Game ON (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 2) (Redemption Thriller Series 14) Page 17

  Cecelia lowered to her knees, as Joseph peered over her back into the darkness of the pit.

  “Mackenzie, we have arrived with good news.”

  It took a few seconds, but a little girl’s face appeared from the darkness. Her eyes were, unsurprisingly, wide with fear. “Yes?” her voice cracked.

  “It will only be a matter of hours before your father joins you. And then you and he will be joined together forever in salvation.” Joseph couldn’t withhold his smile.

  “What about Mom? Is Mom coming too?”

  Cecelia suddenly put her hands on the cage. Was she reaching out, trying to comfort the child? He tried to ignore it. He released a slow breath, rested his hands on his knees. “We’ve told you before that your mother has already begun the ascension of her afterlife. You should be joyous.”

  The little girl blinked a few times but held her gaze. He studied her. Was she being defiant?

  He could feel a heat invade his neck, but he withheld the need to scold her. Instead, he thought about the strong will that ran through her bloodline, and yes, her father included.

  Tonight, blood would be spilled, and blood would be imbibed. And two sacrifices would be made. The ultimate sacrifices that would achieve his goal: to bring the essence of his supreme leader into his body, into his soul, so that he could carry this cause to the rest of the world.

  Omnipotence would soon be his.

  39

  I had barely moved in the last few minutes. Even with lights shining all around me, and cops and paramedics bustling nearby—all their clamoring was nothing more than white noise—I found it hard to take my eyes off the counter.

  A hoax. This whole thing had been a setup to bring me to Plymouth, Massachusetts. To tease me into thinking Mackenzie was here, wanting for me, her father, to finally save her from the heathens who had kidnapped her. Their goal was to take me to the edge of hope and then yank it away. They wanted to torment me. And then to kill me.

  Nick and Alex appeared at my side.

  “Ozzie, I know you’re not in a good place right now, but I wish you’d let the paramedics treat your wounds,” Alex said.

  I kept my eyes on the counter.

  “Ozzie?” Her hand touched my arm.

  I turned my head and looked straight at her. Her blue eyes. For a second, it was like looking in a mirror…similar to the feeling I’d had when looking at Mackenzie’s picture. A few lines tugged at the edges of her eyes. I could tell she’d lived through pain and torment of her own, but I got the sense she was not just a survivor, but one who didn’t let the past define her.

  “I’ll be okay. Any idea who these guys were, beyond just the names of Mickey and Tanner?” I removed my hands from the counter. I could taste blood at the edge of my lips.

  “No identification on either one,” Nick said as his eyes wandered over to the medical examiner stooped over the guy who’d taken the pill.

  I did a double-take on Nick—and not because of his thick Brooklyn accent. He had his hands at his waist, under a suit coat and suspenders. He was older than Alex but in good shape.

  I turned and rested my backside against the counter, but I felt a sharp stab in my ribs. “I just don’t understand—” I stopped short, unable to relay what I was thinking and feeling.

  “It’s beyond cruel, Ozzie,” Alex said, shaking her head. “But dammit, it’s not over. We still have hope.”

  “Hope. I think I’ve forgotten what that word means.” I ran my hand across my face. Wrong move. It brushed across my cut from that asshole’s brass knuckles.

  “You’re really hurt, Oz. You look like you’ve been in a cage fight, and I saw you grab at your ribs. Let me get a paramedic back in here.”

  I ignored her request. “You said it wasn’t over. Why do you think that?”

  “First, a question.” She held up a clear baggie that contained the iPad. “Can you confirm if that was Mackenzie’s voice?”

  I shrugged. “How the hell would I know? I’ve never heard her speak. I have a picture, but that’s it.” I could hear the frustration in my voice.

  They shuffled their feet and looked at each other. I stared off for a second, but I couldn’t help but recall what I’d heard.

  “Dad, I’ve been waiting to see you. I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

  I replayed it over and over again in my head, as the image of Mackenzie’s face stuck in my mind.

