The Crypt (33 page)

What a nightmare. Who is orchestrating this?

People whispered among themselves. Sarah felt every face aimed toward her. She needed to think. They were close to the ground. The plane would touch down within a minute. She had to do something, but what?

Could Rod Howley be behind this? No way. He’s dead or seriously wounded back in Hungary.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as the wheels touched down. 

Stay calm, Sarah, stay calm.

There was no use trying to fight three armed men. With the way air travel had changed, if she attacked the marshals, regular passengers would come to
their
aid.

What will Parkman think when he arrives in Toronto to pick her up at the airport and, not only is flight 487B late, but Sarah isn’t on it? He is going to be pissed. They were supposed to meet and go to a ball game tomorrow to see the stadium before Wednesday, the day Drake is to be killed. Parkman will be furious when he finds out who’s behind this.

I’m going to be furious when I find out who has fucked up my day.

The air brakes activated and the plane slowed, taxiing off the landing strip.

The three marshals wouldn’t take their eyes off of her. Whoever was behind this had informed these men who she was and that she was to be watched carefully. Do not underestimate her. Sarah is dangerous.

Good advice.

Sarah undid her belt. The plane stopped, still quite far from the terminal. In the distance a line of three black SUVs headed their way.

FBI?

The couple sitting ahead of her sneaked peeks backwards. She smiled at the woman, who jumped away as if bitten.

“Is all this really necessary?” Sarah asked.

Dave nodded.

“Who has the kind of power to change the flight plan of a major commercial airliner?” Sarah asked. “The U.S. government maybe? The Sophia Project guys? Am I getting closer?”

Dave didn’t respond this time. He bent down and looked out Sarah’s window at the approaching SUVs.

“They’re coming now,” he said to the two men on either side of him.

Obviously she wasn’t going to get anything out of Dave before whoever was coming got there. She crossed her arms, laid back and closed her eyes. This didn’t bother her. She wouldn’t allow it to. Whoever was behind it, whatever they wanted, she would fix it and move on. That was the way of things for her. It had always been that way and always will be.

“Where are your bags?” Dave asked.

“I don’t have any bags,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. “Only this carryon by my feet. I travel light.”

The door to the plane opened. She sat eight rows back from where she had boarded. Boots smacked down hard as several people entered the aircraft in unison. She opened her eyes and looked up, hoping to recognize someone who could answer her questions.

A line of military-type recruits in green camouflage stomped down the aisle toward Dave and his men, who moved away to give the newcomers more room. Within seconds, Sarah’s seat was surrounded by eight beefy men.

The tallest one stepped in close and asked in a deep John Wayne voice, “Are you Sarah Roberts?”

What was the right answer?

“Who’s asking?”

“Stand up,” he ordered. “Now.”

“Fuck you. First, tell me what this is all about. I bought a ticket to fly to Toronto. I’m an American citizen. I cannot be held without being charged and since I’ve done nothing wrong, tell me what this is all about.”

“Sarah Roberts, you are under arrest for the murder of Joseph Singer. Stand up, or my men will drag you out. This will either be hard or easy, your choice, but we prefer hard.”

It felt like someone smacked her in the face. She had never heard the name Joseph Singer before. There had to be a mistake. Where did this kind of shit come from? Could life ever be normal or does it always have to be fucked? And how could they re-route a plane just to arrest one person? Wouldn’t they get the Canadian authorities to pick her up as she exited the plane in Toronto, and then extradite her through the normal legal process?

Someone set this up
.
Someone is setting
me
up.

All eyes in the immediate area were on her. She was sure that the passengers surrounding her seat weren’t thinking about their delay to Toronto anymore. They wanted to see some action.

Fucking rubberneckers.

“Hard or easy, huh?” she asked. “Those are my options?”

“Wait!” a man yelled from down the aisle near the front of the plane. Heads turned to see the new arrival. A man in a long black overcoat and a black fedora made his way toward her.

Rod Howley. Motherfucker.

“Ahh,” Sarah said. “Now I understand what’s happening here.”

“Fall back, men. Give her a chance to stand on her own legs before they’re both broken.”

“Is that how it’s going to be?” Sarah asked. “How did you do it? How could you reroute this plane? Are you that powerful now?”

The thin aisle offered little wiggle room when two well-built men needed to pass one another. Rod forced his way through as best he could and stopped at her seat.

“Sarah, we have danced together too long. It’s over. You’re on American soil now. You’re mine. You don’t have Parkman here to help. No one on this plane knows who you are.” He leaned closer. “Have you no honor? Do this to help your fellow American. Have you no soul? Do what I need you to do to help your fellow human being. Come with me willingly and show me what you’re made of. Help me help them,” he said, waving an arm around the cabin.

She looked away. Outside, all she saw was a distant city, grass and tarmac. It looked like the terminal stood a mile away. Even if she figured out how to get past this many men, where would she run to?

He had finally done it. He got her. She had no choice.

Without looking at him, she said, “Yes, I have a soul. That’s why I do what I do in the first place. That’s why I fight for the weak and I won’t work for the government.”

The couple in the seat in front of her gasped at the same time. She realized they were assuming she justified murder in such a way.

It was time to leave. This wasn’t the place or the time to make a stand.

“I’ll come peacefully,” she said. “Step back, give me some room, and I will leave this plane with you.”

“You’re right you’ll be leaving this plane with me.”

“Cocky much?” Sarah asked.

