Crucible of Fear

by D. W. Whitlock

  “Well, that might be good for the ladies,” Colin said. “Just try jacking it with that thing.”

  Dante’s spy phone rang and he scooped it out of his pocket. It was a video call from Abigail. He stabbed the connect button and Abigail’s face filled the screen.

  “Hi Daddy! We’re here!”

  “That’s great,” Dante said. “Where’s Kelly?”

  The view shifted over. “Right here. We have half an hour until our flight. We went right through, no screening or anything.” Kelly leaned in closer and whispered. “This FBI stuff has its perks.”

  “We’re not supposed to talk about that,” Abigail said off screen.

  “Oh, right,” Kelly said, putting a finger to her lips. Abigail’s face appeared again.

  “I wish you were going with us. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.”

  “And Daddy?”

  “Yes?”

  She opened her mouth to speak then stopped as her head turned away, revealing the terminal behind her.

  “Abigail?” Dante said, pulling the phone closer.

  Faint shouts rose up followed by shrill screams as people crowded away from a bank of windows. Dante rose, staring at the screen in shock. Abigail began running, the phone swinging wildly as Kelly urged her on. A massive flare of white erupted and Abigail screamed as the screen went black.

  CHAPTER 66

  Airport

  Dante raced through the house toward the garage, frantic images from the spy phone replaying in his head. Through the surging panic of bodies, he saw an ugly red strip of carpet next to gray, white walls with large windows, blue stripe along the top.

  He knew exactly where they were.

  “Colin, come on!” Dante called over his shoulder, throwing a quick glance backward.

  The thin man sat hunched over on the couch, eyes on the floor.

  He didn’t move.

  The door slammed open with a bang as Dante dashed into the garage. He punched the garage door button as he sped by and it began to chatter upward, blinding light causing him to squint as he yanked the driver door up on the Mako and ducked inside. The garage door continued its upward climb, steady and slow.

  Too slow.

  Dante slammed into reverse and pinned the accelerator, hands clutching the wheel. The car surged backward and crashed through the garage door, hurtling ragged chunks of wood and glass across the street. Tires crunched over the debris as he shifted into drive, the explosive burst of torque sending him careening down the narrow street. A hard left put him on Mulholland with a crunch of metal and sparks that frightened a jogger and her labradoodle as he barreled by.

  A slow-moving flatbed crowded the street ahead and Dante stomped the accelerator, juking into the opposite lane. A red Tesla appeared ahead, the driver’s mouth thrown open wide.

  Dante jerked the wheel left, sending the Mako up onto the steep sloping hill that bordered the street, the world tilting crazily as dual rooster tails of dust shot out from behind. The branches of an oak scrawled across the left side of the car with a hollow squeal as he skidded back onto asphalt. A yellow sign with a squiggly black arrow shot by but Dante barely registered it as he pushed further downhill. Only one thing mattered.

  Abigail.

  A speed bump caused the car the leap off the asphalt, clacking Dante’s teeth together as he landed again with a chirp of rubber. He tasted blood as the curves kept coming, cramped hairpins and vicious hooks too tight even at low speeds.

  Horns blared as he careened past Universal Liquors before a moment of silence underneath the 101 Freeway. His vision blurred as he shot back into the sun again, squinting in the sudden glare.

  The city around Dante warped into a dangerous smear as he sped northward, slowing only to push through intersections before stomping the accelerator again. Peering up through the windshield, he saw the telltale glint of approaching aircraft in the sky.

  Almost there, he thought. Hold on, Abigail.

  The last mile slowed to a crawl even though he was pushing the car as fast as he could. Up ahead, a smudge of black smoke billowed and Dante’s hands went cold. The car began to shudder and groan, the stench of burning plastic causing Dante’s nasal passages to burn.

  The Mako skidded around taxis and Ubers lined up in front of a low-slung white and tan trimmed building. A short flight control tower bristling with antennae jutted above silver letters that read: Terminal A. Dante jammed both feet on the brake pedal, screeching to a halt as a tide of people surged out from the Hollywood Burbank Airport into the street.

