Snatched

by Michael Arches

  Donna said, “I’ll take care of those poor people. They’ll have to go to the second dorm because this one is full.”

  Athena kept her good eye on the truck. But then a chill went through her when she spotted movement. The driver of a black BMW SUV next to the truck opened her door. A black-haired female. Athena backed away from the window to avoid being seen, hopefully in time. She peered out from the edge of the window, hiding most of her face.

  Two years ago, Athena had only caught a glimpse of her, but the woman’s image had remained indelibly imprinted in Athena’s mind…because the bitch, Dominique Santiago, had fired a pistol at Athena’s head. She’d fired her gun at the same time as the former Wyoming Attorney General had.

  Athena’s right frontal lobe throbbed as she remembered that awful night. But the FBI never did figure out which of the two had hit Athena. Both slugs were the same caliber, nine-millimeter, and too fragmented for ballistic tests.

  The Attorney General was now serving a life sentence, but Santiago had gotten away scot-free.

  Since that awful night, Athena had followed that woman’s comings and goings. She was the favorite daughter of Fernando Santiago, one of the most powerful drug lords in Central America. In Latin American, she was a celebrity, a dark princess. According to one online gossip magazine, Dominique had recently attended a party in Mexico City with two of the Kardashians and many other international jet setters.

  Life for damned sure wasn’t fair. Santiago had skipped out on an attempted murder charge and lived like royalty, but Athena had woken up from a coma with a shattered skull and had been forced into a life in hiding.

  Now, Santiago had arrived to torment Athena again. Luckily, the woman had hardly glanced at the dorm. Showed no indication that she’d recognized Athena.

  Instead of approaching, Santiago spoke to the truck’s driver. He pointed at the log house.

  She drove over there and parked. With a slinky gait, thanks to ankle breaker heels and a shiny black pencil skirt, she entered the front door.

  -o-o-o-

  Leo had taken Cici upstairs right after dinner. He was peeling Cici out of her clothes and looking forward to another night for the ages when Rick called him on a walkie-talkie.

  “Sorry to bother you, boss, but that gal you mentioned at dinner just showed up.”

  Shit! “I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”

  Cici frowned. “Really? That’s all the time we get together?”

  “I’m sorry, but for now. Langer called earlier and told me to make sure I meet with the cartel woman right away. We can have a quickie, then I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay in this room. That woman and I may need to use the office.”

  -o-o-o-

  The black-haired woman was waiting for Leo in the common area downstairs. She oozed charm, but if Langer’s stories were anywhere close to true, Dominique was more dangerous than any viper.

  In any case, Leo treated her as courteously as possible. Even opened a bottle of Dom Perignon in her honor.

  The two of them sat alone at the fireplace, sipped champagne, and chatted about nothing in particular.

  Leo knew better than to rush her into business, and she seemed to want to relax after a long drive from Vegas. She asked questions about Leo’s past work for Langer and how they’d managed to escape the FBI.

  Finally, she said, “What a lovely old lodge. I’m sorry you have to leave it so quickly. We’re happy to assist you in your move to Central America.”

  Leo shrugged. “Mr. Langer will decide when and where we go. I don’t think he’s made up his mind yet. It depends on whether the Feds manage to track us here. I understand your organization can give us advance warning of any raid. Is that right?”

  She sighed. “We should be able to, yes, but I wouldn’t risk my life by waiting. Understand, our information comes from Washington. There’s always the possibility that a team of local agents will decide to raid you before they bother to inform their superiors. And sometimes, we don’t hear about an imminent attack until a few minutes before it begins. In other words, you might have to leave with a moment’s notice.”

  Fear zinged through him. He’d read about Supermax, and it was every bit as dehumanizing as the old Soviet spy prisons.

  Langer had made the FBI mole sound like he could be much more helpful than Dominique thought. She knew the truth better than him. “Look, we only have one truck on site. It’s not large enough to transport everybody in one trip, not even if we pack the women together standing. Nor could they remain like that for long without hurting themselves.”

