CHAPTER 25

 

MARK LOOKED AT HIS wife sleeping next to him.

She was so beautiful.

He didn’t know whether he was in a dream world or in the real world. And his mind wouldn’t stop trying to figure it out. Though it was the middle of the night, he’d awakened just to see if she was still there next to him. She was. He touched her soft shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing.

Time had a way of working out details. This gift, or curse he didn’t yet know which it was—had given him something. He now lived life full throttle, with a lust for living he’d never before known. It was as if he’d been given a second chance at life. He was not going to waste one minute of it.

A year had come and gone since he blew up the cabin, with life changing for him in ways that would make most men shake in fear and others turn green with envy. He now worked fulltime for the World Justice Agency and every day retrieved more missing parts of his memory.

It was as if he had a new instinct, a second set of instincts. He could see and feel what was going to happen in a situation and react with incredible speed. Not that he was psychic or anything like that. It was just an overwhelming sense of knowing. If a good thing was about to happen, he would feel it, feel the emotion before anything happened.

He’d shocked Isis by following her downtown and into the Merc Building’s underground parking garage, then into the elevator. “Hello, Isis. Going down?”

She tried to act innocent.

“Nine, five, two, huh? Clever. Spells WJA on the keypad of a phone.”

“I take it your memory has returned.” A small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.

“Most of it. Maybe more than was supposed to. At least this time you don’t have to sneak into my apartment to convince me.”

She looked confused but didn’t say anything. He’d been assigned to help Isis complete a few easy assignments. He loved her attention to detail. She was a cool and in-control-of-herself kind of woman. She planned every case with precise direction and never missed anything. He enjoyed learning from her, and she was willing to help him and teach him any way she could.

He was surprised that Solomon could not explain his dreams or how he could see into the future. His foreknowledge didn’t happen all the time, and after the first time, the insights came in short bursts, like a bad headache or a daydream.

Solomon finally told him, “You’ve been granted a gift, son. Don’t waste it. If it wasn’t for your dream, your family would be dead right now.”

K was supportive of his new job and never asked him to explain what he was doing or where he was when his work took him late into the nights on a few occasions. “I don’t deserve you, babe.”

“I know,” K said, “but you’ve got me. Now run along and go be a hero.”

He wondered how much she knew or what she thought he might be doing with the odd hours he worked. He doubted she bought the working for the government thing, and he didn’t expect her to. It was a nice story to tell the neighbors at backyard barbeques. It meant a lot to him to know she loved, trusted and supported him.

They paid off the house—rather, Solomon paid it off that Christmas. He’d become part of the family and loved Sam as if she was his own granddaughter. Solomon came over for dinner often and sometimes played dress-up with Samantha. Bracelets and lipstick on the older man made quite a sight, but Sam loved Solomon’s attention, and that was enough for him.

Today, Mark had to take the Taxi over to Vermont, where two brothers had been on a killing spree. They’d kidnapped eleven girls, usually from the local high-school hangout. It had taken the authorities ten months to find six of the girls. Their bodies were almost unrecognizable.

He cringed when he saw the file. The brothers had done horrible things to the girls, as if it was a sport to them.

WJA had sent in one of their undercover women. It was easy to make her look like a teenager. She’d been in the school only two weeks before she was taken. WJA had a tracking device on her, and Mark was going in to get her out.

He would be gone two days, between the rescue and the hit. He hoped to be back in time for the weekend. Zipping up his suit, he crawled into the Taxi and hit the start button. It was hard to believe, but he rather enjoyed using the device. It still made him a little sick afterward, but it sure saved time.

* * *

“MARK, WE NEED YOU. Come in immediately. We have something you need to see.” Isis’s urgent voice on his cell phone made him press the accelerator and promise to be there as fast as traffic would allow.

He closed the phone wondering what would make her sound so nervous. Nerves were not normal for Isis, but he was willing to do whatever needed to be done. Maybe the case involved an important person, maybe even a celebrity.

As usual, the streets were jammed with cars, bumper-to-bumper, and the cacophony of horns and swear words. It took thirty minutes to go five blocks. But it was New York, where the sound of cursing was an essential part of the city’s daily symphony.

