The Missing Dead

by Karlous Naderi

  Just fifty yards from the cabin Jack paused to prepare himself, and then made his way between the tall, icy trees. Small clumps of snow fell on his head from the branches above that were just waiting for the slightest vibration to drop their heavy load. With his breath rising from his mouth and flashlight in hand, Jack eyed his surroundings from left to right. He approached the cabin without attempting to be covert.

  “Okay, Jack, this is it.” He got into character.

  Less than twenty yards from the back of the cabin, Jack suddenly felt as though he was being followed. He heard ruffling sounds coming from among the dense trees. He turned around, expecting to find a four-legged animal of some sort, but was surprised to see some quick-moving, two-legged shadows. By the time he shone his bright flashlight towards the zigzagging targets rushing his way, it was too late. He glimpsed bloodshot eyes amid dark, furry faces. The attacks came at him from left and right, knocking him out in the cold darkness.

  Chapter 15

  Bernese Oberland, Switzerland

  For the thousandth time Melvin quietly tried to remove the metal cuffs from his wrist. He had learned long ago that even metal would eventually break down due to fatigue as long as he was persistent. So far, other than bloodying his own flesh, he hadn’t accomplished much.

  Like a falcon, he had his eyes focused on the closed wooden door in front of him that led out to the small living room where his captives were deciding his fate. He honestly couldn’t believe he was in this predicament again. Heck, he was still in shock about the whole situation. All he remembered was that one minute he had stepped out onto the balcony with Mr. Jackson to get Jack, and the next second came the sirens and the echo of a distant shot. When Mr. Jackson dropped next to him, his military reflexes kicked in and he followed him to the ground. With one motion he rolled closer to Mr. Jackson’s sprawled body and checked his status. The poor old man lay with his lifeless eyes wide open, frozen cold. If that and the blood all over him was not enough indication that he was dead, Melvin still checked for a pulse. Nothing, nada, not even a weakening thump.

  When he heard the sirens under his balcony less than a minute later, he was sure he had stepped into a well-calculated setup, and he cursed Jack one more time. Whoever was trying to set him up had done a bang-up job. The bastards had the cops on the scene so quickly that he had no opportunity to run, or even chance jumping from the third-floor balcony. When the cops ignored his San Francisco detective badge, and his pleas about being a United States citizen, he knew this was real bad. Purposely on the way out he didn’t once glance towards Jack parked a block away. There was no way he was going to give any indication that he had an ace in a hole, deep in the cut waiting for him.

  Once the three other police cars separated from theirs, and shortly after they had transferred him to a blue van with three casually dressed goons awaiting his arrival, he told himself this was beyond bad and he was definitely in deep trouble. Still not wanting to panic and look around for Jack, Melvin quietly complied with his captors’ demands and got in the back seat next to one of the men. He continued reminding himself he had nothing to worry about because Jack was not far behind, and sooner or later he would come for him with whatever force he had. As they drove along the rising road, Melvin turned his thoughts from cursing Jack for the hundredth time to his new handlers. He studied them.

  They were clean cut, Caucasian, with Nordic features. When the passenger noticed his wandering eyes, he said something that could have been Dutch, German, or something along those lines. The goon in the back seat keeping guard elbowed him in the ribs. With a thick accent he said in English, “If you don’t want me to smash your nose in, retain your eyes to their proper location, or else you will be sorry.”

  Melvin did as he was told, not wanting to receive that elbow in his face and miss seeing exactly where they were taking him. If he had to guess, they were driving somewhere up into the mountains and that slightly worried him.

  An hour into their silent drive, the passenger said something again, and the one in the back keeping guard took out his phone and made a call. When it was obvious he had no reception, that pushed Melvin into a deeper panic. This was not good at all.

  After another hour driving along twisted, forested roads and passing mountains, they finely pulled into a main road, with cabins, ski resorts and hunting lodges. When they pushed Melvin out of the van, a cold breeze sliced through his body and gave him chills from head to toe. He first glanced towards where they had driven from, and then turned to the right. He sighed with relief when he saw a few cars driving up the same road behind them with headlights beaming. Although he couldn’t recognize the model of the vehicles, he hoped one of them was Jack coming for him.

