“Good, she’s up!”
August Hess and two Illuminati operatives stood in the hallway on the other side of the cell’s steel bars. Hess looked particularly pleased with himself, as his wide wolf grin flashed rows of incredibly large, white teeth.
“My ears are burning! Were you two just talking about me?”
Hess’s right hand rose up to cover his mouth as he looked at Stasia’s own broken face.
“Oh dear, you’re looking a bit worse for wear, Ms. Wellington. Then again, your looks will be the least of your worries soon enough. Now tell me, have you two been getting to know one another?”
Both Gabriel and Stasia said nothing, though Gabriel did manage to blow a large cloud of smoke toward Hess’s face. Stasia watched with satisfaction as the New United Nations operative struggled not to cough.
Hess’s eyes signaled his desire to kill Gabriel for the offense, but then those eyes came to rest once again on Stasia.
“I can’t kill you, Ms. Wellington, not just yet, but I will make you hurt.”
The two men who accompanied Hess moved into the cell pointing both their weapons at Stasia, leaving her confused as to why they didn’t appear concerned that Gabriel might attempt to intervene.
“Oh, you don’t know do you? Gabriel here is a real deal pacifist! Apparently he thinks himself some kind of divine observer. So you see, Stasia, all he’s going to do is watch me hurt you, and not raise a finger to help. Isn’t that right, Gabriel?”
Stasia was stunned to hear Gabriel agree, his voice a pained, distant whisper.
“Yes, that is correct.”
And then they came for her.
27.
Teague slowly filled Bennington’s whiskey glass and then did the same for himself. Both men sat at a table inside the second floor T3 pub while monitoring the entrance to the Illuminati church below them. The street was no longer blocked off, and though an occasional vehicle passed by, nobody had gone into or out of the dark church structure since Stasia had been pulled inside thirty minutes earlier.
With the simple push of a button from the hidden panel inside the lobby, Teague and Bennington had listened as the front door was reinforced with hidden steel rods sliding across the framing, accompanied by the soft whooshing sound of metal sheathing descending over each of the first floor windows.
Now entombed within the safety of the T3 building, each of them considered how they were to save Stasia.
“We have guns, but they’ll have more – more guns and more men.”
The old rocker sipped from his whiskey glass while nodding his agreement at Bennington’s comment.
“Indeed, and we can’t just call the cops. The first sound of a siren would be her death sentence. Plus, I don’t doubt they have plenty of the local authorities on their own payroll already. We won’t be getting any help from the billionaire?”
Frank shook his head.
“No, Alexander Meyer left New York and the guy who’s running things in his absence made it clear to me he has no interest in being involved.”
Teague scowled, making the already deep lines around his mouth widen even further.
“That seems odd. You would think he would have been left with instructions to help out with T3 business if needed.”
Bennington looked down once again at the church entrance, silently marveling at how any indication of the moments-earlier confrontation and Nagato’s death were already gone as if none of it had ever happened.
Both Frank and Teague flinched as the sound of a ringing phone broke the silence of the near-empty pub.
Bennington didn’t recognize the number displayed on his T3 cell.
Please don’t let it be one of them telling me Stasia’s already dead.
“This is Bennington.”
The deep voice that responded was of an older man, likely African-American.
“Mr. Bennington, I was informed Stasia Wellington is being held inside the church. Is this correct?”
Teague watched Bennington’s eyes noticeably widen as he held the phone to his ear.
“Who is this? How do you know about Stasia?”
“Call me Mr. Dorman. How I know about Stasia isn’t important. What is important is my ability to provide you some assistance.”
Frank knew that whoever Dorman really was, he had to somehow have access to T3 data in order to be able to call him on his T3 phone. That meant he was either someone actually trying to help – or a spy.
“What kind of help are you thinking about, Mr. Dorman?”
“The kind that gets things done as quickly and efficiently as possible, Mr. Bennington. I believe time to be of the essence here though, so please confirm whether or not you want the help being offered.”
Frank covered the phone with his hand while whispering back to Teague.
“Whoever this is, they want to send us help to get Stasia back.”
Teague finished his whiskey and then held up both his thick knuckled hands and shrugged.
“It’s not like we have any other options.””
Bennington put the phone back to his ear.
“Ok, send help. How soon can it get here?”
“He’ll be rolling up soon. I wish I could do more, but I have my own situation to deal with here.”
“And what situation would that be?”
Dorman paused, a second of silence turning into several. Finally, his voice returned.
“This is the age of nightmare, Mr. Bennington. Good luck.”
The call was ended. Frank looked down at his phone trying to recall where he had heard that same phrase before.
