by Ethan Cross
No one spoke. Burke felt the gravity of the situation overwhelming him again. As he had been discussing the revolutionary battery, he had almost forgotten about the group of people whose lives depended on them finding a cure, if one even existed. It was a small flickering flame of hope, but he refused to let it go out.
Burke considered Carter’s words. They needed to track down the perpetrators, but how? The police, US Marshals, FBI, and CIA were already out in force, checking all the ways out of the city and scanning for facial recognition based on the vague descriptions given by the hostages and the South African’s unusual height. He found one of Allanon’s tall-backed chairs like the one Carter had pulled over. It had plush red padding with a golden lion stitched over the back. He sat down, leaned back, interlocked his fingers, and raised his arms to cover his eyes with the backs of his hands.
What would they need? Where would they go? How would he pull off such a robbery and escape with his prize?
He had carried his iPad in under his arm. Now, he opened it and activated his sketch-noting program. His eyes flicked over the drawings and connections, landing on the name Lamar Franklin, the young gunman the thieves had used as a patsy and then murdered. How had the South African connected with him? It wasn’t like they just walked into a bar and asked if anyone would like to go rob a bank. He had to have been referred. Plus, their equipment. Where did they acquire the C-4 and fully automatic assault rifles?
Burke started pacing and said, more to himself than anyone, “We need to find where they recruited Lamar Franklin and acquired their arsenal.”
“Our detectives are digging into Franklin—running known associates, bank records, employers—but so far, they’re getting nowhere,” Nic said. “They’re checking with Oakland PD, where he grew up.”
They couldn’t run known associates on the other terrorists because they didn’t know their identities, and they couldn’t knock down the door of every gun runner or mercenary in the state. There wasn’t time for that.
His eyes scanned his notes and caught upon the image of the cards he had found in the wallets of Ty Loria and one of the men in tactical gear who had appeared with Yoshida. The trouble was that he wasn’t sure how Carter would react to some of the less than legal actions he had committed. He knew the older man’s strong disapproval over his CIA social hacking experiment, especially since it hadn’t yielded much useful information.
Then he thought of Gabi Deshpande, whose blood was on his hands, and the other people in quarantine. He had to take the chance for them. He had to trust.
“Allanon,” he said. “Please do a deep search for Black Dog Protective Services.”
Carter raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t just pull that name out of thin air. What is Black Dog?”
“Remember when we were back at the GoBox location in North Vegas? Before I went to use the bathroom, I stole Ty Loria’s wallet, snapped some pictures of the contents, and slipped the wallet back in his jacket before we left.”
“Where did you learn to pick pockets?”
“I grew up in Vegas.”
Nic chuckled. “You’re full of surprises, Dr. Burke. I’ve heard of Black Dog, but from what I know, they’re mostly rent-a-cops with a few former spec ops guys who do protection work for high rollers. Something from the wallet led you to them?”
“Loria had one of their cards. There was a handwritten number on the back.”
“Makes sense. Loria may use them for his private security or covering some of his properties.”
Burke worked on his iPad and said, “Allanon, I just sent you a picture of a keycard that I also pulled out of Loria’s wallet. I’ve tried to do a quick search on the logo, but I didn’t have time to go deep with it.”
Allanon smiled. “Wands are only as powerful as the wizards who use them.”
“Don’t quote Potter at me,” Burke snapped. Allanon frowned, and Burke turned back to the others. “That’s not the only connection I found with Black Dog.”
He pulled a black leather wallet from his jeans and held it out to Carter, who opened it and said, “Where the hell did you pinch this one?”
“I took that from one of the guys with Yoshida who were pretending to be CIA. There’s a Black Dog ID in there, and several business cards for the company.”
Nic ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. “Yoshida’s using mercs, which means he’s definitely off-the-grid here.”
“Not necessarily,” Carter said. “CIA uses contractors all the time, especially on US soil.”
Nic shook his head. “When were you planning to share this information with us? You didn’t think this could be important.”
“I was waiting for the right time,” Burke said. “I honestly wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
“We need to trust each other, kid.”
“I don’t trust anyone any more than I absolutely have to. The more you trust, the more you let your guard down, the more you get burned.”
“Any other illegal activities we should know about?” Carter asked.
Burke looked at the floor. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure this one’s a federal offense.”
“What did you do?”
“I noticed that Yoshida was using an Android phone, which was definitely not CIA-issued. So, while Nic and Yoshida were arguing in the vault room, I may have, hypothetically speaking, hacked into his phone and installed some tracking and logging software.”
Burke’s heart pounded. He didn’t want to make eye contact with either of the law enforcement agents in the room. He had broken into the phone of a representative of the United States federal government and probably broken several laws in the process. The wallets were nothing, but the phone hack along with the social engineering that Carter had witnessed could carry a lengthy prison sentence, if they decided to call him out on it. Plus, he had shot a guy. Although, he was relatively certain the man he shot wasn’t actually a CIA agent, which should have been a lesser charge.
When he looked up, both Carter and Nic were smiling back at him. Nic slapped him on the shoulder, and Carter said, “Where is he now?”
