Hammer of the Gods Read online

  Her breath was no steadier than his, she braced herself against the sill, the muscles of her arms tense form the effort to stay on her feet. The glow of the streetlights below shimmering on her sheen-covered skin, highlighting every line of her toned physique as she trembled uncontrollably. Thor smiled to himself. This was a long time coming.

  Thor met Lynn Beck his first day at Harvard what seemed a lifetime ago, the toned blonde beauty instantly becoming the object of his lust. Truth be told, she was the object of a lot of young men’s lust at the time, and fully enjoyed the attention, but her eyes had always been on the older graduate-students her own age. There was little wonder she basically ignored the sixteen-year-old boy following her around like a lost puppy. He tried anyway, and eventually got her… even if it did take six years to ware her down.

  He watched as lines of sweat trickled down her back to her perfect ass, down her shapely legs to pool at her feet. A reflection of her firm, well rounded breasts shimmered in the window glass, still heaving as she tried to catch her breath. He could not help feeling a sense of pride for that. Lynn ran ten miles a day, and he was the reason she was breathing like an asthmatic in the Mekong Delta during monsoon season.

  Thor sat upright on the bed, feeling a little weak himself. The song Fire and Ice by Pat Benatar was playing on the radio. A fitting song for this moment, he thought. We made a lot of steam ourselves this evening. He had been too caught-up in the evening’s passion to recall any of the dozens of songs that had played before, but he knew that one would be forever linked to this moment.

  There was something else, a little voice murmuring in the back of his head, telling him he was not supposed to be here. He should be somewhere else. It was important for him not to be here right now, but the reason why eluded him. So he tried to push the voice away, just as he had all night long, but it still gnawed at him. That little voice in the back of his mind became a buzzing gnat in his ear, growing louder and clearer with each passing second, telling him how badly he had messed up, and that life would never be the same.

  He scrubbed a trembling hand through his sweat-slicked hair. His head was now throbbing, ringing like an anvil subjected to the blows of a master blacksmith. Visions flashed before his eyes, horrible sights that made his stomach turn. This was a mistake. I was supposed to… supposed to…to? Chelsea! His mind screamed. Thor tried to move, but could not budge. He tried to speak, but no words came out. Lynn still had not looked at him. Was she feeling regret as well? If so, hers would never top his.

  Slowly she turned; the women whom his lust for had been all consuming, her bright-blue eyes locking onto his as if peering into his soul. Could she see deep regret in his eyes? Did she sense the stabbing pain ripping his heart from his chest? A slim hand swept damp blonde hair from her face, that beautiful face that made him forget something so important. She smiled, but nothing like he had ever seen before. There was no warmth, nor tenderness, only a cruel mocking.

  “Tell me Thor,” she said in that musical voice of hers that rivaled song birds. “Was I worth all this?”

  Thor sat in stunned silence. He had no answer… He never had an answer.

  Thor’s eyes popped open. Sweat was running down his face, pooling on top of the rough surface of the plywood table his head was resting on. The Florida heat and humidity was awful for this time of year. Not that it really got any better any other time, but the air in the tiny shack was stifling. The smells of sweat, stale swamp air and toxic chemicals to keep the hideous insects at bay, were enough to make even a man with a cast-iron stomach gag. His neck was stiff, and cracked as he moved his head from side to side.

  How long was he asleep? A glance at his watch told him it had been less than an hour, but he had fallen asleep: a dangerous thing to do considering his present circumstance. The man bound to a folding metal chair a few feet away was the worst sociopath Thor had ever seen.

  Thor’s eyes flickered to the man staring at him, unblinking, and he cringed inwardly. Russell Jenkins was a tall, handsome man with a warm smile and kind eyes, which made the horrific kidnappings and murders he committed that much easier to accomplish.

  Thor shook the cobwebs from his brain. He had the dream about that night with Lynn again, but he seemed to be having it more and more, lately; vivid and accurate in every detail, except when Lynn asked him if she was worth it. That never happened, but Thor sometimes wished it had; at least, he may have an answer by now.

  When the dream first started to haunt his nights, he would have been a worthless mess for days; now he just pushed it to the back of his mind, not so different to the promise he made to a friend all those years ago.