  Inside the cabin, Melvin welcomed the warmth, but two new ugly beasts awaited him. The first was tall and broad shouldered, with chapped lips; the other was a short, red-faced chubby man. Both were beastly ugly. After studying their faces for a minute or two, Melvin examined the cabin more closely. There wasn’t much to look at other than the blazing fireplace, a few chairs and a wooden table. He scanned the room again, checking for doors, windows and other escape routes. A door to his left seemed to lead to another room.

  The tall, ugly broad-shouldered beast snapped him out of his concentration with a sarcastic voice. ”So, you say you are a detective, eh?”

  “I am,” Melvin replied promptly. “My friends call me Pig and I work for the San Francisco homicide department.”

  “Homicide, eh?” the ugly beast said again, sounding like an Australian of some sort. He laughed as if he had heard an hilarious joke and blabbed something to the three men from the van.

  The driver and passenger grabbed Melvin by the arms, while the third guard who had elbowed him in the ribs stepped behind him. Melvin prepared for it. He knew where this was going. They would hold him tight while the two new ugly beasts took turns pounding him on the face, body and everywhere else. But, to his surprise, it never came. Instead, the guard behind him took the cuffs from his wrists and waited for his next order. The short, chubby, red-faced man took out a Browning Buck Mark pistol and reached out. “Is this yours, Detective?” he said with a German accent.

  “No.”

  “Grab it and make sure.”

  “No, I’m okay. I can see it fine from over here.”

  When Melvin refused, the chubby man said something and the two goons at his sides stretched out his arms. In total control of the situation and not giving a damn, the chubby bastard smiled, took a step forward and proceeded to accomplish his goal one way or another. He made sure Melvin’s finger prints were all over the weapon and bagged it for future evidence. Once he was done, the two goons twisted Melvin’s arms behind him, and the third guard placed the cuffs back on his wrists.

  The red-faced man said, “What can I tell you, Detective Melvin, you are in hot waters. You have just killed an American business man who was on vacation minding his own business. So tell me, was your only purpose of coming to Switzerland to kill Mr. Jackson?”

  When Melvin didn’t reply, the man asked, “So who hired you to kill Mr. Chris Jackson?”

  Again Melvin ignored the question. He had a feeling he was being recorded. But then he changed his mind. He hmmed to himself and said, “I don’t know who you guys are, but forcing my fingerprints onto that gun is not something a real police officer would do.”

  The chubby man ignored him as if his words went in one ear and out the other and proceeded with his own interrogation. “So tell me, Detective, what were you and Mr. Jackson talking about before you shot him?”

  “Everything,” Melvin lied. “He told me how you guys killed Damian Andrews. Not only that, he also told me about Margret, Doctor Robert Skylar Phillips, and how you bastards placed Miss Davis in a coma.”

  The red-faced boss laughed and the other four followed soon after. Then he complied, “You darn Americans are so funny, especially you Africans. You guys have a way with your words and delivery. You could always mak
e things sound so believable.”

  “I don’t know what you mean by that. But if that was some type of a racist remark, you’re lucky my hands are tied, or else I would kick your chubby little face.”

  “You see what I mean? You said that with such conviction that you even made yourself believe that illusion.”

  “Well, chubby man, why don’t you free my hands and find out?”

  The red-faced man produced another belly laugh and, without acknowledging him further, ordered the three men to take him away into the other room.

  Melvin wasn’t sure how much time had passed since that face off, but there was still no sign of Jack. Or the three goons, the broad-shouldered man, and the red-faced boss for that matter. He was sure, however, that somebody had left the cabin. He had heard the slamming of a door and the rumbling engine of the van.

