Sweet Dreams (34 page)

He laughed.

Stop over thinking this. You're here, and your family is
314 AARON

alive.
Then again he was not sure what was real anymore, maybe his mind was so broken that he imagined his family and now he was asleep somewhere and lost in this dream world of his own making.

The radio played in the background, filling the car with the distinctive voice of Glenn Beck, rattling on about gas prices and other related topics. Mark drove into a small coffee shop and found a spot in the front along the street, which was a rare if not unheard of experience, maybe this was a dream. The
Coffee
Hut
was a local joint with young college students working behind the counter. He ordered a coconut mocha, sat down and looked through the morning paper.

"Cindy, are you there?" The sound of the morning news sounded from the TV that hung in the corner just above a rounded counter filled with straws, creamer, sugar and everything else you might want to add to your cup of Joe.

"Yes, Tom--I'm here at the New York City maximum security prison on David's Island. We don't know what is going on at this point, but we have been told that some inmates have food poisoning and the CDC is on scene to investigate,"

Mark looked up in horror, his face went white as a sheet as he heard the report and somehow remembered the same report a year ago as he drove home caught in traffic.
This can't be. It was a dream.

He looked down at the paper he held in his hand and saw an ad for buy one, get one free on Campbell's new chunky soup...at the Super Mart.

Mark jumped to his feet and ran out to his car leaving his coffee on the table and an old man reading the business section looked up at him with a look of confusion and disregard on his

DREAMS

315

face. He tried to remember all the details of that day. He worked, came home, took K out to dinner, and then went to the hotel.

Think, Mark! What happened?

I got up late and went over to pick up Samantha, then...

then went to the Super Mart. Starting up the engine, he put it into gear and pulled onto the street.

"Pat. I have to find Pat!"

________________________________________

KIRK'S HEAD FELT LIKE it was twice its normal size and throbbed as if a thunderstorm was brewing in-between his ears. The tranquilizer was wearing off, but he still felt groggy and sleepy. Rubbing his head, he tried to sit up, but his side sent out a bolt of pain. Feeling under his shirt, he could tell that he had a few broken ribs.

Where am I?

All he could remember was going to bed, and then waking up here, wherever here was. Looking around, he could see light coming from under a door in front of him.
I must be the worst cop on Planet Earth. Kidnapped for
the second time, these WJA people were beginning to get on
his nerves.

He could tell from the small cell that he was in some sort of old prison or holding area. The floor was concrete with brick walls and he could see that the old door was made of solid wood with metal inlaid around the edges. Sitting up, he tried to ignore the pain in his side.
Is this the
WJA?
He thought,
couldn't be.
This was not their style, too rugged and out-of-date.

316 AARON

The lock on the old door groaned as a key was inserted into it. Light blinded Kirk as it hit his eyes like a thousand needles. He covered his eyes with his hand and tried to see who was standing in front of him, but all he saw was a dark shadow filling the void where the door once was. The masked men grabbed Kirk and pulled him to his feet. He almost passed out from the pain, as he was drug out of his cell and down a hallway. He kicked his feet and tried to find his footing but slipped and slid without much success. The hall had many more doors that led to other cells and most of them were shut. Who knew how many more victims were hidden away, waiting for their fate in a cold dark cell, wondering if they would ever see the blue sky again. Kirk was thrown down onto a cold metal chair, and tied with his hands behind his back with a thin cord. His feet were tied to the legs of the chair as well, to keep him from kicking or trying to run away.

"You might be wondering why you are here, Detective Weston." The thick voice had a hint of Russian to it as he spoke in a deep tone, filled with hate and contempt.

"You have information that we need, and you are going to tell us everything you know. Understand?"

Kirk looked up at his attacker and into his dark eyes, instinctively memorizing them. He could see that this tall, wellbuilt man could tear him apart without even breaking a sweat if he wanted to.

He didn't know if it was just a part of being Kirk Weston or if he was insane, but he spit in the Russian's face and glared unflinchingly at him as a slight smile rose to his face. The general slapped Kirk with an open palm and sent him

DREAMS

317

toppling backward to the hard floor with a crash. He hit his head, a new sensation skipped through his brain, and he saw blue and yellow stars float across his vision.
Ow--that hurt.

Two masked men pulled him upright again, as the general looked at him as if he was examining a piece of fruit. "So, you think yourself tough. We will see, Mr. Weston."

With that, he turned, and the two other men followed him without a word. The door shut with a clink of the lock and once again, Kirk was alone in what looked to be a washroom. The floor drain was rusted and clogged with hair and who knows what else. The walls were tiled from the floor to the ceiling in light blue and white, the grout in-between was brown and black in some places from grime and dirt ground in after many years of neglect, with a hanging light bulb in the center of the room.

This isn't good. I have a feeling these guys are not plan-
ning on letting me go alive.

He could hear someone talking just outside of his door. He needed to find a way out or he had a feeling that this was going to be the end of the line for him. The door flew open, and one of the masked men marched in. Pulling out a knife, he cut away the rope, freeing Kirk's hands.

It's now or never!

Jumping to his feet, Kirk gritted his teeth and spun around, sending his legs and the chair crashing into the masked man's face. He fell to the floor with his legs on top of the nowunconscious man. His arms freed, he looked around franticly for the knife. He spotted it on the floor a few feet away. He did not know how he managed the maneuver but he didn't 318 AARON

have time to wonder or pat himself on the back. Kirk dragged his body, which was screaming at him to stop and be reasonable, toward the knife. Reaching out to grab it, he could hear the attacker begin to stir.

One more foot.