  “Have a nice nap?” Russell Jenkins asked calmly, a toothy-grin covering that smug face of his. Thor had half a mind to knock a few of those perfect, white teeth out, if for no other reason, to avenge all those innocent people fooled into a false sense of security by that smile.

  By tragic coincidence, it was Thor’s beaming smile that caught Russell off guard, and strapped to that chair, unable to breathe without causing pain.

  “I sleep just fine, thank you,” Thor answered dryly. It was a lie, but the man before him did not need to know that.

  “No you don’t, son,” Jenkins snorted. “You’ll never sleep well again.”

  “Now you’re a therapist?” That was close to the truth; Russell Jenkins had been a psychology major at Stanford before becoming an intelligence officer in the army. Though his file gave no specifics, the man had a talent for retrieving information. Thor wondered if the army had created the monster before him, or merely fostered an evil mind until Jenkins could stand on his own, but that was a philosophical debate for another time.

  “No.” Jenkins shook his head. “Just observant.” The man smiled.

  If he keeps that up, I may be provoked into making a necklace out of those pearly-whites! Thor stretched, feeling his spine crack from sleeping in a chair. “Keep your observations to yourself.” However, Jenkins was right; Thor had not slept worth a damn in years, and probably never would again. Not that I would ever admit that to this piece of shit.

  “That’s the difference between you and me,” the restrained man said with a sigh. “I have always accepted who and what I am. You’ll deny it to your dying day.”

  Thor’s icy blue-eyes stared fixed on Jenkins’ steel-gray. “That’s the trouble with psychology majors; they all think they’ve got you figured out, when they really don’t have a clue.”

  Russell Jenkins smiled. Strike two! One more and I get the pliers! “I knew the second I saw you, you’ve killed before. The eyes always give it away. Once you’ve taken a human life, the innocence vanishes; the sunglasses you wore couldn’t hide that. You move like a predator, calculating each next step in your head. You didn’t hesitate, despite the number of people around, suggesting a total lack of fear. I’ll admit; that part intrigues me. You are highly skilled in martial arts; several forms by the way you took me by total surprise prove that fact. The suit and shoes are worth more than any agent gets paid in four months, so that eliminates the F.B.I., C.I.A., and the rest. How am I doing so far?”

  Thor stared blankly, showing no emotion. This was a common game played by mentalist and palm readers. Give them nothing to read, and watch them fail.

  “You’re not a hit man,” Jenkins continued, “or I’d be dead, already. You’re intelligent, educated – my guess, a masters in computer tech – and wealthy. Your obsessive nature drives you to near madness. You were abused as a child – by your father, my guess – which is why you feel the need to hide behind dark glasses and punish others for the crime committed against you. You’re a loner, with the inability to be close to anyone. When the day is done, I’ll be dead and you will feel remorse for taking a life, just like you have in the past. So, you’re wrong when you said I don’t know anything about you. You’re practically a text book cliché.”

  Thor picked up his pre-paid cell phone, a burner they call it, completely untraceable. No wonder
it is a favorite with terrorists and drug smugglers. He plugged the phone into his laptop that would distort his voice and bounce the signal off a dozen satellites, just to be safe. He redialed the one and only number this phone would ever call, and waited.

  “I’ve been waiting for your call,” Detective Everet Montgomery said.

  “Somehow, I knew you would be,” Thor replied. “How many bodies?”

  There was a long pause. Thor assumed the F.B.I. was trying to trace his call. Like that would ever happen. Part of him hoped they were running a trace. If Thor did his job right, it would show the Vatican as the place of origin. Then Montgomery answered in a cracking voice: “eighty-one.”

  Eighty-one! Thor’s eyes shot to Jenkins. Thor knew it was a huge number, but damn! Thor had figured forty-seven; give or take two he was unsure Jenkins had been behind and the odd one that slipped in under the radar. He did not know whether to be impressed at Jenkins’ proficiency, or to be irritated that he had grossly miscalculated the victims. In the end, it was a strange mixture of both.

  “I have one question for Jenkins,” Montgomery said, his voice sounding steadier.

