Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix (27 page)

“Yeh, I hear ya man,” replied Officer Doyle. “But still, it beats the hell out of that alleyway we had to guard.” Memories still lingered about the ghostly figure they had seen, and Doyle shuddered at the thought of the place.

Doyle was a good cop but while he was not the brightest officer on the force, he was good at his job and he kept everyone happy; he was shorter than his partner, but stocky and well built, with a bushy moustache that compensated for his baldness.

Their route was specific, because much of the scene was covered by large plastic sheeting to conserve whatever evidence there was for CSU. As they walked they noticed a strange mist starting to cover the scene. Though it was low on the ground, it still blanketed the floor, giving the place an even eerier feel.

“Oh boy, you have got to be kidding me.” Doyle said as he watched the foggy build up. He did not want to be here and this extra unpleasantness did not help. The mustachioed officer stopped and turned his head slightly. Timmins stared at him as though something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Timmins asked, only to have Doyle put a large hand over his partner’s mouth.

“Do you hear that?” the shorter man asked, forgetting to remove his hand. He looked up as Timmins made a muffled sound, withdrawing his palm.

“Tell me, did you hear that?” Timmins listened carefully, and then he heard it. The noise was more of a scraping sound, distant, but definitely a scraping noise. Rushing forwards towards the sound they came to the entrance of the large storage area. Beams of light scanned the space like the searchlights from a war. They froze. There it was again! It sounded as though something underground was clawing its way to the surface. The two men drew their weapons and held flashlights aloft, ready to lock on to whatever it was.

Moving slowly towards the sound they noticed the mist was getting thicker as they got closer, and a great white blanket of fog clung to the ground, covering it completely.

As they watched from one corner a figure broke out of the cover of the fog and stood up slowly. The two police officers watched as this phantom straightened itself out.

“Uh—Hey you! You’re not supposed to be in here!” yelled Doyle nervously.

The figure just stood motionless for a second, its left side towards them. Doyle nudged his partner saying, “You go ahead I’ll cover you.”

Timmins stepped backwards. “Fuck that! You go, I got your back.”

Both men were sweating buckets, their quivering hands ready for anything.

The figure turned and faced them. It reached down and picked something up from the mist that resembled a blanket or was it a long coat? Doyle and Timmins looked on in horror as the figure put on the long coat and suddenly they realized that they had seen this phantom before.

Hesitantly the two cops moved to shine their flashlights on him when a loud crash made them spin round. A startled rat scurried away after knocking over a mangled ceiling light that had been balanced on top of a ruined piece of wall. The two turned back seconds later, only to find that the figure had disappeared into the fog.

With shaking hands the two terrified officers re-holstered their weapons; they slowly began walking backwards as if afraid to be snuck upon, and made their way back to the entrance of the crime scene. Doyle mumbled quietly but loud enough for Timmins to hear: “You know what, this is the last time we guard a goddamn crime scene.” Timmins nodded in agreement, still unable to speak, Then as they broke out of view of the large room the two men ran all the way back to the main entrance.

FIFTY-SIX

The hour was late and Eric and the blond mercenary sat in a large dimly lit room. The furnishings were a mixture of modern and antique. Their chairs faced a large dark wood desk that displayed curious carvings on its panels. The chairs on which they sat had tall backs with red velvet cushioning, and the ornately carved wood was decorated with gold leaf. The room itself was large but had very little in the way of furnishings from what they could see apart from the chairs and desk. The only light that partly filled the room was emitted from the large monitor screen on top of the desk.

“So, gentlemen, what news?” The voice was soft and somewhat gravely, but had a note of authority. Eric was mesmerized by the swirling patterns that swept across the screen of the monitor. Each time the voice sounded the smoke-like images moved with the strength of each note of the voice’s tone.