This is the age of nightmare, Mr. Bennington.
It was during his conversation with Alexander David Meyer the night before the billionaire went into hiding.
Perhaps he hasn’t abandoned us entirely after all.
Teague growled a low warning while rising up in his chair to look through one of the pub windows to the street below where he thought he saw a flash of motion.
“We got company, mate.”
Frank was soon looking through the same window. When he located the source of what Teague saw, the private detective happily shared his stunned amazement.
“Well I’ll be damned! It’s Alberto!”
Teague’s face tightened with confusion as he looked from Bennington to the man appearing to be waiting for someone, or something, outside.
“Is that bloke in a wheelchair?”
Frank Bennington and Alberto Diaz had worked together during the FDA assignment with the now deceased Dedra Donnigan. The former Army Ranger had lost the use of his legs in battle, but was now an integral part of the T3 Group in Washington D.C. working under the direction of Congresswoman Betty Mears. Frank hadn’t spoken to Alberto since Dedra’s funeral.
Bennington’s phone was ringing again. This time he recognized the identification number.
“Alberto, you son-of-a-bitch, what are you doing here?”
“Courtesy of Mr. Dorman, Frank. Could you hurry up and let me in before our friends across the street figure out I’m not just some poor crippled guy waiting on a cab?”
“We need to get downstairs and bring him inside.”
Teague looked back at Bennington through narrowed eyes.
“You sure he can be trusted?”
Frank was already making his way toward the hallway.
“You said it yourself, we’re running out of options and Stasia is running out of time.”
Teague looked back down at the disabled man in the street, confused as to how he could realistically help them bring Stasia back to safety. The impossibility of it made him grunt to himself in disbelief.
Two old men and some poor bastard in a wheelchair? Don’t we make quite the team? Bloody hell…
28.
Stasia recognized one of the two Illuminati operatives who accompanied August Hess to her cell. She had seen him in the alleyway earlier – the one with the smooth half smile whose gun she had taken.
; His name is Jean-Paul.
She made certain to look Jean-Paul in the eyes, having earlier sensed in him some semblance of humanity.
“Come along then, Ms. Wellington. You will be the necessary motivation to get Frank Bennington over here.”
Stasia silently wondered at Hess’s obsession with capturing Frank. His two previous assignments involved a green energy scam, and the incestuous relationship between certain international pharmaceuticals and the Federal Drug Administration.
Who would have been hurt most by Frank’s involvement in those two assignments?
August Hess was making a call with Stasia’s phone that his men had taken from her earlier before putting her in the cell.
Inside the T3 building, Frank Bennington stopped on the stairs on his way back down to the first floor. His phone was ringing.
“Wait, it’s Stasia!”
Frank felt himself break into a wide smile as he brought the phone to his ear.
“Stasia, are you ok?”
“Listen to me very carefully, Mr. Bennington. My name is August Hess. I have Stasia with me. She remains alive, for now. If you wish for her life to continue, I suggest you make your way to the church immediately.”
Frank knew the voice to be the same one who had told him earlier to send the guardian out.
Exactly – look how that turned out.
“You can’t be trusted. You killed the guardian and still took Stasia.”
“Ah, but Mr. Bennington, that was just a courtesy I performed for the Illuminati. You’re the real reason I’m here. Once I have you, there’s no more reason for me to stay.”
Frank felt his heart pounding in his chest, the pacemaker struggling to keep its rhythm within normal range.
“Who do you work for, Hess?”
“You’ll know soon enough, Mr. Bennington. Do we have a deal?”
Stasia yelled from somewhere near where Hess was speaking into the phone.
“Don’t you do it, Frank! They’ll just kill us both!”
August Hess covered the phone and turned to where Stasia was being held by the two Illuminati operatives. His command was hissed between clenched teeth.
“Make her scream.”
Jean-Paul hesitated and then watched as the other operative nodded back to Hess and then withdrew a five inch blade from a pocket of the navy blue wind breaker jacket he wore. The operative’s name was Vern Bracker and he was eager to prove his worth to the newly arrived August Hess.
Stasia flinched as the tip of the blade brushed against the lid of her right eye. Bracker whispered an order to Jean-Paul.
“Hold her.”
The blade was then pushed halfway into Stasia’s right nostril, the sharpened side slicing the interior flesh of her nose.
Jean-Paul felt Stasia struggle against him, while he watched Bracker’s eyes shine with hungry anticipation of the suffering he was about to inflict.
The knife moved upward another inch where its tip pushed against a section of cartilage within Stasia’s nasal passage.
