by Ethan Cross
To the recording, Sheriff Hall said, “Yeah, we get it asshole.”
“It’s a good thing that this is our final act. If you pass the test at the next location, you will have rescued them. But don’t think for one second that you can get to them without following the rules of the game.”
The image changed to a set of coordinates. Marcus used his phone to snap a picture of them. Judas said, “At these coordinates, you will find the entrance to an old mine. Only two people may enter the mine. The lead investigator—or whoever is in charge now, if he or she also happened to be allergic to stinging insects—and a representative from Powell’s company, since Mr. Powell is now either headed to the morgue or a hospital bed. These two people enter alone. No one comes in behind them. You can bring your phones and radios with you this time, but they’ll do you little good in the trials ahead. Ten feet inside the entrance, along one wall, you’ll find an old table containing further instructions. Follow all of this exactly as I’ve described or Renata and Ian will die.”
The video reached its end.
Sheriff Hall gestured toward Reese and said, “Well, I guess it’s a good thing we just happen to have a representative of the company right here.”
Marcus narrowed his eyes and said, “Yeah, what a happy coincidence. Mr. Reese, you’re driving.”
*
Reese took his place behind the wheel of his Audi A4, while Marcus sat in the passenger seat. Marcus asked Reese for his phone and then, from memory, typed the coordinates into the device’s GPS app. He handed it back to Reese without a word, and neither of them spoke after that. Marcus knew how telling silence could be, and he wanted to let Reese sweat a bit.
But the maneuver was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Marcus answered the call and said, “What did you find at the Academy?”
Maggie replied, “The candidates that Stan flagged weren’t memorable, but they did give us the name of another possible suspect. Clarence O’Neal. He’s a guard at the prison who could be a fit for our mastermind. I had Stan check on him, and Clarence has been making unusually high deposits.”
“Okay, dig into him. See if he could be our guy.”
“Way ahead of you. Stan also found that Mr. O’Neal owns a secluded property up in the foothills not too far from the prison.”
Marcus watched the dirt road coming from the cargo container give way to asphalt as Reese headed toward their next sadistic game. He said, “You and Andrew should go check out O’Neal’s place.”
“I’m good. I’m already at O’Neal’s trailer now.”
“By yourself?”
“I have Major Ingram and Officer Dunn with me.”
“Both of whom could still be suspects. Damn it, Maggie. I don’t need to explain the reasons why going in there blind and naked is dumb. You know all the reasons. I have to deal with another of Judas’s games, but Andrew could be there in a few minutes. Or I could have the sheriff see if any of his deputies are close by. Give me the address.”
“We’re fine. We’re just going to check out the place and maybe ask some questions.”
“Yeah, unless you find something or bullets start flying. Is this about the argument earlier? Listen, I handled it poorly. I should have discussed my decision with you, but I made that decision from the standpoint of what was best for the investigation. It had nothing to do with you or wanting to sideline you. I wanted Andrew with me. And—”
“You’re not helping. You think he’s more capable than me?”
“That’s not the point. I wanted Andrew with me because he’s so good at smoothing things over when I piss someone off, and I thought that you and Dylan could use some time together. You’re practically his stepmom. And—”
“But I’m not his stepmom. He’s not my responsibility.”
“Come on, Maggie.”
“No, you don’t get to treat me like I signed up for mommy duty.”
“You don’t want the job?”
“I didn’t say that. But I’m not going to let anything get in the way of my real job. I have to be out there. Working the case.”
Marcus gripped his phone so tightly that it made him wonder about the sturdiness of the device. “I don’t have time for this right now. I’m sorry that you interpreted what I was saying as a suggestion. I’m ordering you to wait for backup you can trust. Our problems have nothing to do with that. I won’t let you put yourself in danger in some attempt to punish me over an argument. If our relationship is going to cause this many problems in the field, then maybe we shouldn’t have a relationship.”
“Okay. Sounds good to me.” Then Maggie hung up on him.
Marcus closed his eyes and growled. Breaking up with Maggie was not at all what he wanted. He loved her, despite any issues, arguments, or eccentricities. The problem was that he knew if they each had to choose between the other and the job… He would choose her, and she would choose the job.
Reese chuckled and said, “That was not the right thing to say there, my man.”
“I am heavily armed and in a very emotional state right now, Mr. Reese. Choose your words carefully.”
“It’s just that I thought you were singling me out for some reason. Now, I realize that you’re just not able to properly communicate your feelings.”
“Say another word about what you just overheard, and I will calmly sit here until we arrive. But when we do, I will beat you within an inch of your life. Does that properly communicate my feelings on the matter to you, Dr. Reese?”
This was exactly the opposite of what he had intended when he chose to ride with Reese. He wanted to be on the offensive, not the defensive.
“What about you and Powell’s daughter? I suppose you get along perfectly. That’s the way it is in the beginning. It’s a scientific fact. It’s a chemical thing that wears off. But I guess in your case, it will last longer for her since you’re just using her to get to Daddy anyway.”
“You know what, I’m tired of you accusing me. I loved her with all my heart.”
