The Prophet (41 page)

The disorientation swirling in Maggie’s mind from the drugs that Ackerman had administered made her surroundings seem vague and blurry. She floated in and out of consciousness, but images penetrated the haze in small flashes. She saw the inside of a car, felt the bumps of a road, heard the tires sloshing through the snow and the engine humming.

Then it seemed as if she blinked and was somewhere else, on a sidewalk. But she wasn’t walking. She was moving forward, but not by her own volition. She looked down and saw a red and orange afghan blanket covering her body and wheels moving across the sidewalk. A wheelchair?

The world seemed dark and brown, and she realized absently that she must be wearing sunglasses. There was a heavy weight on her lap beneath the blanket. It felt cold and metallic. She tried to move her arms but found them paralyzed and held in place, either by the drugs or some kind of restraints.

A nauseous fluttering burned in her guts, and she opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. There were several people passing by on the sidewalk and cars were zooming down the street, but no one paid her any attention.

Maggie blinked again, and more time slipped away. Now she was in a building, riding on an elevator and then moving through some kind of atrium. People packed the space. There were hundreds of them, all moving quickly and holding shopping bags. She tried to call out to them, but no sound could penetrate the fog enveloping her mind. The atrium was tall and open and surrounded with glass and storefronts. A shopping center? A mall?

The wheelchair came to rest in front of a silver and glass barrier in the center of the open space, and she felt herself spin in a circle until her back was placed against the railing.

She recoiled in fear from the face that greeted her. Ackerman wore a dark gray wool overcoat atop a black button-down shirt. He was handsome and blended in perfectly with the other patrons.

“Hello, Maggie,” Ackerman said. “It’s been wonderful getting to spend more time with you. But I’m afraid that we’ve come to the end of our journey. The drugs I’ve given you will begin to wear off soon, but I would suggest that you stay quiet and don’t move. Nod your head if you can understand what I’m saying.”

With some effort, she bobbed her head up and down.

“Very good. I’ve attached a specially designed bomb to your body. Only Marcus will possess the knowledge to disarm it. Once I leave you, I’ll call him and tell him where you are. There’s a cell phone beneath the blanket. My number is already programmed into it, so when he arrives, just tell him to hit send. Please nod again if you’re following me so far.”

Her jaw trembled and her pulse raced, but she nodded her head in acceptance.

“That’s good, Maggie. You’re doing so well. But please don’t try to get cute and attempt to save yourself. Don’t call out. Don’t try to bring in the police or the bomb squad or try to warn anyone. If you do, innocent people will be needlessly harmed. I’m going to give Marcus an opportunity to save you. Let him take it. And remember, I’ll be watching. So you just sit tight and wait for Prince Charming to arrive.”

After parting company with Maggie, Ackerman took the escalator down to Michigan Avenue, removed a fresh disposable cell phone from his pocket, and made two phone calls. The first was to Marcus. Ackerman gave him the details of where to find Maggie and told him that he would be in contact with further instructions.

Ackerman ended that call and placed the second. This one went to the Director of the Shepherd Organization. The message was simple. The Director should tell Marcus the truth or both his golden boy and Maggie would soon be dead.

The Chicago Water Tower rested between the skyscrapers along Michigan Avenue like an old-world castle. It was constructed from white limestone blocks and dotted with neo-Gothic spires. Just north of the landmark sat Water Tower Place, an eight-story shopping mall occupying seven hundred and fifty-eight thousand square feet.

Andrew dropped Marcus off in front of the mall. There were glass entry doors between two massive swirling-gray marble pillars. Once inside, Marcus immediately bounded up an escalator that ascended toward the main area of the mall. Between each set of escalators and stairs, there was a multi-tiered black granite fountain that trickled water toward the street in a steady stream. At the top of the escalators, a replica of the Water Tower made entirely from Lego blocks marked the actual start of the shopping plaza. The aromas of the mall were all around him—perfumes, coffee shops, greasy fast food, cinnamon rolls.

His pace slowed, and his gaze darted around the large space. Ackerman could have been hiding anywhere, watching. It was only days before Christmas, and the mall was a mass of humanity. They shuffled and scuttled, their arms loaded with bags and boxes, across a tile floor that had been colored to resemble hardwood. But Marcus could see Maggie through the gaps in the stream of shoppers. She sat in the center of an atrium that rose the entire eight stories of the mall across from a giant bank of glass elevators.

Marcus’s phone rang, and he fumbled it from the pocket of his jeans. It was the Director. “Hello.”

The Director said, “Marcus, I’m almost there. Don’t do anything until I arrive. It’s a trap.”