  “What makes you think I have him?” It was a game. Life is full of thousands of little games played every day. The sooner you accepted that fact, the easier it is to distort the rules.

  “Because, I’ve been able to add two and two since grade school,” the detective snorted.

  Thor was amused. I’m starting to like this guy. Too bad he’s a cop. We could sit down with a couple of beers when this is over. “What’s your question?” Thor’s eyes never moved from the condemned man.

  “What does the number 37:53 mean?” the detective asked.

  Thor repeated the number and Jenkins smiled a smile that made Thor shiver. Strike three! I did bring the pliers, didn’t I?

  “Ah, Dianna Summerfield,” Jenkins said, leaning back in the chair as much as his restraints would allow. “Tell Officer Montgomery the numbers at the bottom of the cards indicated how long they lasted before giving in to death. Dianna was special. She endured a very long time, more hours than I thought possible. I had to … step things up, so to speak.”

  Thor stared incredulous. Russell Jenkins tortured a little girl for nearly thirty-eight hours; for no other reason than to see how long she would survive! What kind of sick bastard does that?

  He relayed Jenkins’ message, then he could hear the man on the other end of the phone wretch. Thor waited. It was taking a lot to keep his own lunch down at the moment. The sounds of the detective vomiting on the other end of the phone subsided, replaced by a long, rage-filled howl.

  “As an Officer of the law,” Montgomery said between gasps,” I should be telling you to surrender yourself and Jenkins into Police custody. I should, but I’m not. Tell me where he is, son. When I get there, you can disappear like a shadow in the night. I give you my word on that!” Thor would bet his last dollar, the detective would honor that promise.

  Thor felt Officer Montgomery’s pain; he could always feel the pain of those left behind. It was what drove him to do the things he did. “What would you do?” He was pretty sure of the answer. Or, at least, close enough to it.

  “I would give eighty-one people and their families justice.” Montgomery’s voice was hard as iron. “After I put a bullet in his head, I’m gonna string that fucker up on I-75, so the whole world can see him.”

  Thor honestly believed the other man would do exactly as he said. It would be a noble gesture, though it did lack imagination. “You’re a good man, Detective Montgomery. I can’t let you throw away your life and career for this piece of shit. Besides, a bullet in the head is far too gentle a sentence.”

  There was a long pause before the Detective spoke. “I’ve heard rumors of a vigilantly that does the impossible… Some say he’s not real; he’s just a made-up story to make the police look like a bunch of fools... Me, I believe he’s brought justice to a lot of people that would’ve never gotten it from our goddamn broken-assed system.”

  “There isn’t justice for the dead,” Thor snapped, his gaze fixed on Jenkins, “only revenge for the living.”

  The detective snorted. “you’re a wise man… whoever you are… If you are who I think you are, I’d like to ask a favor.”

  ‘What would that be?” Thor asked, surprised. The world must be ending, if a cop is asking me for a favor!

  “Make that bastard suffer.” Montgomery’s voice held an edge. “And, if you kill him, leave proof he’s dead. The world needs to know he’s dead… I need to know he’s dead.”

  “The first part has been my plan all along. The second… I’m sure I can arrange something.” Thor paused a moment. “This time tomorrow, I’ll give you the location of the body,” he said staring into Jenkins’ defiant eyes. This was far from the first time Thor had to improvise; the best laid plans are often ruined by an uncalculated variable.

  “I’ve one question for you, son,” Officer Montgomery said.

  “Just one?”

  “How the Hell did you figure out Jenkins was behind this?”

  Ah, detective, as much as I’d like to keep playing the game, time is short, and there’s a lot of work to be done. ”I’ve been able to add two and two before I left the crib.” Thor hung up the phone.

  Thor leaned back on the folding metal chair, his mind racing. Jenkins was a difficult puzzle. Catching him had been the easy part; the bastard had left a trail a blind man could follow. How the police and F.B.I. failed to make all the connections was astounding, and disturbing. With the information Thor uncovered, it was obvious Jenkins wanted to be caught. Thor stared into Jenkins’ dead gray eyes. Look at him smiling. The man is mocking me. He thinks that I can’t break him. Thor smiled back. You have no idea how wrong you are… I just wish I had the time. I could turn this into the best trip I’ve had in a long time.