  “What is it? You’re thinking something.” Alex ran her hand across her head. She had dirty-blond hair, pulled tightly into a ponytail.

  “I don’t know. Maybe there was something about the girl’s voice that sounded a little like her mother’s. A little raspy, maybe. I’m not sure. I could just be wanting it to be her. I mean, what do we really know? What proof do we really have that they even have her?”

  Nick pressed his thin lips together and offered a short nod.

  “Look, I’ve already sent the voice file up to Gretchen,” Alex said. “Nick sent her the pictures of these two goons. She and I spoke a few minutes ago. She’s going to start identifying the digital footprint of this entire operation. She just got the video card from Brad, and she’s begun to break down the footage into chunks. She said she might have a partial face shot, which she can run through her face-recognition program. You never know, we might get lucky.”

  I was glad to hear that this Gretchen person was working the hell out of the technology angle. In my lawyer days, that could usually prove, or disprove, any number of theories. But I’d also seen such a reliance on technology that at times it seemed like the cops almost abandoned the most fundamental investigative tactics. Now, though, wasn’t the time to get into it.

  I released a sigh but winced from another stab of pain in my ribs.

  “That’s it. You have no choice,” Alex said.

  A moment later, a guy named Anthony was saying a lot of “oohs” as he examined my torso.

  “What’s next?” I said, interrupting Alex and Nick in a quiet conversation.

  “Don’t know yet. Hoping we can get confirmation on these two bozos. That might lead us right to who’s holding Mackenzie.”

  “Then I’m guessing that it will lead nowhere. This group has covered their tracks the whole time. They’re one step ahead of us. Actually more like ten steps ahead of us.”

  Anthony began to clean blood from the cut on the bridge of my nose. “That hurts.” I saw Alex and Nick begin to walk away. “Guys, I’m still here. I need to do something. I can’t just wait.”

  Alex backtracked a couple of steps. “Just sit tight for now. We’re going to get the team on a call, brainstorm a little bit. Jerry, my boss, is involved now. I’ve got the full resources of the FBI at my disposal.”

  Her eyes snagged my gaze. We both nodded, and they walked off. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to clear my mind.

  “Hey, man, can you believe a phone is ringing on the dead man?”

  I opened my eyes to see Anthony with a smirk on his face.

  “I mean, who’s calling a dead guy? Ghostbusters?” He let loose a baritone laugh.

  I looked to Mickey, still slouched against the far wall, a sheet of some kind now covering him. The kitchen was temporarily empty, except for Anthony and me.

  Anthony persisted. “Can you believe it?” Again with the laugh.

  I pushed his hand off my nose, rushed to the dead body, and waited.

  A couple of seconds later, I heard a ringing phone from somewhere on Mickey.

  A quick glance over my shoulder. No one besides Anthony was looking at me. I pulled back the sheet, fished through Mickey’s front pockets, and found a small phone. Didn’t recognize the brand. I looked at the number. Unknown. I tapped the green button to answer the call but didn’t say anything.

  “Ozzie, is that you?”

  It was a woman. No real accent that I could pick up.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “My name is not important right now. But we will meet in due time.”

 
“Do you have Mackenzie?”

  A pause. “Yes, Mackenzie is here with us.”

  I could feel flames of anger tickling the back of my throat. “Have you hurt her? Is she…” I couldn’t say it.

  “She is safe. She is surrounded by people who care for her.”

  “Did you kill Denise?”

  “It’s not appropriate to go through an interrogation on why certain decisions were made. It was in the best interest of…”

  I didn’t hear the last word; the phone had cut out. I looked at the screen to make sure the line was still live. It was. “Hello?”

  “Ozzie, you have one final leg of this examination. And then you will—”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  She didn’t respond. I glanced over my shoulder. Anthony, as still as a statue, was staring in my direction.

  “What? You can’t give up now. It wouldn’t be right.”

