SEALs of Honor: Kanen

by Dale Mayer

  Just when she thought she might have a chance to figure it out, the big door behind her shifted. The light went out. She swore and squatted, hiding underneath the desk, the only item in the whole unit.

  Bob said, in a mocking voice, “You really expect to hide here? You think I don’t know where you are?”

  She groaned. “It’s you! How the hell did you know my storage unit was on the other side of this one?”

  “That’s easy,” he said. “It used to be my unit. The reason your husband ended up with it was because I told him that I had some space, and I let him use it.”

  “You let him use it?” She was distracted momentarily by the increased smoke gathered around her on the floor at the back of this unit. This is not good.

  “Basically I subleased it to him. And then asked him if he minded me adding some material to it. He said he didn’t care. But … then he did care. However, after he was dead, it didn’t matter because you didn’t seem to even know the storage unit was here. And I wanted the space, so I moved all my shit back over there again. I would get rid of your stuff eventually, but there didn’t seem to be any point since you never came here. It was just more work, and I didn’t need more of that.”

  In the darkness she could hear the same raspy voice of the man who had beaten her. “Did you find what you were looking for, Bob?” She stifled back a cough, refusing to appear even more helpless to this asshole.

  “No,” he snapped. “And, for that, I blame you and those asshole men you hooked up with. Blake would have given it back to me. And, if he hadn’t died, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

  “If he hadn’t died, I wouldn’t be having a lot of problems,” she cried out with anguish in her voice. “Do you even hear what you just said?” Then she let her voice drop in volume as she stared into the darkness in the direction he’d spoken from, her eyes now stinging from the smoke. “Did you kill him?” She hated to bring it up, but she had to know.

  “Hell no. That wouldn’t have served me well, would it?”

  She closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Oh, thank God.”

  “I wondered if he didn’t commit suicide though,” Bob said, his voice thoughtful. “He sure bitched enough.”

  She didn’t want Bob to continue. She didn’t want Bob to break the lovely memories she held of her husband and their relationship. But it was like the asshole knew it was her weakness.

  “Blake kept complaining about how you wanted a family, and he wanted nothing to do with that. But you wouldn’t stop nagging him.”

  Each word was like a little stab wound to her heart. Had she really been so hard on Blake? It had been important to her, but they could have talked more. He could have told her how much it bothered him. Why hadn’t he? She can’t read minds.

  “You know he was planning on leaving you, right?”

  She sucked in her breath.

  “I guess not. At least not from your shocked reaction. He really liked a woman at the gym. I figured he might go for it. But, even then, he seemed to pull back. Torn between two options. That’s one of the reasons why I wondered if he’d chosen suicide as an easy out. Couldn’t stand the idea that he’d break your heart or something foolish like that. But obviously he wasn’t happy. He needed to get out from under you.”

  She swallowed hard several times, hating what he was implying. “I don’t believe you,” she whispered, unable to control her coughing now.

  “I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not,” he said, coughing too. “I still want those photographs.”

  She closed her eyes, realizing the pictures were what he wanted. “MI6 has them all,” she said wearily. “What difference do the photos make? They’re old pictures. All the blackmails have been paid, and the victims don’t give a shit anymore. Some of them are even dead.”

  “I know,” he said, coughing more. “I’ve always known that.”

  She shook her head. “So why do you care now? What difference does any of it make?”

  “Because my great-uncle was the blackmailer. And my grandfather paid the price,” he said in a conversational tone. “My great-uncle is a very wealthy man now. He’s insisting I don’t get any of it. I want those photos to go with the other information I have, which proved he was the blackmailer. Because, if nothing else, I’ll see his carcass rot in jail for the last years of his life. But, before then, I’ll blackmail him for all the goddamn money he stole from all these people, ruining my grandfather’s life as well as mine.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Hell no,” he said, “But I can thank my great-uncle for that too.”

  “Your great-uncle has to be quite old by now.”

  “Not as old as you might think,” he said. “My grandfather was the oldest, and my great-uncle was a step sibling from yet another marriage. He was a good twenty-plus years younger than my grandfather. He was almost the same age as my father. And, for that reason alone, I thought my father should have done something to fix the problem, but he was too weak. Either too weak or too easily swayed by my great-uncle. Not that he and Grandfather ever got along very well, but Grandfather was a great man. He built a huge business across Europe. He was well-known for his work. And my great-uncle ruined him, ruined his name, ruined our family name and took away the legacy that was mine by rights.”

  The sordid tale of betrayal and murder was something that could be told and retold at any street corner around the world. Was there anything more vindictive and hateful than a family member consumed by jealousy or greed?

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, coughing more often now. “I’m sorry for your grandfather. That must have been extremely hard on him.”

  “You have no idea,” the younger man in front of her said.

  “So why did you wait all this time? You had the photos.”

  “Because he has yet another wife, and this time there’s a child,” he said, his voice turning vindictive. “And my great-uncle made it very clear that I would get nothing. He stole everything from our family, and now he’ll give it to that baby who knows nothing of his ill-gotten inheritance.”

