The Translator: A Suspense Thriller, page 1
The Translator
A Translator Novel, Book 1
TR Kohler
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Epilogue
Sneak Peek
Thank You
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About the Author
The axe forgets what the tree remembers.
— African Proverb
Destruction has noise, but creation is
quiet. This is the power of silence.
— Confucius
Prologue
It isn’t the noises themselves. The shrieks of terror. The cries of agony. Pleas for mercy.
As awful as they are, he has heard worse. Moments for each of the three that verged on incapacitating, the sounds alone enough to bring him to his knees. Make him abandon all hope for humanity forevermore.
It is the fact that never has he heard them all packed in so tight. A cacophony of chaos and confusion. Those three and untold others rushing in, filling his head, reverberating against his skull.
No way to differentiate those happening in real time from those that occurred long ago.
Pitched forward onto his hands and knees, his eyes are opened wide. His mouth gapes, trying to draw in air. Give himself what he needs to keep going.
Force himself past the pain.
Control what has dictated his every move these past fifteen years.
How much of what fills his head is in the present, there is no way of knowing. How many of the voices are here now and how many are remnants from years before. Terrors inflicted upon others. Lingering traumas from the first time he crossed paths with the man tucked away somewhere nearby.
What he does know is that at least one of them is close. A young woman that he brought into the fray. Put into harm’s way even without realizing it.
Somebody that he is now responsible for.
Someone that needs his help, no matter how great the pain.
Chapter One
The last faint hint of sunlight is more than three hours past. Far enough in the distance that any residual glow has long since been replaced by the waning halo of the city rising on the horizon.
With the fading of the sun, the temperature has dropped in kind. Nestled into the spring season where warmth is tied directly to daylight, the digital thermometer on the dashboard put things just shy of fifty degrees.
Not the worst Fitz has ever seen, though still a far cry from what he’d prefer.
A nuisance he will gladly endure for his purposes here tonight.
One of the few details about the outing he hasn’t already envisioned a thousand times over. An aspect completely inconsequential to what he is about to do.
A moment weeks in coming. A kickoff to the last leg of what he has planned.
The fabled beginning of the end that so many people like to bandy on about.
Standing in the thick grass along the side of the road, Fitz feels the cold air wrap around his body. Touching first on his bare ankles, it travels beneath the hem of his jeans. Pushes up the length of his legs. Under the tail of his t-shirt.
Even picks at the perspiration lining his neck and forehead.
Tiny bits of sensation that leave his entire body tingling. One more aspect making the moment that much more delicious as he closes his eyes, lifting his face toward the sky.
A pose allowing him to draw in deep breaths. Fill his lungs. Expand his chest.
Take in the smells of the countryside around him. The loamy scents of damp earth and grass. The faint hints of pine from the cluster of trees nearby.
Cleansing aromas, far removed from those he spent more than a decade inhaling. Harsh chemical smells that served as fuel for the plan that began months before.
The plan that is about to take another massive step forward tonight.
Releasing the breath slowly, Fitz allows his eyes to drift open. His chin lowers, dropping his gaze to the vehicle before him.
The trunk with the faded paint and the pockmarks of rust atop it. The cargo stowed inside.
The reason for his being here now.
Casting one final gaze in either direction, he is greeted by nothing more than the same natural canvas as a moment before. No piercing glare of headlights approaching. No new spots of light from one of the few farmhouses in the distance.
Nothing to interrupt him or what he has planned. A world that is completely his, anxiously awaiting his next move.
The keyring still in his right hand from pulling the keys out of the ignition just a moment before, Fitz takes two steps forward. Strides propelled by the buoyancy of the thick grass underfoot.
A silent nod from the universe that what he is doing is right. Is necessary to correct a wrong inflicted upon him long ago.
Shoving one of only two keys on the keyring into the lock on the trunk, Fitz gives it a quick twist. Far enough to hear the metallic release of the latch before slowly raising the hood.
A slow reveal that brings into view the reason he ever found this spot. The reason he is back here now.
The light on the underside of the trunk hood long since detached, there is no bulb to illuminate the young woman stowed away inside. No glow to fully display her features.
Not that Fitz needs such a thing, the pale moonlight more than enough to outline her lithe figure folded up on her side. A form that he has seen multiple times a day for weeks now, but cannot deny the added allure of seeing her tucked away like this.
The bare skin of her face and hands. The glint of duct tape enveloping her wrists and ankles.
The matching strip covering her mouth, offset by the whites of her eyes staring up at him. Eyelids open wide, her entire head twisting rapidly to either side. A movement matched in time by the muffled sounds escaping her.
Cries for help. Pleadings for him to stop.
Sounds that he is counting on, having brought her here for just such a thing.
“No, no,” he says, a thin smile rising to his lips. “There’ll be plenty of time for that soon enough, but not just yet.”
Chapter Two
The description that was given to Leo Martz doesn’t quite match the scene splayed out before him. Said to be a dense forest, the place is closer to a small thicket. A copse of trees wedged between a pair of fields, both with crops shorn down to the ground for winter.
A loose tangle of pine and birch trees, their respective green boughs and white bark a stark contrast to the pale sky above.
Resting in the back seat of the Town Car, Martz assesses the tiny grove. Elbow wrapped in the sleeve of a baggy cardigan propped on the sill of the window, his chin is balanced on his palm.
A pose that gives the impression he is contemplating his next move. Considering how to best approach the spot just fifty yards away.
In reality, he is just trying to steel himself for the task he knows awaits. Attempting in vain not to look down at the single photograph and the accompanying note resting on his lap, both wrinkled with tear stains too numerous to count.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Henry says from the front seat.
The first either man has spoken since leaving the house forty minutes earlier, the sound is especially pronounced inside the vehicle.
