Vengeance

77 ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

As the haze cleared from her vision, the first sensation Christine became aware of was pain. The right side of her head, where Mixell had struck her with his pistol, throbbed, and her shoulders ached. After collecting her senses, she realized she was dangling from a rope tied to a ceiling beam, the ends fastened around her wrists with her arms extended above, while her feet dragged on the floor.

Christine pulled her feet beneath her and stood, taking the strain off her shoulders. Looking around, she realized that she was in the warehouse that Mixell had parked behind. It seemed to be a storage facility, because it was mostly filled with stacks of crates with open alleys between them. One side of the warehouse appeared to be an open area where shipping vehicles could be loaded or unloaded. Mixell had pulled the Ford Taurus into the building through a now-closed large garage door opening, taking up a portion of the open area.

Night was approaching, the day giving way to dusk. Through grimy windows, it was gray outside, with the inside of the warehouse lit by yellow light bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

A sound of metal scraping caught Christine’s attention, and she turned to spot Mixell squatting beside a toolbox on the floor, sorting through its contents. After pushing a hammer aside, he extracted a pair of flathead nail-puller pliers and examined it closely, opening and then closing the sharp ends. He seemed dissatisfied with it, because he tossed it back into the toolbox and kept rummaging through the tools. He dug around some more, finding a scoring knife with a sharp, hooked end.

“This will have to do.”

“What are you planning?” Christine asked.

Mixell glanced up at Christine. “How was your nap?” he asked as he stood and approached her.

“I had a nightmare — about a deranged childhood friend who was attempting to destroy everything he once held dear.”

“If that’s your attempt to prevent what’s about to happen, you’re going to have to do better.”

“What do you plan to do with me?”

“Kill you,” he replied.

His nonchalant answer, delivered with barely a thought, it seemed, sent a cold shiver up Christine’s spine. “What would you gain from that?”

He stared at her dispassionately before replying. “My God, Chris. You still don’t get it. What do you think all this has been about? What do you think I’ve been attempting to achieve since being released from prison?”

Mixell stepped closer to Christine and placed the sharp blade against her cheek. “Revenge, Chris. Revenge.” A maniacal gleam shone in his eyes as he continued. “Revenge against the man and country who betrayed me.” A look of disappointment suddenly overcame him. “I’ll admit things haven’t gone according to plan regarding my revenge against this country. According to the news on the radio, the president survived again; my little Easter egg plot failed. Brenda is going to be very upset.”

“Brenda Verbeck? The former Secretary of the Navy?”

“That’d be her,” Mixell replied. “She’s got quite the vindictive streak. She paid me handsomely for the effort, ten million dollars up front, ninety million more upon successful completion of the task. It’s too bad I won’t receive the rest. On the other hand, I suspect I won’t need it.”

There was a hint of resignation in his voice, and Christine concluded that Mixell didn’t have high hopes of leaving the warehouse alive. That didn’t bode well for her, either.

“As to my revenge for what Jake did to me, the ante has been upped; Trish is dead and you chose to side with Jake. You’re very much part of this now.” He glanced at the floor, where there was a red patch beneath Christine’s feet. “Do you know where you are?”

Christine shook her head.

“This is the warehouse where Trish was killed. This is the very spot where she died.” He lowered his voice. “The same place you will die.”

“Killing me won’t bring Trish back.”

“It won’t,” Mixell admitted, “but that’s not the goal. You’ll pay for helping Jake, and he’ll suffer even more while he watches you die. I’ll let you in on a little secret. Jake truly loved you, not Angie. He never admitted it, but I knew. Angie was just your replacement, the next best thing.”

“I’m afraid you haven’t been kept up on current events,” Christine replied. “Jake hates me, blames me for what happened to Angie.”

Mixell laughed. “Now that’s a nice twist. He feels so guilty about Angie’s death that he can’t own it all himself. He blames you as well? This is even better than I had hoped.”

He leaned closer to Christine. “But don’t worry. He still loves you despite his act, and he’ll suffer even more tonight. Do you know how much I’m going to enjoy the look on his face while he watches you die?”

“How are you going to manage that? Send Jake an invitation card with the warehouse address?”