  Sitting there on the wooden chair with his wrists cuffed behind his back, attempting to free himself, Melvin pondered about the time he had spent with Chris Jackson. The sad truth was that he hadn’t learned as much as he would have liked. For the first five minutes, the nervous business man just tried to calm himself down. For the next seven or eight minutes, he repeatedly inspected his detective badge under better light and asked Melvin a few questions to verify its authenticity. Once he settled down, Melvin felt it was time to get to the nuts and the bolts. He asked if he knew Miss Davis. Mr. Jackson answered with a quick, “No,” and went quiet. From his nervous body movements Melvin could tell the old man was not being totally forthcoming. The way he sat on the couch with his arms crossed suggested he was trying to protect his secrets. When Melvin mentioned Margret and Doctor Phillips, he hugged himself even more tightly and gave another, “No.”

  “How about Damian Andrews?”

  The pale-faced old man was quiet for a second or two and then finally nodded. He acknowledged that Mr. Andrews was indeed the CEO of his organization.

  “The Foundation for a New America?”

  “Yes.”

  When Melvin asked him if Doctor Robert Phillips, who he supposedly didn’t know, was the board member Skylar Phillips, there was another short pause. The old man finally stopped hugging himself as if he was ready to reveal himself completely.

  “I’m ready to tell you whatever you wish to know,” he said in a low tone of voice.

  Feeling excited and not wanting to leave Jack out of this, Melvin sought to persuade Mr. Jackson to allow Jack to participate in their conversation. After a few noes and queries of, “Who is he?” and after ten minutes of explaining, he finally agreed. Maybe if he hadn’t convinced the old man and gone out to the balcony to get Jack, this tragedy might not have occurred. The old man would still be alive. Perhaps he would have given him more pieces to the puzzle. And right now he would not be sitting on a wooden chair, bloody wrists cuffed behind his back, awaiting his judgment.

  This was all Jack’s fault. As soon as he had brought his name into the conversation the bad luck had started. It was as if he had summoned in the devil, and he had happily complied. Now, on top of his own bloody predicament, Melvin couldn’t help worrying about Tania back home. He was hoping and wishing that Jack hadn’t called her with the bad news yet, or else he was never going to hear the end of it. It would be the constant “see I told you so’s,” on top of all her fiery stares that brought out the invisible horns and the rolling, possessed eyes.

  Melvin snapped out of his thoughts about Tania and ceased all movement when he saw the wooden door in front of him crack open. First walked in his guard from the van, and then the tall, broad-shouldered beast. When Melvin looked into the beast’s face, he seemed to have horns similar to Tania’s, and those rolling, possessed eyes that screamed trouble. His evil grin widened and, through his dry, chapped lips, he said, “Okay, Detective Melvin, it’s time for you to tell us who you really are and why you’re here in the first place.”

  Chapter 16

  Bernese Oberland, Switzerland

  Hours later, Jack opened his eyes to the blurry vision of men with guns whom he didn’t recognize at all. He thought he was dreaming when he saw one bearded man with a black sock on one foot and a white one on the other playing a solo game of checkers. The equally rough and tough hairy giant next to him was sewing a small stuffed black cat to his jacket. Not far away a one eyed man sat at the other end of the table, separating the green Charms candies from the other colors. Not knowing what to make of his blurry vision, Jack shook his head and blinked his eyes a few more times and, sure enough, he was not dreaming. The three man were still sitting not far from him, minding their own business. Once the miss-matched socks dude saw him staring at them confused, he yelled, “The dumb-dumb is up.”

  In seconds a barrel-chested, thick-necked man walked out of the side room with his head almost touching the door frame. When Jack saw the heavy gold loop dangling between the wide nostrils, along with the other gold piercings on his ears, he jumped to his feet with excitement. “Oh my God, Chief, it’s so good to see you!”

  He rushed the tall black man with open arms, but instead of getting a nice, warm, welcoming hug, he received a hard, cold punch in the face that knocked him right down to his butt. There was a round of laughter from the men behind the table and the tall black man said, “That was for always dragging Melvin into trouble and making my little girl worry to pieces.”

