by Jeff Siebold
The interior door, previously a builder’s grade hollow core wooden door, had been replaced with a solid metal door in a metal frame, which was also firmly affixed to the wall studs surrounding the door. There was a double-key deadbolt on the door, a lock that could be opened with a key from either side. The door closed tightly as a smooth unit and was almost soundproof. The ceiling light fixture had been removed, as had the carpeting, closet doors, and all hardware.
The light switch and convenience outlets had been disconnected at the fuse box and sealed off; they were no longer functional. Blank plates covered their former locations. The air conditioning duct, a 4” x 8” opening in the floor had been covered with a wire grid, bolted to the exposed subfloor. The effect was a dark, quiet room that offered no hope of escape.
In the floor, near each of the four corners of the room, George had affixed a large ring, also bolted to the floor joists supporting the plywood subfloor. He had just finished connecting Mary and Kimmy, each to a ring in an opposite corner, by threading their respective handcuffs through the rings. The women were presently sitting on the floor, their feet about 4 feet from each other, legs splayed, gagged and hands behind them, cuffed to the floor.
“I trust that you’ll be comfortable here,” said George to the gagged women. “I don’t expect to be gone very long.”
With that, he left and they heard the solid sound of the lock turning in the metal door.
George drove the panel van to a nearby parking lot, parked it and switched vehicles. He was in the Range Rover again. It was a much better ride.
Chapter 36
“Mr. Cruz,” said the voice on the phone. It was the same voice that had called before, the man who had Mary.
“Si,” said Cruz.
“You have what I want?” asked George.
“Si, the money and the plates,” said Cruz. Zeke nodded encouragingly as he spoke.
“Go to the Centennial Plaza in twenty minutes and walk toward the Peachtree Plaza hotel, the round building. Stop when you get to Olympic Park Drive, and I’ll be watching. I’ll call you and pick you up from somewhere near there in a tan Range Rover. Come alone. If you’re followed, or anyone is with you, you won’t see me or your daughter again,” said George.
“I understand,” said Cruz. “I’ll be there. Just don’t hurt her.”
* * *
Kimmy and Mary sat facing each other, shackled to the floor. Kimmy said, “We don’t have a lot of time. I’d guess about an hour or so, before he comes back.”
Mary looked at Kimmy. She was still in shock from the abduction.
“Took him about 30 minutes to get us here from my place, right?”
Mary nodded. How did Kimmy get free of the gag? she wondered.
“So, assuming that he’s really after your Dad, he’ll have to go back and pick him up. Now that he has you to bargain with, I mean.” Kimmy looked at Mary quizzically.
“Oh, you’re wondering about the gag? Mine was a bit loose, so I brushed it off on this nail in the wall here,” said Kimmy.
Mary looked at the wall and then nodded. It was dark, but she didn’t see the nail.
“So, first thing, we need to get out of here,” said Kimmy. Mary nodded again, not certain how to do that.
“Here, I’ll help you,” said Kimmy, standing up. Her handcuffs were still on the floor, attached to the D-ring, but lying open. Kimmy smiled.
“Now, Mary,” Kimmy said as she crossed the small room, “we need to be really quiet, right?”
Mary nodded. As Kimmy leaned down, her skirt rose slightly and Mary saw a small Star of David tattoo on her right thigh, above the hemline.
Kimmy reached behind Mary’s head and loosened the duct tape. The tape relaxed, and Mary was able to spit out the small towel.
“How did you do that?” Mary asked.
“Mine were just loose,” Kimmy said again. “I guess he didn’t tighten them enough when he put them back on me. Let me see your hands.”
She leaned forward and a moment later, Mary felt the handcuffs release, and then heard them fall to the floor. She stood up slowly, still stiff from the ride in the van.
