ceiling and fixed a rope to a beam and then around his neck, forming a noose. If he moved his head more than an inch, he would choke himself.
Two of the dire-looking contractors sat in separate corners of the room, each with a Benelli M1014 shotgun on his lap. They worked in short two-hour shifts to keep them vigilant.
Ackerman had to admit it. These guys weren’t playing around, and they knew their jobs.
The door of the dining room swung open and the black-clad leader and small suited man entered the room. The big man had sandy blond hair, a thickly lined and tanned face, and narrowed eyes that indicated an extended stay in a desert climate. He had a smug look of satisfaction on his face. The smaller man looked as though he belonged on Wall Street. His shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor, and he stank of expensive cologne. The big man pulled in a chair from the living room for the small man to sit down on.
“I’m Deputy Assistant Attorney General Trevor Fagan,” the small man said.
Ackerman said, “That’s a mouthful. Are you here to offer me a deal for my cooperation?”
Fagan laughed. “No deals. Not for you.”
“Then why would I want to help you?”
“The satisfaction of finishing what you started. Your father’s still out there. You failed to finish the job the first time. I’m offering you a second chance.”
“Where’s Marcus?”
“There’s been another abduction. He’s gone to the scene.”
“I’ll only speak to my brother.”
Fagan leaned forward on his chair as if he were going to share a secret. “I need to know everything about your father. Any aliases that he’s used? Places he might be hiding? Anything that could help us.”
Ackerman smiled. “How long has your wife been cheating on you?”
“What? How did …” Fagan caught himself and gritted his teeth. “Answer the questions.”
“I don’t blame her. I would cheat on you too. I bet you’re all rules and regulations in bed. And she probably has more of an emotional connection with the washing machine.”
Fagan stood and headed for the door. “I’m not playing your game. My associate here, Mr. Craig, is a very skilled interrogator. It’s his specialty. In fact, he probably enjoys it a little too much.”
A throaty laugh came from the killer’s throat. He felt the noose tighten as he chuckled. “You’re threatening me with torture? That’s hilarious.”
Fagan ignored him. He kept going and shut the door behind him. The big blond man sat in the chair vacated by the bureaucrat. He cracked his knuckles and pulled a KA-BAR combat knife from his boot. “How many?” Mr. Craig asked.
“How many what?”
“Men have you killed?”
“That’s sort of a sexist thing to say. Don’t the women I’ve killed count as well?”
Mr. Craig punched Ackerman hard across the bridge of his nose. His head whipped back, but the noose kept it from moving very far. The sweet pain shot down his spine. “How many people have you murdered, Mr. Craig? I can still smell their blood on you.”
“I’m a patriot.”
“Oscar Wilde said that patriotism is a virtue of the vicious. But no, I won’t even give you that much credit. You’re just a psychopath with a government pension. You joined up because you wanted an excuse to hurt people. The recruiters didn’t see talent and potential. They saw a predatory hunger and a sadistic need that they could bend to their will. Tell me about the things you’ve done to prisoners and enemy combatants when you knew you could get away with it.”
Craig punched him again. Ackerman laughed. “Do you know anything about me? My father is second in the art of torture only to Satan himself. And God truly molded human beings into amazing creatures. I find it laughable when people argue about evolution and creationism as if they’re two mutually exclusive concepts. God made us to adapt to our environments in order to overcome adversity. I’m sure the creator had climate change and food
Two of the dire-looking contractors sat in separate corners of the room, each with a Benelli M1014 shotgun on his lap. They worked in short two-hour shifts to keep them vigilant.
Ackerman had to admit it. These guys weren’t playing around, and they knew their jobs.
The door of the dining room swung open and the black-clad leader and small suited man entered the room. The big man had sandy blond hair, a thickly lined and tanned face, and narrowed eyes that indicated an extended stay in a desert climate. He had a smug look of satisfaction on his face. The smaller man looked as though he belonged on Wall Street. His shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor, and he stank of expensive cologne. The big man pulled in a chair from the living room for the small man to sit down on.
“I’m Deputy Assistant Attorney General Trevor Fagan,” the small man said.
Ackerman said, “That’s a mouthful. Are you here to offer me a deal for my cooperation?”
Fagan laughed. “No deals. Not for you.”
“Then why would I want to help you?”
“The satisfaction of finishing what you started. Your father’s still out there. You failed to finish the job the first time. I’m offering you a second chance.”
“Where’s Marcus?”
“There’s been another abduction. He’s gone to the scene.”
“I’ll only speak to my brother.”
Fagan leaned forward on his chair as if he were going to share a secret. “I need to know everything about your father. Any aliases that he’s used? Places he might be hiding? Anything that could help us.”
Ackerman smiled. “How long has your wife been cheating on you?”
“What? How did …” Fagan caught himself and gritted his teeth. “Answer the questions.”
“I don’t blame her. I would cheat on you too. I bet you’re all rules and regulations in bed. And she probably has more of an emotional connection with the washing machine.”
Fagan stood and headed for the door. “I’m not playing your game. My associate here, Mr. Craig, is a very skilled interrogator. It’s his specialty. In fact, he probably enjoys it a little too much.”
A throaty laugh came from the killer’s throat. He felt the noose tighten as he chuckled. “You’re threatening me with torture? That’s hilarious.”
Fagan ignored him. He kept going and shut the door behind him. The big blond man sat in the chair vacated by the bureaucrat. He cracked his knuckles and pulled a KA-BAR combat knife from his boot. “How many?” Mr. Craig asked.
“How many what?”
“Men have you killed?”
“That’s sort of a sexist thing to say. Don’t the women I’ve killed count as well?”
Mr. Craig punched Ackerman hard across the bridge of his nose. His head whipped back, but the noose kept it from moving very far. The sweet pain shot down his spine. “How many people have you murdered, Mr. Craig? I can still smell their blood on you.”
“I’m a patriot.”
“Oscar Wilde said that patriotism is a virtue of the vicious. But no, I won’t even give you that much credit. You’re just a psychopath with a government pension. You joined up because you wanted an excuse to hurt people. The recruiters didn’t see talent and potential. They saw a predatory hunger and a sadistic need that they could bend to their will. Tell me about the things you’ve done to prisoners and enemy combatants when you knew you could get away with it.”
Craig punched him again. Ackerman laughed. “Do you know anything about me? My father is second in the art of torture only to Satan himself. And God truly molded human beings into amazing creatures. I find it laughable when people argue about evolution and creationism as if they’re two mutually exclusive concepts. God made us to adapt to our environments in order to overcome adversity. I’m sure the creator had climate change and food
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