Malloy sighed. “Don’t you understand, Mr. Stryker? The success of our mission depends not only upon the contributions of the best and the brightest among us, it depends upon the Everyman as well.”
Ouch, Flint thought. That hurt.
“Well, you didn’t have to be so blunt about it.”
“No, no, no, Mr. Stryker. Don’t you see? If our objective is to be achieved, we most certainly need ordinary individuals with tenacity, pluck, and ingenuity to do their part in the ongoing struggle. There are those who plan, Mr. Stryker, and there are those who do. Mr. Stryker, you are a doer.”
Shaking his head, Flint was just about to respond when his cell phone trilled. He took it out of his hip pocket to silence the ringer, when he glanced at the caller ID. AMBER.
What the…?
Twenty-Eight
TWO HOURS AGO
Professor Huxley hastened along the path back to his office, his brow furrowed with anxiety. What to do? he thought. I’ve got to figure out what to about Stryker before Arman and his uncouth henchman, Savchenko, decide to pay me another visit. Why must I suffer for the incompetence of others?
His head down, intent on his own problems, the professor never saw the young woman hurrying across campus headed in the opposite direction. They collided, sending them both sprawling into the grass.
“WHY DON’T YOU LOOK WHERE YOU’RE GOING?” the professor shouted, as a flustered Amber tried to recover after being sent tumbling off the walkway.
Quickly collecting herself, Amber spluttered, “I’m sorry, professor, but I was just preoccupied and wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Please excuse me.”
Huxley was about to launch into another tirade when a glimmer of recognition switched on the light in his brain. “You-you’re Miss Lakeman, aren’t you? Amber Lakeman?
Puzzled, Amber looked at him as they struggled to their feet. “Yes. How do you know who I am, professor? I only had you for one class, the elective weekly lecture on cryptozoology – fall semester. But I was one of 400 students. There’s no way you’d remember me.”
The professor beamed, “Oh, Miss Lakeman, you’re mistaken, and you have no idea how glad I am to see you.”
Twenty-Nine
“Sorry, Doc. I gotta take this,” Flint said as his cell phone continued to chirrup loudly.
Flint tapped the “Reply” button. “Hello?”
“Flint? This is Amber.” Her voice sounded muffled, her speech almost slurred.
“Amber? Yeah, I knew it was you. What’s wrong, are you o–”
“Flint!” she interrupted. “Don’t talk – listen! I need you to listen to me, please?” She was sobbing now, her breaths shaky and fluttering.
Flint went silent, waiting for Amber to continue.
“Are you still there? God, sugar, I hope you’re still there. Don’t hang up – please don’t hang up!”
His face a mask, Flint said flatly, “I’m still here, Amber. What’s wrong?”
Her breath coming in uneven gasps as she attempted to control herself, Amber continued. “Prof–.” She stopped abruptly as what sounded like a hard slap shot through the phone into his ear. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me again!” she wailed. Flint listened intently as Amber gulped, trying to catch her breath. “This-this man has me, Flint. He grabbed me as I was on my way to see you, and he’s going to hurt me, Flint.” She paused. “He’s been hurting me, Flint, asking me all kinds of questions about you.” Flint winced as the sound of another slap echoed through the phone’s speaker. “I’m sorry!” she yelped, anguish and pain in her voice. “What do you want me to say?” She wept piteously into the phone.
Flint’s eyes narrowed as he asked, “Amber, where are you?”
Sniffling, Amber went on, “Flint, you’ve got to come get me. He says he’ll let me go if only you’ll come.” Softly, almost in a whisper, she added, “Please, sugar, I don’t want to die.”
Flint set his jaw as he replied, “Amber, you’re not going to die. I guarantee it. Now tell me where you are.”
Thirty
Professor Huxley paced anxiously as he continued to watch the entrance door to the wastewater facility’s control room. At the end of the school year, it was highly unlikely that any workers would be here. For the most part, the workers were taking a break since the school year was winding down.
