by Unknown
‘Why are you doing this?’ asks Jack, fighting back another wave of nausea. ‘I don’t understand why my family is of any interest to you.’
‘Aaah, Jack. If only you knew how long I have waited for you to ask that question.’ Again the long pause fizzes out, before Spider continues, ‘Does the name Richard Jones mean anything to you?’
Jack can’t place it. His brain Googles ‘Richard Jones’; maybe ‘Dick Jones’ or ‘Dickie Jones’? Nothing comes back. ‘I’m sorry. The name means nothing to me.’
‘I didn’t think it would,’ says Spider. ‘But it means everything to me. And I mean everything. Thirty years ago, Richard Jones was killed in a car accident. He was run over by a police cruiser turning out on a false 911. Can you imagine that? The cops killed him, chasing a crime that hadn’t even happened.’
The name begins to ring a dim and discordant bell in Jack’s aching memory.
‘Richard Jones,’ says Spider, his voice starting to break with emotion, ‘was my father. He was killed just weeks after his wife, my mother, died from cancer. That murdering fucking cop left me an orphan, stranded me in this stinking life without any parents and forced me to live in a flea-pit orphanage. Have you worked it all out yet, Mr FBI man? That killer behind the steering wheel, that moron cop who never even had his knuckles rapped for murdering my father, was your old man. Do you understand now?’
Jack slowly starts to make sense of it all. Fragments of his family history flicker through his mind, but he can’t form the full picture. Another bomb explodes in his brain. He covers his face with his hands and leans against Howie’s car. The pain is unbearable and he is frightened of passing out.
‘My father,’ sobs Spider, ‘was hit so hard by that police cruiser, that by the time his body stopped rolling across the highway, and the traffic had stopped running over him, his head was completely detached from his body. Can you imagine that? Can you?’
Jack is speechless, his mind frozen in shock, his nerves blistering from old pains, his senses overwhelmed and close to shut-down.
Spider wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and looks again at Nancy and Zack. She’s now fully unconscious and the boy has pressed his body tight against her. Even though he’s still gagged, Spider can see the child is whimpering like a frightened dog. He turns his attention back to the phone. ‘I know you’re stupid, King, so I’ll fill in the rest for you. I saw your old man’s retirement feature in the newspaper. At first I thought it was something about you. I’m sure you guessed that I read all your clippings and follow all the nonsense you spout about getting close to catching me, which by the way is horse shit. And then I looked again. And even though you’re in the picture along with lots of other cops, I see it’s about your father.’
Spider watches Jack on the monitor, pleased that he’s visibly distressed. ‘What you probably don’t know, Jackie boy, is that the NYPD never publicly named the driver of the car that killed my father. So, imagine how I felt to read this piece, in which your old man goes on and on about the wonderful career he’d had, but how he’d trade all his commendations and promotions to have been able to have avoided just one traffic accident thirty years ago in Brooklyn, an accident that had killed a young pedestrian.’
Slowly, Jack remembers his father’s retirement day and how his dad had mentioned that he felt guilty even though it had clearly been an accident. He had still wanted to say sorry publicly to wipe the slate clean.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ says Jack, with no hint of sincerity.
‘Thank you,’ says Spider, sarcastically. ‘That means a lot to me, because I know you lost your own father in a similarly tragic accident. How long ago is it now? About five years, right?’
Jack’s face shows the shock he just felt.
‘Oh, how I’d love to be standing in front of you right now,’ says Spider, leaning closer to the laptop. ‘I really wish I could look you in the eyes and tell you exactly what it felt like to hear your old pa bump under my car’s wheels, and hear his skull pop like a watermelon.’
Jack’s head buzzes with static, his knees shake as the shock sinks in.
Spider holds the computer screen, determined to enjoy the power of the moment. He drums the fingers of his uninjured hand on the side of the screen. ‘And Brenda, your mother, tell me, do you still think about her?’
Jack looks confused.
‘Oh, come on, Mr Policeman. Did you really think she died in her sleep of a heart attack? P-leeeease.’ Spider watches Jack clutch his head with both hands, overwhelmed by confusion and anguish. ‘Afraid not. That was me again. You should never have left her alone in that big old house, now should you? Any caring son would have moved her inwith you and your lovely wife here.’ Spider pauses, so the full impact of his words can be felt. ‘No matter. You have other worries now. Because shortly, I am going to kill your wife. And then I’ll tell you what fate awaits your son.’
Rage roars inside Jack, and the anger triggers a surge of adrenaline through his body. His mind clears a little. Stay professional – keep him talking. As soon as he stops talking, he’s going to start killing. Ask him something – anything!
‘Why?’ Jack says. The nausea dies back, he feels back in control. ‘I don’t understand why you want to hurt my wife and child.’
Spider rubs a bead of sweat from his face. ‘Let me tell you something. Your father took everything from me. He left me orphaned, and probably made me what I am today. He ruined my past, present and future. Now I’m going to do that to your family.’ Spider glances down at Zack and sees the child’s head still buried beneath the protection of his mother’s arm. ‘I’ve killed your parents, now I’m going to kill your wife, and then you are going to die, trying to save your son. A fitting end for you. And this little boy here, well, his future is going to be filled with all the anguish, all the pain and loss that I suffered. He’s going to wake every morning without any parents, and he’s going to wonder why such a thing should ever have happened to him.’