  “You’ll only have to drive them forty miles, to the airport north of Monticello. Most of the way, the roads are excellent. If you start right away, you could make several trips, and the women would be able to sit. Our jet is in New Orleans at the moment, but I can have it fly here immediately. We could all be gone by midnight.”

  That prospect filled him with joy. “As far as I’m concerned, the sooner we get the hell out of the US, the better. But Mr. Langer has to make the decision. It’s quite late in New York City, so I don’t want to call without urgent news. You could still move the plane.”

  She shrugged. “We might as well, to be ready for a quick departure.”

  Leo would have to give considerable thought to the best way to convince Langer to do the right thing. “At least, we can prepare for a move. First thing in the morning, I’ll show you around so you can see the people and equipment we’ll need to transport.”

  She toasted him with her glass. “Excellent. How many people?”

  “Sixty-two surrogate mothers, including the dozen who arrived with you. Plus, a dozen guards and seven young female companions for the men. Oh, and I almost forgot our doctor. She has lots of very expensive equipment.”

  Dominique yawned. “Naturally. Leo, I’m sorry, but it’s been a very long day. With your permission, I’ll grab my bags out of my Beemer and borrow one of your guest rooms. I’ll need access to your Wi-Fi so I can contact the plane’s pilot and summarize our discussion for my father.”

  Leo showed her a guestroom then dashed upstairs to his office. He’d written the Wi-Fi password and the PIN for his new laptop on a specific page in a Russian-English dictionary. Page forty was easy to remember because that was how old he was.

  After he settled Dominique in, he hurried back to Cici. She was waiting for him in bed—exactly where he’d left her. A huge smile came to her face. The girl was a goddess.

  -o-o-o-

  Zinger Auto Parts, Monticello

  Beau had spoken to the auto parts store’s manager, and he’d promised to return to his business immediately.

  In the meantime, Beau called Yang.

  When the boss answered the phone, he yawned. Beau sympathized. He was just as tired but they couldn’t rest yet. He quickly summarized what he’d learned in Monticello.

  Yang said, “Excellent work. Let me know when you have concrete proof that Galway’s bus drove through town. Also, tell me if you discover that the store’s video won’t help us.”

  Soon after Beau hung up, a short, pudgy man with a crew cut entered the store. He wore a BYU T-shirt and jeans. His nose glistened, and he smelled like mint. “I’m Brigham Kincaid, the store manager.”

  That short comment led to a coughing fit.

  Beau stepped back to avoid the guy’s germs.

  “Just tell me what you need,” the manager said. “We love to cooperate with law enforcement.”

  Beau bit his tongue and appreciated the cooperation before he explained what he needed.

  The manager kept nodding his head. “Glad you asked us. My wife’s been sending me texts all day long about your investigation. She’s very upset about those poor pregnant women. Let’s see if our video can help.”

  Beau followed him to a tiny office with an ancient desktop computer. “One camera is positioned over the Main Street entrance,” Kincaid said. “It has a wide-angle lens that can se
e most of the north-south highway traffic and whatever comes from the east.”

  Beau gave him the time when the retired teacher had called in her report of shots fired, namely 4:39 p.m.

  “The Catholic Church is only a minute south of here, but let’s start looking at 4:30. With this old computer, I have to readjust the clock every so often because it runs fast. Haven’t done that for a while.”

  “You still have your recording from yesterday?” Beau asked.

  “I hope. The system overwrites every four days if it’s working right. But the program we use is fifteen years old. Been acting up lately.”

  Beau suppressed a groan. If after all his scurrying around for the last two days this didn’t pan out, he’d have to find another business with a better system. That could take until morning.

  The computer’s low-definition monitor displayed a ten-inch-wide image from the video system. All white. But after Kincaid fiddled with things for a moment, a grainy black and white video began.

  “Can you fast-forward?” Beau asked.

