Century Traveler

"Send in the SWAT team, you mean."

Molina shifted uncomfortably on his seat. "How elusive has the hacker been? How long have you been hunting him? If you send in a big group, he'll vanish, and he'll kill again and again. You have no idea how good this guy can be at evading capture." The moment the words left his mouth, he saw the agent's eyes flare once more.

"Excuse me, I've been after this guy for years. I think I'm a better judge of how good he is at vanishing," Bellerose said with a raised voice.

"You've only been following his digital footprint. I've seen what his physical footprint can do. We won't catch him with a SWAT team," Molina muttered, having climbed out as far as he was willing to go on that branch.

"I'm sorry, I'm not about to jeopardize years of work on a third-hand confession. We've got evidence on him for espionage, theft, extortion, and a host of other crimes. Murder? Not yet." She looked above Molina's head as someone was peering over the top of the booth at her. "Sir, this is a private conversation. Sit down." She saw Molina rub his face in frustration.

"Actually, I'm part of the conversation. I'm John Doe."

Molina sighed. He'd done what he could. Now the freakshow would begin.

Renée's jaw dropped as she realized she'd been set up.

"What kind of amateur hour bullshit is this Molina?" she spat. She started to slide from the booth, but a black man was suddenly sitting next to her on the closed side of the booth where no one had been a second earlier. His hand was firmly latched on her arm. The shock of his sudden appearance was so intense she momentarily lost control, and her eyes flashed the palest blue.

She reached for her gun, but the new arrival already had it and slid it across the table to Molina. She looked at the discomfort on the detective's face as John joined him on the bench, bumping Molina into the corner.

She looked at John, unsettled by the intensity of his stare. Suddenly, his eyes flashed gold, and she almost lost control again. "You?" she gasped quietly.

"Yes. Me too," John said. His wolf was terribly excited. He scented her now that she'd been surprised into reacting, and she was carrying a wolf as well. From her behavior, she was far more stable than Sasha as well.

Molina looked between the two. "Do you know each other?" he said, surprised.

"No, we just have some... commonalities," John allowed. Molina grimaced.

Bellerose looked over at the man next to her, who looked questioningly at his hand holding her arm, and she nodded. He let go. "How did you do tha--" He vanished before her eyes.

The waitress showed up and smiled at John. "Are you joining this table?" she asked.

"Yes, put it all on my bill, please," he replied.

"Would you care for anything?" the waitress asked the agent.

"No. No, thank you," Bellerose replied, staring at the empty space on the seat, frightened to look away.

The waitress turned away, shaking her head at the agent's rude behavior.

Michael was suddenly in the seat again, and the agent yelped involuntarily.

John leaned across the table and spoke firmly. "The hacker can do that too and maybe a whole lot more. That's why you won't catch him with a big team. We need to know where he is before he calls, which could be soon."

Bellerose took a breath and tried to settle her nerves. "H-how many people are you taking in?" she asked quietly as she rolled over her options in her mind.

"So far? Myself, Michael Okorie beside you, and Detective Molina if he'll come. Much more than that, and we risk spooking him," John figured.

"I want in. I have an investment in this case, and Kelly was my friend," she said.

"As long as you understand, the odds of taking him alive are negligible, and I'm certainly not going to make any great attempt to try. I'm not much of a fighter. Surviving will be difficult enough. I need to get Melanie free, but if I get an opportunity to kill him, I will have to take it as he's threatened my other friends as well."

John glanced at Molina, whose face reddened, but he nodded. After a longer pause, Agent Bellerose nodded as well.

"Okay, do you know where--" John caught himself when his phone rang mid-sentence.

He pulled it from his pocket and saw it was Melanie's cell. He looked at Molina and Bellerose, then took the call.

"Hello?"

"How are the burgers at Rocky's?" a deep voice asked.

"Not bad for a last meal," John said quietly.

Loud gravelly laughter burst from the phone. "That's the right attitude, you pathetic little shit! Are you ready for some fun? I'll give you just enough time to get here if everything goes smoothly. Get here late, and, well, Melanie won't be wearing her skin anymore. You'd be amazed how long someone can remain alive in that condition though I'd hardly call it living."

"Please don't hurt her!" John begged.