Burke brought the tracking app up on his iPad, and said, “His phone is at Ty Loria’s mansion out in the foothills.”
“That doesn’t help us,” Carter said. “Even if the terrorists were hiding there, which is unlikely, we’d be showing our hand by getting a warrant.”
“Unless we broke in,” Burke said.
Nic chuckled. “Let’s take it easy for a minute there, Ocean’s Eleven. What about Black Dog?”
With a machine gun clicking of the keys, a wealth of information on the company and its owner appeared on Allanon’s screens.
“Carl Verbeek owns the company,” the wizard said. “And rumor is that, while he’s mostly legit, his guys will do just about anything for a price. And he has the connections to get you any armament short of a ballistic missile. But here’s the kicker … Verbeek is former South African special forces.”
Burke narrowed his eyes at the picture of the heavyset man displayed on the screen. Verbeek was the missing link in the chain, the piece of the puzzle that could tie everything together, Burke could feel it in his bones.
“Who’s up for paying Mr. Verbeek a little visit?” he said.
Nic nodded, but then added, “Sounds like a good place to start. But let’s try not to shoot him or ask him if he wants to die today.”
“Those were isolated incidents.”
“And try not to steal his wallet,” Carter said.
Burke shrugged. “We’ll just have to see where the moment takes us.”
Chapter 87
Isabel’s whole body shook as she fought to keep her composure. She looked in the mirror, saw the blood splattered across her face, and vomited into the sink. It felt like a part of her soul flowed out of her along with the bile and fluids. Thankfully, she hadn’t eaten in more than a day. Her eyes in the mirror appeared sunken, and her normally tan skin had turned the color of ash.
&nbs
p; She looked to her hands and realized that she still held the bloody hammer. She dropped it into the sink and stepped back like she’d come across a rattlesnake.
Her mind raced. What was she doing? What had she become? Only a day ago, she had been a constable, a representative of law and order, one who was on suspension and mandatory psychiatric care, but a police officer nonetheless.
Now what was she? A weapon? A mercenary? A madwoman? A killer?
Christopher’s words came back to her. He had urged her not to meet with Mobius. He had pushed her to let it all go, but she had foolishly refused, and now she was in too deep.
She had done nothing as Christopher shot Verbeek’s two sentries and bypassed the alarms. She had simply looked down at the two dead men, numb, like it was all a dream, like she was floating through someone else’s life.
She could have stopped there, but she didn’t. She followed Christopher inside, dragged Verbeek out of his bed, tied him naked to a chair, and …
The water in the sink was still running, cascading over the hammer and washing the blood and chunks of flesh down the drain. She gasped and covered her mouth in shock. Something about all of it surprised her, like someone else had done these things, and she had just woken up to find them. It wasn’t her hammer. The blood wasn’t there because she had used it as a method of torture. She hadn’t broken into this man’s house and used that hammer to smash the man’s toes.
A mental image of Verbeek’s little toe bursting like a ripe grape caused her to retch again.
Christopher knocked at the door and said, “Can I come in?”
“Just a minute.”
Cleaning herself up as best she could, wiping away tears that she hadn’t even realized she had cried, she opened the door. He gave her a knowing smile and said, “It’s your first time. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Ashamed of what? Being an actual human being?”
“This is what you wanted.”
She said nothing.
“He’s ready for round two.”
“I can’t. I never wanted this.”
He reached out and brushed her hair away from her face, stroked her cheek. She didn’t pull away. “You’re right. You’re better than this. I’ll call the jet. There’s still time for you to go home.”
“Wait, I didn’t mean—”
“Isabel, I told you this crusade would take you to dark places. I should have never let you come this far.”
“I make my own decisions. Nothing’s changed. If this is what it takes to find Kruger, then this is what I’ll do.”
She walked back to the sink, shut off the water, and picked up the hammer.
“Everyone breaks eventually,” Christopher said, “but Verbeek was special forces. This is only getting started.”
Isabel thought of all the people Kruger had murdered. She thought of her soon-to-be-adopted son. She thought of the blood running out from beneath Tyler’s door. Then she pushed past Christopher and made her way to Verbeek’s bedroom.
It was time for round two.
Chapter 88
Kruger sat at a small table and opened his laptop, which connected to the Internet via a secure satellite uplink. The drywall around him was hung but hadn’t been mudded and finished. A small cot that was about two feet too short for him sat in the corner. Not that such accommodations bothered him or that he planned to sleep. He wouldn’t rest until the mission was complete. He popped two caffeine pills and booted the laptop.
He smiled at the email response he saw on the screen. Only an hour prior, he had reached out to Mobius and asked to speak with him. The email contained nothing but a hyperlink ending in a “.to” extension instead of the American standard “.com” extension. Kruger recognized it as the Internet extension for the island kingdom of Tonga.
He clicked the link and video chat software began to load. When Mobius appeared on the screen, however, his face and body were blurred beyond all recognition, like he was merely some ghost in the machine. In an electronically altered voice, Mobius said, “I have to admit that, although little surprises me these days, I hadn’t expected to hear from you, old friend.”