  Thor drummed his fingers on the table, his mind running a mile a second. He had purposely left the end open; it was always best not to have painted yourself into a corner, when burning the house down would be much more fun. Prudence called for creativity and something truly memorable; but time really was running short, and too many wheels were in motion for some of Thor’s more imaginative plans for Russell Jenkins’ demise. Now, that truly was a pity. Thor rather liked the idea of trying to break Diana Summerfield’s record, by about three or four weeks.

  “Ready to get started, are we?” Jenkins smiled back.

  “Almost.” Thor pulled a fat cigar from his shirt pocket, lighting it with a match. He dropped the match to the floor, crushing with the sole of his Italian leather shoe. He reached into the tailor-made jacket on the back of his chair, producing a silver flask and took a sip of the finest whiskey Scotland has ever produced. “Thirsty?” the other man shook his head slowly, still smiling. Good! It would be a shame to waste very expensive Scotch. He puffed on the cigar, blowing blue smoke that swirled in the sunlight streaming in through the cracked window pane.

  “I do apologize,” Thor said removing a syringe from his jacket pocket, “but I just made a promise, and I always keep my promises.” Thor’s 6’ 3”, 210 pounds of lean muscles loomed over the smiling man, as he stared into Jenkins’ defiant eyes. Then Thor plunged the needle into Jenkins’ vein, and the man slumped in the chair, unconscious. Damn I wish I had more time!

  Thor exited the cramped shack, his mind racing. He paced back and forth for ten minutes, weighing all of his options. He had an extensive bag of tricks, but they required set up: a difficult prospect in the middle of nowhere, not to mention the horde of F.B.I. agents looking for Jenkins. It was only a matter of time before they crashed his private party. He was actually surprised they were not breathing down his neck as it was. Thor prided himself on his preparations, but Officer Montgomery’s curve ball took him by surprise.

  Thor halted, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile around the cigar. He had been overthinking this situation. His mind quickly formed a plan so utterly simple, it was frightening.
The best part, it fulfilled Officer Montgomery’s request with almost no effort. He already had most of the tools he would need on hand. His eyes darted from the shack to the Crown Victoria, and his smile widened. Correction, I have everything I need right here! I’ll get you proof Mister Montgomery.

  Thor got to work right away.

  Thor was sitting in the metal chair, when Jenkins awoke to find he had been stripped of his clothes and strapped spread-eagle to the exterior of the shack. The mosquitos were swarming around the free buffet, eager to gorge themselves. Not for very much longer, though; the time was coming when the little pests would not come within ten feet of Jenkins. Thor waited until the groggy captive came to his full senses.

  Russell Jenkins stared defiantly at Thor. “Bring your best, you’ll never break me!”

  Thor ignored the remark. Nothing Jenkins could say would rile him. “Kim Hertzel was just twenty-four years old when she received word of her husband’s death. He had been killed by an I.E.D. two days after their third anniversary. Three months later, she has a son. She named the little boy Liberty; the thing her husband, Joshua, gave his life defending. For seven years, Kim did the best she could to raise her son on her own. She sacrificed a lot, trying to give Liberty a good life.”

  Thor took a puff from the cigar, then continued. “One bright, sunny afternoon, Kim waited for her son to cross the street after leaving the school bus. Kim watched helpless and horrified, as a black BMW sped around the bus; ignoring the flashing lights and ‘stop’ sign. Liberty’s body became wedge under the BMW, and dragged down the street for nearly a quarter of a mile; the car only stopping after being cut off by a witness. People rushed to get the car off the little boy, and they did – it’s amazing the things you can accomplish when well-motivated. Despite the effort to save Liberty, he died on the way to the hospital.”

  “Simone Quintero, the driver of the BMW, had been oblivious to the incident, and only became aware when a car swerved in front of her. The text message to her friend, regarding which restaurant to go to, was much too important to notice the five stopped cars she passed, the flashing lights of the bus, the frantic screams of the witnesses, and even the sound of running down a seven-year-old boy.