by Akart, Bobby
He dropped his head, revealing his mental and physical exhaustion for the first time. “Thanks, but I don’t wanna miss the opportunity to question this clown. He may only come alive for a second. I need to get the name of the place where those asshats hang out. Just one word. A street. Anything.”
Suddenly, the door opened, and Delta entered the hospital. He’d stayed away since the earlier encounter with Blair and Karen. Donna moved to stand between Delta and Frankie. If Will went into a rage and attacked Frankie, she wasn’t sure Alpha would stop him.
Delta gently closed the door behind him and stared in Frankie’s direction. His face was sullen and withdrawn. He’d been losing weight since he’d arrived at the Haven, a combination of more exercise and a leaner diet. His clothes hung on him, and the stress caused him to look many years older than he was.
“Anything new?” he asked calmly.
“Nada,” replied Alpha. “Hey, man, I’m sorry about what happened to your kid. I’ll be honest, I was kinda put out with him before. Today, he really stepped up.”
Delta smiled and acknowledged Alpha’s kind words. “He saved my life. By doing so, however, he put the other kids at risk when he left them alone.”
Donna moved to console Delta. “Things happen, and it doesn’t make any sense to point fingers of blame or take on the burden of guilt. It wasn’t Ethan’s job to protect the children. It was all of ours, and especially the two guards who left their post.”
“Yeah, but if Frankie hadn’t been here, and if I’d just taken everyone and left.” Delta’s voice trailed off.
“Woulda, shoulda, coulda,” said Tom in all seriousness. “There are a lot of things we’d like to have a do-over on, including the events of the last twenty-four hours. Now, we regroup, heal as a family, which is what we are now, and get Hannah home. Back to the Haven.”
Delta looked down to Donna and gave her a reassuring smile. He walked toward Frankie’s gurney, and Alpha hesitated before stepping aside. His baritone voice whispered to Delta, “You good, buddy?”
Delta nodded. He walked up to Frankie’s lifeless body. “He used to be my partner. We had each other’s backs, once.”
Alpha said, “Things change. People change.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Delta turned and rubbed his hands through his disheveled hair. “Has Ryan talked about what we’re gonna do with him when he gives up the location of his new friends?”
Tom answered, “We haven’t gotten that far yet. Our focus has been on keeping him alive.”
“I suppose they’ll call the police,” Donna suggested. “I mean, technically, he is a murderer and should be arrested.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” said Delta as he cast a steely glare at Frankie’s body. “I’ll kill him myself before he leaves the Haven.”
Donna tried to calm down the former law enforcement officer. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, you could be charged with murder.”
“I don’t trust the system anymore, Donna. I can’t have Frankie possibly walking free and coming back here. It’s better to be judged by twelve than carried by six.”
Delta’s words hung in the air when Alpha exclaimed, “Hey, I saw his fingers move. No doubt about it. His fingers just wiggled.”
“I’ll get Angela,” said Donna as she gently tapped on the office door and opened it.
“I want him to see my face first,” Delta insisted. “He needs to know he murdered Ethan.”
Chapter Nine
George Trowbridge’s Residence
Near Pine Orchard, Connecticut
For patients suffering from end-stage renal disease, or ESRD, the most common cause of sudden death was hyperkalemia that resulted from missed dialysis or an improper diet. Overall, death for those on dialysis was caused by cardiovascular failure. Over time, George Trowbridge had progressively lost the function of his kidneys. Commensurate with his advance toward ESRD, his cardiovascular system weakened, making him susceptible to a heart attack, angina, and stroke.
Trowbridge was nearing the end of his life. The pumping power of his heart muscles was decreasing due to the fluid buildup around the most vital organ in the human body. In recent days, he’d begun to experience a persistent, chronic cough, nausea, and some swelling around his ankles that was diagnosed by his caregivers as edema.
