Dark City

by F. Paul Wilson

  Damn but it was cold. This wind was like to saw you in half.

  Ahead had to be the spot where the supposed buy was to take place, and where they planned to ambush the guys who’d hijacked them last time. The guys who weren’t going to show. He spotted men crouched along the low dune that flanked the single road to the exchange point.

  Dane had to admit that whoever planned this had done a good job. Only one way in and out of the tiny peninsula, unless you had a boat. Sure as hell couldn’t swim in that frigid water. No way to sneak up by land or sea unless you had a submarine. The mainland was only a couple of miles away, but even in the unlikely possibility that the sound of gunfire carried that far, who would have their windows open on a night like this?

  He noticed the truck start to move. What the—? Leaving already? He started to rise to hurry back to the pickup when he realized it was only turning around.

  They had to know they’d blown it. How long were they going to wait?

  He hunkered down to find out.

  6

  Blue had backed the Suburban as close as possible to the house and opened the rear. Then the three of them had filled its cargo space with the briefcases and attaché cases and even a North Face backpack they took from the would-be bidders.

  Black had all the wallets in a pillowcase. He plunked it on a car hood and handed one to Jack.

  “Take the cash, leave everything else, then toss the wallet into the yard. We don’t want to get caught with anything that’ll tie us to them.”

  Jack did as he was instructed while Black did the same. The latex gloves slipped on the bills but he managed.

  “That was why you didn’t take their jewelry, right?”

  “Right. We’d have to fence it and that’s a connection. Not worth the risk.”

  As he tossed the last wallet across the yard, Jack started to remove his mask.

  Black grabbed his arm. “Whoa. Leave that on.”

  “They can’t see me.”

  Black looked around. “You never know who’s watching. Cameras are getting better and better and smaller and smaller. Never know when someone might be filming you. Look what happened when those cops were beating up that black guy in L.A.”

  Jack tugged the mask back down. For the last couple of days all the news shows seemed to want to talk about was the beat-down the cops had laid on some guy named Rodney King Sunday night. A local guy with a camera had videotaped it and every TV set you passed seemed to be showing highlights.

  “What about the Suburban?”

  “Borrowed.”

  “As in without the owner knowing?”

  “Right. Same with the plates. We’ll move the cash into the Lincoln later and leave the Chevy in a safe spot.”

  He popped open one of the briefcases to reveal stacks of hundreds and some glossy photos. He grabbed the photos with a gloved hand and shoved them at Jack.

  “This is what passes for entertainment for these douchebags.”

  Jack’s gorge rose as he caught a glimpse of a small pale boy and a large hairy man. He tossed them to the ground.

  “You didn’t have to show me that!”

  He controlled an urge to go back into the house, get a knife from the kitchen, and start doing amputations.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  Black opened another, found more money and more photos. He took the photos and threw them into the air, letting the wind scatter them about the yard.

  “It’ll help you appreciate what comes next.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve finished the roundup.” He closed the rear of the Suburban. “Now it’s time for cleanup.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the lighted windows behind him. Jack wove his way back through the parked cars to look inside.

  Everything was pretty much as he’d left it. The same men and few women facedown on the floor, bound hand and foot with the zip ties Jack had helped apply. But where most had been lying quietly before, all were moving now, writhing as if in panic.

  Movement to the right caught Jack’s eye. He saw Blue emptying a can of fluid onto the struggling people on the floor. The can was red.

  “Is that…?”

  He didn’t have to finish the question as the wind carried the unmistakable odor of gasoline his way.

  “Oh, jeez!”

  Jack backed away from the window as he watched Blue toss the empty gas container onto the struggling forms on the floor.

  “You’re not … tell me you’re not.”

  Black gave him a puzzled look. “Not what? Not gonna use a little antiseptic on an infection? Not gonna cut out a malignant tumor?”

  “But burn them alive? I’d rather see them humiliated in court, then sent to jail where they’ll be renamed ‘Alice’ and passed around like party favors and get hit day after day after day with the same hell they’ve been dishing out. Make their lives a nightmare. That’s worse than death—ten times worse. They’ll wish they were dead.”

  “Sounds great,” Black said. “Too bad you can’t depend on it working out that way.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Lots of these folks are high up the food chain.” He waved at the briefcases. “It takes money to buy a child and keep it around with nobody noticing and asking questions. And if they don’t have influence themselves, they’ve got family members who do—fat cats who can insulate them from the usual legal channels. A few calls go out, investigations get dropped, deals get made, and pervs walk. Do they get scared straight? Hell no. They go right back to what they were doing.”

  Jack saw Blue at the front door, lighting a tube of rolled-up newspaper. Somewhere inside, a phone started ringing.

  “All clear!” he yelled.

  Suddenly Black had a grip on Jack’s shoulder and was pulling him back, then turning him and propelling him toward the Suburban.

  Jack saw Blue toss the flaming paper through the door and then pull it shut behind him as he backpedaled away from the house.

  Jack ducked as the first floor of the house exploded, shattering windows and sending billows of flames roaring into the night. The sound of the explosion faded, replaced by screams of agony.

