Fury

by Llewellin Jegels

“I’ll take care of it,” I muttered. “Nothing new to me here, believe me. And in this case it’ll be my absolute pleasure.”

  “You’re not going to kill him, are you Tom?” Strange. I thought she’d like the idea of me roughing him up.

  “Not unless I need to,” I replied, not sure if I was lying or not. “Why? Would you like me to?”

  “No. I mean, I want the bastard dead. But…”

  “I understand, Shel,” I replied. “Don’t worry, the plan is to get the Intel, then knock him out and leave him tied up and gagged. Better?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good,” I replied. “Got to run, kids. Daddy’s got work to do.”

  “Be careful, Tom-”

  “Stop saying that!”

  I could hear Mel chuckling as I ended the call.

  I got up, tossed my three quarter full cup of what we’ll call coffee for lack of a better word in the bin, and crossed the street in a feigned relaxed, carefree manner.

  I felt sheer relief upon entering the coolness of the Summer Seas apartment building. Took the elevator up to the fourth floor and ambled over to the door of apartment 411.

  I thought for a moment, playing the coming scenario over in my head, trying to figure out the best approach to the situation, and what the consequences of my actions would be, then thought ‘screw it’ and rang the bell.

  No response.

  Ring it again?

  No, not a chance.

  No time to tip the guy off by standing there and ringing his bell for half an hour like a complete idiot.

  But if I did it the other way, things would get exciting around here, and I didn’t need the distraction caused by neighbors opening their doors and sticking their idiot heads out, or calling the cops.

  Ah, hell with it.

  I shot the lock off and kicked the door in, moving straight in, weapon drawn and ready, and sweeping the apartment with my gun. Silence. I wondered if I’d knocked down the wrong door when I heard a crash and a tinkling coming from what looked like the master bedroom.

  I headed there as fast as I could while still keeping an eye out for anyone else who might want a part to play in this.

  The place appeared empty, as far as I could tell, and as I swung into the bedroom I saw movement by the window. Masters, I presumed, tried to exit through his window, butt-naked, already half out of the apartment. Four floors up and the window led not to a fire escape but a long vertical drop, so I had no idea what crazy plan bounced around in his head.

  I dived across the bed, grabbed his leg, and yanked him back inside the room, pointing my gun at his head and putting a hand tightly over his mouth.

  “Nice and quiet, yeah?” I said softly. “I’m not in the mood for shooting people, but I’m happy to make an exception for you.”

  He nodded.

  “Good, good,” I replied calmly, almost soothingly. “Now, you’re going to get dressed within sixty seconds and afterward we’re going for a drive. Do you understand?”

  A nod again, more vigorous this time, as if the guy was more than willing to help me out.

  I think the gun may have had something to do with it.

  “And if you open your mouth, to yell for help or to say anything at all,” I wiggled the gun around. He got the point.

  He dressed fast, almost falling over himself in the process, while I relaxed by the bedroom door, gun trained on him. He reached for his shoes when I grabbed his arm and we made our way out of the apartment, my gun sticking in his ribs as we walked. We made our way down the fire exit stairwell and out the doors, reaching my car before any cops arrived.

  We got in, shutting the doors against the heat of the morning, and before he could utter a word to me, I knocked him out with the butt of my gun.

  “Sleep tight, princess,” I muttered. “When you wake up, you’re going to wish you hadn’t.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The warehouse looked run-down. Old and wrecked, a shadow of its former glory. And located in a remote area, which made it perfect for what I had in mind.

  I threw a bucket of water over the guy’s head, and he came awake spluttering and groaning. After a moment, he looked up at me blearily, still not quite all the way there but coming to. Another bucket of ice cold water helped him along. The second time he tried to throw his arms up in a defensive gesture, but then realized I had tied him securely to a chair.

  And then he saw my gun, “Ah shit.”

  “Yeah, that’s about right,” I said. “You’re a quick study I see. Good, all the better.”