  The manager snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m surprised it’s running at all. The video card just reported an error message. No joke. We could get the blue screen of death at any instant. Cross your fingers.”

  Beau kept his mouth shut and said a prayer to the Virgin.

  The video continued, but he couldn’t read the license plates on any vehicles driving north or south. The way the camera was positioned, it only got a good look at a vehicle’s plate when it approached from the east and made a left turn right in front of the store.

  Beau stared at the crappy screen, afraid to blink or glance away for even a second.

  Finally, a large, silver bus approached from the east and turned left to continue south on Main Street.

  “Merde!” Beau said. The license plate became clearly visible for a few seconds. Beau already knew it by heart and confirmed it. Plus, to remove any possible doubt, Galway Expeditions had been printed on the side of the bus.

  “Son of a bitch!” Beau said before remembering his manners. “Please excuse my language, sir.”

  The manager snickered then sneezed. “Guess that’s what you’re looking for, eh?”

  Beau clapped his hands in joy then called the boss.

  Chapter 25

  As soon as Yang picked up, Beau said, “They came through here! I saw the bus and confirmed its license number.”

  “Excellent,” Yang said. “So, we know they’re somewhere between Monticello, Utah, and Carson City, Nevada. I’m guessing, they’re much closer to you than Lake Tahoe. A half-dozen agents will join you by morning, including me. Get some sleep. We’ll meet at six a.m. at the sheriff’s office.”

  Beau thanked the manager profusely and collected a digital copy of the video. Then, he asked, “Any suggestions on where I can get a room in this town?”

  -o-o-o-

  Homestead House

  At five-thirty a.m., Athena rose for good. Overnight, she’d checked on Maggie three times and tried three more groups of passwords for the network’s router. No luck. Whoever had chosen the password had obviously avoided the easy-to-remember ones.

  She needed a shower, so she headed to the communal bathroom, where one of the other women had cracked open a window. The smell of smoke poured through, much stronger than the night before. Leo and the other assholes had better be paying attention. We all could be burned to a crisp.

  After cleaning up and getting dressed, she went down to check on Maggie again. Thankfully, her skin looked much rosier than at four a.m., but each time she moved, she groaned.

  “Would you like anything for breakfast?” Athena asked her.

  She shook her head, then stopped. “Actually, maybe a little juice. Otherwise, water will do.”

  Athena brought back a small cup of orange juice and helped Maggie sip it. Athena warmed inside because their Fearless Leader seemed to be on the mend.

  Shortly after six, Athena stepped out onto the porch to check out the fire situation.

  Outside, the smoke was much thicker than last evening. And worse, she spotted a reddish glow high up on the canyon rim to the north. At least one fire was damned close. That made her tongue tingle.

  Off to one side, Rick stepped out of the storage building and piled several food boxes onto the garden cart. When it was full, he pulled it toward Athena. A group of sex slaves exited the log building, including Cici. She seemed happy, and Athena wondered why. From her perspective, they seemed to be in more trouble than ever.

  -o-o-o-

  San Juan County Sheriff’s Department, Monticello

  Right at six a.m., Beau showed up at the brightly lit office. The parking lot was full, despite the early hour. Inside the office, a dozen men and women milled around. Half were FBI agents, and the rest wore deputy uniforms.

  “The guest of honor has finally arrived,” Yang said. “We can begin.”

  Beau ignored the snide comment. If Yang had wanted him earlier, he should’ve said so. Some bosses were never satisfied.

  Everyone crowded into a conference room and introduced themselves. At one end of the room, a map sat on an easel. It showed Nevada and Utah with a horizontal band of blue painted across both states.

  Yang pointed at a young, sandy-haired guy with freckles. “Tyler Hendrickson here was kind enough to spend half the night preparing graphics. This map shows the area where the surrogate mothers might’ve been dropped off. Yes, it’s a huge swath of land, but believe me, it’s much more targeted than the region we were searching yesterday. Tyler says the key factor in dramatically narrowing our target area was that the bus turned south in Monticello instead of north. My instincts tell me that they went south to dump their cargo somewhere close then headed north again.”