"Ahhh, that's music to my ears, but you're wasting your precious little time. Step one: get to Seattle Airport by six. Quick now! Quick like a bunny! But don't forget to leave a tip. Leave a good impression for your eulogy." Then a click as he hung up.

John leaped to his feet and rushed over to pay the bill. The others were standing by the door when he returned to them.

"I'll go with Agent Bellerose. You two follow us to the Portland airport. I'm going to book some flights. I'll explain when we get there," John said and followed the agent to her car.

Molina scowled at Michael, who glared back as they rushed to the detective's car.

Chapter 19

John hustled out of the terminal and glanced at his phone. There was no signal during the flight, and he was having some trouble reconnecting now that he was back on the ground. The time read six-oh-three, and he was seriously sweating.

He prayed his hasty arrangements on the way to the Portland airport had worked out, and Molina and Michael hadn't killed each other.

His conversation with Bellerose had been brief but amazing. He'd traded his story for hers. She'd been a host for a wolf since a family vacation in France in her teens. It began at a family reunion. While staying at the family homestead high in the French Alps, one of her distant uncles got into a car accident just down the road from the chateau. She was the fastest runner in her family, so she was well ahead of the others and first on the scene. The desperate creature managed to bite her leg before her uncle's body expired. She had fallen unconscious across the wreckage and gashed her forehead and arm, so her family, arriving moments later, assumed the damage to her leg was just one of the injuries she sustained from tripping over the wreckage when she arrived. As she recovered in the hospital, she endured quite a bit of good-natured ribbing from her less athletic cousins, who she'd left in the dust.

By that point, her wolf had made its introductions and apologies. Always a bit awkward around other kids, Renée found an instant friend in the wolf. A secret friend.

She'd never met another wolf until John and had so many questions, but there was no time. They promised each other that they would make time to share if they survived.

He made it through the flight and security, but neither Molina nor Agent Bellerose were there to give him a gun he could use on the psycho who had Melanie. He couldn't wait!

His phone finally got a signal, and moments later, it rang.

"Tick Tock, Mr. Doe!" the voice taunted.

"I'm going as fast as I can. The cell network at the airport must be overloaded. It wouldn't connect me," he explained.

"Does it sound like I FUCKING CARE? You're getting very tedious. I wonder if I should just give up on you and enjoy Ms. Singh's oh-so-tender flesh." John heard another scream.

"PLEASE! PLEASE! I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT! PLEASE DON'T HURT HER!" John begged into the phone.

"Ahhhhhhhh, there's the salve to my wounded spirit. Your pathetic pleas are just what the doctor ordered," the deep voice giggled, which was more disturbing than his rants. "Okay, you need to listen carefully to these next instructions because I'm only saying it once. Jump into a cab and get them to tra-- so--....twenty min--... Issaq." The line went dead.

John stared in horror at his phone and almost dropped it when it rang again. "I couldn't hear--" he began desperately, but loud, grating laughter drowned him out.

"Your fear is delicious! Take a cab on ninety east to Issaquah and exit at Front Street North. Get the driver to drop you at the northwest corner of Front and Gilman. Leave your cell in the cab. You won't need it anymore but leave it on. On the northwest traffic island is a darling garden. Tucked under a bush is a green plastic bag with a cell in it. You'll know you found the bag when you open it. I'll call you on that cell in exactly forty minutes. I think you know what will happen if you don't answer. Off you go now! Quick!" The line went dead.

John rushed over to the cabs and found one willing to take him to Issaquah. He pulled Michael's burner cell out of his pocket and sent a quick text with the next location and time. He indicated his cell was going offline at that point. He got no response, so he stared out the window and felt his stomach tense. The timing was crucial, but the psycho was adding new elements. He might be under direct observation by Issaquah. He didn't know.

Michael's phone buzzed. He saw "Ten to fifteen min out." God dammit! They were late. Shit!

When the cab pulled off the highway, he directed it to the intersection, and the cabbie pulled over into a gas station where John paid him. Not knowing what else to do, he gave the cabbie money to deliver his phone to Jerry in Seattle and gave him his number.