  The Mako continued to limp forward as Dante leapt out, plastic crunching as it came to rest against a metal pole. A veil of acrid smoke belched from the open doors of the terminal as he pushed his way inside.

  “Abigail!” Dante screamed in the caustic air, sinuses crawling with needles as his eyes watered.

  The last dregs of confused travelers stumbled by, coughing and retching, hands tight to their mouths. Dante kept low against the right wall as he raced deeper into the terminal. Fire leapt through a ragged hole up ahead where a jet had thrust its way inside, the crumpled aluminum nose poking through.

  A door opened up, bright sunlight spearing inward. Boucher stepped into the terminal, eyes scanning, speaking rapidly into a radio. Dante spotted her and raced over. Her gun snapped up as Dante approached. Lowering the gun with relief, she glanced around before pulling him outside onto the tarmac as the door slammed shut behind them.

  “Where’s my daughter?” Dante said.

  She held up a finger, radio pressed tight to her ear, listening to the tinny voice that spoke. Dante swung his gaze around as the peal of sirens rose nearby, coming closer.

  Kelly was slumped against the wall, hands pressed to the side of her head. Bright red blood shone stark against the pale skin of her face and hands. Dante raced over and knelt down, grasping her shoulders. She winced as the prosthetic hand bit into her flesh. Gazing up at him, her eyelids fluttered as she fought to focus.

  “They took her,” Kelly said between sobs. “Oh my God.”

  “Who took her?” Dante said.

  “Men. With guns,” Kelly said, pulling her hands away to stare at her palms. A deep gash lay open at her temple. Fresh blood flowed down her face as her eyes found his.

  “They took Abigail.”

  CHAPTER 67

  Motel

  Briana opened the door then locked it behind her before dropping into the rickety folding chair at the table. Sweat clung to her skin underneath the dazzle camo.

  Why not just hide for a while? she thought. I have money. I could wait for things to calm down a bit then go back home. Mother might never forgive me, but Dad would. Wouldn’t he?

  But she knew that wouldn’t be good enough. Not anymore.

  Run away now, Briana, her mother’s voice said. That’s what you do.

  “No,” Briana said through gritted teeth.

  She’d been used and discarded. Forgotten. Again. First Mark and now Leish and Mel and Dark Messiah, whoever that was.

  Now she wanted to know why.

  She gazed down at the pre-paid smart phone on the table top, still secure in its packaging. It’d lain there for the last day or so as she’d worked up the nerve. Reaching out, she grabbed the package and tore it open. The phone came on with a blip, an hourglass icon center screen slowly filling up as it booted.

  A bead of sweat slipped into her eye. She rubbed at it through the dazzle camo but that only made it worse. The zipper went down with a zing and she was about to pull the hood off, then stopped. The phone had a camera in it, the buggy little lens wide open and staring. She tugged the zipper back up.

  The phone came to life with a beep. Tapping and flicking her way around the settings, she turned off GPS. After signing in to the motel wireless, she downloaded the Find My Phone app. She began to tap in her information then hesitated, brows knitting together.

  As soon as I sign in, they’ll find me. Won’t they?

 
She killed the app.

  There hadn’t been any dragonfly drones while she was out, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been there, hidden somewhere, watching. She shivered, eyes flicking around the room. There had to be a way to find out something without arousing suspicion.

  She opened a browser and did a search for “Monolith Media Tower.” Ad links for realtors filled the screen and she scrolled down. There was a link for the building website along with info on how to lease office space there. The next link was a story on Techbeat.com about an incident that occurred there on Friday night. The same night she’d been there and delivered the strange black box. She tapped and scanned the story, her stomach sinking as she read.

  A man named Dante Ellis had been attacked at a yearly party held on the top floor. The police provided no details, other than the victim had been severely injured but was expected to survive. There were no suspects and the alleged perpetrator or perpetrators were still at large.

  Blood drained from her face.

  With a shaky hand she did a search for Dante Ellis and opened the first link that appeared. It was a web page for his advertising company, Ellis Media. She tapped on “Team” and the page updated.

