The Belial Stone (The Belial Series) (4 page)

CHAPTER 6

Albany, NY

“W
here is he?” Jake Rogan slammed K-Dogg into the alley’s brick wall.  Pieces of mortar chipped off the already crumbling bricks.

Dressed in torn, baggy jeans, a wife-beater and some chains, K-Dogg was reputed to be one of the toughest members of the G7s.   He wore torn, baggy jeans, a wife-beater and some chains, and although they were about the same height, he easily outweighed Jake by
about forty pounds of muscle.

Jake wasn’t worried.  A former Navy SEAL, he’d faced a lot tougher individuals than a gangbanger with control issues.  In the mood he was in, he’d take on the whole gang to get the answers he needed.

“Man, I told you.  I don’t know,” K-Dogg replied.  Jake knew he was trying to sound angry, but the tremor in his voice made that impossible.

Jake wanted to smash his face into pulp.  He was the one who’d pulled his foster brother into the G7s.  He glared at K-Dogg, pressing his forearm harder against his neck.  “I am not asking again.”  He enunciated each word.  “Where.  Is.  He?”

K-Dogg grabbed at Jake’s arm, but couldn't budge it.  “Damn it, man.  I don’t know!  We ain’t seen Tom since he got out.”

Jake studied K-Dogg’s face, trying to gage his sincerity.  With a growl, he shoved him towards the back of the alley.  “So tell me, how come you haven’t talked to him?  He’s one of you.”

K-Dogg looked over Jake’s shoulder. 

“Don’t even think it,” Jake warned.

K-Dogg put up his hands.  “Wasn’t thinking nothing.”

“Tom?”  Jake prompted.

“Yeah, Tom.  He’s still one of us.  G7 for life, man.”  K-Dogg raised both hands, seven fingers pointed down, the gang’s sign.

“Yeah, yeah.  You’re real bad asses.  Now, how come you haven’t seen Tom if he’s G7?”

K-Dogg looked away and shrugged.  “No reason.  We just went our separate ways.”

Jake was done dancing around.  He grabbed K-Dogg by the arm, twisted it and then shoved him against the wall, one hand shoving his head into the brick. 

“Shit, man.  Let me go,” K-Dogg screamed.             

“No more bullshit.”  He twisted K-Dogg’s arm.  He knew with a little more pressure, he could break it.  “I'm gonna stop being so nice if I don't get some answers.”

“Fine, man, fine. Just let me go.”

Jake pushed him away again.  “Now, why haven’t you guys been in touch with Tom?”

K-Dogg grumbled underneath his breath.  Jake took a threatening step towards him.  K-Dogg backed away.  “No need to get physical, man.  I'm talking.”  He rubbed his arm.  “Tom got out a couple weeks ago.  We made some overtures.  He told us he didn't want to be in the gang no more.  So we let him go.”

Jake laughed without mirth.  “Right.  You just let him go.  What happened to blood in, blood out?”

“Ain’t gotta be that way with Tom.  He done us solid.  We're good.”

Disgust dripped from Jake’s words. “The grocery job.” 

Tom had gone away for five years as an accessory to attempted murder.  According to court documents, Tom had admitted to knowing about the plan to rob the mom-and-pop shop.  He hadn’t known about the weapons.  Tom was the lookout.  When he’d been arrested, he’d refused to turn on any of the others.  He’d only been seventeen years old.

“Tom could have hung you guys for that.  He did five years and didn’t say a word.  As thanks, not one of you went to visit him.”

K-Dogg sneered.  “Yeah?  What about you, ‘big brother’?  Ain’t seen or heard you since you bolted, what, eleven years ago?  You go see him much?”

This time Jake looked away.  K-Dogg was right.  It wasn’t like he’d been any better.  He’d lived next door to Tom and his grandmother, Ceilia Jeffries, since Tom was a baby. Tom’s grandmother took him in when his mother had been murdered.  Jake had only been
fourteen.  Tom had been six. 

When he’d left four years later, he’d promised Tom he’d keep in touch.  And they had for a few years.  Then Jake had started getting more overseas missions with the SEALS.  The letters got fewer and fewer, before they stopped altogether.  And Tom had found a place with the G7s.

“So if something happened to Tom - and I ain’t saying something has - it ain’t got nothing to do with us.  You need to go look at that new family of his, over at the church.  But you know what, man?  He probably just skipped.  Won’t be the first time.”

Jake turned his back on K-Dogg and headed for the street. 

“What?  That’s it?  Ain’t gonna say thank you?”  K-Dogg called after him, but made no move to follow.

Jake ignored the taunt and turned left on Main Street.  He tugged up the collar of his fleece.  It was getting cooler.  He noted how much more rundown the neighborhood looked.  Or maybe, through his more weary eyes, eve
rything just looked less rosy.

