Executioner's Lament

by Justin Rishel

  “James Sarazin.”

  * * *

  Malina watched him as the news sank in. She herself wasn’t sure what it meant, just that it meant something.

  Aubrey’s stony face was crowned by bunched eyebrows. He sat on the couch and leaned back slowly, resting his head on the back of the couch.

  Inwardly, she thought that in this light at a certain angle …

  “Shit!”

  “What?” she said, startled, her head darting around looking for intruders.

  “More answers just create more questions.” He shook his fists and stood, resuming his pacing.

  Malina crossed her arms and turned back to her computer. A flash of paranoia made her want to get up and look out the window again. She settled for checking the feed from her drones, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to distinguish friend from foe from the window anyway.

  The feeds showed her nothing unusual, as far as she could tell. She pulled up the worm program she’d installed in the hotel computer system. No alerts.

  She turned back around to find Aubrey on the couch with his head in his hands.

  “Any ideas?” she asked.

  “Sarazin has his doctor treat these kids. Why?” He pulled his head out of his hands and stared at the wall. She got the impression he was speaking more to himself than to her. She answered him anyway.

  “We know they were connected, had socialized in the past, and they were significant investors in his company.” She stood. Now, it was her turn to pace. “He probably just wanted to help out. Like the Jorgetsons’s nanny told you, they like to keep to themselves. They don’t want their business out in the open.”

  “He sends his doctor to treat his friends’ kids. So, he probably pays for all of it. Can you confirm that?”

  She nodded and took three quick steps back to her chair at the desk. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. Behind her, Aubrey audibly continued his train of thought.

  “His doctor, his money, and he has no idea that it’s people at his own company causing it. He has no idea his trusted business partner is poisoning these children.” The room filled with the clicks and clatter of the keyboard.

  She scanned the financial records of Doctor Randall McCalister. His checking account from First Trinity Bank showed rows and rows of incoming deposits from an external account. The dollar amounts varied here and there, but on the last day of every month there appeared a payment of twenty-thousand dollars. Maybe it was a retainer.

  Every deposit came from the same account.

  On another screen, she clicked a red icon. Up popped a red dialog box. She entered several lines of code, one of which contained the account number. She clicked the launch button and waited.

  Aubrey sat silent, apparently, lost in thought.

  The pages fluttered in front of her with window after window cascading in front of one another. The program had scoured the internet for any occurrence of the account number she entered according to the parameters she gave it.

  After some sorting, she found the page she was looking for—the account the payments came from was owned by a company, JS Holdings, LLC. Another quick search revealed JS Holdings’ one and only owner, James Sarazin.

  “Yep,” she said. “Sarazin was paying the doctor through an LLC.”

  Aubrey didn’t respond. She turned only to find him standing next to her. She had been so focused on the account search, she hadn’t noticed him approaching her, now leaning over the desk next to her. He leaned in toward the far-left monitor. Squinting. Reading something.

  “What?” she said.

  “Ted.”

  “He got something? Let me see.” She rolled her chair over to the first monitor. Aubrey hadn’t moved. He stood hunched over her shoulders, his cheek against the side of her head. “Whoa. Way to go, Ted.”

  On the screen appeared white text in a window with a black background. Ted had deciphered three days’ worth of messages.

  Date stamps told them when each set of codes had been sent. She read the messages.

  Jan 16, 2043

  Alkorn L: No comm out of this chat

  Winthorpe S: We know

  Imanpor R: Q Are we safe

  Alkorn L: Yes

  Winthorpe S: Q we are doing this

  Alkorn L: Yes

  Winthorpe S: Q Certain

  Alkorn L: Dead certain

  Jan 17, 2043

  Shoeman N: Q Plan

  Alkorn L: Get what we need first cant move on without it

  Shoeman N: Q Then

  Alkorn L: do what we must no choice

  Jan. 23, 2043

  Alkorn L: Do nothing say nothing Families at risk

  Shoeman N: What have we done

  Imanpor R: Q Trust his threats

  Alkorn L: Yes very much

  Winthorpe S: What now

  Alkorn L: Prison and wait and say nothing do nothing

  “Three days’ worth. Way to go, Ted,” she said, pumping a fist through the air.

