The Snare Read online

  “It is one way street, Ivan,” the driver grunted to his partner. “We have to go around to the other side.”

  “Do it,” Ivan commanded. “I’m getting tired of this game. We’ve been tracking him all day. He must be here, somewhere.”

  They turned the corner and slowly made their way around the block.

  Chapter 7

  “You’re late,” spoke a quick, harsh voice from the shadows.

  “Ah, well deadlines you know,” came Frank’s fumbled reply. “I had a very important—”

  “Never mind. Here.” A figure emerged slightly into the misty beam from the light post and jerked Frank back into the shadows under an awning. In that brief moment, Frank immediately recognized the face of the man he had encountered that morning. He had the same clothes on, and seemed to be looking even more disheveled. For some reason, seeing the now familiar face made Frank feel a little more courageous in spite of the dangerous overtone of this strange rendezvous.

  “And what is this all about?” Frank demanded in what he might hope was a confidant voice.

  “Shhh!” The man nervously looked around before swinging his backpack off his shoulder and opened the largest pouch. “Here, take this, quick!” He shoved a thick file folder into Frank’s hands. Frank automatically started to open it.

  “No! Not here!” hissed the other, slamming his hand down onto the file cover. “Stick it under your jacket and don’t touch it until you get to a safe place. Don’t let anyone know you have this.”

  “Just who exactly are you?” Frank eyed the man. “What about the document you gave me today? Where did that come from? Is it real?”

  “Look, my name is Roland, but I don’t have time to explain anything now,” said the other as he checked his watch and cast his eye over the street at a fast-moving navy sedan. It hit a puddle as it passed, splashing copious amounts of water onto the curb.

  “I’ve been here too long already,” he added hurriedly. “Just read these. I’ll get in touch with you next week and answer your questions. Until then, be careful. And Frank, guard those with your—Ahhh!”

  The high-pitched squealing of wet brakes shot from the dark, and the surreptitious pair were suddenly enveloped in the glare of charging headlights.

  “Run!” Roland hollered, shoving Frank up the sidewalk before taking off in the opposite direction. Blinded by rain and terror, Frank dashed across the street as fast as his short legs could carry him. With the file tucked against his jacket, he raced toward a large area on the other side of the block illuminated with light. Big space, he panted to himself, lots of people—that’s where he’d be safe.

  He burst through the shopping mall doors just minutes later, and felt ready to collapse. He hadn’t run in ages and was already feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. Knowing he needed to sit down immediately, Frank assessed the different stores around him and quickly fled into a multi-leveled department store. Throwing out glances around and behind him, he hurried to the back corner of the store stuffed with pillows and bedding. For a moment, he had the bizarre inkling to dive under one of the nearby model beds, but quickly dismissed the idea as he was sure he wouldn’t fit. Instead, he took a bare, off-shoot hallway which led to the restrooms and closeted himself into a stall. Collapsing onto the seat, Frank tried to quiet his heavy breathing, terrified that at any moment the door would burst open and he would be done for. He was drenched in rain and sweats; drips from his clothes plunked onto the tile floor, threatening to give him away. Just then, the washroom door flung open and the clunk of heavy footsteps reverberated across the stalls. In a painful effort, Frank braced his arms against the walls and hoisted his feet off the ground. Then he closed his eyes, held his breath, and hoped that his hiding place was good enough.

  Chapter 8

  The wet pavement was slick under Roland’s trainers. Several times he slipped while careening around corners and had to grasp light poles just to keep upright. The blazing headlights pursued him relentlessly. Though he was normally a fast sprinter, his backpack and soaked clothing were weighing him down and slowing his pace. He would not be able to outrun the vehicle much longer. In a split-second decision, Roland ran into an alley too narrow for the car to follow, trying to buy himself a few seconds to disappear. With a piercing screech the vehicle halted at the mouth of the alleyway. Its headlights flooded the space, clearly illuminating the runner as he raced to the other end. Suddenly, the lights were gone, and Roland turned in time to see the taillights of the car as it sped up the street. They were going to try and cut him off at the exit. Wasting no time, he backtracked to the mouth of the alley and sprinted across the street toward a church building on the corner of the block. The muted melody of voices singing in time to a thumping beat reached out to him from behind the smooth stone walls, growing louder and louder as he decidedly jogged up the building’s steps.

