Mystery: The Sam Prichard Series - Books 5-8

by David Archer

  Sam rubbed his eyes, thinking. “Okay, then help me out, here. He's in a building, and I know where. I want him to come out of there in a panic, so that my people and I can pick off his henchmen and take him into custody to get you a certain list of code words. How can I make that happen?”

  It was Gary's turn to think, and Sam could hear the wheels turning in his head as he mumbled to himself. “Let me ask you, didn't you have a man from HS with you, who got killed when you went after him?”

  Sam scrunched his eyes. “Harry? Harry's not dead, as far as I know. He was wounded, but pulled through.” He glanced at Natasha, who was nodding.

  “Okay, good, even better. Yesterday, he called me and wanted me to find out all I could about you and your friends, and he thought Harry Winslow was dead. He asked me to find out if there were any official sanctions against him, which there aren't because everyone is too afraid of him. I'll call him right now and say that I just got a message that Winslow isn't dead, and has sent a team out after him. Tell me where he is, so I can make it sound like he's only got a few minutes to get out, and he'll run right to you. But, let me tell you, man, if you miss this time, I'm done! Don't call me again, and I mean it!”

  Sam grinned. “Deal. He's at the Fire Flower labs in Israel. Tell him Harry's alive, and that there's a military strike team coming to take him into custody. Say he's got fifteen minutes to try to get out of sight again. We'll do the rest.”

  He heard the kid sigh once again. “Man, you'd better, cause I want to live long enough to get old! I'll make the call as soon as I get off, so be ready.” The line went dead a second later.

  Sam called Ken and told him to be ready, then cleared his phone and watched the building. He was standing on top of the car, using the zoom function of his phone's camera like binoculars, so that he could actually see the entrance doors.

  He counted less than a hundred seconds before those doors burst open and several people came flying out. He'd expected to see Chandler and his six escorts, but more than a dozen people were scrambling into cars, and it was only by chance that he actually spotted Chandler getting into a sedan, rather than the van that had brought him there. The van was the first vehicle out of the parking lot, followed by that sedan. Sam punched his phone to get Ken back on the line, praying that he'd answer.

  “Yeah, what?” Ken growled.

  “Chandler, he's not in the van! He's in the red sedan behind it, just him and one other person, the driver!”

  “Got it!”

  Sam cut the call and hopped down onto the hood and then the ground, swinging himself into the open door. “They went toward Ken, let's go!” Natasha slammed the car into drive and floored the accelerator, spraying dirt and sand and rocks behind them as she roared out of where they'd been hiding.

  Up the road, Ken had been busy. As Sam and Natasha came into view, they saw the van lying on its side off the edge of the road, and the sedan was nosed into a hump in the sand. Chandler was out of the car, lying on the ground. Natasha slid to a stop close to him, and Sam was out of the car with his Glock aimed at Chandler's forehead.

  “Freeze, you crazy bastard,” he said, and Chandler looked up at him with a face full of confusion. It cleared up a second later, and Chandler laughed.

  “Good lord,” he said between guffaws, “you actually turned my own people against me? I never would have believed that little geek could have the balls, but that's the only possible explanation. He spooked me right into your plans, didn't he? That little snot! Wait till I get my hands on him!”

  Sam shook his head, as Ken came jogging slowly toward them. “You're not going to get your hands on anyone, Chandler,” he said. “You're going with us, and you're going to tell us something we want to know. After that, if you've been cooperative, then we'll see what we can do about getting you a comfortable cell in a super max prison somewhere. If not, then you'll simply die very painfully. That choice is entirely up to you.”

  He bent down and frisked Chandler, taking his cell phone and a small revolver, then grabbed his shirt and hauled him to his feet, wincing as his bad hip complained about it. The man was still chuckling.

  “Prichard,” he said, “you're such a dreamer. How many times have you guys tried to take me out, now? And can you even guess how many others have tried? Shamash has always protected me from you and your kind, and he always will.”

