Jake and Annie exchanged a look. “We’ll call you,” Annie said.
“How about, I’ll call you,” Geekly said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “I may have to consult with a friend on this one. He’s got more equipment for this sort of thing than I do.”
“Can you see him right away?” Jake asked.
“Yup. I already called him yesterday, straight after you phoned. He’s expecting me. We’ll get this thing figured out, no problem.”
Jake stood. “We need it asap.”
“Don’t worry. I’m on it. Now get out of here and let me do my job.”
Chapter 53
Friday, August 26th, 9:14 AM
THE TEAM of Hank Corning and Simon King approached Auburn Street and circled the block for the third time.
It was a decrepit part of the city, narrow streets, squat two-story tenements, dark alleys and steaming sewers. A row of government subsidized housing held a mix of the lazy, the lonely and the leeches; many preying on others, some struggling to live, most surviving honestly and praying for better days.
Hank turned down Auburn again, and from the passenger’s seat, King scrutinized the few who trod the dusty, littered streets. None yet fitted the description of the drug dealer they were searching for.
“I think we’re chasing a bum lead,” King said. “How can you trust the word of someone who lives on the street and probably never worked a day in his life?”
Hank shot King a frown. “Just relax, will you? We’ll find him. You worked narcotics, so you know he has to show up eventually or he’s out of business.”
King pointed down an alleyway to his right. “That could be a crack house.”
Hank slowed and peered at the ravaged building, long ago neglected, with broken windows and graffiti-clad walls.
“There he is,” King said. “Keep moving. Pull over up there.”
Hank steered to the curb past the alleyway and King jumped out. He shut the door and spoke through the open window, “Drive around to the next street and come down the alley from the other end. I’ll come at him from here, and if he tries to run, he’ll be trapped.”
Hank nodded and touched the gas. He circled the block, pulled over and jumped out. As he entered the alley he saw King step into view at the other end.
He closed the gap, avoiding overflowing dumpsters, a skittering rat or two, broken bottles and rusty tin cans.
The quarry turned his head toward Hank and watched a moment, and then spun the other way, but stopped short when he saw King. He turned back and dashed into the building.
Hank and King scrambled to the doorway. Hank kicked the half-open door and it sprang inward, threatening to fall from its hinges. They could hear the target ahead, running up a flight of stairs.
“Police. Stop.”
The man payed no mind.
They charged inside, Hank first, King behind, the taste of foul air in their mouth. Hank withdrew his gun, held it ready and moved cautiously up the steps. King drew his weapon and followed.
The sound of running feet thumped the floorboards above.
At the top of the stairs, a hallway led to several rooms. Hank caught sight of a leather jacket disappear through a doorway down the hall. The door slammed, but Hank’s jackboot splintered it open.
Their prey scrambled through a window in the room, trying to get to a fire escape. His cap fell to the floor as he attempted to twist around. Too late. Hank caught a handful of jacket and heaved the frightened man in.
He landed on the floor, panting. “I didn’t do nothin’. What do you want?” His voice quivered as he whined.
King trained his gun on the squirming man. “We want to talk to you. Stand up.”
The man lay still. “What’re you going to do? Let me go.”
Hank slipped his pistol back into its holder and turned to King. “Put your gun away.”
King holstered his weapon, bent down and gripped the suspect by the jacket with both hands. He yanked him to his feet, slammed him against the wall and held him. The terrified man’s feet dangled, inches off the floor.
“We want to talk to you,” King said.
“What about? I ain’t got nothin’ on me.”
King freed one hand and reached into the pocket of the man’s jacket. He pulled out a handful of small, neatly wrapped packages. “What’s this?” he asked, tossing the packets over his shoulder. They fluttered to the floor.
The dealer looked down at his scattered wares. “That ain’t mine.”
King laughed. “Whose is it?”
A shrug, fear in his eyes, and then, “What do you want?”
Hank put his hand on King’s shoulder. “Let him loose. He’s not going anywhere.”
The man brought his hands up chest-high and tried to look honest. “He’s right. I’m not going anywhere. I swear.”
King released his grip on the jacket and stood back. The dealer’s feet reached for the floor, and then he stumbled, tottered and fell back against the wall but managed to stay upright.
“What’s your name?” Hank asked.
The hood straightened the collar of his jacket and looked sheepish. “John.”
“Last name?”
He thought a moment. “Jones.”
Hank laughed. “Well John Jones, we want to ask you about what you saw yesterday.”
“And you won’t run me in?”
King looked at Hank, and then moved in, his face a few inches away from the villain. He glared, “I oughta run you in just for being an idiot.”
“Take it easy, King,” Hank said. King stepped back and the dealer watched in horror as the cop stomped a couple of his precious baggies into the floor.
“We won’t run you in, Mr. Jones,” Hank said. “If you tell us about the boy you saw abducted yesterday.”
The man lifted his eyes. “What boy?”
