by Roger Weston
He drove as far as the local high school, which was not in session. He walked out onto the football field.
Ten minutes later, he looked up at a descending helicopter. The Sikorsky S-72 landed, and Hurst climbed in. As the copter rose, he gasped with relief. He had what he needed, and he wouldn’t be going back to his office. Now, he just needed to put himself in a position to shoot Chuck Brandt assassination style in the back of the head.
His law office was like a symbol of his past now. He would never go back there. To go back was to risk death. Now he had nothing left to do but take care of Brandt. A few minutes later, his phone rang.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me.”
He recognized Maroz’s voice. “Okay.”
“Good news.”
“What’s that?”
“CERBERUS found a slip of paper in one of the briefcases they took out of the antiquarian’s office. It looks like a dead drop location. Unfortunately, my guys are cleaning out your office. So you need to take care of this yourself.” He gave Hurst the location. “Get over to Burien and wait. If Brandt shows up there, do not hesitate. Make a dead man. Then get out of there.”
“Done.”
CHAPTER 24
Chuck drove to a Chinese restaurant in a mini shopping mall near Aurora Blvd, south of Seattle. It was an out of the way place for a newspaper dispenser and even for a Chinese restaurant because they were off the main road and on the back side of the mall.
He took off his reflector sunglasses and kneeled down.
Looking through the glass of the metal box, he saw a stack of newspapers, but he also saw the reflection of his fake red hair and mustache. He fed his quarters into the newspaper box and pulled open the metal door. Several newspapers lay inside. Seeing his own photo on the front page, he grabbed a paper. Then he felt around the ceiling of the newspaper box until his fingers brushed over paper. He tore away the tape and removed the envelope that had been taped to the ceiling of the inside of the newspaper box. Stuffing the envelope in his pocket, he walked back to his car. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he opened it and read the notes from the antiquarian. They told a strange story: The crystal globe history reached back in history to a secret society called the Immortals. According to old legends, Mozart performed for members, and a crystal globe was mounted on his piano. It was a symbol of their society and vision. Mozart had turned against them, however, which was a prelude to his death. The Immortals’ current headquarters was in the Caribbean on Iguantola Island.
Chuck put his hand over his eyes and squeezed his forehead. He reread the letter. He thought back to the old bank vault: Andrew Maroz—the Immortals—CERBERUS —the Lancastria shipwreck— Caribbean —what did it all mean?
He rolled down his window for some fresh air. He glanced around the parking lot. It was calm and peaceful. A beautiful day for the Northwest. Too bad he couldn’t enjoy it. Time to go to the Caribbean, he thought.
Then he saw the girl walking towards him, looking right at him. She was a tall, lean, black-haired girl with aquiline features like a porcelain doll sculpture. Her dark hair was pulled back in a long pony tail. Her brown eyes were like topaz and showed courage. He might have been entranced by her, but the threat of instant death distracted him.
Assassin!
Hurst emerged from behind an SUV and pulled a gun. His cold eyes locked on the girl. Fatalism clung to his face. His tattooed hand screwed on a silencer.
The girl waved at Chuck. “Mr. Brandt,” she said.
CHAPTER 25
Sitting in his car in the parking lot, Chuck puzzled over the note he’d just retrieved from the dead drop. Obviously fearing for his life, the antiquarian, the late Sal Cochino had told an insane story of a crystal globe. Its history was said to reach back in history to a secret society called the Immortals. He claimed that in a lost legend Mozart performed for members, and a crystal globe was mounted on his piano. It was a symbol of their society and vision. Mozart had turned against them, however, which was a prelude to his death.
