Jackson put his ear to this door, then turned the knob slowly and began to open it, his P320 at the ready. Peeking outside the door, he saw a long hallway. A large, cavernous opening in the center of the building was divided from the walkway by a railing. Opposite the open middle were an array of doors with frosted windows carved into a cinderblock wall. The place was a maze.
He turned and looked back at the man he had subdued, who was watching him nervously. Jackson crouched down, his gun in hand and in view of the man.
“You’re not going to fight me, right,” Jackson asked.
The man gave a jittery nod.
“If I take this tape off your mouth,” Jackson continued, “You’re not going to scream, right?”
Another nod.
Jackson reached out and slowly removed the tape, giving himself the option to quickly put it back if the man decided not to cooperate. But the only sound the man gave was a little groan as the adhesive peeled away at his skin.
“The girl,” Jackson said, “Where is she?”
The man gave him a confused look.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“What’s your name,” Jackson asked.
“Cliff,” the man replied.
“Cliff, I thought you said you were going to cooperate.”
“I did. I – I am.”
“Then where is the girl?”
“Which one?”
“The girl you and your friends out there took.”
“Who are you talking about?”
Jackson brought his gun closer to Cliff’s face.
“Cliff,” Jackson said, “I’m going to ask you one more ti—"
“I’m not doing nothing,” Cliff replied, his voice stricken with fear, “You said where’s the girl. You got to tell me which one of them you’re talking about.”
Jackson’s heart began to thump hard in his chest. He feared he already knew the answer to his next question.
“Them,” he said, “You mean there’s more than one?”
Cliff nodded.
“There was never just one.”
60
Jackson stared at Cliff, not wanting to believe what he’d said. A clap of thunder exploded somewhere nearby, causing Cliff to flinch. Jackson didn’t move. He was a world away in his own head. How many girls did these people have? How many Sara Beth Parkers were here? A rage began to burn in him.
Reaching into one of his pockets, Jackson fetched a photo of Sara Beth and put it up to Cliff’s face.
“This one,” Jackson said, “Her name is Sara Beth Parker. Where is she?”
“I – I haven’t seen her. I haven’t seen most of them. I’m not supposed to,” Cliff said, “I just know they’re here.”
“They’re here where,” Jackson asked.
“Down inside further. They keep them in an old storage area that’s been secured until they’re gone.”
“What do you mean until they’re gone?”
“Until they go.”
“Where? Where do they go?”
“To whoever they go to.”
Jackson’s anger burned inside him as what Cliff told him only got worse. He’d finally gotten here, to the people who had taken Sara Beth, and she might not even be here. He couldn’t think about it. Sara Beth had to be here. He had to find her.
“You’re going to take me to where they keep the girls,” Jackson said.
“I can’t,” Cliff replied.
“My gun to your back will say otherwise,” Jackson countered.
“I can’t just go to them. There are people in here. They’ll see me. See us. I’m not supposed to be in here unless I’m told to.”
“We’ll worry about that when we get there.”
Jackson began pulling Cliff to his feet when the door behind him swung open.
“The fuck is this,” said a gravelly voice behind him.
In one swift motion, Jackson dropped to the floor, turning sideways, and drawing his P320 in the direction of the doorway. He landed on top of Cliff and pointed his pistol up at a large, barrel-chested man with small tree trunks for arms. The man smiled down at him over a thick handlebar mustache.
“Well ain’t you cute,” said the man with a southern drawl.
Jackson noticed the holster on the man’s hip, a large grip of what had to be a high-caliber pistol jutting out. The man’s hand was sliding slowly towards it. From his position, Jackson had only one play. Squeezing the trigger, he planted two 9mm rounds squarely into the man’s chest.
Outside another clap of thunder boomed, echoing the thunder that had just rang out inside. The man stumbled backwards, raking at the gunshot wounds, before falling against the far wall. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Jackson tugged a crying Cliff off the floor.
“Come on,” Jackson said, “We’ve got to move. Now.”
He shoved him through the door and began to march him down the hallway when he looked up. Standing at the far end, watching, was Silas Ash. A six-shot revolver dangled limply in his hand.
“Shit, you killed Big Jed,” Silas said.
“He didn’t give me much of a choice,” Jackson replied.
Turning his torso sideways to make himself a smaller target, he grabbed Cliff by the back of his shirt and put him squarely between Silas and himself. Cliff made a noise Jackson hadn’t ever heard a man make before.
“All I want is Sara Beth Parker,” Jackson said, “Just give her to me and we’ll go.”
Silas began to laugh.
“Oh, you dumb fuck,” Silas said, “You don’t even know what you don’t know.”
Jackson doubled down.
“The girl,” he said, “Give her to me.”
Silas began to walk forward. Jackson lifted Cliff upright by his shirt and pointed his P320 at Silas over Cliff’s left shoulder. Silas laughed again.
“You think I give two shits about ole Cliff,” he asked.
Before Jackson could answer, Silas’ arm snapped up and fired a round, hitting Cliff in his abdomen. Jackson lowered his gun, trying to catch the suddenly limp body in his hands. Silas fired again, hitting Cliff in the collarbone. He hadn’t lied about caring for Cliff’s wellbeing. Jackson realized he had only seconds before his only cover would be bleeding out on the floor.
