Each member of the group looked around, wondering who would speak first. Not surprisingly, it was Ethan. But, suddenly, he was no longer the clown or the “cute one” or simply the youngest of the group. He spoke with confidence.
“There’s a difference between what we want to do, and what we can do,” he began. “I want us to go out there and storm the place, and freak them out. I want to take a van or something, with a big loudspeaker, and blast ‘em with loud music or weird sounds, catch them completely off guard. Maybe real noisy fireworks. Just totally mess with their minds.”
“You’ve been watching too many movies,” Celeste said. “No offense.”
“No, I haven’t,” Ethan insisted. “That’s exactly how the FBI does it when people are holed up somewhere. It’s called psychological operations, PsyOps. You oughtta Google ‘Waco’ sometime. But I said that’s what I want to do. It would be totally wrong here, ‘cause it would be like ringing the doorbell. They might respond by just immediately killing Cassie.”
“That’s right,” Olivia said. “It would be fun to freak them out, rock them back on their heels, but this isn’t about fun. So, what can we do?”
“Well . . . I’ve really been thinking about this a lot. We need to be practical. I mean, as practical as we can be in such a weird situation. We need the element of surprise, like we were saying. We don’t want ‘em to know we’re there until we’re right on top of them. I see three things we need in the way of equipment. Dark clothes, of course, maybe dark face paint. That’s not from an adventure movie, that’s just practical.” He emphasized the word again. “We need good flashlights. And we need a super-reliable means of communication between ourselves. Like walkie-talkies.”
“Face paint?” Roy smiled. “Maybe for you guys. I’m pretty dark anyway.”
“No, Roy, that’s not it,” Ethan protested. “You could be as black as a lump of coal, but you sweat. And me? Even if I were black, I’ve got an oily complexion.” He blushed. “We’d still show up in a ray of light.”
“That makes sense,” Celeste said. “But why not just use our phones? We’ve all got ‘em.”
“Phones take too long,” Roy said. “All those icons and stuff, even if you’ve got reception. And how would all four of us talk? On a conference call?” He shook his head. “At the nursery, we all use walkie-talkies. Just press a button, and the other guys hear you. The foreman just pushes the button and says ‘Somebody bring a forklift to the front,’ and we all hear him.”
“These are good ideas,” Olivia said, once again tapping notes into her phone. She looked at Ethan and nodded. He always amazes me. He wants to do the big dramatic things, but he’s so realistic. “And you know what?” She looked around the room. “Good flashlights and walkie-talkies are just exactly the kind of things Dad sells at the store. I get a fifty percent discount. But they’re not expensive, anyway.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pay for me and Celeste,” Roy said, his face set.
Olivia looked at him. “Not for these things you won’t, Royal Skelly. You worry about getting dark clothes for the two of you. You’ve gotta let me make some contribution here. That’s only fair. I’m not gonna argue about it.”
He thought for a moment. “Yeah, that’s fair. Thanks.” His pride was still intact.
“I thought of something else,” Ethan said. “I mentioned fireworks. That’s dumb, but it might be good to have a couple of flares or skyrockets. I can rig them to go off at a certain time, like five or ten minutes after we go in. The people at the airport will see them, probably the guys in the control tower, and the airport cops will come running. If we’re right about all this, we could use their help.”
“And if we’re not right?” Celeste asked.
Ethan shrugged. “Then they get us for vandalism or breaking and entering. But once we explain to Lieutenant Peacock, I don’t think they’ll arrest us. We’ll just have to deal with our parents. But see, we can’t be thinking ‘are we right’ any more. We’re committed to this thing. Like, Roy, when he goes in the ring, he can’t be thinking ‘What if I can’t take this guy?’ He has to leave the doubts behind. Right?” He looked to Royal for confirmation.
“For sure,” he replied. “Once you step in, you just do the work.”