The once healthy, virile man was approaching the end of his life on earth, and it became a cause of concern for Harris, the man who’d stood by Trowbridge’s side for years. He paced the floor as the medical professionals finished up their testing and made Trowbridge more comfortable. When they completed their examination, Harris followed them out of the master bedroom suite and closed the large solid wood door behind them.
“He’s getting worse, and now he’s slipping in and out of consciousness,” began Harris as he expressed his concern to the medical team.
The physician, who’d cared for Trowbridge from the beginning, was frank in his response. “He’s held on longer than most in his condition, a testament to the man’s inner strength and resolve. That said, however, the mortality rate for someone who is this advanced with ESRD is around seventy-five percent. Yes, he will most certainly die, as will we all.”
“When? Imminent?” asked Harris.
“No, not necessarily. To be sure, he is nearing the end of his life, but I believe what you have observed over the last day or so is as much a reaction to stress as a product of his condition.”
“Are you positive?” Harris was not convinced. Then he got to the crux of the matter. “Mr. Trowbridge, as you know, is a powerful man. Arrangements need to be made. Also, he has a daughter and a granddaughter. He’s very close to his son-in-law.”
“I am aware of his family,” the doctor interrupted.
“In the past, Mr. Trowbridge has instructed me to keep his daughter in the dark about the condition of his health. Only his son-in-law is fully aware, and he’s been asked to keep it confidential.”
“Yes. Again, I’m aware of his wishes.”
“It’ll be a travesty if he doesn’t have the opportunity to reconcile with his daughter before his death. Do I need to summon them to his bedside or not?”
The doctor wandered over to the large windows that looked out over the Trowbridge estate and beyond to Long Island Sound. Several patrol boats meandered along the shoreline, and a couple of two-man patrols traversed the soggy grounds.
Without taking his gaze away from the security team’s activities, the doctor finally responded, “No, not yet. Unless he requests it, of course. George and I have discussed this at length in the past, and I am very much aware of his wishes. I am also cognizant of the fact that a decision will need to be made at some point to gather the loved ones around the deathbed, to be blunt.”
He turned to Harris, smiled, and continued. “To ease your mind, we’re not at that point yet. The best thing you can do to help your boss is to take away his stressors. Mr. Harris, I know you well enough to say that you can handle just about anything, and George would give you his blessing. Give him good news if you have any. Deal with the bad on your own.”
Harris furrowed his brow as he considered the doctor’s advice. The doctor was suggesting that Harris undertake a course of action that was tantamount to treason in Trowbridge’s mind. But if it kept the old man alive a little longer, then treason it shall be.
Harris saw the doctor and his team to the door before stopping by the head of security’s temporary office on the main floor of the mansion. Trowbridge hadn’t entertained more than a couple of guests at a given time in the two years since his kidney disease had progressed. Just prior to the New Year’s Eve attacks, Harris had increased security with a handpicked team of operatives capable of both defending his boss and eliminating any threat through assassination or other means.
As a result of the increased security presence, the main floor more closely resembled the lobby of a major financial institution, heavily guarded with a constant influx of armed personnel. Gone were the d
ays of entertaining politicians and foreign dignitaries. Now the only activity was related to Trowbridge’s protection and keeping him alive.
“What’s the latest on Briscoe’s whereabouts?” asked Harris as he marched into the security chief’s temporary office in the keeping room adjacent to the kitchen.
“His escape was inexcusable,” he began in response. “I’ve just learned that he murdered the caretaker of the property and his wife. We have a lead on a vehicle he stole, and ordinarily, I’d alert police in the tristate area.”
“No cops! We don’t want him alive,” Harris ordered. “The last thing we need is Hanson Briscoe trying to save his hide by snitching out all of his associates. There’s too much to lose.”
“I understand, and that’s why we’re monitoring all police frequencies. If they pick him up, we’ll take him out. Although, the last thing we want is any cops losing their lives in the process.”