His right hand still throbbing from his broken fingers, the professor was actually pleased that he’d been able to inflict so much injury to Amber Lakeman using only his left hand. It helped that he’d caught her off guard, pretending to know where Stryker was. She didn’t get suspicious until it was too late, and then, well, it was too late.
Slumped in a chair, her back again the wall, hands tied behind her, Amber Lakeman continued to weep quietly as Huxley nervously watched the door, awaiting his visitor’s arrival. Attempting to sound intimidating, the professor said gruffly, “Miss Lakeman, I advise you to speak only when spoken to.” He added, “That is, unless you’d like another round of ‘hands-on teaching.’”
Her left eye swollen shut and her lip split and bleeding, Amber shook her head, flinching uncontrollably.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way. You just sit there with your mouth shut and–”
The door opened suddenly, revealing two men standing in the doorway, the light from the parking lot lights glowing behind them.
“Mr. Arman, Savchenko,” he squawked, “what a pleasant surprise.”
Arman regarded the professor and Amber coolly. “Surprise? Yes. Pleasant? Perhaps not so much. Savchenko? If you’ll be so good as to get the good professor a chair.”
“Actually, sir, I’m good. I’ve been sitting a lot today, and I think it’s better if I stand.”
Savchenko unfolded the chair and placed it roughly behind Huxley. His threatening eyes staring daggers at the professor, Savchenko took the professor’s goatee in his fist and forced him into the chair.
“OW! Stop manhandling me, you ox!” Huxley shouted. Savchenko ignored him, but not before pulling out a handful of hair from his goatee.
Amber’s eyes darted their way hopefully, “Are you here to rescue me?”
Arman laughed mirthlessly. “Rescue you? No, I’m afraid not, young lady. Your post-school plans, I’m afraid, are going to include some rather disagreeable activities and a very sad funeral for your family.” Savchenko grunted, and grinned at her, displaying a mouthful of yellow, uneven teeth, then blew a coarse kiss her way.
Amber drew back, as if she’d been slapped, then slumped in her chair, resigned to a horrible fate.
Attempting to blend into the wall, Professor Huxley was thankful that the other two men’s attention was focused on the girl. He began to quietly edge away from them.
His back to the professor, his voice dripping with sarcasm and malice, Arman asked, “Oh, professor? You’re not thinking of leaving us, are you? I was hoping we’d have the opportunity to have a little chat.”
Huxley froze. “Leaving? Oh no, sir. I was just giving you room to speak with Miss Lakeman. She’s Stryker’s girlfriend and I thought she might be most helpful in giving us the information we need about Stryker and his ties to Linchpin.”
Arman sighed, and turned to look at Huxley. “You idiot! What makes you think this little bitch knows anything about Stryker’s involvement with Linchpin?”
The three men turned to look at Amber, whose baffled expression, even with her damaged face, told it all.
Arman continued, “She knows nothing, you fool. So, it’s going to come down to the inconvenience of killing one more student and making it look like an accident because you were too stupid to figure anything out for yourself.”
Arman looked at Savchenko. “It makes me question the value of today’s institutions of higher learning, wouldn’t you agree, Savchenko?”
Nodding, his wheezy laugh reminiscent of some evil Saturday morning cartoon character, Savchenko stopped abruptly and glared at the professor.
“B-Bu
t you were the one who instructed me to find out as much about Stryker as I could. My graduate assistant, Mr. Sebastian, and I uncovered some very interesting facts about Stryker. And if you’ll just give me the chance to explain Mr. Sebastian”
“Do you mean this?” He snapped his fingers, and as if by magic, Savchenko produced a folder and placed it in Arman’s waiting open palm.
Huxley’s face went white as he saw the folder with Stryker’s information collected by Sebastian. His upper lip suddenly damp with perspiration, the professor nodded. “Yes, that’s it. How did you—”
“How did I get it?” he sneered. “I don’t need you to acquire information I already have. For your information, we’ve known about Stryker for quite some time, very carefully following Malloy’s experimental trials on him.”
He looked at Huxley serenely. “And I’m sad to say that you’ll have to find yourself another graduate assistant, as Mr. Sebastian has apparently overdosed on a little known hallucinogenic from our friends in South America. I’m sorry to say that it’s another example of how rampant drug use is destroying our youth.”