“But we have to be disciplined,” Ethan added. “We can’t just run in there and start chasing around like chickens with their heads cut off. We’ve got to get Cassie if we see her, but the big thing is to knock out the kidnappers. I mean, incapacitate ‘em in some way, then get Cassie. The trouble is, we don’t know how many there are. So we need weapons.”
“No guns,” Olivia warned.
“Of course no guns!” Ethan exclaimed, punching her arm again. “Do you think I’m crazy? Even if we had them, none of us are experts at using them. Even Lieutenant Peacock couldn’t help us if they caught us with guns.”
“Don’t hit me! I’m not one of the kidnappers.” Olivia glared at him.
“They’ll have guns,” Celeste said. “At least, we should plan for that. So what kind of weapons? We’re not Ninjas or anything.”
“I’ve been studying this for a long time,” Ethan confessed. “Not because of Cassie. But, um, I’m not real big. Maybe you noticed. I’m not a fighter like Roy. But I’ve been studying ‘weapons to hand.’ For self-defense.’”
The others looked at him with blank expressions. “What’s that?” Celeste asked. “‘Weapons to hand?’”
“It can be anything that’s ‘handy,’ you might say. Things you’d never think of in a fight. I can show you better than I can tell you. Roy, do you have a broom? Just a regular broom, not one of those push brooms.”
“Sure.” He stood up and walked to a small closet and returned with a regular wooden household broom, with straw bristles. He handed it to the other boy.
“Thanks,” Ethan said, taking the broom. “Just stand there for a minute, okay? I want to show ‘em what I’m talking about.” Roy nodded, and stayed where he was.
“Okay, listen,” Ethan began, looking back and forth at the girls. I feel like such a fool. But this is important. “Let’s say Roy’s coming after me, and I don’t have any way to defend myself. Now, this isn’t just a fight. Say he’s got a big knife or something. This is tryin’ to keep myself from getting killed.”
“By hitting him with a broom?” Olivia asked. She couldn’t help herself.
“No, that’s not it, not the way you’re thinking. Like, I see this old broom lying against the wall. This one has a wood handle, which is good. The plastic ones just fold up. But here’s what I can do.” He took the broomstick in both hands, the bristles facing backwards. “I don’t hit him with it. But if I use it like a spear — “ he suddenly thrust forward at Roy’s midsection, stopping short of touching him, like a soldier with a bayonet. “See? Hit him in the gut or the solar plexus with the end of the broom. It’ll slow him down, at least. All the force is concentrated in that one area. It would really hurt. Or I can do this.” He spun the broom around, so that the bottom faced forward. “I just ram the bristles into his face.” He demonstrated, again not touching his friend. “I could blind him, or at least catch him off-guard. And if I have time to set fire to the bristles . . . see what I’m sayin’?”
“Uh-huh. That would put somebody on the defense, for sure,” Roy said. “And if the handle had enough force behind it, you could bust an internal organ or something.”
“That’s what I mean,” Ethan replied, handing the broom back to him. He sat down next to Olivia again.
The girls looked sobered. “I never thought of a broom as a weapon,” Celeste murmured.
“Well,” Ethan continued, “If you have something like that, or a real strong stick or a long steel pipe, just use it that way. Use the end. But if you’re gonna jab that handle at him? This is real important. Don’t think, ‘I’m gonna ram this into his gut.’ Think, ‘I’m gonna ram it through his gut. Like you’re trying to get to the other side. That makes it even more forceful.”
“Just like throwin’ a punch,” Royal added. “You don’t punch the guy’s face. You punch past his face, sorta. I mean, that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Right,” Ethan said. “Just think of anything you have at hand as a weapon.” He mentioned some very unpleasant examples.
“The only problem, though,” Roy added, “is that you gotta practice this stuff until it just comes natural. You don’t have time to think. It’s called ‘muscle memory.’”
