Blind Justice
The kitchen window was shaded with slatted blinds and looked out on the street. Stone made sure he was not silhouetted on the window as he laid out his implements on a towel he unrolled across the counter. That done, he filled a hypo syringe from a bottle.
Then he stood to one side of the kitchen window where he could see the street.
And patiently waited for his victim.
Marty Keegan.
Seattle cop.
Partner and good friend of Ray Logan.
The man who was going to tell Stone everything he might know, imagined he knew, about the runaway cop and his family.
It might take a half hour. It might take longer. But in the end Keegan would give it all up.
They always did.
It was not arrogance on Stone’s part. It was fact. He had worked interrogations many times before, and of one thing he was sure. They always gave up the information.
No one could withstand interrogation indefinitely. There would come a point when human tolerance to pain in its infinitely varied forms became too much. Then the victim would tell Stone whatever he needed to know simply to make it all stop. It had to happen. There was nothing surer. Just like sunrise and sunset—no deviation.
It would happen.
There was a phrase from a well-known TV series that Stone liked for its simple, crystal clarity.
Resistance is futile.
That was how it would be for Lieutenant Marty Keegan.
Chapter 6
Stone heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock. He moved quickly to stand behind the door, the syringe in his right hand, his left ready to clamp over Keegan’s mouth. He was calm, as always, his control absolute. The door clicked and swung inward, briefly obscuring Stone’s view. He’d expected it so it didn’t faze him. Keegan stepped inside, turning to close the door, and his gaze settled on Stone’s waiting form. Stone nudged the door shut, heard the latch click into place, and in the same movement he stepped in close to the startled cop, left hand coming down on the man’s partly open mouth. His right brought the hypo forward, his swift jab driving the needle into the soft part of Keegan’s neck just below his jawline. The plunger depressed and the hypo’s contents were injected into Keegan. Stone used his bulk to push Keegan against the wall, holding the man immobile for the few seconds it took for the syringe’s contents to spread and take effect. Keegan’s eyes widened, rolling in their sockets. He made a breathy sound and Stone took his hand from the cop’s mouth. Keegan began to go down, his limbs losing all control. Stone held him by his jacket, letting the man slump to the floor. Safe in the knowledge the cop would be unconscious for some time, Stone went back into the kitchen and put the hypo back in its case.
Stone went through Keegan’s pockets, placing everything he found on the kitchen counter, including Keegan’s badge and Beretta auto pistol. The cop’s phone was turned off and placed in the computer bag. Stone emptied Keegan’s wallet—nothing unusual except for $150 in cash. Stone pocketed that. Returning to the sprawled form, Stone dragged Keegan across the living room and into the bedroom. Using a thin-bladed scalpel from his bag, Stone cut away Keegan’s clothing, took off his shoes and socks, then hoisted the naked cop on top of the bed. Using plastic ties he tethered Keegan’s ankles and wrists to the head and foot posts, completing his task by sticking a strip of duct tape over the man’s mouth.
Then he waited. He knew the strength of the injection and was rewarded when Keegan started to come round within three minutes of his estimated time. Still groggy, Keegan struggled against his bonds, mouthing from beneath the duct tape. After a few minutes, exhausted, Keegan became still, his eyes fixed on the patiently waiting Stone.
“All done? I could have told you struggling would only tire you out, but you decided to find out for yourself.” Stone allowed himself a rare smile. “I have no idea what your sexual preferences are, Marty. Maybe you’ve already tried bondage, maybe not. In any case, being restrained can be quite a unique experience—but I’m sure you never expected it to turn out like this.
“We have ourselves a problem, Marty. Your good friend Ray Logan has something my principal wants very badly, which I’m sure you realize. Ray has gone undercover. His wife, Rachel, and his son, Tommy, have also vanished. My job is to locate Logan’s wife. I don’t contemplate failing to do that. To be truthful I have never failed and don’t expect to start now. As Logan is not immediately available, I need to get my hands on Rachel and Tommy, and that is where you come in, Marty. I have reliable information that you may have been talking to Logan on your cell phone. Not very smart to do that in the precinct. But it places you in the position of being Logan’s confidant. So, I think you may have the information I’m looking for.”
