“Ahhh man.” Jordan moaned. “What the hell is going on?” He gasped and swallowed hard, trying to keep another regurgitation from erupting.
Lights from an unknown source illuminated the tight confinement.
Jordan discovered the tight space was actually the interior of a car trunk.
“Hey! Let me out of here!” He banged his fists on the metal above his head, and kicked at the side of the back quarter panel.
The car took a sharp left turn, which threw Jordan’s body to one side. The mysterious driver took hard maneuvers to the left, and then the right.
“Oh geez!”
Jordan tried to steady his body. Nothing else entered his mind, except for his ride to be over, and to keep what little was left in his stomach where it belonged.
“Stop!”
His fists and feet flailed in a jerky display, but no one seemed to pay any attention to him. The car made another tight turn in a seemingly endless winding road of pure hell.
“Hello!”
* * * * *
The longer he drove up the mountain road, the denser the Pine trees became. The magical quality of the forest was infectious to most. It had a calming quality to it, but to Red it didn’t make any difference if it was the forest, the desert, or a state prison.
He knew the final destination. It took a little longer to get there by doubling back and driving up the roads again. His prisoner continued to shout and kick noisily from inside the trunk.
Red didn’t slow the rental car, or take any special care managing one hairpin turn after another. The road narrowed. He upped the headlights as the trees closed in around the road, which gave the display of driving through an organic tunnel. The light cast shadows, bouncing back onto the road in strange streams of brightness.
No cars passed or eased up from behind. It made his job easier and less likely to have anything go wrong.
It was time to clean up the assignment and not allow any loose ends. The job had rapidly begun to turn into a saga. It would end now. He kept his prospects vigilant.
Red knew all about Jordan Smith, his previous job with the F.B.I., background with criminal profiling, recent security work, and his relationship to Emily Stone. The cleverness, resourcefulness, and intelligence pushed through Jordan’s extroverted and quirky personality. It was obvious that Jordan had a crush on Emily, it was something that Red could almost relate to because of the little bit of time he had spent with her.
Yellow eyes reflected from a thick cluster of trees. As the car drove past, Red saw a large buck standing in the forest, regal and watchful. The animal reminded him again of how much he hated Bishop and his situation.
Instinctively, he eased up on the gas pedal, and maneuvered the car around to a partial clearing. The car travelled onto the wide dirt path. He continued up a hill and then made a sharp right, parked, and cut the engine.
Red kept the headlights illuminated. A causal passerby or motorist wouldn’t interrupt him in at work, and no one would hear anything except for the typical mountain wildlife.
The area remained secluded.
He exited the car after grabbing a small flashlight, and checked his sidearm before he shut the driver’s door. Everything was quiet with an occasional subtle snap of a twig from a small animal or a pinecone dropping to the ground.
No sound came from the trunk.
Releasing the gun safety, he sent a bullet into the chamber.
Red popped open the trunk, directing the flashlight beam into Jordan’s battered face. The smell of vomit and old booze instantly clouded the air.
“Get out.” He ordered in an even tone.
“Who… who are you?” Jordan stammered.
“I’m not going to say it again.”
“Okay… okay…” Jordan struggled to sit up, wincing as he climbed out of the trunk. “Do you mind not directing that flashlight in my eyes?”
Red took a step back, but pushed the gun toward Jordan’s face. “Walk.” He motioned with the pistol in the direction of the path, which led deeper into the forest.
Jordan steadied himself with his hands up next to his head, eyes wide with anxiety. He never took his focus from the barrel of the gun. He said. “I think there’s some kind of misunderstanding.”
“Move.”
“Who are you?”
Red walked behind Jordan, but didn’t offer any kind of explanation.
“Did I piss someone off?” Jordan’s voice cracked slightly as he walked further into the darker area of trees.
“Stop.” The assassin ordered.
Jordan turned to face Red. His face paled, his hands shook. A distinct bruising appeared on the side of his face.
“Turn around.”
Jordan squeezed his eyes shut and turned around.
“Get down on your knees, keep your hands laced on the back of your head, eyes forward.”
“Hey man… you really don’t want to do this…”
“Do it now.”
Jordan slowly dropped to his knees. All of the energy ran out of him as he slumped forward. His breathing increased. With a violent fury, he vomited several more times.
Red moved forward and pressed the gun against the back of Jordan’s head. He stood over the security expert, and watched as the man crumbled under the reality of dying.
Most people had the same reaction in Red’s experience. He often wondered; if he was in the same position, if he would fold like a coward.
“You’re going to do exactly what I say.” Red instructed, this time his voice raised slightly in between syllables.
Taking a breath, Jordan answered. “What do you want from me?”
“Because I’m saving your life today, you’ll help me when I tell you to. Understand?”
Jordan turned to look at the tall man dressed completely in black. “When… is that?”
“When I tell you.”
The forest set the picture-perfect stage for the conversation between assassin and victim by growing even darker. The shadows moved. They changed sinewy shapes, which left an eerie pretext for what would happen next.
