by a b
He pulled the hood back and her bright orange-streaked hair fell down around her shoulders. It was the first time he’d looked at Darci in a long time. He kissed the piercing above her right eyebrow.
“Dove, you’re sitting on something important.” He pulled the package out from under her, copping a feel. “Well that was worth it.”
Darci laughed.
“Not that you could do much damage, what do you weigh? Fifty pounds?” he pulled her onto his lap, light as a feather. She squished into the round mass, and Mac made a clumsy fish for a compliment, “You could fit in my belly, you tasty dove.” he was at least four times her weight, but a beaming smile made it clear that it didn’t matter a bit to Darci. He was her man.
“I guess I need a big man to hold on to, to keep me from blowing away.”
His mood changed. He buried his face into her stomach, like a petulant child “I thought you’d given up on the plan, I couldn’t find you.” Mac complained.
They talked in the warm van, and Mac fed her a snack cake. All was forgiven, but Mac only had a few hours.
The van rolled away with promises about the future still lingering in Darci’s ear. She just had to stick to the plan and Mac promised that she wouldn’t be forgotten. She shivered, although not from exposure. She was thinking of that future reward – and somehow it felt equal parts a threat. Maybe in her gut she knew that her involvement with Mac would end up being a bounty on her pretty little head.
*****
Planning a strategy for contacting every local broadcast station on a certain day and asking them to pull any story containing the image of a young, pretty woman was the kind of task that Wagner, in her usual enthusiastic kinetic mode would have jumped into recklessly, breathlessly searching through unending waters. Legacy watched her on the edge. She looked ready to take the plunge and Legacy chose that moment to remind her that the television connection was shared by all of the women, except one, Laura.
“So your breakthrough is broken?” Wagner couldn’t believe what she was hearing “You know what we call that? NOT a breakthrough.”
“It must be there, I just can’t find it. Her planner is much like I suspect how you keep your planner, every moment accounted for, every day.” Legacy picked up the faded blue planner off of his desk. “I can’t find it.”
“And without it – all we have is an abandoned method –”
“He hasn’t abandoned it. It’s not like Blue to leave behind something that’s working for him. He shows the meticulous care of a practiced addict – and addicts have their routines and their drug of choice.” Legacy thumbed through the pages of the planner and it fell open to a picture of a young man in a sharp business suit. It looked like a coincidence, it felt like random chance but Legacy distrusted both of those principles. He’d grown accustomed to following unconscious choices.
“Call the boyfriend for an interview.” It was like he was hearing the whisper from the page– maybe the boyfriend was part of the secret.
Wagner offered the kind of explanation that annoyed Legacy “Of course, if anyone would know where and when the Laura’s image was being broadcast it would be the insecure or possessive corporate boyfriend.”
“Maybe.” Legacy replied.
*****
Richard Mercile was neither insecure nor possessive. His charisma came from a place that was none too bright, however honest and keenly self-aware. There was the odd person who didn’t immediately take a shine to Richard, stranger still the person that didn’t eventually grow to like him. It didn’t hurt that he was tall, chiseled, with a long stride and firm handshake, which he offered to Legacy after touching Wagner on the shoulder in a collegial fashion. His confidence and warmth made almost any gesture seem appropriately earnest.
They met in the conference room, to avoid exposing him to the barrage of images of crime scene recovery photos that plastered the walls of their office. Legacy didn’t like leaving his office. Wagner had asked him for a phone interview, but since Richard only worked two hours away, he suggested that he come to talk in person.
Legacy saw the action for what it was, a man’s desperate attempt to involve himself in the solution to a problem he couldn’t possibly solve, but equally couldn’t get out of his head. He saw the look in Richard’s eyes and thought back to an image reflected of himself - the lowest part of his own life was standing in front of him, eyes darting from Legacy, to the table, then back to Wagner. Legacy could tell that he was disappointed that there wasn’t a room full of people all engaged actively on the phones, Internet and satellite converging into some huge secret government surveillance – hunting down the people who had taken Laura.
The handshake was brief and formal. “Agent Legacy?” he asked. “Is there some movement in the case?”
“Backward.” Legacy said with a tone of finality. Robert bowed his head. He was a lawyer, not an optimist, and it took only a second to shake him down the lowest level of human expectation: futility.
Wagner shot a look at Legacy, gauging whether he was being heartless on purpose. Even when he explained later that he needed to strip away all hope from the boyfriend so that he would stop “trying” and report only honest recollection.
Wagner added, “Laura appears to be in no immediate danger.”
Robert’s frustration took a natural arc into anger, “What exactly do you call immediate danger?” Wagner looked away – this certainly wasn’t her crowning moment.
Legacy’s words came quickly, allowing Robert no time to think. “We think that she was chosen by random – on a television screen. There weren’t any television appearances scheduled in her planner, and she kept meticulous notes- “
Robert interrupted. “If it wasn’t in the book, she wasn’t there.”