Keegan’s head shook from side to side, his eyes giving away his thoughts.
“My problem, Marty, is an inability to accept things on face value. Your denial doesn’t convince me. So we are going to have to rectify that. As you don’t seem to be in an obliging mood it’s going to have to be messy.” Stone moved away from the bed, pausing at the door. “How is your pain threshold, Marty?”
When Stone returned from his visit to the kitchen he held a fine-edged scalpel in one hand and a pair of metal pincers in the other. He stood over Keegan and displayed the instruments.
“One cuts, one tears, Marty. Let’s see which has the greater effect on you.”
It took less than twenty minutes for Marty Keegan to give up what he knew. Within that time period he passed out twice and Stone had to wait until he came round. Stone was not surprised at how quickly the man submitted. The scalpel and the pincers were crude, simple tools. They performed well though. By the time a sweating, shivering Keegan capitulated, his naked body was bloody and cut open. The bed sheets where he lay were sodden with blood.
“Ready to talk?” Stone asked.
A frantic nod.
Stone put aside the instruments he had been using. He produced a Cold Steel Tanto knife and showed it to Keegan.
“Let me explain how this will go. I remove the tape from your mouth so you can tell me what I need to know.” He took a compact digital recorder from his pocket and held it for Keegan to see. “You speak into this. I will have this knife on your throat. If you even attempt to yell a warning I will simply cut your throat wide open, and believe me, this knife is sharp enough to sever your head. The decision is yours, Marty. Give me what I want and you could survive this. Trick me and you die. No screaming sirens will get here in time to save you. Make your choice.”
Keegan nodded.
The recorder was switched on. The knife blade was placed against Keegan’s throat. Lightly, but even the gentle pressure was enough to cut the skin. Keegan felt the duct tape peel away, exposing his mouth. He stared up into the cold, expressionless eyes of his tormentor.
“Are we good, Marty?”
“Yes.” His words came out in a raspy whisper.
“Tell me where they are.”
Keegan made his confession, the words tumbling over one another in his desperation to get it all out.
“Better be right, Marty. Or it’s going to be more of the same.”
“It’s the truth. For God’s sake, I’m telling you the truth.”
Stone nodded as he pocketed the recorder. “I believe you, Marty.”
“You’ll let me go? You said…”
“Marty, understand me, this is best for both of us.”
The Tanto’s blade cut down and across. The stroke was delivered with intense force, cutting off any sound Keegan was about to make. His body arched up off the bed, bending bowlike against his tethered limbs. In the instant before blood started to spurt Stone stepped away from the side of the bed, distancing himself from the arcing fountain of red. He watched for a few seconds, turned and made his way to the kitchen where he placed his instruments back in the computer bag and zipped it closed.
He opened the apartment door and peered out into the lobby, seeing no one. Somewhere in the building he picked up the sound of a radio playing music. He closed and secured the door, then turned down the passage that led to the rear of the residence and let himself out into the yard. He walked by the line of trash cans, slipped out through the rear gate and walked along the quiet access road. Stone returned to the parking lot and unlocked his car. He placed the computer bag on the seat beside him, started the Impala and reversed out of his spot. He drove out of the lot and back to the road that would take him away from the area. He had only been driving for a few minutes when it started to rain again. Stone settled in his seat. The rain drummed on the roof of the car, making a comforting sound. Stone had always liked that sound. Today he enjoyed it more than usual.
Chapter 7
Eddie Bishop was not pleased with the way the chain of command had changed. Until Vigo Stone showed up, Bishop had been Kendal’s main man. He had been demoted to second place. He didn’t like it, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He wasn’t about to go whining to the senator, and he was for sure not going to let his feelings show in front of Stone. The man had a reputation no one would stand up and challenge. Anyone and everyone who knew about Stone was aware of his past—what he had done, what he was supposed to have done. There were some stories that edged on the fanciful. Bishop’s contact with the man was minimal, but even that had been enough to convince him of the truth behind the tales. He believed Stone capable of any atrocity. Stone brought something to the party that was less than human. There was an aura following him around. The man had little personality. He silenced a room when he walked in. His manner struck Bishop as creepy. It was the only word to describe the man.
