Purification

Chapter 9
Face to Face

Chapter Description: Scott meets his nemesis, but is he too late?

Sorry for the long delay. My computer basically lit itself on fire. I just managed to salvage the story but haven’t had a way to post it until now. The suspense continues to build in this chapter. The finale is growing near.

IX

Racing west along the Northwestern Motorway Scott rang Tegan on his cell phone yet again. He’d been trying to reach he since he’d left the station, but with no luck. He’d left her voicemail and he’d texted her, but there was no response. Naturally she’d be out in the back yard painting again. They’d moved all the way out to semi-rural Pukekohe so they could have a big garden. But the problem was it was so big Tegan could never hear the phone ringing in the house. Scott could only hope she’d see the dozen messages on the answering machine and check it before she went for a cup of tea.

As worried as he was about Tegan, Scott had to put personal matters aside and focus on the pursuit. His job was to protect the community, and that was never more true than today. As he pulled off the Motorway and onto the wide avenues of West Auckland his cell phone finally rang. Overjoyed, Scott flipped it open as quickly as he could.

“Tegan, did you get my message?” he aksed.

“Sorry detective, this is Daniels at HQ,” a male voice replied.

Scott’s elation was wiped away instantly. He’d forgotten the radio in this car wasn’t working and the dispatch would be ringing his phone instead.

“Oh, sorry about that Daniels. I’ve been trying to get through to my wife,” he explained.

“No worries sir. I’m calling to let you know we have a positive identification on the suspect.”

Scott felt a sudden lifting of his spirits. At last, they knew who they were dealing with! “So who is he?” he gasped.

“His name is Doctor Kurt Van Meter. He’s a South African national, moved to Auckland in 2005.”

“Is that all?”

“No, I’m afraid there is a lot more. And it isn’t good detective.”

“Well let’s hear it then,” Scott prodded.

“He’s was a top chemist in South Africa. Had degrees from Cape Town and London, taught for awhile. Anyway he gave that up and moved to this town called Orania, near Pretoria, about ten years ago.”

“Orania, eh. Is that significant?”

“It’s one of only two all-white private towns in South Africa. The whole populace is made up of extremist Afrikaner-Boer nationalists who want to have sovereignty from the rest of South Africa. The mayor is actually descended from the inventor of the apartheid system. They’re also mostly fundamentalist Christians and live what they preach. No premarital sex for example.”

“I’m starting to get some idea of where this guy came from now,” Scott commented.

“Well apparently the good doctor wasn’t so pure. He got caught running illegal drug trials without informed consent on local blacks. He lost everything and moved here.”

“That’s great, just great. And we let him in? Gotta love the Immigration Service, eh? So how did you get all this info so quickly?”

“Well that’s the thing detective. We didn’t. He gave it to us.”

“He what?”

“He posted a letter to the New Zealand Herald explaining his views and why he’s doing this. He gave his real name and the rest was easy to find out. And he said some crazy stuff in those letters. The short version of it is he doesn’t like Auckland’s extreme multiculturalism and the loose morals. He wants to cure both problems.”

“Thanks for the info Daniels. Can you do me a favour?”

“I can try.”

“Keep trying to get through to my wife for me. You know the number. I’m just worried about her.”

“You got it mate. Good luck, eh.”

“Thanks,” Scott told him, flipping the phone closed as he headed out of the city and onto the winding country lanes beyond.

**

Outside of Auckland, New Zealand had some of the windiest, narrowest, most dangerous stretches of road in the developed world. With such a low population and a thrill-seeking attitude Kiwis had never seen the need to build motorways outside of the largest city, nor to straighten main roads or install many guard rails or lane dividers. Scott loved driving outside the city, especially in his powerful Holden Commodore police cruiser. Now he wound his way around the hairpin corners at break-neck speed, watching the lush rainforest sweep by in a blur as he climbed into the Waitak Ranges.

Scott wasn’t sure what would be waiting for him at the damn but he knew the likelihood was nothing at all. The chances were this guy was down in the Hunua Ranges where the big guns had been sent. Still it was best to be safe and cover every possible site for delivering the poison. The fact that this whacko had actually posted his name and manifesto to the newspaper was not a good sign. It meant he thought he’d already gotten away with it. That thought made Scott drive even faster.

The Waitakere Dam was located on the opposite side of the ranges from the city, deep in a lush valley. As Scott approached he couldn’t see anything of interest. It appeared that he was all alone out here. He pulled his cruiser off the road and into the gravel car park. There was a tourist information sign talking about the dam and a spot for viewing it and taking photos. But no cars were parked there. Scott turned off his car and slowly got out and stretched, listening to the hot engine pinging and smelling the acrid scent of his overheated breaks.