Savchenko’s raspy laugh resumed, raising goosebumps on the professor’s hackles.
“S-Sebastian’s dead? He can’t be dead! He didn’t have a large enough dosage to kill him. I was careful to give him no more than we’d need to subdue Stryker for a few hours.” The professor began sweating profusely even in the damp air in the room.
“Really? Is that so? Well, perhaps you didn’t know your graduate assistant as well as you thought you did. Mr. Savchenko had quite the time with a second vial of the drug Mr. Sebastian was ingesting. He was in the throes of a very bad dose of animated terrors when he finally expired. You were quite upset, weren’t you, Savchenko?”
“Boo hoo,” the burly bodyguard grunted, neither upset nor very convincing.
Huxley swallowed hard, staring dully at Arman. “You killed him, didn’t you?”
“Killed him? No, professor, I prefer to think of it as we gave him the opportunity to die after being tainted with your aura of failure. I simply cannot allow those with whom I surround myself to continue to… disappoint me.”
Focused on Arman’s diatribe, the professor didn’t notice that Savchenko had moved quietly behind his chair.
His voice a barely audible squeak, the professor interjected, “I’m doing my best. I just need—”
His rough hands moving swiftly, Savchenko grabbed the professor’s head and twisted it violently, producing an audible crack. As quickly as he had moved, it was over, the academic’s lifeless body slumping to the floor.
The two men turned to face Amber. Arman grinned. “Now, my dear Miss Lakeman, whatever shall we do with you? Hmmmm?”
Thirty-One
Amber’s pallid face registered pure horror as she realized that the men’s attention was now focused upon her. She choked, “Please, no—”
As Savchenko moved toward her, lewdly licking his lips, the door opened, revealing a cautious Flint Stryker peering into the room. Alerted to his presence by the squeaking door, the two men whirled to face Flint.
“Well, well, well, Mr. Stryker. Glad you could make it. We were trying to comfort your little friend, Miss Lakeman. She seems to be distraught for some reason.” Motioning quickly towards Amber, Arman clipped, “Savchenko!”
The big man’s size belied his agility. In seconds, he had snatched up Amber and gripped her arm in one meaty hand, holding her in a choke hold with the other. Amber’s face reddened and her eyes bulged as she gasped for breath.
Holding his hands out in front of him, Flint pleaded, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m here now, you can let her go. There’s no need to hurt her. It’s me you want, right?”
Arman sneered, “No need to hurt her? No, Mr. Stryker, there’s no need to hurt Miss Lakeman. We will do it because we want to hurt her!”
Savchenko roughly yanked Amber toward him, squeezing her neck tighter, causing her to face to discolor even more. The blood vessels in her eyes threatened to burst as he throttled her. She gagged, trying in vain to get oxygen to her brain.
Defiance blazing in his eyes, Flint barked, “If you kill her, you’ll get nothing from me!”
With a slight nod to Savchenko, Arman signaled him to ease up the pressure on Amber’s airway. As the bodyguard released his grip on her throat, she gave an explosive gasp, struggling to breathe again. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Flint could see she was in bad shape. She couldn’t take much more of this.
“I’m here now,” Flint said quietly. “Why don’t you tell me what you want, and I’ll do it — whatever it is.”
Arman had a smug grin on his face as he studied Flint. “Well, I must admit, Mr. Stryker, that’s the first reasonable thing I’ve heard today.” Nodding toward Professor Huxley’s corpse on the floor, he added, “Almost everyone seems hell-bent on annoying me today.”
Thirty-Two
Arman stood in the middle of the room, eyeing Flint, who was conflicted by his inability to assist Amber. “At least let me help her sit up, you bastard,” Flint said through gritted teeth.
Savchenko made a move toward Flint, but Arman stilled him with a quick hand gesture. “Please stay where you are, Mr. Stryker. Miss Lakeman will have to wait until we have had our discussion. Perhaps the two of you can share a tender moment after that. If you make a move toward her again, I’m afraid I will have to insist Mr. Savchenko put her out of her misery.”