Kimmy had her back turned to Mary and was standing on one leg, pulling her shoe back on.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Cruz was in Atlanta’s Centennial Park, at the corner of Andrew Young International Boulevard and Olympic Park Drive. It was Thursday, just after six o’clock in the evening, and attendance in the park was sparse. There were no concerts or events scheduled for this late September evening.
George had made the phone call from his parked car, just down the street from the meeting place. He watched as Cruz appeared with a large, blue duffel bag in his hand, looking anxiously for the Accountant.
George put the Range Rover in gear and rolled slowly toward Cruz. The Range Rover, currently a popular vehicle with the yuppie crowd, was a light tan with brown accents and had dark tinted windows. It was just what an Atlanta soccer Mom might use to deliver her children to school in the morning.
As the SUV approached Cruz, he stepped to the curb. George hit the switch and dropped the window halfway, and Cruz looked inside.
“Throw the bag in the back seat, Mr. Cruz,” said George. “Directly behind you. Then get in up here, next to me.”
Cruz did as he was told, opened the rear door and threw the bag inside. He closed the door, and opened the front passenger door, stepped up and used the grab bar handle over the window to pull himself into the Range Rover. George sat next to him, a silenced Glock in his left hand, pointed across his stomach at Cruz. Cruz looked at the suppressor with a question on his face.
“Yes,” said George, “this one is very short for a silencer, very convenient. It’s an Aurora model, only about two inches long. Available to the US military only…and to Jefe, of course.” George smiled with his mouth. He had not blinked since Cruz had looked at him through the open window.
“Put that on for our ride to see your daughter,” said George, engagingly. A pair of handcuffs was hanging from the passenger’s side grab bar over the door, one cuff connected to the grab bar, and the other awaiting a wrist. Cruz wrapped it around his right wrist and clicked until it was closed.
“Another click, please,” said George.
Cruz complied.
George pushed his gun into Cruz’s neck with his right hand, and with his left hand he patted down the passenger.
“Lean forward,” he said. Cruz did. He had no weapon.
“Relax, Mr. Cruz, we’re going on a short ride,” said the Accountant as he pulled away from the curb. “Try to remain calm.”
Cruz was silent.
Chapter 37
Kimmy had paused, leaned down, and opened the bedroom door in less than two minutes. Mary was behind her, waiting passively.
“Ok, so the trick here was to lever the lock a little bit, to sort of tease it back,” Kimmy said. Mary nodded at Kimmy’s back, as if she knew what Kimmy was talking about.
“We need to get you away from here,” said Kimmy. “I’m not sure who that little man is, but I don’t think he has good intentions toward you, Mary. Does this have something to do with Steve and all that mess?”
“I don’t think so,” whispered Mary. “I’ve never seen that guy before. He’s totally creepy. Scares the hell out of me.”
“Yes, I can see that,” said Kimmy. They had made it to the galley kitchen, an open area in the rear of the home. “OK, here’s the way out.” Kimmy pointed at the back door.
* * *
The house was located in Dunwoody, a suburb about thirty minutes north of downtown Atlanta. From Olympic Park, George drove east on Andrew Young International Boulevard seven blocks to the Interstate overpass, and then took a left at the on-ramp north on I-85. The gun was an ever-present threat in George’s lap; its nasty, deadly barrel pointing at Cruz’s side.
Ten minutes later, at Brookwood, Interstate 85 turned gently to the east. George took that option. Less than three miles
later, George exited north onto State Road 400, known locally as the Georgia Autobahn because of the overwhelming number of speeding cars that choose that particular route.
About seven miles of autobahn driving brought the Range Rover to the I-285 loop, and George exited onto I-285 east, then north onto Ashford-Dunwoody Road in Dunwoody, Georgia. A mile later, he turned the vehicle right on Valley View Road, and moments later turned into the driveway of an older home set back from the street with a large front lawn and mature oak trees. He pushed an opener, and the double garage door rose. George drove into the garage, the temporary door-opener light illuminating the space. He turned to Cruz.
“This is where your daughter is,” he said.
