Returning Fire

by Frans Harmon

  “He’s letting us go.”

  Sharlene wiped her eyes and waved a hand swatting Trina’s words away, and noticed a wad of napkins in the pizza box advertising the pizza shop. She pulled one from the pizza box, blew her nose, and after stuffing it into her pocket, retrieved her daughter’s phone. Staring at it for a second, she considered the coincidental appearance of the phone. As if she was expected to use it. She realized Sar’s hand in it, but perhaps an overplayed one. Sharlene turned it on. Did she dare send a message? And to whom? Mace. Sharlene selected text messaging and him from her contact list.

  “Don’t, “Trina said, “it’s charged, but don’t use it. The padding on these posts is not for your safety. They are all wrapped in explosives. Your phone could set them off.”

  “Explosives?” Coria said, “oh my God, he is going to kill us, bury us, no one will ever find us.”

  Sharlene dropped the still active phone into her waistband pocket and wrapped her arms around Coria, stroking her hair. “It’s going to be alright we're getting out of here. “Okay, so, where is he taking us?”

  “What’s the diff.” Trina said, “you’re getting out of here.”

  Sharlene dropped her pizza back into the box. “I’m not leaving.”

  “You crazy?” Trina yelled, “You were screaming about your kids a second ago.”

  “He needs us or did. Why not just leave us here? Unless… the explosives. This is the target. What is this place? Come on, Trina, you must have seen something?”

  Trina pulled her coat around her bony body and looked down. “Lot’s of rooms, maybe a hotel, once.”

  “Good,” Sharlene said as she fingered her discarded slice of pizza.

  “You coming then,” Trina said, “or do I tell Sar?”

  Sharlene dropped the slice, wiping her fingers with another napkin, and pocketing that one. “Yeah, forget what I said. It… the cold, hunger, let’s do this whatever this is.”

  Trina nodded. “Okay, leave everything. Thank Ulama for showing his mercy when you see him. He could change Sar’s mind.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  A squared black van sat inside what looked like a receiving bay. Ulama occupied the front passenger seat, his hooded head facing forward. Ulama gave no acknowledgment to their supplications as the three women walked past, whispering their gratitude, and then slipped into the passenger area behind. Trina entered first, Coria straddled the hump followed by Sharlene. Sar tethered Coria’s and Sharlene’s hands to the seatbacks. Sharlene starred at Trina, looking out a darkened window avoiding her eyes and seemingly in denial she shared their plight. She noticed Trina’s hands were free before Sar pulled down a thick hood over her head.

  She couldn’t see, but she listened and counted with the concentration of the blind.

  The cacophony of city clatter gave way to the drone of an expressway, a sinewy of commerce, one of many that crisscrossed the metro area. Two minutes. Then the rhythmic hum persisted. After thirty minutes, it was supplanted by a pastoral tempo of an old segmented concrete road. An occasional rocking motion from the air wake of an oncoming vehicle told her it was a two-lane road. Rocked for twenty-minutes, then a hard turn lurched her into Coria, something on the left surprised Sar.

  The immediate sound of tires crunching gravel yielded to a sloshing punctuated by a random stone striking the undercarriage. The van swung from side to side as if struggling to move forward.

  After three minutes, they stopped. Silence assailed her ears, and a fresh, damp smell was in the air. A new safe house? A farm or shack, about – she computed the time – forty miles outside the city. Was he going to kill them? That didn’t make sense, then why the blindfolds?

  Sar snatched the hood off her head, and through the dark gray tint of the windows, Sharlene saw barren trees punctuating a deep blanket of snow. Large flakes drifted silently behind Sar dressed in a heavy hunter’s coat over matching camouflage pants. Girding his jacket was a conspicuously wide black leather belt holding a long-barreled revolver. He untied Sharlene, then Coria. Trina slouched into the opposite door, an unwavering Cheshire Cat, observing and amused. Did she know what was about to happen?

  With the door open, Sharlene could see the snow, fluffy in the deep cold of a Michigan January, clutching at Sar’s knees. “Out both of you.”

