Chapter Fifteen

Special Agent Marcus Williams lay atop the motel room sheets with his eyes closed. His alarm would be going off soon. His girlfriend and fellow SO agent, Maggie Carlisle, slept peacefully beside him, but that kind of serene slumber had always eluded Marcus.

He had fought insomnia for years, unable to turn down the volume on his brain long enough to sleep. Attempting to thwart the condition, which he hated to admit had affected his job performance, Marcus had tried music and reading, but neither seemed to work. If he listened to music, he would simply analyze the different instruments and tones for hours on end. If he read, he would simply finish the book. The only technique that seemed to work for him was something that the Shepherd Organization’s counselor, Emily Morgan, had suggested: a sensory deprivation chamber known as an isolation tank.

The unit, which resided back at their base of operations in Rose Hill, VA, looked like an old iron lung. The chamber was a lightless, soundproof monstrosity filled with Epsom salts and water heated to skin temperature. It created a natural buoyancy where he achieved a sense of weightlessness coupled with total isolation from the typical waves of overwhelming input.

Now, lying in this motel-room bed, he heard the noise of cars outside, analyzed the sizes of their engines as well as the possible makes and models based upon the unique growls and hums. He could hear the neon lights of the motel sign buzzing like a thousand wasps in his brain. He analyzed Maggie’s breathing to see if he could determine the nature of her dreams. Someone had a television running in an adjoining room. He couldn’t make out the details of the broadcast, but he guessed that it was a news program, a conjecture founded upon the beats and pauses of the muffled words and sounds pumping from the TV speakers.

He had given up on sleep hours ago, and instead, he replayed the events of Demon’s escape, scrutinizing his every move and decision to determine if a flaw in his own thinking had led to the almost-disaster.

Even though Demon was now locked away in one of the world’s most secure prisons, Marcus felt they had failed in every way and were only playing out whatever demented scheme the madman had concocted.

The Shepherd team had already spent two weeks analyzing, searching, and investigating in Oklahoma City, but just as Ackerman predicted, they had reaped nothing but a series of dead ends and wild-goose chases. Everyone was beginning to feel that they were barking up the wrong tree, even Maggie. The more they dug into the serial killer in custody in Oklahoma City, the more Marcus was certain he had made the wrong call, a decision that may have killed their chances of catching the Gladiator.

Not wanting to dissect the case and his failure any further, his thoughts turned to other questions: Was he a good father? Should he have allowed his brother out of a cage?

But it wasn’t long before the case crept back to the forefront. Unanswered questions were like thorns in his brain, and this case was all questions and no answers. He fought the urge to scream in frustration. He yearned for sleep, wondering why it had been so hard to keep his heavy lids from falling during the drive from Arizona. Why couldn’t he do the same now?

Checking the time, he turned off the alarm ten minutes before it sounded and got up. He showered and threw on a black T-shirt and jeans. Several days of stubble poked out from the skin on his face, but he didn’t have the energy to shave and told himself it made him look tough, instead of merely lazy.

The Director had called the night before and told him to be at the diner across the street at 5:00 a.m. for a meeting. The team had been working long hours, with every pursuit proving fruitless. They were all exhausted, but he hoped the old man had somewhere for their investigation into the Gladiator to begin. Making a command decision, he hadn’t informed the rest of the team about the early-morning rendezvous, figuring they could use the extra rest after the disappointments of the past two weeks. In truth, he was envious of their tranquil slumber, something which seemed so alien to him.

He would have been better off working through the nights rather than lying there trying to pass out. But Maggie always wanted him to lie with her until she fell asleep. There were some nights when he would simply listen to her breathe in and out until she guided him down into dreams. But even those nights were filled with nightmares so vivid that he sometimes forgot whether his surroundings were real or imaginary. He had once caught himself dreaming about a case and then thinking the next day that the dream had actually happened.

The diner across the street reminded Marcus of Mel’s Drive-in, which had been featured in the film American Graffiti. The 50s and 60s atmosphere alleviated some of the tension in his chest, reminding him of the simple pleasures of greasy food, ice cream, and another of his loves: classic cars. He spotted the Director and joined him at a booth in the corner.

Noticing that two drinks already rested on the table, Marcus asked, “Who’s your guest?”

The Director didn’t look up from the menu. “Val wants to speak with you. He’s in the restroom.”

He hadn’t been expecting to see Special Agent Valdas Derus of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit again so soon. Val had been a member of the director’s former team at the SO, and then later, during the Judas debacle at Foxbury Prison, Val had run interference with the media for them. Marcus looked over the menu and tried not to worry about the FBI agent’s sudden appearance.

