Prologue

Prologue

Rain pelted the ground on the humid summer night.

Every few moments, a flash of lightning would illuminate the city block, then instantly plunge it back into darkness. Following this brief glimpse in the light, a roll of thunder would crash down on the city, causing the buildings to rattle in its wake.

If Daryl Weinberg took this storm as an ominous sign, he didn’t show it.

Daryl was driving his car to a place he had been countless times before, but never had he felt more nervous. He removed a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his sweaty forehead. He then proceeded to dab it cautiously on his exposed arm, which was laying down in his lap. He winced beneath his own touch. He held the rag up into the light, revealing it was now crimson red.

To many, seeing themselves bleed so heavily would cause some sort of response, but not to Daryl. He was used to it. After all, he was a hired mercenary. It came with the territory.

Daryl looked out the window at the street signs as he passed, counting down the minutes until he arrived, cherishing every moment. He was dreading this confrontation, but it had to be done. If he ran, he might as well be signing his death warrant.

Finally, he arrived. Daryl pulled off the deserted city road into a back alley of a warehouse and parked. He sat still in the car for several moments, eyes closed, listening to the sound of his own breathing.

“Just run!” A voice in the back of his head yelled. “Before it’s too late!”

Suddenly, a rapping at the window caused his eyes to snap open. He was instantly blinded as light flooded the car. As his eyes adjusted, he made out a guard standing outside pointing a flashlight directly at him. The man was built like a tank. His arms looked like they could crush Daryl’s head like a grape without breaking a sweat. Shivers ran down Daryl’s spine as he looked into the man’s eyes. A long scar ran its way down his face, cutting across one of his eyes, which was clouded over. The man motioned for him to roll down the window.

“Are you Weinberg?” The man asked in a gruff voice as Daryl lowered the window.

“Yes,” Daryl said softly as a new wave of shivers arched its way down his spine.

“Follow me,” the man said, a cruel smile stretching its way across his face, causing his features to appear even more disfigured. Daryl turned off the car and stepped out. Out of habit, he adjusted his holster, which he had attached to his belt. His movement caught the attention of the guard.

“Give me your weapon,” he said, holding out his hand.

This comment snapped Daryl out of his stupor. “No,” he replied. “The gun stays. “

The guard’s face contorted as he let out a gravely laugh. Before Daryl knew what happened, he was thrown into the muddy ground. He looked up in shock to see the guard holding his weapon.

“How is that possible?!” Daryl thought to himself as his body cried out in agony. “He couldn’t possibly move that fast. I didn’t even feel him touch me!”

“Come,” the guard said, pointing the gun back at its owner. He gestured towards an open door leading into the warehouse.

Daryl struggled to his feet and winced as he slowly limped towards the door, guard in tow. He felt his pocket, and was relieved to see his last defense was still present.

Upon entering the building, the guard shut the door, plunging the room into complete darkness. The guard turned on his flashlight once more.

“Move,” he said, indicating the passage ahead. Daryl, seeing no other option, followed the order.

A minute later, they emerged into a large vaulted room. Upon first glance, it appeared mostly empty, but Daryl’s eyes rested upon the only thing present in the room. A dark figure was seated in a large, ornate chair positioned in the center. The guard prodded Daryl in the back with the gun barrel, causing him to wince and continue to walk forward. 

Daryl stopped about ten feet in front of the chair. His clothes were drenched and the room was so large, it didn’t provide much relief from the cold rain outside. The only sound in the room was the slow dripping of the water falling off his clothes and the rumble of rain on the ceiling. A crash of thunder pounded the warehouse, causing Daryl’s teeth to rattle. Suddenly, a cold, deep voice pierced the room.

“Leave us Rookwood.”

Daryl turned around to see the guard bow, then exit down the corridor they entered from. With Rookwood gone, the room was once more plunged into darkness, but not for long. The figure in the chair struck a match and lit a candle positioned on a chair beside him.

“So,” the figure began. “Tell me why you are here.”

Daryl opened his mouth, but he was at a loss for words. He did not know who this man was, and he didn’t care. Every fiber of his being was on high alert. All he wanted was to leave this warehouse as fast as humanly possible.

The figure in the chair suddenly stood up, causing Daryl to jump. He grabbed the candle from the table and turned to walk towards Daryl. Now, his face was thrown into great relief. The man was probably middle age, most likely in his late 30s. He was also handsome, but his features were ruined by the cold look in his eyes. If he wasn’t standing upright, Daryl would have sworn this man looked like a corpse.

“I will ask again,” the man said in a cold voice. “Why are you here? It was not your assignment. I told you explicitly to meet the contact in New York.”