“I’m sorry about this,” he muttered into Cliff’s ear.
Grabbing him even tighter, Jackson pushed him forward, rushing Silas and using Cliff as a shield. The charge caught Silas off guard, who fired his next four shots frantically, each one of them catching Cliff. When Jackson counted the sixth shot, he let go of Cliff who fell lifeless to the floor.
Jackson charged Silas directly now, who turned and reached for something. It was too late, Jackson hit him with the broadside of his arm, clotheslining him, and knocking both of them to the ground.
As Silas fell backwards the contents of the pocket he’d been reaching into scattered onto the floor. He moved for a knife that rattled across the concrete floor, but Jackson saw it. He grabbed Silas’ wrist and twisted his arm behind him, then pulled up until he heard a pop. Silas shrieked in pain. Jackson had dislocated his shoulder.
Whipping an arm around Silas’ neck, he placed him in a chokehold and pulled his head close to his.
“Sara Beth Parker,” Jackson growled, “The girl from Harrisonburg. Where is she?”
Silas didn’t answer as he groaned in pain.
Jackson began to squeeze harder when he heard a door kick open around the corner.
“Silas,” a voice called out.
Laying against the wall with Silas in a chokehold, Jackson poked his head around the corner. Three men with assault rifles were moving cautiously down the hallway towards him. When they saw him, they fired.
Jackson ducked back as chips of paint and concrete splintered into the air. With his free hand, he drew his P320, reached around the corner, and returned fire. Emptying the entire magazine, he looked down at Silas who was out cold now. Jackson let him go, grabbed another
magazine and reloaded.
More gunfire came from around the corner. As pieces of debris peppered the floor, a black rectangle caught Jackson’s eye. It was a phone. Silas must have dropped it during the fight. A bullet crashed into the wall next to it, sending it sliding. Jackson wanted that phone, and he wanted it undamaged.
Pulling himself up onto one knee, he turned and faced the corner of the wall. When there was a break in the gunfire, he leaned out with his P320 drawn. A man ducked behind cover as Jackson squeezed off two rounds. The other two men, seeing the third get hit, ducked inside a door and closed it. Jackson emptied the rest of his magazine in their direction. He reached for the phone and ducked back behind the wall. A second later, gunfire came booming from around the corner once more.
Jackson clicked on the phone. It needed a finger print to unlock. He looked over at the unconscious Silas. He grabbed the man’s hand and placed his limp thumb onto the phone’s screen. It unlocked. Jackson quickly changed the security setting on the phone so it wouldn’t need a finger print to unlock again and put it away.
Loading his final magazine, he knew he didn’t have what he needed to sustain the gunfight. By now, more men were surely on the way. It was time to take the phone, hoping it was enough, and go. Standing up, he slowly backed down the hallway towards the office he had entered in from. As he neared the office doors, two shadows appeared around the bend in the hallway. Jackson fired two shots. The shadows disappeared. This was the best it was going to get. He ducked into the office, ran out the door and sprinted across the clearing behind the mill into the night.
As he ran across the open field, his lungs filled with the smell of the imminent storm. Thunder clapped as he ran towards the lightning.
“There he is, shoot him,” he heard a voice yell behind him.
Gunfire rang out as Jackson made it to the tree line, but he didn’t slow down. He kept running. Hot lead collided with tree trunks and splintered their wood. Leaves whipped and snapped as large caliber rounds pruned them from their branches. He flinched as a round hit a large hickory tree and peppered his face with splintered wood. It didn’t stop him. It couldn’t stop him. His lifespan in that moment was measured by the distance he could put between him and his pursuers.
Two men ran into the woods after him but Jackson ran faster and climbed harder. Now he was in his element. He could weave in and out of the trees like a running back reading a defense. As the skies opened up above, he continued on, scaling the steep and muddied terrain on all fours.
When he made it to the first ridgeline, he stopped to get his bearings. This was the first landmark, his way of mapping in his head what to look for without a GPS or compass. He could hear voices below him but didn’t see anyone. The rain and night hadn’t deterred them from continuing their pursuit. He pulled out his P320 and checked the magazine. Counting the one in the chamber, he had three rounds. He put the gun away and followed the ridgeline east, running hard on the even terrain.
The storm began to pick up in intensity. Drops of rain turned into sheets blown sideways by the violent winds. Trees whipped back and forth, fighting the weather’s attempts to snap them in two if not uproot them completely. Loose branches fell from above, striking the ground like crooked javelins.
Jackson kept running. He had the advantage now and he was determined to leverage it. He’d spent his entire life in woods just like these. He was comfortable here. He was dangerous here.
The wind and rain drowned out the voices behind him. Jackson looked back. The storm had cut visibility down to virtually zero. If the men pursuing him didn’t know where he was headed, pretty soon he’d become impossible to track.