  Dante Ellis, founder and CEO, smiled out from the picture above his name. He was in his mid-thirties or so, dark haired and handsome, his smile genuine. Briana read the text below.

  Dante Ellis, founder and CEO of Ellis Media, has helped build some of the most recognizable brands in the business. Under his leadership, Ellis Media has garnered hundreds of industry awards…

  She scrolled down to the bottom, frozen by what she read on the last line.

  Dante lives in the Hollywood Hills with his daughter, Abigail.

  Briana stood and backed up until her legs hit the bed. The mattress creaked as she sat down. I’d been part of this…attack, she thought.

  There wasn’t another word for it. Briana had helped hurt this man, no, severely injure this single father of a young girl. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away.

  The rickety headboard creaked as she fell back against it. Grunting, she tried to lift the TV remote but it was attached to the nightstand with a metal bracket. After trying to wrench it free, she slammed a fist down and the TV blinked to life.

  A weather bunny sashayed across the frame, pointing to a map of southern California dotted with grinning suns. A gray-haired anchor fake laughed at something she said, his dental implants glowing like fluorescent bricks. Breaking News, marched across the screen and his face turned mock serious as he spoke to a reporter in the field.

  A woman with bright blond hair and a fuchsia blazer nodded as her image filled the screen. “Thanks, Phil,” she said. “Details are sparse, but what we do know is that a plane crashed into the Hollywood Burbank Airport moments ago. We have cell phone video, but I have to warn our viewers, some of the images may be disturbing.”

  The screen changed to shaky cellphone video of people running and shrieking as a bright explosion lit up the screen. The shot cut to firetrucks racing past aircraft before showing firemen battling the churning flames that engulfed a large jet plane half-buried in the terminal wall. Other shots showed masked victims inhaling oxygen, faces streaked with soot, slumped on the curb or lying on blankets as paramedics hovered over them.

  A group of dark-suited people stood together on the tarmac, walkie-talkies and guns in their hands. They looked like federal agents of some kind. One person stood out from the group, a tall man with dark hair. Briana sat up and peered closer at the screen. He was stabbing a finger at one of the agents, talking fast. His arm was pitch-black and she thought he’d been hurt, maybe burned at first. It was a prosthetic hand. The man turned his head and glared, giving a clear view of his face before it cut back to the reporter.

  It was Dante Ellis.

  Briana sat bolt upright as the phone trilled three times on the bed. Scooping it up, her heart thudded as she read the message on the screen.

  AMBER alert: Child abduction

  Victim: Abigail Ellis, 9 Years Old

  Suspects: Unknown/Military style clothing

  Vehicle: Possible Black SUV

  Last Seen: Hollywood Burbank Airport

  If observed call 911

  The reporter’s voice boomed out from the television. “Police are asking for help finding a missing girl, Abigail Ellis, who was kidnapped by armed gunmen during the confusion earlier today….”

  Briana shut the TV off, her thoughts a panicked jumble.

  I should call the police, tell them what I know. Dark Messiah will find out, won’t they? They’ve hurt people, ruined my life and now they’ve kidnapped a little girl. Had they also crashed that plane into the airport? They must have. What am I going to do?

  Her mother’s voice came to the rescue. Run away now, Briana, that’s what you do.

  “Shut the fuck up!” she screamed, her voice rattling off the yellowed walls.

  “That’s the spirit!” came a muffled shout through the wall.

  Briana shook her head and got to her feet as an idea began to form, becoming a plan. She didn’t want to use an Uber or taxi and take the chance of leaving a trail of some kind for Dark Messiah to pick up, even though she’d be wearing the dazzle camo. She needed to get across town in a low tech, untraceable way. A bicycle.

  And she knew exactly where to get one.

  CHAPTER 68

  Dreaming

  Oh, human race, born to fly upward,

  wherefore at a little wind dost thou fall?