* * *
“They’re heading north,” said Zeke as he watched the Range Rover access the downtown on-ramp to I-85 north. He was 200 feet behind in a dark green Honda Accord with Georgia tags. Sally and Clive were tracking him with the GPS on his smartphone. He turned left and followed the SUV.
“Alright, we go with the houses north of downtown,” he heard Clive say to someone in the command room. Zeke’s line was open and on the speaker at Clive’s end. A moment later, Zeke heard someone talking with Clive in the background. And then, directed at the speaker, “There are four houses that we’ve identified in greater Atlanta, north of downtown,” Clive said.
“Ok, I’ll stay with him, and see if we can narrow it down as we go,” said Zeke.
Zeke had followed the Range Rover on its way to Dunwoody. He and Clive had deduced that Cruz would most likely be taken to one of Jefe’s drug houses and either killed or kept there until he could be taken elsewhere and killed. George’s previous residence in the Omni hotel wasn’t conducive to an execution, and there was nowhere in the midtown area that easily lent itself to loud noises and bloody deeds. Clive had also hidden a GPS device in Cruz’s bag.
“Turning east on I-285,” said Clive, apparently watching the GPS displays, and “that eliminates one of the four possibilities.”
Zeke drove silently, working to keep the tan Range Rover in view.
“And that turn north you just made, onto Ashford-Dunwoody Road, eliminates two more houses, assuming that George is heading directly to his destination. That puts him at the house on Valley View Road, about two minutes from your present location. You may want to skip the turn onto Valley View, Zeke. It’s a two lane, local road and you could easily be spotted.”
“What’s the address?” asked Zeke.
“The vacant house is 4337 Valley View Road,” said Clive. It’s set back from the road, a one-story with an attached double garage. Quite a number of trees around it, good natural disguise. And it has a long driveway, so they’ll see anyone coming. It’s owned by Jefe’s brother, Enrique.”
“OK,” said Zeke. “I’ll circle around the block and meet you nearby. You on your way?”
“You bet,” said Clive.
* * *
George stepped out of the Range Rover into the garage and flipped the switch on the wall, which closed the garage door and turned on an auxiliary overhead light. The SUV was parked on the right hand side of the double garage. The left space was empty. The row of glass windows at the top of the double overhead door had been covered with white butcher paper, which had a translucent effect, yet it kept the interior of the garage invisible from the outside. George thought to himself that the use of butcher’s paper was apropos.
When Jefe had offered this house to him, George understood the implications. Jefe wanted George to have a private place where he could do what he needed to do, without interruption. Implicit in that offer was the torture and slow death of Cruz, afraid and with no chance of escape. This house made the perfect location for such activities. That the women were also here was merely a bonus for George. He exited the Range Rover and circled around the rear to the passenger side, his silenced gun in hand. He opened the rear passenger door, and took out the duffle bag. Cautious as he always was, he circled back around to the driver’s side of the SUV, dropped the duffle on the floor in the empty area next to him, and continued around the front of the vehicle. Then he stood near the right front headlight and leveled his handgun at Cruz. He was less than eight feet from Alberto.
On the garage wall on the rear of the house, the wall now facing the front of the SUV, two handicapped pull bars had been attached to the exposed two-by-four studs with heavy countersunk bolts. They were vertical, shoulder high, and about five feet apart.
George looked to the left side of the garage, the driver’s side of the vehicle. There was an old workbench along the wall, with a pegboard above it and a few cabinets below it for storage. One of the cabinet’s sliding doors was partially open, and George saw some scrap lumber and hand tools inside. A lawn mower and a red gas can were near the garage door entrance on that side of the garage.
On the other side of the garage, there was nothing but the interior wall about four feet from the car’s passenger door. The wall was partially finished with drywall, to about five feet high, with studs and insulation showing above that.
“Mr. Cruz,” said George, “please step out of the vehicle.”
