The Killing Chase (Beach & Riley Book 2) Page 26

  “Fine – just get on with it,” Jake said.

  “You need to read this,” Ballantyne said, handing Jake a manila folder. “It’s the only copy in existence. None of the information is stored electronically. We didn’t know who we could trust and who we couldn’t, so the operation was completely hidden from everyone but Shane and me.”

  “That doesn’t sound very smart,” Jake said. “What if you had a car accident, or a heart attack – anything could have happened. And Shane would have been left out in the cold.”

  “You’re right, of course. And that’s the only reason for this file’s existence. In the event of my death or permanent incapacitation, this sealed file would have been hand-delivered to you, and only you. I had standing orders with two of my most reliable people from two completely separate departments. It’s the only way I could mitigate the risk while maintaining complete confidentiality.

  “When you’ve read that file, you’ll understand the true gravity of the situation. I’m genuinely sorry for your loss, Jake. I had the utmost respect for Shane, just as I have for you. I’m sure you’ll see that the mission must continue. We must uncover the other members of Koskov’s cohort, and stop this madness before they can set their plan in motion.”

  Jake opened the file and began to read.

  “One more thing,” Ballantyne said. “We do have one more ally. He doesn’t know the full story, and we’ve agreed it should stay that way. But if you need his help with anything, FBI Director Jamison is on our side. I’ve personally run every possible check on him, and I trust him implicitly. I needed someone with his clout on a domestic level, and he was willing. The only reason he hasn’t been fully read in is for his own safety, but he’s proven his value, discretion, and loyalty to the mission.”

  With that, Ballantyne let Jake read in silence. The Surgeon made his way through the file, stopping from time to time to give the director dubious glances. Finally, he closed the folder, placing it reverently on Ballantyne’s desk.

  “My brother told me to come to you,” Jake said, as if still weighing his verdict on what he had just read. “He said you knew the truth about our parents’ death and everything about his mission. There was only one person on the planet I would trust without question, and that was Shane. But you have to know that this is a hell of a lot to accept on faith.” Jake scratched his chin, and stood up to face Ballantyne. “Okay, count me in.”

  Chapter 37

  After spotting his quarry approaching from the far end of the parking lot, Priest hustled into position underneath the black SUV with raised suspension. As two men approached in the twilight darkness, Priest could hear the client talking on the phone while his bodyguard opened the passenger door.

  The door closed, and the guard made his way around to the driver’s side. He opened the door to climb in, stepping up onto the vehicle’s running board. The instant the guard’s other leg lifted off the ground, Priest rolled out, jumping to his feet with the speed of a mongoose. He jammed a hand TASER into the bodyguard’s neck, shooting disrupting pulses of twelve-hundred volts into the nerve bundle near his collar bone. He watched the guard slump into the seat, but held the trigger long enough to render the man unconscious.

  In Priest’s left hand was one of Jake’s Para .45 handguns, now trained on Ian McAdam in the passenger seat. “Two options,” Priest said, holding the TASER up for McAdam to see. “Cooperate and pass me your left hand, or…”

  McAdam looked around frantically for an escape, but he was trapped. He turned back to Priest. “What do you want from me?”

  “Come on, mate, keep up. I told you already – your left hand.” Priest put down the TASER and held up a pair of handcuffs.

  McAdam resigned himself to the situation. He extended his left hand for Priest to cuff to the steering wheel. “Make a sound, and I’ll jam the TASER down your throat,” the Australian said, checking the unconscious guard for weapons. “Are you carrying?” he asked McAdam, but didn’t wait for a reply. “Nah, bloke like you wouldn’t know what to do with a gun, would you, mate?”

  Priest now dragged the bodyguard into some bushes near the front of the SUV. The guard groaned, beginning to regain consciousness. “Hmm, you’re a tough one,” Priest said, leaning down to give him another shot with the TASER. “That ought to hold you for a bit.”

