Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix

by phill syron-jones

  “Hey, Sergeant Thomas Biggs, you know, you get uglier every day,” Tooms said, standing in front of the table, fists clenched, ready for anything.

  “Well Tooms, your wife don’t seem to mind.”

  The two men laughed and embraced.

  “How long has it been, man?” said Biggs.

  “Too long,” Tooms replied, happy to see his old friend.

  “So what’s up, what do you need, man?”

  “Information, information on a guy,” Tooms answered.

  “OK, tell me what you know and I’ll try and track him for you.”

  The two men had served together many years ago in the Marines, but Biggs had ended up in the SEALS and Tooms had become a cop.

  “So what’s this man’s name, anyway?” said Biggs, tucking into the massive burger that had just arrived.

  “He’s, well, a new guy at the precinct. Problem is he doesn’t exist. I can’t find any record of the man anywhere.” Tooms reached for his phone and pulled up a picture and showed it to him.

  “He said his name is—” That was as far as he got.

  “Sergeant John fucking Steel!”

  Tooms’s face dropped. He did not know whether to be happy or afraid.

  “You know him then?” Tooms asked, almost feeling embarrassed to enquire when the answer was obvious.

  “Know the man? I’d say sure I do. The bastard owes me twenty bucks.”

  “So how do you know him?” Tooms was intrigued.

  “They used to call him The Phoenix, ‘cause every time the man went down, the fucker used to get back up again.”

  Tooms now had a lost look on his face, which his friend couldn’t help but notice.

  “The man used to be attached to special mission groups,” Biggs elaborated. “Now SEAL’s are mainly about team work but this guy was special.”

  “Special? Special how?” Tooms asked, stealing a French fry from the other man’s plate.

  “You stealing a brother’s food?” he laughed. “Nah, this cat could go in and clear a hotspot, they used to send him on hostage retrieval.”

  Tooms stared at his friend like he was a child listening to a grandfather’s stories.

  “See, if we were worried about entering a hotspot, they would just send this crazy bastard in. You wouldn’t hear a thing unless he wanted you to. I remember one story from Afghanistan in the early days when about fifteen of our brothers were being held for ransom on TV, you know: ‘free our brothers-in-arms or we will kill your men’—that sort of thing.”

  Tooms nodded. He knew that all too well, since a friend had been captured, but the extraction team had gotten them out.

  “Anyway, Steel decides to take a walk and gets himself captured. I don’t know what happened in the camp and God knows I don’t want to, but they said he got them all out and killed all the terrorists, and that’s when they made him a ‘lone wolf’ operative. The man’s a ghost.”

  “So what happened? Why did he leave?”

  “Can’t really say. But we did one job and it almost went south, he reckoned it was a set-up and he said he had to leave so the teams would be safe. Later I heard agencies were interested in him for recruitment. I don’t know.” Briggs shrugged. “What I do know is, if you’re in the shit, this is the man to have your back.”

  “And if you’re not on his side?”

  “Don’t bother to run, buddy, just end it there ‘cause he will find you.”

  Tooms swallowed hard, almost choking on the other fry he had taken.

  “See? That’s what you get for stealing a brother’s fries.”

  They both laughed and went on to catch up on old times.

  A shot, laughter, a scream, a smell, caused Steel to wake up suddenly. A smell that was new to his dreams. He stumbled to the bathroom and ran some cool water into the basin, splashing the refreshing water onto his face. What could it mean? He struggled to remember it before he fully woke up and forgot the aroma, then he went to the kitchen and grabbed the juice carton from the fridge and made his way to the sofa where he collapsed. Opening the carton, he filled a glass and then drank, emptying the glass of its contents in no time, but enjoying the cool refreshing drink. The suede leather felt soft on his bare skin as he looked out of the window into the night.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to remember where he’d first smelt it, but it was no use, for now he was fully awake. But it didn’t matter, if he had dreamt of it once the same thing would happen again, and when it did, he would be ready.

  John Steel looked over at the antique clock on the fireplace. The lights of the city allowed him to see that it was half past eight in the evening. Great, he thought, he had enough time to shower and change.

  The water felt good, the droplets followed the curves of his muscular body. Even though in his clothes he appeared to be of average build, his nakedness told a different story. His muscles was almost like tightened cable that protruded though his skin, his body was firm and tanned, scars from a lifetime of narrow escaped were etched into his body. Each one was a reminder of the path he now followed. As the creamy lather of the soap was washed away by the flow of warm water, his fingers touched the six round exit-wound scars that were on various parts of his body. Each one told of either how lucky he was or of how someone had to pay, and he was tasked to take that payment. He wished he could stay under the water forever, its caress felt somehow therapeutic. However, he had to be somewhere, there was someone he had to meet.

  Several hours later a blacked-out limousine pulled up to the entrance of the gala. As the vehicle came to a stop, the valet opened the door and the mayor, who was busy talking to a rather plump gentleman with a balding head and a neatly trimmed beard, suddenly turned round and grinned at the sight of the car. The mayor excused himself and made his way to greet the passenger of the car, the door opened and he leaned forwards.