As Val approached, Marcus analyzed the agent, as he almost involuntarily did with everyone. Val was Lithuanian by birth, but only a very slight accent remained to betray his country of origin. A very handsome man with flowing black hair and only a hint of gray, Val’s age was impossible to ascertain from his features, and the Director had explained that Val was a notorious flirt and always in search of wife number three.

Valdas moved his coffee to the same side as the Director’s and slid into the booth. In stark contrast to his virile former teammate, the Director had been on a noticeable decline for months. Marcus guessed that some disease ravaged the old man’s body even now, but personal information wasn’t something the Director shared with his underlings. His superior’s behavior shouldn’t have surprised him, considering the Director was a man who insisted on being called by title alone. He had only learned the Director’s real first name because of Ackerman’s hacking of the SO’s personnel files. Marcus wondered what other secrets his brother had learned while poking around in the digital shadows.

Val said, “Good to see you, kid. Although I wish it was under better circumstances.”

The waitress arrived and took their orders. Marcus opted for coffee and the Elvis Scramble—three scrambled eggs loaded with chorizo, green chili peppers, and Monterey Jack cheese.

When the waitress was gone, Marcus said, “You should know as well as anyone, Val, that we don’t have better circumstances than these at the SO. Just blood and death.”

“That’s depressing. I don’t remember it that way during my tenure.”

“Why are you here?”

The Director said, “Marcus, show some respect.”

“Sorry. Why are you here, sir?”

Valdas chuckled. “He reminds me of you, Philip.” The comment earned an eye-roll from the Director, but Val continued, “The bureau needs your team’s help, Marcus. We had an undercover agent recently go missing in San Francisco.”

At the mention of the city they should have been in during the past two weeks, Marcus’s stomach flipped as if he had just boarded a rollercoaster. Before he had even heard the details, he could sense that this missing agent wouldn’t have been missing if it wasn’t for Marcus choosing the wrong Mr. King.

Cursing under his breath, the anger rising, he said, “And let me guess, this relates back to our other Mr. King possibility. How recently did your agent go missing?”

“He failed to check in two days ago. And yes, our agent, Jerrell Fuller, was attempting to infiltrate a crime syndicate led by a man known only as Mr. King.”

Marcus withstood the urge to break something. “What can we do to help?”

“We believe most of the mutilations to be gang related, but the corpses’ appendages and skin were removed, and so the police have been unable to identify all of the bodies.”

“Dental records?”

“What’s left of the head is usually just a completely shattered skull and a mound of flesh. There are no teeth to identify.”

Marcus thought about that, imagining a skull splitting. How much force would that require? From somewhere deep in his brain, the face of a scientist saying “a skull fracture requires five hundred kilograms of force. A man would have to weigh five hundred kilograms to fracture a skull by stepping on it.” He made the conversion in his head. That would equal about eleven hundred pounds. Another memory from a visit to Ripley’s Believe It or Not told Marcus that the heaviest person in medical history was Jon Brower Minnoch.

Marcus didn’t specifically memorize those minor details, but his memory was like a series of detailed mental snapshots that he could refer to later. In his mind, he traveled back to that memory and conjured an image of the small metal plaque containing the information. From the plaque, Marcus learned that Minnoch weighed nine hundred and seventy-five pounds.

The laws of physics told him that it was nearly impossible for a human to exert enough force to crack a human skull. Break the jaw, cause internal damage to the brain, sure. But to actually crack the skull . . .

He said, “What did he use to smash the heads?”

“The examiners think it was a sledge hammer.”

Marcus didn’t need to remember any figures. He knew a sledge would get it done. He’d seen it before, back in his days with the NYPD.

Valdas continued, “The case is getting a lot of political heat. No one wants the public to believe that America is susceptible to the kind of violence seen south of the border. But there’s something we haven’t shared with the press.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“The autopsies show that the male victims were always severely beaten prior to their deaths. These people fought for their lives.”

“Why is that unusual? They could have been tortured for information or tried to escape.”

Val shrugged. “Possibly. But we have been able to identify a few of the bodies who we can’t tie back to anything illegal or gang related. A marine was identified by some shrapnel wounds and a boxing champion by some pins in his shoulder. We can’t find any reason those men would be targeted by King.”

Marcus shrugged, but his mind was starting to make the connections. “Could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Val added, “Except there’s one more thing. Before Agent Fuller went missing, he recorded a conversation between an unknown party and King’s righthand man, Oban Nassar, during which Nassar refers to ‘The Gladiator.’”