“What’s your name?” Jordan asked.
“You don’t need to know.”
“How will I know who you are when you contact me again?”
“You’ll know.”
Looking at Red curiously, he inquired. “Do you know what happened to Emily Stone?”
“Yes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Saturday 2200 Hours
The hotel room door burst wide open. Jordan ran toward Emily and almost fell over a table and side chair, just as they caught each other.
“I’m so glad that you’re okay. I knew it was you in the casino, even with the long brown hair.” Jordan rambled in a breathless manner.
Emily was stunned to see Jordan’s battered appearance. The distasteful odor of day old booze and what smelled like someone’s regurgitated dinner emanated from his shirt.
“Yuck Jordan, you stink.” Emily backed away, wrinkling her nose.
“That’s all you can say to me? Do you know what this guy put me through?”
Emily glanced at Red standing near the door. “I have a pretty good idea. Where’s Rick?”
Jordan looked at Emily. “I don’t know. I thought he was with you.” Glancing back at Red, he said. “He’s not the chattiest guy in the world, but he said that Rick’s safe.”
“Red?” Emily inquired.
Both Emily and Jordan looked at the man that held everyone’s life in the palm of his hand. No expression registered on the assassin’s face.
“So you do have a name.” Jordan quipped. “I thought maybe it was El Diablo or Satin, or something along those lines.”
Emily confronted Red. “Where is Rick? I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”
Jordan interrupted. “Done what?”
“Sit down.” Red ordered.
“I don’t think that…” Emily started.
“Sit down.” He said again.
&
nbsp; Slowly, Emily and Jordan gave each other an inquisitive look before they complied with the demand.
Red began, “I’m going to say this once. You’re going to work for me.”
“What?” Emily snapped.
Red raised his gun in her direction. “First, Mr. Smith here is going to help me with an assignment that we have in the near future.” He turned his attention completely to Emily, “Second, I’m going to let you live for your cooperation.”
“Cooperation for what?” She asked.
“With whatever I ask.”
Turning to Emily, Jordan said. “He sounds more like a Magic 8 ball, doesn’t he?”
“Please…” Emily stressed. “Where’s Rick?”
Red cracked somewhat of a human expression to his usual poker face. The side of his mouth had a hint of a smile. “He doesn’t need rescuing.”
“What?” She said as a deep pressure rammed against her chest, from the thought of losing Rick in this convoluted nightmare.
“He escaped.” Red searched his phone files. He handed it over to Emily.
Jordan pushed in close next to Emily to watch the video on the tiny screen. Rick fought with some unknown man, pounding him, and then escaping.
“Is this true? Is Rick safe?” She watched Red’s expression, hoping that it wasn’t another trick.
“He escaped and is probably home by now.”
“Is he going to stay safe?” Emily got up from the couch and stood in front of Red. “How long are all of us going to be safe?”
“Safe enough. I’ve bought you some time.”
Emily let out expelled air. Her anger rose. “Can’t you just give us a direct answer? How are we expected to go about our lives with this hanging over our heads?
“All of the information concerning you is in Bishop’s private files, and it will stay that way.”
“Oh, I’m supposed to trust your word?”
Red looked at Jordan, and then rested his gaze on Emily. “Yes.”
* * * * *
After dialing both Emily and Jordan’s cell phones, Rick had exhausted the incoming mailboxes. As a result, the phones wouldn’t take any more messages.
Damn.
Luckily, a good Samaritan gave Rick a ride home after he explained that he had been the victim of a robbery. He was dropped off several houses away from his house. He didn’t know what to expect, or who could be there.
Figuring out what to do next was his top priority. He would find Emily no matter how long it took, but caution was imperative.
Watching the house from a distance, he decided to call Emily’s cell phone once again.
It rang a third time before she picked it up. “Hello?”
“Em, it’s me.”
“Thank God you’re safe.” Emily said with relief in her voice.
For a moment, Rick thought he might have collapsed and fallen asleep, and Emily’s voice was just a dream. “You okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I will be home sometime tomorrow morning.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m… we’re in Lake Tahoe.”
“What? Who’s we?”
Emily quickly explained. “Jordan came looking for me because of the pendant. I’ll explain everything when I get home.”
“I am going to a motel. Don’t go to the house.”
“Everything is okay, for now.” She said.
“Meet me at the Rancho Suites and we will figure everything out. I don’t trust anyone. Understand Em?” Rick was insistent.
“Okay, I’ll see you there.”
“I have to figure out how to get Sarge.” He said.
“Jordan put him a doggie daycare.”
“Oh.”
“He’s fine, I’ll pick him up in the morning.” She stated.
Rick’s mind reeled with a dozen scenarios of what had happened to Emily, but his relief overwhelmed him. “Okay.” He said slowly. “Be safe and I’ll see you in the morning.”
She hesitated. “Love you.”
“I love you too Em. Hurry home.”
