The mists of time faded and he was taken back to a dark place, an attic in his old family house in Britain. His ears filled with the sound of gunfire that rang out like artillery. His body remembered the pain of each round as they passed through his body. He remembered looking down and seeing the life drain out of his beloved wife’s eyes before he fell into the place of shadow. The shots were slow and skilfully aimed. His body was racked with pain as he fell onto the wooden flooring of the attic. The mixed sounds of screams and laughter filled his ears as Steel lay there on the wooden boards. He felt nothing but his life slipping from him and he felt an amazing sensation of peace. Voices screamed and argued, some of their words were embedded in Steel’s brain: Now you’ve done it, you idiot! Santini will kill us all for this. The name was branded into him like the wounds on his skin. Santini.
He felt his body start to become cold and the muscles becoming tight. He would be with his family soon and that was a good thing.
“Get up! You must get up!” The urgent voice filled his ears and he saw a blurred vision of someone kneeling over him.
“Helen, is that you?” he said, raising a weary hand to try to touch her face.
The voice was soft but had a sense of urgency to it. “You must get up, we have to go, you must live.”
And then the world went dark again but he felt he was being dragged along. His eyes registered darkness, but every so often small spots of light gave him something to focus on. He was being lifted up onto something. He felt cramped and small, as if he had been put into a box. He moaned in disagreement and tried to fight.
The voice came again: “Good, you have some fight left, use it.”
Steel felt panic as he had the feeling of falling downwards. Was this it? he thought, Am I destined for the other place, never to be with my family again? He wanted to scream but the movement stopped and he felt himself been pulled again. His body hit concrete and the pain brought him awake once more. As he looked up he saw the blurred figure taking him to a locked room in the basement. He heard the rattle of keys and the creak of old metal hinges. The world went dark once more but he still heard the voice and music—Oriental music.
“I need to close your wounds, this may hurt.”
Steel felt he was being put into a chair, and his arms were being taped on to the chair’s arms. The darkness seemed to get darker and his breathing became more difficult.
“I don’t know if you can hear me but if you can, be strong.” The voice sounded different now, more like Mr. Lee, their gardener.
“What are you going to do?” Steel asked, his voice shallow.
“Have you seen Rambo?”
That was when it struck Steel what was about to happen to him.
“Sorry. No time. Must do all at same time. Less painful that way.”
Before Steel could respond a piece of wood was shoved between his teeth. “This will help with the pain,” the old man said, almost sorry about what had to be done.
Then he felt his insides burn hotter than if he had gone to hell. It lasted but a second, but it was a second too long. Steel bit down on the wood between his teeth, almost biting it in half. He looked down at his body to see six flaming eruptions leaving his torso through the exit wounds. The wood fell away from his mouth as he slipped away again into a strange disturbing sleep.
Next he heard birds chirping and children laughing. The smell of flowers in bloom and incense been burnt. The cheerful chatter of a finch sounded in the distance and the smell of someone cooking filled his senses. Steel tried to open his eyes. Why the hell can’t I open my eyes? he thought. He raised a shaky hand to his face and found a damp cloth folded and placed over his clammy forehead. He lifted it off slowly, groaning in pain.
His body was stiff and uncooperative as he tried to sit up. He was disorientated and in extreme pain. His body felt as if it had been run over twice. Steel looked around the room, his vision blurred. It was around eight feet square with no windows, the only light coming in a dulled stream from the door which was half-open. The door itself appeared to be made of wood and brown paper. The bed was a futon that sat opposite the door against the back wall. The furnishings were sparse.
He sat up on the edge of the bed and looked the place over. To his left an Oriental dresser was next to a small table with a crockery washbowl. On the wall above that hung a simple mirror.
Steel struggled to his feet. His knees felt weak and his legs like jelly. On the fifth attempt, he growled and stood up. Standing still for a moment, he moved over to the basin like a child learning to walk alone for the first time. As he got to the small table he grasped the sides for support, his hands gripping tight as he just stood there, looking down at the water. It looked cool and refreshing as the light from the doorway reflected in the pool before him.
He thrust his head deep into the liquid and left it there. His burning brow seemed to cool in the fresh water. He pulled himself up, and as the water ran down his body he tilted his head back and let the soothing liquid cool him. Steel brought a shaky hand up to rub the water into his body, but stopped and looked down as his fingers lay upon a gnarly patterned wound in his right shoulder. His hand trembled as he touched each of the six exit marks. A tear fell into the cool water of the washbowl. He gripped the table as images flashed before him, but he couldn’t make sense of them.
John Steel looked up at the mirror again. His body was stocky with a bit of muscle but nothing extreme—a normal soldier’s physique, some might say. He looked straight into his eyes and gasped. His blue eyes had been a winner with the ladies—in fact that’s how he had landed the American ambassador’s daughter. He stared into the cold emerald green of those eyes. Where before his eyes had looked alive and happy, the ones that stared back at him were dead and uncaring. He was a soldier born into the aristocracy. His father had been Lord Steel, a prominent man in parliament and a section of military intelligence.