When Bishop was summoned to Kendal’s office, following Stone’s return from Seattle, it was to be told where to send his team.
Kendal told the assembly that Stone had been to talk with Marty Keegan, one of Logan’s cop friends, and he had divulged the whereabouts of Logan’s wife and son. The senator was obviously pleased with the results of Stone’s mission. He sat back as Stone gave the orders on what they would do to retrieve Rachel and Tommy Logan.
“We need them alive,” Stone said. “The woman might know where Logan has hidden the information he collected. Let’s make sure we find her.”
Kendal tapped his desktop with his knuckles, drawing attention to himself. He leaned forward, stroking one lean hand through his thick mane of silver hair.
“Vigo has made up for our lack of intel. Let us not screw this up. Take this to heart, gentlemen—Vigo Stone runs the operation as of now. Listen to him. Follow his orders. It’s time we brought this situation back under our control. We need to find Logan. We need to find his wife and son. And most of all we need to get our hands on that damn file of information, because if we let it get into the wrong hands we are all, and I mean all, heading for the dumper.”
The senator sat back, raising a hand in Stone’s direction so he could carry on with his briefing.
“Rubin, Madden, Burdett. I want you to make the run to the cabin. Take Lohman as your wheelman. Don’t make the mistake of thinking this will be easy. Logan’s wife used to be a Park Ranger. That means she knows the forest. She was trained to handle a gun. Step out of line and she will shoot you. Most likely in the balls. She has her kid with her and she’ll fight to protect him. A mother protecting her young is a hell of an animal. Make sure you wear comsets so you can stay in contact with each other once you’re in the forest. Try and make a silent approach. Surround the cabin and spot your target before you move in. This might sound like overkill to some of you hotshots. Don’t be fooled—it’s not. Once something starts it can go from zero to shit in a heartbeat. If it does, you can lose the advantage so fast it’ll make your head spin. That’s when you get casualties. We do not want the Logan woman harmed. If she ends up badly hurt or dead, then we are back where we started. And then I am not going to be a happy man.”
When are you ever a happy man? Bishop thought, but he kept it to himself because he knew Stone meant every word.
“We will back up the ground team with extra men who will follow from the air. A helicopter is being prepared as we speak. The rest of you cover the city streets—find Logan. Use every source available. Bishop, talk to those Keystone Cops we have on the payroll. Remind them what they’re being paid for. And make it doubly understood they are as deep in this as any of us.”
Bishop spotted Kendal watching him out of the corner of his eye. Wanting to see how his lieutenant was handling his demotion, he supposed. He maintained a neutral expression, nodding in Stone’s direction.
“I’m on it,” he said.
“Don’t be on it,” Stone said. “Be ahead of it.”
Bastard, Bishop thought. The man couldn’t resist getting in the last word.
The meeting broke up, everyone filing from the office.
The last to follow, Bishop closed the door. The group ahead of him were less than enthusiastic about Stone having been placed over Bishop.
“Eddie, it sucks,” Jack O’Leary said. He turned to look at Bishop. “You been running things around here awhile now. Bringing Stone in like that is a kick in the balls.”
“Don’t sweat it, Jack,” Bishop said. “The senator is the man. He pays the bills, so he gets to choose.”
“I know you, Jack. You’re as pissed as we are.”
“But right now I have to suck it up. No choice.” Bishop smiled. “Game isn’t over yet, just don’t you forget that.” He slapped O’Leary on his broad shoulder. “Don’t ever forget it.”
Bishop took out his cell and called Captain Fitch. The cop’s phone went on to the message service. The same thing happened when Bishop tried Brenner and Dunn. Neither of them were on line. He tried a couple of more times then gave up. He’d left messages. He couldn’t do anything more, and had his own business to handle anyhow. Let the cops deal with Stone. Maybe he could get them off their collective ass.
