by S. Burke
Deakin knew they were lying; he’d seen their faces. He was as good as dead. Best he could do was send them in the wrong direction looking for that other man. Maybe the poor bastard could get away.
“I helped him back up near the road,” he said.
The woman leaned down over him with a burning cigarette in her hand. “No. I don’t think so, young man. He would have been too weak to make it that far.” She brought the glowing cigarette closer. “It would be a damned shame to mark up such a handsome young man. So tell us where he is.”
“I told ya. Near the road.”
He screamed as she pushed the red hot cigarette into the flesh of his cheek. The odour of burned flesh mingled with the stench already in the cabin.
The man in the reeds was crying softly to himself. He heard the boy scream. They had him. That meant they were both going to die. Sooner rather than later; he didn’t want the boy suffering more than he needed to. “I’m here!” he called.
“That’s him!”
She exited the cabin. “Where are you, Stuart? No need for the boy to suffer. Tell us where you are, and we’ll let him go.”
“I’m here. Near the water. You won’t let him go, you cunt. Just don’t make him suffer first. Kill him quickly, for mercy’s sake.”
“Shame on you, Stuart. Such language!” she called, then returned inside. “He’s down by the water. About a hundred yards.”
It didn’t take long for them to find him and drag him back to the cabin.
He looked at the boy with tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, son. I’m so very sorry.”
“How touching,” she said. “Well, we can all see just how worried about him you are, so I’m going to be extra nice, you can have the pleasure of killing him yourself. That should be fitting punishment for trying to escape. Or would you get more pleasure out of watching him suffer first?”
The boy’s eyes were terror-filled. He looked over at the man he had tried to help. “Do it. Just do it. Please!”
Stuart couldn’t. The thought of killing the boy wasn’t bearable.
He watched as the two men lifted the youngster and tore his shirt off. The woman walked over with the razor sharp blade and slowly drew it down the boy’s back. He screamed his agony.
She sliced into the muscle tendon on his arm, cutting it through. The boy blacked out. They threw water on him and bought him round. The three of them had lit cigarettes and each took a turn of holding it against the flesh of his face. “Pleeeeaase … no more, please,” he sobbed.
Stuart watched a while longer. He couldn’t bear to see the boy suffer any more. “Stop it, you bastards, that’s enough. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”
“Well, now then, that’s more like it. Bring the boy over here.”
“Stuart, here, it has one bullet. Use it on the boy.”
Stuart took the gun, while they stood with their own weapons drawn and aimed at him. Before they could stop him he inserted it into his own mouth and blew his brains out.
The woman screamed her rage as she was covered in brain matter and blood. The others rushed toward her, she screamed again. “Leave it.” She kicked the bloody mass on the ground. “You ruined it.”
The boy stood numbly watching the horror unfold. He was next. He knew it.
“Get this place cleaned up. Leave that thing on the floor. She will not be pleased, people. Wipe everything down. Burn the gloves when you’re done.”
The woman walked over to the boy, unmoved by the look of pleading on his face. She jerked his head back by the hair and slashed his throat so deep she almost decapitated him. She stripped her clothes off and gave them to the others to burn, and then walked calmly down to the water and immersed herself to wash. “Damn it to hell! How do I explain this?”
Billy was worried. It was lunchtime and still no sign of his brother. He’d already lied to his dad and told him Deke had gone for a ride on the dirt bike this morning. His dad was now getting all fired up and angry. Deke had chores that needed doing.
Billy was going to get a whooping for lying, he knew it. “Damn it, Deke where are you?” he whispered, watching the look on his father’s face get angrier by the minute. “I’ll bet he’s over at that trashy Leanne’s place, Pa.”
“Who are you to be calling that girl trash, boy? Bite your damned tongue. Her folks are good people, and I’d swear she’s a good girl too, if that damned brother of yours hasn’t ruined her.”
Billy hung his head. He could only go by what Deakin had said. He heard his Pa on the telephone speaking to Leanne’s mother.
