A Vicious Balance: A Mystery Thriller

by Jolyon Hallows

  32

  Arnie Torena paced the prison yard, his stomach churning. For three years, he had lived with the nightmare of the threat from this Hammer of Vengeance. And two days earlier, his nightmare had come true. The phone call had arrived.

  The voice had the flatness of an automaton. “These are your instructions. Tomorrow, you will receive a package in the mail. Do not open it. You will take the package to the prison and leave it under the mattress of an inmate named John Lake. Nobody must observe this transfer. A few days later, you will receive a text, the current month and day. You will immediately seek out John Lake and say to him, ‘The Hammer will strike.’ You will then return to your duties. Repeat these instructions.”

  “Uh, yeah. I put the package under the mattress in John Lake’s cell, and when I get a text that’s the current date, I say to him, ‘The Hammer will strike.’”

  The line went dead.

  Arnie Torena shuddered. His fear of the Hammer of Vengeance paled beside his terror at the thought of approaching John Lake, of even being near his cell. Lake was the man who had been convicted for the murder that he, Arnie Torena, had committed, and Lake knew this. Torena was certain that one day, his usefulness to the Hammer of Vengeance would be over. On that day, John Lake would deliver the message ending their relationship and his life. Oh, his fellow guards would intervene. They would arrest Lake, perhaps even shoot him down, but it would be too late. Arnie Torena would be dead. The years had strengthened the conviction that his life demanded the death of John Lake.

  He had tried to figure out how to go about it, but the risks with every plan he contemplated were as bad as his fear of John Lake himself. So many things could go wrong. Lake might prove to be harder to kill than he thought. The prison’s own security system might expose him. Worst of all, if the Hammer of Vengeance found out what he had done, he would not survive. John Lake was their man. His mission, to live in a prison filled with men whose loathing of their society made them useful fodder to the Hammer, and to help his brothers recruit them.

  Torena had to face that he was a coward. He had no idea how to deal with John Lake, no ability to rid himself of the threat that John Lake presented, and no alternative but to follow the instructions he had been given.

  The next day, the parcel arrived. The voice had told him not to open it, but he was damned if he would risk triggering the prison alarm and the punishment that would follow just because someone else got sloppy. Inside, butcher’s paper wrapped around a dull gray knife with a plastic handle. The blade of the knife was titanium. It wouldn’t trigger the prison alarm. A note beside the knife read, “Jake Handley.” Torena re-sealed the package and placed it in his lunch bag. On his shift, he had no trouble getting the package into the prison, and he was able to avoid the security cameras when he forced himself to enter John Lake’s cell and slip it underneath the mattress.

  He began to form an idea, a chance to be rid of the threat of John Lake. This would call for careful timing, but he became convinced he could make this work. He had delivered the knife. Now he had only to wait for the text.

  Two days later, his chest twitching with a spasm whenever his phone buzzed, he tried to tell himself that whatever mission this was had been postponed or canceled. Or maybe they had forgotten him.

  In the afternoon, the text arrived. Time to put his plan in motion. He sought out his supervisor and said, “I picked up a rumor that someone is out for Jake Handley.”

  “Hardly a surprise. Handley doesn’t have a lot of fans in here.”

  “Yeah, but this is more like a hit. I don’t know who the hit man is, but it might be a good idea to keep an eye on Handley.”

  “Where did you get this information?”

  “I overheard a conversation in the laundry room. I couldn’t make it all out, but there was talk of a hit and Handley was definitely the target. And I got the feeling it would be soon.”

  “Laundry room gossip? You got a feeling? You figure that’s how I run things here?”

  “Hey, I heard this, and I’m passing it on. Like I’m supposed to. Whatever you do with it is up to you. But if Handley is hit and we knew about it and didn’t do anything, well, I figure there’ll be a lot of paperwork.”

  The supervisor sighed. “Okay. I’ll issue an alert.”

  Torena wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked into the compound where a group of men were playing basketball. John Lake was standing to one side, his face turned to the action, but his eyes were still. Torena feared those eyes as he feared little else. He didn’t think of himself as religious, but John Lake’s eyes were those of a predator. Torena watched John Lake who, even though he was leaning against a wall, managed to give the impression of a coiled snake. He knew he would have to get close enough to the man to pass on the message, and he shivered at the prospect.

  He forced himself to walk past John Lake and mutter, “The Hammer will strike.” Lake didn’t acknowledge the words, but he turned and walked back toward his cell. About ten minutes later, Lake stepped out of the cell block to the yard where the basketball game was over, and the inmates were relaxing.

  One of the guards had been watching Jake Handley and anyone who approached him. The alert from the supervisor had been issued as if it had been an afterthought, but it gave the guard something to focus on other than the boredom of watching bored men. He noticed John Lake drifting across the yard to where Handley slouched against a wall. He raised his rifle and peered through the scope. Lake had his right hand in his pocket and sidled up to Handley who, as he did with everyone who approached him, seemed to pay no attention. Through his scope, the guard saw Lake ease his hand from his pocket, saw the dull gleam of the low sun reflecting off a sliver of metal. He flicked on his loudspeaker and yelled, “Lake. Drop the knife.”

