“Really, hmm, we’ll be needing one soon. All right, grab a pen and I’ll tell you two where to meet me.”
Abadandi interviewed them at a coffee shop in the city. It was during one of his rare trips outside the Citadel. On such occasions, Abadandi looked over the books of the employment agency he owned. He also held a meeting with the company that handled the Citadel supply runs.
Ann was aware of Abadandi’s interest in her right away, since the older man had trouble keeping his eyes off her. They left the coffee shop with an information packet and a contract that never mentioned the Citadel by name. In the paperwork, it was referred to as the facility or simply, the business.
The financial remuneration mentioned was almost unbelievable and a big part of why Ann, against her better judgement, agreed to go to the Citadel. She was far from the first or the last who would be seduced by the lure of easy money.
* * *
Needing answers and worried about her friends, Ann rushed across the street and rapped on the door of a Tudor-style home. The house belonged to Bill and June Humphreys. Ann had met June only twice, but like Gary and Sylvia, Bill had been working at the Citadel during Ann’s time there. It was Sylvia who had recommended the job to him as well.
When an older black man opened the door and sent her an inquisitive smile, Ann wondered if she’d somehow knocked on the wrong door, but no, she was at the right address.
“Hi, can I help you?”
“Yes, I was looking for the Humphreys. I thought this was their house.”
“It was,” the man said, as his smile faded. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but they both passed away.”
“On no, what happened?”
“I was told by our realtor that the couple who owned the house before us were killed in a car accident. Sadly, it seemed the husband had been drinking at the time.”
“Drinking? But Bill didn’t drink.”
The guy made a slight shrugging motion. “That’s what I was told.”
Ann pointed across the street. “Do you know anything about that fire?”
The man looked stricken by the question. “Did you know Gary and Sylvia too?”
“They’re dead?”
He nodded with a grim expression. “They both died in the fire. I hear they suspected arson.”
Ann looked dazed as she tried to process all she had just learned. She thanked the man and walked slowly back to the jeep.
She and Jack had moved out of their rented home and placed their things in a storage facility when they moved to the Citadel. The monthly bill was being paid automatically from a checking account. The account had been funded by selling their cars. No one needed their car at the Citadel. Ann drove there, opened the unit, and rummaged around until she found her old address book.
When she and Jack were hired, they had come recommended by several people who had once worked at the same defunct prison Jack had been at. Three of those men had left during their time at the Citadel, while two others departed the Citadel as they were preparing to enter as their replacements.
* * *
An hour later, Ann was sitting inside the storage unit while using a large box for a chair.
Next to the box was an open bin full of toiletries. Upon seeing them, Ann wondered what she had been thinking when she placed them in storage. The hairspray, toothpaste, and deodorant had all expired.
She had called Jack’s former fellow prison guards and found that their phones had all been disconnected. Near the storage facility was an internet café. Ann had traveled there on foot and done research.
Her friends were all dead, either through car accidents, robbery, or what was in one case being called misadventure, a fall down a flight of stone steps.
A sound outside in the corridor made Ann raise her head, and she saw Begley and Serge staring in at her.
“Thank God I found you,” Begley said.
“Where’s the girl, Ann?” Serge asked.
And as Ann thought of Cindy, she wept once more.
* * *
Clark Hawthorne had followed Begley and Serge after they left the Citadel. He was wearing an oversized hooded sweatshirt that not only helped to hide his face from the cameras, but also hid the bulge of the holster he wore.
Hawthorne was a timid-looking man who grew up in the same neighborhood as Abadandi but was three years younger. Hawthorne was a sociopath who made his living as an actuary for an insurance company. Killing people was just a lucrative sideline.
Before founding the Citadel, Abadandi ran his employment agency himself, which was how he was able to find the first employees hired for the Citadel. When Clark Hawthorne’s résumé had come across his desk, Abadandi recognized the name and was curious to see how Clark had turned out.
Although Hawthorne was already employed by an insurance company, it was during a period when the actuary had been looking for greener pastures. Abadandi interviewed him.
“You’ve been with your company for years, why leave now?”
“I’m bored out of my mind.”
“I’m actually surprised to find you living a normal life, Clark. I thought they had locked you away forever after what happened between you and that girl… what was her name again?”
“Janice, and she survived the strangling. My father hired a fantastic lawyer who had the charges reduced. That incident is buried along with the rest of my juvenile record.”
“Janice, yeah, Bobby Parson’s kid sister. Were you really trying to kill her?”
“I didn’t strangle her long enough. I know better now.”
Realizing he may have said too much, Clark had risen to leave Abadandi’s office.
“It’s been nice seeing you again, Rich.”
“Hold on,” Abadandi told him. “I think I’ll soon have some work for you after all.”
Once the Citadel was up and running, Clark Hawthorne was put to work as an assassin and was no longer bored. Abadandi paid him five-thousand dollars for every murder, many of which were deemed accidents by the authorities.
None of the Citadel’s clients had left the place to begin new lives under assumed identities. They had all been killed by Clark Hawthorne and buried in unmarked graves. Likewise, the employees of the Citadel were murdered when they decided to end their association with the fortress.
