In the Black Page 13

  Zane felt a bit queasy. I guess you can get anythin’ on the internet.

  “I had my algorithm crawl for information, but we need to dig in ourselves and see what we can find. We don’t have time to waste, waiting around for a search result.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.” Zane was ready to end this thing.

  “First things first, we need some protection.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We need a VPN, a virtual private network, so nobody can track us. You’ll find one in the programs list on your computer.” Storm pointed to the screen.

  Sure enough, when Zane scrolled through the available applications, he found a virtual private network.

  He strongly suspected Storm could do this all by himself and didn’t need Zane’s help. This whole exercise was about getting Zane out of his room.

  “Excellent. And you’ll need this, too.” He handed Zane a Post-it note.

  “And what’s this for?”

  “So, they can’t see us.”

  “I see. It’s a magic piece of paper?” He waved the yellow square in the air.

  “No, smart ass, it’s to cover the webcam.”

  A chill raced down his spine. “You’re tellin’ me these fuckers might take a gander at us, all peep-show style?”

  “It’s been known to happen.”

  Nope, that ain’t creepy at all. He placed the sticky square over his camera and Zane did the same.

  “Before we get started, I need to give you some guidelines. First, don’t get sidetracked. The place is a Dumpster fire, and you have to fight the urge to get involved, help people. I get it, but you’ve got to resist the impulse. Stay focused. We’ve got a chemical weapons attack to stop. This is no time to play vigilante.”

  It sounded as though Storm spoke from experience. And hadn’t he referred to this place as The Bat Cave?

  “Have you ever gone all vigilante on somebody?”

  “Like I said, don’t get distracted.”

  And that’s a big “yes.”

  “Storm—”

  “We don’t have time to waste.”

  “Fine. Anything else I should know?”

  “Yeah, number two, observe but don’t interact. Don’t try to mingle in the comments or the live streams. I’m gonna give you a couple of sites, and I’m gonna take the rest.” Stormy cracked his knuckles. “Let’s do this thing.”

  Holding his breath, Zane typed the information into the search bar.

  An hour later, Zane needed to shower. Storm hadn’t been lying about how disgusting the dark web could be, or what went on there. He’d seen every type of drug for sale, along with people.

  And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

  “How are you holding up?” Storm asked.

  Storm seemed to be in his element, his fingertips gliding over the keyboard. Occasionally, he stopped to make a note. And when Zane had tried to sneak a peek, Stormy had moved the legal pad away.

  “Fine, but this is the last time I’m doin’ this. I can’t see this stuff and not do somethin’ about it.” Zane already had hundreds of images he’d like to delete from the war. Not to mention the grisly ones from his childhood. Today, he’d added a few more.

  “Yeah, it’s not for everyone.”

  “Did you surf the dark web for the CIA?” Zane didn’t know much about the scope of his role with the agency. He’d only seen a small fraction of Stormy’s duties.

  “Yep, among other things.”

  Zane groaned.

  “What?”

  “Do you always have to be enigmatic? Can’t you ever give a guy a straight answer? You and Nox should start the Laconic Club. You can be president.”

  “Can’t help it. Most of what I did is classified.” He tapped his forehead. “So, it stays in the vault. Besides, CIA training is hard to overcome. Being cagey is my nature.”

  “At least tell me why they call you Stormy.”

  He grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Yeah, that’s why I asked.”

  He pointed to the computer. “Keep on looking.”

  They went back to researching until Stormy let out a whoop.

  “Hey, I got it!”

  “I’d say so by the sound of things.” Zane placed a hand against his ear. “It sounded dangerously close to a rebel yell. You’ve been spendin’ too much time below the Mason Dixon line.”

  “Take that back!” His mouth hung open, utterly appalled.

  “Never.” Zane rolled his chair over so he could see. “Show me what you got.”

  Sure enough, there was a sovereign website called Patriot’s Blood.

  “I’ve been running down this Marshall guy. Online, he goes by the handle Jefferson1776.”