Even more so given the heavy insulation lining the doors. The double-paned glass
Precautions taken to ensure that no noises penetrate the vehicle.
Elbow still seated atop the windowsill, Leo flicks his gaze to the driver’s seat. Toward Henry seated behind the wheel, still gripping it tight with both hands despite them having been parked for the better part of five minutes.
A dedication to formality that is nothing short of impressive, if not a bit unnerving at times.
Shoulders square to the front of the vehicle, Henry rotates only his head. Far enough to peer out through the passenger window, he eyes the same clump of trees that Leo was contemplating just a moment before.
“I could step out instead,” Henry offers. “Stick to the muddy trenches left behind by whatever piece of farm machinery was recently through here.”
His voice gains a bit of steam, as if convincing himself more with each additional word.
“Wouldn’t disturb a blade of grass,” he continues. “Just shoot down there, take a quick look around.”
Having expected some sort of proposition since the moment they left the house, Leo says nothing. A continuation of the argument his friend and assistant has been making since the note and photo first arrived, he lets the man prattle on.
Offers and warnings and admonishments that he has to get out. Make sure they are heard, if for no other reason than to assuage his conscience that he did in fact try.
Even if they both know how things will end.
And that it will likely be ugly.
“I mean, come on,” Henry says. Releasing his death grip on the wheel, he extends a single hand across the middle console. Gestures to the trees nearby. “It doesn’t look like anybody has been here in ages.”
As if hearing the words out loud causes the man to register what he just said, he falls instantly silent. Cuts off whatever remaining argument there was, his hand returning to the wheel.
“My apologies, sir. I just...”
“I know,” Leo replies.
“I worry.”
“I know,” Leo repeats.
“It’s just been so long. For all of this.”
The back-and-forth is nearly identical to the one they had before climbing into the vehicle earlier. And the one they had an hour before that after Leo shared the contents of the letter that arrived now spread across his lap.
A valiant final effort by Henry to keep Leo from doing something potentially harmful. Taking himself down a path they both have tried so ardently to avoid these last several years.
“Devlin Lyons was my friend,” Leo says, delivering the same closing argument that ended both of the prior conversations. The one that he knows Henry will dare not challenge, the only thing stronger than responsibility to the man being loyalty.
Sliding his gaze back to the window beside him, Leo adds, “Saved my life more than once.”
Fixing his gaze on the trees nearby, he watches as a small puff of breeze pushes the barren limbs of the birch trees to either side.
A macabre invitation, mocking him with what lies ahead.
“And if I can help now in any way, I need to.”
Chapter Three
Every inclination Leo Martz has is to clench. Beginning with his fists, he wants nothing more than to squeeze tight, continuing until his entire body burns with lactic acid. Until the very act of walking is proven almost impossible, his muscles pulled so taut they refuse to function as intended.
A defense mechanism coming from years of experience, as much a part of him as the mane of graying hair atop his head or the collection of scars adorning his abdomen.
A way to shield himself. Make his body impenetrable. Give him an iron hide so that regardless of what he hears over the next couple of minutes, he will get through it.
The sounds he hears will be nothing more than that. Noises that inform him. Data that he can take back, using it to help decide his next move.
A lot of wishful thinking that he has been through a thousand times before. An internal desire that he even deluded himself into believing once upon a time, allowing it to keep him in the life much longer than he ever should have been.
Part of the reason for those gray hairs and scars that he now carries, giving him the appearance of someone much older than just halfway through his forties.
Swinging the door shut behind him, Leo leaves Henry sitting behind the wheel. A request for the man to stay rooted in place unless absolutely essential. A need to complete what he is about to without his friend hovering at his shoulder the entire time. Whispering bits of concern. Entreating him to go no further.
Things that, no matter how well intentioned, will only detract from what he is doing.
Extend the process even longer than necessary.
Glancing down to his left hand, Leo takes in the noise-cancelling headphones gripped tight. The padded earpieces on either end separated by a thick band of plastic.
An impromptu handle for the time being.
An emergency safety precaution should it come to it.
Lifting his gaze back to the same clump of trees he has been staring at for nearly ten minutes, Leo begins with a single step. And then another. Paces putting distance between himself and the safety of the vehicle.
Underfoot, the grass is thick and uneven. The kind found at the tail end of spring, just before mowing season starts again in earnest.
The sort just tall enough to rustle slightly with the breeze.
That being the first sound to find his ears. Light and faint, it begins as nothing more. A faint whisper of the tall blades rubbing together.
A din that causes his pace to slow. His chest to constrict. His lungs to tighten, anticipating what is to come.
Next to find him is the light whistle of the wind. A gust rising just past a breeze. Small puffs that register with him, pushing the flaps of his cardigan sweater across his chest.
His hand wrapping tighter around the headphones, he forces his focus to remain on the trees ahead. He makes his feet keep moving forward, his body rocking slightly to either side as he proceeds.
A slow and measured march, his entire body attuned to nature’s concerto going on around him.
A cluster of noises slowly rising in volume.
Noises that grow even louder before crossing over. Reaching the dreaded point he knows is coming. The part he has spent the last fifteen years trying to avoid.
Barely has Leo made it ten yards away from the vehicle when he hears the first scream. A short, shrill sound that shatters the quiet of the morning.
A woman’s voice crying out, the cause and the source both unknown. Details masked for the time being by the terror permeating it.
A sound that drives straight into Leo’s head. A spike penetrating directly through his ear canals, causing him to pull up abruptly. His face to contort into a wince as his shoulders rise on either side.
Despite the morning air registering no more than the upper forties in temperature, warmth flushes his features. A vice wraps around his midsection, inhibiting his breathing.
Things that grow more pronounced as the same voice continues on. Deep, ragged pants of air followed by another scream.