  I heard stress in her voice. “You, your group of murderers have done nothing but screw with me for days. What proof do I have that Mackenzie is even with you people?”

  “I do not lie.”

  I choked on my own spit. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? That’s how you answer? I do not lie?”

  “We have Mackenzie. She is being taken care of. You heard her recording, did you not? That is real. You can have your FBI friends verify it.”

  She knew the FBI was involved. It was as if they had a mole on the inside. But unless that mole was Denise—and that, I knew, could not be the case—then there would be no way for them to track my every move. Brook and Stan could have told someone, but they said they hadn’t. I believed them. The woman on the line sounded convincing, though. Part of me wanted to believe that Mackenzie was alive. Part of me wanted to tell this woman to go to hell. But despite my skepticism and a torrent of other emotions, I could feel my heart falling for the bait.

  “Where is she? What will it take to get her back?” I asked.

  “One more test, Ozzie. That’s it.”

  “Stop it with all of your tests and riddles. I want to know where she is.”

  “Once we end this call, discard your personal phone. You can take this phone—which we will be tracking—while you drive.”

  “Drive where?”

  “Go to Hymie Town. There you must locate the House of Death, where you will find the path to your daughter and everlasting life.”

  I could feel my lips moving, reciting what she’d just said. Not many people still called New York City “Hymie Town.” They must have known I was raised Jewish. And this House of Death… Were they planning on ending this fiasco in some macabre setting? “You’d better not harm Mackenzie.”

  “Have faith, Ozzie. We do in you.”

  I was about ready to chuck the phone through the window, but I couldn’t lose my temper. If there was even a small chance that Mackenzie was alive, I had to see this through.

  “How do I know where in New York City?”

  “You have four hours and thirty minutes to arrive at the location. That gives you five minutes to figure that out before you leave. But like I said, do not bring your phone with you in your car. Or we will be forced to…”

  I thought I heard a sigh. I ignored it and glanced over my shoulder, looking for the quickest way out.

  “Ozzie, two more things. One, you cannot bring your friends from the FBI. If you allow them to track you, again, we will be forced to…”

  She didn’t want to say it, which, in my instant analysis, seemed odd.

  “And the other thing?”

  “As it states in Matthew, ‘Truly I say to you, that you who have followed Me, in the regeneration when the Son of Man will sit on His glorious throne, you also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or farms for My name’s sake will receive many times as much, and will inherit eternal life.’”

  The line clicked off. I shoved the phone in my front pocket and walked up to Anthony. “You didn’t see that, you didn’t hear that, okay?”

  He just stared at me, eyes wide beneath his furry-caterpillar eyebrows.

  “It will be okay, Anthony. Faith.” I popped his upper arm and headed through the living room. I could see Alex and Nick in the corner. They both turned in my direction.

  “Where you going, Ozzie?”

  “Denise gave me an actual print of Mackenzie’s picture. It’s in the car. I’ll be back in a second.”

  I walked out of the house and through the yard—it appeared even trashier bathed in fake lights. A quick peek over my shoulder. Cops opened and shut the front door, but no one was paying me any attention. And no sign of Alex or Nick.

  I traipsed through the brush and made it to my car. I hopped in and jumped on my phone. It was cracked but somehow still functioning. I did a quick search for “House of Death, New York City.” I scrolled through a few search results.

  “Bingo.” I memorized the address, then mapped my route. It seemed rather straightforward, at least getting into New York City, and then from there a few basic turns, so it wasn’t difficult to put to memory. I opened my car door and let my phone drop to the pavement.

  I knew this could be the most foolish decision I’d ever made.

  But if it could save Mackenzie, I’d live with the results.

  40

  Within four miles of driving on State Road, near a town called Wareham, I made a one-eighty-degree loop and merged onto the first of two interstate roads I’d need to take, I-195. It swooped south, skimmed the edge of something called Buzzards Bay, and then gradually began to loop northward. An hour into the trip, I’d yet to see a cop or state trooper.