“The one called Steel is no more, sir.” Eric was sitting bolt upright in the chair as he spoke. Something about this whole faceless charade made him uneasy, but on the other hand the money was good. His words came out as a squeak, making the mercenary next to him squirm with unease.  “And the operation is safe, we can proceed as planned.” Eric concluded, nudging the mercenary beside him to speak.

“Well, sir, everything is in place, and the police are still chasing their tails.” The blond man said, speaking with a hint of a German accent, his tone hard and confident.

There was a brief silence that made both of them feel uneasy. Beads of sweat started to form on Eric’s forehead but he dare not move to wipe the running droplets away.

“And you know this how?” inquired the voice. As Eric listened he could make out an accent, it was a mixture of English and American but he couldn’t quite put his finger which was most prevalent. Their boss was well-spoken and had a tone someone might associate with Oxford or one of the other great British universities.

“We know it from our source, Sir.” The blond man replied briefly but to the point.

The swirls on the screen filled with soft waves as if the news had pleased whoever was on the other side of the feed.

“So we have someone on the inside of the department, this is good news,” the face on the monitor said. “And as for Mr Steel, how do we know he has joined his family?”

Eric looked at the other man, who shot him an angry look in return. It was Eric’s turn to continue: “We dropped a building onto him after we detonated several hundred pounds of explosives within, sir. The man is nothing more than ash.”

The blond man’s skin crawled as he heard sickly laughter from the monitor. As he watched, the screen became a mass of violent nightmarish shapes that seemed to claw at the glass.

“Then let us proceed with the operation, gentlemen.”

And with that the monitor went dark and the room lights came on. The two men stood, still a bit shaken from the briefing, and faced each other.

“And now?” asked the mercenary.

“We do as THE MAN has instructed.”

Eric shrugged and smiled, and the blond man shivered at the sight of his ghastly grin. They walked away.

FIFTY-SEVEN

The morning was grey and dull; each detective had their assigned buildings to check on, with them as backup a uniformed man riding shotgun. Their task was simple: check out the buildings from the addresses Jerry had given them. The Captain didn’t like the fact that he didn’t have the manpower to send detectives in pairs, but the department had been hit hard by cuts and now the loss of Steel made things even harder, however special units were on standby just in case they were needed. Brant certainly didn’t want any more losses.

McCall had arrived at an old power station. The tall derelict building was shadowed by its twin that stood around a car length’s distance away. Sam parked up and looked at the two foreboding old constructions. Built in the early 1900s they still held a presence of awe about them. The red brick showed signs of decades of wear and weather, and just the look of the gloomy places gave her an uneasy feeling. She sat at the wheel for a moment and scanned the area, and her grip tightened on the wheel causing the leather to creak under the pressure. McCall leant forwards and eyed up the buildings.

Officer Paris, a keen young recruit, sat beside her, completely in awe of the moment. He had heard stories of Detective McCall’s courage and tenacity, but most of all her personable appearance, and he oozed enthusiasm.

“So what’s our first move, Detective?” Paris asked, a childish grin on his face.

She turned slowly and shot him a look which soon melted the grin. He swallowed hard and sat back into his seat.

“We check the perimeter,” she told him grimly. “When I’m happy we move inside.”

She looked at him and began to regret her severity, but reasoned that this was not play time and he had to learn the seriousness of their predicament. He nodded, remembering what had happened to Detective Steel, and understood that she would be doing all she could to prevent the same thing happening again. He had never met Steel but from what he had heard the man was something of a legend, and everyone was shocked that he’d been killed.

Quietly they got out of the car and moved towards the buildings. A breeze blew down the street from behind them, almost as if they were being led towards the twin buildings. The one on the left was the first they searched but during her years of service, McCall had learnt to be thorough.

It had taken a good two hours to go through the rooms in the building on the left, but happily it was clear, so they proceeded to the intended building. Both their weapons were drawn as they approached the entrance; to save time, McCall had checked the perimeters of both buildings on their sweep of the left hand building. The entrance mirrored that of the other building: large metal doors that were sparsely covered with the last remnants of flaky green paint.

