by Ethan Cross
“If anyone has a revolver,” Burke said, “I’d be happy to demonstrate. Grandpa, you probably carry an old six shooter?”
Burke expected another look of anger and defiance, requiring another in-depth explanation. But instead, Taz chuckled and said, “You’re okay, kid. Bit of an acquired taste, but they say the same thing about me. And I know I’m awesome.”
ASAC Carter had sat back and observed the exchange without a word until he asked, “How did you learn about Russian roulette, Officer Juliano?”
Nic rolled a piece of hard candy around his mouth and shrugged. “Another life. A long time ago.”
Burke wondered about that comment. A criminal past? A wild youth? Struggles with depression? He filed the data away for further analysis.
Plus, he was still dumbfounded by Sgt. Ortiz’s sudden change of demeanor. How could a blatant insult have such a disarming effect? People were so confusing and unpredictable.
Burke continued, “This group will not harm a hostage prior to achieving their objective because they know your policy of breaching if a hostage’s life is in imminent danger.”
“So they’re stalling for time, and they don’t want us to breach,” Nic said.
“Correct. They’re obviously highly motivated, well-trained, and very deliberate with their actions. Every move they’ve made has been calculated to achieve a specific objective.”
“Which is?”
“We don’t currently have enough data points to make even an educated guess, but they are obviously after something. Something very valuable. And I find it highly improbable that such men would go to this level of planning without incorporating some means to facilitate their escape.”
“This place is buttoned-up tight,” Taz said. “No way are they getting past us.”
“It’s definitely not my intention to insult you or your team’s capabilities, but until we know more, there’s no way we can predict their behavior. At this point, I’m expecting to be surprised, and you should do the same.”
“And how do you suggest we ‘expect’ to be surprised?” Nic asked.
“The obvious answer is to keep an open mind and analyze the situation as it unfolds. But know this: they wanted you here and they have no intentions of surrendering. If they stall for time again, you’ll face a difficult decision.”
Nic nodded. “Yeah, we’ll have a choice of either letting them keep doing whatever it is they’re doing in there, or we breach and put an end to it.”
Chief Edgar shook his head and growled deep in his throat. The reaction reminded Burke of an old man with a walker he had once seen staring at the long flight of concrete stairs leading up to the Las Vegas public library, the mannerisms of a person about to embark on a long journey that they know will be full of pain.
“We can’t breach without a damn good plan with zero chance of collateral damage or an immediate threat,” Edgar said. “They would crucify me if we went in there on hunches and conjecture.”
“I think you misunderstood me, chief,” Burke said. “I was simply stating options. Breaching now would likely be met with a contingency plan and significant loss of life.”
The room grew quiet as everyone seemed to consider the gravity of this situation and its possible outcomes. This was a hostage situation with a lot more complexity than any of them had likely imagined.
Carter sipped his coffee. Burke observed that Carter was the only person in the room who didn’t appear worried. In fact, Burke had never seen Carter get worked up about much of anything. He’d never even heard Carter raise his voice or speak from anger or frustration. Burke didn’t trust that calm exterior. He worried that, much like himself, Carter wore a mask, which hid his true self, his true passions, to the rest of the world. Or maybe Carter really was as calm, collected, and serene as he acted.
Still, Burke knew better than to ever put his full trust in another person. It didn’t matter the person or his or her good intentions. To trust in anyone or anything beyond himself was to invite pain and heartbreak into his life. He knew that fact firsthand from experiences he wished he could forget, but those memories were always shifting and rolling through the ocean of his mind, like icebergs hiding and waiting under the surface of calm seas. He knew how quickly those icebergs could sink him. And his downfall in those moments had always began with misplaced trust.
“Anything else to add, Dr. Burke?” Carter said.
Burke considered that a moment and then brought up an aerial overhead view of the GoBox building and its surrounding areas on the screens.
“I noticed the deployments of your teams earlier, and since you asked, if you move the position of this sniper and this sniper to here and here, you’ll be able to cover twice as much ground and have a better vantage point on the building’s roof,” he said. “Then that allows you to reallocate this sniper to the front where he can be part of your fast reaction team.”
The room was silent a moment, and Burke, with an awkward smile, quickly added, “Just a suggestion. You guys are the experts.” Then, with a slow nod and a long breath, he said, “I need a cigarette,” and walked out of the comm center.
Once alone in the open air, he held his chest, which felt like a cannon ready to blast his heart across the parking lot.
Chapter 23
Nic Juliano watched Dr. Burke walk out and still wasn’t sure what he thought of the young genius. Burke went from quiet and aloof to pretty much running the show with a commanding and informed presence in nothing flat, and no matter how much he wished the arrogant little prick was wrong, Nic couldn’t find fault with any of Burke’s analysis. The kid seemed to be the real deal, which in Nic’s experience was very rare.
The room was quiet for a few seconds after the door closed behind Dr. Burke. Then Taz said, “So … that’s what a Criminal Patterns Analysis Consultant does.”