Then Cochino rambled about Mozart. He claimed that in the eighteenth century Mozart wrote music for the Immortals. He said that his music contained secret codes, that even the moods of his pieces contained secret meanings. In time, Mozart began to realize the depths of evil behind the charade of the Immortals. He saw clearly that their pretense of light was a sinister fraud. Mozart knew that his soul was in danger. He schemed to found his own society in defiance of the Immortals—despite knowing that he was taking a major risk. Mozart also betrayed the Immortals by revealing secrets. This was deemed unforgivable. An anonymous patron requisitioned the “Requiem.” This was an evil trick. Mozart was actually writing a requiem for his own death. He was soon poisoned and buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave to hide the crime.
Then Cochino wrote, “I’m dead. They’re onto me. Nothing left for me now but to go into hiding.”
Cochino added a scribbled note that the Immortals’ current headquarters was in the Caribbean on Iguantola Island.
Chuck put his hand over his eyes and squeezed his forehead. He reread Cochino’s notes. He thought back to the old bank vault: Andrew Maroz—the Immortals—CERBERUS —the Lancastria shipwreck— Caribbean —what did it all mean? Iguantola Island? It was madness. Insanity.
He rolled down his window for some fresh air. He glanced around the parking lot. It was calm and peaceful. A beautiful day for the Northwest. Too bad he couldn’t enjoy it. Time to go to the Caribbean, he thought.
Then he saw the girl walking towards him, looking right at him. She was a tall, lean, black-haired girl with aquiline features like a porcelain doll sculpture. Her dark hair was pulled back in a long blond pony tail. Her deep brown eyes were like topaz. He might have been entranced by her, but the threat of instant death distracted him.
Assassin!
Hurst emerged from behind an SUV and pulled a gun. A cold dead fatalism clung to his face like a morbid rag. Long, tangled locks spread all across half his face like thick cobwebs. His tattooed hand screwed on a silencer.
The girl waved at Chuck. “Mr. Brandt,” she said.
Chuck made eye contact with the young lady as she crossed the parking lot and approached him.
Chuck saw Hurst raise his gun and aim it at the girl.
“Get down!” Chuck yelled. He slammed the car into gear, hit the gas, and spun the wheel.
The tires peeled out in reverse. The car screeched backwards out of the parking spot. The front right quarter panel clipped a Lexus as it burst out of the parking spot.
The girl screamed. She froze for a moment then darted between two cars for protection from the maniac driver.
Chuck hit the brakes and made eye contact with the lawyer as he aimed his gun at Chuck’s face and smoke from burned rubber rolled across the hood.
Chuck floored the gas pedal. The wheels screamed. The assassin squeezed off four shots. They were masterfully grouped head shots. All of them would have blown Chuck’s brains out if not for the bullet-proof glass.
Chuck almost ran him over, but at the last moment, the shooter darted off between parked cars.
The car skidded to a stop. Chuck got out and aimed his Glock, but Hurst was hiding in a sea of cars. Chuck got back in the driver’s seat.
He drove through the parking lot looking for the girl. He drove slowly past many rows but no sign of her.
He glanced out the back window for any sign of the assassin.
Nothing.
After a pause, he threw it in reverse and backed the car up…slowly… looking down the strips of pavement between the rows of cars. He backed all the way to the row where the assassin had shot at him. He eased down on the brakes. The Chevy stopped. Looking out the back window, he saw neither the girl nor the lawyer, but he did see people looking out of the Chinese restaurant next to where he’d bought the newspaper. He didn’t dare roll down the window and listen for sirens because he feared he’d get a bullet in the ear. Slowly, he eased the car forward again.
The fourth row down, he saw the girl looking over the hood of a parked car.
Chuck turned down that aisle and drove between the rows of cars to where she was. Pulling up next to her, he rolled down the window an inch and said, “Get in. Hurry.”
She didn’t move. Clearly, she was spooked by what had just happened.
“The shooter was about to hit you. I had to do that. Hurry up and get in. He’s still around.”
She looked around and bit her lip but stayed where she was.
Reluctantly, Chuck got out of the car and stood up to survey the whole parking lot, making himself an easy mark for a head shot. No sign of Hurst.