As the cab drove away, John ran to the small traffic island, and in the waning twilight, he got on his hands and knees by the garden and looked for the bag. He heard a chirping sound behind him and saw a slight glow under a bush. He grabbed the bag and unrolled it. He turned the bag over in his hand, and the phone slid out with a rubber band attaching something to its back. It felt cold and clammy, so he flipped it over.

It took everything he had not to drop the child's severed hand. He didn't have time to remove it as the phone was on its sixth ring, so he pressed the answer button and held the gory thing to his ear.

"You sick fucker," John's voice came out as a croak.

Hysterical laughter blasted from the phone. It went on for some time. John loosened the rubber band and dropped the small pale hand back into the plastic bag while the laughter exhausted.

"That was truly lovely! But time is of the essence, and you still have a long way to go, John. On the far side of the intersection is a small grove of trees. There is a bicycle in the tall grass chained to a tree. The combination to the lock is six-six-six, as it just felt appropriate. Get on the bike and ride south on Front Street. Keep an eye on the little odometer as you only want to go exactly eight-point-three miles. There will be a road on the left called Tiger Mountain Road SE. Take that road two more miles, and on your right will be a gate and a buzzer. Drop the bike in the ditch. Ring the buzzer, and I will let you in. Run all the way up the driveway to the house and ring the bell. Then the real games can begin. You have twenty-five minutes starting... NOW." The phone went dead.

John hustled across the road to get to the southeast corner. A quick check in the tall grass next to the trees uncovered the bike. The gloom of dusk was so deep he had to use the light from Michael's phone to see the combination to open the lock. He hammered out the next instructions in a text and looked at the bike. It was an old beater mountain bike with no brakes and no seat. But the seat post stuck upwards and had been sharpened.

Sick fucker indeed.

John found a chunk of asphalt and hammered the seatpost backward so it wouldn't gore him. He'd lost precious minutes, so he jumped on the bike and started pedaling. As he feared, the gearing was stuck on a higher gear, so the effort to turn the pedals was brutal. At least the wheels rolled without a wobble. He was able to build up a good speed, and he ensured the odometer was ticking away the distance. John's legs were burning badly by the fifth mile, and they felt like lead by the eighth. By this point, he was well out of town, and the odometer was very difficult to read in the dark.

Finally, he saw the road he was to turn onto. He crossed the lane and discovered the next challenge was a steep uphill grade. His legs complained, but he pushed on. After a terrible climb, it leveled off, and he saw a tall fence across the ditch on his right and followed it until he saw a wide gate. The odometer reading seemed to match, so he rolled the bike into the ditch and staggered up to the entrance.

Breathing like a bellows be pushed the buzzer and waited.

"Hello?" a familiar voice asked innocently.

"I'm here," he gasped.

"And you are?" the voice toyed with him.

John's nerves were stretched thin. "You know damn well who this is!" he blurted, then immediately panicked.

"Oh, I don't think I like that attitude. I wouldn't welcome any visitor in who acted like that. I think I'll conclude my business here and visit some friends," the voice said with a miffed tone.

"No! Please! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, please," he begged.

"I don't know... look at the camera and show me how sorry you are," the voice purred.

John looked around and saw a camera up on the fence post. He put his hands together in a prayer gesture. "On the ground on your face like the pathetic worm you are!" the voice shouted.

His legs protesting all the way, John got down on his stomach and put his hands together again while he was lying face down. He was getting really tired of playing to this guy's ego, but he had to give his backup time to arrive... if they were coming at all.

"That's better! I'd have you crawl the rest of the way, but I don't have all night. Get up and run to the house." The intercom clicked off, and the gate began to open.

John forced himself back to his feet and struggled to run up the driveway. He wasn't moving very fast, but it was the best he could do. He felt the cell in his pocket vibrate with an incoming text, but he couldn't risk looking at it now. Cameras lined the driveway. He knew he was under surveillance now. He desperately wanted to know if the message was telling him they were right behind him or if they were asking him where he was. He pictured them in his mind, standing back at the intersection, wondering which way he'd gone. Maybe they didn't get his last text. Doubts raced through his mind as he hobbled the last few feet.