With one last lunge, he took hold of the knife and spun onto his back, pulling his legs to his chest. He cut his feet loose from the chair and rolled to his feet, ignoring his screaming ribs. Kirk jumped on the man, who was on his knees spitting out blood onto the cold tile floor. Kirk reached around the man's neck and slit his throat, pulling the blade from one end of his neck to the other. It felt like slicing through gritty butter and blood spilled out as the man made gasping gurgling sounds. Kirk dropped the man to the floor, stepped over the blood pooling up under the masked man, and walked toward the door.

The door was half-open, and dim light streamed into the room casting a dingy light over the cooling corpse. He could hear voices coming from down the hall and Kirk held his side with one hand, and clutched the knife in the other hand.
What do they think I know? And what do they think I am
going to do, just lay down and take it?

He tried to forget about all the questions that ran through his mind, but he was a detective and it came naturally. However, he was getting mad and he could feel his primal instincts kicking in as he leaned out to get a clear view of the hall.
Just get out of here alive.
The hall was clear, but he could tell that there was someone in the next room to his right. Down the hall about ten feet was a door with a small window

DREAMS

319

in it. He looked for a place to hide, but all he could see was a large crate that sat next to the door where the voices were coming from.
Come on, Kirk. Think.
He looked back to the room he had just come from.

That's it!

He was hunched over, with all his senses taking over making him look like a big monkey on the hunt for food. Even his side wasn't hurting as much--
It must be from all the adrena-
line pumping through my body.
Picking up the metal chair he was tied to, he pulled the masked man into it. Taking off his mask, he pulled it over his own head and tied the attacker's hands behind his back.

He looked to be Kirk's height and weight.
What luck.
This might just work after all.
Reaching up, he loosened the light bulb that hung from its wires in the ceiling. He searched through the dead man's pockets, looking for any other weapons. He wanted to make a trap for the man who in time would wonder where his friend was and come looking for him. Nothing, no knife, and not so much as a wallet. Kirk had his back to the door when he heard a voice behind him, it scared him to death, but somehow he managed to keep from jumping into the air with a scream.

"Hey, man, get him back to his cell--what are you doing?" The man had a thick accent and it was Russian as well. What had he gotten himself into now!

Kirk froze with his back to the door and stood facing the dead man who sat tied to the metal chair, and waited for his target to get within striking distance. He knew he would only have one shot at this.

320 AARON

"Yo! Hurry up!" The man sounded angry as he stepped into the room. Kirk could feel the light from the doorway disappear as the man came in--this was his moment. Spinning around, he lurched forward and slid the sharp blade into his target's abdomen. The man gasped in pain, but before he could do anything about it, Kirk pulled out the knife, and in one sweeping motion, slashed it across his throat, spraying a stream of blood into Kirks face, the mask took most of it, and Kirk didn't seem to notice.

The man stared at Kirk with a confused look on his face; then he fell to his knees as blood spewed from his neck. He was dead before his head hit the floor.

Kirk took off his mask and searched the second man for weapons. He smiled when he found a Glock .45. Checking to see if the clip was full, he made his way out to the hallway. Kirk could hear his heart in his ears as it pounded. He once again was reminded of his broken ribs as he crouched and made his way down the hall. Everything was silent, as he got closer to the door with the window in it.

This time it was open and no one appeared to be inside.
He has to be talking to someone.
The man he just killed was not talking to himself so Kirk was on edge searching every corner and possible hiding place.

Kirk looked around; it seemed the only way out was through that door! Hiding behind the crate, he leaned out to get a better look. The door led to a long hallway that went back to the cell where he had been held.

It looked empty.

Kirk took one last look and jumped out from his hiding place. Almost running but still crouched down as low as he

DREAMS

321

could, he made his way to the end of the hall. A door at the end of the hall was closed, and without any cover he crouched out in the open, Kirk had no way of knowing what was on the other side. He sat thinking before he realized that there were other voices coming from the other cells, whispers, and moans. He could only make out two other people, but there may have been more.
Great, this is all I need.
I'll be lucky to make it on my own, let alone with anyone else.

Kirk tried to open the cell door right behind him.
It was
locked.

The next one opened, and Kirk slipped inside. It was dark and empty, but it made a good place to hide and to think.
Okay. I'll try to go get help and come back for them.
He

was satisfied with this answer and looked out into the hall, wondering what to do next. He needed to draw whoever was on the other side of that door to him. He needed the element of surprise if he was going to come out of this alive.

DREAMS

323

Chapter Twenty-Three

and slammed against the side of his apartment building. His face scraped against the rough brick and rubbed the first layer of skin off making a red mark, and Pat Rotter squealed like a girl in fright and surprise.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" Pat groaned as if he was being dragged to the principal's office. Mark had his hand in his coat pocket and tried to make it look like he had a gun and he held Pat with his forearm placed firmly in the back of his neck.

"You're coming with me, or you are going to die!" Mark was angry, confused, and not himself--it was a bad combo for a confrontation, but he was not going to lose K and Sam again even if it meant killing this poor sop before he actually did anything.

"Easy, man! I don't have any money..."

324 AARON

"I don't want money," Mark growled. "Now come with me." Mark pushed the scared college student toward his waiting car. He squirmed as Mark pushed him into the passenger seat, and shut the door still pointing the fake gun through his coat pocket. Pat got his first look at his attacker and something in what he saw made him stay in the car as Mark walked around the other side and got in.

Mark thought fast; he knew that this kid would figure out that he didn't have a gun and he needed to keep the edge no matter what. His mind was spinning with different options and scenarios.

"Now, you listen up, Pat. I know who you are and what you are planning to do. I'm with the FBI, and we have reason to believe that you are involved with a terrorist origination that is going to blow up a building tomorrow morning,"