To the girl he said, “Would you please get in the car? We have to get out of here. I saved you last time. Obviously, you can trust me now.”
She nodded and started to stand up.
“Stay down,” Chuck said. “He’s still around.”
Chuck got back into the driver’s seat. He leaned over and pushed the door open for her. She crawled in and closed it.
Chuck sighed with relief. “Thank you. We just need to get out of here. Then we’ll talk.”
The car started driving forward, but a big four-wheel drive truck with a lift-kit turned down the same road and cut him off. The truck had a roll bar and a big steel front bumper with a winch.
Chuck braked and made eye contact with the driver.
It was Hurst.
“Put your seatbelt on,” Chuck said, as he shifted into reverse.
The truck lunged forward and raced at them. Chuck hit the gas. The Chevy rocketed backwards. At the end of the row of cars, he spun the wheel. His front end skidded sideways. He glanced sideways and saw that the truck was about to broadside them at high speed.
The girl screamed.
The engine roared. Tires squealed. The vehicle raced forward. The truck clipped the back corner, causing the car to slide sideways. The truck was going too fast and not able to avoid slamming into a parked Lexus. The car alarm erupted.
Chuck saw a car up ahead backing out of a parking spot so he hit the gas. The Chevy roared past, causing the other driver to stop. Chuck slowed to a stop, threw the gear shift into park, jumped out, and scrambled behind some parked cars. Staying low, he backtracked.
By now, the truck had corrected and was approaching the car backing out of its parking spot, forcing the truck to slow down. The driver laid on the horn.
Chuck launched himself out from behind some parked cars at the driver’s side of the slowed truck. In a timed one-two movement, he dove into the back of the truck, flopping in because of the lift kit and the raised bed.
Hurst hit the gas but it was too late. Chuck was already in the bed of the truck. The driver hit the brakes. The truck skidded and just missed the car in the road.
Using his elbow, Chuck shattered the back window of the truck’s cab. The driver reached for his gun and grasped the handle as Chuck wrapped an arm around his neck and started choking him. With a flailing hand, Hurst attempted to point the pistol back over his shoulder at the attacker. At the same moment that Chuck ducked, he grasped the shooting hand and slammed the gun against Hurst’s head. The weapon fired, but it went high.
The truck started to roll forward.
Chuck let go of the choke hold and used both hands to strip the pistol out of the shooter’s hand.
Just as Hurst spun around, Chuck pistol whipped him in the temple, knocking him out cold.
The truck crashed into a parked Hyundai. Chuck ejected the clip from the handgun, wiped his prints, and tossed it onto Hurst’s lap.
Chuck swung over the side and landed flatfooted next to the truck. He ran to his own car, hopped in and started driving.
Erica was looking at him wide-eyed.
Chuck rolled his window down and heard sirens from two different directions.
“You’re doing great,” Chuck said. “Just stay calm, and with a little luck, we just might get out of here.”
She nodded quickly and looked straight ahead.
Chuck looked down at her hands.
The sirens got closer.
URGENT: Thank you for reading this far! The next book in the series, SHADOW COURT, is now available on Amazon. Grab a copy today. Now back to SHADOW LAWYER.
CHAPTER 26
As the sirens got closer, Chuck drove to the far side of the parking lot and stopped the car. He turned to Erica and seized her wrist, causing her to shriek.
“How did you find out about the antiquarian?”
“From a CERBERUS surveillance program.”
Chuck nodded. He let her hand go and said, “Stay right there.”
He got out and scanned the parking lot. A cop pulled up next to the truck, which was at the far side of the lot, over a hundred yards away.
“We better get out of here,” Erica said.
“Just wait a second.”
Chuck reached under the car seat and pulled a mirror out—a mirror that was poised on the end of a twenty-inch handle. Kneeling down, he duck walked around his car, holding the mirror down by the ground, angled so that he could look underneath the vehicle. He found what he was looking for under the back bumper. He reached up and removed an electronic transponder. Then he got into the driver’s seat.
