“Joe! Randy! Answer that call!”
“Okay!” came one voice, then another “Okay!” from the other. He rolled his eyes at the lack of proper radio etiquette and pushed through the door leading through the lobby.
As he approached the short set of stairs leading up to the security office, two things happened simultaneously. The loud, blaring emergency alarm went off and he heard screeching tires in the front of the building. The first was caused by someone opening an emergency door exit, most likely the one by the security office. Anton figured the truck stopping in front was related to the alarm. Knowing that he wasn’t going to be able deal with his boss’s radio call, he changed direction and headed for the front door. He burst through the door, half using his rifle for a crutch, and made his way out onto the front lawn. He saw two men jumping into a truck and speeding away.
His next action, as he would later play back in his mind, was totally instinctual and reflexive. He lifted his rifle into position, leveled it, and sighted it on the cab of the truck. He took a deep breath and held it. The truck was now about a hundred and fifty yards away. Adjusting for a bullet’s rise and drop, he aimed a little low and pulled the trigger.
Patton was about to make a hard left-hand turn when he felt Frank’s body slump forward. He wouldn’t realize it until later—when he was cleaning himself up—that he’d been splattered with his best friend’s blood and brain matter. Patton made the sharp turn, the tires howling as he did so. The movement forced Frank’s slack body into the passenger door. Luckily Frank had closed the door tightly— otherwise, he might have fallen out of the truck.
When Patton had gotten sufficiently far away from City Hall, he glanced over at Frank. He white-knuckled the steering wheel and ground his teeth. They’d done it again. They’d killed his best friend. No emergency combat medic skills were needed here. Patton had been in enough combat to know when a comrade was down for good. It would be risky, knowing he would have police on his tail, but Patton pulled the truck over to the side of the road. He pushed Frank’s body, the front of which now covered in blood, into a sitting position and fastened his seatbelt around him. He did so for safety reasons, and, out of respect, he didn’t want his buddy’s body flopping around the cab.
Pulling back onto the road, Patton refocused himself on the task at hand. He looked to the back of the truck to see how his unconscious passenger was doing. Not seeing any movement, he smashed the accelerator and sped towards a place that only he knew about. Police would be descending on his home, Jennifer’s home, or anywhere else they would anticipate him going. He needed to be secluded and he needed time to get some information out of his new “friend.”
Even before waking, Brian White had an eerie feeling that something wasn’t right. Although he wouldn’t feel the full effects of the blow to his head until he was fully conscious, there was already a dull throbbing behind his eyes. As his mind began to wake, the pain sharpened and he swore he could feel little cracks in his skull.
But maybe that was a little melodramatic, he thought. His head was killing him, but he had to ignore that and concentrate. He opened his eyes slowly and a wave of nausea overcame him. He tried to turn to his right but was unable. Instead, he spewed a stream of vomit onto his legs and all over his front. The sensation of liquid hitting skin made him aware that he had no shirt or shoes or socks on. It was strange, but after vomiting, he felt much better. He tried to open his eyes again and this time he was able to see that he was in a mostly dark room that was completely unfamiliar to him.
‘God, where am I?’ he thought, not in prayer, but blashphemy.
“Brian White?” came a soft voice, completely out of place in these strange surroundings.
He tried to answer but his lips were nearly fused to his gums and teeth. Whatever had happened to him, it had sucked every last bit of moisture from his mouth. A raspy breath was all he could muster.
“Briiiiaaan,” came the voice again, sing-songy and playful.
He could feel his chin being forced down. At first he panicked, but when he realized what was happening, he didn’t fight it. Whoever it was calling his name was pouring water into his mouth. Gorgeous, wonderful wetness. Most of it dribbled down his chin and neck, but now being able to separate his gums from his lips and teeth and tongue was pure ecstasy.
The bottle was removed and the voice returned.
“Are you Brian White?”
Not wanting to risk another vocal dry fire, Brian nodded as well as he could with his head strapped to the chair behind him.
“You’re the head of security of Blue Creek?”
Another nod.
Finally the owner of the voice revealed himself. At first, White’s brain didn’t register the familiar face. After a few moment, the name came to him.
“Larsen,” he said, rasping.
Patton nodded and smiled.
“Where is she?” Patton Larsen asked calmly.
At first White didn’t know what he meant, but then remembered events from almost two days before. Jennifer Larsen was summoned to the basement of City Hall where he knocked her unconscious and then shot her up with a sedative that would make her… cooperative.
“Who?” White asked with a trace of a sly grin.
Patton Larsen’s smile quickly faded, replaced by a scowl.
“I’m going to give you one more chance to answer. After that, I’m going to reintroduce you to an old friend,” he said, holding his hammer and pry tool in front of his face.
Brian White, who wasn’t easy to scare, almost laughed. Considering his position, however, he knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. Instead, he said nothing.
“Where is she?” Patton said, his voice now increased slightly in its intensity.
No response.
Without another warning, Patton slammed the hammer end of his tool down onto White’s hand. A searing, white-hot pain shot through his nervous system. When the shock of the blow dissipated, he could tell that the bones in his hand were shattered. He shrieked in pain and trembled as much as the restraints would allow him.
“Where is she?” Patton said, raising the hammer again.
Through his trembling and his pain, White was able to mumble the words “She’s dead.”
Patton looked like he’d been slapped in the face. He looked away for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. He turned back to meet his captive’s frightened gaze. “I don’t believe you,” he said, raising the hammer and bringing it down on White’s right hand. He saw white as the pain exploded. He screamed and gritted his teeth.
“Brian, I’m telling you this can go on all night,” Patton said with a leering stare. “I’m in no hurry. Nobody knows where we are and I promise you I know how to keep you alive while giving you more pain than you ever thought possible.”
White was shaking uncontrollably now. If he wasn’t bound he would have rolled on the floor, writhing in pain.
“Brian, don’t make me do this. I want to just take you into town to the hospital. Don’t make me be the bad guy here.”
The city’s top security agent was crying now, and he was ready to give in. Telling Patton that his wife was dead had been a stupid move—probably something David Asher would have done. Through gritted teeth he nodded, as if to say he was ready to cooperate.
“Okay. One more time Brian. Are you with me?” Patton asked, trying to hold White’s wavering gaze. White nodded again.
“Where is she Brian? I’m going to warn you. If you smart off again, if you try to lie, your kneecap is next. I promise you that you don’t want that. You hear me?”