“That boy hasn’t been there for a couple of days. Billy, are you telling me everything, boy?”
Billy was scared. He’d lied to cover for his brother. But what if Deakin had come off his bike? What if it had been a bear they’d heard? Deakin could be lying hurt somewhere.
“Pa, I lied. Deke and me was down by the lake last evenin’. We heard somethin’ sounded in pain. I thought it was a big ol’ bear. Deke said it sounded human. He was gonna check and then go over to Leanne’s house. He said he’d be back by early this mornin’. I’m sorry, Pa.” The youngster was crying.
“Not as all fired sorry as you are gonna be. I want you to show me exactly where you were. I’m callin’ the sheriff as well. That boy better be injured. He’s gonna cop a whooping either way.”
Billy watched as his father rang the sheriff.
“Mike, sheriff’s on the phone,” called Lewinski from the rear of the mobile unit. Mike made his way inside and took the phone.
“Yes, Sheriff. What? Yes … yes, pick us up on the way. How then? Can you find me a couple to use? What about horseback? I’d need five minimum. Good; arrange it quick as you can. No … we’ll meet you, how far down the lake road can we take the vehicles? No clear area for a chopper? Okay, understood. Our luck might have changed. See you in about an hour or a little more then. DO NOT allow anyone to start looking till we arrive. Yes, that includes the boy’s father and brother. Just do whatever you need to, handcuff ’em if you have to. The people we are after are extremely dangerous. Do you understand? Good, we’re on our way.”
Mike Matheson ran to the team trailer. “Everyone listen up. We have a possible lead. A youngster’s gone missing after hearing something or someone crying for help down the lake road. Get everything together. The road’s inaccessible by vehicle. The sheriff is arranging dirt bikes and horses to get the gear in. Meet me outside in ten minutes. You as well, Doc. I’ll need your reading of the situation as we find whatever we find. Armour up.”
The teams assembled, wearing bullet proof vests. Two sets of snipers were geared up and ready. The cars screamed out of the area and headed to the rendezvous point.
They arrived just ahead of the sheriff, who wasn’t far behind and had three horses trailered with him.
“Good work,” said Mike.
The horses were taken out of their trailers and loaded up, as Mike and the Doc spoke to the missing boy’s father and little brother. The father was anxious and not listening to what the agent was saying. He pushed past Mike and another agent and headed on foot down the track. Mike caught him and spun him around, with his arm twisted behind his back.
“Whoa up now, I can understand your concern for your boy, sir. But we need to do this and give him the best chance we can of being found, don’t we?”
“Hurry man, for pity’s sake. My boy could be layin’ out there hurt!”
“I understand, sir.” Mike patted the man on the arm and then walked him back to where his youngest boy stood white-faced with the sheriff. Mike crouched to talk to the child. “I’m from the FBI, son, you heard of the FBI?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good, I need your help. What’s your name, son?”
“B-Billy, sir.”
“Good name. Well, Billy, I need you to mount up on a horse in front of me and guide me to where you last spotted your brother. Can you do that?”
“Yes sir.”
“Excellent. Your Pa
will be close behind us. I want you to put this on for me. Can you do that?”
He handed the boy a vest and helped him into it. “You need to stay as quiet as you can, just signal to me as we move. How far in on the bikes did you go?”
“We was on the bikes a long time, a long way down by the lake, sir. I remember the place.”
“Good boy. You do exactly as I tell you without any questions. Deal?”
“D-d-deal.”
“Look after my boy,” said his father. “You’ll answer to me if he gets as much as a scratch.”
“He’s in the best hands possible, Mr Rowlings, believe that,” Nigel Cantrell spoke up.
“He’d better be.”
The odd-looking teams moved out, on both sides of the river, the FBI in the lead, with sharpshooters’ front and back. The sheriff and the boy’s father brought up the rear.