As he made his way over to the damn though, Scott noticed that he wasn’t all alone after all. Parked just down the road was a Metrowater van. There was no sign of the driver. So Scott continued to the side of the reservoir of water behind the damn. It looked innocent enough. But then how could he know if it was already tainted. Van Meter could have been here long ago and left by now. Scott could be looking at poison and not even know it. That made him feel unsettled, eerie.

As he gazed at the placid water Scott saw something far more unsettling though. In the reflection he could see a figure approaching directly behind him. Scott spun on the spot and found himself facing a man in a Metrowater blue jumpsuit and hard hat. The man seemed startled by Scott’s sudden about-face. He took a quick step back, clutching his clip board with its crumpled work order tightly. “I’m sorry sir but you can’t be by the reservoir today. There’s a safety concern,” the Metrowater worker explained meekly to Scott.

Scott was about to assure the man that all was well, as he was a cop. But something stopped him. It was the man’s accent. It was clearly South African, like something right out of District Nine. Scott looked more carefully into the man’s face. Under the glasses and the hard hat it was all too familiar. He’d seen that face in the speed camera photo just hours ago.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Scott recognised his suspect standing right before him. There was no doubt the man knew who Scott was already, and now he knew that Scott recognised him as well. It felt like an eternity had passed with the two men just staring at each other, only feet apart, waiting for one to make a move. Scott reached towards his belt for the taser he’d clipped to it. Van Meter was moving too, raising his hand to reveal a small metal cylinder in his palm. As Scott lifted the taser out of the holster Van Meter snapped his arm down in a violent motion. The metal cylinder expanded suddenly, revealing itself to be a telescopic baton. Scott raised the taser at Van Mater, standing just a metre apart from him. There was no time for warnings, no time to identify himself. Scott needed to take this psycho down and fast.

Unfortunately, Van Meter was faster. As Scott squeezed back the trigger Van Meter spun to the right and swung down the metal baton hard across Scott’s arm. The taser went flying as Scott recoiled in pain, sure his arm had been broken. He pivoted right to protect himself as the baton came down on his back next. But as Van Meter swung a third time Scott spun and lunged at the man, taking the blow across his chest but then getting a grip on the baton.

The two men locked together, struggling over the weapon. They were so close Scott could feel the man’s warm breath on his face, his heart pounding in his chest. Van Meter pushed forward with all his weight and Scott lost his footing. He was driven onto his back on the ground. The wind briefly knocked out of him, Scott didn’t recover quickly enough. A fist slammed into his head and drove it backward into the hard gravel strewn dirt. For a moment all Scott was aware of was flashing colours in the darkness. He forced himself back to consciousness.

Though he was dizzy and his head was pounding, Scott was awake. Van Meter was still on top of him but he’d thrown the baton aside. He was now holding an odd looking contraption. It appeared to be a little mask just big enough to cover a nose. Attached to it was a syringe with a plunger extended out. With a hand tightly on Scott’s throat Van Meter put a finger to his lip as though to quiet the dazed detective.

“Don’t worry Detective Newcomb, it won’t hurt a bit. Perhaps you and your partner can be playmates, ja?” Van Meter chuckled.

Scott struggled on the ground but couldn’t get free of the tight grip on his throat. Van Meter leaned forward and lowered the little mask towards Scott’s face. The plastic pressed over his nose as the grip on his throat tightened and he couldn’t get a breath, his vision was darkening again. Van Meter chuckled malevolently. “Goodbye Detective,” he whispered.

The ear-piercing crack of a gunshot reached Scott’s ringing ears just at the moment he thought all was lost. The crushing grip on his throat was gone instantly, the weight on his abdomen relieved. Gasping for air and coughing, Scott sat up and saw that the chief of detectives was standing ten metres away, feet planted in shooting position with the smoking Glock still pointed at his target. Van Meter was lying on his stomach on the ground, not moving. Blood was visible seeping from the wound in his back, staining the blue of his stolen jumpsuit.

“What are you doing here?” Scott croaked.

Lowering his weapon and moving closer the chief replied, “I really didn’t like the idea of sending you out all alone. I was going to check on Hale next, but it looks like that won’t be necessary.”

“He almost had me,” Scott admitted with shame.

“Doesn’t matter now,” the chief replied, approaching the prone body carefully.

The chief leaned over the body with his weapon still pointed at the man’s head. The syringe and mask device was laying on the ground nearby, but not within Van Meter’s reach. He wasn’t moving anyway. The chief holstered the Glock and detached his handcuffs, leaning down to restrain Van Meter just in case.

It took only a blink of an eye for the whole situation to become reversed. Van Meter’s apparently lifeless body flipped over and he lunged up at the chief, grabbing his shoulder and pulling the surprised detective forward. His other hand gripped Scott’s dropped taser, which he drove into the chief’s stomach and pulled the trigger. There was an awful groan as the chief convulsed and dropped twitching to the ground, paralysed.