Jack’s temper snaps. ‘You fucking monster!’ His head is as clear as a bell now. He steps towards a remote camera fixed in the tree above him. ‘I promise you, I will track you down to the ends of the fucking earth and I will kill you.’
Spider snorts out a shallow laugh. ‘You fool, don’t you realize, your earth ends today. You’re out of time.’
A noise down the street distracts Jack and a second later the first of the NYPD cruisers slides around the corner.
‘Does your wife love you, Jack? All those women, they all loved me. They loved me so much that they gave their very lives for me. What man could ever ask for anything more than that? And now yours is going to die for you.’
The first car screeches to a stop and Jack raises a halting hand as Howie’s big frame emerges from the passenger side.
Spider’s eyes flick back to the laptop monitor. ‘I see your friends are here already. That’s good; it means we can start the party. We’re done talking now, and we can finish all this.’
Howie walks up to Jack, staying quiet and looking worried.
Jack covers the mouthpiece of his phone. ‘It’s him. He has Nancy and Zack, and he’s going to kill them. Back off!’
Howie walks back to the others. Jack knows he’ll notify the command vehicle and that everything will be put on hold until the situation becomes clearer and hopefully less risky.
‘Inside my house you’ll find the little hooker you’ve been looking for. And because you’ve been surprisingly clever in finding your way here, I’m going to reward you. I’m going to let you kill her. I’m going to let you put your hands around her throat and squeeze the last breath out of her body.’
‘You’re crazy,’ says Jack. ‘This isn’t going to happen.’
‘No, no, I’m not crazy, not at all. A trifle cruel perhaps, but certainly not mad. And it is going to happen, because if you don’t kill her, then I’ll mutilate your son as well as kill your wife. Maybe I’ll let him see his mother die first, but then I�
��ll cut him up a little, certainly enough to give him a personal, visible reminder of our time together. Perhaps you can imagine which parts of him I’m thinking of taking away?’
Jack’s heart bangs in his chest. He smashes a clenched fist against the wing of Howie’s car.
Spider smiles as he watches on the computer link. ‘Temper, temper, Jacky boy. Now let’s get on with this. You only have five minutes to carry out the kill. Take any longer and I’ll start using my knife and saw on your wife and child. You’ll be able to see it all on the Internet a little later in the day. Technology is amazing, isn’t it? What a shame I don’t have time to tell you all the tale of the Spider and his Web.’
Jack stumbles around the car, pure rage and hate firing his determination.
‘Oh, and a few last rules. Leave your phone on; you know I’m going to want to talk to you. To make it a little more interesting, I should tell you there are booby traps in the house. I can trigger them from here, or you can trigger them, accidentally, from there. And finally, remember, if you don’t make it to the girl and kill her, I’ll blow you both up and then I’ll finish my business here. Is that clear?’
‘Yes. Yes, it’s clear,’ says Jack, spitting out the words.
‘Good,’ says Spider. ‘My mother always told me to take a ten count before doing anything really big. So, here we go. Ten!’
Jack frantically tries to work out the situation.
‘Nine.’
Ludmila may already be dead.
‘Eight.’
If she isn’t, BRK is hardly likely to let us both leave the house alive.
‘Seven.’
It’s possible that she isn’t even in there, and this is another one of his sick stunts.
‘Six.’
She may be in there, and the house may not be rigged with explosives; he might just be bluffing.
‘Five.’
The house may be rigged with explosives and he may blow the whole damn thing up as soon as I step inside.
‘Four.’
Will he really maim Zack? Is there any chance at all I can save my son from the agony and injuries that he says he’ll inflict?
‘Three.’
Whatever happens, he says he’s going to kill Nancy.
‘Two.’
My family is my world, my life, my everything.
‘One.’
Please God don’t let me fail them.
‘Zero.’
85
‘Howie! Howie! Give me your fuckin’ gun!’ shouts Jack.
The FBI man doesn’t question what’s happening, he unholsters his automatic and throws it to him.
Jack jams the pistol in his belt, sprints around the corner of the cul-de-sac and reaches the front of the house.
A big double garage at the end of the short drive faces him.
It’s undoubtedly locked.
That leaves a solid wooden front door and a bay window that may both be rigged to explode.
It has to be the window.
The curtains are drawn.
Drawn curtains can hide a nasty surprise.
Jack spins around and checks the garden.
Ornamental rocks around a flowerbed. They will do.
He picks the largest and shot-putts it through the lower pane of the window. He stands back.
Nothing.
The window frame and the floor behind it must be safe.
Jack tears off his jacket, wraps it around his right forearm and uses it to batter out enough glass to squeeze his body through.
If he’d had time, he would have cleaned away the glass and put his jacket down on the jagged edges while he climbs in.
But there is no time.
He hauls himself up and feels shards of glass spike into his hands and knees as he clambers through.
