I stopped. We had another one that would need to be carried back now. Again, we could not leave him for the scavengers. Trophies should be earned, not scavenged off other people’s work. I gave Eric a look. His shoulders slumped and he moved forward. We both grabbed Alejandro. I made sure to grab his broken arm. He didn’t cry or protest as we dragged him across the floor. Eric got the attention of some of the women at the back. They grabbed hold of him.
“If you keep doing that, we are never going to make it out of this corridor. We can’t collect every serial killer you beat up,” Parsons told me.
“Well then, you should have shot him in the head,” I told her. She sighed. “Exactly,” I told her.
“He doesn’t look very dangerous at the moment,” she finally answered.
“He should be dead,” Eric told her. “I’m not sure why he isn’t.” I did. Hatred was a strong emotion in psychopaths. After a few more moments, I saw Alejandro’s feet disappear. We were moving again. It was almost amazing. The group slowed down and I thought about throwing a fit, but remembered there were active security doors ahead. I wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing.
“Do you know the master code?” I asked Parsons.
“No.”
“Well, damn. Who does?” I asked, hoping to get the stupid doors out of the way. We were trying to get out, not keep people in. Knowing the codes would help.
“I don’t know,” Parsons answered.
“You don’t know?” I looked at her a little confused.
“It changes every month. We open our locker and find the code. The next month, the code goes blank and a new person gets it. However, we can be fired for admitting we know the master code. If someone wanted to cause this, they could just take the code keeper hostage and force them to open it.”
“Really?” I looked at Eric. “So, somehow, the code keepers are working together. How long do you think that took to set up?”
“Not long with enough money,” Eric answered. “Money and influence grease a lot of wheels.”
“These are US Marshals,” I told him.
“US Marshals can be bought; they just have steep prices.” Eric looked up the hallway, across the herd. I could almost see him willing them forward. I considered that pearl of wisdom and wondered what my price was. I was willing to bet it wasn’t monetary.
Nineteen
The walk was slow, arduous, and irritating. We moved as a herd. The closer we got to our destination the further away we seemed to be.
It was a strange coincidence that Fiona’s sister was also named Isabella. My sister had gone by Izzy. I didn’t have many memories of her, but I could recall that. Bella, Fiona’s sister, walked very close to me, as if she were waiting for something to spring out and grab us. Then again, maybe she was. I wasn’t entirely convinced I was not waiting for the exact same thing. However, aside from our shuffling footsteps, the corridor had gone quiet.
The group stopped. We had reached the last door that separated us from the central hub and safety. That part made me the weariest. We were essentially caged animals now, trapped between two doors. If a group attacked, we would lose a few of our own before we managed to take them all out. Behind me, the footsteps began again.
We moved like zombies, a strange shuffling gait caused by being packed tightly together and dragging two injured men. I once again considered leaving them. Von Geldberg would last longer than Alejandro would, but Alejandro was already a member of the walking dead. His body just hadn’t caught up to his brain yet. Unfortunately, I had little doubt that if they were found in this condition, they would be tortured before killed. I didn’t mind a bit of either, but only if I was doing it.
Just as the final door closed, our herd suddenly stopped, shutting down the alarm reminding the guards that it was standing open. At least part of the group would be able to see the cafeteria. There was a shove to my back, then a second one, followed by a third. I risked it, turning my back to the door we had just come through.
We were moving backwards, or at least, there was an attempt being made to move backwards. One head bobbed up over the heads of the ladies. Caleb Green wasn’t exceptionally tall, like Malachi, but he was taller than most women were. He was pushing his way through, towards me. I knew it was me, because his eyes were locked on mine. For a man that didn’t make eye contact very often, it was significant.
“There’s a bomb on the cafeteria door,” Caleb whispered when he got close to me. “Several dead guys around the bomb, but there’s still a bomb.”
“Know anyone that can disable a bomb?” I asked him.
“Maybe Malachi, but if the door opens, it detonates and he’s on the wrong side. It also has a cell phone attached to it.”
“I hate bombers.”
“You hate a lot of things, none of which helps us at this exact moment. Can you disable it?”
“No.”
“I find that surprising.” Caleb looked around. “I’m not sure any of these women can either.”
“That explains why everything is so quiet; no need to make a fuss when you can just blow everything up. So, we kind of need a plan here. I’m definitely open to suggestions.” I looked at him and frowned. “Wait, you said there were dead guys around the bomb. How did they get dead? It is not like we are shooting through walls to kill them.” The cafeteria had a large door set in a cinder block wall. There were a few windows in it, but they were covered over with the same Plexiglas that covered the cells and things, which meant it wasn’t really Plexiglas, it was Lexan. Lexan was a polycarbonate, stronger than glass and Plexiglas. It could be used in bomb shields, bulletproofing, and even hold up under enormous water and wind pressures, based on the thickness. Really thick Lexan required a diamond saw to get through it as well as a cooling water flow to keep the Lexan and saw from getting too hot. There was a better than average chance that we were on the wrong side of the bomb, but those inside the cafeteria would be fine, as long as the door wasn’t opened. It did raise a lot of questions about the dead guys though.
