“It’s all right. I’m used to your ignorance by now,” Kotto teased. “But I hope you realize I don’t walk the streets of Lagos in a loincloth while carrying my favorite spear.”
Drake couldn’t tell if his friend was lecturing or joking until he heard Kotto laugh. “Hannibal, I must admit you had me going for a while. I thought I hit a nerve.”
“Not at all. I just thought a moment of levity was in order before we continued our business.”
“Yes, it was rather pleasant. Thank you.”
“So, what did you think of your last shipment of snow? Did it meet the expectations of your buyers?”
“In some ways yes, and in some ways no.”
Kotto frowned. It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. “What do you think needs to be improved?”
“Honestly, the overall quality. I think my buyers were hoping for something better than the street product that I sold them. They wanted something purer. You know, upper-class snow.”
“Well,” he replied, “the last batch was just a trial run. From what I understand, the next shipment we receive will be the best yet.”
CHAPTER 7
WITH
such a diverse group—an equal mix of young and old, male and female—there appeared to be no link between the prisoners of the Plantation. But Harris Jackson knew that wasn’t the case. He knew the reason that these people had been pulled from their lives and brought to this island. He understood why they were being humiliated, abused, and tortured. And he relished the fact that they were stripped of their homes, their possessions, and their pride. All of it made sense, and he was going to enjoy his authority over them for as long as it lasted.
In the flickering firelight, Jackson stared at the seventeen people in front of him and savored how each of them was shaking, literally trembling with fear. God, how he loved that! It made him feel indestructible. “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Master Jackson, and my job on this island is leader of the guards. When you address me, you shall use the name
Master Jackson
or
sir
. Nothing else is acceptable. Nothing else will be tolerated.”
Under his black hood, he smiled. When he’d worked as a lawyer during his short-lived legal career, he loved addressing the jury—trying to get them to listen, hoping to catch their eye, convincing them to believe—and for some reason, his orientation speech made him think back to his days in the courtroom. The days before his disbarment.
“As you can probably tell, none of you were given an opportunity to change your clothes after you received your invitation to the Plantation. Some of you are filthy, and some of you are clean. A few of you are dressed warmly, and others are not.” He stared at Susan Ross, a sixteen-year-old who’d been abducted from a community pool in Florida, and appreciated the way her teenage body looked in her bikini. He made a mental note to pay her a visit later. “In an attempt to make everybody equal, I’d like each of you to disrobe.”
Despite his command, nobody moved. They just stared straight ahead in absolute shock.
Like Holmes before him, Jackson shook his head in disappointment. “What a shame! I assumed that each of you had a pretty good understanding of your situation by now. I figured the Ginsu display from earlier was going to keep you in line for the rest of your visit.” Jackson shrugged his broad shoulders as he walked toward the prisoners. “I guess I was wrong.”
Jackson stopped in front of Susan, his six-foot frame towering above her. “I’m looking for a volunteer,” he roared in the voice of a drill sergeant. “And I think
you
will do nicely.”
Despite her cries of protest, he lifted her half-naked, 110-pound body over his shoulder and carried her toward the chopping block. Two guards offered to assist him, but he quickly ordered them to stay back. He was enjoying himself far too much to let them share in the fun. When he reached the wooden cube, he set her gently on the ground, then put her in a stranglehold so she couldn’t run away.
“What do you want from me?” she cried through the cloth of her white hood.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he whispered into her left ear. “And I must admit I’m looking forward to it.” He pushed his groin against the small of her lower back, and she immediately felt his excitement start to grow. “Can you feel how hard I am? That’s because of you, you know. All because of you.”
Susan tried squirming free of his grip, but Jackson was simply too strong for her. As she tried to pull away, he laughed at her feeble attempts.
“Are you done?” he asked in a civil tone.
After one more try, she nodded her head.
“Good, because I’m dying to begin.”
Like a tarantula, Jackson’s black fingers crawled down her nubile flesh, gradually creeping across her firm stomach, then sliding under her bathing suit. “Do you like my magic fingers?” he whispered. “Do you like when I touch you?”
Before she could respond, he lifted her off the ground and forced her to stand on the bloody chopping block. Within seconds, her bare feet were coated with the red fluid that had gushed from Paul Metz’s finger.
“As I told you a moment ago, I would like each of you to take off your clothes. Apparently, you’re not as threatened by me as you were by Master Holmes. Now, because of your ignorance, this young girl has to suffer.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” she sobbed. “I was being good. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was being good.”
With a mischievous smile, he placed his dark hand on the back of her leg and slowly, sexually, stroked her inner thigh. “I know, my dear, but it’s not my doing. You should fault your fellow inmates for ignoring my instructions. They’re more to blame than I.” His hand crept higher and higher on her smooth leg until it stopped on her ass. “Remember, I’m not to blame for this. Bear me no ill will.”
Taking his stiletto from the folds of his cloak, Jackson slowly raised the blade behind the unsuspecting female, inching it toward his target. The sharp steel glistened in the light of the raging fire.
“I want you to kneel for me,” he purred. “And I want you to take your time.”
Without a word of complaint, the girl dropped to her knees. His unblinking eyes followed the curvature of her cheeks on their downward path. When she reached the block, he heard her groan as she sank into the cherry liquid that coated the surface. The sound brought a smile to his lips.
“Now raise your hands above your head, and hold them there.”
She did as she was told, and her movement electrified him—her unquestioning compliance literally made his heart race faster.
“Remember,” he breathed, “no ill will.”