  John Lake yanked the knife from his pocket and thrust it upward, but Handley, now alerted, twisted his body to one side. The knife met only air. Handley seized Lake’s arm and slammed the heel of his other hand into Lake’s face. Lake, now firmly in Handley’s grip, sank toward the ground. The guard, with Lake in his sights, was faced with a choice. Handley was strong enough to defend himself, but like every other guard, he feared John Lake as he feared few other inmates. Opportunity made his decision for him. He squeezed the trigger and John Lake crumpled to the ground, his knife now in Jake Handley’s grip.

  33

  The man cradled his phone, the text to Arnie Torena still glowing on the screen. A pang of regret washed through him. He would have loved to see the blood from Jake Handley’s crumpled body staining the prison dirt just as he ached to watch his handiwork destroying the Sanderson’s house. But his job was to organize. Any satisfaction he could take would have to come from the knowledge he had done it well.

  He called Ruth Janner to let her know that the Sandersons and Jake Handley had been executed, and it was time for her to move, but he got her voice mail. She wouldn’t have been compromised, but the Hammer always relocated the sleepers it used in an operation. He had just disconnected the call when his phone rang. A quavering voice said, “The Hammer did not strike.”

  His jaw tightened. “Who is this?”

  “Arnie Torena. From the prison.”

  “What do you mean? What happened?”

  “One of the guards got suspicious when John Lake went up to Handley. He scoped them and saw Lake pull out the knife. Before Lake could do anything, the guard shot him.”

  He cursed. “Where is Handley now?”

  “They’ve got him in isolation in protective custody. Nobody can get near him.”

  He smashed his hands down on the steering wheel. With the Sandersons dead, there was no longer any constraint on Jake Handley not to talk. He had to die. Torena was at the prison, but relying on that cokehead wasn’t an option. He thought for a minute. Handley would talk once he found out about the Sandersons, but he was in isolation. There was no reason for the prison officials to tell him anything. As far as they were concerned, Handley was a victim of
a murder attempt—business as usual in a prison. As long as they feared for his safety and kept him in isolation, he wouldn’t find out that fragments of his aunt and uncle were splattered over their property. That gave him time to plan how to recover.

  “How long will they keep him there?”

  “I don’t know. They’ll try to figure out why Lake wanted to kill him and whether there are any other threats against him. If not, they’ll release him back to his cell. I’d guess a few days. Maybe a week.”

  “Okay. Listen carefully. You are to keep up to date on everything concerning Jake Handley. I need to know when he will be released from isolation, and I need to know whatever the authorities find out in their investigation.”

  “I’m just a guard. They don’t tell me nothin’ I don’t need to know.”

  “Find a way. And whenever you find anything, you call me here. Immediately. Understood?”

  Torena’s voice trembled. “Yeah. I’ll do my best.”

  The man switched off the phone and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Almost six o’clock. Time for the news. He switched on the television. Television news tended to cover house fires and traffic accidents, events that made great visuals but had little impact on the radio. A house exploding would be a first-rate television news story. It would probably head up the broadcast.

  The lead story was of a demonstration against some political decision. That was followed by an interview with several environmentalists who were protesting against a proposed shopping mall development. There was coverage of a fire in a condominium complex and a story about a possible transit strike. The station broke for commercials. He stared at the television as if it were responsible for what he had just heard, or, with a spasm of fear, what he hadn’t. A cold wedge began to form in his gut.

  The news resumed with a story about some medical breakthrough, a famine in West Africa, a terrorist attack in Chechnya, and another commercial. He turned off the television, fear in his chest as he dialed the local fire department.

  To the curt, “Fire,” he said, “Was there a house explosion earlier this evening?”

  “An explosion? We have no report of any explosion.”

  “You didn’t receive a call for an explosion or house fire?”

  “Tonight? Our last call was about two-thirty this afternoon. You said this happened here? Do you have an address?”

  He switched off the phone and screamed. His bomb had failed him. The Sandersons were still alive. Jake Handley was still alive. The Hammer of Vengeance had been muted. But what could he do? He knew the Hammer’s policy. No deviations from the mission without consulting his leaders. There were no exceptions, not even to save their lives. He knew his leaders would call him back, would put in place plans to protect their other sleepers, would consider it prudent to conserve their resources for another mission.

  The reality of what had just happened slammed into him. He had failed. His mission, to protect the safety of the Hammer’s network of sleepers, had collapsed. He had endangered all the assets the Hammer had put in place over years. His superiors would not be pleased. They did not tolerate incompetence. When he faced them, their judgment would be harsh. They might even order his execution. He steeled himself. The possibility of death was a companion for him just as it was for all his brothers and sisters. If this was his destiny, he would accept it. His only goal now was to protect Mujaahida, to make sure she did not suffer the same fate.

  He called her number once more. With this new setback, it was even more important for her to change her identity and move.

  But he had another, more personal reason for wanting to reach her. He had feelings toward her. Even at the time he recruited her, he was attracted to her, to her strength, to her fire. He could not act on it. She would never have permitted it. And if she had? If their superiors in the Hammer found out? That would have meant their deaths. So he held back. He made sure she never suspected his feelings for her. But to him, he was her protector.

