Little Kale regained consciousness. “Who are you?”
“Do you remember Nikkia?” Chris asked. “The elementary school bint you kidnapped and let die? I’m her friend.”
Little Kale cocked his head, puzzled. “Her friend?”
“I want to know where Professor Mordet is,” Chris said.
Little Kale’s lips quivered before he spoke. “Be careful what you wish for.”
Chris leaned in closer. “You’re afraid of him.”
“He says you’re his equal.”
“Then you should be afraid of me,” Chris said.
Little Kale’s lips didn’t stop trembling.
Chris showed him the lighter with his name written on it: Kalil.
Little Kale grunted. “Where’d you get that?”
“I was the American diplomat’s son you kidnapped.”
“I need a doctor,” Little Kale said.
“You need someone to clean up this fuel leak.”
“This is America. I have rights,” Little Kale said, his voice raising in pitch.
Chris held up the lighter. “I carry this as a survival tool. And a reminder.”
“I have rights.”
“You have the right to tell me where Professor Mordet is,” Chris growled. “If you do, I’ll let you live. That’s more rights than you ever gave Nikkia.”
“If I tell you, he’ll eat me alive!”
“Do you want to be burned alive now or eaten alive later?”
Little Kale jerked on his bound hand but couldn’t free himself. “You can’t do this!”
Chris became aware of the heat burning through the windshield. The fumes in the car might combust at any moment, taking both Chris and Little Kale up in smoke. He twirled the lighter in his hand.
“You’re insane!” Little Kale shouted. “Help me! Somebody help me!”
Chris flicked the lighter and the flame rose. “I want to make you suffer for what you did to Nikkia. I detest you. I want to do more than kill you; I want to murder you.” Chris was beside himself, as cruelty, hate and murder coursed through him — the three things Reverend Luther had prayed wouldn’t fill Chris’s heart, even in battle. Chris felt helpless, trapped by his own rage.
“I can’t tell you!” Little Kale shouted.
“Help me to help you! I’m on the edge here! Give me something to work with. Anything!” Chris wanted to step out of the vehicle, toss the lit lighter on the floor, and slam the door.
“I hope Professor Mordet eats you! Slowly!”
Chris looked at Little Kale then at his lighter.
God help me. Please.
He took a deep breath. In a moment of clarity, he took control of his body, closed the lighter lid, and put the lighter in his pocket. Chris was back inside his body, but his senses were overwhelmed, becoming too anesthetized to notice anything around him. He didn’t remember crawling out of the vehicle, but he was suddenly outside of it. He pushed hard on the crumpled door, and metal screeched against metal until it closed. Then he walked away.
“There’s someone inside that car!” a woman wrapped in makeup, jewels, and designer clothes yelled from a small group of onlookers.
“His leg is pinned under the car seat in front of him,” Chris said. “First responders are going to have to cut him out.”
Another lady gawked and pointed in the direction of Little Kale’s car.
Chris stopped and turned around.
The interior of the vehicle was on fire. Little Kale screamed, but his shouts were stifled inside the car. Soon, windows cracked under the intense heat. There was no saving Little Kale now, and Chris was too numb to feel anything except relief that Little Kale’s fate was no longer in his hands. And that Little Kale would never terrorize anyone ever again.
He took out Little Kale’s phone, switched it on, logged on to Young’s website, and the phone took on a life of its own. Young was on it now.
Chris headed back to the mall and sped up to a jog. Then a run. He searched for Hannah on the second floor, but all he found were bloodstains surrounded by police tape and law enforcement officers outside a Häagen-Dazs shop. He posed as Hannah’s brother and asked the police officers what had happened to her. They said one woman was killed and the other had a concussion. Their description of the woman with a concussion seemed to match Hannah. He used his own phone to call Young and asked if he had any information on her whereabouts.
“I don’t know where she is. But from what you’re saying, it sounds like Hannah is the woman with the concussion,” Young said.
Exhausted, Chris sat down on a bench. “If you find out more details, let me know.”
“Will do. You might be interested to know that there’s one anonymous phone number in Little Kale’s directory that he calls often. The number doesn’t appear in the other tangos’ directories.
Chris closed his eyes for a moment. “Mordet.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Do you have a location for him?” Chris asked.
“Too many. Could you use Little Kale’s phone to give him a call? That might help me pinpoint him.”
“Sure.”
Young gave it to him.
“Okay.” Chris ended the call, put his phone away, took out Little Kale’s cell, and called the anonymous number. It rang. And rang.
“What’s wrong?” Mordet answered.
“Little Kale won’t be joining you,” Chris said.
There was a pause. Mordet spoke in a relaxed voice. “Little Kale was an idiot. But I am intelligent enough to make up for his weakness.”
“You’re not going to blow up the Redskins-Cowboys game.”
Professor Mordet was quiet for a moment. “Oh, but I am, I surely am, and herein lies the paradox: I am the Teumessian fox that can never be caught. And you are Laelaps, the dog that catches everything.”
“We may both turn into stone, but you’re not killing those eighty-five thousand people,” Chris said.
“I will. And someone special to you will die, and you and I will shine in the sky for billions of years like Canis Minor and Canis Major.”
“What do you mean someone special?” Chris asked.
“Search your soul, and you will know who.”
“You’re bluffing. You’re just trying to distract me.”
“Now if you will be so kind as to excuse me, I have some work to do.”
The line went dead.
“Damn!” Chris shouted.
People nearby turned and looked at him.
His personal phone rang. The caller ID showed Young’s name.
“I still can’t pinpoint him,” Young said with disappointment when Chris picked up.
“How long will it take?”
“I don’t know how many hours.”
“We don’t have many hours,” Chris said.
“I know. I’ll do what I can,” Young said before hanging up.
Chris sat there on the bench, hollowness growing inside him. He looked at his watch. Kickoff was a little over four hours away. The most likely place for Mordet to be was in the vicinity of the Redskins’ stadium, but without any solid leads, he’d be chasing phantoms. And even if he knew where Mordet was, he still didn’t know if Hannah was all right. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill out.
Where are you, God?
Reverend Luther’s voice echoed in his mind. God is always in the same place. We’re the ones who move closer or farther away. Chris wanted to be closer, but the dark cloud of discouragement hovered over him.