  Sam shrugged. “Sorta looks to me like he's taken a hike on this one, Chandler. In case you hadn't noticed, you're a prisoner, now, not the guy calling the shots.”

  Chandler shook his head, his smile undaunted. “I don't know why, but Shamash wants me with you for the moment, or you'd never have gotten me. But I can guarantee you this, Prichard – there's something coming that will take me back out of your hands. Shamash isn't going to allow his work to be stopped, not this close to seeing them all come to fruition.”

  Sam shoved Chandler into the back seat, and then climbed in beside him as Ken got into the front. With both of the men aiming handguns at him, Chandler was docile, but he kept smiling.

  “So,” Sam asked Natasha, “where to?”

  The woman laughed softly. “Oh, trust me,” she answered, “I know just the place.” She drove back toward the highway they'd left earlier, and turned back toward the city of Jerusalem when she got there. They'd been back on it for about three minutes when they saw a number of Israel Police vehicles racing back the way they'd come.

  Sam looked at them as they passed, then turned to Chandler. “If those were the guys you were counting on, I think you're out of luck.”

  Chandler looked amused. “Shamash is a god, Prichard, the most powerful of them all. He doesn't need puny mortals to do his will, but sometimes he chooses one he finds worthy as a special warrior, or a messenger. I'm one of those, and that's why he's protected me all these years. When he sends someone after me, it won't be local cops, trust me. It'll be one of the lesser gods who serve him, and you’d better hope you don't piss him off at the time. Gods don't like to be annoyed.”

  Sam stared at Chandler and shook his head. “Jesus, you're really crazy, aren't you,” he said, and Chandler began to laugh again.

  Ken looked at Sam. “Can't I just kill him?” he asked, but Sam shook his head.

  “Not just yet,” he said. “We need those code words; it's the only way to stop his plans.”

  Chandler's laughter became raucous. “Code words? And you think you can get them out of me? You stupid idiots, why would I give them to you? All I'd have to do is give you some fake words, and then all of my people will know that you've got me, and then they'll ignore even me if I tell them to stand down, which I wouldn't do. You're screwed, gentlemen, and if you had any sense at all, you'd know it. All of the works I've set up for Shamash will come to pass, just as he told me they would, and there is nothing you or anyone else can do to stop them, now!”

  Ken looked at Sam. “Just lemme kill him, please? He's right, we can't ever be sure we got the right codes, so there's pretty much no chance we're gonna get anywhere with this plan. If I kill him, then at least we know he won't live to enjoy any of it.”

  Sam looked at Chandler. “The worst part of that is, you're right,” he said to Ken. “We've got him, but it won't help us in the long run, because he can actually use us against ourselves.” He studied Chandler's face for a moment, then leaned back against the door of the car. “Go ahead, kill him,” he said, and Ken grinned as he pressed the barrel of the rifle against Chandler's forehead.

  Chandler's eyes went wide as he saw Ken's own widen in delight, and realized that he was about to die. He stared as Ken's finger began to squeeze, and then closed his eyes.

  The rifle went “click,” as the hammer fell onto a firing pin that had no cartridge to strike, and suddenly it was Ken who was laughing loudly. He turned to Sam. “Oh, man, you shoulda seen your face! You didn't think I was really gonna pull the trigger, did you? You thought I was bluffing!”

  Chandler was gasping for breath, but he began to s
mile again. “You see?” he said. “Shamash protected me! You were out of bullets, and you didn't know it! Shamash protected me.”

  Ken stopped laughing and looked at Chandler, then held up his right hand. In it were three bullets. “I didn't run out, you jackass, I unloaded. I just wanted you to realize that I could kill you any time I want, and your little fake god isn't gonna stop me when the time really comes. Give me half a reason, and that time will come right soon. Now, you wanna rethink your opposition to giving us those code words? Seems to me you'd rather sit in a cell and be alive than let me put a bullet through that empty head of yours.”

  Chandler forced his smile to stay and firm up, but there was something about it that said he was shaken. “I'm not giving you anything,” he said. “You can't stop me, and you can't win. In fact, I'll give you one last chance to join me, how's that?”