The large salaries the Citadel paid never left the accounts they were deposited in, and Clark Hawthorne had a regular supply of victims to kill. To date, no one in law-enforcement had linked the deaths, although there were numerous open case files for arson homicides and murders related to robbery.
* * *
Hawthorne watched from the ground floor of the storage building as Begley and Serge stood outside a third-floor unit. The men were speaking to someone inside the small space. A woman’s voice answered them, although Hawthorne was too far away to make out the conversation.
He had not heard a child’s voice and wondered if it meant that the woman had already dropped the girl off somewhere. If so, it was too bad. Hawthorne had been looking forward to killing Cindy. He had killed several boys, two while he was also still a boy himself, but never a girl.
Ever since Janice Parson survived her strangling, Clark had felt cheated out of the experience. He shrugged mentally. It was of little matter, the opportunity would present itself again someday, and when it did, he would take advantage of it.
Hawthorne’s attention was brought back to the present when he heard Begley raise his voice.
* * *
“What do you mean she’s dead? What happened to Cindy?”
Ann explained Cindy’s sad fate between sobs. When Begley opened his arms for her to join him for a comforting embrace, she scowled at him through her tears.
“You’ll never touch me again and I’m not going back to the Citadel. I’m getting as far away from that place as I can, and so should you.”
Ann filled her husband and Serge in on what she had discovered about the people who’d left the Citadel before them. Se
rge shook his head in denial of her words.
“I’ve been at the Citadel long enough to see over a dozen people come and go, not counting all the recent deaths we’ve suffered. Those people can’t be dead.”
“I can prove to you that at least seven of them are, Serge. Some died in accidents and some were murdered, but they’re all dead.”
“We saw Gary and Sylvia’s house when we went back to our neighborhood to look for you,” Begley said. “We also learned about what happened to the Humphreys.”
“And others died too,” Ann said.
“Why would someone do that, and who?” Serge asked.
The question hung in the air until Begley answered from a face gone pale with shock.
“The why is money,” Begley said, “and the who would be Abadandi. That son of a bitch is killing people, so he can hold onto their money.”
“But he could do that anyway and hide out in the Citadel,” Ann said.
“Hide out from former guards who know where all the exits and entrances are? And remember, I replaced Danny Greer. Danny also had the codes to the tunnels and could name all the guests who had stayed at the Citadel. Rather than risk someone talking or coming back to harm him… Abadandi had them… eliminated.”
“Fuck me,” Serge said.
“We have to find out who owns the Citadel and let them know what’s really going on,” Begley said.
“I can’t prove it,” Ann said, “but Jack, I think Abadandi owns the Citadel. He just pretends to be hired help like the rest of us.”
Begley took Ann by the arm and pulled her to her feet.
“We need to get out of here. Abadandi might have sent someone after us.”
“Oh, that he did,” Hawthorne said from the doorway, “and this seems as good a place as any to kill you.”
61
Two-Prong Attack
BROOKLYN, OCTOBER 2018
Tanner returned Tyrese’s call and set up a meeting for the following evening at eight p.m.
He told Tyrese that he would send a text with the location thirty minutes beforehand. That way, Biggs couldn’t lay a trap for him.
“I think he really wants peace, Tanner,” Tyrese said.
“No, he wants to kill me, but that’s okay, because it will give me a chance to kill him.”
“Damn, man, you’re not going to start shooting the second we show up, are you?”
“I won’t make the first move, but I’ll make the last one if anything happens.”
“Good, then you’ll see that there’s no reason for any more shit to go down.”
“We’ll see, Tyrese.”
* * *
Tanner had chosen to meet on a dead-end street in Brooklyn where the factories closed at five o’clock. By eight, the area was a ghost town with the only traffic coming from someone making the occasional wrong turn.
Tanner was seated in the driver’s seat of a black car. When the motion detectors he’d set up near the entrance to the street sounded off, he knew he had visitors. The night-vision monocular he wore revealed four shapes dressed in black moving in a crouch toward his position. Each carried a shotgun. The four figures stopped when they were thirty yards away and found places of concealment. Two hid at the rear of a dumpster, while the other two settled behind a huge air compressor unit.
The motion detectors beeped again as Maurice Biggs’ bullet-proof Cadillac Escalade turned onto the street. As it drew close to Tanner with its windows rolled down, the second set of motion detectors beeped. Tanner had taken off the night-vision monocular so that Biggs would think he was ignorant of the ambush in the works.
Tanner admired the ambush. The way the Escalade was parked, the vehicle would block his view of anyone approaching on foot. If not for the motion detectors he had in place, the plan would have worked perfectly.
Biggs’ driver had one of the largest heads Tanner had ever seen. He idly wondered if the man had trouble buying a hat that fit. Seated in the rear of the vehicle was Maurice Biggs, and beside him was Tyrese.