  “And now … you think these photos … will make a difference?” she asked, among coughs, not quite understanding. She could certainly understand the trigger when the great-uncle had a family to hand down the fortune to. “Did he tell you … beforehand … it was all yours?”

  “He promised it was all mine, if I kept my mouth shut,” he said, his words interrupted by coughs. “Because he was already ill, I didn’t think anything of it. … For the last few years, I took whatever he would give me, … just small sums to tide me over, but he wouldn’t give me … very much. Or enough to live on.” Bob was overtaken by a spate of coughing, then resumed his explanation. “Despite his illness, he got a young woman pregnant. … Supposedly pregnant. … The first thing I wanted to do was test for DNA, but he wouldn’t let me. … He’s tickled pink at the idea of finally having a son. And … he also made it very clear that, … if I did anything to disrupt his family, I’d get nothing.”

  “So don’t disrupt his family, and you still get everything,” she said, finding it harder to breathe, to keep her wits about her. Surely it was worse for Bob, right? Didn’t smoke rise? Aren’t we told to drop and roll?

  “Are you a fool?” More coughing ensued. “No way he’ll give me anything.” Bob drew a labored breath.

  She could hear him moving about, probably moving closer to the opening, hoping for less smoke there.

  “He now has a son of his own. … The last thing he wants is to give anything to my family.”

  “But they’re just old photos,” she said. “None of it is enough to prove anything.”

  “Except that I have the bookkeeping ledgers that relate to the men in the photos. And that’s the proof I need to confirm the blackmail payments. Because I also have the case files from my grandfather’s court case. … And, because he was murdered, this is the motive for his death. I get revenge on my grandfather’s murde
r. I’ll blackmail my uncle so he turns the money over to me, and I get to watch him suffer through his last few years, poor and broke, like my grandfather suffered. … If my great-uncle won’t cooperate, then I’ll turn over everything to the cops, and they can prosecute the real blackmailer and murderer.” Bob chuckled. “Regardless, if my great-uncle cooperates or not, I’ll turn him over to the cops anyway.”

  “What about giving the money back to all those families he blackmailed?”

  “That’s their problem. They’re the ones caught being fools,” he snapped. “They’ve already lost the money. They paid it for silence, to wash away their sins.” Bob let out a cackling laugh, ending in more coughs. “I won’t be the same fool.”

  “So why did you give those pictures to Blake to hold?”

  “Because he bragged about having the safest holding spot ever. That nobody would ever find his new hiding spot.”

  Laysa frowned. “Blake?”

  “Yeah. I already knew about his gym locker. But, if he had a safe somewhere, I figured that would be one of the best places to hide everything.”

  “That makes no sense,” she said. “Absolutely none.”

  He sighed. “No, you’re right. It doesn’t. That’s because I’m lying. I was hoping to keep the last vestige of your beloved husband alive.” His tone held heavy mockery. “Blake saw everything I had when I moved it all into the storage unit. He went through it and found the bag with all the photos. He stole it. … It’s how he would finance his exit from your marriage. He wanted money for it all. He knew how much it meant when he saw my reaction. … He showed me the damn bag, then said he had the safest hiding place in the world. At the time I pretended indifference, and I walked. … But I didn’t walk far. I was trying to figure out what to do. So I tracked him. No, I didn’t kill him. He truly died in an accident.”

  At this point the blows were coming too hard and too fast. She sat here stunned, completely overwhelmed by what Bob said. “I don’t believe you,” she cried out, tears washing the smoke out of her eyes and prodded along by the emotional pain Bob had inflicted.

  “I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not,” he said, then seemed to fall to the ground or dropped to his knees.

  Was he seeking oxygen? Was he overcome with the smoke?

  “I’ve been working on this project for a long time. If my great-uncle hadn’t produced an heir, I probably wouldn’t have given a damn, thinking the money was coming my way. But, after I talked to him and realized how things had changed, I couldn’t let it go. … And I wanted the photos back from your bloody husband. Once he realized they had value, he wanted money. But I didn’t have any. So I waited, biding my time. … Until the fool got himself killed. Then I went after you. I’d checked the storage unit but gave up. Then you made me think to look again. More time wasted as I couldn’t find them here.”

  She bowed her head, wondering about the things he said. Could they be true? She really desperately wanted them not to be true. But how was she supposed to determine the truth? “And what now?” But he didn’t answer. “I’ve told you that MI6 has the photos. When you go back to your great-uncle, just tell him you have proof—you still have the ledgers—and that he’s to hand over all the money regardless.”

  “No,” he said, scrambling to stand it seemed. “He’d just tell the cops that I forged the ledgers. No, I need those photos. I want to see the look on his face when he realizes I’ve got them.”

  “Or maybe just hand over the ledgers and the rest of what you’ve got to MI6, and they can turn it all over to whatever jurisdiction needs to try your great-uncle.”

  “Either way, I need those photos.”

  Frustrated, she raised both palms. “Then talk to MI6. How many times do I have to tell you that?” By now she was choking from the smoke from the other side. “What if the photos were in there? In my side of the storage unit?” she asked. “Everything else, the court case files are in that unit too that you just burned up, not to mention all my own personal belongings.”