  A full blast of joyous sounds almost threw him back as he cracked open the main door and slipped in. No one seemed to notice as he moved toward a seat in the back row. To avoid being conspicuous, he remained standing, keeping one eye on the congregation, the other on the door. After a few more minutes the song ended, and the pastor took his place on the platform, Bible in hand.

  “Welcome brothers. Welcome sisters. Go ahead and shake hands with someone around you, greeting them in the name of the Lord.”

  A soft murmur went up from the congregants as warm greetings and welcomes were exchanged. Unexpectedly, the man from the row immediately in front of him turned around and offered his hand to Roland, the stranger who had just come in.

  “I’m James Mode. Nice to meet you.”

  Roland hesitated a moment, not knowing how much he wanted to give away. He decided diverting attention off himself would be the best bet—hopefully, they wouldn’t remember seeing him at all. “Uh, I’m Roland. That’s a nice wristwatch you’ve got there, Mr. Mode. I used to have one just like it.”

  “Is that so? Well, thank you. My wife, Sarah, bought it for me.”

  As Sarah reached forward to shake Roland’s hand, James took the opportunity to make a quick study of the man. Why did he notice his gold watch, particularly? Was he about to pull something? In his eyes, there was an urgency, an anxiety. Was he really here for the service, or to make trouble? James didn’t like judging anyone, but he also strongly believed in caution. He quickly committed the man’s face to memory, just in case, and double checked that his friendly smile didn’t reveal his true thoughts as Tolu confidently held out her hand toward him.

  “Welcome to our church”, she said. “Did you forget your umbrella? You’re all wet!”

  “Tolu, that’s not polite,” reprimanded her mother.

  “Don’t worry about it, ma’am,” Roland replied. “She’s right. I did forget.”

  After another polite smile, the family turned back around and sat down as the pastor began his sermon. Roland, relieved to finally be able to sit and think, quietly unzipped the backpack resting at his feet and quietly shuffled through the contents: his laptop, passport, ID badges, loose papers, a wad of bills made up of several different currencies, and, most importantly, a small thumb drive disguised as a miniature rendition of Big Ben. All the information he had given to Frank, plus more, was backed up on this drive.

  At the thought of the bumbly reporter, Roland felt a twinge of guilt. He had sought out Frank on purpose, partly because the unusual stories he often published most likely meant he would be able to believe unbelievable facts, and also because he was very easy to get alone with, having no family and taking the bus to work.

  But now, Frank was possibly in as much danger as he was, and, at the moment, there was nothing he could do about it. Hopefully his pursuers hadn’t seen Frank’s face when they came blazing out of the darkness. Hopefully they didn’t notice the folder pressed against his coat. Roland closed his eyes against the thoughts that suddenly swarmed into his mind. Thoughts of what they would do to Frank if they ever did track him down. Thoughts of what t
hey’d do to him whenever they finally caught up with him. Pages of the documents he had covertly uncovered over the last couple of months swirled in his mind, the contents of each more astoundingly evil than the next. He pulled to the forefront one of the last files he had unearthed before his “abdication” from GED. He remembered how he just couldn’t believe what it said and had decided he needed to see it for himself…

  “The tests are conclusive?” The memory pushed in, harsh, menacing, and inescapable. The tranquil, vile voice Roland had come to hate slithered into his mind. “There will be no other way to stop it?”

  “The results are unanimous,” affirmed a second, weaker voice; Roland saw a somewhat hunched figure in a white coat next to a tall, lean silhouette reflected in the row of glass vials by his hiding place. He fought to take deep breaths, stay in control. Quietly, he adjusted the angle of his phone and tried to zoom in without too much blur on the tall man. He wanted to make sure the world could recognize the face responsible for the doom he now knew was coming. “Without the formula, it will be unstoppable,” said the lab coat. “Our top genetic engineers summed it up in one word—Perfect.”