  “Quick study? Not really,” the guy said, shaking his head either in the negative or just to clear it after being hit with the butt of a gun. “I know trouble when I see it.”

  “Oh good,” I replied with a grin which didn’t reach my eyes. “So we’ve met before.”

  The guy laughed, “You’re funny for an interrogator. I thought you guys just water-boarded innocent civilians and electrocuted foreign diplomats.”

  “You’re pretty chirpy yourself,” I replied. “For someone tied to a chair and on the wrong end of my gun.” I wiggled it around for effect. I enjoyed this more than perhaps I should have. I just hoped it wouldn’t turn into what I expected it might. “One thing, what makes you think I’m military?”

  “I’m guessing ex-military,” he replied. “It’s the way you move, I see it all the time at work.”

  “Good, so we’re on the same page,” I said. “Time for a chat. You okay with that?”

  “Well, I’m screwed either way, aren’t I?” the guy said, shaking his head and wincing from the pain. “By either you, or them.”

  “You’re talking about Division9?” I asked and got his attention better than the buckets of cold water had. “Because believe me, I’m not as nice as those fellows you work with.”

  “Somehow I believe you…” His voice tailed off.

  “Anyway,” I continued, walking around behind him to disconcert him, making him feel a little more powerless, a little less in control. “Perhaps they’ve sent me themselves? Have you been a bad boy? Perhaps you need a stern talking to?”

  An involuntary laugh escaped from his lips. He recognized the bluff.

  He shook his head, laughed again, “You’re not Div9, so cut the crap, okay?”

  “Maybe, maybe not? Don’t I have your secret decoder ring or something?” I asked, but the certainty in his voice derailed me a bit.

  “Because if you were…” he said. “Well, I wouldn’t have woken up drenched in ice water, pal.”

  “Ah I see,” I replied. “They have more refined techniques, do they?”

  “No,” he said. “If you were Div9, I wouldn’t have woken up at all. I’d be dead. Hell, if you worked for them in any capacity at all.”

  I stopped, still behind him, thinking about my next move.

  The guy acted too damn casual. Which meant he’d either had military training of his own, or he thought I presented no real threat.

  Or perhaps he just figured he had nothing to lose.

  I had to dig deeper, get to the core matter. But slowly, easily. I didn’t relish the alternative any more than he did. The fact I could do it didn’t mean I would enjoy it. Torture is a realm reserved exclusively for sadists. And very, very desperate people.

  “Sounds like a nice bunch of psychos you work for,” I said, still standing behind him.

  “What can I say?” he replied. “I’m a lucky guy. So… who the hell are you then?”

  “A concerned citizen,” I muttered. “With a few questions. Let’s just say I don’t have the luxury of a business lunch with your boss, so I thought of a nice little chit-chat with you as the next best thing. So, about those questions…”

  Masters, as I recalled, laughed again. “Screw your questions, man. The guy I work for would put a bullet in me if I told you a word.”

  “And I’ll put a bullet in you if you don’t,” I said. “You might want to think about who’s closer right now.”

  Masters sh
ook his head, “Doesn’t make any dif-”

  I stepped in front of him and shot him in the leg, the sound of the shot echoing through the empty warehouse.

  He screamed, his fingernails digging into the chair. Then he went silent, looking down at the blood pooling around the chair with something approaching horror. “You shot me! What the hell? You shot me!”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I actually planned on something else for you. Besides it’s only a flesh wound.” I looked at the gun in my hand. “Didn’t plan on using this thing as anything more than a scare tactic, to be honest. But a little girl’s life is at stake here and I got a bit impatient with your damn attitude.”

  Masters strained to see behind himself but the pain must have put a stop to it, “Thanks for the honesty.”

  “So how’s this for an idea,” I said, looking at him with what I hoped looked like a genuinely thoughtful expression. “You answer my questions and you walk, or should I say, crawl, out of here alive. You don’t and the world is short one smart-mouthed son of a bitch. A bit of a win-win. It’s your call.”