Scott forced himself to his feet, horrified by the sight of his boss, his mentor, writhing on the ground in pain. Before he could even make it two steps though Van Meter had swung the taser around and pulled the trigger. Wires bit into Scott’s chest and he felt thousands of volts of electricity course through his body. It felt like he was being burned from the inside out. His muscles went into spasm and he dropped to the ground like a rag-doll. Finally the electrocution ended, but Scott was frozen, his muscles unwilling to respond to the messages he was sending them. This was more frightening than when he was being choked. At least then he could fight back. Now he was out of control, completely at Van Meter’s mercy.

Retrieving the nose-mask device from the dirt, Van Meter looked back and forth at the two prone detectives. Scott could feel the fanatic’s cold gaze. He was powerless to do anything as Van Meter knelt down beside the chief and rolled the man’s limp body on its back. The chief’s eyes were open, but like Scott, he couldn’t fight back. Van Meter placed the mask over the chief’s nose and without further delay, depressed the plunger. Scott tried to scream out, to do anything to stop this from happening. But he could only lie there and watch as the chief’s mind was wiped.

Van Meter discarded the used mask and walked out of view. Scott didn’t know where he’d gone off to or if he was coming back. He could feel control slowly returning to him though. He could wiggle his toes and unclench his fists. Scott tried to roll onto his stomach so he could look around. The chief was regaining control of his body too, but it was a depressing sight for Scott. The chief’s navy pants had a dark stain down the crotch and another stench was already reaching Scott’s nose. Soon his former mentor was rolling around in the dirt, yanking at his foot, trying fruitlessly to remove his shoe. Scott was afraid if he didn’t get back muscle control in the next few seconds he’d soon be joining the chief in his pursuit of tootsies to chew on.

It took every bit of will-power but Scott managed to rise to a crouching position. Van Meter was nowhere to be seen. Scott crept across the dirt towards the chief, feeling his muscles slowly loosen second by second. Scott felt awful as he was forced to clamp his hand over the chief’s mouth to stop his loud babbling. He quickly located the chief’s holster and drew the pistol out, ready to defend himself.

Rising painfully to a standing position, Scott headed for the chief’s cruiser. He needed to radio in what he’d found. They needed the SGT out here and fast. Maybe the army could get some helicopters and rush them here. He threw open the passenger door and grabbed at the radio. But it wasn’t there. “What the fuck?” he muttered.

“Looking for this detective?” Van Meter called.

Scott jumped out of the cruiser to see the South African now standing ten metres away, holding the radio, snapped wires and all, in his hands. Scot raised the weapon and trained it on Van Meter.

“Don’t you fucking move!” he bellowed.

The insane chemist simply smiled and dropped the radio to the ground. “I have nowhere to go now anyway,” he told the detective.

“Put your hands on your head!”

Van Meter complied with a shrug.

“Now turn around and get on your knees!”

Once the man had complied Scott carefully approached him. This time there was no trick and Van Meter allowed himself to be cuffed. As he did so Scott saw why the chief’s shot had such little effect. Van Meter was wearing a bulletproof vest. The shot had penetrated it but only barely. He had little more than a slight flesh wound.

“You’re going away for a very long time asshole,” Scott told him.

Van Meter chuckled. “Oh, I don’t think so detective. The maximum sentence in this country is about fifteen years, and that’s for murder. I haven’t killed anyone.”

“You might as well have! What you’ve done is just as bad!”

“I have only freed them from their sins, allowed them to be reborn pure and innocent. Now they may have a chance to enter the Kingdom of God when they die. I have surely saved them from eternal damnation!” Van Meter insisted.

“God, you really are coo-coo for coco puffs mate. I think you might just be spending a lot of time in a padded room.”

“It matters not what happens to me now detective. I have done my duty to God. This wicked new Sodom will be cleansed.”

All the triumph Scott was feelng at having stopped Van Meter suddenly left him. “What does that mean?” Scott demanded.

“Don’t you know by now detective? Don’t you know why we’re here? Like John before me, I have used water to baptise this wicked city and remove its sins.”

Scott spun Van Meter around so he could look him in the eye. “Are you telling me that you already put the agent in the water supply?”

Van Meter had a frighteningly peaceful look on his face as he replied, “But of course I have detective. Why else would I have allowed you to capture me? My work is done.”

Scott pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. Just as he feared he had no reception out here. Van Meter had destroyed the radio, the only other means of communication. That was why he’d fought. He’d needed to destroy the radio so no one could stop his plan. Now he was laughing at Scott’s failure.

“You’re too late detective. Right now the cleansing waters will be reaching West Auckland. In half an hour the whole city’s water supply will be purified.”