The pain finally proved too much. Stasia screamed, though screaming was far from the only thing she did.
Stasia also turned her head sharply to the right and clamped her mouth over Bracker’s left ear, tearing at it from side to side as he then screamed as well while trying to free himself.
Jean-Paul released his grip on the T3 operative and backed away as Stasia grabbed the hilt of Bracker’s knife and then yanked downward dislodging it from the cartilage it had been imbedded in. With that same blade now in her right hand, she plunged it up to the hilt into Bracker’s abdomen several times until the front of the Illuminati operative’s shirt was drenched in his own blood.
Bracker, his body already in shock and not yet feeling the pain of his wounds withdrew his firearm and pointed it at Stasia fighting to keep his vision clear enough to fire. He smiled at her, confident that if he was to die, she would be joining him.
The stone walls of the underground corridor reverberated loudly with the sound of gunfire.
Stasia instinctively looked down to see where the bullet had entered, but found no evidence of having been shot. In front of her, Vern Bracker’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor, a sizeable chunk of his skull having just been blown apart.
She watched Jean-Paul then turn to point his weapon at August Hess. Both men were skilled shooters. Both men had seen many others die by their hand.
Jean Paul Bikindi was very fast with a gun.
August Hess was faster.
The Rwandan had a half moment of realization of that fact, and it was in that half moment he saw himself once again in the small African village of his youth before the violence and bloodshed that was to overtake it – a time when Jean-Paul still lived as a human being.
If there is a god, I am sorry for all that I have done. And if there is a devil, I deserve every bit of the suffering you intend for me. I have wasted my most precious gift – my own life.
The first bullet entered the upper half of Jean-Paul’s throat, searing a path through his windpipe. The second bullet tore through his left eye and exited the middle portion of his back skull in a scarlet cloud of blood and bone.
Stasia quickly recovered from the shock of realizing Jean-Paul had shot and killed Bracker instead of her, and dove for the gun that remained in Bracker’s hand just as Jean-Paul’s body catapulted backwards against the wall behind him.
Again, August Hess proved his quickness.
The right toe of his heavy black military boot connected with jarring force directly underneath Stasia’s chin. She felt her lower jaw slam upward, the impact jarring loose two more of her teeth. Somehow she remained conscious, though barely.
Hess reached down and grabbed her by the hair and threw her back into the cell with Gabriel, slamming the door and then glaring back at the both of them, wanting to end their lives at that moment, but knowing his instructions were all too clear.
He was to bring them Frank Bennington alive.
“Did you hear that, Mr. Bennington? She’s still here, still breathing, but not for long. Get your ass over here before it’s too late.”
Hess slammed the phone onto the stone floor and then ground it into a small, disintegrated pile of plastic under the heel of his boot.
The sound of Hess’s departure echoed back to the cell as Stasia struggled to sit up, every pore of her body screaming in pain from the multiple beatings she had so recently been forced to endure.
Her head rose slowly as she struggled to focus her eyes on the quickly moving form directly across from her. Gabriel pushed his face against the cold metal bars of the cell door and gazed out at the body of Jean-Paul. Stasia watched him stand like that for several minutes and then she heard Gabriel begin to whisper a prayer.
“God is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Stasia groaned as she pushed herself upward off the floor and then leaned against the cell wall as she fought back the urge to be sick as a wave of vertigo threatened to overtake her.
“How about you have your god come down and kick the shit out of the people who threw us in this cell? Or maybe he’s just as much of a cowardly prick as you are, Gabriel.”
Gabriel turned around slowly, his dark eyes seeming to glow like two glistening orbs encased in the near translucent paleness of his skin. He looked upon Stasia with a mixture of terrible sadness and regret as he moved toward her with both hands held in front of him.
Those hands gently caressed her cheeks, carefully wiped the blood from her mouth and chin, and then pulled her close into a soft embrace. It was in that moment Stasia sensed Gabriel’s great strength, and she wondered again why he refused to intervene when others were being attacked so violently by the Illuminati.
“No more will I stand by and allow others to hurt you, Stasia Wellington.”
Stasia lifted her head to look into Gabriel’s eyes and found truth there. Regardless of whether or not he was an angel or merely a mentally unbalan
ced man, Gabriel meant to keep that promise.
“What made you change your mind?”
Gabriel looked through the cell bars and nodded toward the body of Jean-Paul.
“He did.”
29.
“What are you doing in New York?”
Alberto wheeled himself across the T3 clubhouse foyer and extended his right hand to shake Frank’s while Teague reengaged the building’s security system.
Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series... Page 69