  Sharlene exited. She shuddered as the snow-filled her light flats and gripped her bare legs under her skirt. The light was fading, and a gust of ice crystals swirled into her face. Coria stepped out, emitting a gasp. Her short corduroy skirt and white sneakers fared little better with the snow. Sharlene jammed her hands into her coat pockets and felt the phone. She fingered her phone, turning it on and bunched her shoulders under her head to conceal her movement. Her breath came in short gasps and formed wispy puffs that hung in front of her.

  “Is this where you are letting us go?” Coria asked, pulling her neon coat tighter.

  Sar chuckled. “Walk.”

  The women moved through the deep powder. With each step, a wave of snow crept higher up their legs. Down a slope, densely treed on either side, peppered with sporadic tufts of tall grass, a road or trail in a warmer time, and then towards a clearing without tree or vegetation penetrating the snowpack. As a country singer, she had visited many farms and didn’t know much about them beyond the promotional visit. The only similar areas she had encountered were ponds. Sharlene stopped at the vegetation’s edge.

  Sar remained at the head of the slope. “You wanted your freedom. Take it. Keep going.”

  Coria took a step. “Ice, Sharl, I’m standing on ice,” she whispered back.

  Sar pulled his long-barreled revolver from his holster and leveled it at the women. “You wanted your freedom, to escape what must be done, now move.”

  Coria shuffled a foot forward. Sharlene reached for her shoulders following at arm’s length. “Did you hear that?” Coria said, tears seeping down her cheeks. “it’s cracking.”

  “Go slow, spread your feet. I won’t let go of you.”

  Then Sharlene heard it, a slow sharp snapping-pop, ice separating from ice. Her whole body shuddered with each new sound.

  “Move, you worthless whores,” he said, raising his gun, “or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  Coria slid another foot forward. A loud splintering sound, like the snapping of a withered bough, ripped across the ice, a gray stain shot through the snow from under their feet. Coria emitted a whimper and went ridged. Sar’s idea of freedom, it seemed to Sharlene, consisted of an icy bath, hypothermia, and certain death. But then why the hoods? Sharlene shuffled around Coria and extended her hands back to her, stretching her arms as far as possible. “It’s okay,” She whispered, but it wasn’t. A new wet cold seeped into her thin cloth flats.

  Coria must have felt it also. “All right, all right,” Coria sobbed, “I’ll do it whatever you want. Just let me back.”

  “Your chance to return to your former life. Helping all those women in Africa.”

  “It was shit; my former life was shit. Bugs, hot, no life, it was shit.”

  “And how about you, Mrs. McCrary, women’s rights activist? You don’t seem to have learned your place birthing Sabriel and Lali.”

  Sharlene's face froze, her eyes locked on his taunting face.

  “The water must be up to your ankles by now; soon, it will give you to the mud below your feet.”

  Sharlene tugged Coria back. “What do they call this place.”

  Sar laughed. “It is Mud Lake. No one has ever found the bottom, your body will never be found, and your daughters will never know.”

  “Okay, okay,” Sharlene said, jamming her hands into her pockets and turtling her head into her coat. She made a calculation and fingered her phone, and then pulled her hands from her pockets, letting the napkins fall out and to the ground. “You’ve made your point,” she said, pleading with her hands. “Ulama wants us for… for whatever you have planned, doesn’t he? How are we going to fulfill his plan if we are under th
e ice?”

  Sar shrugged. “A sacrifice is a sacrifice.”

  Sharlene coaxed Coria towards vegetation. “You’re not going to kill us, not here, that was never your plan.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps you’re wrong, whore,” Sar said and fired a shot into the snow, a muted sound that created a small crater that immediately began to fill with brown ooze.

  The women jumped; Coria stifled a scream with her hand.

  “Move. Out more,” Sar said.

  Sharlene locked an arm with Coria. She slid a foot further out onto the ice – a dull thud. The ice sank. Coria screamed. The frigid waters seeped up to her knees. She was sobbing and clutching for Sharlene, who grasped her free hand. She pulled, but she too felt the water climbing up her calves, its icy grip growing stronger. Had she done enough? Would her daughters hate her?

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Mace struggling to contain his anger, spun his chair away from the others at defense’s table. Dorian and Anstice leaned into a whispering Gavin for the details. Twenty-four hours wasted, Sar had grabbed the initiative, leaving Mace and the MBI playing catch-up once more. But was it another trap?

