Tortured Spirits (16 page)

Just forget about me,
Jake thought.

They took him into a bare room with cinder-block walls. No windows. Two chairs and a desk. Jake had been in rooms similar to this one more times than he could remember, interviewing suspects and being interviewed by cops. Edgar. Maria. Teddy Geoghegan from Major Crimes. Homeland Security. The FBI. He had promised himself he would do everything in his power to avoid any more official interviews, but here he stood. Familiarity truly bred contempt.

One of the soldiers pointed at a chair. “Sit down.”

“How about removing these bracelets?”

The soldier smiled. “I'm sure the handcuffs will be taken off when the time comes.”

What the hell does that mean?
Jake sat behind the desk, his cuffed hands pressing against the small of his back,
every movement causing the pain in his chest to flare.

The soldiers left without saying another word, the door closing with a sharp sound and a click that told him he had been locked in.

Taking a deep breath, he searched the room for a camera and located one in the far upper corner. At least he didn't see a rubber hose or electrodes.

What the hell do they want with me? I haven't done anything yet, except kill a white snake. These guys should be happy about that.

The door opened, and a tall, muscular man in a tailored black suit entered carrying a file folder. He was the first Caucasian Jake had seen since landing on the island, and it took him a moment to recognize the man's bald head and bushy mustache. Then his body turned numb.

“It's a small world, isn't it, Helman?”

Bill Russel.

Maria switched on the headlights as she raced down the highway in the battered Dodge. A mountain loomed ahead, and she decided the highway was different than the one they had taken into Pavot City. The car had only a quarter of a tank of gas left, and she didn't see any exits for refueling.

Where the hell am I?

She didn't envision stopping to read the map in her bag, and she couldn't turn around and go back. That left continuing on until she ran out of gas and had to abandon the vehicle. She passed a meadow occupied by cows, the
trees in the dark woods behind them clawing at the dark sky. The Dodge's headlights illuminated stark-looking barbed wire fences.

As she accelerated up an incline, the engine coughed and whirred—or so she thought. The noise grew louder, and she noticed lights floating in her side mirror. An enormous circle of light appeared on the asphalt ahead of her, and she realized a helicopter trailed her at close range. The light grew more intense, the whirring louder, and looking over her shoulder, she saw the aircraft pursuing her.

Maria weaved from one side of the road to the other. Machine guns mounted on the helicopter's sides lit up the night, and the heavy ammunition tore holes in the highway and the car's trunk. The sound of the rounds ripping through the metal caused her to flinch, but when the chopper failed to fire again and finish the job, she suspected it was herding her to a specific destination.

Then she heard a high-pitched whine, and two rockets soared over the car, the exhaust flames illuminating the parallel trails of smoke. The missiles traveled side by side and impacted the highway ahead at the same time. The double explosion hurled twin fireballs into the sky, and the concussion forced Maria to grapple with the Dodge's steering wheel to regain control of the swerving vehicle.

As a sheet of orange flame sliced through the air toward the vehicle, she jerked the wheel to the left. For an instant, she glimpsed the woods in the distance and the field below her. Then the flames clung to the back window, and the continuing concussion drove the car over the embankment
with greater force. All she saw was the grass at the bottom of the hill as the vehicle raced toward it.

Maria stomped on the brake, and the stilled wheels dug into the ground, but the vehicle continued its trajectory. The embankment was so steep the front of the car was going to crash into the level ground before the wheels touched it. Releasing the steering wheel, she threw the door open and jumped out of the car. She rolled down the hill, the wind force from the hovering helicopter chilling her. She heard the car crash as she struck the level ground, continued to roll, and finally stopped.

Still gripping the Walther, she sat up. Flames continued to burn on the highway above her, flooding the scene with orange light, and the Dodge rested at the bottom of the hill, its front end crushed and smoke billowing out from under its ruptured hood.

The sound of the helicopter grew louder, the wind greater, and the spotlight illuminated the ruined car, its door open.

Maria leapt up and ran toward the woods. Her handbag slid off her shoulder, and she managed to pull it over her head so she wouldn't lose it. She heard the helicopter's engine speed up, and she didn't have to look over her shoulder to know it was chasing her.

The spotlight traveled along the ground, searching for her, and as it drew closer she reversed direction and circled it.

Can they still see me?

Her sneakers pounded the thick grass, and the helicopter's roar became deafening. The spotlight swung
back, and she found herself running in the center of a wide circle of bright white light. She dropped to her knees and bowed her head, and the spotlight moved on. Raising her head, she saw it heading in her direction again as the helicopter turned around.

She sprinted away from the light's trajectory, straight toward the helicopter. If the soldiers in the copter spotted her, they could cut her in half with the machine guns, but it was the only way to escape the spotlight. She almost ran in place beneath the helicopter, which dropped closer to the ground, and feared the wind would knock her over. Then she was free of the force, with the copter behind her, and charged toward the woods.

The copter turned around, the spotlight moving in a wide circle, then flew in her direction. Its nose dipped closer to the ground as it increased speed.

They see me!

The spotlight swung in her direction, bathing her and the woods with light. She ran into a thicket of bushes, swinging her arms before her face so her forearms smashed the branches. Dozens of thorns tore her flesh. Pain flared in her thighs, and her ankle caught in an unearthed root, bringing her down to earth. She pulled her foot free and crawled beneath the branches, avoiding more thorns.