“What’s that?” she said.
He put his finger to his mouth indicating to be quiet. He placed the transponder on the seat. With a bug detector he recovered from its hiding place under the dashboard, he did a quick electronic scan for listening devices, but the car’s interior was clean.
Another cop car entered the parking lot and cruised slowly over toward the stalled truck.
“It’s a bird-dog,” Chuck said, “a transponder for electronic surveillance.” He put the bug detector back. “You said that you learned about the drop point from a CERBERUS surveillance program. How did you get access to that?”
“Maroz runs CERBERUS. I worked for him. I have a contact on the inside.”
Chuck tossed the bird-dog under the next car. He shot glances around the parking lot as he backed out of the parking spot. “What are you doing here, sweetheart? What kind of set up is this?”
CHAPTER 27
As Chuck pulled out into traffic and drove through a stop light at an intersection, he looked over at Erica. Her face was flushed red.
“I asked you a question,” Chuck said. “What kind of set up is this?”
Erica lost her cool. “I’m not here to set you up! You just saved me—again. What’s wrong with you?”
“Depends who you ask. One of my dear friends says I need therapy. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should believe everything I hear from the lover of the man whose secret police force is trying to kill me.”
“That’s where you got it wrong.”
“Wrong? I don’t think so.”
“Then quit thinking. I want nothing to do with Maroz. I walked away from my job and my old life.”
“He took it awful personal, didn’t he?”
“I was foolish. I was naïve, but I saw the light—finally. I would die before I’d go back to him. He wants me back, Mr. Brandt.”
Chuck frowned at her.
“I haven’t talked to him in five months. Nor do I have plans to talk to him ever again.”
“Sounds like a story.”
“Good! Then start listening to it because it’s true.”
“I know a little about your relationships. Maroz is a piece of work.”
“Thank you for the education, Mr. Brandt. You forgot to mention that he’s a sociopath with practically unlimited funds and with a plan to destroy the middle class and usher in a new global authority.”
“Maybe you’ll benefit from it.”
Her face flushed. “I thought you were going to listen, Mr. Brandt. I said I abandoned him. Did you get that? Maybe you should pull the fog out of your brain.”
“You’re a little tough. You know that?”
She pushed her pony tail back over her shoulder. “You would be too if you’d been tormented b
y a sociopath.”
“What’s your real story anyway? So far you’re giving me nothing.”
Chuck pulled onto the I-5 heading north. It was a beautiful day by Seattle standards, which meant cloudy, dark, and raining.
Chuck took the Renton exit.
“Where are we going?” Erica asked.
“I’ll worry about that. As I recall, you were going to tell me your story—your real story.”
“I’m no liar, Mr. Brandt. I gave up my life to work in an orphanage in Venezuela. Maroz is now trying to silence my lips because he knows what I know. He sees me as both a lost cause and a liability.”
“Why does he want to silence your lips?”
“Because he opposes everything I gave my life to, Mr. Brandt. Maroz and his cronies want to control the people. They want total control that reaches into every household. They want tentacles of fear to oppress every soul.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When a hundred men aim to enslave seven billion people, the hundred tend to be paranoid. They fear uprisings, so they look for scapegoats and distractions.”
“And that’s why you came to my boat?”
“I have a contact inside of the Lancastria Corporation. I also contacted an old acquaintance of Maroz who fell out of favor. His name is Lawrence Robertson. He referred me to you.”
“Lawrence—” Chuck shook his head. “What about the relic you hid on my boat? What is it?”
“I think it can ruin the Immortals.”
Chuck narrowed his eyes at her.
She said, “It’s a secret network comprised of some of the richest and most powerful men in the world.”
“And you just want to ruin them, including Maroz?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You saw what his goons did to me in that barn. If you hadn’t shown up, I’d be dead and buried. You saved my life, Brandt. I barely know you, but you saved my life. Maroz wanted me dead and buried because I threatened to expose his crimes.”