Jake had already spoken with Tom’s parole officer and the police, but they’d both been less than useless.  K-Dogg had been his next stop.  He’d hoped Tom had gotten back with his old crew.  That would have been easy. 

But nothing about this was easy.  Definitely not the ‘what ifs’ that weighed him down: What if he had stayed in touch with Tom?  What if he’d gone to see him as soon as he was released?  What if he’d come home as soon as he’d heard about Mrs. Jeffries’ death?  What if he’d been the big brother he should have been?  What if? What if? What if?

He shook his head.  It was too late for ‘what ifs’ now.  He’d raced to Albany right after Tom’s pastor tracked him down.  His boss at the Chandler Group put the company plane and resources at his disposal.  But even with the resources of a global think tank at his fingertips, he still couldn’t find a single trace of Tom.  It was like he had completely disappeared. 

A shudder ran through him.  “Damn it, Tom.  Where are you?”

CHAPTER 7

Airborne over the United States

T
om Jeffries woke up slowly.  Pain twisted through his stomach and his tongue felt like sandpaper.  He lay on his side on a vibrating metal floor. It was loud.  Really loud.  Something soft collided with him, and his eyes flew open. 

A man stared back, his face contorted with confusion and fear.  Tom recoiled.  With his hands bound, though, he only managed to put a few inches between them.  His eyes darted around what appeared to be the hold of an old military plane.  At least, that’s what he thought it looked like based on what he’d seen in the movies.  He’d never actually been on a plane before. 

Forty other men lay similarly bound around him.  Some were still lying down, unconscious, while others had managed to sit up.  Everybody was in rough shape.  Stubble, rumpled clothes.  Tom took in a breath and almost gagged. 
Damn
.

He rolled onto his back to release the pressure on his left arm, which had fallen asleep.  A sharp pain shot through his shoulders as he rolled onto his bound hands.  He quickly flopped back onto his side and sucked in a deep breath as a wave of dizziness washed through him.

He managed to wiggle his way into a sitting position.  His stomach gave another painful lurch.  God, he was hungry.  He glanced to his left and met the eyes of the man who’d rolled into him.  He’d also managed to work his way to a sitting position.

Tom swallowed a few times, trying to get some moisture into his mouth before he spoke.  “Where are we?”  He was shocked by how weak his voice sounded.

The man shrugged nervously, his eyes wide.  “No idea.  Last thing I remember, I was on my way to visit my parole officer.  Two guys jumped me and threw me into a van.  Next thing I know, I’m waking up here.”

Tom struggled to think through the molasses of his thoughts.  “I was leaving my P.O. and hurrying to catch my bus.  And then this.” 

He looked at the rest of the men that littered the cargo hold.  They were different races and ages, but most were dressed like him: old jeans, t-shirt, a light jacket or sweater. 

And they had one other thing in common: they’d all been in prison.  He was sure of that.  Some had tats that gave them away.  Others just had that attitude.  Once a guy had done time, there was something stamped on
him that he could never shake.

Small windows rimmed the fuselage.  Getting to his feet on shaky legs, he weaved his way through the mass of prone bodies until he reached one. 
My first time in a plane
, he thought in disbelief. 

Panic began to overwhelm the confusion in Tom’s mind. 
It’ll be okay.  You’ll figure this out
.  The words sounded good, but they weren’t doing much to reduce the fear bubbling in his chest.   

He stared out the window as if the answers to his current situation were somehow hidden behind the clouds.  He remembered heading for the bus after leaving his P.O.’s office.  He’d been worried he was going to be late for choir practice, and he’d really wanted to see Cleo.  He’d picked up his pace so he wouldn’t miss the bus.  And then what? 

He struggled to recall. 
I walked down Jordan Street, cut down the alley behind the Civic Center, and then… 
His head jolted upright. 
And then some guy stepped from behind a dumpster wielding a knife.
 

He’d turned to run, only to find another man behind him.  He’d felt a sharp pain and then everything went black.  

He couldn’t remember much after that, but he knew he’d been conscious on and off.  He’d been in a warehouse.  He recalled being allowed to use the bathroom and then being stuck with a needle and forced back into the black.  He recalled two other moments of brief lucidity as well.  One was in a truck, and the other must have been at the airfield.  He’d heard planes both times.  He struggled to make sense of it.  He could have been out for days.  What the hell was going on?

An hour later, Tom was no closer to answering that question.  He watched the clouds give way to a landscape of ice-capped mountaintops and green fields, followed by a plateau of flat barren land.  He only saw one small town and a handful of houses.  Wherever they were, there sure weren’t a lot of people. 