The light became brighter, the sound of the copter louder, and the trees around her shook, debris and dust swirling around her. She scrambled out of the bushes and drove herself forward, escaping the light. The machine guns roared behind her, decimating the foliage in the illuminated
zone. Thanks to the light, she was able to sprint forward, avoiding collision with the tall trees.

The light followed her, and the shadows of the trees ahead of her got smaller. Maria hurdled over a fallen tree trunk, then skidded in the dirt to a noisy stop. She dove backwards, rolling behind the downed tree for cover.

The copter's machine guns unleashed their full power, assaulting the woods with a ferocity Maria had never witnessed. Chips of bark flew from the trees, which seemed to cry out and claw at the air with their limbs. Branches snapped, dirt kicked up, and dust swirled. And still the light grew brighter, the helicopter closer.

Maria pressed her fists against her ears to dull the noise. As bullets tore into her shelter, she screamed in defiance.

Then the shadows of the trees shifted, the light receded, and the chopper altered course. Though dust lingered in the air and broken branches dangled around her, the trees stopped shaking.

They're leaving.

With her breath escaping in tortured rasps, Maria sat up and peeked over the tree, its surface hacked apart as if by an ax. She held the Walther close to her face, a feeble gesture she knew. The gunfire had reduced much of the wooded area to rubble, and through the trees she saw the chopper beyond them.

It turned around once more, facing the woods, and she squinted as the spotlight shone on her. The aircraft hovered in place for a moment. Then it settled on the ground, and three soldiers clutching machine guns jumped out.

Realizing his mouth hung open, Jake snapped it shut.

“You look like you've seen a ghost,” Russel said, crossing the room. He dropped the folder on the table beside Jake.

“More like a spook. Or an ex-spook.”

Russel was an ex-CIA operative who now worked as a freelancer with an international client base. Jake had met him at the Tower, where Russel had been brokering a deal for Old Nick and Kira Thorn to sell genetically engineered monsters to a Filipino dictator. The deal went south when Jake killed Tower, who was about to seal another monstrous deal, this one with the demon Cain. After Jake also killed Kira, Russel disappeared.

Jake had always suspected they would run into each other again one day. He had equipped the New York City building—where he rented office space and served as
security consultant in exchange for reduced rent—with sophisticated surveillance equipment in part to protect himself from any surprise visits by the man who now stood before him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jake said.

Russel sat on the edge of the table, with one foot above the floor. “That was going to be my line.”

“I asked you first.”

Russel smiled without showing any teeth. “I'm not handcuffed.”

“I'm on vacation.”

Russel snapped his fingers. “That's right. You're a private eye now, aren't you? How … classical.”

“From the look of things, you've gone from carrying the bag for one dictator to another.”

Russel's smile faded. “Do you really think it's smart to antagonize me, given the gravity of your situation?”

“Somehow I don't think it matters one way or the other. You're going to do whatever you want no matter what I say.”

“You're partly right. I'm going to inflict an extraordinary amount of pain on you, but the information I extract could have a definite bearing on the condition of your corpse when I'm finished.”

“You're just saying that.”

Russel's eyes twinkled. “And you're determined to make me enjoy myself.”

Jake glanced around the room. “This is some building. Did Malvado give you a title, or are you just his errand boy?”

Russel got off the table without wrinkling his suit. “Oh,
I have a position with the government of Pavot Island. I'm Malvado's Advisor of International Affairs. But really, I run his secret police.”

Jake pursed his lips as if impressed. “Fancy. The last time I saw you, you were trying to sell genetic hybrids to President Seguera.”

“And the last I saw of you, you were of no consequence at all. But my perception of you was wrong. You proved quite consequential to Nicholas, Kira, and me. You killed him, her, and my deal.”

“Who says I killed Nick and Kira?”

“I found them in the Tower that night. Nick was already dead: a bullet through the palm of his hand, one of those creatures inside his body, and the creature and his body sliced and diced by glass from a broken skylight window. Kira was in a state of shock until I tended to her. She told me what happened.”

“I suspect she left out some very important details.”
Like Cain, Abel, and Tower's clone.

“I'm sure you're right. She was quite a number. I'm sorry you killed her.”

“Again, who says I did?”

“I helped her clean up the mess in the penthouse and arranged for Nick's personal physicians to sign his death certificate. Since they swore they were present when he died, there was no need for an autopsy.”

“A smooth cover-up.”

“As the top-ranking surviving member of Tower International, Kira sent me to Manila to assure Seguera
that production of his little monsters would go forward as scheduled. Unfortunately, that never happened. Kira disappeared the day she told me she planned to take care of you. Obviously, you took care of her instead.”

“If you say so.”

“That left me in Manila, literally holding the bag when Seguera's Biogens never arrived. The country was already in political turmoil. Since I'd given him certain assurances, I had no choice but to stay in the Philippines and try to quell the revolution by conventional methods. With the overthrow of his government imminent, Seguera paid me to get him out of the country, which I was more than happy to do.”

“So you brought him here …”

“Malvado demanded a fortune, but Seguera escaped with his country's treasury, enough to keep me on his payroll as his trusted right hand.”

“And yet now you work for Malvado.”

“My new employer demanded more and more money from my former employer. The handwriting was on the wall. Eventually, Malvado offered me Seguera's mansion and an attractive position to put the man out of his misery. It's a beautiful mansion.”