Carter chuckled. “Something like that. Now, why don’t you get me armored up and—”
Taz interrupted, “What did you say was wrong with him again?”
Carter placed his coffee on the table and sat up in his chair. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with him. Just because Dr. Burke experiences the world differently and thinks differently than we do, that doesn’t mean that he’s broken or a freak.”
Taz held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t mean to—”
“I think you did, but in answer to your question, Burke has Asperger’s syndrome, which is now officially known as Autism Spectrum Disorder or ASD.”
Nic said, “I thought autistics couldn’t make eye contact and did repetitive actions like rocking back and forth and repeating themselves and had obsessions like only eating food that’s round in shape.”
“The autism spectrum is very broad, and Dr. Burke is obviously on the higher-functioning end of that. Most of his issues involve interaction with other people.”
Taz laughed and said, “Yeah, I noticed that.”
Carter remained stoic. “Dr. Burke’s brain is literally wired differently than the average person’s. The problems he has socially stem from having to slow his brain and his perception of the world down to the point that we can keep up. What’s your excuse for being an asshole, Sgt. Ortiz?”
“Take it easy.”
“Dr. Burke has his issues, just like all of us. To put things in terms you can understand, I’ve seen stats which claim genius-level IQs are much more prevalent among those with ASD. I’ve even heard claims that historical figures like Einstein and Ben Franklin and Abraham Lincoln may have had Asperger’s.”
“I apologize for my friend,” Nic said. “Don’t tell him I said this, but I think Taz may have Chronic Douchebag Disorder.”
Taz’s eyes went wide. “I’m sitting right here.”
Carter smirked. “I’m sorry if I got a bit protective, but August is a lot more fragile than he appears. I had to drag him down here because I think he has a beautiful gift that can help a lot of people. And he loves people and wants to help them. The problem is that he
’s also scared to death of people because he doesn’t understand them or trust them, and that’s incredibly frustrating for a person of his intellect.”
“What do you mean he doesn’t understand people?” Nic asked. “He seems to understand our bad guys pretty well.”
“He can analyze and attempt to predict their behavior based upon their prior actions. But it’s all head and no heart. He doesn’t understand people on an intuitive level like we do.”
“So he’s like an alien life-form living among us,” Taz said.
Nic shot his friend a dirty look. “I think your disorder is flaring up again!”
“I’m being serious!”
“It’s okay, Nic,” Carter said. “In fact, there’s actually a petition out there that is trying to get the name of ASD changed to Wrong Planet Syndrome.”
Taz laughed. “See, I told you.”
“I think the best way I’ve heard it described is like this,” Carter continued. “Imagine that you were suddenly dropped into a culture far different from ours. Somewhere like China or North Korea or India. Then imagine how exhausting it would be trying to live and work and socialize in that vastly different and many times ‘alien’ world. That’s what it’s like for August Burke every day, and while he’s developed coping techniques to function in our broken and often frightening world, on the inside, I don’t know that it will ever get better for him. I know that he wouldn’t change his brain if given the choice, but make no mistake, his ability to think outside the box comes at a steep price. And he pays that price every time he steps out into our world.”
Chapter 24
Isabel fought for a solution, a way to fight back, to turn the tables. But she couldn’t imagine a scenario that didn’t end in death. The Australian had left her alone in the room Felix Ginger had referred to as “the interrogation room.” Foam padding lined the walls, and the floor was some kind of thick epoxy with a drain in the center. The smell of bleach was so strong it burned her eyes. She didn’t want to think about the kinds of things that had been done to former occupants of this room, but secured to a metal chair that was bolted to the floor, she had little else to do but allow her imagination to run wild. Maybe that was the point. Maybe they were just trying to scare her. Or maybe the big Australian was sharpening his toys and slipping into an all-leather jumpsuit.
The room was lit with only a small yellow bulb in the corner, and so the light stung her eyes when the door opened.
The handsome Australian pulled up a chair in front of her and said, “They call me Mr. Christopher. May I call you Isabel?”
She spit in his face.
He laughed as he wiped it away. “I know you have lots of fire and heart, but do you have a brain in that pretty skull of yours?”
“Why did you bring me back here? Who do you work for?”
Christopher didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and sat the device on his thigh. The phone’s display was lit, and the caller ID read “M.”
“Who’s on the phone? Is that your boss? Who are you?”
“If you value your life and those of your partner Dingani and his family, then you’ll drop the hard-ass routine and start answering questions instead of asking them,” Christopher said.
She said nothing.
“Good. Now, tell me why you’re doing all this?”
“I’m trying to find whoever is responsible for the massacre. My sources on the street told me that a mercenary named Kruger was involved, and Angel has information on where to find him.”
“So you decided to demand an appointment and ask for it?”
“The shortest distance between two points is always a straight line. I didn’t think he would object, unless he were involved somehow.”
“Did you have any kind of plan coming in here or did you just wake up this morning and decide it would be a ripper good idea to piss off one of the most dangerous blokes in Jo’burg?”
“I’m out of options. I had to do something drastic.”