  “It’s OK, come on, you will have fun, I promise,” he said, laughing to his new guest.

  Steel exited the vehicle and straightened his tux, saying: “You know I hate these things, right?”

  “Relax. Besides, everyone thinks you are here on behalf of the department. Nobody knows you.”

  Steel didn’t feel reassured but what the hell, he was here now. And besides, who would find out?

  TWENTY-SIX

  Morning came, blessed by a warm sun and a cool breeze as the city went about its business. Steel sat in the chair next to McCall’s desk waiting for her to come in. While Steel sat there, he was transfixed by the sight of a strange tall thin man, who was in one of the briefing rooms that he seemed to have taken over to use as his own personal office.

  A young police officer passed by. “Hey, Rachael who’s the spooky guy?” John Steel asked her.

  She gave him a friendly, but mystified look.

  “I’m asking, who’s the really strange spooky guy?” He pointed to the room across from where he was sitting.

  “That is our local expert, Dr Davidson,” Rachael replied. “But I am not sure what he’s an expert on—apart from freaking people out!” And with that the hot redhead left him staring at the precinct’s new addition.

  Sam McCall walked in and sat down. “Morning,” she greeted the transfixed Detective Steel.

  “Morning. Just who is that guy anyway?” he asked bluntly.

  “Well, if you would show up for briefings you would know that Dr Davidson is helping with the murders,” she said, sipping the coffee she found on her desk.

  “What do we know about him?” he said, watching as the man in the room opposite was leafing desperately through paperwork, obviously searching for something.

  “What do we know about anyone?” she replied. Yet he had the feeling that the remark was more directed towards him personally.

  “What? Ha, ha, OK, I take your point. But really, something about that guy...”

  Steel was unnerved by him, something did not sit right, but he did not know what it was.

  “Well, it appears your hunch on the ‘date
’ books being on their computers was right,” she said, almost heartbroken that she had to admit it to him. “We are just waiting for a copy so we can run through them together and check for any matches.”

  As McCall sifted through her emails she saw the doctor; he was looking at the board and ranting to himself, then going back to the paperwork on the desk.

  “Do we have anything on Susan Black yet?” asked Steel.

  “Not much, just that she worked on Wall Street, one of the top female sellers there and oh yeh, we finally got a photo of her.” McCall opened the file and lifted the picture, and Steel’s face dropped. Suddenly he snatched the picture from her and rushed to the board.

  “Hey, watch it will you!” said McCall in protest. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, looking at the fingers he’d just pulled the photo from.

  “It’s not what’s wrong with me, the real question is, what’s wrong with this picture, or should I say these pictures?” As he placed the picture of Susan Black in the blank space under her name, McCall saw something.

  “See? They look similar.” He turned and looked at her.

  “Really similar,” she agreed. “I would have said almost identical myself, but that’s just me.”

  Tooms and Tony walked up, notebooks at the ready to spiel off what they had found downtown.

  “Hey, is it me or do they look alike?” asked Tony, with a dumb expression on his face.

  “Do they? I hadn’t noticed,” she said with a sarcastic grin. “OK, what did you guys get?”

  “Well, we got all three diaries and date planners from CSU and we were just about to run them to see if anything breaks,” said Tooms, waving a CD case in his hand.

  “OK, let me know if anything comes up,” said McCall. She was frustrated because they had too much evidence that led nowhere.

  Steel stared at the photos for a moment and then shot up out of his seat.

  “May I?” he asked, pointing to the computer on her desk, as she stood with a baffled look on her face.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, leaning on the corner of the desktop as he sat in her place.

  “Well, we found no pictures of family,” he said, typing something on the PC.

  “So, maybe they fell out or something.” McCall was up for ideas, sure, but she could not see where this was going.

  “Let’s say she didn’t have any?”

  “She’s adopted?” asked Tooms.

  “No, there would be pictures,” Steel replied. “Now what I’m thinking is—”

  “—Orphanage!” interrupted McCall, with a ‘penny dropped’ look upon her face.

  The computer spat out some facts on Susan Black, including her old address.

  “All Saints’ orphanage?” McCall wrote the address down and Tooms snatched it up.

  “Come on, road trip.” He waved the piece of paper at Tony, who was grabbing his jacket.

  “What you thinking, Steel?” She noticed the longing look on the English detective’s face.

  “If I am right, she won’t be the only one who went there.” The words slipped into a whisper as he looked up at her with a strange look she had not seen him use before: he looked lost.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Dr Davidson was frantic. Somebody had been messing with his notes and photos, and this did not sit well with him. He appreciated the fact that the department had called him because they realized his greatness in the field of psychology, but his patience had his limits, and he was horrified to see his board. Someone had written all sorts of garbage on his board!

  He sat down and drank some water. His head was killing him—ever since childhood he had suffered from these terrible headaches but nobody knew what caused them. He drank more water and took an aspirin.

  As he sat, he looked at the chaos that his system had become. Why had someone done this? Why? For goodness sake, he was here to help! Yes, sure, the publicity would boost his medical practice no end, but did he really need this kind of hassle?