“Uh-huh,” Ethan agreed. “And we don’t have time for that. So, that’s a weakness. But at least we can be thinking of things to use as weapons. Like a belt. Just a plain old belt with a metal buckle. Take it off and swing it, try to catch ‘em in the face with it. Who thinks of a nice belt as a weapon? Of course, you wouldn’t have time to take it off if you were being attacked. You’d need to have it ready. And it wouldn’t stop someone. It would just distract them, slow them down, put them off-guard. But it’s better than nothing.
“The other thing is to know the body’s vulnerable areas. Roy knows this much better than me, of course. Listen, Celeste, Livvie. Say a guy’s coming towards you to, um, molest you. What’s your first response?”
“Knee him. Right where it hurts,” Celeste answered. Olivia nodded.
“No, no, no! Tell ‘em, Roy. That’s what every girl thinks. But most guys know how to defend against it.” He stood, and drew up his knee to protect his groin. “See? Your knee just hits my thigh, and I’ve got you. Well, not me.” He blushed, and sat back down. “But this person who’s coming after you? You do something much easier. Kick him in the shin. Just as hard as you can. If you can, turn your foot sideways and just rake the edge of your shoe down his shin. It hurts so bad. See, there’s no muscle and padding there. Just skin on bone. But it works better if you have good shoes on. Now, if a rapist or somebody is after you, it won’t stop him, but it’ll slow him down long enough for you to get away. Which is exactly what you do. You run. I’m just saying that it’s a sensitive area, and people don’t think about it.”
“We don’t do that kinda thing in boxing,” Roy added. “But I’ve seen kick-boxers. They kick each other’s legs, their thighs and calves. Really leave bruises. But they never kick each other’s shins. It would just break their toes. ‘Cause they’re barefoot. We won’t be.”
“What I’m saying is this,” Ethan concluded. “Know the weak areas, and fight dirty. Royal and I can tell you how to do that. I can give you some websites that talk about sensitive body areas. Listen, I’m no fighter. I couldn’t fight my way out of a McDonalds bag. But I can hurt people if I really have to. So can you.” He turned to Roy. “Please tell ‘em I’m not just talking big.”
“No, you’re on point,” Roy said. “Ethan, I can tell he’s been thinkin’ about it for a long time. I can pick it up easy enough. But you girls are smart. Do some studyin,’ like he says. You won’t become kung fu fighters or anything. But you’ll have some knowledge.”
Olivia was making notes on her little keyboard. “Tell us more, you guys.”
Ethan shrugged. “Well, none of this is gonna work if they’re pointing guns at us. I’m not stupid. But even if they have guns, they won’t necessarily have them in their hands, or close by. That’s where the element of surprise comes in.” He became sober. “I’m scared. This whole thing scares me. It’s easy to talk about. But I asked myself a question last night. These kidnappers . . . say they’re armed, and they kill me. Well, would I rather die trying to save my friend, or let my friend die because I was scared?”
Olivia took his hand and looked around the room. “What does your New Testament say? ‘Greater love hath no man. . . .’”
“’Than to lay down his life for his friends,’” Roy finished.
After a pause, Celeste spoke up. “The thing is . . . we’re not alone. God’s with us. Can I tell ‘em about the trunks, babe?” She looked at Roy.
He looked at his fingernails. “Uh-huh. Tell ‘em.”
“Roy’s hoping to turn pro next year. I’ve already bought him a nice pair of trunks. And I’m embroidering a Bible reference on the leg. Tell ‘em what it says.” She squeezed Roy’s knee.
Roy raised his head and smiled. “Psalm 144:1. ‘Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.’”
Ethan and Olivia looked at each other. They both had goosebumps.
* * * * *
“So, they’ve removed you from the case, is that what you’re saying?” Eldon Dayle’s fingertips drummed on the desk as he studied Maclean, standing a few feet away in her usual Goth regalia, the jacket half unzipped to reveal her face.