“Loved? Don’t you mean, love? Why the past tense?”
“I said love. Don’t try to trip me up and mess with my head. I love her. And she loves me. Her father gave me this job because he wanted to help me out since I’m going to be his son-in-law, but that’s not why I’m marrying his daughter. It’s just an added bonus, and I’m not a bad guy for accepting his help.”
“I hear your fiancée is in India right now on some mission trip. What do you think about that?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Just seems like a big commitment. A month long trip like that displays a level of dedication. Implies that this might not be her first or last journey. What do you think about her being away from you like that?”
“We’re comfortable in our relationship.”
But Marcus wanted to probe deeper. He said, “Did she check with you first? Before booking the trip?”
“Why does that matter?”
Marcus pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Andrew. As he typed, he said to Reese, “I was just curious which one of you wore the pants in the relationship.”
Reese glared over at him. Marcus could see fire there. Maybe enough for Reese to be a killer. But then that look faded into something else. Something smug. With a smile, Reese said, “Now I see what you’re doing.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’re intentionally antagonizing me because I’m a potential suspect.”
“Should I consider you a suspect?”
“I have nothing to hide. Ask me whatever you want.”
“Powell said you were an orphan. What happened to your parents?”
“I don’t know. They gave me up at birth. I was raised at an orphanage in Texas.”
“Have you ever tried to look for your real parents?”
“No, and how the hell does this relate to your investigation?”
“You said I could ask you anything. What did you do before going to work for Powell’s comp
any?”
“I worked for an advertising agency in Dallas. My references are on file. Feel free to give them a call and verify.”
The GPS announced a turn, and Reese followed the directions onto a gravel road. Then the computerized voice of the phone said, “Your destination is in two miles on the left.”
Marcus cracked his neck and centered himself on the task at hand. Reese would have to wait. Maggie would have to wait. Right now, he had a game to play and a mother and son to save.
*
Clarence O’Neal’s property sat in the shadow of a large, jagged rock face. Maggie examined the dilapidated buildings as Ingram allowed the vehicle to roll to a stop. The focal point at the center of the property was an old white and yellow double-wide trailer. Various buildings of sheet metal surrounded it. Some falling in on themselves. There was a fenced-in area housing a trio of old horses and one new metal building that matched the colors of the desert sitting behind the trailer and butting up against the rock face.
Maggie looked over at Ingram and said, “Remind me what you did before becoming a correctional officer?”
The big black man puffed up even larger and said proudly, “I was a Marine, ma’am.”
“Good,” she said and then pulled a compact Taurus .357 Magnum revolver from a holster on her ankle. “Then you know your way around one of these.”
He took the weapon with a nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What about me?” Jerry Dunn said from the back seat.
“You wait here like a good boy,” Maggie said and then stepped from the rented minivan.
There were no lights on inside the trailer. The sun had just begun to set, and it cast strange shadows over the property. Her eyes flicked over each dark corner of the lot as she approached the front door. She banged three times and announced loudly, “Department of Justice. We need to ask you a few questions.”
After a few seconds of waiting, she said, “Major, you told me Officer O’Neal has been off all weekend, right?”
“That’s correct,” Ingram said.
“Okay, let’s check around back. I want to see what’s in that new building back there.”
“I noticed that. It looks to be the newest and most expensive structure out here. No windows though.”
“I think we’ll find it unlocked, if you know what I mean. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
“Three of my men are dead. Not to mention the inmates who were under my care. My responsibility. One that I take seriously. Whatever needs to be done to stop this guy, I’m along for the ride.”
Maggie patted him on the shoulder. “Good, I’m glad I have you here to watch my back.”
He smiled, showing a mouth of perfect white teeth that stood out in stark contrast against his dark skin. “I’m glad to be of help.”
Maggie rounded the side of the trailer, hand resting on her holstered Glock pistol, ready to retrieve the weapon at the slightest sign of danger. The new metal building was fifty yards from the trailer across an expanse of scrub brush and cacti with a four-foot walking path cut through its middle. Maggie guessed the walls of the building to be fourteen feet high. The sheet metal was new and the color of sand, and the building emitted a low electrical hum. The closer they came to the building, the louder the humming. The whole place smelled like fertilizer, and the scent of animal feces was much too strong to be coming from the few boney excuses for livestock which were scattered about the property.
She announced herself as a federal agent and then checked the door. Locked. She reached into a back pocket and retrieved her lock-pick set. Marcus was the expert lock picker of the group—a skill that she suspected came more from a troubled youth than out of career necessity—but she was a quick study. In a matter of seconds, the door swung open, and she smiled back at Major Ingram. “Told you it would be unlocked. Now, let’s—”
Maggie started to scream for Ingram to get down, but she quickly realized that the warning was too little and too late. The man who stood between them and the trailer was already squeezing the trigger.
She looked up into Ingram’s eyes, met his gaze.
A half second later, a rifle shot rang out. Ingram’s head jerked forward, and blood splattered Maggie’s face.