Harris shook his head and shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “That’s regrettable, but it can’t be helped.”
“Yes, sir. I agree.” The security chief motioned for Harris to sit down, but he declined.
“What about Jonathan Schwartz? He never struck me as being very resourceful, but he is his father’s son.”
“He’s a ghost, sir,” replied the former U.S. Marshal hired by Harris many years ago. “At first, we relied upon the FBI to canvass the area around the airport and to seal off the Schwartz estate. Then we called upon our own resources to look under every rock.”
“Well, he certainly has resources of his own, but I suspect he’s quite paranoid under the circumstances,” said Harris.
“Sir, he could be holed up anywhere, hoping to weather the storm.”
Harris sighed. “Okay, keep me informed.”
He walked into the kitchen, retrieved a small bottle of Perrier, and then suddenly stopped.
The head of security noticed his abrupt turn back toward the keeping room. “Is there something else, sir?”
Harris thought for a moment and then replied, “Write this down. Hunger Games movie set. It’s in North Carolina. Find it on a map and then dispatch one of our choppers down that way, but not too close. I don’t want it to be seen.”
“Yes, sir. Will do, but it’ll take a couple of days to make the arrangements.”
Harris added to his request. “That’s fine. Also, I want a trusted team. They need to be pilots, but also soldiers, understand?”
“Yessir. What else?”
“This op needs to be discreet,” replied Harris. “Let me think.” Harris paced the floor for a moment and then scrolled his smartphone, studying his contacts.
While he did so, the head of security placed a phone call. “Okay, day after tomorrow, I’ll have a crew ready.”
“I’ll need them to pick up two passengers along the way,” said Harris as he picked up a pad and pen off the desk. He began to write as he added, “Here are their names and location. Give them this note to deliver.” Harris continued to write and then exhaled.
“Will do, sir.”
“After they’ve touched down at a nearby, secure landing area, I want the men being picked up to deliver this message to Tom Shelton, who is residing at this location. They must only speak with Shelton.”
“Of course, sir. What’s the message?”
Harris backed toward the door. “Simply advise Shelton that the chopper and its crew are at his disposal if needed. It’s all explained in the note I gave you.”
“That’s it? How long will the crew be assigned to this operation?”
“As long as necessary, but if you’re worried about manpower, prepare to rotate another crew in and out.”
Harris loitered for a moment and then left without another word. He didn’t want to overstep his boss’s orders, but he wanted a helicopter available in the event he needed to rush the Cortland family to the estate. Shelton could be trusted to make levelheaded decisions, so he entrusted the keys to the chopper, so to speak, to him.
Trowbridge’s right-hand man made his way up the marble stairs toward the landing that overlooked the sound. He turned to take in the large ornate grand foyer, which had hosted so many rich and powerful people over the years. He wondered what would become of it after his boss’s death. Would it die along with the old man’s legacy?
Chapter Ten
X-Ray’s Cabin
The Haven
While Blair and X-Ray awaited Ryan’s arrival, the computer geek continued to watch the footage to determine if as many cars left the area outside the Haven’s walls as had initially traveled down Henry River Road. They were both relieved when the satellite feed indicated that all of them had left together, racing at a high rate of speed onto Interstate 40 eastbound.
Blair turned her back on X-Ray for a brief moment as she heard the sound of a four-wheeler approaching. She walked to the windows at the front of X-Ray’s cabin to confirm it was Ryan.
X-Ray glanced over his shoulder and saw that he was not being monitored. This was the moment of truth, and his mind raced to weigh his options.
At this point, his decision was not based upon loyalties but, rather, self-preservation. Who was more likely to kill him? Those within the Haven, who believe he betrayed them all, or his handlers, the ones with powerful contacts and even more powerful weapons, capable of dropping a bomb on his head with a push of a button.
