Death would have been too easy. He left him alive, a warning in human form. An hour later, two quiet helpers would dump the body, wrapped in an old blanket, at the gates of his father’s estate.
No note. No phone call. The message was written on the boy’s face. Alex went back to the workbench.
He slowly wiped down every tool with alcohol and put each one back in its place. Phase one was over. He pulled the second photograph from his pocket.
Arthur stared back at him. Former special operator. Big man. The one who held his daughter down while the others assaulted her.
Alex looked at his own hands. Clean. Strong. “You liked using force, soldier,” he said quietly to the empty basement.
“Let’s see how much of it you’ve got left.” Taking Arthur was harder. News that Wade had been found dumped at his father’s gate, a bloody mute wreck, spread through town like wildfire.
The senator father was in a frenzy. Police were mobilized. So were people in the underworld. But there were no leads, not one useful trace. Arthur, with his background, understood right away this wasn’t random.
It was a hunt. He went to ground, turning into a jumpy, paranoid animal waiting for an attack from every shadow. He stayed inside his apartment fortress and had food delivered, greeting drivers with a handgun in his hand.
A direct hit was out of the question. A man like that had to be handled on his own turf. Psychology.
Alex knew men like Arthur had one weak spot: professional pride. He thought of himself as a wolf and everybody else as sheep. He expected an attack from other wolves—gangsters, federal agents, somebody in the game.
Alex came at him from another angle. Two days into Arthur’s lockdown, his private secure phone rang. Unknown number. D.C. area code.
The voice on the line was calm, authoritative, and used to being obeyed. “Mr. Carter,” the caller said, “internal affairs. We have reason to believe you are a key witness in the kidnapping of Senator Roach’s son.”
“We also have credible information that someone intends to eliminate you. Your local law enforcement is compromised. Do not trust them. A vehicle will pick you up in one hour.”
“Black SUV. Plate ends in 37. Get in the back seat. No questions. It’s in your best interest.”
Arthur hesitated for only a second. A call from the capital. Internal affairs. It fit. Professionals were moving.
It was his world, his language, so he bought it. He put on a vest, checked two pistols, and stepped outside exactly one hour later, feeling like he was still the smartest man in the room. The vehicle was waiting.
He opened the rear door and got in without looking. That was his mistake. Two needles shot out from the armrest and buried themselves in his thigh.
The injection worked fast. The world tilted, his muscles quit, and he collapsed sideways onto the seat, just in time to catch Alex’s cold eyes in the rearview mirror. He woke up in the same place Wade had suffered.
But not in a chair. The former elite soldier had been strapped spread-eagle to a wide wooden bench like an insect pinned in a display case. His arms and legs were stretched out and locked down with wide leather straps and metal buckles.
He was helpless. All that training and all that muscle meant nothing. Alex stood nearby laying out a new set of tools on a clean cloth.
This time it wasn’t dental forceps. It was a short heavy sledgehammer, several steel rods of different thicknesses, and a large roll of medical tape. “Well, soldier,” Alex said, “looks like all that training didn’t help much.”
Arthur spat on the floor. “You’re dead, you hear me?” he rasped. “They’ll find me. And when they do, there won’t be enough left of you to bury.”
“They’ll look for you?” Alex said calmly.