  Judge Waldhramm pounded his gavel once more. “Mr. Ziebosh, please take your client and clear the bar. This court has more business this afternoon.”

  Darvin nodded. “Yes, Your Honor, my apologies. But if it pleases the court, is there a conference room available that we might use? An urgent matter has come up regarding the DCS bombing.”

  “This is not an inn, Mr. Ziebosh, and I am not Marriott.”

  “Yes, of course not, Your Honor, my apologies.”

  “Bailiff, please clear the bar and call the next case.” Judge Waldhramm said.

  “We need to move fast,” Gavin whispered to Dorian, as the MBI gaggle scrambled towards the rear courtroom exit.

  Anstice placed a hand on Mace’s shoulder. “We could use the FBI’s Joint Operation Center.” Mace stopped short, his head tossed back, and the pain of the thought furrowed his face. After handing him a stinging defeat, now we must make nice? “Dorian, the JOC…” Mace started, but Dorian, with a trailing hand raised in acknowledgment of Anstice’s words, was already heading over to Emmitt and prosecutor Emery Corie conferring in the hallway.

  “Excuse me, Emery,” Dorian said, motioning them into a huddle against the wall, “we’ve picked up more activity on Sharlene’s phone. We could use your assistance, Emmitt.”

  Emmitt set his jaw; a hand massaged the back of his rotating neck. Momentarily facing the wall, he said nothing.

  “Emmitt,” Mace said, “you had every right to suspect I had something to do with Jirair’s disappearance, Lord knows I doubted myself enough times. It didn’t work out well for either of us. We can figure out blame and apologies later, right now, lives are at stake. We need your resources, FBI resources, if we are going to save the women and stop the bombing.”

  “Bombing?” Emmitt said with shocked saucer-sized eyes.

  “Yeah, yesterday’s development. I’ve, uh, been busy. So how about it, light up the Joint Operations Center?”

  Emmitt shook his head. “Asshole.”

  “What?” Mace asked.

  “No,” Emmitt responded, “that was a personal observation. Some things are just harder to swallow. So, I’m sorry, to everyone.

  “Well, get in here,” Dorian yelled from inside a nearby elevator, “JOC still on the eighth floor, Emmitt?”

  Emmitt nodded and pulled out his phone. As they crowded into the elevator, three phone conversations were in progress, each barking instructions and requests. When they reached the eighth floor, Dorian, Anstice, and Emmitt still had cell phones bonded to their ears.

  The JOC was a high ceiling gymnasium-sized room. Numbered large flat screens lined two inner walls with images of maps and traffic cams. Rows of desks, each representing a task force specialty, were quickly being populated by agents and technicians from the FBI, MBI, and Detroit Metropolitan police. Emmitt was organizing and assigning tasks to each.

  “Chief at Brandon Township will provide us with four snowmobile patrol,” Anstice said and pocketed her phone.

  “I don’t understand, why aren’t we there now?” Gavin asked.

  “Time Gavin,” Mace said, “it’s five, and technically the sun has already set.” He pointed to one of the flat screens portraying a large Michigan weather map. “Ortonville is on the southern fringe of lake effect snow band, from Lake Michigan to Huron. They already have two to three feet on the ground.”

  “That map isn’t updating yet,” Anstice said, holding up her cell phone, “front is moving in that could dump another six to ten inches by morning.”

  “State is setting up roadblocks on state fifteen, sixty-eight, and Oakwood if they move south, and two on Heigel at fifteen and another at Hadley if they go north,” Dorian said.

  “That’s assuming they haven’t already,” Mace whispered to Anstice.

  “Bring up Google earth on three,” Emmitt said.

  The flat-screen depicted a rural area, light on population, and dense on trees and wilderness. Several small lakes dotted the landscape.

  Just barren trees, ice, and snow. If a bomb goes off there, will anyone hear it?

  “Is the phone still active?” Emmitt asked. A technician acknowledged that it was. “Bring up its location on three.”

  “Goat’s Willy! Right in the middle of the Ortonville Wilderness area.” Gavin said, reading the map notations on the screen.

