Surely, I am dying. Would I see K and Sam in the afterlife? But then I shook off the thought, knowing there were only two places that the dead go. I didn’t know which one I was going to—but I had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be with the innocents.
* * *
KIRK FROWNED AS HE looked at the text message from Agent Carson. He was wondering if contacting him had been the right thing to do. He sent a confirmation text back and set up a meeting at a local coffee shop down the street from the Merc building.
The cleanup crew had combed the Karjanski house and found an underground command center with links to cameras hidden through the house. They found more DNA evidence from Mark, Solomon, and Emily Dobson. No sign of any bodies or anything to help trace to where they might have taken them. Taras was good. Far beyond anyone they had ever come up against before. Kirk had gone up against some killers and crazy people in his day, but Taras Karjanski was at the top.
Isis came into the now-empty conference room and sat down across from Kirk. “So, what are you going to tell him?”
Kirk felt his throat tighten. “Tell who?”
“Come on, Detective Weston, you really think we would let you in here unsupervised and free to tell the world our secrets? You’re meeting Agent Carson, your old friend, in half an hour.”
“I can explain—” Kirk said.
“No need. Just remember, we aren’t the bad guys.” Isis stood and walked from the room.
Kirk breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. He should have known better. Getting up, he walked down the long hallway and took the elevator to the parking garage. He was met by Isis at the top. She reached out and grabbed his hand. “Come on. I would like to meet your friend, Mr. Carson.”
Kirk smiled and pulled her close and looked into her eyes. They seemed to sparkle as she looked up at him. “You are such a wonderful person, Isis Kanika.” She beamed and kissed him on the cheek.
“You’re not too bad yourself, detective!”
“Shall we walk?” Kirk said.
“Sounds good.”
Kirk felt his heart skip a beat as Isis pulled him along. He didn’t even want to think about what he was feeling for fear he would mess it up. Sometimes things happened like this—people had an inexplicable attraction to each other—and he wasn’t going to question the reasoning behind it. It just was.
The day was bright and busy as people hurried from shop to shop, stocking up on flashlights, batteries, and food. The usual small talk gave way to frightened glances and lowered heads. The sunshine, and the birds dodging through traffic didn’t seem to mind, one way or the other. The birds sang and flew just as they did on any other day.
Kirk and Isis made good time, sat down by a window, and sipped their coffee. Isis liked café lattes, and Kirk preferred his coffee black. They half expected Agent Carson to be followed by a team of FBI agents, but he came alone and sat down at their table. He looked tired and not quite himself, but everyone was pretty much in the same condition.
Kirk started things off with a handshake and a nod toward Isis. “Hey, this is Isis Kanika. She is part of the WJA. She wanted to meet you and see if we could help.”
Isis shook Carson’s hand, and he looked at her in mild shock. “Wow, I never expected to meet someone in person like this. Thank you for coming.”
“So, what’s on your mind?” Kirk said.
Carson ordered a chai and, opening his briefcase, he pulled out a file. His hands trembled. “As you know, we have next to nothing on Taras Karjanski. Most of what we now have we got through you.” He was nervous, and it showed. “We need your help. I have a letter, signed by the president of the United States himself, requesting your aid in the capture of Taras Karjanski and his sister, Natasha Karjanski.”
Isis took the letter and read it, then handed it to Kirk to look over. “We are doing everything we can,” Kirk said. “But we will do it our way, whether the president wants it that way or not. I can’t ensure that they will be captured alive.”
“We understand. He would—that is, the president would—like to meet with you as soon as possible. In fact, he was adamant about it.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t do that. We have too much going on here and we cannot compromise our whole operation.” Isis said. “Besides, he doesn’t want or need to know who we are or what we do. It’s better for him not to meet us.”
“He will be very disappointed to hear that. I’ll do my best to smooth it over. Do you have anything new on the case?” Carson took a sip of the hot chai the waitress set before him.
“Just that he has two of our own people,” Isis said. “And from the blood we found, it would be a surprise if Natasha is alive. She was the person who called herself Chaos. We believe he killed her, and now he has taken over, cutting her out of the picture all together.”
Kirk leaned in and said, “You focus on sealing off the schools and the rest of the refineries. We will take care of Taras. I don’t think he will blow up anything else until he has made contact with you again. He wants the public to fear him, so he’ll drag this out as long as he can.”
Carson nodded and informed them that the country was on Red Alert. Every school was shut down until further notice, including colleges. They had one week to find Taras or they believed the country would not be able to recover.
Kirk looked through the file Carson handed him and saw they didn’t have anything new to report. They talked about their options, but they all knew there was only one option left. The whole meeting took only twenty minutes.
“Good luck, and nice meeting you, Isis.” Carson shook her hand and then Kirk’s. He was going to have a hard time explaining to the president that he wouldn’t be meeting with anyone from the WJA anytime soon.
* * *
THE SPICY, RICH, DARK Bartolo Mascarello 1989 Barolo ran down Taras’s chin as he drank deeply from the bottle. Equal to its deep, ripe fruit flavor, it held a hidden hint of rose petals and tar. He would have sipped and savored the fine wine but he felt like indulging, and with his upcoming victory, who could blame him?