Now he was alone. Mercenaries had murdered all his family members. For what reason they’d done it, he had no idea. As he stared hard into those cold eyes his grip tightened on the side of the small table. The wood began to creak under the pressure.
“If you break it, you must buy it.”
Steel’s grip relaxed as he saw the gardener in the mirror’s reflection.
“Where am I?” he asked.
Mr. Lee shook his head. “It has been so long it is no wonder you have forgotten my home.”
Steel looked round. The room seem unfamiliar to him. “I don’t remember this room,” he said, turning to face the small Japanese gardener.
Mr. Lee smiled. “Only joking. This room is new. Had it built last year.”
Steel smiled in relief. “How long have I been out?”
Mr. Lee began to answer but a tall man in a black pinstriped suit answered for him: “Nearly a week, give or take.”
The man was Doctor Edwards, the family doctor. He walked into the room and put on his gold-rimmed glasses. His tanned face was large and round, grey hair mixed with the black, the hairline receding. Steel was standing facing them, his backside resting against the table for support. Doctor Edwards looked at the wounds on Steel’s body and nodded, clearly pleased with the results. “Good, good,” the doctor said cheerfully. “You’re healing nicely.” He stood up and looked into Steel’s eyes by stretching the lids open.
“Why are my eyes like this?” Steel asked.
The doctor answered, “You have the mark of the Phoenix, the born again bringer of fire.” He turned to face Mr. Lee, who was excited by the whole experience.
“It’s probably a reaction to the medication, too much acid in the blood,” Doctor Edwards continued. “Should be nothing to worry about. It will be gone in a couple of days with the right diet.” Steel nodded but he knew that something had changed inside him.
“I’ll come back tomorrow to check on you, don’t worry. Nobody knows you’re alive. Not yet.”
Steel forced a smile as he watched the doctor leave. Mr. Lee walked up to him
and gave him some water that he downed in one. Steel handed back the glass but it slipped out of Mr. Lee’s hand.
They both looked down in amazement to see that Steel had caught the glass between his two bare feet. He looked up at Mr. Lee, who was now grinning.
“Good,” the Japanese man said cheerfully. “Now your training starts tomorrow.”
The other man looked puzzled. “What training?”
Mr. Lee’s grin widened. “Training to be what you are. A ghost. A wraith.”
John Steel swallowed hard. “Don’t tell me, you’re not really Chinese, are you?”
Mr Lee shook his head as a solemn look came over his face. “I was born and worked in Japan. I worked in Japanese secret service for very long time. Your father and I worked on a case that nearly cost me my life and the life of my family. Your father saved me and brought us to Britain where I have carried out, shall we say, services for both countries.”
John looked shocked for second. “You’re a spy?” He felt that he had to sit down before he fell down. He stumbled back to the bed and crashed down, unable to take it all in.
He looked up at Mr. Lee. “So what do I call you now?”
The man thought for a moment then he smiled. “Mr. Lee will do quite nicely.” Then he turned and began to laugh loudly and left the room, almost dancing. Steel knew this experience was going to hurt more than his wounds.
Steel awoke from his daydream and looked at his watch. It was already half past five. He thought about not attending the dinner but reconsidered, as there was always something to learn at the ghastly functions. He needed to know who was new on board and who had left from the group of people he knew. The one thing he had learnt about investigating was that everything mattered. The minutest of details could be the breaker of a case.
He returned to his cabin and carried out the usual routine of checking the locks on his suitcase and using the UV light on the safe. He almost seemed disappointed at the lack of any attempted breakin. He poured himself a large Johnnie Walker Red and stripped down to his pants. The air con felt good against his bare flesh and he decided to wander around dressed like that for a while. He sat on the couch and flicked through the pages he had pulled from the internet about the dinner guests from the other night. He wondered how many more of the guests had false web pages. It was a proven fact that Tia and the Stewarts were fake entries.
Then he downed the rest of the drink and headed for the shower. He reached inside the shower unit and turned on the water, keeping his hand underneath until it became a suitable temperature. The washroom was suddenly filled with a small fog of condensation and the mirror over the sink was fogged over. He stripped and folded his clothes, placing them on the small chair opposite the bed. The water from the shower felt soothing on his skin. The droplets came out hard and fast, almost like a jet wash. Steel stood with his hands against the wall and his head down, letting the water massage his stiff muscles.
Today had been a hard day and his body still ached from the lengthy series of drops from the high building. He stood up straight and turned his back to the spray as he worked the soapy lather into his hard, taut muscles. He looked down at the temporary tattoos and wondered how much longer they would last before fading away. The tattoos had been a cover to conceal his wounds, just in case one of the Organization had been on the ship.
The Organization was the criminal group who were responsible for the murder of his family. They were also responsible for hundreds of organized crime sprees around the world, including the case that had brought him to New York and to the NYPD.
The water felt so good that he didn’t want to leave its embrace. Under the water he had no cares, no worries. Under there he was alone with only the noise of the water against the glass. Rain, he thought to himself. He had always found rain to be soothing. He smiled and switched off the shower, then using his hands to brush off the excess water he stepped out and towelled off.