  “If you cared anything about Blake, you would have come by sometime in the last twelve months,” he said. “Believe me. Everything important to me in that storage unit is digitized—the ledger, the courtroom documents. I did that once I realized your lovely husband stole the original blackmail photos.”

  “You mean, you didn’t digitize them earlier?”

  He waved a hand. “No. Do you have any idea how many hours it took? But it’s done now,” he said wearily. “All except for those damn photos.”

  She started to cough heavier now. People banged on the outside of the large door to this unit. She screamed out for help, using up what little oxygen she had. She could hear people pounding, trying to open the door. She looked at Bob and said, “You’ve locked it, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I figured, if you die without telling me where the photos are, those men will just throw me in jail. Then I really don’t give a shit. Maybe I can sneak out with the smoke, when they open up the door to this unit. I don’t know at the moment. I’m not sure I give a damn.”

  “What about all that vengeance?” she asked. “What about all the revenge in your heart? You wanted to get back at him, at your great-uncle.”

  Now Bob coughed too.

  “What about just surviving for yourself?” she asked in desperation. “If you didn’t kill anyone, you don’t have much you can be charged with. Yes, you held me captive in my own home and beat me up. But that’s what, a year, two years maybe? Probably just a slap on the wrist and probation.” Her voice was bitter, knowing the judicial system and how fruitless it was if he was a first-time offender at least in the US but she had no clue here.

  He started to speak and then bent over double, hacking and coughing heavily.

  She crawled to the big door, trying to lift it. There was just half an inch of space underneath the door. She lay closer to it on the floor, sucking in fresh air. “I’m in here,” she cried out. “I’m in here.”

  She could hear the men doing something on the other side, but she wasn’t sure they’d get to her in time. Smoke inhalation was ugly, and even now flames licked at the back of this unit. Not that much was here to burn, but there was a little. And the flames sucked up every bit of oxygen she had available.

  She gazed at her captor, now rolling on the ground coughing, holding his chest. In the din she could hear Kanen calling to her, “Hang on. We’re getting there.”

  Suddenly a knife cut the rubber edging right in front of her face, giving her a couple more inches of space for oxygen. She breathed in deep. She couldn’t see him but for one eye, and he was right there, smiling at her.

  “We’re getting there, sweetheart. We’re getting there.”

  And suddenly a heavy groaning and creaking came as the door broke free and rose. He reached for her, pulling her to him. She had one last heavy coughing spell and collapsed in his arms.

  *

  Kanen had never been so damn scared in his life. When that garage door finally lifted, and all the smoke poured out, he thought for sure she was a goner. She collapsed in his arms, and he started CPR to clean out her lungs. He knew the medics were on the way, and the men collected around Kanen. They already had collared the asshole, Bob. But he’d passed out from the smoke too.

  As he was loaded, handcuffed, into an ambulance, Kanen stood to the side and made sure he was secured and transported out of there. He also didn’t want Laysa in the same ambulance with her captor, just in case. Thankfully a second ambulance showed up at the same time.

  He rode alongside her as the paramedics worked on her. He could do nothing but hold her hand, urging her to keep fighting.

  His mind was completely overwhelmed with everything he and the other men had heard. Although the big door had been down, it hadn’t been soundproofed, so Bob’s and Laysa’s voices had easily carried outside. It was just stunning what this was all about. Revenge, greed, hatred.

  If Bob was correct, his grandfather had served tim
e for a crime he didn’t commit and had been murdered by the same person who’d done the crime, Bob’s great-uncle. Kanen knew the cops and MI6 would be all over this one, and he hoped they caught the asshole great-uncle. But he didn’t think this Bob guy deserved to get any of the money. Not one dime. Not after what he’d done to Laysa.

  Finally she was removed from the ambulance into the emergency area of the hospital, and thereafter, with tubes and an oxygen mask, she was tucked into a bed, stable but still not out of the woods. He sat in a chair beside her, holding her hand, kissing her fingers every once in a while and bowing his head to rest his forehead against the back of her hand as he whispered, “Come on, Laysa. Fight.”

  Finally she squeezed his hand, and he bolted to his feet. She tried to speak and started coughing. A nurse came in and removed the oxygen tube under her nostrils, pouring water into a cup and leaving it nearby.

  “Call me if needed,” the ER nurse said, leaving them alone again.

  Once the coughing cleared, Laysa had a sip of water and collapsed against the pillow, the bed at an angle so she could breathe easier. She smiled up at him. “Thanks for saving my life.”

  He shook his head, leaned down and kissed her hard. “Now that I’ve saved it, it’s mine,” he said. “Enough of this. You’re coming back to California with me. You’re moving into my apartment. Hopefully into my bed. And we’ll have as many years as we can together. And, if life is good to us, we’ll start a big family and live happily ever after. Blake’s death highlights that obviously there is no guarantee we’ll grow old on rocking chairs side by side, but, if I could ask for just one thing, it would be for that. I want to keep you safe and at my side forever.” He was as serious as he could be. He watched tears come to the corner of her eyes and wiped them away. “Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he whispered. “Please don’t cry.”