Chasing Ghosts

A Chase Dagger Mystery

Lee Driver

Also by Lee Driver

Chase Dagger Series

The Unseen

Full Moon-Bloody Moon

The Good Die Twice

Short Stories

Sara Morningsky, Mystery in Mind
Anthology

The Thirteenth Hole, Mystery in Mind
Anthology

Written as S.D. Tooley

Sam Casey Series

What Lies Within

Echoes from the Grave

Restless Spirit

Nothing Else Matters

When the Dead Speak

Short Stories

Solving Life’s Riddle, Amazon Shorts

For Middle School/Young Adult Readers

Remy and Roadkill Series

The Skull

www.sdtooley.com

[email protected]

Copyright ©2008 by Lee Driver

All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be
reproduced in any form without permission.

ISBN 978-0-9820352-0-7

Library of Congress Control Number:
2008929421

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination. Resemblance to actual events, locales or persons,
living or dead, is strictly fictional. Any slights of people,
places, or organizations is unintentional.

Smashwords Edition

CHASING GHOSTS

Prologue

The halogen beam sprayed light over stone
walls. The shaft was the size of a freight elevator with a metal
stairway. He cast a nervous glance at the steel hatch one flight
up. A fragile stake of wood propped open the hatch leaching a scant
two inches of sunlight into the dark. Leaning over the railing, he
aimed the halogen beam down the shaft revealing an endless number
of stairs. How far did it extend and what awaited him at the
bottom?

With little more than stubborn determination,
he continued down the stairs letting the beam of light search for
signs on the walls to lend some clue as to what danger he might
encounter. He stopped two stairs before the third landing and
listened. Silence. Complete silence. Not one hum of a motor or
patter of four-legged creatures. Not one hint of a whisper or soft
sound of fabric rustling. Just utter silence.

As he stepped onto the third landing a loud
bang echoed through the stairwell. The flashlight skipped down the
stairs as he dropped the gym bag, pulled his gun from its holster,
and flattened his back against the wall. Three flights above the
hatch door had slammed shut, breaking the wooden stake. Immediately
light sconces on the walls clicked on in succession. His heart
pounded in his chest as though trying in vain to escape. He pointed
the gun first toward the closed hatch, then down the lit stairwell.
He listened for sounds of footsteps running, doors slamming, voices
shouting. But still there was only silence, except for the endless
clicking of light sconces becoming softer, more distant, until he
couldn’t hear them anymore.

Looking up he contemplated sanity. Of all the
reckless things he had done in his life, this had to be right at
the top. He should retreat and trust that the hatch didn’t lock
when it slammed shut. He should return home and forget about this
ludicrous mission. But then the depths beckoned and his curiosity
intensified. Insanity had gotten him this far. Why back out
now?

He looked down at his feet. What had
triggered the lights? His weight on the landing? Maybe a timer
after the escape hatch was opened. He holstered the gun, retrieved
the flashlight, shoved it in the gym bag, and continued down the
stairs. The walls looked like marble or cinderblock that some giant
stone polishing machine had buffed to a smooth nish. There weren’t
any cameras he could detect but for some bizarre reason he felt as
though he were being watched.

Dizzy from the endless flights, he collapsed
on the stairs and pulled a bottle of water from the gym bag.
Climbing down was one thing. Climbing up was a task he wasn’t
anticipating. Although he should have worked up a sweat, he didn’t
feel hot. The temperature in the stairwell was relatively mild, not
the cold dampness he had expected. The air didn’t smell moldy like
the inside of a tomb or earthy like a grave. It actually had the
fresh scent of the outdoors. It was as though the stairwell were
humidity and temperature-controlled, yet there wasn’t a sign of a
vent anywhere.

His eyes were drawn to a number in black
lettering on the wall. It was the second time he had seen the
identical number 402. How many flights since the first time he had
seen the number? He had tried counting the lights as he descended
but lost track at sixty, or was it seventy? The monotony of the
stairwell was getting to him. He could be trapped down here with
nothing more than a gym bag of power bars, fruit, and water. How
long could that last?

He capped the bottle and dropped it into the
gym bag. Picking up speed, he pounded down the stairs, no longer
concerned about making too much noise. He just wanted to see an end
to the metal stairs and stone walls. A third 402 in black letters
was painted on the wall at the next landing. Figures bounced in his
head — 402 times three equals 1,206. Was that feet? He had
certainly descended farther than 1,206 feet. The muscles in his
thighs burned. What could possibly be at the bottom of this shaft?
Missile silos weren’t this deep. Chicago’s Deep Tunnel Project was
only 350 feet underground. It took thirty years to build. How long
has this shaft been here and how long did it take to dig? He may
reach the bottom and find an unfinished shaft. If he had to turn
around and run back up, he’d sooner put the gun to his head.

Ignoring the pain in his calves he increased
his speed, taking less than one second per flight. He finally
caught sight of a stone door, an actual end to this monotony.
Several yards from the last stair was a door. Breathing came in
gasps, sweat glistened his skin. On the wall next to the door was
the number 1,608, a familiar number. The number was in meters and
equal to 5,280 feet. He was exactly one mile below the surface.

With one hand wrapped around the gun, he
grabbed the door latch and slowly pulled. Light burst through
forcing him to shield his face. Blinking the burning from his eyes,
he rammed the door open and stepped out onto a walkway. Gun at the
ready, he checked to the left and right of him but didn’t see any
movement. Stretched in front of him was a cobblestone courtyard as
wide as a four-lane highway. If there were people here, did they
run for cover when they heard him coming? Or did something chase
them away years before he arrived? Someone or something had to be
operating the lights.