He looked over to the watch that sat on the dresser. It was now nearly six. He sat down at the small coffee table and picked up the documents once more and flicked through them. What was he missing? He threw them down again and stretched. He looked at the paperwork lying, almost fanned out for display.
Maybe the reason he had not found anything was that it wasn’t there at the time. They had just left port. Perhaps whatever or whoever it was had now boarded. After tonight, they would be heading into open waters and after a few miles, he would lose his cell phone reception. He knew he would be alone on this and that was okay. He had worked alone before all of this had happened. As the time ticked away, Steel knew he had to dress and join in another dreary night of dull conversation.
FIFTEEN
As McCall got off the elevator at the precinct, she saw Tony and Tooms at their desks engaged in an argument about how to shoot someone in a crane, while Jenny Thompson sat at her computer looking through some files. The air was abuzz with the feeling that they were getting somewhere.
“Hi, guys, what did you find out?”
The two detectives looked over at Sam as she approached. Tony picked up his notebook and flicked through the pages, telling her, “Well, CSU used the laser to figure out from where our vic was shot, but there’s a problem.”
McCall looked confused as she sat on the edge of Tooms’s desk. “Why, what’s the problem?”
Tooms smiled, knowing that she wasn’t going to like the answer. “The shooter’s location is in the middle of the Hudson river.”
She raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Smart move. No worries about trace evidence and you could just lose the weapon over the side of the boat and look like a normal fisherman.” McCall regarded her colleagues enquiringly. “But I guess you guys already thought of that. Do we have a calibre?”
Tooms nodded as he leaned back in his chair. “CSU worked out where the round would have landed and found a .308 bullet with traces of our vic’s blood on it.”
McCall looked at their murder board that was just as unrevealing as her own was. “Has any potential suspect popped up?”
Tony shook his head, a disappointed expression on his face. “No, the guy was clean, the ex is remarried to some rich guy, and his debt to the weasel loan shark was paid off in full.”
The female detective looked over to Tony. “How did he pay his debts off? Sure, he had a good job but you said he was in hock up to his eyeballs. So where did the money come from?”
Tony picked up the phone receiver and dialled the Financial Department. Sure, he reasoned, they had had his normal accounts, but maybe he had others?
Sam turned to Jenny, who was busy typing. “Hey, Jenny, where are we with that mugging gone wrong?”
Jenny turned her attention to her boss and swivelled in her chair to face her. “Well, her name was Karen Greene, she was thirty-four years old and lived in Greenwich Village. Karen worked at a recruitment agency. She dealt with waitresses and bar staff for restaurants, aircraft and shipping.”
Jenny paused, looking up at McCall who was taking it all in as she stared at Tooms’s board.
“The COD (cause of death) was exsanguination due to a gunshot wound in the stomach area,” Jenny continued. “Tina is working on the wound and should be able to say what calibre bullet was used.” Jenny looked over her notes before continuing: “I asked around the neighbourhood, but of course nobody saw anything. She was in a blind alley when it happened.” She looked over at her notes that were beside her monitor—she had a bulldog clip placed in the crease to stop the pages folding over, so she could read it better. “Tina puts the T.O.D. at around twelve o’clock midday.”
McCall looked momentarily stunned.
“That’s probably why she took the alley, because it was daytime. There’s no way she would have taken that route at night,” Jenny added.
Sam weighed up the possibilities in her mind, rocking her head from side to side as she thought. “Maybe. But why was she there in the first place?”
Jenny stood up and walked across the room t
o her three colleagues. “I asked her co-workers and they said that she had taken off to go to lunch because she had a date at the diner just on the next block from her firm’s premises. I spoke to several of the staff and they confirmed she was there with some guy, but apparently the date ended badly.”
McCall looked at her. “Define badly.” She felt an instinctive growing suspicion of this guy she was dating.
“He took off with another girl while she was in the restroom. And he also left her to pay.”
McCall looked up at Jenny, fire in her eyes. “Did you track down Prince Charming?”
Detective Jenny Thompson shook her head. “Not yet, but I got a photo from the diner’s security cam and I have passed it to uniforms and hotels, just in case.”
McCall was pleased: Jenny had come a long way, and she was developing her talents as a detective all the time. “Nice job, Jenny.”
Jenny smiled at the compliment.
She paused for a moment. “Do we have anything from the robbery at the ME’s office?”
Tooms shook his head. “Nothing, no trace, and no prints. Even the security camera never picked anything up—almost like they weren’t even there.”
McCall thought for a moment. “What about the cameras’ server, was that messed with?”
Tooms put down a file he was just going through. “The techs looking at that now should have an answer by the end of today.”
“Okay,” Sam told them. “I am off to techs to see if they can track down the feed from Donald Major’s workshop to see if that brings anything.” She headed for the elevator, hoping that there was something in that feed that would let them make headway.
Operation:UNITY (John Steel series Book 2) Page 18