“You?” Daryl said, breaking his silence. “You’re Professor Blackwell?”

The man smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Yes. Now I will ask you for the final time. Why are you here, Weinberg?”

Each word felt like a knife to Daryl’s heart. This man, though young, scared him more than anything he’d faced before. The man smiled again, as if he knew exactly what was on Daryl’s mind.

“There was a problem,” Daryl finally stuttered.

“Problem?” Blackwell asked in an icy voice, causing Daryl to flinch again.

“Yeah,” Daryl continued. “We were able to get in just like you said. We found the main computer and were in the middle of downloading the files when…” Daryl trailed off, unsure of whether or not he should mention the next part.

“When…what?” The Professor said.

“We were ambushed,” Daryl finished.

Blackwell closed his eyes tightly, breathing in and out slowly, as if he was trying to control his rage, which he most likely was. Daryl took a timid step backwards, unsure of what to do. He wanted nothing more than to turn and run, but Blackwell’s intimidating presence kept him rooted on the spot.

“Well?” Blackwell said when he had calmed himself. “What happened?”

“I don’t know who they were,” Daryl began. “There was about five of them. They were dressed all in black and came out of nowhere. We tried to shoot them, but we couldn’t plant a shot. They were like ninjas, taking us down left and right. It got so hectic in there, one of my own men shot me.” At this point, Daryl lifted his injured arm, displaying his gunshot wound. “When the cops showed up, I got out of there as fast as I could. One of them chased after me, but I was able to get away. I think I was the only one who did.”

“And the data?” Blackwell said, his teeth clenched. “Where is it?”

Daryl didn’t speak, but looked down at his feet. He didn’t dare say the next part. Suddenly, a strange feeling fell over Daryl he couldn’t describe, like icy water had begun to seep down his spine. He looked up at Blackwell, who was staring hard at him, as if he was reading a book.

“They took it,” Blackwell said at last in a soft voice, turning away from Daryl.

“This was not how it was supposed to go,” Blackwell thought, his face contorting in anger. “They weren’t supposed to be there.”

“Sir?” Daryl said, staring into the Professor’s face, a scared expression etched on his features.

Blackwell silently cursed himself. He had taught himself long ago, if you wanted to be feared, never let anyone see your emotion. It was a human trait he cared not to share in.

Blackwell turned back towards Daryl, a fake smile plastered on his face.

“It isn’t your fault Daryl,” he said in a dark voice. “It is mine for trusting you. Your services will no longer be required.”

Blackwell moved to extract something from his pocket, but Daryl was quicker. He quickly drew a large pocketknife from his pocket, poising it to stab the man before him. He wouldn’t be taken out so easily.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Professor,” said Daryl, drawing up all the courage he could muster. “I’m going to walk out of here, and you’re going to forget about me. Got it?”

To Daryl’s surprise, the Professor didn’t even flinch. Quite on the contrary, he began to laugh. It wasn’t a laugh of anger, or even sycosis. This was a genuine humorous laugh. Daryl’s knife dropped a few inches in surprise, but he quickly got over it.

“You’re going to let me out alive,” he stuttered. “Or I’ll let you bleed out on this floor.”

The laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by an ominous growl. Blackwell spoke, his voice icier than ever before.

“Fool.”

Daryl never stood a chance. The knife flew out of his hands on its own accord, flying in an arching movement, embedding itself deeply in his neck. Daryl was dead before he hit the ground.

After several quiet moments, Blackwell spoke into the empty room. “I should never have trusted hired guns. Too weak. They don’t share the vision.”

Professor Blackwell stepped over Daryl’s body and made his way down the hallway, illuminated only by the light from his candle.

“They will know,” he thought to himself. “Plans must be accelerated.”

He exited the warehouse at the end of the corridor. The rain had stopped and Rookwood was standing guard against the door.

“There’s a mess in there Rookwood,” he said calmly. “Dispose of it.”

Blackwell didn’t wait for a reply. He stalked down the alleyway and disappeared into the night.

 

Reviews

[Marianne Rose]

Great prologue! Fast moving, with a narrator's voice I really like, and some great phrasing in describing the scenes and setting the mood. Just enough information to make the reader want to know more. I like the set-up for the mystery of who Rookwood is and what data he was hiring someone to acquire. Thanks for a great read . . . With my schedule, I'll probably have to read a chapter a night . . . But I will keep going. Thanks for breaking it up into smaller bites for me! Good work!

[Luke Daniels]

Thanks! I'm working on more chapters now, so by the time you reach the end, the rest will probably be posted. Perfect timing!