  “Perfect,” repeated the first in a caressing tone. “A disease and a cure. The ying and the yang. Chaos and creation joined in a single, tiny entity. And only my word determines which will prevail. Has the process for the cure been sent to our international labs?”

  “Yes, sir. Under lock and key. They are waiting only for your word to begin mass producing and distributing the vaccine to deliver the—.”

  “Good, good. Of course it’s too early for that yet, things will need to escalate before—”

  A faint clinking sound like glass on glass came from the darkness. Thick silence immediately suffocated the room.

  “Who’s there? Security!”

  Roland’s heart hammered as he remembered the panic of his escape from the building in which he had once worked.

  Run. Hide. Run. Hide. Since that night in the lab his life had known nothing else beyond the terror of running and the terror of what would happen if…or when…he got caught.

  No! he suddenly shoved the thoughts away. He had a job to do. He knew the truth, and had a responsibility toward all of humanity. His eyes glanced again at the Big Ben in his backpack. The video he had taken that night in the lab was on that USB, as well as the files he could find concerning the existence of this monstrous creation. He just needed to get it into the right hands—hands not already controlled by his former employer’s corporate empire. It was a daunting and difficult task, but, even on pain of death, he would see it through.

  Quickly he formed a plan. He had to leave London tonight; find a place to lie low for a few days and rethink his strategy. Though he had known that they had been after him, he was surprised that they had found him in London so soon. That snake must have sent out his big guns—real professionals as opposed to the usual goons who ran to and fro across the globe, clueless to all except their master’s evil bidding. If he hadn’t been so afraid, he might have felt a little flattered at the serious threat he had proven to be. He hoped that the fiend holding the leashes of his pursuers was feeling intense pressure right now, fearfully knowing that Roland Ashante, once one of his top employees, was about to incite his downfall.

  Roland grinned at the thought, and then instinctively glanced toward the church doors before checking his watch. He had been in here for 15 minutes, not quite long enough for him to feel that the coast was clear. He quietly zipped up his backpack and sat back in his seat, planning to wait another 15 minutes or so before sneaking out and catching a taxi to his hideout.

  Giving himself a moment to rest from dwelling on the imminent danger he was in, Roland focused his attention on the pastor and the words that issued forth for the exhortation of the parishioners.

  “The mystery of lawlessness,” the pastor was saying, “can be likened unto a malicious rider who wildly and recklessly drives his horse into danger, destruction, and death. Now his horse represents the natural state of every human being that has surpassed the age of accountability. Because our great-great granddaddy Adam was a human, our natural state is also human. And because Adam plunged himself into the sinful state; so, too, was the entirety of his descendants. We were given over to be dominated by sin and lawlessness, whose power lies under the dominion of that fallen cherub, Satan.

  “Now, if this were the end of the story, folks, it would be a sad, sad tale indeed. But God, not willing that any should perish, had a plan in mind. A plan of redemption through the blood of his precious Son. Available for anyone to be a part of if he or she so chooses.

  “But the problem is that most people are not aware of their inherited plight. They see themselves as good people, nice people - people who, if you boil it down, do adhere to some form of moral code, the essence of which we find laid out in the Ten Commandments. Sadly, they are misled into thinking that mere physical actions have the power to change the state of their eternal spirit. They can’t see that despite their good deeds, they are still under the power of lawlessness, rebellion, and sin. But I’ve got some news: There are only two states of existence in this universe—that of being a sinner, or that of being redeemed. There is no middle ground. No grey area. One cannot be in and out at the same time. One cannot be up and down at the same time. One cannot go and stay at the same time. If you are not in Christ, you are without Him; and by default under the power of the sin nature, which is always lived out from the heart, whether intentional or not—against God, against another person, within the family, in our society, and around the world.