  Black had both the passenger side doors open. He hopped in the front, Jack into the rear where he slammed the door shut and slumped, dazed, staring through the window at the inferno that had once been someone’s summer home.

  The engine was still running. Blue jumped in behind the wheel and slammed it into gear. As they roared off, Black picked up a phone and reported the fire. Then he leaned back with a contented sigh.

  “Thanks for helping improve the gene pool, Jack. Even if it’s just a little.”

  Jack leaned forward. Yeah, they’d probably done that, but still he had a queasy gut.

  “Burned alive?”

  “The cleansing flame,” Blue said. “You sound bothered. You’re not gonna go all wimpy on us, are you?”

  “Those screams…”

  “What? They’ll ‘haunt’ you or some shit like that? You know what screams haunt me, Jack? The screams of a little boy as some guy shoves his dick up his ass. Or a seven-year-old girl as she’s raped for the first time.”

  Jack winced. “You haven’t really—”

  “Heard that?” Black said. “Unfortunately we have. Lots of these pervs like to record their shit and trade it around. We need to know what they look like so’s we can track them down. The only way we can find out is to watch their tapes. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve run to the toilet to puke my guts out. Both of us.”

  Jack flopped back, feeling sicker than before. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Jesus Christ was nowhere to be found,” Blue said.

  They drove in silence for a while, then Black turned in his seat.

  “We could have just shot them, Jack—double-tapped each to the head and had done with it. And while a massacre like that sends a message, it’s not loud enough. Yeah, it decimates the perv commun
ity around here, but while it’s terrifying to them, it’s not horrifying. Burned alive is horrifying.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Okay: Burned alive is horrifying.” Then he laughed. “I can’t help it. I feel good about tonight. I’m sorry about that owner’s place, but not too much. I mean, that’s what insurance is for.”

  Blue said, “But the big, beneficial bonus from the horrification aspect is the extra chatter on the bulletin boards and newsgroups. Fingers will point. Who leaked? Who gave them up?”

  “But the last time—”

  “The last time a bunch of nameless Arabs got wasted. That caused barely a ripple among the pervs. A hijacking. A robbery. It wasn’t personal. We knew where they’d set up the auction that time. We could have done this then, but kids were involved. Getting them out of harm’s way was the priority. The kids always come first.”

  “But this time,” Black added, “thanks to you, we knew no kids were involved. That let us target the real scum. Last time they could tell themselves it was a money thing. This time they’ll know they were the target. And don’t underestimate the ripples that will cause. They’ll spread around the globe.”

  “The globe? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

  “Not a bit. This Internet thing is worldwide. These newsgroups are read by pervs in every country on Earth that’s got any decent level of technology. You saw me toss those photos from their briefcases around the front yard. That wasn’t just for the hell of it. The arson inspectors will find them and have a pretty good idea what kind of people were inside. The registrations from the cars outside will help put names to the crispy critters we left behind.”

  “They’re gonna be scared,” Blue said. “They may have suck in the halls of justice, but this is different.”

  Black grinned. “Right. This didn’t come through the halls of justice. This came out of the blue. We aren’t on anybody’s radar, but now they’ll know they’re in someone’s crosshairs, and they won’t like it. And we’ll be watching the bulletin boards, waiting for slip-ups.”

  “Slip-ups?”

  “Yeah. Nobody uses their real name on those things. But every once in a while someone gives something away. We keep track.”

  Flashing lights were visible far north on Bayview Avenue. Blue wheeled the Suburban onto a side street and waited till the cops and fire trucks roared past.

  Blue nodded approval. “Quick response.”

  “Let’s not hope too quick,” Black said. “We don’t want any survivors.”

  “No chance. Thoroughly soaked.”

  Jack couldn’t help a shudder.

  When the fire trucks were well past, they continued on to the hospital parking lot where Jack had left Ralph.

  When he got out, so did the Mikulskis. They accompanied him to the rear of the Suburban and opened one of the doors. Black made a showman wave with his arm.

  “Take your pick,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You earned it.”

  “That’s okay.”

  Perv money … Jack was sure the briefcases would be slimy to the touch.

  “Seriously. There’s a good seven figures in there. You earned a share.”

  “Nah. You keep it and … do whatever it is you do with it.”

  “We put it to good use,” Blue said. “You know that.”

  “Yeah,” his brother added. “What’s in those helps keep us from having to find day jobs.”

  “And that lets this become our day job.”

  “And night job.”

  “We’re starting to be able to pay people to keep their eyes and ears open for anything that might interest us.”

  “Got us a growing network now.”

  Jack backed away. “Thanks, guys, but I’m okay. Glad to help. Maybe if I need a loan someday I’ll tap you, but I’m good for now.”

  They looked at each other, shrugged, then Blue slammed the rear door. They all shook hands, and the brothers were already rolling before Jack reached Ralph.

  He started the engine and sat there while she warmed up. In his head he could still hear the screams pouring through the shattered windows back in Amityville, but he preferred them to the screams he imagined echoing through the Mikulski brothers’ heads.