Hank sighed and waved toward King. “Do you want this guy to ask you next time, or would you sooner I did?”
The dope peddler looked at King, and then back at Hank. “All right. I seen him.”
“What did you see?”
“The kid was in the alley. I never seen him before and he just walked past and out to the street.”
“And?”
“And this car pulls up and he got in. But I think they pulled him in. Kidnapped him, maybe.”
“What kind of car?”
“It was an Escalade. Black.”
“You’re sure it was black? Not dark blue?”
“It was black for sure. I swear, it was . . .”
King interrupted with, “What else did you see?”
“Nothin’. It just drove away.”
“How many guys?”
“Two . . . I think. Plus the driver.”
“Did you recognize them?”
“Nope. I swear, I never seen none of them before.”
King leaned in, his fist clenched. “If you’re lying to us I know where to find you.”
The man raised his hands as if to protect himself from a blow. “Why would I lie? That’s what I saw.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Hank said.
“Can I go now?”
Hank stood back and waved toward the door. “Go.”
King stepped aside and the pusher crouched down and scrambled to gather up his scattered merchandise. King’s boot caught him heavily in the shoulder and sent the dealer tumbling to his back. He glared up at the cop. “What’d you do that for?”
“Leave that and get out of here.” King pointed to the door.
The dealer looked at his packets on the floor, and then stumbled to his feet, grabbed his cap, and limped from the room, holding his bruised shoulder.
King folded his arms and watched him leave. “I may come back for that low-life later.”
Hank looked at King. “You can if you want, but wait until you get back into narcotics. Right now, you’re a homicide cop, and we have a lead to follow.”
Chapter 54
Friday, August 26th, 9
:22 AM
WOLFF STRAIGHTENED his back and pushed his chair away from the desk. The boy had seemed to be making progress but had caught him completely by surprise the evening before.
He went into the adjoining washroom and checked the bandage on the back of his head. He no longer needed it. The bleeding had stopped now, but his head was still sore. He decided to be more careful.
He didn’t really blame the boy. He was obviously frightened and desperate, and like a caged animal, did what he could to escape.
Wolff was satisfied with the overall results they were achieving. The conditioning of the candidates was going well, though he wasn’t pleased with losing them when their mission had been completed. He still firmly believed in the cause, but all this killing was not to his liking. Sure, the targets deserved it, but there was no reason the assassins should be eliminated.
In a way, they were just victims of circumstances, but now with the tracker, he hoped they could bring them in when the job was completed, and only eliminate them if necessary. That would be more efficient and would allow him the proper amount of time to assure each candidate was at peak conditioning.
He thought back to the period, decades ago, when he’d been working on the official project with his mentor, Oliver Craig, Sr. They hadn’t had the same technology at the time, and once the mission was begun, it was impossible to track progress, and often things didn’t go as planned.
Thanks to new technology, combined with his own research and Mr. Craig’s personal notes that survived the project, he was seeing vast improvements in the whole process, and he had perfected the methodology.
He didn’t really enjoy the first stages of the procedure. The kids were frightened and, at times, Wolff felt some compassion toward them, especially during the periods when the various forms of torture were necessary. However, he was convinced it was for the best and would benefit society as a whole.
The later stages however, were what he enjoyed most. Watching as he shaped them into what was needed, and then, when they were fully formed, he felt like he’d created something wonderful. It made him feel like a Wizard, not just in name for the sake of conditioning, but in reality.
He went back to the laboratory and looked at the vast array of equipment amassed since this current project was founded. He was adept in the use of everything he saw before him, and though he knew he might not be long for this world, he was pleased Craig in his wisdom had found another who would carry on his work.
Muller was young but showed definite promise, and his dedication to the cause reminded him of himself in his younger years.
Yes, Muller would be the future of the project, and their efforts would continue through him.
He was startled by the phone ringing. He hurried to his desk and picked it up.
It was Mr. Craig.
“Wolff, the girl failed in her second attempt.”
“I’m not happy to hear that, sir.”
He heard Craig sigh over the line. “Neither am I.”
“Are you convinced the Lincolns are a threat?” Wolff asked.
“I am. We must try again.”
“We have no more candidates ready, sir.”
Craig swore. “How long?”
“The new boy has a lot of spirit and may take longer than anticipated, and the other two are still in the middle of the process. Fortunately, there has been a dramatic decrease in the time necessary since the first girl. She was more of a learning process for us, and we have made great strides since her, however, it may be a few days before I can safely offer you the next perfected candidate.”
There was silence. Finally Craig said, “Then, we must wait.” He swore again.
“Sir?”
“Yes, what is it, Wolff?”
“I know you have insisted in the past, after each mission the candidate should eliminate themselves, but I think that will soon be no longer necessary.”
“It’s too dangerous, Wolff.”
Wolff hesitated. “I have been working on a kill chip, sir.”