  Sam was watching him closely, and didn't buy his act of bravado. “You're such a fake, Chandler. I don't think you even believe your line of crap about Sham-ass, or whatever you call him, you just want a name to hang on the stuff you're doing.”

  Chandler sneered, as Natasha made a hard left turn and then accelerated again. “Well, then, you need to check your source of information, Mr. Prichard. Shamash has quite a following, in reality, although it's kept somewhat secret. We followers are known as Babbarites, and we worship him in a number of powerful rituals. His magic is far greater than any other in the world, and we...”

  “Aw, shut up or I'll tell Ken to kill you for real,” Sam said, and Chandler closed his mouth with a shrug. Sam turned to Natasha. “How much farther to wherever we're going?”

  “About five more minutes,” she answered. “It's a small warehouse that's been set up for things like this, when we've got to keep someone isolated and might need to dispose of them permanently. It's swept for any kind of surveillance every few days, and I made sure it was clean again this morning. I've got keys, and no one will come near it for at least a couple of days. That's how long we've got to crack him.”

  Chandler laughed again, and Sam scowled. “I don't think we've got that much time,” he said, staring into the madman's eyes.

  They arrived a few minutes later, just as she had said they would, and she used a key to turn a switch that opened an overhead door, then drove inside. A button inside on the wall let her close it down once again, and then the lights came on.

  “Bring him and follow me,” she said, and Sam dragged Chandler out of the car. Ken got out on his own, moving stiffly after the workout of hurrying down to the car earlier. They all followed her into the back rooms that they could see.

  Natasha went to a cabinet at the back wall, and reached inside to press a button that was disguised as a screw head. As soon as she closed it again, the whole thing began to rise up from the floor, and an empty box appeared before them. “Get in,” she said, and led the way. Sam grinned as he realized that it was some kind of an elevator, one that he was sure must take them into a cellar below the main floor, but when it descended, he saw that the cabinet above was several inches wider in both directions, so it stopped in its original position as the elevator continued on down. It had a small light on its ceiling, and they could see each other clearly.

  The shaft was smooth, but it was obviously cut from natural rock, and Sam guessed that it must have descended at least twenty feet or more. When it stopped, Natasha stepped off and into what appeared to be a fair-sized room. She apparently knew where the light switches were, for they were suddenly in bright light that overwhelmed the little one on the elevator cage. That one winked out a moment later.

  There was a table in front of them, and several chairs. Some of them were austere, but some appeared to be quite comfortable, and Ken dropped into one of those. He had left the rifle in the car, but had his pistol in his hand. “So, now can I kill him?”

  Natasha grabbed Chandler and shoved him toward one of the plainer chairs, and Sam saw that it had straps on it. Together, he and Natasha strapped Chandler down at wrists and ankles, and then Natasha went to a small cabinet that stood beside the table, reaching in to withdraw a box that was full of different kinds of cutting implements. She set it on the table and turned to Chandler.

  “Mr. Chandler,” she said, “we haven't been formally introduced. I'm Natasha Minsky, and I work for the United States government. My role there is sort of flexible, but let's just say that one of the reasons they hired me is because I have a certain expertise in extracting information from reluctant sources. Since you have worked for the CIA, I'm certain you're not going to be one who believes that line about how we never resort to torture, so I'll give you the courtesy of explaining what's about to happen.” She showed him the contents of the box, then pointed down to the floor beneath the chair. “As you can see, there are drains under your seat. That's because you're going to be losing a lot of blood, Mr. Chandler, and it has to go somewhere. I'm going to skin you, you see, a tiny bit at a time, until the pain reaches the point that you can't withhold the information we want. I'd tell you that you could save yourself a lot of suffering by simply giving us that information now, but it wouldn't be true. I'd skin you anyway, just to make sure you had been telling the truth.”