“It always is,” Marcus replied as he hung up on his superior.

He pushed his way through the throng of consumers to reach Maggie. Her eyes were full of fear, and her body trembled beneath the red and orange afghan. “There’s a bomb,” she said.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.”

“He said there’s a cell phone under the blanket that you should use to call him.”

Marcus pulled up the covering and examined the device beneath. It was a sturdy metal box welded entirely shut and was about the size of a shoebox with a keyboard and LED display screen firmly fastened to its surface. There was also a blue and silver disposable cell phone resting beside Maggie’s legs. He retrieved the phone and pressed send. Ackerman answered after the first ring.

“Hello, Marcus. I’m sure Maggie has told you the dire nature of your situation. We’ll wait for the Director to arrive. He’ll have the code to disarm the device. Just tell him that you need to type the name of your real father onto the keyboard. He’ll have the answer for you.”

“I know that there’s really no bomb.”

The other end of the line went silent for a few seconds, but then Ackerman said, “Of course there is. You should know better than to question my resolve. I’m a monster. I’d kill every person in that mall without blinking an eye.”

“You’d even kill your own brother?”

Ackerman didn’t speak.

“You didn’t have to do any of this. I know you wanted to trick the Director into telling me the truth, but I already know.”

“How?”

“Allen told me at the hospital. He told me everything. But I guess I’ve always had my suspicions. When I first saw you, there was some familiarity that I couldn’t quite identify. Now I know what it was. You look like her, our mother. Same eyes, same smile, same facial structure.”

“The first time I saw you, I was afraid,” Ackerman said. “That’s rare for me. They say that there’s something wrong with my brain that makes it so I can’t feel fear. At least, not in the way that normal people do. But something about you made me afraid. Later, I realized that it was because of your resemblance to our father. It’s in your eyes.”

The words were like a dagger plunged into Marcus’s heart. Ackerman continued on about destiny and connection, but Marcus wasn’t listening. The world had melted away around him. He braced himself against a nearby railing.

It’s in your eyes.

He had always known that he was different. He had always felt a certain anger and hunger, but he had fought to keep it buried. Still, Ackerman had seen it raging just below the surface, the monster clawing its way to freedom.

The world spun. Tears fell. A tidal wave of fear and anger and doubt slammed against the foundations of his soul.

Francis Ackerman Sr., his real father, was a madman who’d tortured his own son and killed many others. And now Marcus knew
that
was his true legacy. He wasn’t a third-generation cop. He was a second-generation serial killer.

Maggie used Andrew’s key to enter the hotel room he’d shared with Marcus back in Jackson’s Grove. The first room of the suite was empty except for the rearranged furniture, their touchscreen display board, and various cups and food containers. It smelled of old grease and cold coffee. The door to the bedroom was closed. She pushed it open and found Marcus sitting on the bed in the dark, staring absently at the wall. His bag was packed and resting on the bedspread behind him.

After Marcus’s phone call with Ackerman, he had barely said a word to any of them. It was as if he were engulfed in some kind of fugue state. Maggie had never seen him like that. He just walked out onto Michigan Avenue and flagged down a taxi. It took a phone call to the cab company to track him down, but not until after the Director had explained the situation to her and Andrew. When Marcus’s mother was pregnant with him, she had run away from her abusive and disturbed husband, Francis Ackerman Sr. The pain of her loss had been the stressor that initiated a chain of events ultimately leading to countless deaths and immeasurable suffering.

Marcus didn’t seem to register her arrival. His stare didn’t leave the wall. His eyes were bloodshot. She could tell that he had been crying.

She said, “It doesn’t change anything. You’re still the same man you’ve always been.”

His eyes didn’t move. “You’re right. I’ve always been a man of violence, a killer. Now I just know why.”

“That’s not true. You’ve helped a lot of people. You’re a hero. It doesn’t matter who your father was. What matters is—”

He held up an outstretched palm to stop her and then said, “Did you know?”

“What? Of course not.”

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“Because it’s the truth. You know how secretive the Director is. He never tells us what’s really going on.”

“And you don’t see a problem with that?”

Maggie said, “Of course I do, but what I am supposed to do about it.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think anymore, but I can’t keep going like this. I’m done.” Marcus stood, looked into her eyes, and said, “I love you, Maggie. I always have. I’m just not very good at showing it.”

His hand found her cheek, and she pressed her face into his palm as her own tears fell.

Marcus continued, “Come with me. We can start a new life, a normal life. I can’t promise you that it’ll be perfect, but I’ll do my best.”