One-story buildings served as sentries on
both sides of the courtyard, their marble fronts in an assortment
of colors, metal doors painted. He ignored the fatigue in his legs
while his senses picked up the chirping of birds in nearby trees,
the rustling of leaves from a breeze that barely kissed his skin.
Billowing clouds hung in a sunlit sky so blue it made his eyes
sting. Stone benches lined the courtyard every ten feet. Dazed, he
blinked quickly expecting the scene to disappear like a mirage, but
it didn’t. Slowly circling like a lost tourist, his hand lost its
grasp on the gym bag. It slipped from his hand and thudded to the
cobblestone. Three-story buildings in the distance jutted toward
the sky, chrome facades gleaming in the sunlight. As he wandered
into the center of the courtyard he scanned the surrounding
buildings, checking windows and rooftops. A variety of sweet aromas
filled the air from nearby ceramic flower urns. Yellow petals too
yellow, pink petals too pink. The entire area was an amateur
paint-by-number scene.

He holstered his gun, stumbled to the curb
and dropped onto the nearest bench. He should have been questioning
how all this could be happening. After all, he was sure he was a
mile underground. Any normal person would have been questioning his
sanity, exploring his surroundings, examining all possible
explanations. Any sane person would have been mumbling impossible,
ridiculous, absurd. But only one word came to Dagger’s mind:

Home

CHAPTER 1

Five Days Earlier

Dagger decided this wasn’t going to be a bad
day after all. For one thing, all of his organs and bones were
intact, despite the throbbing muscles that would turn to huge
bruises tomorrow. But more importantly, the man dying on the living
room floor hadn’t bled on Sara’s new area rug. That should win him
Brownie points, seeing that he was already on her shit list for not
helping to clean Einstein’s aviary. Speaking of Einstein, where was
the advance warning from his attack bird? The scarlet red and blue
macaw poked its head around the corner of the grated door to the
aviary. During the melee, Einstein had been noticeably absent.

Dagger struggled to pull himself up on one
knee. Maybe he should have extracted a little blood from the
intruder and added it to the pink and mauve rug. Sara’s bright
color scheme made his eyeballs hurt. Now if only he had the energy
to bury the oaf before his partner returned.

Too late.

He heard the roar of the truck rumbling down
the drive.

“
UH OH,” Einstein squawked, and flew to
his hiding place.

“
You’re a damn chicken,” Dagger yelled,
threading shaky fingers through wet hair.

A truck door slammed. Footsteps clicked along
the deck porch. The front door opened and Sara took two steps
inside before halting. She spent less time studying the body than
it took for one perfectly shaped eyebrow to raise. “I thought we
agreed not to bring home strays.”

Dagger forced one thin smile and said,
“Cute,” before sliding back to the floor, deciding the scenery was
far better from this angle. Sara had one hell of a set of legs. But
those weren’t her only attributes. Her eyes were the color of
Caribbean waters and they were almond-shaped, adding to her exotic
beauty. Dark hair sun-streaked in an array of colors hung to her
waist.

She shifted the bag of groceries in her arms
and stepped over the man who looked as though anorexia would have
killed him if Dagger hadn’t. Although the man was lying on his
stomach, his head was twisted over his right shoulder at a painful
angle. Sara studied that angle, winced, and tossed an accusing
glare at Dagger.

“
He started it,” Dagger protested like
a five-year-old.

The Caribbean blue turned icy and with an
exasperated shake of her head, Sara carried the groceries to the
kitchen.

“
But don’t worry about me,” Dagger
called out. “I’ve only got three broken ribs, a ruptured spleen,
and a dislocated shoulder.”

Several seconds later Sara returned mumbling,
“Such a baby.”

Dagger grabbed the back of the love seat and
hauled himself up on wobbly legs. The intruder couldn’t have
weighed more than 150 pounds but he had managed to lift Dagger over
his head and toss him like a rag doll. How was that possible? He
lowered himself onto the armrest and watched as Sara picked up the
phone and punched in a two-digit code.

“
Good morning.” Sara’s voice smiled
along the phone line. “We need a clean-up in aisle seven. Oh, and
we also need the trash taken out.” She hung up and marched over to
the trash.

“
Gee, and how is Skizzy?” Dagger wasn’t
too surprised Sara knew the programmed code for his schizophrenic
friend. Nothing much gets by his partner.

Sara pressed her fingertips to the man’s
neck. “As usual, you are thorough.” She straightened and walked
over to where Dagger sat. A bruise was forming on his left cheek. A
press of her fingers to the left side of Dagger’s chest had him
wincing. “Why did you let him in?”

“
I didn’t. He was already here when I
climbed out of the shower. I no sooner slipped into my jeans and
shook the water from my hair when I heard the door open. The jerk
was standing in the living room.”

“
I didn’t leave the gate
open.”

“
Well, Einstein didn’t open it. And the
guy sure as hell didn’t have the code to the gate.”

“
So, you said hello and he started
swinging.”

Dagger staggered to a standing position,
pressing a hand to his left side. He didn’t think he broke anything
but he was as sore as hell. “I stared at him for a beat and he
said, ‘I need your services.’ I asked how he got in and suddenly he
changed. I saw something just spark, like my words were offensive
somehow. Then he lunged at me. Idiot lifted me over his head and
threw me against the wall.”

Sara studied the dead man as though mentally
sizing him up, then ran her gaze over Dagger’s six foot frame. His
muscles were toned, shoulders broad. At least 190 pounds of solid
power. She dragged her eyes back to the waif of a man lying at her
feet. “He lifted you over his head?” That one eyebrow jerked
again.