  Priest returned to the SUV, this time opening the passenger door. “For your comfort and safety,” he said, pulling another pair of cuffs out to attach McAdam’s right hand to the grab-handle above his door. “Please remain seated, with your seatbelt securely fastened. There are no emergency exits in this craft.”

  Satisfied McAdam was properly secured, Priest walked around the vehicle to get in the driver’s seat. He repositioned the cuff from the steering wheel to the grab-handle on the dashboard, then smiled broadly. “Thank you for choosing to travel with us. We hope you have a pleasant trip.”

  Fifteen minutes later, on the outskirts of town, Priest turned the SUV into a new warehouse development. Counting the buildings as he went, he found the one Jake had directed him to and pulled the SUV up to the loading dock. “We hope you had a pleasant trip,” he said, sliding out of the vehicle. “Please make sure you’ve left no belongings in the seat pocket – you won’t be traveling with us again.”

  The Australian went to the passenger side, removed the cuffs from the grab-handles, and locked McAdam’s hands behind his back. Then he shoved his captive toward the stairs. “Come on, mate,” he said. “Don’t make me do all the work. Up you go.”

  Priest pushed a key into the lock and swung the door open. “After you,” he said.

  Moonlight shone through the building’s skylights, revealing a single chair positioned about ten yards from a tented, cubical structure. “Looks like somebody knew you were coming,” Priest said, pointing to the chair. “That’s for you, mate.”

  “What are you going to do with me,” McAdam asked. “What’s in that tent?”

  Priest ignored his captive’s questions. “How long has it been since your last confession?”

  *****

  Jake parked his Audi beside the big black SUV outside the only completed structure in his latest warehouse development project. Priest sat on the loading dock, his feet dangling over the edge. “You took your time.” he said as Jake walked toward the stairs.

  “Couldn’t be helped,” Jake said. “I had to stop off here for an hour before I went to Langley. How was McAdam’s confessional session?”

  “He sang like a bird. I don’t think you’re gonna like what he had to say though, Jakey.”

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea already. You get any names?”

  “Just one.”

  “That’ll have to do.” Jake opened the warehouse door. “We’ll talk on the way back to New York.”

  Priest got up to join Jake inside, but the big man stopped him at the doorway. “You might not want to see this.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound. You don’t seriously think you can still shock me, do you, mate? Anyway, there’s an old Australian SAS saying, ‘We’re not here to look at the Spiders.’”

  “I have absolutely no idea what that means, Priest – but I’ve gotten quite used to that with you boys. Let’s get this done.”

  Priest smiled broadly, following Jake into the warehouse. Upon seeing them approach, McAdam began begging: “I’ve told you everything I know. Please, please – let me go.”

  “After everything you’ve done?” Priest said. “You’re bloody delusional, mate.”

  Muffled animalistic growls emanated from inside the tented structure as Jake walked toward a rope tied off to the far wall. Completely ignoring McAdam, Jake stopped to speak quietly through the canvas for a moment. The growls became more urgent as Jake continued toward the rope.

  “What’s that?” McAdam asked in a panic. “What the hell is under there? What are you going to do to me?”

  “I’m not going to do anything to you,” Jake said from across the room.

/>   He began to pull the rope hand over hand, lifting the tent via an overhead pulley. “You can uncuff McAdam now, Priest,” Jake said. “Hell – go ahead and give him your TASER while you’re at it. He’s going to need all the help he can get.”

  As Jake kept pulling the rope, the tent lifted to reveal the bottom section of a five-yard-wide, square steel cage. “Apparently you’ve been messing with Mother Nature in some deep, dark, secret laboratory, McAdam,” Jake called out over the whir of the pulley. “So, you want to play God? Then it’s about time you see what you and your cronies have created, face to face.”

  Jake kept pulling until the bottom of the tent cleared the top of the cage. Behind the steel bars, a wiry sweat-soaked man paced from side to side like an angry wolf. He was wild-eyed and drooling from the mouth, and his sinewy muscles rippled as he kept reaching behind him, swiping angrily at the fresh stitches over both his kidneys.