He beats off the curtain as it wraps itself around him but it clings tight and sends him tumbling clumsily to the floor.
By Jack’s reckoning he’s already lost a minute of the five he’s been given.
Two hundred and forty seconds left. That’s all.
The room he’s in is completely empty of furniture or carpeting. He runs across the wooden floor and pauses at the door.
It’s locked.
And Jack is sure it’s wired as well.
He stands back, releases the safety on Howie’s gun and empties a shot into each of the hinge areas.
Nothing happens.
He levels the pistol at the lock and lets off another round.
There is a loud explosion.
The door bursts into flames and metal pieces of the lock fly at Jack like shrapnel.
Something rips into the side of his face, stinging and burning.
He feels his knees buckle and reaches out a hand.
Spider watches with amusement.
One minute and twenty seconds gone.
King may just reach the girl in time. Now won’t that be interesting!
Spider shakes Nancy. ‘Wake up and watch! You’re about to see your failure-of-a-husband fail again.’
Nancy is groggy. Her eyes can barely focus on the computer’s screen.
Jack, be careful. Please don’t die. Please don’t let us die.
Her thoughts are all muddled. She is dizzy and everything is blurred and spinning.
The anaesthetic swirls inside her, dragging her into a sickly fog of unconsciousness.
Zack, where’s Zack? Where’s my baby?
Jack steadies himself, then plunges through the flames.
Where?
Where next?
The lounge is empty.
He can see the room leads off into a kitchen and he starts to move that way.
This must surely lead to the garage and the stairs to the basement must be back there somewhere.
The kitchen has three doors.
One into the garden?
One into the garage?
And the third one? Into the basement?
Jack studies door three. He presumes it’s locked. He quickly examines the door’s round handle. It’s brass and entirely unlike the others he’s just seen.
It doesn’t fit, Jack. Brass is the best conductor of electricity you can have. He’s wired that handle to the mains. Touch that and you’ll be cooked alive.
The door is thick pine; he knows he can’t take it out with his shoulder.
Jack glances around the kitchen. The worktops are empty except for a knife block and a red plastic bowl for washing pots in.
The bowl!
He grabs it and fills it with water. Then, with Howie’s gun tucked back into his belt, he stands well clear and throws the water over the handle of the door.
Somewhere behind the door he hears a crackle, then a ‘phudd’, which he hopes is the sound of an electrical appliance short-circuiting.
It’s safe.
Isn’t it?
If he’s wrong, then Jack knows the water on the floor and around the door will help electrocute him.
It’s a risk he has to take.
He pulls out Howie’s Glock and blows away the brass handle and lock.
Four more shots take care of the heavy hinges.
Jack kicks at the slab of splintered pine and it gives way, tumbling into the blackness that leads into the basement.
Jack steps over the threshold.
Into the darkness.
Spider checks his watch.
Two minutes gone.
‘Look! Jacky boy is really trying. Sweet, isn’t it?’ He pulls Nancy’s hair and pushes her face towards the computer screen.
Nancy stays unconscious. The anaesthetic has soaked into her brain and she’s blacked out. Her body is limp and unaware of what’s happening to her, her husband or her child.
‘Wake up! Wake up and watch, you fucking bitch!’ Spider slaps her. ‘You fucking whorebitch, you’re supposed to see this.’ Anger erupts inside him. He wants to smash the computer into her miserable face. He wants to use the knife. He needs to carve her up and ease the pain that’
s awake and starting to crawl around inside him.
Kill her now, and the pain will go!
No!
Control yourself.
You know you have to control yourself. Mother will help you.
Mother is nearby.
You can kill the woman later.
Kill her slowly.
Kill her nicely.
But not now.
Right now, forget about her and the child and watch Jack King die.
The splintered door slides down the basement stairs like a runaway sledge. It smashes into something hidden in the darkness and slams to a stop.
Another door, guesses Jack. It’s hit a second door at the bottom of the stairs that will be locked too.
And remember the girl is tied up. What are you going to free her with?
Jack quickly steps back into the kitchen and grabs a large carving knife from the wooden block on the worktop. He returns to the basement steps, his feet feeling their way down through the blackness.
The door in front of you will also be wired. Careful you don’t touch it. Careful you don’t touch the walls either, there may be a handrail that’s rigged to a second electrical device inside the basement itself.
Jack takes another step down the creaking wooden steps.
And then another.
Suddenly, the ground goes from beneath him. The whole staircase collapses.
Jack’s head smashes against something hard. A dull agony thumps through his back and chest. Nausea overwhelms him and he feels his mind going slack.
Fight it! Fight it! You have to stay conscious. Spider laughs louder than he’s done since he was a kid.
This is wonderful!
Pure slapstick!
The fool is like a clown in a circus, falling over things with perfect timing.
He glances at his watch.
Three minutes gone.
‘I don’t think Hubby is going to make it,’ he says to Nancy, who is still unconscious.
‘A shame you can’t see this. Your man’s final humiliation. It really is something to behold.’
Something even more delicious occurs to Spider.
He can make the child watch.
Yes, somehow that is even more fitting.
The child of Jack King forced to watch his own father’s humiliation and death.