by Shawn Oetzel
He had also been correct in his guess the parchment was not a map, not entirely, though it did seem to be indicating the location of an object. He found several mentions of “The King’s Sword,” which apparently was hidden right here in the States.
Jackson saw that it was nearing midnight. With the excitement of solving the riddle now subsiding, he was amazed at how tired he felt. A long, drawn-out yawn only emphasized the point.
Writing out a full report for Agent Blackburn could wait until the morning, giving him time to catch a couple hours of sleep.
He stood and stretched his arms and back, trying to work out the kinks in muscles that had grown stiff and sore from sitting in one position for so long.
Then he felt the slightest brush of air against his face, followed by a stinging pressure on his throat, right next to his Adam ’s apple.
He froze, and sucked in a deep breath of surprise. He felt the slow trickle of blood as it worked its way down his neck. Afraid to move any other part of his body, he lowered his eyes.
To his complete astonishment, he saw a hand and arm materialize out of thin air.
“No sudden moves, old man, or I’ll slit your throat,” a voice said from directly behind him, speaking with a calmness that convinced Jackson the intruder would make good on his threat.
“Tell me what the document Blackburn gave you says, or I’m going to start slicing off body parts.”
Jackson was too frightened to speak. If Blackburn needed that information, then it was of the utmost importance. He did not want to die for the agent, but he had no intention of telling some psycho with a knife to his throat anything vital.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, trying to sound sincere.
“Wrong answer,” the intruder said.
In one swift motion, his attacker shoved him back into his office chair, grabbed his hand, slammed it onto the desk so all his fingers were splayed out, and sliced off his pinky finger.
It happened so fast that the pain did not immediately register. When it did kick in, Jackson was unable to make any kind of sound except for a childlike whimper. He balled his now ruined hand into a fist and grabbed it with the other, watching in shocked terror as blood oozed its way through his clenched fingers like lava from a tiny volcano.
His heart pounded in his chest, thundering against his ribcage. He was having a hard time catching his breath. He felt on the verge of having a major heart attack.
The intruder spun the chair around so they could stare at each other face to face.
“You,” Jackson whispered, his voice trailing off in shock as he recognized his attacker.
“Do not be mistaken, Mr. Jackson. I want this to be perfectly clear. You are going to die tonight. So, the only two things you should be concerned about at this point are how quickly will it happen and how much pain you will experience before the end does come. Do you understand?”
He could only nod in response. A sharp pain was working its way down his left arm.
His attacker was right, he was going to die, but it would be on his terms and not those of a deranged, knife-wielding killer.
“Good,” the Ghost said. “I am going to ask you again, and if you don’t tell me what I want to hear, I am going to jab this knife into your right eye.” He emphasized his point by holding up the blade. “Where is the sword?”
Feeling like his heart was about to explode, knowing he did not have much time left, Jackson blurted the first thing that came to his mind.
“New York City.”
As soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth, a jolt of electricity seemed to strike his chest. He clutched at his sweat-soaked shirt with his still bleeding hand, and slipped from the chair as his body seized. There was a sharp pain, and then he blissfully slipped into unconsciousness.
The Ghost watched, stunned, as the old man fell to the floor. He nudged the still body with his foot, and when the translator showed no sign of coming to, bent down and felt for a pulse. When he could only find a hesitant beat, he realized what had happened.
In a burst of anger, he stood up and kicked Jackson in the ribs. Once the first kick landed, he lost control and lashed out repeatedly with his foot, kicking the defenseless body again and again. The crack of splintering bone was a satisfying sound and had a calming effect. He took a deep breath to get his anger fully under control. When his breathing had steadied once again, he looked around and snatched up the document on the desk.
His plan had not gone smoothly, but he had the map and the name of the city. With a final contemptuous look at the crumpled body of Steven Jackson, he fell back into the magic of his bracelet, and exited the building.
As he slipped in and out of consciousness, Jackson knew he was done for. The pain was excruciating and it was getting harder and harder to breathe, let alone concentrate. Yellow dots sparkled in front of his eyes. He came to the understanding that the next time he slipped into unconsciousness, he would never wake up again. He reached up with his good hand, using the blood from his severed pinky finger, and scribbled what he hoped was a legible message for Agent Blackburn to find.
—Chapter 10
The alarm kicked on, the clock radio blaring an Aerosmith tune. Amy reached over to the bedside table. Though she desperately wanted to hit the snooze button, and enjoy another ten minutes of blissful slumber, she switched the alarm off, forcing herself to sit up. Knowing Blackburn would be punctual in picking her up to meet the translator, she could not afford to play the snooze game.
The roller coaster ride of emotions the previous day had left her exhausted. As soon as Agent Ambrosius had left after his impromptu visit, she had gone straight to bed. She had fallen into a deep sleep more akin to a coma, and had not wakened for any reason until Steven Tyler’s voice singing Dream On pulled her back to consciousness.
She was nowhere near being a morning person. It usually took her several attempts to drag herself out of bed.