They travelled about forty minutes or so with Billy pointing the way forward, when he put his hand up to signal halt. He leaned back and whispered up at Mike, “This is where we heard the sound from, sir. Right here’s where I left him.”
“Good boy. Well done.” Mike radioed the team on the opposite bank. “Move slowly, stay in visual with us.”
Mike slid from the horse and carried Billy back to his father. “This is as far as you go. Stay here and stay silent. My team will go further. Wait here. Understood? You will be endangering the other boy if you come any further.”
Both the sheriff and the father looked ready to protest, then the sense of what Mike said sunk in and they nodded agreement.
Mike and the teams continued on in silence, Mike calling a halt as they rounded a bend in the river and found the dirt bike and a pair of shoes on the trail. Everyone dismounted. The immediate area on the shoreline showed signs of disturbance; the reeds were flattened where a boat had been pulled up. Two sets of prints were clearly visible, one smaller than the other.
“Make a caste of those before we lose ’em to the weather.” Mike said softly. “Everyone scan the bank on the other side. Look for a moored boat or any sign of occupation.”
“Mike, looks to be a cabin of sorts, back behind the tree line about fifty yards; to the left of that large white stump,” someone said.
“Good work. Okay, team two. Cabin ahead of you, back from the shore in the trees. White stump ahead, fifty yards behind that. Approach no further. Secure a perimeter, and await instructions.”
Mike pulled the inflatable craft down from horses one and two. “Downstream around that next bend. We’ll cross and approach from the rear.”
The team moved with the precision of well-trained soldiers. Silent and fast. They were soon paddling across the lake. Nigel Cantrell joined them, surprising Mike with his skill and his speed.
The boats were carried silently ashore and camouflaged under trees downstream of the cabin.
Mike gave the signal and the teams moved in from both areas. They burst through the cabin doors as a combined force front and rear. It took only seconds for them to all realize they were way too late.
The boy lay dead, his head almost severed.
The body of a male lay nearby, the head almost blown off. It would be later identified as victim number nineteen, Stuart Alexon.
The team were devastated, the boy’s death shaking them more than any would admit.
Trish walked outside with tears streaming down her face, not wanting the others to see it. Mike had the team secure the area, then he sought out Trish and, saying nothing, he put his arms around her and held her as she cried.
Nigel Cantrell left them to it for a couple of minutes, and then cleared his throat loudly.
They turned, Mike keeping his arm around Trish’s shoulders.
“We have a serial team working here, Mike. No doubt about that now. Don’t know how many yet, but I hazard a guess of at least four, maybe more.”
“Jesus, we came close. How long are they ahead, do you think?”
“The place has been picked over and wiped clean, I’d say. But by the look of the bodies, I’d hazard a guess at about fourteen to sixteen hours or less. These people are professionals, Mike. Not amateurs, they’re too good at the clean-up. We could be talking ex-army or special forces here.”
“Fuck!”
“Yeah. My sentiments exactly.”
“Oh, God. I have to tell Billy and his dad.”
“I’ll do that, Mike. You have had to do it too often. I’ll take care of it,” said the doctor.
“Thanks, Doc. Thanks. I couldn’t face the kid, and his dad. I really couldn’t.”
“Understood.”
“Doc?” said Trish. “Can I help?”
“Yes, thanks, Trish. The boy would benefit from a woman being nearby, I’m certain.”
Trish and the doctor mounted two of the horses and headed back to the waiting family, each silent with thoughts best left unshared.
Billy ran forward eagerly looking for his brother, but his father took one look at the faces of the two people and cried out, “No! Where’s my boy? Where’s my boy?”
The doctor dismounted and hurried across to the man. “I’m so very sorry. He’s dead. There was nothing anyone could do.” The man flung past him and headed down the track. Nigel Cantrell hurried after him, grabbed the man and held him. “You will see soon enough. I’m so sorry. You have another youngster that needs you right now, man. He’s going to need his father to be there for him.” The doctor held the man as he struggled, surprising those present with the physical strength he displayed. The bigger man threw a punch; it was blocked and counteracted with lightening precision.