Tom felt the plane jolt.  The pilot must have lowered the landing gear.  He strained to see farther out the window.  He saw the same barren land broken up by fields of green.  What he didn’t see, though, was anything even remotely resembling an airport.  As far as he could tell, they were landing in the middle of nowhere. 

As the descent became steep, he began to slide towards the front of the plane.  On the other side of the plane, he saw a man turn around and grab a strap attached to the side of the plane that was used to secure cargo.  Tom followed his example, as did the handful of men who had taken up p
ositions at the other windows.

His shoulders ached, but he knew he got off lucky compared to the men in the middle of the hold.  With nothing to hold onto, they crashed into one another as the plane bumped and bucked to a landing. 

Almost as soon as the engine stopped, the giant cargo door at the back of the plane began to open.  Tom stared at it with a mixture of fear and curiosity.  He braced himself, knowing whatever came through those doors was not going to be friendly. 

He wasn’t wrong.  When the door was fully open, four commandos in dark grey uniforms holding AK-47s rushed into the hold.  “Get out! Get out!”

Tom was caught up in the mass of bodies as they were herded out of the plane.   A few men moved too slow and were prodded none too gently with the nose of a machine gun.

Part of his mind yelled that they should turn around and fight.  They outnumbered these guys.  They could take them.  But the rest of his mind just told his feet to move faster. 

Once outside, Tom scrambled up a ramp into the back of a truck.  He had barely turned around when the tailgate of the truck slammed shut and it pulled away.  His face crashed into the wooden beams that lined the truck bed.  Blood from his nose trickled down to his lip.  He pressed chest-out against the beams to keep from being flung to the ground and trampled on. 

Panting, he pushed his way back into a standing position.  He struggled to control his breathing, but his racing heart was m
aking that all but impossible.

Around him were the endless fields he’d seen from the sky, rimmed by an incredible mountain range in the far distance.  If it weren’t all so surreal, he would have thought it was beautiful. 

He craned his neck, trying to find any sort of landmark.  For the longest time there was nothing.  Just more land.  But then, in the foreground, he began to make out the outline of a structure.

“What the hell is that?” someone asked. 

No one answered.  Disbelief flowed through him.  It was a walled enclosure, lined with barbed wire, and boasting two guard towers.  It looked like a prison.

No
, he thought. 
I did my time.  I’ve been doing everything right.  This can’t be happening
.

As they drew nearer, he noticed there were no paved roads, just a single dirt road leading to the entryway.  And the wall wasn’t made of cinderblocks. It was wood, and huge.  He couldn’t actually see the end of the wall when they pulled up in front of the entrance, which looked like an enormous castle gate.  Whatever this thing was, it was not a prison. 

Tom caught sight of a smaller structure outside the walled enclosure. 

“Oh, this is not good,” he mumbled. 

The cage was made of chain link with barbed wire running through it.  The top was also covered in barbed wire.  A small tarp had been thrown over it to serve as a roof, although it covered little more than half of it.  About a hundred men slept inside the cage, crammed together on bedrolls, spread across the ground.

Two armed guards in the same grey uniforms as the commandos played cards at a makeshift table in front of the only entrance to the cage.  They glanced up for a moment when the truck pulled in and, uninterested, went back to their game.

A bear of a man decked out in head-to-toe grey camouflage strode from the entrance of the enclosure to the truck.  The commandos from the plane fell in step behind him.  Obviously, this was the guy in charge.

The man reached the truck and, without warning, shot off a volley of automatic gun fire above their heads.   Tom dove for the ground, his head crashing into the man next to him, who’d had the same impulse.

“Out,” the man bellowed. 

His head throbbing, Tom scrambled out of the truck with the rest of the men.  Most fell a few times, their bound hands leaving them off-balance.  They lined up in front of the camouflaged man in a sloppy version of military formation. 

He glared at them.  Tom straightened his posture in response, noticing most of the other men with him doing the same. 

“I am Commander Gregory.  I am in charge of this facility.  You have been deemed unfit for society due to your own actions.  You now work for us.  Food, shelter, sleep are all at my discretion.  If you work, you will be treated well.  If you do not, you will not be treated well.  Any questions?”

A hugely muscled man standing two down from Tom stepped forward.  “Yeah.  How the hell are you going to make me?” 

Tom watched the commander inspect the man like a bug under a microscope.  He cringed. 
Oh, you idiot.  Shut up and get back in line
.

The commander walked over to the man and stood directly in front of him.  His face was calm, but violence radiated from him. 

The man met Gregory’s look with a belligerent glare.  Tom knew what was coming and tensed.

Without changing his expression, Gregory kicked the man in the groin.  The man crashed onto his knees with a moan.  Gregory pulled out his sidearm and shot the man in the side of the head.  The man crumbled to the ground, not moving.

Gregory returned his sidearm to its holster, and turned back to the group with a smile. “Any other questions?”