  “Tonight you reap what you’ve sown,” Jake said. “Ian McAdam, meet Bryan Adler.”

  *****

  Alan Beach shook Dr. Chang’s hand so vigorously he caused the head of neurosurgery to drop his clipboard. “Sorry about that,” Alan said, bending down to pick up the doctor’s charts. “You don’t know how grateful I am.”

  “I’m just doing my job,” The doctor said.

  Beach handed Chang his clipboard, and the doctor tried to walk away. But Beach wouldn’t let him go. “So, how long before he’s on his feet again? Will he be able to talk soon?”

  “Look, Agent Beach. I know he’s your partner and you’re anxious for news, but Mr. Foxx has suffered very severe injuries. He’s only been out of his induced coma for six hours. It’s far too soon to be offering a prognosis, let alone a recovery time frame. As I’ve said before, your friend is a very strong and fit man. Being confined to bed for the next couple of weeks, with his hands in traction and unable to eat solid food, is going to cause some muscle loss. I’m sure once he’s able to get up and move around, he’ll begin to regain some of his strength. But he needs to be prepared for an extended period of rehabilitation.

  “He’ll need daily physiotherapy for his hands and jaw, once the wires and braces are removed. More importantly, he’ll need the emotional support of his friends and family. Other than those things, only time will tell for certain. Just be there for him, and try to keep things positive. Depression is a significant concern in cases like this.”

  “Oh, I’ll be there – we’ll all be there for him. Thanks again, Dr. Chang. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “It was a team effort. I’m just glad the brain swelling has reduced, so he can begin the healing process. Goodbye, agent.”

  Beach watched the doctor disappear down the hall before turning back to look through the window into Foxx’s private room. He desperately wanted to join his wife, Holly, and Danielle Foxx at the bedside, but he didn’t have the faintest idea what to say to his partner. Struggling with his emotions, Beach was startled by a familiar voice behind him.

  “Are you going to give me an update or do I have to go find the doctor myself?” Jake Riley said.

  Beach turned to greet his friend and sometime collaborator. “Thank God you’re here,” Beach said. “I don’t know how to deal with this. The doctor can’t tell me how long his recovery will take. He’s got tubes coming out from everywhere, and I feel like the proverbial lips on a chicken. What use can I possibly be to him?”

  “I know how you feel,” Jake said. “I’ve been in your shoes on more than one occasion. It seems to me the best thing you can do is just be there. He knows he can’t talk – and he damned sure knows how he feels about that. So just go in and let him know you’re here for him. Your presence will be enough. But don’t talk about him like he’s not there, like he’s a victim. And make sure he always feels involved, even if he can’t join in the conversation.”

  “Very sage advice. I guess you would have seen this kind of thing many times in your former line of work.” Beach took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going in.”

  “I’ll be right behind you. I’ve got something to show both of you – and I have a strong feeling this will lift your partner’s spirits.”

  Jake put a hand on Beach’s shoulder and followed him into the room. Holly greeted Jake with a big hug, before introducing Danielle Foxx.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Foxx. But I’ve got something very sensitive to tell Alan and your husband in private.” Jake turned to face Foxx in his bed. “I hate to interrupt your visit, but this is something James will definitely want to hear. Would you mind giving us the room please, ladies?”

  Holly smiled, wrapping her arm around Danielle’s shoulder and whispering in her ear. The women walked out together, leaving the three men alone in the room.

  “Pull the door shut and lock it,” Jake said to Beach. Then he reached into his jacket to pull out a folded morning newspaper. “How you holding up, Marine? I think you’ll find this particularly interesting.”

  Foxx blinked his eyes excitedly.

  “Come on, devil dog, you can do better than that. At least give me a grunt or two.”

  The corners of Foxx’s mouth curled slightly upward.