Mark smiled at Mr. Able, who was reading the morning paper. “You ready to celebrate the new year?”

“You bet. I got all the grandkids a bucket of candy and noisemakers.” He chuckled and waved Mark in.

“That should make for happy parents.”

“Ha! It’s good for ‘em.”

Mark laughed. “Have fun!” He stepped through the door. It took a few minutes to get through all the checkpoints, but it had taken just forty-five minutes from the time Isis called him to the moment he sat down in his chair in the conference room.

Only three other people sat at the table—Big B, Isis, and a man named Johnny Jamison. He was a Class-D sniper who’d been active for over ten years. He had a mustache that looked like a caterpillar roosted under his nose, but he was in great shape for a fifty-something.

“Okay, we all here?” Johnny looked around the room with brown, flat eyes. “Solomon wanted me to get started with the briefing. He’ll be down in a few minutes.”

The room was silent as everyone looked at Johnny. Isis was taking notes on an electronic device that seemed to float in the air in front of her. Big B fidgeted with the toothpick in his mouth. Mark noticed everyone seemed to be avoiding his gaze. He frowned.

A picture of a tall man with a scruffy, blond beard and curly hair appeared on a screen that hovered in the middle of the large, wooden, conference table. “This is Tripp Maddock. He goes by the name of Geoff Martin and has been underground until just recently. These pictures were taken here in New York. He’s been running with Detective Weston, Detroit PD. We don’t know the nature of their relationship, but we have reason to believe he’s involved with our FBI contact.” Mark remembered talking with Isis about a case she was working on. They had taken out a prison filled with rapists and murderers. Detective Weston had been investigating it, so they’d had to get him out of the way until the case was under control.

But it didn’t work. The kidnapping seemed to make him even more determined. In the meantime, their contact went rogue and hooked up with the leading crime boss out of Russia. They were trying to expose the WJA and would do anything to make that happen.

“Now, this trail gets twisted here. We all know Detective Weston. He was kidnapped about an hour ago. We have reason to believe Tripp Maddock had something to do with it. We know he has close dealings with a Russian general named Taras Karjanski, and we believe he has teamed up with our FBI contact.”

A picture of a rough-looking man with a thick, black beard came up on the see-thru screen. “This is General Karjanski. He’s our main target, what is called the Don of the Russian Mafia. He has Weston, and he may have others.”

Mark studied the Russian’s face. Why would he go against the WJA and turn against his own country?

His thoughts were interrupted by Johnny’s stern voice. He was going over the details of their mission.

“We need two teams to go in to take out Karjanski and Maddock. Mark, you and Isis will take care of the hit on the general. Big B and I will take care of Mr. Maddock. Then we’ll rescue Weston.”

Jamison went over the blueprints and layouts of the building on the coast of Puerto Rico, where they believed the Russians were holding Weston. From the satellite images, the abandoned asylum looked like it was heavily guarded and would be hard to penetrate.

“We are only there to take out our two targets. Guards will be shot with non-lethal weapons. Our FBI informant has already been tagged and will be brought in alive for questioning. Any questions?”

They shook their heads.

Just as Johnny was wrapping up, Solomon walked in, a grim set to his mouth. He took the floor. “I have some new information I think you should know before you go on this mission.” He took off his glasses.

“We just learned that General Karjanski has kidnapped two other individuals. We learned this information from Agent Seloent, whom we picked up thirty minutes ago.”

Mark could feel his stomach tighten. Solomon was always calm, never nervous. He took a breath and tried to focus as Solomon went on.

“The two that were taken are very close to Mark—and to me.” He blinked and looked into Mark’s eyes. “They have K and Sam.”

The world went white. For a moment, Mark thought he was losing his mind and might never recover. Was this another dream? He tried to speak but couldn’t.

His mind flooded with a million thoughts of what could be happening to his family. He tried to see the future, maybe force a dream so he could see if they were okay. But he couldn’t.

Isis put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mark. We’ll get them back.”

He looked at Solomon as his training took over and his heart slowed to a normal beat. He had to be strong for his family. He took a breath and nodded for Solomon to go on.

Solomon clenched his fists. “We believe they are being held in the same building as Detective Weston. Our mission is now one thing, and only one. Top priority is K and Samantha. We are to ensure their safety at any cost.