“Almost,” Mixell said. “I’m going to call him, and he’s going to come here, alone, in a futile attempt to save you.” He pulled his cell phone out. “What’s his number?”

“Go to hell, Lonnie!”

Mixell’s voice dropped a notch when he spoke again. “I’m going to ask you one more time, Chris. What is Jake’s number?”

Christine pressed her lips tightly together. “Hmmm,” she replied.

Mixell punched her in the face as hard as he could. Her head snapped back from the powerful blow, and her body, tied to the beam above, swayed back and forth from its force.

She slowly pulled her head erect, but there was a dazed look in her eyes as blood trickled down her chin from split upper and lower lips.

“I tell you what, Chris. The third time’s the charm.” He brought his hand up, holding the scoring knife at waist height. “If you refuse to give me his number, I’m going to carve you to pieces.” He waited until her eyes focused on the knife. “What is Jake’s number?”

Christine replied defiantly, “I’m not going to let you have the satisfaction of making Jake watch me die.”

Mixell punched the hooked blade into Christine’s abdomen, twisted it, then yanked it out, tearing a small chunk of flesh with it. Christine cried out in pain, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her jaw as blood flowed from the wound. Once the pain subsided somewhat and she looked at Mixell again, he detected indecision in her eyes.

“Again?” Mixell asked. “Or are you going to give me Jake’s number?”

She provided no answer, so Mixell jammed the knife into the other side of her abdomen, cutting out another small piece of flesh. This time, a muffled scream leaked from her mouth and she kept her eyes shut for a longer period of time. Blood was flowing from both puncture wounds, and perspiration had begun to bead on her face.

“More?” he asked.

“Please, Lonnie. Just stop.”

Mixell punched the blade into the center of Christine’s abdomen, then yanked it out, and this time her body convulsed for a few seconds and a moan escaped her throat.

He stepped closer to Christine and whispered in her ear. “Here’s the deal. If we invite Jake to our party tonight, there’s a chance, however slim, that you survive somehow. If we don’t call Jake” — he placed the knife against her neck — “we can end things right now.”

Mixell waited a moment for Christine to consider her fate, then asked again. “Would you like to provide Jake’s number?”

This time, Christine slowly nodded, and the phone number followed.

Mixell typed the number into his cell phone, then tapped the Call icon.

In the NCTC parking lot, Harrison and Khalila were walking toward the facility’s entrance when Harrison’s phone vibrated.

“Harrison here.”

“Jake, how are you doing, buddy?”

Harrison froze, unsure if he had correctly identified the caller’s voice. “Lonnie, is that you?”

“Who else would it be?”

“What have you done with Chris?”

“Don’t worry, she’s healthy enough at the moment.”

“If you hurt her, I swear to God, I’ll—”

“Oh, I’m afraid that I’m going to do a lot more than just hurt her.” Mixell’s voice was filled with a kind of amusement, bordering on outright glee. “With your assistance, however, she’ll suffer far less.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to finish what you set in motion when you turned me in. Angie’s fate has been resolved. That leaves you and Chris.”

“You sick bastard. Where are you?”

“Easy, buddy,” Mixell replied. “That’s no way to speak to someone who’s got a knife pressed against Chris’s neck.”

“How is she? Let me talk with her.”

“Just for a moment.”

After a short wait, he heard Christine’s voice. “Jake?” She sounded scared, but when she continued, her words came quickly and with conviction. “Don’t worry about me. When you come, bring the entire HRC and kill this—”

Harrison heard what sounded like a punch, the sound of flesh hitting flesh. He knew Mixell had hit her, which filled him with a white-hot rage.

“Where are you, Lonnie?”

“You know where to find me. Same place you killed Trish.”

“It was your bullet that killed Trish!”

“The same place you killed Trish,” Mixell repeated, seemingly believing his delusional reimagining of what happened. “Her death is entirely your fault, and it’s time you made amends for what you did. But I want you, and only you. If anyone else shows up, I’ll cut Chris to pieces. Do we have an understanding?”

Harrison considered Mixell’s offer and what it portended for his and Christine’s fates.

“We have an understanding,” Harrison replied. “I won’t be long.”