Chapter 8
Henry Fitch, Captain, Seattle PD, was the first to arrive. He parked his unmarked car and sat studying the deserted building. Rain marked the windshield, blurring the image. He was at a loss to understand why Senator Kendal had called this meeting at such a location. He knew that Kendal had a thing about secrecy, not wanting to be seen with too many people outside his close group, but this was extreme. Fitch wasn’t going to make too many waves. He was deep in with Kendal, taking his money and enjoying the privileges the man was able to bestow. So if Kendal called a meeting to discuss something important, Fitch had no real choice. He glanced again at his watch. At least he was on time. That was always important where Kendal was concerned. The senator had a thing about punctuality. It was one of his rules—and it didn’t do to break any of his rules. Fitch consoled himself by thinking about the bank accounts where he had his money squirreled away. Police pensions were one thing—Senator Kendal’s payoffs were another.
A car nosed into view between a couple of the deserted buildings, splashing its way across to pull up alongside Fitch’s. Despite the spattering of rain on the window, Fitch recognized Detective Steve Dunn as the man got out of the car, pulling on a waterproof coat. Dunn raised a quick hand. On the other side of the car Dunn’s partner, Ken Brenner, stepped out the passenger door. Dunn pointed at the building’s side door, then he and Brenner headed for it. Fitch dragged his own waterproof jacket from the rear seat and pulled it on. He shoved open his door and stepped out. Rain hit him with a cold hand and he legged it for the open side door.
Inside the building it was cold and dusty, shadows marking the floor. What light there was came from semi-transparent roof panels.
“How come you didn’t tell us you were coming, too?” Dunn said. He was shaking the collar of his coat, shedding rain.
“Because I didn’t know you were. Kendal’s text just said time and place.”
“That’s what ours said,” Brenner acknowledged.
Dunn said, “Must be important if he set up a meet this way.” He always stated the obvious.
“You don’t say,” Fitch said.
“Maybe something happened about Logan,” Brenner said.
“He wouldn’t want to broadcast that,” Dunn said.
“At least we’re on time,” Fitch said. “Jesus, it’s cold in here.”
“No heating on,” Dunn said.
Fitch stared at him. “He ever come up with anything startling?” he asked Brenner.
“No. Ken likes to keep things on level ground.”
Dunn said, “You talking about me?”
“Yes, I am, partner.”
“Well, don’t…”
Fitch raised a hand. “You hear that?” He reached inside his coat for his handgun.
“Not a wise move, Fitch.”
The voice came from their left, from deep shadow. A tall figure detached from the dark and stepped into light. Dressed in black street clothes, the man stood over six feet, with thick black hair framing a strong-boned face, and blue eyes that were fixed on the three cops.
The man held a big handgun that was easily recognizable as a .357 Magnum Desert Eagle. A serious weapon in any cop’s book—not to be ignored.
“All of you. Take out the guns and drop them on the floor. Use your left hands. I’m only saying it once. Choice is yours.”
Fitch, Dunn and Brenner exchanged glances, hopes swiftly dashed because the big man had them dead to rights. There was no way any of them could draw and fire while he had the .357 on them. The auto pistols were eased from holsters and dropped to the floor.
“Kick them in my direction,” Bolan said. He watched them comply.
“You know who we are?” Fitch said. “Cops.”
“Correction,” Bolan said. “Dirty cops. On Senator Kendal’s payroll.”
“Who the fuck says so?” Dunn said.
“Ray Logan.”
“That snitch,” Dunn said. “What does he know?”
“Enough to put you three behind bars for a long time.”
“If he stays alive long enough.”
Fitch punched Dunn on the arm. “Shut the fuck up, Steve.” He turned back to Bolan. “You really believe you can buck Kendal? Do you have any idea what he has behind him?”
Bolan allowed himself a thin smile. “Hired muscle. Backup from Maxim Koretski. Less you three.”
“You got nothing on us,” Brenner said.
“I have Logan’s evidence—photographs, tapes, documented data. That’s why you’ve been desperate to find him. So you can destroy what he’s gathered. And let’s not forget the bank accounts you jokers have been using to stash the money Kendal’s been paying you.”