  “No one can save oneself from this position. No one can pay enough goodness or kindness or charitableness to cover this debt. And no one can wipe it away by deciding one doesn’t believe it’s true. There is only one way to be free; only one way to stop the mystery of lawlessness from riding one into the fate of eternal death…And that is to turn to Christ and receive Him as Salvation.”

  Chapter 9

  A loud chorus of “Amens” and “Halleluiahs” rang out from the congregation, and some of the members stood to their feet in acknowledgement of the preacher’s Gospel proclamations. Roland stood as well and snatched up his bag. It was time to go. He moved to the door, and then quickly looked back, a growing habit due to his current perilous circumstances. Not anticipating that he would be noticed, he was slightly taken aback when his eyes met those of the man whom he had shaken hands with. Though the man’s face expressed nothing but curiosity and concern, Roland felt an uneasy roil in the pit of his stomach. Hurriedly, he threw open the door and ran out into the street.

  For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. That simple glance had unnerved him, as if some ominous experience had developed between him and the person who glanced.

  The blare of an angry horn shook Roland out of his confusion back to the reality of his present danger. Throwing up a hand in apology for blocking the road, he scampered to the other side of the street and started to make his way up the block in search of a cab. The rain had stopped and the clouds were clearing, causing him to work extra hard to stay hidden in the shadows. As he came to another crossing and waited in the curb for a vehicle to pass. But it never did.

  With a horrifying screech, the car skid to a stop, and an immense bulk of muscle and weight launched itself from the car, striking like a coiled serpent. Roland didn’t even have time to yell out. In only seconds he could feel his body being gripped against a hard chest while a callous over-sized hand, smelling of grease and gunpowder, clutched his mouth. He tried to wiggle himself loose, but the more he moved, the tighter the fleshy restraint squeezed.

  “Didn’t think you were going to get away from me, did ya?” taunted a deep, accented voice. “Come on.” The assailant hauled his struggling catch to the back of the car and abrasively shoved him in. Then, he slid into the back seat as well, and grabbed a roll of duct tape from the floor while shouting to the driver, “Go! Get us out of here!”

  The driver p
ealed out and headed toward the nearest highway, his beady eyes gleefully watching in the rear-view mirror as Ivan yanked Roland’s backpack from his arm and wrapped his wrists up with tape.

  “Keep your eyes on the road,” Ivan growled to the driver. “We don’t want any accidents or mistakes!” He looked out through the window at the surrounding traffic, then, feeling satisfied that they had had a successful getaway, managed to contort himself enough in the small space to pull a cell phone out of his pocket. With the push of a single digit the numbers were dialed, and Roland could hear the curt tones of the ringing line.

  Chapter 10

  Les Maison d’Verre was a residence praised for its excellent combination of architecture and technology. Set back from the cacophonic noise ceaselessly pervading the city, this quiet sanctuary rested in a grove in the bosom of a large estate in the midst of forested hills and tranquil ponds. When its newest owner acquired the deed, definitely by no small means, he immediately requested a meeting of courtesy with the top members of the city’s Historical Preservation Committee to discuss a compromise concerning the historically significant, yet grossly outdated manor which resided on the estate. Its previous caretaker had been a decrepit old man who claimed the manor was built by his ancestors before the reign of Napoleon (which no one ever believed, mostly, due to the fact that it was well known that his great-grandfather had immigrated here and set up shop as a milliner). But how the estate ever ended up in the caretaker’s hands was still a great mystery and a favorite topic of the gossipers in the surrounding villages. The old man had lived alone in the towering stone mansion for twelve years before his death; and lack of an heir brought it to the market. Curiously, it took only three days for it to be snapped up by an eager buyer, who readily signed the papers without even giving the estate a once-over or bothering to negotiate the price down. But it was soon made very clear that the hasty new owner had no intentions of restoring the leaking, crumbling, vine-riddled and neglected house to its former glory, as was most commonly expected of quick manor snatchers; and in his meeting with the representatives from the Historical Society, the new owner laid out his plans not for the restoration, but transformation of the antique abode into a more “enlightened version of its true self.”