  “Original.”

  “I know, right? And if you’re gonna pick a founder, Jefferson is a problematic favorite.”

  “Hmm?”

  “You know, the whole slavery thing. And then having children with somebody you enslaved, which is all creepy like the handmaid’s show. Only without the red dresses.”

  “Don’t tell me. You like Hamilton.”

  ‘The musical? It’s excellent, but my favorite’s Benjamin Franklin.”

  Zane could see it. Franklin was brainy, loved science, and he had a snarky sense of humor. Also, kind of a man whore. Hmm?

  “Anyway, we’re getting sidetracked. Marshall makes a lot of comments on this dark blog and most of them are written in code. He calls for a reckoning, a judgment day on the government’s abuses, blah, blah, blah.” Stormy made a face. “Anyway, he references Decoration Day.”

  “Decoration Day?”

  “It’s an older term for Memorial Day. It grew out of the Civil War when people wanted to commemorate the dead, honor them for the sacrifice they made for this country.”

  “These dicks are gonna attack on Memorial Day?”

  As a veteran, Zane thought it was sacrilegious, or whatever the patriotic equivalent of the term was. Disrespectful?

  He scrolled through the comments. “Hmm, look at this.” Storm read aloud, “We need to remind people what it is to sacrifice, to put the needs of others before their own. They are soft as sheep, headed for the slaughter. We must toughen their hearts and minds, compel them to rise up with us and fight tyranny. Win back our country.”

  “Good Lord.” Zane rolled his eyes.

  “Yeah, the dude thinks he’s Paul Revere or something. If Paul was into senseless murder.”

  “Hmm.” Zane had a hunch, but he wasn’t sure.

  “What?”

  “Soft?” Zane pondered the term for a minute. “Other sovereigns used the term, too. I saw it on a couple of the creepy ass message boards. That was written in code, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think he’s referrin’ to a soft target?”

  In military terms, a hard target is fortified, with weapons and trained personnel, while a soft one is vulnerable, like a school or university. Or a federal building.

  “Okay, makes sense. A soft target on Memorial Day. But what?”

  “I don’t know. It could be anythin’, but we’ve only got three days to stop it.”

  And time was running out.

  ***

  “Hey.”

  When Ellie found Zane, he was lying in bed and Bomber was next to him. He’d spent the day in his room. It was nearly dusk.

  Everyone else had spent the time speculating on possible targets. They had a list on a whiteboard in the meeting room, but there were too many possibilities to narrow down.

  Ellie had a headache from worrying, spinning out possible scenarios in her head. If they were going to get this done, they needed all hands-on-deck, which meant Zane had to come out of hiding and join the rest of them.

  Ellie wanted to clear the air. She’d been upset with him the night before, but she’d calmed down, and gotten some perspective.

  Ellie partially understood his actions. Zane was defending her honor or getting payback. Truthfully, sh
e didn’t feel that bad for Dave. He’d beaten her unconscious, but at least her hands had been free.

  He smiled but said nothing, stroking Bomber.

  She’d never seen a man so bonded to a dog. She had a difficult time reconciling the image of Zane who cared for a dog so diligently, with the guy who’d gone all caveman on her former boyfriend.

  Zane had been covered in blood, and there was almost a snarl on his face. He must have a deep well of anger inside to get so worked up.

  Ellie didn’t know what to make of it, but sensed it had to do with his past. She’d wanted to go to him last night, but King had talked her out of it. Judging by Zane’s hooded eyes and hunched shoulders, it had been the right call. He was still defensive, on edge.

  “Can we talk?”

  “Sure.” He sat up.

  “How are ya feelin’?”

  “I’ve had better nights.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Ellie padded over and sat on the end of his bed. “We’re quite a pair, huh? Both of us look like we got worked over.”

  He forced a smile. “Because we did.”

  The silence stretched between them, it hung in the air like a dark cloud, heavy and oppressive.

  She cleared her throat. “Wanna talk about what happened downstairs?”