  When they had been assigned to this mission, he had tried to get his superiors to give her the role of his wife. What better opportunity to act upon his affection. But she was too valuable as a source of information within this Brouer Foundation. His wife would be Faiza. He didn’t protest. Faiza would be an entertaining bedmate. But Mujaahida, Ruth Janner, would have made their time together more than lust. And if the mission failed, or if he had been ordered to terminate her, he would deal with that when it happened.

  He was getting concerned at his inability to get through to her. Perhaps she was in a meeting and was observing the custom of switching off her phone. He hadn’t been able to reach her for at least two hours, but this time, a man’s voice answered

  “I must have the wrong number.” He re-placed the call. The same voice answered.

  He was startled. Mujaahida wouldn’t give her phone to somebody else.

  “I’m trying to reach Ruth Janner. Who are you? Is she available?”

  “Are you a friend of hers?”

  Now his concern blossomed into fear.

  “I’m her brother.” That was true. They were brother and sister in the Hammer.

  The voice softened. “I’m sorry to have to give you this news, especially over the phone, but your sister has passed away. I’m the medical examiner.”

  His first reaction was confusion. Passed away? Dead? This couldn’t be. But as the news registered, and he was forced to face its truth, he felt a rising urge to vomit. He stammered out the question, “What happened?”

  “Can you come in and identify her for us?”

  “Of course. But how did she die? Was she in an accident?”

  “I’d rather not talk about this over the phone. Please come in and I can fill you in about what happened. Can I get your name?”

  “Uh, Tony. Tony Janner. But look, please tell me how she died. I need to know.”

  “Mr. Janner, please accept my condolences. I shouldn’t tell you this over the phone, but I can say there was no accident. It seems your sister was poisoned.”

  He switched the phone off and slammed his hands against the steering wheel. Again. And again. And again. Mujaahida, his Mujaahida was dead, a martyr to their cause. Poison. She would only kill herself if she had been discovered. Tears blurred his vision. Rage filled his veins. He would avenge her.

  But in the surge of his emotions, part of him began an unwelcome calculation. He was a soldier, subject to the commands of his superiors. He knew what they would order as soon as he asked the question. His mission was to monitor the Brouer Foundation investigation. He was authorized to kill Kevin Winters and if necessary, Jake Handley and the Sandersons. But nobody else. Now, with his mission foiled, no further actions were permitted.

  He knew his leaders. They would order him back. They would celebrate Mujaahida’s martyrdom. They would deny him revenge. Despite his ache to kill those responsible for Mujaahida’s death, he had to yield to the commands of his superiors.

  But Mujaahida was dead, killed by creatures who were not worthy to kiss her feet. Abandoning her was unthinkable. Crawling back to the safety of the camp while her soul suffered the vicious indignity of a Godless autopsy was cowardice. Yes, defying his leaders meant his own death, but his life was no longer important. Martyrdom meant dying in a worthy cause. There was none worthier than vengeance.

  His mission, which he had thought was over, had expanded, had taken on an urgency that was now personal. It was no longer a mission for the Hammer of Vengeance, it was his. He would make it his goal not only to kill those who had mocked the Hammer, but also the two men who had killed his sister.

  Let any leader rot who would deny him now. He knew where the Hammer’s resources were. It was time to call them in.

  34

  Agent Meyer did not speak. He allowed no expression on his face, no shifting in his chair in front of Karen Elwood’s desk while she vented her outrage at him.

  “Do you honestly expect me to release a convicted killer solely on your request? Wh
at on earth makes you think I’d even consider such a foolhardy thing? Do you have any idea what would happen to me if anything went wrong? My superiors would have my head. Not to mention the public reaction. How do you think it would look if a prison warden routinely went around releasing hardened criminals just because someone attacked them? Do you really want me to set that precedent?”

  He studied her for a minute. “Warden, I am making a request that you release Jake Handley into my custody, but if you prefer, I can turn that request into an order. Handley’s safety is now a matter of national security, and in that realm, I am in charge.”

  “National security? Are you serious? Two inmates get into a fight and you turn it into a matter of national security? And you think you can order me to release Handley? I don’t concede that you have the authority to issue such an order. I’d certainly need to clear it with my superiors.”

  Meyer gestured at her phone. “Call them. Warden, earlier today, someone tried to kill Handley. He is the focus of an ongoing investigation, and we know that this attempt was not what you describe as a fight between inmates. It has the earmarks of a coordinated attack. And yes, its purpose may have been to compromise national security. Now, I can ask my superiors to ask your superiors to issue that order, but that will take time and during that period, Handley is at risk. I know you have checked my credentials, and I ask you again to release the prisoner to me.”

  “You don’t think we can protect him? He’s in isolation. Nobody can get anywhere near him except my guards, and I’ll vouch for them.”

  “You fail to understand. You are not dealing with street punks, but with a highly organized, extremely dangerous terrorist organization. I suspect that one or more of your guards has already been compromised. After all, someone smuggled in that knife. Let me repeat: Handley is at risk. If he is killed under your custody, I and my superiors will hold you personally responsible.”