Pulling out a cell phone, Val played an audio file for Marcus. He had to hold it up to his ear to hear the one-sided conversation and the exotic accent of Oban Nassar.

. . . Hello. Yes, sir . . . I understand . . . That is very unsettling news . . . Decisive action is certainly required, sir. He’s already seen too much. He must be dealt with quickly, in order to mitigate the damage . . . With all due respect, sir, I don’t believe this is a job that would require the services of the Gladiator . . . I wouldn’t argue that, sir, but you know how I feel about the prices that the Gladiator and his handler have been charging for their services . . . Do you think it’s wise to send this man to the Diamond Room? . . . Of course, sir . . . I understand. Consider it done . . .

Marcus’s body went rigid as his mind wove the various threads of the investigation into an intricate pattern. “So we know Demon’s organization is built on turning serial murderers with a special talent into killers for hire. And now, you think that King has the Gladiator on his payroll and these dismemberments are being carried out by the Gladiator on Mr. King’s behalf.”

The Director said, “My guess is that Demon offers a package where he ensures that the killings can’t be traced back to the client because the killer involved does his thing on more than just the people who could be tied to the group paying for the murders.”

Marcus nodded in agreement. “A smoke screen to insulate the client if the killer is ever apprehended. But in this case, we can work it in reverse. We know the client and can use him to lead us to the killer. Exactly like Demon planned for us to do.”

Val said, “Our agent disappeared shortly after that recording was sent. We have to assume that Agent Fuller is the man who Oban Nassar mentions as ‘knowing too much’ and requiring ‘decisive action.’ If we’re right, then we have very little time to get our man back alive.”

“You think the Gladiator plays with them? Forces them to fight? That would explain how he earned the nickname. And that also explains the boxer and the marine. He’s choosing worthy opponents,” Marcus said. “But from what I’ve seen on the news there were also a couple of female bodies found skinned. That doesn’t seem very sporting for someone who considers himself some kind of ultimate warrior.”

Val took a sip of coffee and replied, “Judging from the female torsos, they were actually rather petite women. Not well muscled. So it’s not as if they were MMA stars. And we haven’t found a way to positively identify the female victims to see if they could be tied back to King.”

The Director chimed in, “But we have a theory. I asked Stan to reach out to some of his contacts in the digital underworld to see if any of them had ever heard of the ‘Diamond Room.’ There is apparently some site out on the Dark Web known as the Diamond Room.”

Marcus knew the basics of the Dark Web. It was a term used to refer to websites found on Darknets, overlay networks which use the public Internet but require specific software, configurations, or authorizations to access.

The waitress returned with their food, placing a plate filled with grease and protein in front of him. Marcus said a quick silent prayer for the meal and the victims of such carnage before digging into his Elvis-inspired breakfast. With a mouth full of eggs, he said, “So what’s on this site, the Diamond Room?”

“Stan can’t access it, and neither can his friends. The rumor is that it’s a place where you can watch people fight and die on a live video feed.”

Val’s breakfast was a bowl of fruit and vanilla yogurt. He mixed the two together and said, “I inquired with our cybercrimes unit, and they told me that the Bureau has been trying to get a glimpse of the footage or access to the site for a couple of years now.”

“Sounds like our friend, Gladiator, is streaming his killings to the web,” Marcus said, shoveling the eggs into his mouth and trying to remember the last time he had eaten.

The Director said, “Stan’s friend has apparently seen one still image from the Diamond Room. He said that the Gladiator wears a metal mask in the shape of a deformed skull. That led us to—”

A small cough grew to a full, body-shaking hack, and the Director held his napkin up to his face. Marcus thought that he saw blood when his boss wadded it up in his fist. Even after he had brought the cough under control, the Director couldn’t catch his breath.

Coming to his old friend’s rescue, Valdas said, “The skull mask connection led us to a recent urban legend in the San Francisco area that they’re calling Skullface.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “An urban legend?”

“Someone hacked into a bunch of woman’s social media accounts and doctored their photos, adding a man in a skull mask somewhere in the background of every photo. Really freaked a lot of people out, but harmless, right? Until some of the hacking victims went missing. The SFPD has a task force trying to track down the missing girls and this Skullface hacker.”

“And you’re thinking that the Gladiator and Skullface are actually the same guy?”

The Director, eyes still watery and his voice like brittle leaves, said, “Yes. We’d like you to work with the local task force and see if their investigation has uncovered anything useful.”

Marcus replied, “But we also need to focus on King and his organization. And we’re going to have to hit hard. We’ll need to color outside the lines and get to information faster than the Bureau can through strictly legal means.”

Val sucked in his lips as if he wanted to hold back his next words.