“Interesting question.” Caleb nodded slowly a few times. “One of the dead guys is wearing a collar.”
“Father Schneider would have been looking to get inside.” I sighed. The Fortress held services for just about every religion, but only one would be inside on a weekday. Father Schneider was a serial killer for all the wrong reasons. He had been trying to help his parish, which was admirable, but he had failed when he started sacrificing the few for the many. Specifically, he was attempting to raise a demon through human sacrifice. Surprisingly, I could understand that.
“Because he was a priest?” Caleb looked at me.
“No, because he was a serial killer and a man of God,” I told Caleb. “That is the guy that was torching houses in Detroit. He is the one that started the Detroit raids.”
“Religion makes my head hurt.” Caleb shook his head as if attempting to shake out some cobwebs that had formed while I spoke. “What about the guys with him?”
“Father Schneider heard confessions on Tuesdays and Thursdays. They might have been in the chapel,” Bella told us.
“Is it a Tuesday or a Thursday?” I asked without thinking.
“Yes,” Caleb answered. “It’s a Tuesday. It’s the most vulnerable day of the week for the federal prosecutor’s office.”
“Us too,” Marshal Parsons answered.
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s trainee day,” Parsons and Green both answered.
“If we get new Marshals, they start on Tuesdays,” Parsons continued. “Same with the prosecutor’s office and all the other judiciary offices that the Marshals staff. The FGN and FGA take their new trainees on Saturdays, so it isn’t among the vulnerable.”
“And this is common knowledge?” I hadn’t known about it.
“Not really,” Green said. “The VCU knows. We made the suggestion to use Tuesdays and Saturdays. Tuesdays are frequently slow. Everyone has gotten through the weekend rush on Mondays and so Tues
days are mostly paperwork, then trials and what not tend to happen on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Friday is another paperwork day, but it is also a prep day to prepare for weekend captures.”
“I used to work for the Office of Special Operations. We were the ones that process your captures and move them to secure locations while they await trials and things,” Parsons told me. “Fridays might be days for paperwork everywhere else, but with the SCTU and VCU, not to mention the average traffic stop that ends in a shootout, and some poor traffic cop finding a dead body in the trunk, we always had to be prepared. Usually, on Tuesdays we could sit back and take a breath because all the weekend paperwork was done by then.”
“However, if we consider one or more Marshals are in on this, then there is a good chance they would know.” I sighed again because I didn’t have room to kick a wall.
“What are you thinking when you sigh?” Bella, who had been listening in, asked.
“You do not want to know,” Green answered for me. “Now, about the bomb?”
“I know nothing about bombs except that I do not like them,” I glared at him. It didn’t seem that long ago that I had held my hand over a gaping wound in Xavier while he bled to death on a dusty fairground path. Or suffered the skin grafts that had needed to be done to repair my back. Or had been told that Xavier was dead only to have him magically be resurrected due to a clerical error. Nick the Bomber was dead and I was fine with that, but he was not the only madman who knew how to make bombs and I was ineffectual against them. We couldn’t go back. We couldn’t go forward. We couldn’t attack this with brute force. I was at a complete loss. “Is it a big bomb?”
“I don’t know.” Caleb frowned.
“You are FBI, so are you not required to take bomb disposal classes?” I asked.
“No.” Caleb frowned harder and stopped looking at me. “If we had Xavier or Lucas…” he stopped himself from saying anything more.
“Xavier would die in here,” I reminded him. Xavier had a bleeding disorder. Most of the time, it wasn’t an issue. We avoided letting him get hurt.
“I know, but they both know about bombs,” Caleb said.
“Why do we not focus on a plausible plan,” I suggested.
“Because I don’t have one and neither do you.”
“We could freeze it with liquid nitrogen. That would break the wires,” I offered.
“First, we don’t have any liquid nitrogen. Second, I don’t know that liquid nitrogen would freeze C-4. Third, and most importantly, we do not have any liquid nitrogen,” Caleb responded.
“Okay, you mentioned that we do not have liquid nitrogen twice. Also, I’m sure it would freeze the C-4 and turn it into a crumbly powder.”
“Have you done it before?” Caleb asked.
“No, but liquid nitrogen freezes living things. I had a professor that dropped a scorpion in liquid nitrogen. When he took it out, it shattered. If it will freeze bodies, it should disable C-4.”
“Don’t you people watch MythBusters?” Parsons asked. We both turned to look at her. “It doesn’t damage C-4, but it will stop it from detonating if poured on the explosive and the battery. They tested the myth from Lethal Weapon 2. It took something like ten minutes for the explosion.”
“See,” I stuck my tongue out at Caleb. If we had liquid nitrogen, we had a plan. “I do not suppose you have gobs of liquid nitrogen lying around, do you?”
“We cater to serial killers and mass murderers, not scientists,” Parsons answered. “However, there might be some in the medical unit, since it is used to freeze off warts and other skin deformities.”
“It’s going to require a lot of Compound W,” Caleb sighed.
“Actually, doctors’ offices keep it in pure form for that. It works better than the home stuff,” I told him.