Rod stepped back and motioned for his men to give her room. Sarah lifted her carryon and edged along the seats until she reached the aisle where she stood and turned to face Rod.

“You bastard. You, sir, are a
fucking
whore. You have sold your soul to the government. I think I will have to kill you one day, Rod Howley. There will come a time when I will fear you no more.”

Rod didn’t smile. He didn’t act cocky. He stepped aside and nodded his head.

Sarah’s legs were swept out from under her. She barely had enough time to brace herself and protect her face as she hit the carpeted floor of the airplane aisle. She tried to spin onto her back but couldn’t. Too many men pounced at the same time. Someone’s knee jammed into her back with another knee on her neck. They were doing something to her feet.

It ended as fast as it started. Rough hands grabbed her and lifted until she stood on her feet again. She looked down at the two large, iron cuffs on her ankles, connected by a chain.

“Are you serious?”

A nearby passenger asked Rod if that was necessary. Rod cautioned him to mind his own business.

“You will not run from me again,” Rod said. “I assure you of that.”

Her carryon bag lay on the aisle floor having slipped off her shoulder when she was knocked down. One of the men grabbed it.

“Hey!”

Another man grabbed her forearm and, before she could stop him, slapped handcuffs on her wrists. He stepped behind her and turned her shoulders until she was facing Rod again.

“There. You’re all tied up and ready for transport to prison. Let’s go.”

Rod turned and started up the aisle. Sarah caught a glimpse of the couple who had sat in front of her. The woman shook her head back and forth in disgust.

If they only knew.

Sarah shuffled forward as the ankle cuffs offered little leeway. A staircase had been rolled up to the side of the plane. The sun broke through the clouds, reflecting off the white metal steps. The space between her ankles wasn’t enough to manage the stairs. Even before she could protest, a man on either side lifted an arm each and carried her down the steps to the tarmac where they set her back down.

Both her arms felt like they’d be bruised bad. All the way down she fought the urge to scream from the pain of their combined grip.

The SUVs all sat with their doors open. They guided her to the middle one parked near the tip of the airplane’s wing.

Rod moved up beside her. No one spoke. She knew the drill. Do this, do that, comply with them, and then find a hole in Rod’s armor. She’d get out. There’s a way. There was always a way.

At the vehicle, the ankle cuffs prevented her from lifting her leg high enough to enter so she turned to Rod.

He grabbed her hair behind her right ear and twisted her head back until his face loomed over hers.

“Shit, that hurts,” she said through clenched teeth.

Water filled her eyes. It had been awhile since that much hair had been pulled at the same time.

“You’re mine now,” Rod said, his nose an inch from hers. “We parlayed too much in Europe. Until I’m satisfied you have a gift or not, you will never be out of my sight again. Got it?”

She tried to nod. When he let go, she righted her head, the pain fresh and sharp.

The man behind her held a baton.

Where the fuck did that come from?

He lifted it and swung.

She had no chance.

The end of the baton hit her in the exact spot where Rod had pulled on her hair.

Sarah was out before she hit the tarmac.

Chapter 2

Elmore Ackerman looked out his kitchen window as he poured his coffee. He thought about his prisoner in the basement and how sweet she was. Had he broken Jackie yet? Was it time for a new slave? Maybe she needed further lessons, one that brought out the animal side of human nature. Or maybe she just needed to die quickly so he could move on.

He set the pot back, stirred and sipped his coffee and then started for his office. Jackie could wait in her cage. He would deal with her later tonight or tomorrow. By then, he would have decided her fate.

At his desk, he turned on his MacBook and brought up his finance page for the twenty-two vending machines he had scattered across Japan. The used panty business had been flourishing for years. Japan was the leading country selling used panties and Elmore was no stranger to the business. Vending machines had popped up all over Japan with Elmore’s machines going in almost two years ago. Now it financed all of his ventures, from the cages in the basement to his photo studio downtown Toronto where he collected the best panty shots for verification and authenticity.

Craigslist had made him a certain amount over the years, but the vending machines were his golden goose.

He leaned on the desk with his elbow while he picked at the ten-year-old scab on the side of his head. He’d banged his head many years ago and it had never healed properly. He wouldn’t leave the scab alone, picking it until it bled. Only recently had he tried to calm it down to facilitate healing, but the Jackie situation stressed him out. She’d been his sex partner for almost six months now. He had grown bored recently. He needed someone new. And Jackie cried through the night too much for his liking.

A piece of the scab came off and lodged under his nail. He examined his nail and then eased the small piece of bloody crust out from under it, tossing it in the trash can.

Elmore opened the desk drawer on his right and grabbed a little black container that originally held a roll of film. He flipped off the lid and looked inside. The fingernails stored within were for moments like this. A few of his were in there, along with Jackie’s and the girls who came before her. He shuffled the contents and reached in to grab one of the thicker toenails. Then, carefully, he placed the lid back on the film container and set it on his desk.

After another sip of his coffee, Elmore eased the toenail between his front teeth and began the long task of diligently rolling the nail between all of his teeth over and over. He could never get bored with a good nail in his mouth. The simple pleasure of moving the nail around the tongue and between the teeth brought back wonderful memories of girls now dead and buried on his property. Girls who had performed beyond their years and given him hundreds upon hundreds of photos for his panty business at no charge. Actually, they paid him with their feminine gifts.

He examined the sales increases on his computer screen and smiled, the nail stuck near his molars. He scratched another piece of the scab off his head, tossing it in the trash after careful examination.