  He stopped, apparently to let his wild-ass guess sink in. Nobody disagreed, including Beau.

  “San Juan County, Utah, is enormous,” Sheriff Moore said, “but as you can see, only a small part of the county fits within the blue zone. We’ll focus there and find them.”

  Nobody interrupted him. His enthusiasm was contagious. Beau sure as hell hoped they could successfully end their search over the next few days.

  Yang removed the first map to show a second that zeroed in on San Juan County. It extended from the southeast corner of the state up to a jagged line that was formed by the Colorado River.

  “If you look closely,” Yang said, “you can see a lot of red dots within the blue target zone. Those are all properties in this county that we know have buildings large enough to accommodate the surrogates. Sixty-three specific destinations. We need to check every single one as quickly as possible.”

  -o-o-o-

  Leo was sitting at his desk, reading the online fire reports from the San Juan County Sheriff’s Office. The wind had shifted overnight, and it was now blowing hard from the north. A small fire four miles from the compound had flared up and was quickly reaching southward. Fucking son of a bitch!

  The walkie-talkie on his desk said, “Leo, it’s Stan. Sorry to bother you, but that hot Mexican chick says she really needs to talk to you.”

  Leo replied, “Bring her to my office.”

  It’d better not be more bad news. Too much recently already.

  Dominique hurried in.

  He motioned for her to take a seat next to his desk. “What’s up?”

  Her brow was furrowed, and her lips formed a tight, straight line. “Very bad news. Our contact in the FBI just informed us that a team of seven FBI agents arrived in Monticello overnight. Your bus was spotted there a day and a half ago.”

  A cold fist seemed to squeeze Leo’s heart, but all was not lost. “So, somebody saw us passing through. We could be anywhere in the Western Hemisphere by now. What else?”

  She blew out a deep breath. “They’ve narrowed down your possible locations to a band about forty miles wide that follows the major highways from Monticello to Blanding to Carson City. The agent in c
harge of the investigation strongly believes we’re in this San Juan County.”

  And he was right. “Shit! We’ve got to call Mr. Langer.”

  “Not to be too dramatic,” she said, “but when I looked out my window this morning, I saw a fire on one of the mountains above us. We could be trapped very soon. Or, I should say, you could be. I’ll take no chances with my life. I’m leaving as soon as our conversation with Langer is over.”

  Leo wished he could go with her. He contacted the boss on the encrypted phone app and explained the threats posed by the FBI and the forest fire.

  No response.

  Leo waited. He’d discharged his duty by conveying bad news as quickly as he heard it himself. Not that his diligence would protect him from the billionaire’s explosive temper.

  “You goddamned fucking idiots!” Langer yelled.

  Then, the line went dead again. Leo wasn’t about to break the silence. The boss could think as long as he needed to.

  But Dominique had to pipe up. “As I told Leonid last night, we have a jet in Monticello that can take everyone to your headquarters in Nicaragua.”

  Leo mouthed, Thank you. That was the obvious answer to all of their biggest problems. Get the hell out of the fucking USA.

  To Langer, he added, “Of course, sir, you can always send a moving truck later to collect whatever equipment we have to leave behind. I’m sure some, and maybe even most of it, will survive a fire.”

  The old bastard’s voice was as cold as ice. “What transportation do you have at the compound now?”

  Leo explained how he could move most of the preggers using the truck.

  “You should’ve warned me about the risk of forest fires in that area,” Langer said.

  Ridiculous. In the first place, Leo hadn’t even known the compound existed until two days ago. Secondly, during his first conversation with Langer, he had suggested moving to Nicaragua. But by then, the miser had already spent his money in Utah.

  Instead of any of that, Leo said, “No excuses, sir. My deepest apologies.”