“Handwriting experts,” Legacy held up his hand and waited “agree that nothing was added or changed in her book, so we’re at a dead end. We can’t think of a way that her image could get on this screen without her knowing about it.” He strummed through the pages of her planner, “And it appears like she didn’t do anything that wasn’t written down.” Legacy’s voice droned on – a calculated move to draw Robert’s attention to the sounds of the words themselves.
“She was taken from in front of my apartment – I keep wondering if I’d been at the window –”
“But you weren’t. You really haven’t had anything to contribute, even with all the chances you have had and all you’ve done is run around giving apologetic, useless statements- that’s all we have from you in the reports. You’re so concentrated on your actions –” Legacy fanned the police reports in the air, “but there’s nothing in here that will bring her back to you.” Then Legacy leveled the stack at Robert’s forehead, “I think you keep making this about yourself. It’s a waste - let’s call this interview, Wagner stamp the time.” His pronouncement, Robert knew, was final.
Robert looked like his blood was boiling under the surface of his skin. Then just as suddenly as the energy gathered, it was channeled elsewhere. “The tapes. The PSA tapes.” He looked up with the sincere expression of discovery. Legacy looked a pleased shade of smug.
An hour later Legacy and Wagner sat in their office with a new strategy developing. “Why didn’t we know about those tapes?”
“The same reason that we don’t know everything– “ Wagner didn’t let him in with a follow up question. “We don’t know everything.”
“Circular logic.” Legacy pointed out.
“Did you do that on purpose, back there? Did you manipulate him?” Wagner asked.
“You can’t force someone into anywhere in their mind.” He drank from a steaming cup of coffee, the cream he’d just added swirling to the top. “Patterns that restrict the mind break down only under the right conditions.” He swirled the cup. “Like your behavioral patterns, there’s coffee an arm’s reach away. You refuse it. Why do you have to have froth, and milk and steam and markings all over a four dollar cardboard cup concoction before you think this
coffee is worth drinking?”
Wagner’s phone rang; she picked it up all the while beckoning for a sip of Legacy’s coffee. Legacy reluctantly handed over his cup. “Uh-huh” she said into the receiver. “Great.” She walked over to the drinking fountain and dumped the cup down the drain. “The PSA with Agent Laura Doorner was on the air in two cities that night. I’m going to buy you a cappuccino.”
White foam splashed up the silver lining of an oval-bottomed pitcher as it was pulled from a hissing spout of steam. Streams of specialty jargon spilled out of Wagner like a second language with a cadence of fluency. “Double-half caf two percent almond milk latte extra hot –‘
“How many drinks did you just order?” Legacy butted in.
A smirk from Wagner and she rattled off another order with a similar level of café-wise specificity. “And tonight, make it breve” She added at the last moment before losing the attention of the harried barista.
“Almond milk is the secret.” Handing Legacy a cup.
“What does breve mean?” Legacy inquired.
“It means that they use half and half instead of milk.” She purred with contentment drinking from her cup. Smooth as silk. “We’re getting closer.”
Legacy took his first drink, “Almost as good as coffee.”
Wagner’s cell phone rang, and she paused briefly as she saw who was calling on the ID. “It’s Bailey. He has been digging up some information on biker groups linked to abductions.”
Legacy always scowled when he heard Bailey’s name, but there was something more, his stare made Wagner uncomfortable.
“I’ll come by your house in an hour.” Legacy nodded, the minute that she was out the door he went up to the teen behind the counter and asked if he could trade for regular-sized coffee. The boy looked at him like he was from “planet drip.” Legacy was amused that even the words small medium and large had been banished from the establishment. In small deference to Wagner, he splashed some almond milk into the cup instead of cream, an action he immediately regretted upon taking a sip. He thought about returning the coffee again, but the line reminded him of Moscow. Everyone seemed to be talking the same language as Wagner so it was going to be a while. He decided to take a long walk home.
*****
Agent Bailey always appeared as if he was in the middle of a conversation. Mouth pursed, always awaiting the next point of contention. A self-satisfied smile hung on his lips like he was winning some kind of internal argument. The smile disappeared abruptly when somebody entered the room, as Wagner did now.
Wagner suspected the behavior was a calculated way of throwing anyone who entered his domain off guard. It made every greeting an interruption, every entrance an intrusion.
“Dear Agent Wagner, thank you for dropping by at this late hour.” A smoky clove scent hung in the air.
The dim yellow lamp cast a different light upon Agent Bailey. His eyes shone like a cat’s in the shadows “I don’t know why you don’t just bring Legacy in here –” Wagner began.
He saw that she needed a little push. “I got something for you, that psych profile on Legacy, it was done just after the meltdown.”
“Have you read it?” Wagner asked. “I’m content in my own world, agent.” He bluffed.
Wagner snapped back. “You’ve read it.”