  “If we deploy search teams in that area, we’ll be lucky if they don’t get lost themselves, let alone find anyone.” Emmitt said, “but your call, Dorian.”

  “Mud,” Gavin said, “that’s it dead-eye in the middle of the Wilderness Area.”

  “What about it?” Mace asked.

  “Text message was ‘MUD,’ that’s what she must have meant. They are at Mud Lake. We must deploy, and now. My daughter could be out there in the snow, and it’s going into the teens tonight.”

  “With little population out there, it’s not the target. It may be a ruse to lead us from his target, or worse, another trap.” Mace said.

  “Your choppers have halogen floods and infrared?” Dorian asked Emmitt. Emmitt nodded.

  “Good, send one over the phone’s location and see what they pick up before we lose all light. Then we’ll go from there.”

  “Make it happen, Allen,” Emmitt said to his search and rescue coordinator.

  Mace dropped his head, anxiety firing every nerve ending. Sar’s move was imminent; he could feel it. Ortonville was a distraction to pull resources from his real target area. That meant it was big, beyond the resources of a standard security presence.

  “In the meantime,” Dorian said, “could someone get me a decent coffee?”

  “Sure, I’ll get it,” Mace said, wanting out of the room and a chance to think. “I could use one myself.”

  “Mind if I join you?” Anstice asked, “The cafeteria’s coffee is okay, but I found a little shop in the Guardian on Griswold, that has better.”

  Mace nodded, and they headed for the elevators. “I could use the exercise. Not much of that in the holding cell you helped put me in yesterday.”

  “Perhaps, that’s something we could talk about.”

  “No end to fun today,” he said, punching the call button.

  The elevator doors opened, revealing an empty car. Anstice inserted a key into the control panel and pushed one. “Don’t want to be disturbed.” The elevator began its downward movement. “Mace, you have to understand, I didn’t want to give Emmitt your recording, but I needed leverage.”

  “You had the marked cash to use against Trayn and the video.”

  Anstice stabbed the stop button. “Wait, you knew about that?”

  “Yes, you left it in your bedroom, VCR. I watched it during your phone call.”

  “You didn’t go back to sleep; you heard my conversation, you played me.”

  “Easy, Bear. I told you I heard voices. That part
is true, and I did go back to sleep, eventually.”

  Anstice smirked and started the elevator again.

  “What I can’t figure is why you let Emmitt go as far as a warrant. You must have figured out it wasn’t me in that video.”

  Anstice hit the off button. “I did, I made a point of knowing Lew Tuller like the back of my hand.” She said and shook her head. “but the video wasn’t enough for Emmitt to move against Trayn. I didn’t expect he would use it. I just didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  A weak smile on his face, Mace nodded in reply. Anstice started the elevator moving.

  “But you had to expect a warrant when you gave him the recording. A carefully worded recording, I might note.”

  Anstice poked the off button again. The lift shuddered to a stop.

  “Will you stop doing that, Bear. We’re only on the sixth floor. Many more stops and my gut’s not going to tolerate coffee.”

  “I suspected you knew what I was doing. It seemed so easy, but I decided to go with it. So, you’re right; I knew Emmitt would jump at it. That’s why I insisted using his IAD contact to move on Trayn first thing Monday morning.”

  “And he had the warrant by the afternoon, and now it is twenty-four hours later, hours we could have used to search for the women.”

  “I have no idea what happened between you two, but when I tried to warn Emmitt, he seemed obsessed. I was terrified to show at your arraignment.”

  “But, you did and sat with the prosecution.”

  “I had to… to warn Couri. As a cop, you don’t want to be on the wrong side of a federal prosecutor.” Anstice reached for the start button, her fingers hovering over it. “We good? Before I…”

  Mace nodded. “Not how it felt in the hearing room, but, yes, we’re good.”

  Anstice restarted their downward journey. To Mace, she looked worried. He grabbed Anstice’s arm, wrapping her to him. “You played it close, too close, and just so we’re clear on how I feel…” He pulled her face to his and kissed her gently at first, then his mouth opened, and her tongue explored his. Her hand found the control panel, she pushed the stop button just as the doors opened onto the first floor and a waiting phalanx of office workers hoping for a ride.