His handlers, the leaders of the Minutemen, had orchestrated the greatest attack on America in its history. However, he was but a small cog in their wheel. On the other hand, he was now a prisoner in the hands of people who held him responsible for the attack on their home, the death of several within their community, and now the kidnapping of a young girl.
Who would I rather piss off? If I can’t follow where the cars went, will these people know my failure was intentional? Will the handlers know if I help recover Hannah? What’s the safest thing for Walter O’Reilly?
“Come on in, Ryan,” said Blair, who held the door open for her husband, allowing a rush of cold air into the cabin. In their haste to get started, Blair and X-Ray hadn’t built a fire in the fireplace.
“What’ve you got?” asked Ryan as he motioned toward X-Ray.
Blair followed him and was about to respond when she noticed the monitor had gone blank. She reached for her sidearm and demanded, “What the hell?”
“Oh, sorry,” X-Ray replied. “Um, I turned the monitor off just in case it wasn’t Ryan. Here, I’ll power it up again.”
Ryan and Blair exchanged skeptical looks. When the display reemerged, the satellite feed was paused on the barnyard again, showing the group milling about as they realized Hannah had been kidnapped.
“Come on, Walter,” said Blair angrily. “We’re way beyond this point. We’d found the vehicles and you were tracking them back to the interstate. Why did you start over?”
“Um, well, I thought Ryan would want to see it all for himself.” He nervously stammered over his words as he responded. He was buying time. He wasn’t sure which side to choose.
“Out with it!” Blair suddenly shouted, startling both men.
“Honey, I don’t understand. Why is this important?”
“Because he’s jackin’ us around, that’s why!” She ripped the pistol out of her paddle holster and cocked the hammer. She pointed it at the back of X-Ray’s head, who was now trembling in utter fear.
“No. No,” he continued to stammer. “I can bring us back to where we were. Hold on.” X-Ray rapidly moved his mouse around the screen and used the arrow keys on his keyboard to reposition the camera’s orientation on the vehicles as they headed up the ramp to Interstate 40.
Blair leaned forward and growled into X-Ray’s ear, “Don’t try me or you’ll never walk out of here alive. Make no mistake, I’m your judge and executioner.”
With X-Ray sweating profusely, he expertly followed the vehicle caravan down back roads toward Charlotte and ultimately to the Varnadore Building. The process of tracing the steps of the retr
eating attackers took nearly an hour, but the Smarts were satisfied they’d found the location where Hannah was being held.
“Can you get an address for this place?” asked Ryan before adding, “It looks like an office building. Weird, though. It’s all by itself off the highway.”
X-Ray tapped a few keys, producing a map overlay of the satellite video feed. He reached across the table and pulled one of his spiral notebooks closer. He jotted down the street names, mumbling them aloud as he did.
“North side of East Independence Boulevard. West of Pierson. South of Winfield.” He paused and then turned around to the Smarts. “Okay, with this information, if I can access the Mecklenburg County Property Assessor’s records, I can get a physical address and ownership information, if you’re interested.”
Ryan didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he leaned into Blair. “We need to think about this and talk.”
“Okay, but I’m not leaving this squirrely guy alone.”
Ryan nodded and raised Alpha on the radio. At first, Alpha objected, but Ryan insisted. If a rescue was going to be mounted, Alpha would be leading the teams. He was the one who needed questions answered regarding this office building and its surroundings.
After Alpha arrived, Ryan and Blair brought him up to speed, and he quickly got to work with X-Ray to learn about where Hannah was being held. After saying their goodbyes, the Smarts walked to the Ranger, but Blair suddenly paused before leaving.
“Listen to that,” said Blair. “What do you hear?”
Ryan slowly turned in a circle, straining to listen. “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly. This is the way it was supposed to be. Quiet. Serene. A place to ride out the storm without drama. Now look.”
“Hey, as the old song goes, I never promised you a rose garden. In fact, if you recall, Mrs. Smart, I said you’d, A, never be bored and, B, be treated to a never-ending supply of adventures.”