In spite of her distressed state, Trish Clayton noticed and made a mental note to find out where he had attained the skill.
She approached the younger child and knelt in front of him. He shook his head frantically trying to forestall hearing what he already knew. “Was-w-w-was it a bear?” he asked.
“No, Billy. Not a bear. Your daddy will talk to you more. There was nothing anyone could do. He was already dead.”
“It was my fault, I should have stayed with him,” he cried.
“No, Billy. No. You couldn’t have changed anything. Your daddy would have lost two sons if you had stayed.”
Nigel Cantrell and Billy’s father returned to the area together. The grieving man held out his arms, his remaining son ran to him and was picked up in a tight embrace.
Trish drew a shuddering breath and remounted, heading back where she could do the most good.
Nigel Cantrell spoke again to the grieving family of two; then to the sheriff before he also mounted up and headed down the track to where death and pain waited.
Chapter 13
CNN - Breaking News
Washington D.C.
Monday
Head of C.I.A David Michelson has surprised most insiders by stepping down from his position. Poor health has been the determining factor for his decision.
An unnamed source reports that Director Michelson has been suffering from a deep depression and further states he will be entering a ‘clinic’ for treatment.
When questioned by reporters Michelson refused to name his ‘health’ issues.
President Elizabeth Shea is reported to be saddened by the news, and will be selecting a new Director as a matter of urgency. In the interim DDI Grant Fellows will be at the helm.
End report.
Sheila Harrington made the call from the street. She was surprised and annoyed when no one answered. She checked her watch again, agitated. This was the time agreed upon. Where the hell was he? She would return to the lodge tomorrow, and continue her normal engagements. The FBI and the combined task force would not be able to monitor her quite so closely when she was there.
She wanted to remain highly visible and the ball on Friday night would provide her with the perfect opportunity.
Time to shop for a gown. The one she’d had made was too colourful and she wanted to appear elegant and stylish, not too vibrant. The first gown had not been h
er choice.
She frowned again. Something was clearly wrong, as these calls were scheduled and imperative.
Mike left his forensic specialists in control and he, Trish, and the doctor headed back to the mobile headquarters.
“That youngster was in the wrong place at the wrong time, poor little guy. These people are not just thrill killers, are they, Doc? They kill easily. Too easily,” said Mike.
“Indulge me a moment,” said Nigel. “The primary motive of a thrill killer is to induce pain or create terror in their victims, they get off on it. The huge rush of adrenaline by hunting and killing victims is their payoff. Thrill killers usually murder only for the kill; they can abstain from killing for long periods of time and become more successful as they refine their methods. Most of these bastards attempt to commit the perfect crime and firmly believe they’ll never get caught. This case deviates from the usual. I believe sex is a large part of this. Possibly used as the prime motivation that holds the ‘family’- if indeed that’s what this is- loyal.”
He drew breath. “I still believe Sheila Harrington is the driving force here. I also believe she would have no compunction about letting her ‘family’ members take the fall for these murders. She is setting herself up with a perfect alibi here. a) Wrongful arrest and b) she has been followed every step of the way since her release. She hasn’t put a foot wrong. So far. We need to get that agent in, and we need to do it now. I believed we were done with the murders, but I’ve been proven wrong.” The doctor rubbed his eyes wearily. “Input? Am I looking at this too much as a psychologist and not enough as a man? Help me out here, give me some feedback. Trish? Anything?”
“Sorry, Nigel, I just can’t get inside her head. I’m trying as a woman to see what satisfaction she would get from this. The domination and control aspects, yeah, I get that. So she plays with her victims, and then sets them up for the kill. I don’t know if it’s her that does the actual final act of murder, or whether she induces her ‘family’, or whatever the hell they are, to do that. What does she have on them to keep them loyal? Or are they the ones that are dominant here?”