Free Kronos by Jeremy Robinson Page B

but then it was gone. She nearly shouted his name, but, knowing she’d alert the media, held her tongue and quickened her pace.
    She reached the corner, panting. No one was there.
    A black cargo van sat five feet away. The lights were off, the engine silent. Most likely a news van, but she saw nowhere else he could have hidden. She doubted he could have arranged a pickup…they’d have sped away if that were the case. But still…
    Approaching the van slowly, she reached out and took hold of the back-door handle. She depressed the button and gave it a yank. Locked. She made her way around and checked the other handles. All locked. She rested her hand on the hood of the van. The night air was warmer. The van had been there for some time.
    She gave one last look around. He’d vanished like an apparition.
    No , she thought, like a SEAL.
     

 
     
     
    12
     
     
    Portsmouth Hospital
     
    Atticus watched Andrea approach the van.
    Just moments before, he’d fallen the remaining ten feet to the ground, rolled, and listened. He immediately heard her running feet and heavy breathing. He was in no mood for an argument but also saw there was nowhere to go. Then he felt a hand wrap around his mouth and an arm around his waist. They were strong, and he found himself pulled up and into a cargo van. The well-oiled door slid shut without a noise.
    He heard Andrea check the back door and move around to check the others.
    If it hadn’t been for Andrea’s approach, he would have quickly broken the hand of his captor, but he couldn’t afford to involve her. Whoever was in the van with him obviously had no interest in Andrea. They could have easily taken her as well. As Andrea began walking away, still searching the parking lot with her eyes, Atticus felt the hand around his mouth loosen its formidable grip.
    “If you’re reporters,” Atticus said seriously, “this is going to hurt.”
    Before Atticus could let loose, the interior light flicked on.
    “Now, now, Dr. Young, you wouldn’t hit a priest, would you?” said a smiling man dressed as a Catholic priest. He was young, in his twenties, and appeared to be as friendly as possible under the circumstances.
    The man next to him looked like a giant with bad taste—his Hawaiian shirt as ugly as his face. The man’s ears were misshapen, probably from years of brawling, as was his nose, bent slightly to one side. But the sight of the man didn’t intimidate Atticus. He’d been in many fights with men determined to kill him, and his face remained untouched. No one had ever made contact. Being in a tightly enclosed van gave the larger man the advantage, but Atticus needed only one shot to take down most men. Still, better to take no chances.
    He readied himself for a fight, but it never came. The priest moved forward, still smiling, hand extended.
    Atticus didn’t take it. “You’ve got thirty seconds.” He didn’t have to add a threat. His eyes did that for him.
    The man in the awful shirt snickered. Atticus shot him a look that said, “You’ll get yours.”
    The man’s smirk faded ever so slightly.
    “Dr. Young,” the priest said, “I am Father O’Shea.” He motioned to the other man. “This is my associate, Remus. We’ve been sent to retrieve you by our employer.”
    Atticus didn’t say a word. He didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard anything.
    “He’s very eager to meet you.” The priest grew nervous. “He wants to help you.”
    “Help with what?” Atticus’s voice boomed like lion’s bellow. “Bury my daughter? Psychoanalyze me? Put me on The Today Show and get my teary story?”
    O’Shea backed off a little, “No, nothing like that. He wants to help you kill it. He wants to find the beast…and he wants you to kill it.”
    Atticus sized the men up. They were clearly not military. The Remus character might have been at one time, but it must have been a while. He couldn’t conceive of a reason they might be lying, but he wondered how anyone