Kruger wasted no time with pleasantries. He had no friends, only enemies and resources. “I’m sure that even now you have someone hunting for me,” he said. “It’s your way.”
“Your little nervous breakdown after the squatter camp incident cost me a lot of money. I don’t like to lose money. You broke three contracts with me, and I can’t tolerate that. What kind of message would that send to the rest of the network?”
“I fully understand your position, and I also know that you will never stop hunting me. I could kill one set of assassins, and more would follow.”
“Obviously. Are you coming to the point, Mr. Kruger? I’m a busy man, and you’re only one small checkmark on my to-do list. Please don’t tell me that this is the part where you tell me that you’re coming to kill me or beg for your life or some such nonsense.”
“No, I want to make you an offer.”
“Interesting. Proceed.”
“Did you receive the documents describing what we have stolen? It’s worth billions.”
“Yes, but a battery doesn’t interest me. You see I already have so much money wrapped up in the old infrastructure, oil and coal and power companies. It’s not something I would ever want to see on the market.”
“I’m aware. Which is why I’m offering to destroy it for you.”
Mobius’s blurred form seemed to steeple his fingers, although it was hard to tell. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I want your blessing to be out of the game. I want my freedom without being hunted. In exchange, I will wait until the buyer is in possession of their prize, and I am in possession of their money. Then I will eliminate this threat to your investments.”
“What about the money?”
“I’m prepared to offer you ten percent of—”
“Twenty-five.”
Kruger was prepared for this and had been willing to go as high as fifty percent. There wasn’t much that he could do with $500 million that he couldn’t do with $250 million. But Mobius must have been in a generous mood.
“Agreed. Do you accept?”
“No.”
Kruger showed no reaction, but the word struck him like a physical blow. This had been the whole purpose of this mission, to pay off the price on his head while making enough money for him, his wife, and daughter to live out the rest of their days in luxury. If Mobius refused his offer …
“Is Dr. Raskin still with you?”
Kruger had never told the syndicate leader about the doctor or the work he had done for the CIA.
“Yes, she is,” he said.
“And your buyer is a Mr. Yoshida from the CIA, who is being financed by Tivoli Loria, correct?”
Kruger said nothing.
“You see, Yoshida and Loria’s superiors know that they’ve been betrayed. Your friend Raskin took with her a great deal of information when she set fire to her lab before they could shut her down. The files she stole are of a very sensitive nature, and her former employers want those files back.”
“I haven’t seen any files or digital storage devices in her possession.”
“Yes, she’s claimed that the files are hidden in order to guarantee her safety from her former employers. But, after a bit of digging, I discovered that she had the information printed on several microdots and fitted inside an old ring. Have you seen such a ring?”
“She claims it was her grandmother’s.”
“Maybe it was. But now it’s mine. Bring me that ring and carry out the rest of your offer, and I will consider your debt paid in full.”
“And no interference while I carry out this mission.”
The blurred figure nodded. “I’ll call off the dogs. But I was only going to kill you and Zarina for your former transgressions. If you cross me again, I will have some unsavory characters commit unspeakable acts against your daughter, Kianga. A bea
utiful name. It means sunshine, doesn’t it? Did you choose that or did Zarina?”
Kruger gritted his teeth and fought to maintain composure. Idle threats were wasted words, and he knew that Mobius would have his daughter raped, murdered, or skinned alive without giving it a second thought. He had seen the man do much worse.
“The debt will be paid in full,” he said.
“Good. Glad to have you back on the team. Cheers.”
The connection ended, and Kruger sat staring at the screen. In the back of his mind, Idris Madeira cried and screamed that Kruger had just killed his own daughter, his sunshine.
Chapter 89
Carl Verbeek’s home was a sprawling pueblo structure on the far west edge of Las Vegas. Nic knew that Turtlehead Mountain was not far from Verbeek’s backyard, but all he could see in the distance was infinite darkness. As they pulled up, having switched the Firebird for one of the tactical BearCats, Nic could tell that the place was still under construction. Pallets of uncut boards lay in piles along the property’s southern edge and a small cement mixer stood beside the front door where a temporary walkway had been fashioned from two-by-six boards. The home was massive and beautiful and surrounded by an eight-foot pueblo and stone wall, the house only visible through a wrought-iron gate. Apparently, business was good for Carl Verbeek and Black Dog Protective Services.
Nic parked the BearCat across the road from the property and was about to ring the security station sitting beside the gate, but before he could step from the vehicle, Carter grabbed his arm and said, “Something’s wrong. The gate’s open.”
Nic looked back at the property. He could see a light shining out of one of the upstairs bedrooms at the rear of the home. The gate did indeed hang open, and the security station appeared unmanned. Maybe Verbeek wasn’t even living here yet, but better not to take chances. Nic stepped out, but instead of heading over to the gate, he moved to the rear of the BearCat and donned his tactical gear. He slung an M4A1 assault rifle at his side but checked his Sig Sauer, grabbing a few extra magazines. If a tactical entry was necessary, the pistol gave him better range of movement around tight corners and would prove more effective in close quarters combat.