  The reek of smoke still clung to Dante’s clothes as he read the text again. He reached for the bottle of bourbon but a phantom hand was a poor substitute for flesh and blood. It cramped into a painful hook and he focused on the agony, hoping to chase away the panic that threatened to steal what self-control he had left. The phantom relaxed and Dante exhaled with relief as the cramp dissolved.

  No escaping this, he thought, feeling the rage build inside.

  So, he sat with it, let it run through him like a white-hot blade, sensed it extinguish any shred of hope he still clung to. With his left hand, he lifted the bottle to his lips and drank, adding fuel to the fire that burned inside.

  The prosthetic hand was on the coffee table, charging light blinking, cord snaking off into the shadows. It lay on its back, fingers curved, like a dead spider.

  The fingers twitched.

  Alexis Arellano told him the hand did that during the charging cycle, some sort of diagnostic.

  It twitched again. Like it was dreaming.

  Dante slipped a Ziploc from his pocket and held it down with his stump. It throbbed as he struggled to open it. With a shaky hand, he removed two large, oblong pills, shoved them into his mouth and chased them with more alcohol. The Ziploc used to be full. Now it held less than half, about fifteen pills left.

  Abigail is gone.

  The shock of it scalded his insides with fresh agony as the events from earlier replayed in his mind, bursts of light and sound, more emotion than imagery.

  The icy fear as he raced across town. The fiery panic that flared when he saw Boucher standing in a shaft of light. The terrible truth as Kelly uttered those words from behind a mask of blood.

  They took her.

  Kelly clutched at his arms, babbling over and over again how sorry she was as blood streamed down her face and spattered on the asphalt. He felt nothing, his mind numb with shock as an icy hollow swelled inside. She halted her pleas, face a mask of agony. The cold light in his eyes said it all.

  You promised nothing would happen to her. This is your fault.

  Kelly began to shudder, sobs wracking her body as paramedics swept in and took her away.

  Boucher stood nearby in a clutch of uniformed men and women. She appeared older, the seams at the corners of her mouth and eyes deeper as she barked orders, sending them off in small groups to search.

  As she saw Dante she began speaking, a torrent of words about four men dressed in black military garb, heads covered with b
lack masks painted with stark white skulls. She stopped and listened, the radio squawking in her hand as the world around her sped by in the glare of whirling red lights.

  Dante drank more bourbon, guzzling now. The pressure in his chest swelled to a shuddering crescendo, causing his eyes to water. The alcohol did little to quell the despair as it burned its way down. His stomach lurched as he let the empty bottle drop to the table with a loud clack.

  Shadows clung to the furniture, making the usually warm space seem foreign and dangerous. Empty. Abigail’s presence filled up the house in a way he’d never understood until now. She’d been gone before, of course. Sleepovers, summer camp. But she was safe, with people he trusted.

  His vision blurred, the room around him becoming surreal and brittle, iced over with glass like it could shatter any moment. Warmth eased into his blood as the oxy kicked in, loosening the pressure inside a fraction. He pushed the disturbing thoughts away. Had to keep his shit together for what came next.

  The follow up text from her kidnappers skittered through his mind.

  Await further instructions.

  Tell no one.

  Colin had disappeared. Wasn’t answering his phone, his apartment dark and empty. Boucher now considered him the lead suspect. A half empty glass of bourbon stood on the coffee table, ice clinking as it melted. Boucher hadn’t taken one sip before a quick glance at her phone, the color draining from her face as she’d hurried out. That was over two hours ago.

  The house creaked and Dante shot bolt upright, listening.

  “Abigail?”

  Had she been hiding here the whole time?

  Half running, half stumbling through the house Dante called her name, knowing she wasn’t here but searching anyway. No one answered him. The house was empty.

  He trudged down the hallway to his bedroom and dropped on the bed, cold sweat sliding down his ribs as he caught his breath. After a moment, he knelt down and swept back the throw rug, revealing a small panel set into the wood floor. Dante pushed a button on the panel and it popped open a crack. Catching the edge with a finger, he lifted it open. Inside was a gray metal safe with a chrome plated dial and handle. With numb fingers, he rotated the dial, missing the combination twice before getting it right.