  The act of surprise had probably given me a decent head start on law enforcement. Alex and Nick, their whole team, along with Brook and Stan… I owed them a great deal. They’d agreed to put their lives on hold and assist me in every way possible to navigate this maze of deception. Their unrelenting determination had given me hope when I’d thought I had none. But as much as I appreciated their support, I was given no option by the woman on the phone. I couldn’t tell my FBI friends, have them tag along—even at a safe distance—and still have any faith that the kidnappers wouldn’t know. Maybe I was wrong in my assessment. Nick, as an example, might say I was giving the kidnappers more credit than they deserved. But up until this point, they’d not only anticipated every move, they’d planned it out as if they were experts in clandestine project management.

  The roads were nearly empty, but I made sure to drive at the speed limit. I couldn’t afford to zip by a cop at more than eighty miles an hour. Even if he were snoozing in the darkness behind a billboard, he’d probably sense my speeding and then chase me down just for the fun of it. And when he pulled me over, he’d check my identification, then realize that I was a person of interest—or some similar term to ensure it got the attention of officers in the tristate area—in this kidnapping thing. Just the time I’d have to spend negotiating with the officer would ruin my chances of reaching this House of Death within the window given by the mysterious woman on the phone.

  I could practically hear the cussing coming out of Alex and Nick, even though they were a hundred miles to my east. They both seemed to be rather intense, especially Alex. She, however, might use the term focused.

  I started crossing bodies of water—large lakes and rivers. I saw a sign for Brown University as I swept through the south side of Providence. Yes, I was in Rhode Island. It was, apparently, a rather circuitous route to get from Massachusetts to New York City.

  My mind began to drift back to my conversation with the woman. Two key points stood out for me. First was her hesitancy to show complete ruthlessness. She didn’t want to say that they would be forced to kill Mackenzie. Even thinking it made the veins in my head feel like they might burst, but why would she have an issue with it? Hell, she was the one, or at least part of the group, who had done the kidnapping.

  Secon
d, she’d used another Bible verse. I didn’t put it to memory, but I recalled phrases such as “you who have followed me,” the mentioning of “the twelve tribes of Israel,” and, at the very end, something about “inheriting eternal life.”

  I then recalled the Bible verse Mickey had uttered. This one had stuck with me: “Whoever seeks to keep his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it.”

  That seemed to reflect his position at the time—taking some suicide pill and believing that he’d somehow secured some type of preserved life.

  Preserved life. Inheriting eternal life. Hmmm.

  I wondered if saying these verses was just a ritual for these people or if they held any significant clues as to what they were all about. I knew that religious phrases could be spun to support almost any point of view, and it was usually the crazy people who clung to the ones that incited violence or retribution. I just never understood why the followers of such crazy people—whether it was in a cult, in a so-called “terrorist group,” or even through a televangelist—would flock to such nonsense.

  I blinked a couple of times, tried to gingerly wipe my eyes so that I wouldn’t reopen the cut. I didn’t smell or feel blood on my fingers, but the pain level was off the charts. I released a couple of cuss words, smacked my hand against the passenger seat, if for no other reason than to get out some of my rage.

  I realized I was now in Connecticut, driving on a part of I-95 that was labeled Jewish War Veterans Memorial Highway.

  A coincidence? Who knew?

  The interstate morphed into a series of smaller highways, and I finally made it into New York. The closer I got to New York City, my paranoia about being pulled over lessened. I saw signs for Mount Vernon and Yonkers, then slid east onto the Hudson Parkway. I peeked at the Hudson River to my right. It appeared so calm and peaceful. For whatever reason, I pictured that huge jet floating in it, the one from a few years ago when Captain “Sully” had landed the plane under the most extreme, dire circumstances. He’d kept a steady hand and logically worked through the troubleshooting steps with remarkable poise under pressure.