Even as her brain processed in a split second what she was seeing, a jolt of white pain surged like burning acid through her body. She cried out and her limbs writhed of their own accord as live current raged within her.
The image vanished and the pain ceased.
Her heart fluttered in her chest as she stared at the television screen. Another image appeared and she flinched, but this time the image was of Washington, DC, and the Capitol. A flush of warmth tingled through her body, a delirium of comfort, and she felt herself fall back into the warm, soft chair.
The screen snapped to an image of Islamic terrorists standing around a man kneeling before them, a black sack over his head and one of the terrorists holding a broad scimitar. The terrorist leaned down and drew the savage blade across the kneeling man’s throat in a spray of blood as another surge of agony burned through her body like fire. She screamed again and writhed in the seat until the image vanished.
Somewhere in her mind she knew what they were attempting to do, but she no longer had the strength to resist them.
13
Ethan peered out of the window of the SUV as it pulled into the sidewalk alongside an old chain-link fence that ringed a series of low warehouses on the cold shore of the East River. He climbed out and followed Jarvis to where police cars were parked outside the nearest warehouse, crime-scene tape fluttering across an open access door nearby.
‘A crime scene?’ Ethan asked Jarvis. ‘What are we doing here?’
‘The scene’s being handled by detectives from the Fifth Precinct,’ Jarvis explained. ‘The same officers recently investigated the death of a man named Aaron Lymes, a retired CIA operative found murdered in his apartment. Turns out he served…’
‘… in Gaza,’ Lopez guessed. ‘You think these guys know anything yet?’
‘That’s what we’re here to find out,’ Jarvis said.
A group of four detectives were standing outside in the lot, a tall man with rugged features and gray hair dominating them as he stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of a long black overcoat. He turned and looked at Jarvis as the old man flashed his identity badge.
‘Doug Jarvis, Defense Intelligence Agency. This is Ethan Warner and Nicola Lopez.’
‘Jake Donovan, NYPD,’ the tall man said. ‘We weren’t expecting you guys down here.’
‘We’re here for the Aaron Lymes case. DIA has jurisdiction,’ Jarvis explained. ‘Lymes was a former CIA operative you found murdered downtown recently. We need to talk about it.’
‘Is that right?’ Donovan replied. ‘Well, I tell you what. If you can explain this crime scene, then I’ll talk to you about Lymes. Deal?’
Jarvis gestured to the warehouse. ‘Deal. Something here not making sense to the CSI team?’
Donovan introduced his team to them: Karina Thorne, a young-looking detective, Glen Ryan, whom Ethan quickly deduced was a former soldier, and Neville Jackson, an African-American detective.
‘Got ourselves a double homicide,’ Donovan explained.
‘What’s the big deal?’ Lopez asked.
Donovan looked at Lopez quizzically for a moment. ‘Nicola Lopez, you say? Why do I know that name?
‘Metropolitan Police Department,’ Lopez replied, ‘over in DC. I worked there for several years.’
Donovan nodded slowly as though trying to recall something. ‘Didn’t you blow some kind of corruption scandal in DC a couple of years back? Got yourself a hell of a reputation?’
‘Reputation is one word,’ Lopez replied with an easy smile, ‘infamy’s another.’
Donovan grinned back at her and then looked across at the warehouses that were now ringed with bright yellow police-cordon tapes. A forensics vehicle was parked nearby, and a small cluster of construction workers from nearby buildings were watching the police with interest.
‘The feds would have been our first port of call here anyway so it’s helpful you turned up,’ Donovan said finally to Jarvis, ‘because what we’ve got in there sure as hell doesn’t make much sense to me.’
Lopez led the way. ‘Let’s go see what the fuss is about. You got up real early for a double homicide.’
Karina Thorne rested one hand on Lopez’s arm as she passed, her features creased with concern. ‘It’s a bad one.’
Ethan glanced at Lopez as they followed Donovan’s team across to the warehouse entrance, the two uniformed cops standing guard outside parting to let them through. Ethan whispered to Jarvis as they walked.
‘What’s the story with these guys?’
‘Call came in,’ Jarvis replied. ‘These guys called the FBI about the killing of Aaron Lymes and the feds followed the new protocol and sent it on to us right away. We’ll chat with them and find out what we can about Lymes’ death, see if it yields any clues to Joanna’s involvement or whereabouts.’
Lopez moved ahead alongside Karina Thorne. ‘Forensics done a sweep yet?’
‘All cleared,’ Karina confirmed. ‘Donovan got here first, then Nev Jackson worked the scene with the CSI guys. Not that they found much.’
Ethan heard their voices echo as they entered the cavernous warehouse. Shafts of pale morning light beamed weakly through windows thick with grime. The warehouse floor was stained with thousands of bird droppings and coated with dust, through which he could see several rows of footprints ahead of them that wound a trail back and forth toward the very rear of the warehouse. More faint footprints were to either side, where the CSI teams had walked around the originals to avoid contaminating them.
‘Guns kill, then,’ Lopez surmised. ‘No contact.’
‘No gunshots,’ Donovan said over his shoulder at her, ‘not with resulting wounds anyway.’
‘Blades?’ Ethan asked.
‘You’ll have to see it for yourself, ’ Donovan replied.
Ethan followed them to the rear of the warehouse, but, like Lopez, he came up short long before he reached the corner where the forensics team were still dusting down for prints and evidence around the scene of the crime.
The trail of footprints in the dust led to a scattering of more footprints, appearing to move in random directions all in the same area. Clearly, whoever had entered the warehouse had made their way to this corner before doing something on the spot.
Whatever that something had been, it hadn’t ended well for the two victims now lying within ten feet of each other on the dusty warehouse floor. Ethan looked down at the body of one man lying on his side, his torso ending in a bloodied mess of congealing intestines, entrails and blood stains smearing the ground.
‘Jesus,’ Lopez murmured. ‘Where’s the rest of him?’
‘That’s where this starts to get interesting,’ Donovan said, and gestured across to Ethan’s right.
Ethan turned and saw some fifty feet away another smaller cordon of police tape and a lone forensics officer working on two long objects lying on the ground. Between the two locations was a faint splatter of blood droplets scattered in a thin line across the ground.
‘That’s his legs?’ Jarvis asked in amazement.
‘That’s not all,’ Donovan replied and gestured the other body nearby. ‘This guy doesn’t have a mark on him. We’ll have to have it confirmed via autopsy but there are no visible wounds, puncture marks, contusions or any other visible sign of death.’
Ethan looked at the second corpse. The body was on its knees, crouched over with its elbows resting on the ground and the hands clasped across the chest. The dead man’s face was pinned against the ground and locked in a gruesome rigor of agony, the jaw open and the eyes wide, the tongue hanging limp and dry between the lips.
‘Looks a little like a heart attack,’ Lopez suggested. ‘He still in rigor mortis?’