“You still haven’t told me why you’re really doing this.”
“The 293 innocent people slaughtered in their own homes isn’t enough of a reason?”
“What happened was an atrocity, but people don’t lose their minds over strangers. This is all too personal for you, love. Personal enough to make an intelligent woman with a formerly promising career willing to go to any lengths to find the truth.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“Maybe not, but you are suicidal.”
She glared back at him. “You don’t know anything about me. I’m not suicidal.”
He shrugged. “Your psychiatric report says that you are. Tried to off yourself after the massacre with sleeping pills and bourbon. So what? Didn’t take the first time, so you thought you’d get Angel to do the deed for you?”
“I came here for information.”
“Everyone’s heard the story of the last group of coppers who came around poking their noses into Angel’s business.”
“Yeah, he burned them alive and left the charred bodies on the steps of the police station.”
“But you thought he would be kinder to you?”
“I’m not here for him. I just want to know about the massacre.”
“Criminals don’t usually take too well to cops asking them to rat out other criminals. It’s not good business. I think that, deep down, you were hoping that you’d die today. You figured he’d save you the trouble.”
She didn’t respond. She just turned away from him and hoped that he was wrong.
“So who was it? Who did you lose?”
She ground down on her teeth so hard that she could feel her face growing red, but she finally replied, “My son. Or at least he would have been. My father was a bureaucrat during the days of apartheid. He lost his job when the new laws went into place. He lost everything eventually, after sending me to university. I didn’t know things were that bad, and he’s too stubborn and proud to let me help him. He was living in that camp.”
“But you said you lost a son, not your father?”
“Do you want to hear the damn story or not?” she said.
“You do understand that I could kill you at any moment, right?”
“I’m suicidal, remember? Plus, if you were going to kill me, you’d have done it by now.”
“That’s not up to me.”
“Who’s on the phone?” Isabel asked.
“Finish your story.”
“My father stayed with me in the city that day because he had a doctor’s appointment that I forced him to go to. When I took him home, we found …”
“Why did you say that he would have been your son?”
“His mother was sick. The adoption was almost final. A few days later, and he would have been living with me. He’d still be alive if I would have filed the damn paperwork just a bit sooner.”
She heard the Australian release a deep breath. Then, in his soothing baritone, he said, “I’m so sorry. But you can’t blame yourself.”
“I don’t. I blame the soulless monster who did the killing.”
“And what would you do if you found this monster?”
“I think you know.”
“Say the words.”
“Whoever is responsible is going to suffer and die.”
He seemed to consider that response for a moment and then asked, “Is that justice? You don’t want to see him on trial, constable? Didn’t you take an oath or something?”
“I don’t care about justice or oaths or much of anything anymore. That boy was my whole world. When I close my eyes, all I can see is his little blood-stained pajamas and his …”
“How far would you go to end this man? To what lengths?”
“Maybe I am suicidal, but when I go down, I’m dragging the son of a bitch who took my boy down to hell with me.”
Over the phone’s speaker, a man with a British accent said, “I’ve heard enough. Set the place and time and give her instructions.”
<
br /> “For what?” she said. “Who am I speaking to?”
Christopher picked up the phone and ended the call. “Congratulations. You’ll have your answers.”
“Who was on the phone?”
“A man who doesn’t exist.”
Isabel had heard that an infamous crime boss had recently set up shop in Jo’burg, but it was mostly ghost stories. She knew Interpol and the FBI had files on the man, but neither agency could confirm that he actually existed.
“Mobius?” she whispered.
Christopher smiled. “He wants to meet you.”
“But I thought you work for Angel? Aren’t they competitors and rivals?”
Christopher laughed. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, little girl. You’ve probably heard people say that there’s always a bigger fish. Well, you’re about to meet the fisherman. All of us little fish work for Mobius.”
Chapter 25
Gabi Deshpande wished that she had never felt fear like this before, but she had. And she could still feel his hands on her, his hot breath.
She had fought back then, and she would do the same now. Her father had taught her martial arts in order to protect herself from a trio of older brothers, who had made it their business to turn her into a house slave. She sometimes missed New Delhi and her parents, but she didn’t miss her former tormentors for a second. Especially her eldest brother.
Still, they had made her tough and fearsome with their constant barrage of condescension and humiliation. And her eldest brother, a predator always watching her with hungry eyes, had given her the motivation to strike out on her own and make a new life for herself in the United States.
But martial arts skills imparted by a loving father were of little use in her present situation. It wasn’t as if she could go Bruce Lee on a man holding a massive assault rifle. Still, maybe if she could enlist the help of her fellow captives, they could overtake the one referred to as Sparks by overwhelming force.
She sized up her fellow hostages. The three guards had been secured using zip ties and blindfolds, so they would be of little help. The other workers and customers had been gathered as a group in the middle of the GoBox lounge. They faced each other on a grouping of five couches, which smelled of new leather and peppermint oil. The manager insisted the peppermint scent of the couches made the customers feel refreshed while sitting there.