  “I’m your ace in the hole, aren’t I?” Masters said then, seeming to be handling the pain better than I hoped for. “I’m your only real lead. So then… what? You followed me from your apartment?”

  “A bit of a shot in the dark, don’t you think?” I replied, keeping my expression neutral. “Also, I could be wrong, but aren’t I supposed to be asking the questions here?”

  “Yeah,” Masters replied. “I’m just wondering if they’re worth answering. You have no reason not to shoot me after we’re done here. Hell, it’s what the pros do, right? Tie up loose ends?”

  “Yeah well, we’re two different breeds,” I replied. “I’m what is usually referred to as the good guy, and you are what they call the bad guy.”

  “That’s funny. You think I’m the bad guy?”

  I nodded. “Yeah,” I replied. “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “News flash, genius,” Masters said, looking me dead in the eye. “I’ve never shot anyone in my life. So which one of us is the bad guy here?”

  He couldn’t kill a fly, I could see it in his eyes, the conviction behind his words. Shit, who the hell was this guy?

  “Okay,” I replied. “I believe you. But it doesn’t change much right now.”

  “I didn’t think it would,” Masters replied, shaking his head.

  “So what the hell are you doing bugging my place?” I asked quietly, trying a different tack. “What are you doing working for an outfit like Division9? Tech support?”

  “Exactly.”

  A beat.

  “What?” I asked, genuinely surprised. “You’re telling me you’re a computer jockey? You’re kidding me.”

  Masters shook his head. “Nope, not kidding. My team and I deal with surveillance technology, another team handles the software side, and then there are other teams who have a more hands on approach, if you get my meaning. It’s all compartmentalized. They sent me in to plant the device, and to pull it off site.”

  Great, I’d just shot a computer technician.

  But for Rachel, I would be wondering who the bad guy was right about now.

  “Yeah, well,” I muttered, trying to keep things on track despite this new development. “You’re still one of them. And I need to know who they are, and what they want with Don Abaid.”

  “I’m unaware of what they want,” he snapped. “And I don’t know about any Abaid character either. I have no bloody idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “It’s not for me to know the details of Division9 operations. I’m not that guy. Are you hearing me? It’s all-”

  “Compartmentalized, yeah I heard you.”

  “And as for who we are,” he continued, trying to calm himself. “It’s all on the website. We’re corporate security, although a bit of espionage is thrown into the mix. I go in to work, design and build computer equipment and surveillance technology, and install the systems with my team when required. I occasionally get a call-out to install a system on my own, from some weird guy who honestly scares me more than you do. He is a dangerous sounding son of a bitch, and I honestly don’t want to know where he stands in the company hierarchy. Head psycho has always been my guess. Fact is, the less information I have about him the better. Otherwise, there’s nothing else I can tell you.”

  “And the van?” I asked, not letting this go. “Tell me about the van.”

  Masters sighed, “What van?”

  “The van watching my apartment,” I replied, trying to keep my calm, trying to stay relaxed. “You telling me you don’t know anything?”

  “Yeah, that is exactly what I’m telling you,” he snapped, not managing as well with the whole calmness thing. I’m sure the bullet lodged in his leg had a lot to do with it. “I don’t know about any of this cloak and dagger shit. It’s not what I do. Hell, I should’ve quit the place the first week after I started, but they paid well. And then the call-outs started, and I valued my life above a new job.”

  Shit, the guy had nothing. Our only lead to Rachel had turned out to be a damp squib. So what now? I couldn’t return to Shelley with news like this.

  Surveillance.

  “Okay,” I said softly. “I believe you. And right now your only choice is to work with me. Do so, and we’ll both get out of this alive. Don’t, and Division9 gets the low down on our little chat, I promise you. Also, I wonder how they’ll take the news you’ve been chatting to their rival companies. I can make it happen. Or, there’s the easy way.”

  I could see the fear in his eyes.