Jackson placed his hand on the girl’s bare back and searched for the perfect spot to make his incision. Once he found it, he lifted the knife to her flesh, tracing the ridges of her spine with the broad side of his cold, metal blade. As he did, he noticed the emergence of goose bumps, not only on her skin but on his as well. Gathering his emotions, Jackson inched the stiletto to the midsection of her back, the spot directly between her shoulder blades, then paused.
This was where the cut would be made.
Turning the blade to the appropriate angle, Jackson gazed at the crowd to make sure that they were watching. They were. The entire throng was focused on the hypnotic movements of his knife, like he was an ancient Mayan priest preparing for a ritual sacrifice. Pleased by the attention, he redirected his gaze to his target.
“It’s time!” he whispered.
With a quick slash, Jackson sliced the strap of her bikini top. Then, before she had an opportunity to flinch, he carved her swimsuit bottom as well, exposing her entire body to the audience and the humid Louisiana night.
A wave of humiliation flooded over the girl. She tried to cover herself by crouching into a tiny ball on the wooden cube, but Jackson wouldn’t allow it. He yanked her from her bloody perch and forced her to retake her position with the rest of the prisoners.
He would’ve preferred to wrap her in his arms but knew this was no time to be playing favorites. He had to treat everyone the same in order to set the rules, in order to get their respect.
Besides, he’d have a chance to make things up to her later—when they were alone.
CHAPTER 8
Wexford, Pennsylvania
(11 miles north of Pittsburgh)
DESPITE
the early hour, Jonathon Payne managed to smile as he drove to Ariane’s apartment. Normally a grin wouldn’t make an appearance on his lips until much closer to noon, but since he was spending the entire day with her, he woke up in an atypically good mood.
Years of predawn calisthenics had soured his opinion of the morning.
Dressed in khaki shorts and a white golf shirt, Payne pulled his Infiniti SUV into the crowded lot outside of her building. After parking, he walked under the maroon awning that covered the complex’s entrance and pressed the button to be let in. When she didn’t reply, he tried the system a few more times before he walked back to the parking lot to make sure that her car was in her assigned space. It was there, and in his mind that meant she was definitely home.
Slightly frustrated, Payne strolled back to the intercom system and tried the buzzer again, yet nothing changed. He was still unable to get her attention.
Come on,
he thought.
I know you’re scared to face me on the golf course, but this is ridiculous.
Standing in the entryway, pondering what to do next, he noticed a thin strip of duct tape sticking to the frame near the automatic lock of the security door. Moving closer, he realized that the tape started outside the frame and ran inside the building, purposely keeping the door open.
“Oh,” Payne mumbled, figuring the intercom system must be broken.
Thankful to be inside, he jogged up the carpeted stairs to the second floor and noticed that the thick fire door at the top of the steps was propped open with a large stick.
Without giving it much thought, Payne continued his journey down the hallway toward Ariane’s apartment. That’s when he noticed something he couldn’t dismiss. A piece of duct tape had been placed over the peephole of her door. Tape that wasn’t there when he dropped her off the night before.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea swept through Payne’s stomach. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that something had happened to Ariane.
Payne pounded on her door loudly, hoping that she had overslept or had been in the bathroom when he was buzzing her. But somehow he knew that wasn’t the case. He knew that something was wrong. Very seriously wrong.
“Ariane!” he yelled. “It’s Jon. Open the door!”
When his pleas went unanswered, Payne reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He hit the speed dial and watched as her name and number appeared on the screen. “Come on! Answer the damn phone!”
After four rings, Payne heard a click on the line. It was her voice mail.
Payne cursed as he waited to leave his message. “Ariane, if you’re screening your calls or you’re still in bed, pick up the phone.” There was no response. “I’m really worried about you, so
please
call me on my cell as soon as you hear this message, okay?”
He hung up the phone, worried. “Think, goddamn it, think! Where could she be?”
Payne racked his brain for possibilities, but couldn’t think of any logical explanations. Most stores weren’t open at that hour, and even if they were, she would have taken her car to get there. Most of her friends would still be sleeping or getting ready for work, so they wouldn’t have picked her up. And her family lived out of state, so she wasn’t with them.
No, something had happened to Ariane. He was sure of it.
PAYNE
wasn’t the type of guy who waited around for news. He was the aggressor, a man of action. Someone who followed his instincts, despite the odds. In the military, his gut feelings were so accurate that they were treated with reverence, like a message from God.
And in this case, he sensed that time was precious.
Without delay, Payne took a step back and launched his right leg toward the door. His foot met wood with a mighty
thump
. It echoed down the hallway like a gunshot. The sturdy frame splintered in several places as the door swung open with so much force that the lower hinge snapped a bolt. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing.
In his former career, Payne would’ve been armed and whispering orders into his headset. But today he was alone and empty-handed, worried about what he might find inside.
Cautiously, he walked into Ariane’s apartment. The place was immaculate. No overturned tables, no broken lamps. And most importantly, no dead bodies. Payne wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see, but he felt a certain sense of relief when he found nothing.
The only damage he noticed was the damage that he had done himself.
Taking a deep breath, Payne realized that he needed a second opinion. And when he needed help, he turned to his best friend. Payne hit his speed dial and waited for Jones to answer.
“Yeah?” Jones croaked, obviously sleeping in on his day off.
“D.J., it’s Jon. Something’s happened, and I need your help.”
That was all that Jones needed to hear.
FIFTEEN
minutes later, Jones pulled up next to Payne’s SUV and studied the parking lot, but nothing seemed out of place. “Have you heard from her?”
Payne shook his head as he jogged over to Jones’s car.
“Don’t worry. That doesn’t mean something bad has happened. I’m sure there are a thousand possibilities that could explain where she is, so tell me everything you can. I’m sure we can figure something out.”