The Specter (19 page)

Nick Sturnam was as good as dead.

His computer beeped as an email came in. Wondering where Jessica was with his latest conquest, he lumbered over to his MacBook and opened the email. The picture of a man in his twenties was attached, green grass in the background. It looked like the photo was taken as the man was climbing off a roof.

He clicked the forward button and typed in the address of his contact at the FBI. Charles Beck worked with the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System, IAFIS, the criminal history database maintained by the FBI. It was intended for law enforcement agencies and not the private sector, but Charles would get what Clive needed. If the man in the photo had ever committed a crime and was fingerprinted anywhere in North America, there was a high chance Charles would have the information back to Clive within an hour. If not, Charles would have the contacts to get a name for the man in the picture.

Then everything would come together. Nick would finish what he was hired to do, and Clive would have Nick removed in a way that left the authorities with someone to blame for all the recent murders in Toronto.

Clive hit send and opened a protected file that listed names of men he could bring in for various jobs. He eyed his Canadian contacts and found two men in Montreal. He figured they could be in Toronto by the following day. Perfect. Nick would just be finishing with the list.

He lifted his encrypted line to make the call, still naked, and wondered where Jessica was with his next nubile boy.

Chapter 22

Aaron drove for a few hours until he ended up in Hamilton. He drove up what the locals called Hamilton Mountain, found a mall on Upper James Street just after Fennell Avenue and parked among the early evening shoppers’ vehicles. He walked into the mall, hit a bank machine and took out his daily limit. Then he pulled out his Visa and withdrew as much of an advance as he could.

Armed with just over two thousand dollars in cash, he walked to the food court in the small mall and found a Taco Bell. After loading up on two beef burritos and the five soft taco deal they offered that his daily workout regiment wouldn’t allow, he returned to his car, while he ate ravenously.

He had a decision to make and he couldn’t make it on an empty stomach. If he decided to go ahead with his plan, he needed cash and he didn’t want to take the money out of his account anywhere in Toronto.

He got on the highway and started back toward Toronto, headed to the hotel. He’d called Daniel and asked him to get Alex and Benjamin and check in at the Quality Suites Hotel near the Toronto International Airport. Aaron gave him specific instructions to have Alex check into the room. They were to wait for him there. When asked what was going on, he said that something had come up—important enough that Alex should use his spy novel knowledge to make sure no one knew what room they were in. Daniel was confused, but Aaron told him to not worry about it. Alex would know what Aaron was talking about.

Driving through Oakville on his way to Toronto, Aaron thought about his old high school teacher who quoted philosophical mentors. Mr. Gordon had memorized many of the famous quotes from Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. Mr. Gordon had made them read The Republic where they learned about the Philosopher Kings and Plato’s school, The Academy.

The one thing that stood out all those years ago for Aaron was something Aristotle had said about evil. He said that evil was necessary. As necessary as the shadows of a beautiful painting, for without the shadows, the painting wouldn’t have the same appearance, the same beauty.

Did that mean that men like Clive Baron were necessary? Was Clive a shadow? How were things more beautiful with men like that? With Joanne gone, Aaron felt rudderless. How could that ever be construed as beautiful? He’d lost his business, his income, his life, and now his sister.

What was left?

Each time he asked himself that question, the answer kept coming back to Clive Baron. A rich man who thought he could do whatever pleased him that day. It didn’t matter who he hurt or how he did it. The man was ultra rich and powerful, but it had gone to his head. Whatever the Weeks brothers saw at the airport that started this domino death effect, it didn’t matter as much as all the lives that were lost. Too many people were affected, too many lives.

Aaron thought of Joe Girard, the man who made the Guinness Books of World Records over ten years in a row for being the world’s greatest salesman. He had many disciplines and other facts to back how he did it, but one thing that stuck with Aaron was Joe’s
250 Rule
. Joe said, on average, approximately 250 people attended a funeral. That meant everyone has influenced or been involved with at least 250 people during their lifetime. For every murder Clive ordered, he was killing one human being and hurting over two hundred more.

Who could be allowed to wield that kind of power without consequence? Why was that allowed in a civilized society?

The only answer Aaron knew was that Clive Baron needed to be stopped, and he was the one that was going to stop him. He needed his friends to help him locate the country Clive was in and then decide how to get there since the judge took his passport as part of his bail terms.

He figured he had enough time to stop by his place for a change of clothes and still be at Daniel’s by the meeting time.

He had kept the call to Daniel simple. He had asked him to research Clive Baron. When they got together later at the hotel, have as much as he could on the man so they could discuss how to locate Joanne’s murderer.

Daniel had more questions, but Aaron cut him short and said they’d talk that night at the hotel. Get the Russell brothers. They would work out a plan then.

Aaron entered the outskirts of Mississauga, headed for his apartment. He was on his way to a meeting with evil. He now knew what all the years of his martial arts training had been for. He understood his role and he was prepared to play it.

There was nothing left to live for.

It was time to remove the shadows on the painting Aaron called life.

Chapter 23

Jessica had disappeared. Clive searched the outer office and walked through the rest of his condo, but couldn’t find her.

He walked back into his bedroom and sat at his desk. He tried her cell number but no one picked up. He tapped his leg and drummed his fingers on the desktop.

