30. Caleph
30
CALEPH
“I know that limp,” Attila says, looking intently at the screen. He asks our tech guy to play it again a second time, and then a third. The giant of a man who took Ariadne is a bald-headed man who walks with a limp and has no moral compass if he’s willing to drag a helpless woman forty feet only to throw her into his vehicle like she’s a sack of potatoes.
“They call him The Jekyll. He’s a Honduran transient.”
The tech guy pushes a few more buttons until he brings the man’s photo up on the screen with his bio. A few of the men crowd around to listen, their interest ignited. From their murmurs, it seems some have heard of him before, but none has ever actually believed that the myth of The Jekyll is actually truth.
“They say he went a little loco after he lost his wife in one of the cartel wars. Some say he’s trying to get his revenge for his family, but the consensus is that he turned to suicide missions because he was too much of a coward to off himself. Man only wants to die, but he’s like a cat with nine lives,” Attila rattles off, telling us what he knows about the man.
“So he took the contract, knowing he’s messing with some pretty heavy hitters,” I surmise. “What he hasn’t accounted for is who he’s stealing from.”
Attila flicks me a look laden with understanding… and yet more surprise. For me to refer to Ariadne as my property and that she’s been stolen from me is big in our world. It tells him everything he needs to know about what she means to me. And I don’t care if he knows. I don't care what he thinks he knows. I don't care that he sees me and my weakness or if he even feels that Ariadne has become my weakness. All I know is that I need to get her back and I will burn the city down if I must in order to do that.
With a name like The Jekyll, there’s no telling what this guy is capable of, but I’m guessing it’s a lot more than merely kidnapping. The whispers alone that filter through the room when his name is mentioned tells me there’s so much more Attila hasn’t told us about him. With a name like that, if I am considered a ghost, this man is certifiably invisible, and I wonder why I haven't heard of him before.
“I have a plan,” Attila says, turning to me. He orders the men to all get a good look at The Jekyll, then he shoots off a text before he turns back to me. “It’ll kill two birds with one stone, and it will speed up our timeline for our friends who shall not be named.”
* * *
We sit in the corner of a room that has been converted into a makeshift office and go over the plan once again. We dissect, we refine, and we go through it yet again until we think we have a foolproof plan.
“I somehow don’t think they’ll go for it,” I tell him.
Attila nods his head, certain his plan will work. “The defective arms the politicians sold the Hondurans means a death sentence for those low lifes who think they’ve gotten away with murder. It’s as simple as playing on the swindle – they stole from you, so let us pay you to steal back from them.” His plan is genius. Pit the two sides against each other. Once the Hondurans have what the pollies want – namely Ariadne – we offer them double the bounty to get her back. What the Hondurans lack in financial capability, they make up in might and intelligence. It wouldn’t hurt to have them on our side as we extend our search and have eyes on all sea and air entry and exit points. But it’s also risky if it backfires, and I’m not willing to risk Ariadne’s life.
“Sweeten the pot,” I tell him. I want no mistakes. I’ll accept nothing less than Ariadne coming back to me safe and sound. “If they deliver her back intact within twenty-four hours, I’ll have a sit down with them to discuss supply.”
His eyebrows shoot past his forehead in shock. I have always refused to do business with the Hondurans. Which is a good thing, because there’s no way they can connect the defective arms back to me. And secondly, the fact that I’m willing to have a sit down is a big deal. There’s no way they’d pass that up.
“You’d actually be prepared to do business with them?”
“If it means I’ll get her back unharmed, I’ll shake hands with the devil himself.”
Attila’s phone rings just as we are finishing up, and I watch him quietly as he answers it, his face morphing from calm to a frown and then moves into the territory of fear. I can see fear in his eyes. And I can see the moment that he fixes his eyes on me with a look that is both haunted and apologetic.
“What is it?” I ask him, as he sets his phone down.
Attila throws his head back and sighs, running both hands through his long thick mane of golden-brown hair before he looks back at me. He is hesitant to tell me what the phone call was about.
“They found the van,” he tells me. “In Amatitlan.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“I need to get down there.”
“ You need to get down there? We need to get down there.”
I can see Attila is reluctant for me to go with him in the way his demeanor changes when I insist on going with him. He tells me I’m in no shape to make the journey; he’ll go and speak with the officers onsite then come back. I shake my head vehemently and tell him I’ll be making the trip with him, even if I have to drag myself there.
* * *
We drive for thirty minutes before we get to the location of the van in Amatitlan. The drive felt more like hours as Attila sped through the streets and the seat belt bit into my already aching body. We drive in four cars, two in front of us and one behind, added security measures in case of any further problems we may encounter.
The van is roped off with police tape, and a convoy of police cars has converged on the site, taking in every detail of the scene.
“Amatitlan is a quaint city relatively free of crime,” Attila tells me, noting the look on my face.
There’s an inordinate number of police for a van that’s been set alight. He introduces me to a police officer friend of his, who reveals which division he’s from, thus explaining the reason for so many police. He’s obviously doing Attila a favor, because he’s crossed jurisdictions to be here.
I look over at the van as Attila and the police officer discuss the situation; the van is so badly incinerated; you couldn’t even tell what color it once used to be. Smoke from the fire continues to rise in the still air. There are two forensics officers leaning over the open door of the passenger side, scraping at something. I walk towards the van, my burdensome body no support as I cross the road and near the remains of the vehicle.
“Caleph!” Attila calls after me, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Caleph!”
I continue, pushing myself to get nearer to the van. When I do, I stand ten feet away from the wreck, my eyes cemented on it as though I am in a trance. One of the forensics team steps back to put something in a tube, and it is then that the passenger seat becomes clear to me, and I see a mangled strand of long brown hair falling from the charred remains of the person sitting in the passenger seat.