“Do I want to know how you know that?” Caleb asked.
“There have been a ton of frogs in my life,” I smirked. “Where is the medical bay from here?”
“Third floor,” Parsons said.
“Send Eric,” I told Caleb.
Rhonda
Rhonda Mitchell was starting to get nervous. The dead bodies in the hallway bothered her, but the conspiring Aislinn Cain bothered her more. None of this had been part of the deal. She was just supposed to unlock a few doors, get revenge on Aislinn Cain, and score a big payday. Fighting for her life had not been included. Hoping the psycho Clachan clan and their motley crew of US Marshals, FBI agents, and serial killers could keep her alive to cash the check also hadn’t been mentioned, and neither had the bombs.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she didn’t seem to know a whole lot about the master plan. The portion she’d received seemed miniscule. She was starting to think she wasn’t supposed to make it out alive, that no one was.
If you had asked her six months ago, she would have told you she was a good US Marshal. She was dedicated to her job. In fact, she had loved it. Working in the Fortress meant that she could have the family life she had always wanted while still wearing a badge. Her pay was good. She had a house in the FGN. Her two children attended a preschool in the same neighborhood, run by a former teacher. Her oldest was set to start kindergarten after the summer break at a protected school. Her life had been going just fine and then, something had changed.
First, she had gone on a date with Malachi Blake. A first had led to a second, then a third, then some heavy panting. Second, there had been the bombing at the FGN. That had been a real shocker. It had proven the FGN wasn’t as safe as they all thought. Malachi had told her while he was in the hospital that he just couldn’t get serious. Aislinn Cain had been there that day, lurking in the hallway. It was obvious that he was enthralled by her, not Rhonda. Rhonda hadn’t gotten mad then, only after she left. Third, her oldest had found a hand in their yard a few days later leftover from the explosion. Finally, the offer. An anonymous man had offered her a couple of million dollars to use the master code at a specific time and place. He’d even set up a bank account. She thought about reporting it, but so much had gone on. A few million dollars and she could quit being a Marshal, move somewhere more secluded, away from the blood and death, raise her kids in a place they wouldn’t find hands in the backyard.
Then he had added the real kicker. Aislinn Cain was supposed to die by the end of the day. He wanted her gone. Rhonda wasn’t required to kill the other Marshal, just help set her up. She would be getting money and revenge. It was a sweet deal and she had fallen for it.
Now, in the cold light of day, with a serial killer uprising on their hands, Rhonda was rethinking things. Of course, if she confessed all, there was a pretty good chance she’d get her own cage. Her kids would go live in foster care. The mystery man would have her killed. Her options were very limited by her rash decisions. She could see that now. If only she’d seen it a few months ago, this would not be happening at all.
However, it was obvious that she wasn’t the only one who had taken the mystery man up on his deal. At least one male guard was in on it, probably more. For all she knew, the warden was in on it.
Then there were the killers themselves. Two in the women’s ward, Jackie Moore and Hannah Graham that she knew of. It was possible there were more that she didn’t know about. The killers didn’t always share that kind of information with her. Jackie had once been a hooker until she started robbing and killing her johns because it was an easier way to make money. Hannah was certifiable. Hannah lived by the motto that little girls should be seen and not heard. To that end, she had poisoned thirty-six girls under the age of twelve for being too loud and boisterous. Some had been neighborhood children, some had been strangers in public places like the mall or restaurant, but she was caught poisoning her nieces. If someone had asked Rhonda about who posed the greatest threat to the outside world, it would have been Hannah.
Yet, Isabella Stewart was a pretty close second. Isabella liked chopping people up, specifically guys that she caught cheating on their wives and girlf
riends. However, Isabella was sisters with a US Marshal SCTU member, so she would be one of the good guys. She would die for Fiona Stewart, as much as Eric Clachan would die for Aislinn Cain. Rhonda snuck a glance at the petite, scarred up Marshal. Hannah and Isabella Stewart were dangerous, but watching her in action, Rhonda was positive that Aislinn Cain had both of them beat. Cain seemed oblivious to the fact that she was leaving bloody footprints. She didn’t seem to notice that her jeans were soaked in blood or that some part of her upper body was still bleeding, making the stain on her shirt continue to spread. Rhonda took a moment to size up the smaller Marshal. Only one boot was leaving the prints. One boot that had darker stitching near the bottom where the sole connected to the leather. A few small trails of fluid were also visible, running over the thick rubber sole and into the treads. Her injury had to be bad, but she walked on it as if there were nothing strange about her bleeding boot.
Perhaps for the first time, Rhonda realized that Cain was not her nemesis, as she thought. If Aislinn Cain enchanted Malachi Blake, it was because she was as fucked up and damaged as he was. On the flip side, Cain did not seem to harbor any attractions to anyone. Even staring at the handsome Caleb Green didn’t seem to register with her. She’d heard the rumors that Cain was asexual, but hadn’t believed them, until now. Rhonda couldn’t imagine being surrounded by attractive men and not noticing, but it was clear on Cain’s face that she thought little of them physically, except what they could or could not handle and move out of her way.
Fortified Dreams Page 14