“Probably.” Bailey smirked, “Just to get perspective. Remember, though, the explanation of cancer won’t cure it.”
“Everyone talks about him like he’s damaged –” Wagner answered.
“Read the file, and if you want to defend him after you see all the damage he’s done – he was a traitor, you know – way before what happened to his wife.”
Wagner raised her eyes in silence that lasted a full revolution of the earth.
“I don’t believe you.” Wagner replied.
“Why, agent?” He was stone-faced. “Talk to me.” He set his ashtray on top of Legacy’s file. Wagner had just enough curiosity weighing on her to convince herself that it was an investigation and not a betrayal that she was embarking upon. An hour later, after giving Bailey a complete briefing on the state of the investigation, Wagner left with the folder in her hands. She was already late, but she decided to stop at the corner coffee shop to sit down and read.
Chapter 29 Escape Plan
Laura cowered in the middle of her living space. She had moved from sleeping on the squeaky cot to the center of the floor. There, under the sheets, she hid her head and upper body under three layers of sheets, each doubled over twice. Her legs protruded from the bundle, naked and pale. Blue watched through the closed circuit TV monitor, as the head shook from side to side in a rhythmic “no” gesture. He marked it down to a control phase that she was going through. An effort to dictate the terms, even if they were only the smallest ones, of her daily routine. As an experiment, on the second day of this behavior, he’d turned down the heat in the dead of night. Her legs had turned a silvery blue, but she did not rise and cover herself in the blankets, which were stacked in the corner of the room. She hadn’t touched them since their delivery.
Blade tapped on the screen where the shape of her head skimming underneath the sheets moved back and forth. He raised his voice to Mac who sat across the hall in the rec room. “Has anyone requested that we take a major whiz on that pretty copper’s face?”
Mac replied “hundreds.”
Blue licked his forefinger then again smeared the screen. “Get the boys together.”
Mac turned “It’s three in the morning –” a glance across the room at Blue told Mac that arguing was the last thing he wanted to involve himself in. “I’m going.” He walked out of the room passing a sign, exit to cabins.
Blue whispered to the screen, “no means yes – you little cock tease.”
Laura kept her head under the sheets, tented beneath the layers of white cotton. She had a coveted secret. The sliver of wood lifted from the floor when she had scuffled with Blue had exposed a thin crack leading to the outside. By gently scuffing her front teeth, she’d opened up enough of a gap to see the ground beneath the raised trailer.
She could tell when it got dark, and when it was getting light. This might not seem like a lot, but Laura knew that her next escape would be her last chance, and her only advantage was if she could time it under the cloak of night.
Being seen wasn’t the only obstacle in a clean getaway. Blue kept a trio of Rottweilers in one of the structures that she passed when Blue escorted her back and forth between her trailer and the studio. A squeaky hinged door was the only thing that separated the snarling pack from the civilized world and other than an obvious fear of their master, they displayed a consistent hostility equal to the expectations of their breed – she had heard them each time charging out onto the compound at the first sound of movement.
Add to that the fact that the unknown geography around her cage beyond the few certainties that she had discerned – clues like the sound of dissimilar doors opening and shutting in the distance meant that there were a number of structures, the complete lack of mechanical noises, no cars, no trains, gave her the indication that she was somewhere truly remote, but not so far away as to need a generator for electricity. There was no concrete under foot when she walked between buildings. The dirt that she squeezed between her toes and studied carefully under the sheet was dry and compacted like the area between buildings that used to be a parking lot or maybe a well-traveled footpath. Blue was careful not to give her the briefest peek at the world around her. There was no certainty that any cover other than darkness would hide her when she made her run. She could wander out in the middle of a desert, or on top of a mountain – or the worst option of all – she could stay.
Laura rubbed her teeth obsessively against the wood slit on the floor. A little more of an opening, and she’d be able to tell the color of the sunlight, and the color would identify dawn and sundown. Then, some day, they’d come for her with the fullness of night in front of her, and she’d slip into the blackness l
ike the blankets they’d stacked in the corner. Clean, warm and safe.
Chapter 30 Chasing Style
Director Wilkes didn’t need to be reminded what his office looked like at four in the morning. He had been a witness to the predawn shadows every night since Laura had been abducted. The communication from Agent Bailey made his normally expressionless face turn downward into a scowl. Two hundred agents under his charge had nearly every US citizen who’d ever ridden a motorcycle under the microscope – thousands of hours of pornography were being compared for a ‘signature style‘ – “Jesus!” he thought. “I have men studying porn for fingerprints and I don’t have a single piece of solid evidence.”
Could this possibly be the best that the finest law enforcement agents in the civilized world could come up with? They were chasing style and transportation methods with the incalculably small possibility that someone would trip and fall on something that resembled a clue. He squinted, eyes beyond tired, and then an accompanying sharp pain in his temples.