“Son of a fucking bitch,” Dunn screamed, losing control and rushing Bolan.
The Executioner waited for the right moment as the cop came toward him. He might have had a non-termination policy as far as police officers were concerned, but it didn’t stretch as far as lesser punishment when he was faced with dirty cops. Bolan let Dunn get to within a few feet, then swung the heavy Desert Eagle around in a wide arc that terminated against Dunn’s left cheek and upper jaw. The steel bulk of the pistol landed with a meaty crunch and Dunn went down on the floor, bouncing against the filthy concrete. He twisted over on his side, blood pouring from the raw gash in his flesh.
The Desert Eagle was back on Fitch and Brenner before either of them could react. “Have I made my point?” Bolan said.
Fitch was having difficulty holding himself back. The unwavering muzzle of the Desert Eagle persuaded him it might be advisable. “Okay, okay,” he said. “So what happens now?”
Bolan pointed at an upended steel cabinet. “Everything in your pockets on there. And I mean everything. Including any backup weapons. And one of you do it for him,” he added, nodding in Dunn’s direction.
Bolan stepped well back and watched as the two cops turned out their pockets and placed the items on the cabinet.
“You going to steal our money, too?” Brenner said.
“Why would I need to do that when I can clear your bank accounts? Believe me, I have friends who can do that without even breaking into a sweat.”
“He’s just trying to rile you,” Fitch said.
Bolan instructed Brenner to collect the keys for the cars outside and also those for the sets of handcuffs, then he dropped them into one of his pockets.
“Get your pal on his feet,” Bolan said. “Move to that steel pillar and cuff yourselves together. Wrists to wrists. You know the drill.”
“This won’t be forgotten, son of a bitch,” Fitch said. “I’ll have the whole of Seattle PD on your fuckin’ tail.”
Bolan waited until the three were secured, then unloaded the weapons laid out on the cabinet. He stripped the pistols into their component parts, scattering them across the building.
“Nice backup guns,” he commented. “All unregistered? Of course they are. I’ll take the cell phones. Might be able to pull something interesting off the call registers. Unless you guys cleared everything?”
The looks on their faces told him they most likely hadn’t.
“I’m sure most of the cops in your precinct will be interested to find out what you fine officers have been up to. If there are any more on Kendal’s payroll I think we’ll be finding out soon enough.”
“Let us out of here,” Fitch yelled. His anger spilled over into almost incoherent rage as he began to scream and rant at Bolan. “You can’t do this. We’re cops, damn it. Cops.”
“I already corrected you on that,” Bolan said. “Dirty cops. The worst kind. If you were anything else you’d be dead by now. I’ve never fired on a cop, ever, clean or dirty. I won’t start now. But you’re not getting away from this. A call from a high up Fed to IA will start the ball rolling. After that…”
Bolan walked out of the building, collar up against the downpour and returned to where he had concealed his SUV. Once inside, door closed against the weather, he checked out the three cell phones he had acquired. He ran through the call lists on each one, checking them against each other until he isolated a single number they all had in common.
Bolan stared out through the windshield as he called the number on one of the phones. It rang out for a long time before someone picked up.
“Yeah?”
“Fitch, Dunn and Brenner—they’ve been talking to me. A lot. All about Kendal. Spilling their guts about how you people want to shut Ray Logan up. I was surprised how much they were willing to give away just to save themselves.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Let’s say I have a vested interest in you people. All the way up to Senator Kendal’s greasy neck. Word you can pass along to him is his day is coming. Soon. You’re all on my wish list. And if you want to discuss matters with Fitch and Dunn and Brenner, you’ll find them waiting for you.”
Bolan gave details of the location where he had left the trio of cops, then hung up. He fired up the SUV, turned it around and drove away from the derelict site. He had completed what he needed to do here. Whatever happened to the three cops was out of his hands. The severity of any punishment would depend on who came looking for them. As he hadn’t spoken to anyone from Seattle PD, and had only informed Kendal’s people, the options were thin on the ground.
It was time to move on to the next phase of his operation.
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