  “I have a friend,” I continued. “A very good friend. He can get you out of the country, set you up somewhere no-one will ever find you-”

  He laughed, “They’ll find me. They’re Division9, man. And the Head Psycho won’t stop until they do. They’ll find me no matter where the hell you send me to.”

  “My friend runs a pretty high tech firm of his own,” I continued. “A place that makes Division9 look like a bad joke. I’m not just talking about money and a one way plane ticket, Masters. I’m talking about a whole new identity to go with your whole new life. Completely untraceable by Division9. Hell even the FBI, the CIA or any other government organization you care to name will think you fell off the edge of the world. And all I need from you in exchange is the name and number of the guy who sends you out on these private call-outs. The Head Psycho as you call him. He sounds like the kind of guy I’d like to have a chat with.”

  “I’m dead if I give you the information,” Masters said. “That’s why he’s happy to call or text without making any attempt at hiding his number. Because he knows I’d never give any information out. Because I’d get taken care of as you so eloquently put it.”

  “He sends you on covert missions over an open line?” I asked, incredulous at this revelation. I’d expected a contact number, but this sounded like a whole different level of weird.

  “Yup,” Masters replied. “But I wouldn’t exactly call it open.”

  “Doesn’t he worry that this delicate stuff can be traced by an outside entity?” I asked, pretty surprised by the brazenness of the guy. “His calls and emails can be intercepted, traced back to him?”

  I was making progress, and I needed to continue the momentum with Masters. Everything depended on it. Rachel depended on it, which for me amounted to the same thing.

  “Not a chance,” he replied. “We use military grade encryption on all computer technology we have, which includes every smart phone every employee carries. No-one can crack that shit. Not an email or a text. You can’t even intercept a so-called ‘open’ phone call. It’s a potent piece of software.”

  I nodded, “Yeah, we know about the encryption you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, really?” He obviously didn’t believe me.

  “Yeah, like the hard-wired signal you have coming from the Abaid household, you mean?”

  “S
hit,” Masters said. “How the hell did you find our signal? Government wouldn’t even be able to find it, let alone decrypt it.”

  “So you installed the Abaid surveillance hardware then?”

  “No,” Masters said, shaking his head. “I already told you, man. I’ve never heard of any Abaid guy. But I know about the signal. We’ve used the encryption for it in other surveillance setups that I have worked on. Nobody should even know it’s out there. How the hell did you find it?”

  “Like I said, a friend of mine runs a very, very high tech company,” I replied.

  He nodded then. “So it seems.”

  Gotcha.

  “And,” I continued, taking a gentle tone now. “We can help you get out of Division9 and give you a new life, a safe life, with money in the bank and a villa on some beach somewhere, and all you need to do is help us get a little girl back to her mother. I just need a name and a number. I’ll take you to a secure location, patch you up, and if the number pans out, you get a new lease on life.”

  He sat there quietly for a while, seeming at war with himself.

  “You look kind of pale. You’ve lost blood. By the looks of it, a lot. And I don’t have all day.”

  “Ok,” Masters said at last. “Division9 didn’t even have dental.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Who the hell is this?” Shelley let out in wide-eyed horror as I led a limping Masters blindfolded into Mel’s apartment.

  “This is the guy who is going to help us find Rachel,” I replied, winking at her in the hope she’d feel sufficient reassurance.

  “Lord, he’s bleeding,” she said, getting to her feet.

  “Yeah,” Masters replied. “Bumped into a door. Clumsy old me.”

  I removed the blindfold. I’d considered leaving it on even once we were in Mel’s apartment, but realized if things went awry, it wouldn’t matter if some guy had seen their faces or not. Division9 would already be firebombing the place.

  “Right now he needs a bit of patching up,” I said, leading him past them. “We’ll have a chat when I’m done.”

  We made our way into the bathroom and I applied the first aid. Digging the bullet out didn’t seem as difficult as I had thought. Afterward I stitched the wound neatly, just like I’d been taught in the SEALs, applied a few bandages and wrapped them with gauze, then grabbed a pair of Mel’s trousers. Masters winced as I helped him into it.