Biggs stared at Tanner with a dead-eyed gaze that all bangers eventually perfected. It was a soulless look that spoke of the hatred in their hearts. Tanner returned the gaze without blinking and watched Biggs smile.
“I heard you had some sort of weird eyes, Tanner, but they ain’t weird, they just… serious.”
“Do you agree to leave James and Debra Washington alone?”
“James shot my cousin Trigger over in Jersey.”
“I was there, and your cousin and three kids were trying to kill James.”
“You were the dude that shot the little brothers, and I guess the woman was your ho, hmm?”
“Call her that again, Maurice, and the truce is over, along with your life.”
“I could call her Sara Blake, that’s her name, ain’t it.”
Tanner felt something slithering along his spine. It wasn’t fear, but it was apprehension. Biggs knowing Sara’s name was not good.
“If you’re thinking of using her against me, think again. For one thing, Sara can take care of herself.”
“Against three men? Because that’s what she’ll be facing.”
“What are you talking about, Maurice?” Tyrese said. “You sent Bloods to kill Tanner’s woman?”
Biggs ignored Tyrese and spoke to his driver. “Do it now, Melon Head.”
Melon Head gave the horn two short beeps. That was followed by softer-sounding beeps going off inside Tanner’s car. The men with the shotguns had activated the second set of motion detectors as they drew nearer. Tanner brought up his gun to fire at Biggs, but the man had the bullet-resistant glass of the Escalade rising up to protect him.
An instant later and the Cadillac was on the move, allowing the men with the shotguns a clean line of fire. With four armed men closing in on him, Tanner ducked down inside the car. Despite the seriousness of his situation, his mind was on Sara, and the danger she faced.
* * *
Sara spotted the SUV with the tinted windows following her because the driver tailed too closely. The traffic was thick enough that he could have stayed back six car lengths and kept her in sight, instead, he maneuvered routinely to stay two lengths back. When she saw the faint silhouettes of three figures in the car, she decided that her best bet would be to lose them.
She sped up at the last moment as a light was turning red and made it through before the intersection filled with traffic again. After making a series of rights and lefts, she was certain that she had lost them. She assumed that they were Boulevard Bloods and wondered how they knew to follow her. Four minutes later, as she pulled up in front of her client’s business, Sara called and spoke to Tang.
Tang assured her that things were quiet but that he would stay on alert. Sara hung up just as Susan Thomas came to the door, unlocked it, and greeted Sara.
“I’m sorry to bring you out here again but I practically live at the store these days.”
Sara looked around the shop and saw that there was only the glow of back-up lighting illuminating it. At the rear where the office was, exposed wiring still hung down. There had been some progress. The new wallboard was up, and all but the ceiling had a fresh coat of paint.
“You’re still without power?” Sara asked.
“Sort of, the new panel box is installed, and the circuit breakers are in it, but something keeps shorting out the heating system. I’ve been wearing my jacket indoors for days now. The electrician promised he’d have it all sorted out tomorrow.”
Susan pointed at the new gray box attached to the left wall. There was a strip of yellow caution tape sealing its door.
The sharp squeal of brakes came from out on the street. When Sara turned to look at what had caused it, she saw the SUV that had been following her. She’d been certain that she had left them far behind and wondered if they had attached a tracking device to her car.
The gangbangers left the SUV with Nicholas becoming visible first. He was a large black man with a beard and the physique of a bo
dybuilder. Despite the chill in the air he was wearing a tank top and his biceps flexed with each movement he made.
“That man has a shotgun,” Susan said. “They all do.”
Sara took out her own gun and Susan gasped.
“I need you to do what I say, Susan. Those men want to hurt me, and they would harm you too, but I’ll handle them.”
“Oh Lord, there are three of them.”
Sara took Susan by the arm and led her back toward the office, on the way there, she rolled into position the metal scaffolding that the painters were using. After shoving Susan into the office, she closed the door behind her.
Someone kicked the locked shop door and it rattled. A second kick was followed by the sound of wood splintering.
Sara yanked on the extension cord running from the generator behind the shop and the portable lighting went out.
A third kick made the door fly inward and the three bangers entered. Sara held her gun in both hands, peered into the darkness, and said a prayer that the plan she had in mind worked out.
62
Something’s Amiss
OUTSIDE PORTLAND, OREGON, JANUARY 2003
Cody and Romeo learned about Ann’s escape from the talkative German kitchen staff member that brought them their meals.
It was also being said that Ann had spirited away Kabell’s child bride. Cody and Romeo were glad of that. They hadn’t been looking forward to having to deal with the girl when they killed Kabell. If she had resisted them, she might have gotten injured, and would have had to be restrained and gagged no matter what.
With Cindy out of the picture, Kabell was all alone in his suite, and ripe for extermination.
Ann’s escape did have a downside in that it once again postponed the supply drop. That meant the guards would be staying in for a few more days. Those might be days that the boys couldn’t afford. Kabell had undergone plastic surgery. When the bandages came off, he would be ready to leave. Cody and Romeo couldn’t risk Kabell exiting the Citadel before the next supply run. They were considering hitting him before that could happen.
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