivors. It is truly horrible on every level. It is doubtful we will ever return to what we were.”

  The group sitting around the table hung their heads in collective silence. Eventually, there would be talk of humanitarian aid and rebuilding efforts, but what could anyone say that would comfort the stricken Turkish leader?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Anston jerked at the wheel, almost as though he was seeing imaginary threats. Zach tried to calm his friend by projecting a sense of tranquility, but Anston’s mind was difficult to read, and Zach feared his friend might be on the verge of a breakdown.

  About 60 miles south of Stockton, he finally took a deep breath and pulled off the freeway for fuel. They came to a stop at a gas pump, and he killed the engine.

  “My God, what was that all about, Zach?”

  “He wanted the girl. She’s connected to the Dark One, the being I’ve seen in the visions.”

  Anston gazed over his shoulder at Sarah, who remained curled up, her head drawn between her legs and her body shuddering every so often.

  “Zach, she’s in shock; hell, we all are. But we’ve got to get some answers.”

  Zach nodded and turned to the back seat. “Sarah? We need your help if we’re going to survive this.” She remained huddled, only her periodic trembling indicated she was even conscious. “Can you tell me who kidnapped us? Who was that man, and where did he want to take us? The source, Sarah. Please, help take us to the source…”

  There was no answer and Zach sighed and turned back to face the road. “It’s no use. I don’t know where she was going, and I don’t believe she’s going to help us. Maybe we should head back up to Portland and try to rendezvous with Munoz.”

  Anston shrugged. “Should we call him?”

  “Well, he gave us a cell phone, and it’s supposed to be secure.”

  “He also told us to only use it in emergencies since it may be monitored.”

  “I know but….”

  Zach turned back to the huddled form of Sarah Johansen and reached out with his mind and gently touched her. She opened her eyes with a start and sat upright, as though she was familiar with the sensation of the invasion. Zach calmly and subtly caressed the inflamed areas of her psyche, turning an angry red into a soothing deep blue. Shhh. It is ok, you are safe now. He communicated without words while continuing to provide a telekinetic balm to the women’s tattered consciousness.

  She finally breathed a deep sigh and seemed to relax. Zach withdrew, turning his attention back to Anston.

  “Jarad, we need answers. Neither one of us is in law enforcement. We need to ask Munoz what—”

  “His name is Abernathy.” The voice from the
back seat was weak and sounded very tired. The two men looked at each other, and Zach dropped the phone. She met his gaze for a moment, until her submissiveness took over and she lowered her head. “Thomas Abernathy. He answers to a man named Xavier Watts. They are cruel, terribly cruel.”

  “What do they want Sarah? What do they want with you?”

  She shook her head. “They are afraid I might tell. He is planning. Carefully planning for many, many years—they are just the foot soldiers.”

  Zach turned toward the back seat. “Foot soldiers in what? Who is ‘He’? What does it all mean, Sarah? Help us, please.”

  “The Benefactor, Mr. Cox. He is the man behind the Network. The others do his bidding. Oh yes, they do it well. The Benefactor says things. Sometimes he says things he doesn’t know he says.”

  “The Benefactor. Is he—is he the man I saw in the barn, Sarah? The Dark One?”

  She lifted her head and her eyes widened. “You were there, and you tried to help. But he is so terribly powerful. More powerful than you. I had hoped you could…” Her voice trailed off. “But you can’t stop him. The first bomb has already exploded.”

  “Bomb? What bomb, Sarah?”

  “I don’t know where, but he has sent out images. Horrible—so horrible. Just like in Japan. So many dead—many more suffering.”

  “Where is he, Sarah? Where can we find the Benefactor?”

  “In Desolation—that’s where he is. But I can’t go there. I can’t go there no matter what”

  Zach looked at his friend; his eyes shifted and he tilted his head. “Desolation? Where is that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Anston. “But we’re heading south for a reason.” He reached over to the GPS and typed in DESOLATION. The screen changed and the type was replaced with the correct designation: DESOLATION, ARIZONA. “Zach, it’s in Arizona. Ask her if she thinks that’s where that Abernathy guy was taking you.”

  “Sarah, is it Desolation in Arizona?”

  She shook her head, but it was with obvious reluctance.

  “Jarad, we need to keep heading south until we hit I-10. Whatever or whoever is in Desolation is probably the source of my suicide visions. Sarah says there has been a nuclear explosion. We may be able to stop him before something even more terrible happens.” Zach pulled out the secure cell phone. “I’m going to call Munoz. He needs to know what we’re doing.”

  Anston pressed down on the accelerator, initially unaware of the low growl coming from the back seat. Sarah Johansen threw her shoulder into the passenger door while ripping at the handle. If the locks had not been engaged, she would have succeeded in jumping from the moving vehicle. He flipped the switch that locked her out on the arm rest control.

  “Let me out!” she screamed. “I won’t go back! I won’t! He’ll do horrible things to me—to you… He’ll kill us all! Let me out!” Her arms flailed violently, and she pounded on the window with balled fists. The car swung wildly as Anston caught a punch directly to his ear, causing him to momentarily lose his equilibrium. Zach turned and reached over while trying to grab her, but his efforts were ineffective. He fell into the back seat and ended up alongside Sarah, trying desperately to calm her down.

  “Sarah, Sarah, it’s all right.” he said. “We don't need to go to Desolation; we can talk about this. For God’s sake, stop it.” He brought his open hand down across her cheek and regretted it the instant it happened. However, the blow had the desired effect, and she stopped struggling and shrunk into the corner of the car, her face aghast with fear. She folded her arms over her drawn up legs and began to whimper.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know how to get you to stop.”