  “No, but I will. First things first. How’s he doin’?”

  “Dave will be fine. Tommy gave him some spare painkillers, along with some ibuprofen for the swelling. He checks on him every eight hours.” She bit her lip. “What set you off?”

  “It’s a long, twisted, fucked up story.” His laugh was bitter and sad, hollow. It reminded her of shattered glass. He sounded broken, wounded.

  “I’ve got plenty of time.” She refused to let him push her away.

  Ellie wanted to know more, understand Zane on a deeper level. She got the sense that she’d barely gotten past the surface.

  Bomber wiggled out of Zane’s hold and padded over to her. She scooped the puppy up and sat him on her lap, scratching his ears. The dog’s eyes closed in abject bliss.

  Zane laughed softly. “He really likes you.”

  “The feeling’s mutual.” Bomber had been a source of comfort, and she enjoyed the puppy’s companionship.

  “I’ve always been a dog person. When I was a kid, I had a beagle named Cooper.” As he spoke, Zane stroked the animal, too. Ellie could sense the gesture soothed him. “Coop was my constant companion and my best friend. During the summer, he followed me around while I was mowin’ the lawn or weedin’ the garden. In the winters, he slept on the end of my bed, warmin’ my feet.” His eyes were red-rimmed, and his voice had gone hoarse.

  Ellie braced herself. She had the feeling something awful had happened to the dog.

  “I love Coop and I still miss him.”

  “What happened?”

  He swallowed. “I’ll tell you in a minute, but first, there are a couple things you need to know.”

  “Okay.”

  Zane wrapped an arm around himself, and his gaze dipped to the side. “My dad was a drunk. When you hear the word, you picture somebody who can’t hold a job, who’s homeless and on the streets, but it wasn’t like that. My dad held a job, and he didn’t drink before work. But, as soon as he hit the door, Max grabbed a beer from the fridge, and he didn’t stop until he passed out. It wasn’t just a few brewskis either. He could demolish a twelve pack in one night.”

  It sounded like he was a functional alcoholic. Her dad had worked with a guy who was like that. He went to the bar straight after his shift and didn’t go home until he was sauced.

  “And it wasn’t just the alcohol. He was a mean drunk. Whenever he had a few, he turned into an even bigger asshole, which is hard to believe. Max was a dick anyway, but when he got sloshed, the bastard was unbearable. And his favorite target was my mom. He always found a reason to blame her, pick a fight. Dinner was too hot. Too cold. Too bland. Or she hadn’t made the bed. Or spent too much on groceries. Max was always lookin’ for an excuse.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ellie had grown up in a loving home. Her parents argued, but over normal stuff. For the most part, they had a great relationship and took care of her and Tommy. She’d always felt cherished and supported. Ellie couldn’t imagine growing up in fear. It must’ve been exhausting.

  “My sister and I used to hide under the bed together. I was older, and I used to put my hands over her ears so she wouldn’t hear the worst of it, but it didn’t do much good. I couldn’t protect Kim.”

  His breath hitched. Zane’s eyes were red-rimmed. His scars cut all the way down to the bone. Ellie had the urge to hug him, comfort Zane, but he was wary. Talking about this was painful, and she didn’t want to push him too far.

  “My mother was smaller, weaker than he was, but he didn’t stop. Not until she was on the floor and he’d beaten the shit out of her.”

  “Didn’t anybody help? Call the cops?”

  “We lived in the ass end of nowhere. I’m sure they suspected somethin’ at school, but in those days, they didn’t really get involved. Now, they would’ve arrested both of them, until they sorted it out.”

  “Did he hit you and your sister?”

  “Yes,” Zane said hoarsely. “But I took the worst of it. Whenever he went after Kim, I got in the middle.”

  Oh God. Zane had deliberately made himself a target to protect his baby sister. Tommy would’ve done the same for her. He still did.