Today was a different story. There was a tingle of excitement about the day, and she found herself actually looking forward to getting up and getting ready because the quicker she did, the quicker she could begin the investigation.
Sure, she would have Ambrosius tagging along, but so what? If it meant being able to work an actual case instead of sitting through another day of mind numbing training at the Agency, she would have gladly allowed the entire British Navy to come along for the ride.
Amy was surprised to find herself smiling as she kicked off the blankets and climbed out of bed. She was able to shower, get dressed, and do her hair and make-up all within a half an hour, while the coffee was brewing. The welcoming aroma had an instantaneous effect, as whatever lingering weariness she was experiencing was suddenly vaporized by the glorious caffeine-laden liquid
She was normally a low maintenance kind of woman anyway, but this was near record breaking readiness even by her standards. She was starting to feel like a real cop again. After being fired from the LAPD, it was like a part of her had died. Now, thanks to Blackburn and the Agency, she was on the verge of taking her first step into a much larger world of law enforcement.
She was enjoying her second cup of coffee when her cell phone began playing the theme from the movie Halloween. The caller ID confirmed Blackburn’s number. “Morning Reggie. It’s about time you called.”
“Well, don’t you sound all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this fine morning,” he answered.
“Hey, just you never mind my tail,” she said. “That’s what happens when you have actual casework to do. Maybe someone should explain that to the Agency.”
“Be my guest, Sommers, but I gotta warn ya, from my own personal experience, the Agency does not take to kindly to being told what to do, especially by rookies.”
“Well, at least we have that in common,” she said. “Where you at anyway? It’s almost 8am.”
“I’m on my way. I tried to call Jackson earlier this morning but no one answered. Why don’t we go by his apartment and
see if we can save ourselves a trip to that dusty office of his.”
“I’m ready as soon as you get here. Oh, by the way, I met my new partner last night.”
“Really?” Blackburn asked. “What was he like?”
“Let’s see, for starters he broke into my apartment, and scared the hell out of me after you dropped me off,” she said, still a little angry about the scene from the previous evening, and the emotion could be heard in her voice.
“Oh, Christ, Sommers, you didn’t shoot him did you?” Blackburn asked, only halfway joking.
“No I didn’t. But if I had, it would have served him right. I still have to call him about meeting with the translator. I think I’ll tell him to just meet us there.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be at your place in about fifteen minutes, so tell him to meet us at 8:30. Oh, and Sommers, please try to play nice.”
“You know me, Reggie. I’m a regular Miss Congeniality,” she said. She could hear him groan on the other end of the line before hanging up. This caused her to chuckle quietly. She loved giving him a hard time. Having already gotten Blackburn flustered only added to her good mood.
She barely had time to enjoy the moment when her cell phone rang again. This time, she did not recognize the number right away.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Agent Sommers. I hope this morning finds you well.”
The British accent was a dead giveaway. “Good morning to you too, Agent Ambrosius. It’s funny you called just now. I was on the verge of giving you a ring myself to fill you in on this morning’s agenda.”
“Well, you know what they say about great minds, don’t you Agent Sommers?”
“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Just because I didn’t shoot you last night doesn’t mean we are of a like mind and going to be swapping spit in the shower anytime soon,” she said, a little more defensively than she intended to.
“I would never dream of being so presumptuous with you, Agent Sommers.”
“Good, we got that settled at least.” At this point she was still not sure if she was going to like Agent Ambrosius, but she did not want to come across as a jerk either. She was starting to feel comfortable speaking with the British Agent when a sudden realization came over her. “Wait a minute, how did you know my number? I thought I was supposed to call you.”
“I got tired of waiting, and honestly, Agent Sommers, if I could get into your apartment undetected do you really think something as trivial as a phone number could stop me?”
She did not know how to respond. On the one hand, he had a point, but on the other he was overstepping her boundaries again. She decided to let the matter drop in light of the more important issue of getting started.
“If you say so,” she said after a long pause, and then switched topics. “I just spoke with Agent Blackburn. He is going to be picking me up in a few minutes. We both thought it would be best if you meet us at the translator’s place around 8:30. Does that work for you?”
“It does,” he said. She gave him directions, and before she could say goodbye, she heard him say, “Thank you Agent Sommers. I look forward to seeing you.”
She hated how his politeness always somehow put her in her place. It was like his presence here somehow validated the importance of this case. It could be her imagination or she could be reading more into it because of some left over anger from the previous evening, she supposed. Either way, she was determined not to let the über important Agent Ambrosius dampen her spirits .
A car horn from the street below drew her to the window. Seeing Reggie’s blue sedan idling in front of her building, she grabbed her coat and headed out to begin her day.
The frigid wind hitting her in the face was a harsh reminder she was no longer in Los Angeles. This was her first winter in Washington, and if it was already this cold, she knew she was not as prepared for the elements as she thought she was.