The mansion was huge. He could see it completely now that he was beyond the grove of trees concealing it from the road. It matched nothing else in the neighborhood. It looked much older than the neighboring houses as well. Maybe it had been the first in the area. It reminded John of a plantation house with huge columns and upper and lower decks. None of the lights were on except the one by the big front door. He climbed the steps and looked each way on the massive porch. He expected to see chairs, maybe even a swing, but it was barren, as though no one ever spent any time out here enjoying the view and late afternoon sun.

John reached forward and pressed the doorbell. He heard nothing inside the house, but the front doors popped open.

"Come into my parlor," the voice echoed in the vast foyer. John stepped in and immediately walked into the large room to the right of the door calling out Melanie's name loudly.

"What... where are you going?" the voice said angrily.

John looked around for the camera he knew had to be watching him. "You said to go into the parlor...."

"It's a poem, you idiot! The Spider and the Fly? Fuck, humans of this generation are illiterate fools!" the voice growled.

John hid his grin. He hadn't been able to suppress the urge to poke a hole in the pompous monster's little game. Besides, the distraction allowed him to leave the front door unlatched. He walked back into the foyer and immediately headed for the long curving stairs heading up to the second floor, still calling out Melanie's name.

"STOP! SHUT the FUCK UP and LISTEN for the FUCKING instructions!" the voice boomed into the room. "Go into the lower hallway and enter the door panel I'm opening now."

John stepped off the staircase and walked down the hall and a hidden door opened in the paneled wall. He frowned as there was no way he would have noticed it, and if his backup ever arrived, they wouldn't either. He was going to have to take a chance.

He stepped up to the edge of the door and looked inside. The lighting was extremely dim, but after about six feet, the floor dropped away, becoming a staircase that seemed to go down for quite a distance, deep underground. John showed the wolf what he intended to do and asked for its help. He got an amused feeling back. The wolf also seemed pissed and wanted some revenge on the monster. He had confidence in John, which warmed him more than he expected.

As John stepped into the small enclosed space, he quickly bent down and placed Michael's phone in the doorway to block it from closing. If the light was as dim for the camera as it was for him, maybe his watcher wouldn't see it. Now for the distraction.

Letting the wolf guide his feet, John ran down the dimly lit stairs bellowing Melanie's name like a crazed man.

"DON'T RUN ON THE FUCKING STAIRS! It will do her no good if you trip and die, and it would piss me off enough to hunt down and kill every last person you've ever known," the voice ranted. The stairs went on and on and turned at odd angles every now and then. John continued to rush downward, and the voice continued to yell at him until he burst out into a vast underground chamber.

John's breath came in deep gulps, and his legs burned fiercely from the effort of jumping down the stairs. His wolf was thrilled with the run.

The ceiling was natural rock and arched up into the darkness. A natural cave then, and a big one. Dangling from a pitch dark ceiling were two rows of light fixtures which shone reddish cones of light downwards to make a corridor of light. The ground was covered with a thin layer of sand over the pale stone, and the path went at least one-hundred-and-fifty yards before it reached a brightly lit raised dais. Sitting on what could only be called a throne was a man. A very angry man.

The cavern must have been set up with speakers connected to the intercom as the man's rants boomed and echoed discordantly. John set off down between the strips of light towards the dais at a slow jog, all his tired legs would give him. Three yards from the raised seat, he dropped to his knees and hung his head forward as he caught his breath.

The man finally stopped yelling as John knelt before him. He sat on his throne, breathing hard and glaring down at John. He seemed to appreciate the submissive posture John presented. He was still very angry, but now that his victim was present, he'd be able to quench his desire for John's death very soon.

"At last, we meet! Face to face. You are a difficult man to find, John. That ridiculous name of yours forced me to take steps Ms. Singh did not enjoy one bit, but you made necessary," he taunted. "Ah, but I'm being rude. I've always believed one should know the name of one's demise. Allow me to introduce myself... LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU, BOY!"

John lifted his head slowly, feigning exhaustion, his breathing almost back to normal. He looked up at the man seated on the throne. Distinguished silver hair with white patches at his temples. His face was long, and his jaw was square. Piercing blue eyes, a sharp blade of a nose, and thin, cruel lips curled into a superior sneer. John's wolf wanted to bite that look right off. He begged it for patience. He needed more time.