  “Must calm down, must calm down,” he kept repeating to himself, checking his pulse. Then he noticed the ME’s file: it was empty. That was it, he had had enough. As he jumped up the chair slid backwards, pushed by the back of his knees. The wheeled chair careered into the wall behind him. “Ladies and gentlemen, I can appreciate that my being here is a problem for most of you, however if we could be a bit more professional about this that would be super. Thank you!” he shouted, as he walked across the main office, only to return seconds later. “And where is Officer Thingamabob who is meant to be working with me? Or did someone get rid of her as well?” He grabbed his blue blazer and stormed off towards the elevator.

  “I can’t work like this,” he growled to himself, and as the elevator doors swung open he entered, leaving everyone leaning forwards over their desks in bewilderment at the goings on. Then the doors closed and he was gone. “Wow, what was all that about?” asked Steel.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” said McCall, and they went back to their search of the diaries.

  Tooms and Tony arrived at the old building. Its white walls, that once shone as a beacon of hope for children, now showed the test of time, but the place still retained a homely feeling. Kids played in the front yard and music could be heard booming through the windows, probably from a home-grown amateur band.

  The two detectives walked through the green-colored gate and approached the front door. The sun was high and the reflection glared off the door’s glazing. Tooms leaned over and rang the bell. A friendly ding dong echoed throughout the building. As they peered through the glass, Tooms and Tony saw kids playing tag in a dining room to their left; to their right was what appeared to be a sitting room of some kind, with a group of children practising on stringed instruments.

  At that moment a face appeared at the door; it was that of a cheerful woman who appeared to be in her late seventies. She opened the door and they saw the black–and-white of her nun’s habit which clung to her ample figure, and the small black-rimmed glasses that sat at the end of her small button nose. Even though she seemed quite elderly, she had the youth and spring in her step of someone half her age.

  “Yes, can I help you?” she asked with a beaming smile.

  “Yes, ma’am, we hope so. I’m Detective Tooms, and this is Detective Marinelli, and we would like to speak to you if we may about a girl who may have lived here.”

  She beckoned them into a small office down a long corridor; on the way they passed another nun, who looked to be in her late twenties and quite attractive, Tony thought. The Mother Superior spoke to the younger sister and asked her to bring refreshment to the office. The office was large, with a bay window that let in an amazing ray of light into the middle of the room; old pictures in dark wooden frames adorned the white wallpaper that had gold fleur-de-lys patterns on it. The room was long with a red shag-pile carpet. At its centre there was an almost antique looking coffee table, with four matching chairs placed around it.

  She raised a hand to indicate that they should sit down, and as they did so the young sister came in with a silver tray, which held an old crockery tea set. She placed it down and left, promptly closing the door behind her. Tooms noticed a large heavy-looking dark timber desk at the end of the room. Behind it hung a large golden-framed painting of The Last Supper, which almost filled the wall.

  “So, detectives, how can I help?” she asked expectantly.

  “Did you know a Susan Black?” asked Tooms.

  At that, her smile dimmed and her face shone less brightly.

  “Yes, poor child.”

  “What do you mean, ma’am?” Tooms enquired, his curiosity piqued.

  “Well gentlemen, she was brought to us in 1972, I think it was. A sad tale,” she said, getting up and walking towards a group of black-and-white photographs on the left-hand wall. She stopped and took one of them down and stroked it with affection.

  “So what happened?” asked Tony, the abruptness of his question making her shudder slightly, as tho
ugh someone had walked over her grave.

  “She was brought in by a sweet young thing, too young to be a mother you see. Anyway she and her boyfriend gave her up for adoption, hoping the child would get a good home and a better start in life than what they could give, you see.”

  Tooms and Tony, transfixed by the story, asked her to continue.

  “Oh, she was a brilliant, talented young thing, a catch for any parent.”

  “So why wasn’t she ever took on?” asked Tony, surprised.

  “Because everyone thought that they were sisters and didn’t want to break them apart. She and the other girls were inseparable, you see.”

  Tony and Tooms looked at each other with a puzzled expression, and then turned their attention back to the Mother Superior.

  “What other girls?” asked Tooms.

  The nun passed him the photo and there the two detectives’ jaws dropped as they saw the girls standing side by side. The three children each wore the same long dark-coloured dress and had the same long blonde hair.

  “Good as gold they were, always helping out, and the other kids loved them like big sisters, especially one boy, can’t remember his name, though. A real pleasure to have, they were, and then they left for different colleges and universities. But they always sent Christmas cards every year.” Her smile widened. “Yes, the other two were called”

  “Marie-Ann and Karen,” the two detectives said in unison, with a shocked look on their faces.

  “Yes, that was their names. Oddly enough they were also brought in at roughly the same time and under the same circumstances.”

  Then a look of realization dawned on her face. “What has happened to them?” asked the nun, almost collapsing with shock.

  The detectives helped her back to the chair next to the table and got some water from the desk for her to drink. She thanked Tony as she took a sip from the glass.