  Anston managed to pull the car onto the shoulder of the highway. He was grabbing at his ear and checking for blood. It was beat red, and he was clearly in some pain.

  “Is she calmed down, Zach?”

  “Yeah, but I know I shouldn’t have slapped her. I shouldn’t…”

  Zach never finished. His chest tightened, and it felt like someone applied a large vacuum to the car and sucked out all the air. The nearby lights seemed to disappear, and the vehicle plunged into pitch darkness. Breathing—the only sound was breathing. Zach heard three distinctive patterns including his own. He closed his eyes and focused, separating the rhythmic inhaling and exhaling of his companions. Three breathing patterns—no, there were four. Someone else was in the car with them.

  ***

  Munoz dozed off after allowing Herman Walker to leave on foot. The cumulative effect of the past several days left him exhausted, and he slumped in his car as he dropped Walker’s tablet to the floor. The slate yielded a trove of information including a very detailed top-down command structure controlled by someone named Xavier Watts. Directly next to him in the matrix was Jarvier Delgado. Abernathy and several others occupied a lower level, although one of the slots was currently empty.

  The ringing of his prepaid cell phone startled Munoz out of his slumber. He straightened up and blinked his eyes, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Clearing his throat, Munoz stared at the unrecognizable number on the display.

  “Hello?” he said groggily.

  “Detective Munoz?”

  “Who is this?”

  There was a pause. “I am Sergeant O’Malley from Chicago PD.”

  Munoz recalled his conversation with Yolanda in dispatch about the earlier call placed by O’Malley.

  “I’m listening, O’Malley. What is it?”

  “Look, I’ll cut to the chase. My captain was looking for anything odd that happened in the law enforcement community recently and your, ah, situation caught his eye. We’ve got our own trouble here, Detective. And if you’re not some cop that went over the edge, we need to talk.”

  Munoz gathered his thoughts and replied carefully. “A situation? What exactly does that mean?”

  O’Malley hesitated for a moment, trying to find an appropriate place to begin. “We apprehended a Central Asian man in what appeared to be a robbery-murder at a parking garage downtown. We brought him in for interrogation but something strange happened.”

  “I’m listening, Sergeant,” said Munoz

  “Well, during the questioning, the Deputy Commissioner showed up along with an agent from the FBI. They took the perpetrator out of our jurisdiction with no explanation. To the best of our knowledge, he was released.”

  “That is odd—especially the FBI involvement. But I still don’t quite know how that involves me.”

  “There’s more,” continued O’Malley, “We went back to impound his car. When we searched it with the dogs, they identified radioactive material. We believe the might have been transporting a nuclear weapon. Since the explosion in Turkey, we think that they may have planted another bomb somewhere in Chicago.”

  “Explosion in Turkey?”

  “Istanbul. Seriously, you haven’t heard? A nuclear bomb was detonated there, supposedly in retaliation for Turkey attacking Bulgaria. But I have my doubts, especially with our situation. Detective, we think Chicago may be next.”

  Munoz froze as he recalled the prophetic warning of Herman Walker, who revealed intel about a bomb located somewhere in the Midwest. “It’s more than possible, Sergeant. It’s probable.”

  “Detective Munoz, the FBI has its highest level of alert out for your apprehension. You have a history as a solid cop, and your dispatcher would take a bullet for you. What’s happened out there, and does this relate at all with what we’re dealing with in Chicago?”

  “I’m involved with something so deep and widespread that I haven’t been able to wrap my arms around it yet. Lists of people involved in a conspiracy, but I can't figure out exactly what it is.”

  Munoz continued, “People from all walks of life are involved: cops, businessmen, teachers, bankers, but none of it seems to have an obvious purpose. I do know this: A man who’s deeply involved in the conspiracy told me there was a nuclear device planted somewhere in the Midwest. He mentioned Chicago a
s a specific location.”

  “My God.”

  “Sergeant, give me a name. Someone from the group that took custody of the prisoners.”

  “Uh, how about Paul Trardent. He’s the Deputy Commissioner.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Munoz accessed Walker’s tablet and brought up the spreadsheet with the names and structure of the conspiracy. He used the search function and typed in Trardent’s name. The device almost instantly highlighted a group of the cells, and Trardent was located two levels below a section chief named Clarence Washington.

  “I’ve got something. Trardent’s name is on a list of important figures in the organization.”

  “What? What are we talking about here? Are you telling me that Trardent is somehow involved in planting a nuclear device in the city?”

  “Nuclear explosions—of course. That’s probably part of it, but it’s only a sliver. There’s something vast that includes some of the most prominent citizens from every country in the world. This database is enormous, but it I suspect it only includes the highest ranking members.”

  “What do we do, Detective? How can we stop this?”

  Munoz sat silently for a moment. “This first priority is to find that bomb. I’m not sure the world can endure another detonation, especially in Chicago. I’m going to send you this file. You need to locate Trardent’s name and look at those who rank above him. If you can track these people down, you may be able to find the bomb.”

  “Ok, I’ll get with the captain and start planning,” replied O’Malley.

  “I’m not sure how long we have before the next explosion. When did the Istanbul bomb detonate?.”

  “It went off at exactly noon, Eastern time.”

  Jose looked quickly at his watch. “It’s almost 9 p.m. on the East Coast now.”