  Sam stared at her, unsure of what to think, and then she turned and took a pair of rubber gloves from a box full of them that he hadn’t even noticed on the table. He guessed that she must have taken it from the cabinet, as well, and when she had them on, she selected a thin knife and turned to Chandler.

  “I'm not bothering with antiseptic, Mr. Chandler, because you're not going to survive, anyway, at least not for long.” She stepped toward him, and Chandler's eyes got wider and wider until she held the knife just over his right forearm.

  “Remember, Prichard,” he said, his voice high and shrieking, “if you let her do this, you're throwing away any chance to be on the winning side! If you help me now, and stop this madness, I can find a place for you that will be high in my councils! You can be a powerful man, Prichard!”

  Sam looked at him, and then noticed that Natasha was looking his way, and appeared to be amused. Inside, he was horrified at what she was about to do, but something in her manner told him that she wasn't bluffing. He swallowed his bile, smiled at Chandler and said, “Go for it, Natasha.”

  The screams that permeated the building were louder than Sam had ever imagined possible, but Ken just sat there. Sam sat down in another armchair near him, and a few moments later, he saw that Ken had fallen asleep. Chandler's screams, as Natasha removed one square inch of skin at a time, cutting a square in the flesh of his chest with the blade, and then using a pair of pliers to grab it and rip it away, grew more intense with each piece she took but Kenneth Long merely slept through it all.

  Sam couldn't sleep. He waited until Natasha had stepped back after removing about the fourteenth piece of skin, and caught her attention.

  “You're not asking him any questions,” he said, and she shrugged.

  “At this point, he still thinks something is going to happen to save him, so he'll make stuff up to try to appease me. He has to reach the point of knowing that there's no hope, before he'll be willing to talk, and then he won't be asking me to stop and let him go—he'll be begging me to kill him and make the pain end.”

  “And that's when you'll know he's telling the truth?”

  “Oh, he'll probably never tell the truth. Sam, he's got nothing to lose, now, except his whole plan. If he tells you what you want to know, then he's beaten, and you've won. Until he believes he's going to die, he won't tell you what you want to know because he hopes to get out of here and wants to see your face when you realize he beat you. Once he accepts the inevitability of his own death, though, then all he wants is to have that one final victory, that final revenge, to die knowing that you failed to stop his plans. He's not going to tell you the truth, Sam.”

  Sam stared at her. “Then—then why are you doing this to him?”

  “Because he deserves it,” she said simply. “If
you can't handle it, then leave. The keys are in the car, and I can have someone come for me when I'm finished.” She glanced at Ken, still snoring in the chair. “Take him with you, would you? He's a bundle of bad memories, for me.”

  Sam stood there for another long moment, and then turned and kicked Ken's chair. “I'm leaving. Are you coming, or staying here?”

  “He's going with you,” Natasha said. “I told you that.”

  Ken looked at Natasha, and then at Sam. “I guess I'm going with you. Where are we headed?”

  “To find Harry,” Sam said, as he stepped into the elevator cage. “And pray like mad that he knows what to do next.”

  “Shaare Zedek Medical Center,” Natasha said as the elevator began to rise. “Room three twenty.”

  Sam nodded, then looked once more at Chandler. The madman was glaring at Natasha, but he began to whimper as she turned to him with the knife raised again. He began to scream as the elevator ascended into its shaft, and Sam was thankful when the sound died out a moment later.

  “She says he's never going to tell us the code words,” he said to Ken, and the assassin nodded.

  “Most likely he won't,” he said. “That's all he's got left to use against us. Oh, he might, when the pain gets bad enough, but there's no way to know for sure. If we try to use whatever he gives us, it's odds on that we'll be shooting ourselves in the foot.”

  “So we're beaten? Is that what you're saying?” They stepped out of the elevator and walked toward the main room, where the car was waiting, as the elevator and cabinet descended into place once more.

  “We're not beaten until it's too late to stop things,” Ken said. “As long as something hasn't happened yet, then there's always the chance you can stop it. That's what we've got to look at now. Do we have any leads on who any of his people are?”