  “Let’s celebrate later,” Aubrey said, placing a hand on her shoulder and standing up straight. “What are the Qs for?”

  “Probably indicating they’re questions. Punctuation must not count as a character in the book cipher.”

  She looked up at him, he nodded his understanding.

  “Look at this one.” He reached out and pointed at the third line from the message sent on January 16th. “‘Are we safe?’ The team was getting cold feet again.”

  “Not getting it again.” She reached out and pointed at the date. “Martin, that’s the first group of messages they sent. January 16. They had cold feet from the get go.”

  “And Alkorn is in command from the get go.” He pointed again. “‘We are doing this?’” He moved his finger down. “‘Dead certain.’”

  “A threat?” Malina asked.

  “Sounds like it. Then, here,” he pointed the next group of messages from January 17. “‘Get what we need’, ‘do what we must, no choice’. There’s that ‘no choice’ crap again. No choice my ass.”

  “What did they need?”

  “Money, I would assume. The scheme would have been in full motion at that point. They were probably waiting for the cash to accumulate before moving ahead.”

  She nodded and re-read the last group of messages, the last messages any of them sent. “‘Do nothing, say nothing, families at risk’. Whoever had leverage on them made sure they didn’t talk to anyone once they were caught.”

  “That’s him. Whoever started all this, that’s him, right there.” Aubrey leaned against the desk next to her. “Anyone who can orchestrate the murder of hundreds of innocent people and the poisoning of children could certainly keep a bunch of scientists quiet.”

  The thought sent chills down her arms. She rubbed the goose bumps away with her hands. The invisible force was out there, the voice as Aubrey called him, pulling strings and applying pressure. Aubrey was right, he had killed hundreds and there was no indication he would stop.

  “Why is he working so fast all of a sudden?”

  She snapped her head around, the question caught her off guard. “What? Who?”

  “Ted.” Aubrey had his hand on his chin.

  “Oh. Well, he’s learning.” She reached out and patted the little box that held the brains of her computer and Ted. “We should get the messages faster from here on.”

  “Good. We’re close. We’re really close. Hopefully the rest of the messages will …” Aubrey trailed off.

  Malina turned to face him. He stared at his phone; his brow had furrowed in deep crevices.

  * * *

  Aubrey had never seen the number before. The area code was unfamiliar. Thinking it must be a crank call or telemarketer, he almost hung up. Something told him he should answer it. Aaron Lewis was the only one who had the number to Aubrey’s burner phone.

  “Hello,” he answered.

  “Mr. Aubrey?” said a man’s voice on the other end, hard and steady. “Detective Aaron Lewis gave me this number
.” A pause. The worst possible scenario ran through Aubrey’s mind—Lewis kidnapped, tortured, held captive until Aubrey gave himself up to the killer that hunted them.

  Aubrey said nothing. He tried to steady his breath and calm the jackhammer in his chest.

  The man continued. “I have information that may help you, Mr. Aubrey. And I believe you have information that may help me.”

  Aubrey placed the phone on speaker and held it out. “What kind of information?”

  “I do not think it is wise to speak over the phone. We must meet in person.”

  He looked at Malina, who held her hands out and shrugged.

  He turned back to the phone. “I’m not going anywhere if you don’t tell me what this is about.”

  A pause, then the man continued. “Years ago, you were the lead detective on a case. A man had killed his wife, her lover and a third unfortunate soul. I believe he used a hammer. Do you remember the case?”

  Aubrey knew the case. Victor Hamburg. Triple homicide. A jealous husband and a hammer. A nightmarish scene of carnage. “Of course, I remember. What does that …”

  “At the trial,” the man interrupted, “there was a man in the back of the courtroom. Do you remember him?”