Helpless to make a move, Flint clenched his fists, and muttered, “Get on with it, then.”
Savchenko relaxed and gave Flint a contemptuous smile as he stood, his hands clasped at his waist. Arman moved slowly in a circular movement toward Flint, keeping himself safely out of reach. “Mr. Stryker, my organization has become aware of a certain other organization’s interest in you.”
“You mean Linchpin?” Flint asked.
Arman paused and took stock of Flint. “Very good, you have had some discussion with the estimable Doctor Malloy. We can speak frankly now, and not in riddles.”
Amber groaned in the shadows, and momentarily Flint peered away from Arman as he circled him. “What do you mean, riddles?”
Arman opened his palms to Flint. “Please, Mr. Stryker, let’s not be coy. I’m certain that Dr. Malloy has filled your head with a lot of pap about Linchpin’s lofty and noble goals to help humanity and protect the safety and the security of the United States. Am I right?”
Trance-like, Flint nodded. How did he know that? It’s almost word-for-word, he thought.
Arman put a finger to his lips as if thinking, then resumed. “Perhaps you wonder how it is that I know what you and the good doctor discussed?” Flint nodded. “Well, Mr. Stryker, my organization charges me with the task to keep myself and them, of course, well-informed on the activities of Linchpin. It is no secret that our organizations are, how you say, at cross purposes with one another.”
“You mean you hate each other’s guts,” Flint growled. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Amber shifting around, her breathing still shallow. She groaned again. He yearned to grab her and comfort her.
Arman shrugged. “Who’s to say, Mr. Stryker? I prefer to think we have a simple difference of opinion. We both ultimately want the same thing — control. It’s just a matter of how that control is exercised once it is obtained.”
“You say to-MAY-toe, I say to-MAH-toe,” Flint retorted.
Arman chuckled. “It’s good that you can see humor in a situation as dark as the one you and your friend Miss Lakeman find yourselves. Let’s ‘fish or cut bait,’ shall we?” He pivoted to face Flint. “I have so much respect for our friends at Linchpin and their obvious infatuation with you that I want to make a proposal to you, Mr. Stryker.”
Flint rolled his eyes, “I know, I know. You want me to come and work for you, blah, blah, blah.”
His eyes flashing, Arman stared at Flint. “I will not be made a fool of, Mr. Stryker, and I will only tolerate so much of your foolishness. I come to you wit
h a reasonable business proposition, and you belittle me with your arrogance. Perhaps it would be best if I have Mr. Savchenko dispose of Miss Lakeman while you watch, and then kill you — only much more slowly.”
Stalling for time, Flint held his hands up and assumed a conciliatory stance. “I-I’m sorry, okay? This is all very weird to me, okay? This morning I was waking up from a two-day year-end party at my apartment, hungover, late for an appointment, and I get a sales pitch from Linchpin, almost get zombified — the list goes on. And now you want to talk to me about joining your group for world domination! It’s a lot to take in, alright?”
Arman seemed to consider this. He nodded thoughtfully and stepped back from Flint. “Let me present it to you this way, Mr. Stryker. Your Linchpin group is a fine organization in its own right. It seeks to exercise its method of ‘control’ for the supposed ‘betterment of mankind.’ It endeavors to offer health, peace, security, financial stability and well-being for the benefit of everyone. A virtuous objective to be sure. It’s easy to have such magnanimous goals when one is coming from the perspective of prosperity and wealth that few other nations around the world enjoy.
My organization, however, was spawned out of a society that had very little experience with these same benefits that you enjoy. My country is one that has felt the ravages of war, the senseless destruction of property, the colossal loss of life on a scale few could imagine. So, you see, we come by our worldview from a very different point of view, Mr. Stryker. You arrive at your opinion based on a lifetime of freedom from want — mine has been shaped by a lifetime of doing without. Frankly, I do not wish to return to that place from which I have worked so hard to escape.”
Lessons Learned: The Flint Stryker Thriller Series - Book 1 Page 8