He continued along the ridge until he found Bear’s UTV. The two of them had parked it on a state forest trail. Jackson grabbed the keys out of his pocket, climbed in, and fired it up. Turning the wheel, he punched the gas and the UTV whipped around in a semi-circle. He shifted it into high gear, and continued climbing the mountain, now with 120 horses to aid him.
By the time the two men found the trail, Jackson was almost two miles away.
61
Jackson took the trail all the way north until it ended alongside a rural highway. There, he and Bear had stashed his truck out of view, covering it with camouflage netting. The plan had been to rendezvous there when Jackson had Sara Beth Parker with him, but that hadn’t happened.
Instead, all Jackson had was the phone of a goon cult leader. As he climbed into his truck to escape the mid-Atlantic monsoon overhead, he fished the phone out of his pocket and tried to turn it on. It was dead. Jackson looked at the bottom of it and saw it used the same Micro USB charger as his. He plugged it in and turned on the truck to let it charge. The phone came to life with a picture of an empty battery and a brand logo Jackson didn’t recognize.
Watching the scroll wheel circle as the battery percentage climbed from zero to 1%, he grabbed his own phone and called Bear. The roar of wind whipping by answered the call.
“What’s the good news buddy,” Bear said, yelling over the storm, “You get that little girl?”
“No such luck,” Jackson replied, “I’m not sure she was there anyway.”
“Wait, what do you mean,” Bear said, “Where would she be then?”
“I don’t know. It’s bad, Bear.”
“What’s going on?”
“They’ve taken multiple girls. The guy I worked over said they take them and keep them at that place until they’re gone. I never got out of him what that means.”
“Christ. It sounds like some sort of, what do you call it? Trafficking ring or something.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
“What if they don’t have her no more?”
“I can’t begin to think like that.”
Jackson could hear Bear’s windshield wipers thump back and forth as he struggled to find the right thing to say.
“What’s the play,” Bear finally asked.
“I don’t know,” Jackson replied, “I got Silas Ash’s phone off of him in a fight. Hopefully it has something on there. I guess meet me here at the trailhead like we planned.”
“You got it,” Bear said, “And Jackie boy?”
“Yeah?”
“We’ll find her, brother.”
Jackson ended the call. He wasn’t so sure. It was nearing a month since these people had taken her, if they had taken her. He was no human trafficker, but he couldn’t imagine holding onto a living, breathing payday for that long. Even if she hadn’t been sold to someone, there was always the chance they – Jackson couldn’t even bring himself to imagine it.
Closing his eyes, he tried to refocus. Think about what you can control, he thought. You don’t know that she’s gone. And if there’s a chance, you’re still in the game.
He was listening to the rain plink against the fiberglass body of the truck when the chirping of a phone interrupted. He looked down, thinking at first Bear had called him back, but it was the other phone. Silas’ phone. It had received a text message.
Jackson punched the message open. It was just a spam message alerting how much data had been used on the phone, but it gave Jackson an idea. He opened up the text messaging app on the phone. There were suspiciously few conversations, especially for someone who is supposedly ordering around cult militia members all day.
He opened the apps menu on the phone and browsed. As he swiped alphabetically, he got to ‘T’, and saw Telegram. He knew Telegram was a go-to messaging app for people who preferred their privacy, particularly criminals. A couple years back, the Russian government had even toyed with the idea of blocking the app altogether given its prevalent use amongst terrorists.
Jackson opened up the app. This was where Silas had been communicating. There were dozens of chats open including a number of Secret Chats. Secret Chats was a feature where messages could only be accessed by the device sending the message and the device receiving it, making hacking or eavesdropping virtually impossible.
&nbs
p; He scanned the messages on the Secret Chats, none of which looked good. The most recent had come a few hours ago from a username 3vang3l1st.
Subject 2. $50,000.
Before it, Silas, or someone using this phone, had sent the user photos of three women inside cages. The boldness of it all shocked Jackson. They hadn’t even bothered to set self-destruction timers on their messages, another feature of the app. He supposed Silas needed the record of messages to keep up with the business of selling humans. The thought reinvigorated the rage inside Jackson.
He continued to scroll through the Secret Chats, reading each briefly, hoping he’d get a clue or perhaps a photo of Sara Beth. A chat with a user called Amhaaretz last had a message sent three days ago. It was a message from the user to Silas.
We need to talk about the girl.
Jackson slid the window up and read the older messages. There were exchanges working out various details and setting up times to meet. The user mentioned “my place”, leading Jackson to wonder if they were local. He continued to scroll. As far as Jackson could tell, Silas had not sent this user any pictures. He wondered if perhaps the conversation had begun with pictures sent, a sick sort of shop laying out its merchandise to a predator customer.
He scrolled all the way to the top and began reading. The conversation between the two started off simple enough. They exchanged pleasantries, then Amhaaretz indicated to Silas who they were, without exchanging names.
Think you should remember me. Our mutual acquaintance introduced us at the lake yesterday.
Jackson wondered if he was referring to Smith Mountain Lake at the marina. According to the timestamps, the conversation went quiet for a few days before Amhaaretz sent another message. Reading it, Jackson felt himself go cold.
The Woodsman (The Jackson Clay & Bear Beauchamp Series Book 1) Page 22