Cruz looked up at George with a question in his eyes. He looked at the handcuff on his right wrist, attached to the grab bar over the window and then back at the Accountant.
“Yes, open the door and slowly back out of the car. The handcuff can stay in place,” said George. “Or I can shoot you, and then go and shoot your daughter.”
“Ok,” said Cruz. “Ok.” He pulled the inside door handle with his left hand and pushed the passenger-side door open with his foot. He slid down out of the passenger’s seat and felt both feet on the smooth concrete of the garage floor through the slick soles of his dress shoes. He was facing back into the vehicle, with his right hand still attached to the grab bar.
George stepped forward to Cruz’s right side, away from his free hand. With his gun still pointing at Cruz, George took another pair of handcuffs from his belt.
Chapter 38
Clive met Zeke in the Hobby Lobby parking lot, behind two pretty good chain restaurants. It was 7:20 in the evening, and both establishments were in full swing. The adjoining Walmart, however, appeared to be experiencing a slack period while most people were home, eating dinner.
Clive arrived in his two-year-old metallic gray Aston Martin Rapide S. He pulled into a parking space one away from Zeke and killed the engine. Zeke smiled and shook his head at Clive’s traditional British tendencies. The car was a right-hand drive.
A moment later, Clive slipped into the front seat beside Zeke. “OK, let’s go,” he said.
“Taking my car?” said Zeke.
“Don’t want to chance anything dicey with the Aston,” said Clive, wryly. “There could be gunfire or something.”
* * *
George tried the lock on the bedroom door and found it secure. He unlocked the deadbolt with his key and opened the door to the small room. In the darkened room, he could only make out shapes, but he was fairly certain there was no one there.
George pulled a small flashlight from his pants pocket and shone it around the room. All four walls, ceiling, closet space…nothing. There were two pairs of handcuffs and some used duct tape on the floor, along with the couple of small rags he’d used as gags, but that was all.
George closed the door and relocked it. He walked immediately back to the garage, cautious as he went, listening between steps. In the garage, George found things as he’d left them, with Cruz standing, his back against the reinforced back wall, arms spread and handcuffed to two vertical handicapped grip bars. He looked as if he were being crucified.
George leaned down, opened the duffle, and spilled out its contents. A large bundle of money hit the floor first, followed by some metallic cylinders wrapped in thick cotton cloth. They made a rather dull thud as they hit the ground. He opened one of the bags and confirmed that it contained counterfeit plates, as he expected. George put it all back in the duffle, threw the du
ffle back into the SUV, and looked at Cruz.
He had gagged Cruz earlier, before going back to the bedroom. “Mr. Cruz, open wide,” George had said. He’d been holding a dirty rag in one hand, and the rest of the roll of tape in the other. He’d gagged Cruz quickly and secured the rag with two wraps of the tape around his head.
“I’m afraid that I must kill you now. Wait here while I find your daughter. Then you can both die together,” said the Accountant. “I won’t be long.”
* * *
It was likely that the women were still in the area, thought George, possibly even still in the house. He entered the house from the garage through the utility room and began a thorough search, room-by-room, door-by-door. It had gotten dark over the past hour, and there was little light inside the house. In each new room that he came to, George stood quietly with his eyes open for a moment, listening and feeling for any disruption in the air that may have been caused by sound or motion. A heartbeat, a breath, a movement would be all that he needed to distinguish a difference and isolate his prey.
George moved through the kitchen toward the small dining room, and he paused. He saw the back door in the kitchen, open slightly, but ignored it as a possible decoy. He continued through the living room and into the hallway. All was quiet.
George entered the master bedroom and stopped, waited, listened. No disturbance was evident. He looked in the small en suite bath, but no one was there. Returning to the hall, George checked the other bathroom, and then the third bedroom for the women. No one was present in the house. He could feel the absence of life there.
As a final thought, George went back to the prison, the modified bedroom with the boarded windows and open closet area. There was no one there either. The house was empty.