He watched the city from his balcony as it ran for cover in a wave of confusion. Their little world was being torn apart right before their eyes. And to make it even more brilliant, they chose their own fate. He thought of a very similar case in history where the raving mobs cried out for a rebel, Barabbas, instead of their true king. His blood be on us and our children! So it shall, so it shall!
He reclined and pulled his legs off the deck, resting them on the black iron railing. He leaned back in his chair and took another drink. He thought about the last piece of his plan and how wonderful it was going to be to take down his most hated enemy. The mafia was his now, and the New York City mob was under his thumb. He could go anywhere, do whatever he wanted, and not fear anything.
The World Justice Agency was hard at work trying to find him and restore balance to the world once again. He looked at the Merc building and snickered. Come and get me, boys and girls. I’m right here, across the street! His new apartment was on the top floor with a full view in all directions. The New York City skyline stood around him, with Central Park to the west. He’d bought the whole floor and had it converted into a fortress. It had been under construction for a year now, and the end results were perfect. Nothing less would be accepted. He had a second apartment set up in a different part of the city to throw off anyone who might be trying to find him. So far, it had worked.
Hidden in the walls were surveillance cameras and automatic lasers that would cut just about anything in half within seconds. It could read his body-heat signature and allow him to walk through, unharmed, in the event the system was set off accidentally. The glass in his office was bulletproof, as well as bombproof. Nothing could get through if he locked it down.
The electronic room was the command center for all the sensors and monitors showing him who was coming toward his building. It also sensed any toxins, including lethal chemicals of any kind. He’d even built separate pilla
rs that ran down the sides of the building to support his floor. The building could be blown right out from under him, and his loft would still stand. All of this wouldn’t be necessary after he took care of the WJA once and for all, but he liked to have it anyway. He had created the perfect home in which to relax and be safe from anything the WJA could throw at him.
The note he had written was being read by The Post as well as the FBI as he drank the last gulp from the wine bottle. He ran over it again in his mind, and a smile crossed his face.
Dear World,
I want to introduce myself, as we have been drawn closer with each passing day. I am the great General they call the Red Dog. I am giving you one week to give me the justice I require, and if you refuse, I will destroy every school and agency. After that, I will destroy your last defense: your military. You have one week.
With all my hate,
Chaos
A deadly virus was being shipped from Russia and would arrive in two days. It would be released into the Merc building and passed between each person without anyone knowing they were even infected. After three days, each and every person who came in contact with the virus would start showing signs of an outbreak. Boils would appear on their skin, and their internal organs would start shutting down. The process would be painful, taking another week to kill the host. They would die in wretched agony. Taras had a front row seat, and was waiting patiently to watch the show. Every one of his enemies would die.
He stood, stretched, and walked back into his bedroom to look at his beautiful wife as she slept. She was exhausted after her flight from Rome, and after going over her week with him, they held each other until she fell asleep. He saw the slow rise and fall of her chest as she dreamed. He couldn’t help daydreaming about killing her. His love could only be expressed in that powerful way. The ultimate sacrifice of giving her up, for their love!
Pulling a curved, thin-bladed knife from the dresser drawer, he stood over her peaceful body. The cold metal caught light from the open window, and he touched the tip on her smooth neck. She turned in her sleep, sighing softly as she rolled on her back, exposing her neck to her husband. The Red Dog’s heart skipped a beat as he breathed heavier and raised the knife over his head, imagining the blade plunging deep into her neck and seeing the blood flood the pearl sheets in a magnificent display. In one quick movement, he swung the blade down and stopped a millimeter from her perfect skin.
Sweat poured from his face, and he was panting. He turned away from her, put the knife away, and looked at a picture on the dresser. It was of his wife and their daughter swinging on a rope swing over a crisp blue lake. They looked so happy and so in love with each other. Taras could not have that, she was his—all his! The child was gone now, he comforted himself, and he pondered as he walked back out onto the balcony. How long could he keep his wife? One day they would have more children.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A DEEP, PULSING UNDERTONE vibrated the ground making small stones rattle like Mexican jumping beans. The sound was so low that it couldn’t be heard—but it was felt.
I awoke with a start and instinctively tried to sit up but smacked my head on the top of the coffin. My head was throbbing with each heartbeat, and I almost cried out in pain. The sound thundered in a quiet, bass tone deep within my chest. Thump, thump, thump.
I caught my breath and clutched my throat as the small bit of air left in my resting place exited my lungs. My lungs burned, and I could feel my whole body quiver as I gasped for air. None came.
I was out of air.
Thump, thump! I felt like knives were stabbing through my skull and deep into my brain. Each heartbeat made it worse as every cell and nerve ending exploded in a hot fire of signals. My dying mind struggled for life.
Thump.
The sound got louder with each gasp. Soon, I would be dead. My life didn’t flash before my eyes like I’d always imagined it would. Just the sweet feel of K’s lips and a giggle that filled my ears, as if Sam were here with me. I felt a strong wave of something wash over me, making the pain even hotter. I screamed out as the invisible shock wave shot from my fingers and rushed from my chest.