“A kill chip?”
“Yes. Combining it with the transmitter will allow us to trigger it remotely in the event of a capture. This would eliminate any danger which could result.”
“Why have you not implemented it yet?”
“It’s not ready, sir. Laboratory tests on mice have been successful, however there have been a few failures. I still need to do more testing.”
“How long until it’s ready?”
“I can’t say, sir. Perhaps a week or two. A month at the most. In the last three candidates, as a test, we’ve successfully planted the GPS transmitter next to the amygdala, where the new device will eventually go to function properly.”
“Excellent work, Wolff.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Craig sighed. “So now we must wait for more candidates before we proceed with our plans.”
“Yes, however that may give things a chance to cool off.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. At any rate, it wouldn’t hurt to send the boys out to search for another acquisition.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll send them later today.”
“Keep me posted, Wolff.”
“I will, sir.”
Wolff hung up the phone. He couldn’t understand why Mr. Craig was in such a hurry. The cause had been alive for decades, and perhaps in one form or another, for hundreds of years. It certainly wouldn’t be fully accomplished in his lifetime, and not in Mr. Craig’s lifetime either.
But, like his father, Mr. Craig was one of the elite, and knew what was best.
Chapter 55
Friday, August 26th, 10:44 AM
JAKE PACED THE living room floor, thinking about the case, eagerly waiting for Geekly to get back to him.
He’d picked up his cell a couple of times, but changed his mind. He knew his friend would call as soon as he came up with something.
Annie was in the office doing some vital research for a client; nothing she couldn’t take care of in a few minutes online, and she wanted to get it out of the way.
The Escalade was the best lead they had at the moment, and he was impatient. He grabbed his iPhone and speed-dialed Hank.
“Detective Hank Corning.”
“Hank, did you have any luck finding that guy?”
Sounds of traffic came over the line. “Sure did.” A car honked and King swore.
“What’d you get from him? Did you get the color of the vehicle?” Jake asked.
“It’s black. The Escalade is black. I’ve already called Callaway and he’ll have a list for me when I get back to the station.” Hank paused. “What are you planning on doing with the information?”
“We may do a little research on our own.”
“What kind of research?”
“Not sure yet,” Jake said. “Did he have anything else?”
“No. Nothing at all.”
“You think he’s telling the truth?”
“I think so. King’s not so sure.”
“Why would he lie?” Jake asked.
“That’s what I said. Anyway, King did a number on him and he was too afraid to lie.”
Jake heard King laugh, and then say, “That little weasel had it coming.”
“Let me know if Callaway’s list turns up anything,” Jake said, and then terminated the call. They had something at least, not much, but more than they had a while ago.
He tucked his phone away, wandered into the office and dropped into the guest chair. Annie looked up at him.
“The Escalade is black,” he said, and then filled her in on the rest of the conversation.
“They couldn’t make it easy for us, could they?” Annie said. “Black is the most common color for Escalades. Why couldn’t it be yellow or something?”
Jake chuckled. “The bad guys always like black. Black cars, black hats, and black deeds.”
“To match their black hearts.”
The office phone rang and Annie put it on speaker.
&
nbsp; It was Geekly.
“I have something for you. This is definitely a GPS transmitter.”
Jake leaned forward and gave Annie a thumbs-up. He spoke into the phone, “Excellent work, but why didn’t the police lab come up with that?”
“It’s rather sophisticated and different than usual. A GPS transmitter normally transmits at regular intervals and sends the position of the device. This device transmits infrequently, presumably to extend battery life. The police lab likely didn’t allow for a long enough testing period, or perhaps don’t have the right equipment.”
“And you do?”
“My friend does.”
Annie asked, “So, it’s emitting a signal, but can you tell where the signal is being picked up from?”
“My friend was able to locate approximately where the GPS receiver is located. I didn’t think it was possible, but he’s a whiz at this kind of stuff.”
“Spare me the technical details,” Jake said. “Just tell me where the receiver is.”
“Northeast of the city. He couldn’t track it down any closer, but likely less than a couple of miles from the outskirts.”
“That’s a lot of territory.”
“It’s a lot of territory, but a lot of it is farmland with only a few roads in the area.”
Annie had turned back to the computer. Jake glanced over. She was doing something with MapQuest. She had the satellite view up and was leaned in, peering at the monitor.
“Anything else you can tell us?” Jake asked Geekly.
“That’s all there is.”
“Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”
“You owe me a lot more than one.”
Jake laughed. “Someday I’ll return the favor.”
“I’ll wait. Talk to you later.”
Jake pushed the hang up icon and looked back at Annie. “I should let Hank know about this.”
She nodded and Jake called Hank’s number.
“This is Detective Hank Corning. Leave a message.”
Jake detailed what Geekly had found, and ended with, “We may drive out there and take a look around.” He dropped the phone back in its cradle.
Justice for Hire Page 20