  In spite of the direct punch to the nose and the precise tongue-lashing, Jack couldn’t have been more excited to see Tania’s famous Daddy and his seasoned Bush Rats.

  “But how?” Jack asked as soon as he forced himself back to his feet.

  The ex naval chief of operations looked at him with a blank stare. “Do you mean how did we find you, and so quickly? Perhaps that’s not the question you should be asking. You should ask yourself how the heck for the last four days you and Melvin haven’t noticed somebody tailing your butts?”

  When Jack returned a confused stare and raised eyebrows, Chief said, “Yup, over a week ago, when Tania called me worried because you and Abby had Melvin in one of your crazy rendezvous again, I started looking into things. When she called me days later to tell me you had Pig in hot water with his captain and had him on leave from work, I stepped up and placed some of my men on you guys. Almost forty-eight hours ago, when you guys took a flight to Switzerland, we were right behind you. Including the time you were sitting alone in your rental car a block away while Melvin went into that three-story building.” The tall black man paused and shook his head. “I have to say, with you and Pig being ex special forces reconnaissance soldiers, how the heck didn’t you guys spot us spying on you two, from the time outside Damian Andrews’ mansion, at Doctor Phillips’ house, and us not more than ten seats behind you guys in the plane?”

  “Oh tell the dumb-dumb about the airport,” added the miss-matched socks dude from the side.

  The rest chuckled, including Daddy. “Yeah, boy, I guess you are truly blind as a bat. I’m not sure exactly what you were searching for at Belp International Airport, but for a moment your eyes wandered from east to west, north to south. Around the same time Checkers and I passed by you and you still didn’t see us. So I don’t know what to say about your vision, other than you need to get it checked.”

  Jack first looked at Chief and then at Checkers to his left, with his black and white socks. The miss-matched socks clearly linked him to the board game. Perhaps it was a superstition of some kind. And the giant sewing the stuffed black cat to his jacket, and the one eye separating the green candies? He was almost sure of it. For the same reason Chief had three small Barbie doll heads sewed to his broad chest like war medals. Melvin had told him once how they were Tania’s favorite childhood toys, and that Chief carried them with him for good luck. So perhaps the two different socks was what Checkers had been wearing when he faced death and survived. The black cat was probably to keep away bad luck; and he was pretty sure about the green candies since he remembered one of his marine buddies doing the same thing in Iraq: if you throw the gre
en candies at your enemies during a firefight it will bring you good luck and your enemies bad luck.

  “Oh Chief, I’m so glad you already know about everything and I don’t have to fill you in!”

  “Yes, dumb-dumb,” Checkers charmed in for the third time. “If anything, we need to update you about a recent earth-shattering turn of events that will blow your mind.”

  Heart racing, Jack waited impatiently, wondering which of the four men would feed his hungry curiosity. It came from front and center when Daddy said, “Not long ago, we also learned that Abby’s ex boss, Margret Stimson, might be the daughter of our deceased Chris Jackson.”

  Mouth open, Jack took a second or two to digest the news. All he could bring his lips to utter were the four obvious words, “How do you know?”

  “Well, the boys back home are telling me her birth name might be Jackson, and if that’s the case, it would answer some of our lingering questions. I have to tell you, Jack, I don’t know exactly what Abby witnessed at the hospital that day regarding Mr. Andrews, or who or what all this mess is connected to, but I’m pretty confident you guys have stumbled onto something shady this time for real. That said, we still don’t know who are the people with Pig, or the individual that shot Mr. Jackson. We have detected three assailants in the cabin, and they are in the main living room. With our thermal imaging glasses we have also located a single heat body in the western room, which we believe to be Pig’s. So we couldn’t afford for you to rush in there with your half-baked ideas and mess up our well orchestrated operation. That’s the reason for the knockout punch earlier outside in the snow. As we speak, I have a few of my men keeping a close eye on the cabin, and we will make our alpha strike in the next hour.”