She swallowed hard and thought of her younger brother and the man who had stolen him away. Her mouth was dry, and her voice trembled. “I don’t want a normal life. We help people. Think of all the people that would have died this week if you hadn’t have been there to save them. I can’t leave that behind, and you’ve said it yourself: you can’t run from what you are.”

He leaned in and kissed her long and hard. Then he whispered, “I can try.”

Marcus felt like he was wandering through a nightmare somewhere between awake and asleep. He had felt depression before. He had felt sadness before. But nothing as deep and destructive as this. It felt as though a black hole had opened up inside of him and sucked out all his desire to go on living.

As he stepped into the hallway and left Maggie behind, he found Andrew leaning against the wall.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Andrew said.

“Anywhere but here.”

“I hear Vasques is awake and doing well.”

“That’s good.”

“You going to pay her a visit?”

“No,” Marcus said, thinking of his recent run-in with her partner.

Andrew clasped his shoulder. “We need you. You realize that, right? You’re the best investigator that I’ve ever worked with. You just need some time to clear your head, let all this process.”

Marcus forced a smile. “You’ve been a good friend. I’ll get in touch once I’m settled somewhere. Take care of Maggie for me.”

Andrew nodded, and Marcus stepped past him and headed for the elevator.

“Marcus, wait. If you’re leaving anyway, then there’s one more thing that you should know.”

The snowstorm had broken in the early-morning hours, and the day had actually shaped up to be rather pleasant. The Director stood beneath the car port of Marcus’s hotel, enjoying the climate shift. He puffed on a Marlboro. It had been nearly fifteen years since he had given up smoking, but that morning he had caved in and purchased a pack of his old brand.

After checking the time on his cell phone, he wondered how Maggie was handling the situation with Marcus. This was exactly the reason why he had concealed the truth in the first place. Marcus simply couldn’t handle the knowledge of his true lineage. It was human nature to hold certain truths beyond reproach, and when those truths were questioned or outright shattered, it was naturally a jarring and life-changing experience. Some could recover from such things, while others could not.

The Director leaned on the hood of his rental car, a silver Buick LaCrosse, and took another drag off his cigarette. But, as the warm smoke flowed into his lungs, something struck him from behind and slammed him against the car.

His attacker spun him around and pressed the barrel of a large black handgun against his neck.

The Director tried to remain calm, but there was murder in Marcus’s eyes.

“You could have gotten us all killed a hundred times over!” Marcus’s body shook with rage, and his jaw was clenched tight.

“Let’s just settle down now,” the Director said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He tried to ease himself away, but Marcus slammed him back against the car.

“Andrew told me everything. Stan discovered that Ackerman had hacked our system months ago, but you told him to let it happen. You’ve been feeding Ackerman information through a back door. Why in the hell would you do that?”

The Director exhaled harshly and considered his next words with care. “Listen, Marcus. There are simply some things that you can’t understand unless you can see the big picture. You just don’t—”

Marcus slammed an elbow into the Director’s jaw. His teeth slammed together, and he could taste blood in his mouth. Then Marcus dug the barrel of the gun even harder against his neck. “I should blow your head off. The world would be a better place.”

“Dammit, boy. What do you want me to say? I used you as bait. Ackerman had gone underground. Our best chance of catching that madman was to use his obsession with you against him. So yes, I allowed him to access our systems. It was the right move.”

Marcus shook his head. “You reckless son of a bitch. You’re out of your mind. You could have gotten us all killed. Allen may never walk again because of you! But sure, it was the right move.”

“You would have done the same thing. And I had every confidence in the abilities of your team to bring Ackerman to justice.”

Marcus shoved him back again and stepped away. “We’re not just pawns on your chessboard to be moved around and sacrificed when it serves your needs.”

“You’re right. I should have told you. I’ve made mistakes, just like everyone else. But I didn’t want to risk tipping off Ackerman.”

With a shake of his head, Marcus jammed his Sig Sauer back into his coat and raised his hands. “I’m done.”

“What are you talking about? This isn’t just something that you do. It’s who you are. You’ve tried to run from that before, but it hasn’t gotten you very far.”

“I can be better than this. Better than you. I quit. Is that clear enough?”

Marcus headed toward the street, and the Director knew that he had a very difficult choice to make and not much time to decide. He swore under his breath and called after Marcus. “If you leave now, you’ll never learn the final piece of the puzzle. Something that even Ackerman doesn’t know. He’s alive, Marcus.”

Marcus continued to walk away, but gradually he began to slow down like a freight train that had thrown on its brakes but took time to halt its forward progress. He turned back and said, “Who are you talking about?”

“The man who tortured your brother and murdered your mother and stepfather. Francis Ackerman Sr. The man who brought you into this world. He’s still alive.”