  7

  Ernst Drexler had been pacing his apartment, waiting for word, sure that the hijackers could not pass up the opportunity he had presented them. But when the phone rang, he knew immediately from al-Thani’s flat tone that he had no good news.

  “Tell me.”

  “We’ve been waiting twenty minutes and they haven’t shown. I think they smelled a trap.”

  Ernst thought about that. It didn’t sit right. These hijackers weren’t just thieves. They had a cause. Even if they’d known it was a trap, they would be compelled to save the children.

  “The ‘smell’ of a trap would not keep them away.”

  “It would if they knew the truck was empty.”

  “How could they possibly know that?”

  Al-Thani told him about the truck being stopped by the Maryland State Police.

  This turn of events was more than a little embarrassing. They’d invested a lot of time and effort in setting this snare. To have it fail so miserably …

  “Still, even then, knowing that those who lay in wait for them were involved in child trafficking, I believe they would have made some move against the trappers.”

  “I agree. However, we have to face the fact that if they haven’t shown by now, it is almost certain they will not show at all.”

  Ernst shook his head. How could his assessment have been so wrong?

  “I was sure they’d try something.”

  “I’m going to call it off.”

  Ernst fought the urge to tell him to wait a little longer, but al-Thani was right: They’d baited their hook, but no one had bitten.

  Even worse, tomorrow Roman Trejador would serve him a steaming platter of crow and expect him to partake.

  Being an actuator for the Order was a wonderful job most of the time. But when things went wrong …

  * * *

  Nasser rolled down the limo’s window as Reggie approached. He knew what he was going to say so he beat him to it.

  “I think we’ve waited long enough.”

  Reggie nodded. “You read my mind.”

  “Help Mahmoud collect the rifles while I call for the boats.”

  Mahmoud must have been listening, for he stepped out and started for the dunes where his fellow jihadists were hidden. As Reggie followed, Nasser again plucked the car’s mobile phone from its cradle in the center console. This time he called the marina.

  When the owner answered, told him, “You can send the boats back now.”

  “No can do. The bay’s too rough.”

  “It’s no rougher than—”

  “It’s lots rougher. I ain’t sending my guys out in boats that size in the dark into that chop.”

  “Then send bigger boats!”

  “A bigger boat draws too much to make it to shore through those shallows. I’ll see if I can dig up some cars and send them ’round.”

  Nasser’s gaze settled on the rear of the truck idling thirty feet ahead of him.

  “Never mind.”

  He ended the call and got out of the car. As the wind bit into him he realized that the marina man was probably right. He certainly wouldn’t want to have to fight this gale in a little skiff.

  Reggie and Mahmoud were leading the jihadists toward the limo. Nasser opened the trunk so they could return their weapons. When Mahmoud reached him he pulled him aside.

  “After they’ve dropped off their weapons, have them get into the truck. We’ll take them back in that. Find someone who can drive and knows the way back to the center.”

  Mahmoud pointed to Reggie. “Not him?”

  Nasser turned to Reggie. “You and Kadir drive back with us. I have more questions about this police stop.”

  Reggie suddenly looked wo
rried. “Hey, we did everything by the book.”

  Nasser wasn’t in the mood to explain. “We’ll see about that. You ride back with me. Fetch Kadir.”

  * * *

  “Well, well,” Dane Bertel muttered as he watched the would-be ambushers climb into the back of the truck. “What have we here?”

  He forced his frozen fingers to work the wheel and focus his glasses on the suave-looking Mohammedan outside the limo. No question that he was in charge here. But who was he? Not one of Sheikh Omar’s honchos, but he gave them orders and they obeyed.

  Was he connected to the third player Dane sensed at work here?

  He wished he had better light. He watched Mahmoud close the rear doors on the truck and then head back to the limo. The mystery Mohammedan was already inside, but he didn’t see Kadir and the trailer-park white man who’d ordered Tony’s death. Back in the cab of the truck, he assumed. Where else?

  He pulled out his tracker as he watched the limo pull around the truck and lead it back to Ocean Parkway. Much as he’d love to follow the mystery Mohammedan and see who he reported to, he’d be kidding himself if he thought he could pull off a successful tail. At this time of night there simply was not enough traffic for adequate cover.

  He saw the blinking light on his tracker. The truck’s transceiver was still transmitting, but what use was that? He knew where the truck was going: It would head to the Al-Kifah center to drop its passengers, then wind up back in some Ryder lot.

  Looked like here was where this journey ended.

  He flipped the protective cover off a toggle switch attached to the tracker.

  He’d see to it that it turned out to be the end for some other journeys as well … especially that trailer-park trash guy. He couldn’t sit by and let him ride off into the sunset.

  He put his thumb on the toggle.

  This is for Tony …

  * * *

  Nasser turned in the front passenger seat to face Reggie and Kadir. He wanted more details on the stop by the police, but something had been niggling the back of his brain since his call to Drexler. Something the Austrian had said …