The Plantation - By Chris Kuzneski Page 0,19

recommend.”

Ndjai grabbed the metal belt and wrapped it around a cement slab that rested near the bloodstained chopping block. After clicking the belt in place, he handed the cement to a nearby guard, who immediately carried it fifty yards from the crowd.

“When you are given your uniforms, you will have one of these belts locked to your ankle. It cannot be removed by anyone but me, and I will not remove it for any reason during your stay on this island.” He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a tiny remote control. He held the gadget in the air so everyone could see it. “This is what you Americans call a deterrent.”

With a push of a button, the cement block erupted into a shower of rubble, sending shards of rock in every direction and smoke high into the air.

“Did I get your attention?” he asked. “Now imagine what would have happened if your personal anklet were to be detonated. I doubt much of you would be found.”

A couple of the guards snickered, but Ndjai silenced them with a sharp stare. He would not tolerate disrespect from anybody.

“I know some of you will try to figure out how your anklets work, and some of you will try to disarm them. Well, I will tell you now: Your efforts will fail! We have buried a small number of transmitters throughout the Plantation. If at any time your anklet crosses the perimeter, your personal bomb will explode, killing you instantly. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, one more thing. If your device is detonated, it will send a signal to the anklets that are being worn by several other prisoners, and they will be killed as well. Do you understand?”

They certainly did, and the mere thought of it made them shudder.

CHAPTER 13

JONES returned to his scenic office and locked himself in his massive technology lab. The room cost a staggering amount of money and was filled with high-tech equipment that many police departments would love to have. The most important piece of hardware was the computer, but it was the instrument that cost Jones the least. Built by Payne Industries, the computer was a scaled-down version of the system used at FBI headquarters in Langley, Virginia, and had been given to Jones as an office-warming gift.

Placing the surveillance disc into the unit, Jones quickly broke the footage into manageable data files. He was then able to select a precise frame from the video and put it on his screen in microscopic clarity.

“What should I look at first?” he mumbled to himself.

Then it dawned on him. He wanted to examine the assailant’s right wrist to see if the black mark was, in fact, a tattoo.

Jones scrolled through a number of frames until he found the scene that fit his specific needs. The suspect’s arm was centered perfectly on the monitor, and the gap between the glove and the sleeve was at its widest. Then he zoomed in and sharpened the image.

A few seconds later, Jones smiled in triumph when an elaborate tattoo came into view. The three-inch design was in the shape of the letter P, and it started directly below the palm of the suspect’s hand. The straight edge of the symbol was in the form of an intricately detailed sword, the blade’s handle rising high above the letter’s curve. At the base of the drawing, small drops of blood fell from the weapon’s tip, leaving the impression that it had just been pulled from the flesh of a fallen victim. Finally, dangling from each side of the sword was a series of broken chains, which appeared to be severed near the left and right edge.

As Jones printed several copies of the image, his speakerphone buzzed, followed by the voice of his secretary. “Mr. Payne is on line one.”

With a touch of a button, Jones answered his call. “Jon, any news?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I went to the police like you suggested and filled out the appropriate paperwork. It turns out that I knew a few of the officers on duty. They assured me that Ariane would get top priority.”

“Even though she’s only been gone a few hours?”

“Her scream on the surveillance tape and Mr. McNally’s testimony have a lot to do with it. Normally, they’d wait a lot longer before they pursued a missing person, but as I said, the evidence suggests foul play.”

“Did they give you any advice?”

“I wouldn’t call it advice. I think

readonlinefreenovel.com Copyright 2016 - 2024