  Aubrey placed a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples. “Look, sir, I don’t know what you’re getting at. How would I remember one man in a courtroom from a trial six years ago?”

  “This man was quite memorable, Mr. Aubrey. Surely, you remember him.”

  Aubrey’s head shot up. He felt his eyes widen; the room blurred. His lungs refused to draw breath.

  The man dressed in black. The man no person would go near.

  The Tapper. Death was in the courtroom that day.

  Aubrey never found out why he was there; Tappers rarely showed their faces in public and had never been seen in a courtroom. He assumed the Tapper was there to execute the defendant on the spot, but he only observed, as Aubrey did.

  “You?”

  “Me, yes, Mr. Aubrey. Can we meet?”

  Aubrey finally took a breath.

  “Yes, we can meet.”

  “Good. Please come to my place of business. I will ensure your passage. Come now. We’ll be waiting for you and we have much to discuss.”

  * * *

  Jacira Barretto saw her tablet flash to life from the floor in a bhujangasana pose, spine arched, head back. An adagio blasted from invisible speakers.

  Standing, she moved to the bed where her tablet sat. It was an alert triggered by the trace she’d placed on Aaron Lewis’s phone. Apparently, it had come in ten minutes ago, but she hadn’t seen nor heard the notification.

  “Shit.”

  She tapped her watch to silence the music. The alert told her the incoming call came from somewhere odd. She knew the number but found it exceedingly strange that it was calling Aaron Lewis.

  She listened to a recording of the call. She listened to it once more. Not to hear the words, but to hear the voice. Who was that?

  She closed her eyes and played it again, letting her mind absorb the cadence of the words and the pitch of the voice. The sounds penetrated the far reaches of her memory, bounced around until they landed on a match.

  It made sense, now. The strange number and the voice.

  “Shit,” she whispered, staring at the floor, putting the pieces together in her mind.

  Her tablet pinged her again, interrupting her chain of thought. She tapped the notification. Facial recognition sensors had captured the face of Aubrey’s unknown female helper leaving a hotel.

  Frantically, she tapped several commands on her tablet to pull up street camera footage for the location the woman had been spotted. She watched the woman leave the Silk Princess Hotel. Next to her walked Martin Aubrey.

  They each had a shoulder bag and walked fast.

  More pieces came together in her mind. The voice on the recorded call to Lewis, then these two headed somewhere. As unlikely as it seemed to her, she knew exactly where they were going.

  “Shit,” she said for the third time. She typed a short message to her employer telling him they needed to talk.

  A moment later the phone rang. She answered before the first ring ended.

  “He’s on the move,” she said without preamble.

  “You found him?”

  “Sort of. But I have a hunch where he’s going.”

  “So, get there and take care of him. Why do I have to tell you this?” He sounded impatient.

  “Their destination is why I wanted to speak to you. It’s … well, I don’t know why they’re going there, but I thought you should know.”

  He cleared his throat. “Where are they going?” His voice had calmed. She thought she could hear something like anxiety in it.

  “They’re going to the Copp- … to the Keep.” Silence on the line. “I have reason to believe they were contacted by a … a Tapper. And I think they’re on their way to meet with him at the Keep.”

  More silence, no noise at all. She wondered if the man was still there. She was about to confirm he was still on the phone when he broke the silence.

  “Okay. Okay.” He breathed into the phone. “I need you to meet me somewhere. I’ll give you more instructions when you arrive.”

  “Meet?” She avoided meeting clients if at all possible; it was better for everyone involved—safer, cleaner. “Are you sure that’s wise, sir?”

  A heavy breath into the phone. “Yes, I’m sure. I will send you the location after we hang up. Be there in ten minutes.”

  The call ended. A second later, her phone pinged. The secure message had the location information—the address and where to meet him when she arrived at the building. She read it several times to ensure she wasn’t mistaken. She knew the location, though she’d never been inside it, much less to the roof.