Where could she be?

Why would she leave without telling him or leaving a note behind? He had been asleep, but she could’ve left him a note.

He tried her cell again, to no avail.

There would be consequences for this. He wouldn’t tolerate insubordination. You teach people how to treat you by your actions. He would not ask where she had been or why she didn’t leave him a note. Instead he would cause her pain, and then use her like he would one of his boys. After bleeding from the rectum for a few days, she’d remember to leave him a
fucking
note next time.

She had never done anything like this before. Since he had brought her on, she traveled with Clive, bunked with him, slept with him and doted on his every whim. She even handled dead body disposal like a professional. Nothing shocked her.

She had a special phone number for a man who delivered boys to Clive. Little Russian orphans, lost or stolen orphans from a less fortunate country. Human trafficking had its benefits.

Clive often asked her if an orphan could eat in a family restaurant. Jessica never laughed.

She was off her post, late for her duties of supplying him a new partner, and it was almost six in the morning. That meant she would be his partner instead.

Everything has its price.

He dressed and called his guards to meet him at his condo door. He was going out for an unannounced breakfast. With the Toronto issue being cleaned up, he needed to get back to business and show his employees there was nothing to worry about. If he stayed hidden and moved around too secretly, he could almost detect the worry ooze off some of his men.

The email notification on his computer dinged.

The computer took a moment to encrypt the message from Charles at the FBI. The image was of a man named Aaron Stevens. He had recently been charged with attempted murder in Toronto after putting a man in a coma. He was the surviving brother of Joanne Stevens, recently found dead at Casa Loma in Toronto.

“That’s it,” Clive said as he snapped his fingers. “You wanker. I finally get to see the face of the man who has been pissing me off for days now.”

Clive read the impressive file of Aaron Stevens and his short life. He fumed at the interference of one unarmed man against Mossad agents and hired assassins. It seemed impossible, improbable, but it was happening.

Nick was right. He had to take this guy out first.

But Clive didn’t want that. He took a moment to formulate his response and decided that a lesson had to be taught. There could be no better way than to make it public for the world to see. His men needed a morale boost.

Clive was a lover of things medieval, such as, leaving bodies in a turret of Casa Loma.

He was also a lover of the torture methods of those days. He would have Aaron brought to Palamidi in Nafplio, Greece, a popular tourist area. Clive would pay enough to have the site shut down for a few days and then after an extensive question and answer session, with a torture and pleasure session added on, Clive would have Aaron drawn and quartered for the world to see.

There was nothing better than seeing the faces of the men who wanted to challenge Clive when they learned he was behind such brutality.

He tried Nick’s cell phone but got no answer.

Then he clicked forward on Charles’ email, blocked all information leading to Charles and sent Nick an email with explicit instructions to not harm Aaron, except far enough to make him do as he was told. Clive would have a plane waiting at the Toronto Island Airport for Aaron to be delivered with Nick to Greece where they would meet in Nafplio. Pick Aaron up at his home address, which was supplied in the email, and make sure he gets on that plane. Clive explained that he needed to see Aaron’s execution live. No pictures with this one. Nick would be paid five times his normal fee for the delivery of Aaron Stevens to the plane. After that, Nick was free to continue with the list.

His stomach growled and he had lost his erection. Maybe it was better that Jessica hadn’t been waiting with a new boy this morning. He was conducting much needed business.

As he reached the door, his computer dinged again. For a moment he debated whether to go have breakfast first or see who emailed him.

Curiosity got the better of him. Another message from Charles.

He waited for his computer to open the encrypted email.

The first contained only one word.

Run.

The second line read;

Consider my debt to you paid. Once you read this email, even though its encrypted, I will be erasing it from my system and destroying my hard drive with a hammer. We are done.

Jessica Nockler has ratted you out. A task force is set to move on you today in Moscow. I just found out. Something happened in Toronto that is linked to you. It raised their timetable. It’s an early morning raid aimed at removing you from your Moscow condo at six in the morning today, Moscow time, which is twelve minutes from the moment I’m sending this email.

Be well.

Goodbye.

Clive looked at the clock.

05:49 a.m.

He erased the email and started the shut down procedure of his computer. There wasn’t time to be angry or frightened. He needed to leave the building as fast as he could.

He tossed a shirt over his head, slipped into his shoes and jumped in front of his computer again. The screen was blank.

He secured his watch to his wrist.

05:52 a.m.

He pulled the PC’s tower out from under his desk, laid it flat on the carpeted floor and jumped on it. It took four tries to collapse the side of the tower in far enough for him to see the hard drive had been torn from its moorings. As far as he could see, the damage was extensive.

05:54 a.m.

He grabbed his cell phone and called his men downstairs. Arnold, his main driver, answered, his voice measured.

He knows. The strike team is already in the building.

Heart racing, sweat beading on his forehead, Clive spoke into the phone, telling Arnold to meet him in the lobby. He wanted to take the car out to enjoy an early morning breakfast in Moscow.

Clive had backup plans for most unexpected events, but he’d never used them, nor did he know if any of them would work. The problem was, each backup plan had an escape route, a car and a driver. He had never assumed all his men would be compromised. Without a driver, he had no way out. He didn’t even have car keys.