The line disconnected.
Rick still stood in a nearby yard, loneliness never felt so ominous. He needed some things from the house, and to get his extra car keys for the SUV, but the house needed clearance before he entered.
Without another thought, he dialed 9-1-1.
“I’d like to report a break-in.” He gave them the address. “There are two men still inside.” He abruptly ended the call.
Rick walked to a neighbor’s house and tucked into the carport. He knew that the tenant was gone on a business trip. It was a perfect place for him to watch, but not easily seen by cops.
As he waited, his stomach grumbled for a good meal. He couldn’t wait to take a shower and assess his injuries. His nose and jaw ached.
He didn’t have to wait long.
By the cell’s clock, two patrol cars rolled up within twelve minutes of his call. Rick knew the routine. There was a pang of urgency in his stomach, like the many times when he was on patrol. It all seemed like another lifetime now.
He watched two officers approach the house using proper protocol, followed by two more officers that went around back. Out of precaution and procedure, they drew their weapons. One officer knocked on the front door. He identified them as the police and ordered the occupants to come outside.
They waited.
It was a tense situation, emphasized by their alert body language.
The front door was unlocked.
The two officers burst inside. They were greeted within seconds in the living room by the back-up officers. All four officers did a systemized search of each room.
Rick watched the scene unfold as the cops cleared the house for him. No unwanted occupants were inside. He felt a little bit guilty about wasting the police department’s time, but his safety depended upon it.
Another fifteen minutes passed before the four officers left.
Rick waited another couple of minutes after the patrol cars drove away before he entered.
With nerves and energy frayed, Rick thought about the events from the past few days. Whatever they were involved in was about to change everything. It was only a matter of time before another dangerous situation presented itself, and he didn’t want to think about what could happen.
Next time, they might not be as lucky.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Monday 1045 Hours
The clatter of dishes mixed with the aroma of strong coffee, eggs, greasy bacon, and burnt toast wafting throughout the diner. Idle chitchat among friendly servers and fry cooks livened up the place, and made it a favorite breakfast joint among locals. With only about ten tables and a dozen booths, it kept the place hopping for business.
The curvaceous, dark-haired waitress refilled Detective Duncan’s coffee with a smile. She accentuated her body with a cute swing of the hips as she walked away.
He had positioned himself at a back booth to view people coming and going.
The detective kept glancing at his watch, wondering if he had done the right thing in inviting the fire investigator for a meeting away from both offices. It occurred on him that maybe he was consorting with the enemy, but the department would instantly take the case away from him if he brought up his concerns of the arson cases.
The F.B.I. pushing in and taking over was a definite possibility. The politics of the department looked for anything to get the detective to put in for his retirement. He wanted to solve this case and have a killer in custody before he decided to sign the departure papers.
Tearing open the zero calorie sugar packet, he plopped the substance into his coffee cup to cut the bitter taste. He never quite took to coffee after his rookie year, but managed to drink gallons of java with enough sugar, and now a sugar substitute.
The detective glanced at his cell phone in hopes of receiving a message with a break in the case, but none came. He knew that the phantom detective that most cops chalked up as an urban legend was real.
> He remembered the serial case that was one of the most difficult cases he had encountered in his career. The killer used a common online game that people played from their laptops and cell phones to find his victims.
The covert detective had cracked the case, complete with an entire investigation rolled out for the cops. She even went up against the killer herself. It had amazed Duncan how the details fell into place, and the story seemed more like a movie than real life.
As the detective reflected on the past serial killer case, Fire Investigator Myers slid into the booth across from him with his usual smug expression.
The detective nodded his greeting. “Lance, thanks for agreeing to meet me.”
“Well, I couldn’t ignore your humble request.” He motioned to the waitress for a cup of coffee. “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind.”
Cooling his coffee and taking a healthy drink, the detective carefully chose his words. “This serial case is complex, and the department isn’t giving me any support. They just want an arrest.”
The waitress poured Myers a cup of coffee and gave a quick, flirtatious smile before moving to the next table.
“Typical for any political organization that feeds the public well spun propaganda, at least more than half of the time. Well, I actually think more like eighty percent of the time.” Myers stated.
“Wow, a real cynic.”
Laughing and pouring more imitation milk into his coffee cup, the mixture swirled in streaks. “Well, what do you expect? Anytime the public wants a case solved, bingo, it gets solved. It could be a case that’s ten years old or ten days.” The fire investigator leaned forward. “You know as well as I do that cases don’t get solved, they get cleared by confessions.”
“I guess you have it all figured out.”
“I like you detective, I really do, and that’s saying a lot because I don’t like many people. But this arson case is a perfect platform for lots of publicity and re-election campaigns.”
The detective searched Myer’s face and demeanor to see if it indicated that he was blowing hot air for himself, or if he really believed what he said. The fire investigator had good eye contact and didn’t fidget when he spoke certain buzzwords. Everything about him signified that he told the truth, and truly believed what he conveyed.
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