She screamed as she dove through the now open door just as another shot meant for her head cracked against the metal building, piercing a hole through its skin, and clanging again as it passed through the building’s far side.
Maggie kicked the door closed as she pulled her Glock. She screamed as she wiped the blood from her face and scooted herself back farther into the building. She waited a breath to see if her attacker was coming through the door behind her, but then she rolled to the side and sprang to her feet. Another shot flew through the building’s door at head height.
Maggie turned to check the rest of the building and instantly realized why they had received such a rude welcome. This new metal building was filled from floor to ceiling and side to side, from the ground up, with multiple rows of shelving units. And each of those shelving units was lined with marijuana plants and ultraviolet lighting.
She thought she saw movement farther into the rows, but her attention was drawn back to the more immediate concern of the man charging after her with the kind of rifle normally used to hunt elk.
She crouched low and held the Glock level at the door. She waited impatiently for a span of two breaths. But nothing happened. The man didn’t kick open the door, nor did he cautiously push his way inside like a little boy checking his closet for a monster. He was waiting for her to make the move. She resisted the urge to grit her teeth or look over her shoulder.
Patience, she told herself.
Patience.
Another voice in her head screamed that someone could be sneaking up on her at that very second. A second shooter hiding among the rows of pot plants. A second shooter now creeping up behind her. Should she risk a glance?
Patience.
But the second shooter …
The man with the rifle kicked open the door and charged forward into the building.
For the first time, she got a good look at her attacker. He had pale white skin beneath a red flannel shirt and a shaved head with wild, random patches of longer hair. His eye sockets were dark and sunken. His frame was small and frail, but there was fire in his eyes.
Maggie had already estimated the level of his chest based on his height. She had aligned the barrel of her weapon with the spot she hoped would connect with his heart.
When the shooter kicked his way inside, all she had to do was squeeze. The hard part was not hesitating. And she didn’t. She squeezed the blocky grip of the Glock twice in quick succession.
The weapon jerked with flashes of fire. Both shots connected with his midsection, and he fell forward from his own momentum, tumbling into one row of shelving units and toppling several of the plants.
Maggie spun back toward the inner part of the building, away from the first downed attacker. But there was no one there. Just more rows of plants and lights and irrigation systems. The thick aroma of thriving marijuana plants made her eyes water.
Maybe there was only one of them out here?
From the direction of the trailer, a man yelled, “We have your friend! Come out now, and we’ll work this out. You have ten seconds, and then he dies.”
Then she heard Jerry Dunn’s voice. “Don’t listen—” he said and then cried out in pain.
“Eight. Seven,” the other voice screamed. “Six.”
She approached the door and peered through the opening without moving the door itself and alerting them to her location. She saw a short black man with a shaved head and a precise goatee holding pale-white Jerry Dunn by his shaggy hair. The newcomer was Clarence O’Neal. She recognized him from his file. Clarence crouched behind Dunn, using the young correctional officer as a human shield; which meant no clean shot for her. A wound on Dunn’s head gushed blood; apparently, he had put up a fight.
“Four
. Three.”
She had no options. There was a confidence in the man’s voice that told her that he’d carry through with his threat. She pulled the door back and stepped outside into the light from the setting sun.
She held the Glock up and at the ready and said, “Put the gun down. We can work something out.”
A voice from the darkness behind her said, “I don’t think so, bitch.”
Maggie cursed inside but did her best to maintain a calm exterior as she raised her hands in surrender. There must have been another man hiding behind the corner of the building.
“Down! Now!”
Maggie dropped the Glock to the desert floor and said, “Listen, guys. I’m not here about all this. We’re trying to stop a killer. It has nothing to do with your little operation. I’m sure we can—”
She felt the pain of a blow to the back of her head, and then she felt nothing at all.
*
There were several reasons why the Director had volunteered to drive the hour and forty-five minutes to Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport and play taxi for his old co-worker Valdas Derus, who was now a special agent with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, but none of those reasons had to do with friendship.
Once they were inside the Director’s rented Cadillac CTS Sedan and on the road, the Director said, “So are you comfortable with the role that we need you to play?”
“Not necessarily, but I’m here for Scott.”
That was Val. Loyal to a fault.
The Director could still hear the slight tinge of a foreign accent betraying Valdas Derus’s true Lithuanian roots, but Val had mostly lost the inflection. Although, the Director noticed that Val’s accent had a tendency to get thicker and more exotic when a female was around. Val had been divorced for over five years now, and he still hadn’t found a replacement. But not for lacking of trying.
Valdas was one of those guys who had somehow become more charming and attractive with age and had timeless features and flowing black hair with only a hint of salt with the pepper. Seeing Val made the Director feel even worse than he had after seeing Powell. Powell and Valdas both still looked young and vibrant despite their ages, while the Director knew he was fading. And the next person that asked if he was sick was going to get bitch-slapped. He knew they were whispering about whether or not he had cancer or something of the like. The truth was that he hadn’t checked and didn’t want to know. Until the pain got to the point that he couldn’t work, he wasn’t about to waste time with doctors.