BLACK CELL
BY: INVISIBLE WRATH

Chapter One:

September 3, 1998
Paris, France.
1945 hours

    As gunfire echoed in the parking garage, he wasn’t sure how the situation had gone to hell so damned fast, but he sure as hell wasn’t going down like this… Rolling out from behind the car, both guns blazing, the man ran for the exit… Five feet away… A set of squealing tires caught his attention..

    “Aw, shit…”

    The car slammed into him, the bumper striking him across the legs. His knee popped out of place, his right tibia and fibula snapping like dry kindling from the impact, which flipped him over in the air, slamming him onto the hood of the car. A gun pressed against his skull, a finger tightening on the trigger.

    “Don’t kill him, you fool. The boss wants him alive.” was the last thing the man heard before something struck him in the head, rendering him unconscious.

Two days later
The Apartments at Oxford Spires, Oxford, England
0756 hours

    Dashiell Faireborn stirred in bed as the light of the sun struck him. He rolled over onto his side, looking at the beautiful woman who slept naked beside him. Her eyes blinked open as he watched her.

    “Good morning…” she murmured, smiling at him.

    “Good morning yourself, Allie.” Dash returned the smile to his wife as pulled her close.

    “Dash…” she spoke softly, looking into his eyes, then she saw the clock behind him. “Dash, you’re going to be late for class!”

    “Aw, shit.” He muttered, kicking the sheet off and he ran for the bathroom. After a quick shower, he dressed as quickly as possible.

    “Here.” Alison Faireborn handed him a travel mug of coffee and a pack of Pop Tarts as he ran for the door.

    “Bye, babe.” He said as he kissed her. “Nice gown.”

    She smirked at him, then dropped the sheet to the floor. “Better?” she asked.

    “Much. I’ll be home for lunch.” He kissed her again and ran out of the apartment and took the elevator to the lobby.

    “Late, Dashiell?” the doorman asked

    “Yes, Duncan, I am.”

Oxford University, Oxford, England
0935 hours

    Dash growled as he walked down the hall of the Oxford. He’d been late to class and they rode him about it.

    “Something bugging you, Dr. Faireborn?” a familiar voice asked.

    He turned around to find a grinning man dressing in a finely tailored suit. “Conrad, what the hell are you doing here?” Dash asked as the two men shook hands.

    “I need to talk to you.” Conrad Hauser took a much more serious tone.

    “My office is down the hall, come on, we can talk there.

    Once they were inside the office, the two men continued.

    “Oxford, huh?” Conrad asked, looking around.

    “Yeah, been teaching here for almost a year now.”

    “And you still work for Interpol, Dash?”

    “I still consult for them, yes.” Dash replied.

    “I read your book. Mythologies of the British Isles by Dr. Dashiell Faireborn. Very interesting reading.” Conrad said, flipping through a leather bound book.

    “Conrad, I’ve known you too long. Cut the bullshit and tell me why NSA agent and former GI Joe Conrad Hauser is in Oxford talking to me.” Dash said, leaning back in his chair.

    “Old business, Dash. We need you on this.”

    “Conrad, you know Alison and I retired from the Army two years ago to settle down when we got married.”

    “Dash, I need your expertise on this. At least let me tell you both what happened.”

    Dash looked at his old friend and relented. “Allie would want to see you anyway. Dinner at our place at 6?”

    “You still live at the Apartments at Oxford Spires?” Conrad asked.

    “Yeah. See you then, Duke.”

    “I’ll be there, Flint.”

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Continued In Chapter Two!
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