“Second is Weston. We need him on our side.” He straightened. “We’re on the clock now, people. This is a rescue operation. If we come in contact with either of the two targets, take them out, but don’t go looking for them.”

They were dismissed, and everyone headed to the main Taxi room. Ten different locations were accessible from the New York headquarters, as well as fifteen more throughout the city at different safe houses.

Mark was scared, but he tried not to show it. He couldn’t understand why his family was taken. He wasn’t connected to the Russian or anyone else involved, as far as he knew. Is it a random thing? He didn’t think so. It had to be a direct attack against him.

Isis smiled at him and tried to show her support as she suited up for the hour-long ride on the Taxi of Death, as she called it, saying if anything went wrong, “you’ll be dead before you know what you hit.”

Mark was soon suited up. The four looked at each other without saying anything. They all knew their part, and they knew what was at stake. With a nod, Mark climbed inside one of the tubes and soon was on his way to the most important mission of his life.

He had lost his family once. He was not about to lose them a second time.

* * *

BLOOD TRICKLED DOWN KIRK’S face from a large cut above his left eye. The beating was severe, but still he cursed and spit at his attackers. They wouldn’t know how much he was hurting. They wouldn’t break him.

All he could think about the last few days was the woman and little girl he had helped. Are they okay? Did they make it out? He hoped they had. The only thing that kept him alive was the possibility of escape and making sure they had survived.

He hadn’t been looked at as a hero in a long time, and the look on the woman’s face when he opened their cell door was worth every beating he’d endured since.

His captors had cut his feet with razorblades. Both were bloody and swollen, probably infected. One step would be enough to make a strong man pass out from the pain. The Russians mocked him and left the door open, just to see if he had it in him to try to escape. But he knew they were waiting for him just down the hall.

He stared at the open door and the light in the hall beyond. It looked so easy. Just walk out the door. But it wasn’t so simple. His cell floor was littered with broken glass and metal shavings, as was the hallway. It was a cruel joke. The two masked men who scattered the glass and metal had laughed and had a grand old time, like torturing people was their only entertainment.

As Kirk sat in the middle of his cold cell stripped naked and bleeding from his hands and feet, he tried to work himself up to make another try for it.

Come on, man. You never give up. NEVER!

* * *

K SAT WITH THE AUTOMATIC weapon across her lap and a bad feeling in her gut. She went over in her mind what she was going to do when the guard awoke. She’d never killed anyone before and wasn’t sure she could do it now.

Sam turned over and yawned.

K clamped her teeth together. She couldn’t let her daughter die in this awful place.

Sam opened her eyes.

K put her finger over her lips and smiled. Sam knew she was supposed to be quiet. She was such a brave little girl. K was proud of her, loved her sweet little smile.

Rising to her feet, she picked Sam up and moved her to the back of the little shed. She wanted to hide her, just in case something went wrong.

She whispered in Sam’s ear. “Stay here until Mommy calls for you, okay?” Sam nodded, leaned back against the wall, and hugged her knees.

“Good girl.”

K stepped around one of the grinding, clunking pumps and looked at the gun in her hand. It had a silencer clipped to the side of the barrel. At least that’s what she thought it was from watching CSI Miami with Mark every Thursday night.

Pulling it free, she threaded it onto the end of the barrel. It was easer then she thought it would be, which made her feel a little better. Sliding the action back, she loaded a round in the chamber with a click that she was sure should have awakened the guard.

Peering around the corner, she checked to see if he was still sleeping.

The spot where he had been was empty.

Looking wildly around, she stepped out from behind the second pump just as one turned back on with a loud whirring sound. The noise made her jump, but not as much as the hand that came around her mouth and pulled her to the ground.

The shock of the fall made her lose her grip on the gun. It went flying. Before she could turn over, she felt a kick to her side, which shot pain up her spine and knocked the breath from her lungs.

She flipped onto her back, kicked with both legs and made contact. Her attacker staggered back, hit his head on a metal pipe and fell to the ground with a thud and a grunt.

She rolled to her knees and scrabbled for the gun. It was three feet away but felt like a hundred miles. When she finally grabbed it, she spun around just in time to hear the growl and see the furious guard jump at her. She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.