  “I used to go to her after he’d passed out. I’d clean her up, talk to my mom, beg her to leave him, but she never would.” Zane closed his eyes. “I still don’t understand why she stayed with Max. He didn’t respect her, love her. Not the way she deserved.”

  Ellie shook her head. She couldn’t explain it either.

  “Anyway, my dad started whorin’ around with this other woman. He kept it a secret from my mom and my sister, but I caught him at a no-tell motel.”

  “What did you do?”

  He hung his head. “I confronted him, right in front of her. I was hopin’ to push her into leavin’ him. Let her know what a creep he was.” Zane shook his head. “I just wanted it to stop.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Fourteen, old enough to know better.”

  “You were a kid, and they were the adults, Zane. It was their responsibility, not yours.” Although it was easy to say those things, it was quite another to believe them. “What did she do?”

  “Nothin’. Not a damn thing. She ignored me, but it was too late. I’d pissed him off.”

  Ellie gulped.

  “He went after me.” Zane gave a ragged sigh. “And Coop defended me. I was a hundred pounds soaking wet, and my father was a big man. I didn’t stand a chance against him.”

  She clasped a hand over her mouth.

  “Coop bit my dad, and my father shot him right in front of me. Only the prick didn’t hit him between the eyes. No, he shot Coop in the side, let him bleed out. Real slow.”

  Ellie squeezed her eyes shut, picturing Zane as a little boy, watching helplessly as his pet died. It was too much to bear.

  “I was covered in Coop’s blood, holding him while he howled until he finally stopped.” Tears dribbled down his face, and his eyes were sightless, as though Zane had gotten lost in his past. “And then my father started in on my mother again.”

  Ellie couldn’t imagine what she’d do in the same situation. But it explained a lot about Zane’s behavior towards her. His protective instincts kicked in, and she couldn’t hold any of it against him.

  Not anymore.

  Ellie also knew why he’d been fierce. Zane had told her he was in love with her. And Ellie wasn’t immune to him either. She’d been halfway in love with Zane for years.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what came over me. The gun was right there. One second, I was starin’ at it, and then next it was in my hand. And then I was on my feet, headed down the hall.”

  “And you went after him?”

  “Yeah
, I’d had enough, Ellie, and I couldn’t take it anymore. So, I shot him, right in the chest,” Zane croaked. “Max died before the ambulance got there.”

  Oh God. Zane had killed his father. No wonder he felt so guilty. Unworthy.

  “Do you know what they call it? Patricide. It’s a crime so heinous there’s a special term for it. I didn’t just murder him, I committed patricide.” Zane ran a hand down his face. “My father gave me life, and I gave him death. And no matter what I do, I can’t forgive myself.”

  “Zane…”

  “No, I can’t be pardoned for this one. Don’t get me wrong, Max was a brutal asshole and he deserved to be locked up, but I was judge, jury, and executioner.” He laughed bitterly. “I keep playin’ these mind games with myself. What if being convicted of a crime snapped him out of it? What if he got clean and sober? What if he found God in jail? What if he took anger management classes? What if…”

  Privately, Ellie doubted someone like Zane’s father could be reformed. Someone who abused their own wife and children couldn’t be redeemed, at least not in her mind. But she understood Zane’s doubts.

  “What happened to you?”

  Zane sucked in a breath. “My life disintegrated. The police came and took me to juvie, and I haven’t been home since.”

  She shook her head. “They charged you?”

  “Yeah, but not as an adult, and I made a plea deal. Plus, I didn’t have any priors, I was a good student, and there were extenuating circumstances. The cops had me examined by a doctor since I was covered in blood. They saw the welts and bruises, and I didn’t lie that time. I told them everything.”

  “What happened?”

  “They kept me until I was eighteen, and I was a model prisoner. I was just happy to be in a place where no one beat me. There were rules to follow and boundaries.”

  It sounded like Zane’s household had been chaotic. And how sad was it that juvenile detention was a better alternative to his own home?

  “And when you got out?”

  “I got probation. Afterward, I was able to get the record expunged, or I wouldn’t have made it into the service.”