“Yes, they have. And they’ve taken me off the job for two weeks. I’m not even supposed to go to the office.” What will he do now? She summoned up all her training, trying to remain calm, but it wasn’t easy.
Dayle grunted. “Stupid people. All because a dog attacked you? They’re more paranoid than I thought they were. Are they starting formal proceedings against you?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. And it’s not because of the dog, although that didn’t help. It’s because I offered to take the child for a ride in a Bureau vehicle. That’s totally contrary to policy. They might have winked at it, if there weren’t already so many suspicions in the office. There’s a new Special Agent in Charge, a man named Ludwig. He and Burgess gave me a choice. Either take a two week ‘vacation,’ or begin the investigatory process with the Inspection Division. That would have meant working at a desk, cooped up in the office eight hours a day, and more polygraphs. Even some other ‘truthfulness tests’ that they use. I . . . I thought that it would minimize the damage if I took the vacation. And maximize the time I can spend here.”
Dayle nodded, frowning. “In that much, at least, you made the right decision. I need you here.” He glared at her. “No, I don’t. You could be replaced easily. But it would be inconvenient.” She suppressed a shudder at his words. “Have they assigned another agent to take your place?”
“Probably not yet, sir, but with all due respect, please remember that there are other agents already working the case. Burgess and I were just the main ones. But, sir? I think they’re still chasing their tails.”
“No thanks to you!” Dayle snapped. “Who knows what suspicions you’ve raised in Burgess’ mind? But we can’t worry about that. Very well, Maclean, you’re not an agent anymore. You belong to me. Exclusively. You’ll continue to drop by that motel where you’re checked in, for appearance’s sake. Rumple the sheets. Make it look used. Be sure the maids or desk clerks see you at times. If Burgess calls you, tell me immediately. But you’ll be staying here.” He nodded to the hidden door that led from the office to one of the unused rooms in the hall. “Make one of those rooms your temporary quarters. Now get out of here. I need to think.”
“Yes sir, thank you sir,” she replied, zipping up her jacket.
After she left the room, Dayle sighed, his eyes scanning the monitors of the white room. No, I’m not going to kill a teenage girl. Or a teenage boy, for that matter. But when an adult jeopardizes a plan this important. . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY: The Man in the Mirror
The group sat in silence, each trying to think of something they might have missed in their planning. After a few minutes, Royal broke the silence. “I think we’re makin’ progress, but we might need a break. Can I get y’all a drink? All I can offer you is diet soda and bottled water. Or milk, if you want it. We don’t keep the sugary stuff around, ‘cause I’d drink it all up. Anybody?”
“I’d love some water, Roy,” Olivia answered. “But first, I need to go freshen up. Which way is the bathroom?”
“Right down that hall, second door on the left,” he replied. “Ethan?”
“I’ll just have a sip of Livvie’s water, thanks. I’m not super thirsty. Maybe later? Thanks anyway.”
“Let me help you,” Celeste said. She and Roy headed for the kitchen, as Olivia made her way to the bathroom and close
d the door behind her.
She leaned forward and examined herself in the mirror. I’m glad I don’t wear makeup. It’s such a pain to keep up with. . . . But for some reason, I just felt like I needed to be alone. She splashed some water on her face, and dried off with one of Mrs. Skelly’s hand towels. She was primping her hair when she heard the voice. Her jaw dropped when she saw the man standing behind her in the mirror, but for some reason, she didn’t jump or cry out. She didn’t even turn around, but continued to stare at the reflection.
The man’s voice was soft, almost inaudible. Am I seeing things? Olivia wondered. He didn’t smile, but his serious face was full of kindness. He looks like an Israeli, Olivia realized. What’s going on here? She didn’t doubt for a moment that the man was real.
“Fear not, daughter of Abraham,” came the voice. “I am Gabriel Terrena, a servant of Elohim Chaiyim, the living God. As you and your friends seek to help Cassandra, I bring you a word.”
THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA Page 23