  She changed clothes, packed a few tools for the likely job ahead and jogged out of her building.

  * * *

  Wise Brother and Member Principal Jacobi dialed the numbers into his phone. It was a call he dreaded. He had hoped all this was behind him and now it felt like it might explode in his face.

  Jacobi had to let him know. He also wanted to be told what to do. This sort of work was not his specialty. The deception and corruption made him uneasy. He had just started to relax when Sister Jocelyn came calling, asking about why Rudolfo was investigating Wilcott’s Selection of an inmate from her ward, was he under special orders from Jacobi.

  Much was at stake now and he wanted more than ever for it all to end, to go away for good.

  With trembling fingers, he pressed the green send button on the touchscreen. The line picked up a moment later.

  “Yes,” a man’s voice said. A loud rustling in the receiver forced Jacobi to pull the phone away from his ear. “Yes?” the voice said louder.

  “Um, yes, it’s Jacobi. We may have a problem.”

  “What sort of problem?” the man said, near shouting. More rustling in the phone. More like wind, Jacobi thought. Wind blowing into the phone. Jacobi was surprised the man could hear him.

  “Someone is asking questions. Questions about our … our mutual friend.”

  A pause, more wind on the other man’s end. Where was he? On a boat?

  “Don’t worry.” The man shouted this time and Jacobi jerked the phone away from his ear again. “I’m coming to you. We can discuss further after I arrive.”

  Jacobi’s throat tightened. He involuntarily swallowed. “What … um, to me? You’re coming here?”

  “Yes. Prepare the rooftop for my arrival,” the man said. The line went dead.

  Jacobi stared mystified at the phone. He’s coming here? Why? What could possibly bring him here?

  The dread he felt before the call now intensified to a full panic inside Jacobi.

  * * *

  Nicholas Fox, the Professor, daydreamed.

  It was Sunday, an entire day of free-time. Most inmates spent their time in one of the rec rooms, playing cards, or rea
ding. Nicholas would usually engage in one or more of those activities, but today, with freedom so close, he dreamed about the future.

  He sat on a rolled-up blanket, slouched against the wall of his cell.

  In his mind he lay on a beach. His hair shoulder length like it was before prison, colored a deep chestnut. Would it still be the same color? He hadn’t seen it in so many years it was probably silver by now.

  A different woman laid by his side this time. They sunbathed with mojitos in sweaty glasses propped up in the white sand. Salt spray blew over them from time to time. The perfectly blue sea sang its steady song as waves collapsed against the sand.

  Labored breathing invaded his brain. He opened his eyes and looked over to see Warren Samuels sitting next to him, breathing like a pug through hairy nostrils. The squatty little man squinted in concentration, totally absorbed in a paperback novel that must have been a hundred years old. Yellow pages on the verge of crumbling to dust were stuck between faded, barely recognizable covers.

  He stared at his loyal henchman, wondering what was in store for him after it all started. Warren’s friendship was a necessity in the Keep. On the outside, Fox had no room for him. They’d have to part ways. If either of them survived.

  Leaning his head back against the wall, Fox attempted to ignore pudgy Warren and get back to his fantasy. Then, he felt a vibration between his legs.

  He nudged Warren to get his attention, then pointed his chin toward the doorway. They were alone for the moment and he needed to keep it that way for a little longer. Warren stood and moved to the doorway, leaning against one side of the frame with an arm stretched across it.

  Nicholas reached into his pants and removed the earpiece from its hiding place. He pushed it into his ear opposite the door and tapped a small button on its side.

  “Yes,” he said, still sitting.

  “Now,” a voice said. “It has to be now.”

  Nicholas froze. This was the call he’d been waiting for. “Give me an hour.”

  “You have it.”

  “What happens after? How will you get me out?” Nicholas asked in a whisper.

  “Let me worry about that,” the voice said.

  A beep told Fox the call had ended. He placed the phone back in his pants and stared at Warren, whose bulk filled the lower half of the door frame.