She leaped down the final two steps in her hurry to gain the warmth of Reggie’s waiting car. True to form, when she got to the passenger side door, it was locked. She lifted the handle several times, then peeked through the window, and could see Reggie laughing at her predicament.
“If you don’t open this door, I swear I will start shooting,” she said, her voice rising to be heard over the blowing wind.
The “ka-thunk” of the lock let her know Blackburn had received her message loud and clear. She glared at him as she opened the door and let herself in. The warm air blasting from the vent in the dashboard helped put her back at ease.
“Easy, Sommers. Man, am I glad looks really don’t kill,” Blackburn said.
“Good thing for you, because you would have been pushing up daisies,” she said, the beginnings of a smile working its way to her face.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Blackburn said. “Were you able to get hold of your partner? What was his name again?”
“Agent Ambrosius, and yeah, I talked to him. He’s going to meet us there.”
“Ambrosius huh? Sounds like a pansy to me.”
“Wait ‘til you meet him,” she said “He’s …something, all right.”
She could feel Blackburn staring at her as he tried to figure out exactly what her last statement meant. After a few seconds, he shook his head in exasperation, and refocused on the road ahead.
Luckily, they did not have to go far. Amy was so geared up as to what Jackson might have discovered that she tapped her fingers against the car’s armrest. Blackburn, to his credit, did not seem to notice or if he did, chose not to mention it. Wise on his part. As anxious as she was to get moving, she would have made him pay dearly for any sarcastic comment.
The snow from the day before had given way to the cold breeze and as a result there was no further accumulation. The city’s snowplows had done their job well as all roads were clear.
“That’s it,” Blackburn said, pointing in the direction of a four story brick building. “That’s the one.”
“Well, pull over, and let’s go see what Jackson has for us,” she said, her excitement mounting.
“Geez, Sommers, rein it in a bit will you? I gotta find somewhere to park first.”
Her impatience grew as Blackburn circled the block twice before finally finding a spot to park, half a block away. It meant another walk in the cold, but at this point she was so ready to get the information that she would have dog-sledded across Antarctica.
“Earth to Sommers, anybody home?”
“What?” she asked startled, so focused on getting to the apartment building she hadn’t realized Blackburn was speaking. “I’m sorry Reggie; I didn’t hear what you said.”
He chuckled. “I said, I tried calling Jackson again while I was waiting on you, but still no answer. I called his office too, on the off chance he decided to go into work early, but he was a no show there as well.”
They stopped in front of the old brick building. Sommers asked, “That’s a little odd isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess, but Jackson himself is a little odd, so, go figure.”
She shrugged and stepped through as Blackburn held the door for her, then followed right behind her.
Agent Ambrosius stood in front of what appeared to be the tenants’ mail slots. His expensive overcoat was a stark contrast against the severely outdated lobby, which looked like it had been decorated in the 1970’s, and had not seen an updating since.
She was annoyed by how casual Ambrosius appeared to be. Here they were on the cusp of possibly cracking this case wide open, and the British agent looked like he had just returned from a Sunday stroll. He must have picked up on her feelings or read the frown clearly showing on her face because he cracked a knowing grin when she glanced at him.
“Ah, Agent Sommers, we meet again,” Ambrosius said.
“Yeah, this is starting to become a regular habit,” she said, then turned her head so only Reggie could hear, “a regular bad habit.”
She winced as Blackburn elbowed her in the side before offering
his hand.
“You must be Agent Ambrosius. Agent Sommers told me you two had the chance to get acquainted last night. I’m Special Agent Reggie Blackburn.”
The British agent clasped the offered hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Agent Blackburn. And yes, Agent Sommers and I did get acquainted, if you can call it that.”
“I hate to break up the love fest, but we do have more pressing matters to attend to,” Sommers said, having had enough of the display of male bonding.
“Have you worked with this Mr. Jackson before?” Ambrosius asked as the three of them headed for the elevator.
“Yeah, I have used his services a couple of times and I know a few other agents have as well,” Blackburn answered. “Trust me, if anyone can figure out what the document says, it’s this guy.”
“I trust your judgment Agent Blackburn. I also understand the document in question is very old.”
“We think is at least 150 years old; maybe as much as 200,” Sommers said.
“I have been instructed by my Agency to bring the document back to London for safe keeping, if at all possible,” Ambrosius said.
The elevator arrived, and they all piled in. Reggie reached over to the control panel and pushed the button for the fourth floor. “After we are through translating it, and finding whatever it is those IRA terrorists were after, you are more than welcome to it.”
Sommers thought she detected a hint of annoyance in the large agent’s voice. She liked how he subtly explained the case came first and then Ambrosius could make whatever requests his heart desired. It seemed the British agent was starting to rub Reggie the wrong way as well. There was just something odd about the guy, something more to the guy than he was letting on. He gave off a strange vibe which set off her investigative early warning system. The fourth floor was as quiet as a church. They had not seen any other tenants. It was almost as if the place was deserted.
Her law enforcement honed senses picked up on something else, something was not quite right. Her instincts were telling her to proceed with care.