What is happening to me? Just let me die. I can’t take it anymore, please, God, please!
I didn’t expect the answer to come, but it did, with my last heartbeat.
Thump…thump…slower now...I felt it stop, like a train as it slowed on the tracks and rolled its large wheels one more time before coming to a final stop. I could see something in the dark, a tiny blue glowing light hanging at my side. Moving my hand, I watched the flicker of the light as it fell from my fingers like mist or dry ice. It looked so strange. This is it! My last stand, and I am going to die alone.
Thump.
I wasn’t breathing, and even though I tried, no air would come. The vibration was coming from my chest, and it made the light jump in the dark as if it were trying to get out of me. The next sound was not a sound at all, but a feeling. I was surprised I could still feel anything. White-hot pain blazed through my chest and shot through my arms and into my head as if I had just grabbed a live electrical wire in the rain.
K. All I could do was think about K. The pounding came faster, and my body convulsed with each shock wave. I saw the top of the coffin in the light that was now getting brighter and saw the wood start to splinter with the force. My brain could not comprehend what was going on.
The force slammed my body around like a rag doll pushing me against the bottom of the casket. Then, in one last burst of force, an earth-shattering subsonic boom erupted, sending a bolt of light shooting from my body, crushing my chest.
Then, like the fading memory, I knew. I saw the darkness—I felt my death.
* * *
TRAVIS FOUST CRAWLED THROUGH the small cave entrance as he had many times before. He loved spelunking, and the old abandoned tunnels were a special delight. He grew up in the Deep South with racial slurs and sneers at school every day…on the good days. On the bad days he got much worse. He liked living in the city because of all the different people who found their home in New York. No judging, no sideways glances, just a melting pot of every race and color, and no one seemed to care one way or the other.
He’d found out about the underground caves a few years back and looked up their origins on the web. Once he discovered that they had been used to hide and transport slaves back in the Civil War era, he had to see them for himself. He was overjoyed to find the entrance and had made many visits in the last year.
Coming into the main room, he sat down to eat his lunch, a tuna and cheese sandwich. He set up a battery powered light and turned off his headlamp. The old, cracked brick on the south-facing wall still showed signs of its previous glory. Doors that went nowhere and dead-end exits could get people lost, so Travis had closed them off, just in case.
Mid bite, he felt something shake under him like a mini earthquake, but dismissed it with a sip of Mountain Dew.
Thump.
This time he looked up and set down his drink as the sound vibrated through the ground. It sounded, or rather felt, like a heartbeat. A giant heartbeat.
“What the heck is that?” Earthquake? No, too small.
He saw the fine, sandy ground move like a thousand tiny fire ants, single grains of sand jumping with each throb from the earth. It is an earthquake!
Travis’s first thought was of the thousands of pounds of dirt that made up the roof of the cave, and more specifically, the fact that he was right under those tons. Grabbing his backpack, he ran for the only exit. Just seconds before he reached it, a volley of dirt fell and collapsed the exit. He choked in the dust cloud. Looking around, he began to panic as the sound grew louder and he could feel the vibrations run up his legs. In the center of the large room, he could see a dip in the dirt as a hole started to open.
Boom, boom, boom.
The plywood he had set up blocked the only place offering any semblance of safety, he cursed the fact that he had closed it off just
two months ago. Backing up as far as he could, he crouched under the archway and watched as the ground bounced and the falling rocks grew in size. It looked like a rock sifter on a gold mine, bringing the bigger ones to the top. Then, just as fast as it begun, it stopped. Looking around, Travis wiped the sweat from his upper lip. He was breathing hard and laughed out loud in relief.
Boom!
Jolting him back under the archway, he clutched his heart with his hand. The sound came faster and faster as the ground split open and a burst of light and steam shot into the air. In one last thundering sound, the ground erupted like a volcano, spitting dirt and debris into the air, leaving a gaping hole the size of a car.
Then silence.
* * *
KIRK LOOKED UP, AND could barely see Isis in the darkness. They were climbing the outside wall of the apartment where Taras was staying. Her thin, black suit was made of a special material that looked like mesh up close. It held in 99.9 percent of her body heat and reflected light to allow her to blend in with her surroundings.
Kirk hugged the wall just ten feet below her. He was in even worse of a mood than when he had learned of the mission. He was ready to take Taras’s head off, but he couldn’t understand why they just couldn’t use the elevator. He didn’t trust the suction gloves that were supposed to react when pressed to a smooth surface. And now, two hundred feet from the street below, he was wishing he’d stayed in the car. Man up, Kirk, aren’t you supposed to be a hotshot detective? Isis was in the zone and had more experience in this crazy, jump-off-of-buildings stuff than Kirk did. She was making him look bad.
The evening air had a bit of a chill to it, and the breeze felt good on his face. Everything else was covered in the ridiculous suit. Kirk had grumbled as he put it on, but after looking up at Isis and just about losing her in the reflection of the glass, he figured it would come in handy.
DREAM ON (Mark Appleton #2) Page 20