  “Well, you did say you wanted to meet him in person, partner,” Beach said to Foxx. “This is the great but rather unsympathetic Jake Riley.”

  Jake grinned at Foxx. “No self-respecting salty Marine like Foxx needs sympathy – especially not from a former member of the U.S. Army.”

  Foxx’s smile became more obvious, and he even managed a weak chuckle through his wired jaw and oxygen tube. Jake handed the paper to Beach. “Read the bottom section out loud, starting with the headline.”

  Beach unfolded the tabloid-size paper. Peering down at the article in the center, near the bottom of the front page, he began to read. “Bizarre deaths in Virginia.” Beach gave Riley a questioning glance. Foxx grunted encouragement, and Beach continued. “Acting on an anonymous tip, Arlington Police discovered the bodies of two Caucasian males on the floor of a newly completed warehouse structure on the outskirts of Arlington. Preliminary investigations revealed one of the dead was a Department of Defense employee, Ian McAdam. Mr. McAdam had been beaten so severely, his face was unrecognizable. Identification was made using DoD credentials found on his person, and confirmed through fingerprint analysis.

  “The other body has been positively identified through dental records and fingerprint analysis as the infamous serial killer, Bryan Adler. Often referred to as the Orphan-Maker, Adler had been reported dead more than nine months ago from injuries sustained during an accident in a prisoner transport vehicle. Investigators now believe identification techniques used at the time were inaccurate. The North Virginia-based local coroner, who certified Adler’s death from the accident, is currently being questioned by State Police.

  “The Arlington County Coroner is yet to conduct an autopsy to confirm Adler’s cause of death but, in addition two identical freshly surgical scars on the victim’s lower back, initial signs at the scene indicate a massive coronary event. Further updates are expected later today. For background on the Orphan-Maker killings, turn to page fifty seven.”

  “A heart attack – seriously?” Beach asked. “The guy was only in his mid-thirties.”

  “Amazing stuff, adrenaline,” Jake smiled. “Did you know that, left untreated, abnormally active adrenal glands can release such massive doses, it can actually cause the human heart to stop? I guess someone must have disconnected Adler’s surgically installed adrenaline limiters.”

  “Someone?” Beach said. “But that would require a surgeon – or at least someone with surgical skills.”

  “I never did tell you how I got my CIA code name, did I?”

  “I didn’t even know you had one.”

  “Some people know me as the Surgeon. I guess it comes from my advanced field medical training. I trained in trauma surgery for a few months, but never completed the qualification. I guess I must have learned enough though.”

  Beach
’s face cracked into a broad grin. “Well, I know one former Marine who wishes he could give you a high-five right about now. I think I can do that for both of us.”

  Beach and Riley slapped both hands together up top, before Jake turned to Foxx. “My friend, inside you beats the heart of a lion. You’ll kick this thing’s ass, and be back on your feet before you know it. Lean on your friends – I guarantee they won’t mind. Oorah, Jarhead!”

  *****

  The prisoner sat staring at the floor of his solitary confinement cell in a federal supermax. Heavy footsteps echoed down the empty hall outside his cell door. The footsteps stopped, and there was a loud metallic clunk as the lock was turned from outside. The reinforced steel door swung open, revealing a tall man of African descent, dressed in a crisply ironed guard’s uniform. He entered the cell, pulling the door closed behind him, and stared at the prisoner for a moment.

  “How did you find out?” the guard asked.

  “I have my ways.” The tall, salt-and-pepper-haired prisoner with the lean, chiseled face had replied without looking up. “In my experience, there’s almost no obstacle that can’t be overcome by large quantities of cash.”

  “If anyone finds out, they’ll just replace me with someone else, and you’ll be back to where you started.”

  “What makes you think anyone would find out?” The prisoner looked up now, giving the guard a dark stare. “As you said, I’ve got no reason to tell anyone. And if you don’t want anything to happen to her, you’re certainly going to keep quiet.”