They approached and stood either side of the doors. Detective McCall stretched the muscles in her hands, causing a clicking sound due to compressed muscles that had held her weapon too tight for too long. Paris looked up at her, noticing the concentration on her face and he felt safe to be under her command.

She looked up and smiled at him. “You ready, Paris?” she asked.

He pulled up his weapon so it sat in his double-handed grip at head level, blew out a massive puff of air, then nodded.

The door creaked with age as she pulled it open. The noise echoed along the seemingly endless corridor. Stepping inside they could see the dark walkway bathed in large strips of light that beamed from the door-less rooms on either side of the hallway. They counted six rooms, each of which was no larger than a small office, but knew that all of them had to be checked.

Creeping forwards to the first two rooms, McCall and Paris stood at either side of the two entrances; they would take a room each and would follow this routine until they reached the door at the end of the long corridor. Finding that the hallway was clear, they then stood next to a large metal sliding door: it was grey and rusty, and looked heavy. McCall noticed that it somehow did not match the rest of the building. Judging by Paris’s expression she could see that he was pumped up, full of adrenaline, which could inspire him in two ways depending on his personality. He could either be the bravest son-of-a-bitch on the planet, or he he might freeze on the spot. She breathed a slight sigh.
Time to find out
, she thought to herself.

The younger officer grasped the door and waited for McCall’s signal. Together they counted down from five. When they got to zero he swung the door open, allowing her to roll in and aim for cover. No sooner was she in than the door slid shut and a loud CLANG filled the large room to indicate that she was locked in. She banged her head on the crate behind her. Her hiding place was four large moving crates piled up to form an upside down ‘T’ shape. She cursed herself for trusting Paris’s judgement until she heard his screams dying away. As she peeked over the barricade she saw around twenty men dressed in black tactical gear training weapons on to her position. Laser dots danced on the wood of the crates, just awaiting the word to lock on to her and bring her to a bloody end.

“Good morning, Detective,” called out a voice from the floor above. The room was large with a walkway that ran around the upper floor, creating easy access to the first-floor offices.

This was obviously a large storage area for a large number of small items, or a smaller quantity of large things. She saw the man who had been speaking: it was a large blond-haired man, he looked like a mercenary. She sneered inwardly at the sight of him.

“Now, Detective,” he went on. “Drop your weapon and come out if you please.”

She laughed out loud.

There was silence for a few moments.

“I promise no harm will come to you if you come out,” he went on. “I give you my word.”

McCall felt as if she had no other choice but to comply. Hopefully the cavalry would come racing to her aid in time. At that moment she froze in place and her heart sank, realizing that her white knight in black armor could no longer come to rip her from the clutches of destruction, and a single tear fell from her cheek.

She stood up and held out the weapon which was balancing on her right index finger. Men rushed forwards and surrounded her, and one of them snatched the pistol from its perch.

“Have you missed me?” She spoke with venom, and he liked that.

He walked up to her, his face several inches from hers and he smiled softly. “Welcome,” he said, then suddenly swung about and walked off as the guards bound her hands and led her towards a wooden chair that sat in the middle of the dusty floor. She struggled and fought, flooring two of the men, causing another to trip as they fell. Fortunately her legs were free, so she made for cover. As she was almost there McCall felt a sharp pain in the leg, and as she crashed to ground she saw a dart with multi-colored strands sticking out of her upper leg.

“You bastar—” she uttered.

The blond man walked forwards and looked down at her. He smiled proudly. “What a woman,” he said as he watched the men carry her off to the chair.

FIFTY-EIGHT

The mid-Manhattan library was bustling with crowds of people. Students rushed here and there in search of project information, others just sat alone and read. A figure passed unnoticed, books and folders in hand; the person made their way to the archive vault, then went to a dimly lit part of the room and found a computer. Sitting down, the stranger began to type, feeding names into the database to find out any information on the orphanage where the murdered women had lived.