Marcus asked, “What aren’t you telling me?”

The Director slid a manila folder across the table and said, “We don’t have the time to work a plea deal or anything like that in order to get a reference or quick access to King, or at least someone high up in his organization. Without a reputation or connection, we can’t get anywhere close to King. But we think you may be able to convince an old friend of yours to do us a favor.”

Marcus didn’t have to open the file. He saw a name on the folder’s tab that told him all he needed to know: Caruso, Edward.

He dropped his fork, ran a hand through his hair, and leaned back in the booth. “You’re kidding me, right?”

The Director said, “You have history, and you know damn well that he’ll help you. If you swallow a bit of pride. Kiss his ass a little. Tell him what he wants to hear. It’s just words, kid.”

Marcus started to object, but the Director added, “And that’s not all. Once you earn Caruso’s help, we plan on sending Ackerman in undercover with you.”

“Absolutely not. He’s not ready.”

Val said, “He did a hell of a job during the Foxbury incident. Saved a lot of lives.”

“It’s out of the question. He shouldn’t be put in a position like that. Listen, I really think he wants to help, to make amends for all he’s done. But he’s not afraid of anything, including the consequences of his actions, and he simply doesn’t understand how to behave. He needs a filter, someone to guide him.”

“You’ll be there with him. But let’s face it, Marcus, they’ll smell cop all over you. Ackerman will help establish your . . . credibility.”

“It’s out of the question. I can go in undercover alone. I grew up in Brooklyn and knew a lot of guys from the families, and I’ve never been much of a cop.”

The Director said, “Let’s take this thing one step at a time. You just worry about Eddie Caruso, and we’ll go from there.”

Marcus hadn’t talked to Eddie since leaving the NYPD, and their last conversation had not been a pleasant one. “I think you’ve misjudged my relationship with Eddie.”

The Director laughed. “I know more about you than you do yourself, and I’m confident you can persuade him to help.”

Val added, “We don’t have time to get anyone to turn. Agent Fuller is probably being tortured as we speak. This guy used to be your best friend, and now he’s a capo working for Tommy Juliano. He’s our best shot at getting close enough to King’s organization to learn something useful.”

“I haven’t been back to the city in years.”

“Then it’s time for a stroll down memory lane,” the Director said. “Also, you don’t really have much choice in the matter. Val and I and Deputy AG Fagan are all in agreement that this is the best use of our resources to find the Gladiator as quickly as possible and recover the missing agent. The Bureau is loaning us two of their Gulfstream jets to fly you and Maggie up to New York. Emily and your brother will head to San Francisco in the other jet to prepare for the meeting with the task force. But I’m afraid I’m going to need to steal Andrew for a bit.”

“This just keeps getting better and better. You’re taking my most dependable team member, and I’m ranking him above me on that, and you want to leave our rookie agent alone with my brother.”

The Director said, “First of all, I think your brother may be in love with Emily, in his own twisted way.”

“He killed her husband and destroyed her life.”

“Exactly. Combine that with her many psychology degrees, and it makes her the perfect candidate to keep Ackerman in line. Plus, we always have the implied threat of our failsafe option.”

“You just better hope that my brother doesn’t figure out the truth of what you implanted in his spine. What if I say no? To all of it. What if I say that I can’t knowingly carry out orders which I feel could put the lives of my team and myself in danger?”

“Could you give Marcus and me a moment, Val?”

Without a word of protest, Special Agent Valdas Derus dropped his napkin on the table and headed to the restroom.

“Listen up, kid,” the Director said. “I’ve put up with your bullshit this long because you’re very good at what you do, but I’m getting way too old and way too damn tired to coddle you anymore. You do as you’re told or you can go back to being the pariah you were when I found you, and the DOJ will hand your brother over to the CIA to do whatever they want with him. I had guessed that they wanted to put him to work for them, but maybe they really just want him so they can cut open his brain and find out what makes him tick, find out exactly why he’s the man with no fear. I suspect it would be pretty useful for them to be able to recreate such qualities in their own assets. So in response to your ‘what if’ question, you either follow orders or you’re out on the street and Ackerman goes back to being a science experiment.”

“Frank isn’t ready for this.”

“Your brother is the meanest, toughest son of a bitch I know. He can handle himself undercover.”

Marcus leaned across the table and looked deep into the old man’s eyes. “First of all, don’t ever talk about our mother like that. Next time, I’ll feel compelled to defend her honor. Second, for the record, this isn’t going to end well. You remember I said that. And third, to be clear, I’m not worried about Frank’s safety. I’m worried about everyone else.”

~~*~~