Deep Star

by Jerry Ahern

  Natalie supplied the word. “Boys?”

  “Yes... boys,” Paula said and laughed.

  Tim said, “We didn’t want to come with you two either.”

  Jack said, “Yeah, we don’t need babysitters.” The four were headed to Benny’s and Bubba’s Eatery and Arcade. Benny’s and Bubba’s had become a Mecca for young families needing a night out, young kids and teenagers looking for a place to hang. There were so many different interesting fun activities that “you could get lost before you get started!” On a Half Off Wednesday, ten dollars will get you forty-eight credits and one of the games cost ten credits. Plus Benny’s and Bubba’s was famous for “good deals,” you pay twenty dollars and you get twenty dollars in extra credits, around two-hundred and fifty.

  Benny’s and Bubba’s was known for having a casino atmosphere for kids of all ages without the “dangers of gambling.” The arcade has plenty of games like spin-the-wheel or watch a light circle around and then push the button to stop the light. But, there’s also the Wheel of Fortune game that can be quite pricey. Plus there was the Go-Kart game that was fun, all the rest were shooter and driving games. It was a great place to waste an hour or the afternoon.

  The kids stopped at the front desk first to get their cards, that was the key to unlocking “an action-packed, extreme-fun experience,” as the ads said. You could charge it up to play every game in the arcade area. It could also earn you exciting tokens and tickets that got you a discount on meals or another round at the games which numbered over two hundred different arcade machines.

  Jack slid his card into the breast pocket of his yellow button up shirt. “Okay,” he said turning to the girls. “You guys just want to eat and talk girl stuff, and try to pick up boys. Go have fun. Tim and I are headed to the arcade to play the games.”

  In the three food areas, appetizers, not to mention a full menu featuring burgers, steaks, seafood, pasta and salads were available. Even the most discriminating customer was “sure to find something satisfying.” It is considered the safest, fun place in town.

  None of them had seen the handsome young man exit the old van across the street and follow them inside, or the older man who remained in the van.

  Chapter Four

  Davis watched the girls order their meals and then waited until they took possession of two of the remaining unoccupied seats in the dining area. He shyly approached them, limping noticeably. “Excuse me, all of the tables are filled. Would you ladies mind if I just sit here for a minute and eat my snack?” He held up a rumbled brown paper bag. “I won’t be a problem, I promise. I twisted my ankle a couple of days ago and it still hurts.”

  Natalie smiled. “How did you twist it?” She gestured to the empty chair across from them.

  Davis smiled a boyish grin. “I tripped and fell in a hole.” He took a sandwich from his bag, an unopened can of soda and a partially opened bag of potato chips. Biting into the sandwich he mumbled, “Have you heard about that archaeological dig up on North Shore? I was removing some artifacts, tripped over a shovel handle and fell back into the dig.”

  Intrigued, Paula leaned forward, “The old village they found... you’re involved with that?”

  He nodded. “Graduate student... research for my dissertation. You guys freshmen at U of H?”

  Natalie thought, He’s both handsome and an older man; the thought tickled her fancy. After all, nothing could happen in Benny’s and Bubba’s. She smiled. “Yes, first semester.”

  Paula frowned but went along with the game. It was just a game and, after all, nothing could happen in Benny’s and Bubba’s. “No,” she said. “I’m at Mid-Wake U, just home for a visit.”

  The waiter approached, carrying the tray. “Okay, ladies... double cheese burger with onion rings and sweetened tea?” Paula raised her hand and the waiter placed her meal down. In front of Natalie he sat the Caesar Salad, two sticks of buttery garlic bread and a diet soda. “Anything for the gentleman?”

  Davis had ducked below the table to hide his face from the waiter. “No thanks; thanks anyway.” Once the waiter left, he sat back up. “Sorry about that, I had to tie my shoe, don’t want to trip on the shoelace,” he laughed. “I can’t afford another injury.” His smile was easy and relaxing. “I’m C. J.”

  The girls introduced themselves and began eating. For the next hour “C.J.” regaled them with his exploits on various archaeological dig projects; projects that had never existed.

  Chapter Five

  The woman who had tried to kidnap John Rourke in the car ambush sat in the interview room across from Tim Shaw, rubbing the heavy bandages that covered her right hand and extended halfway up her arm. Her eyes lowered as if studying the table between them. The single, long blond braid hung over her right shoulder, almost to her waist. Shaw thought, She is a beauty, if a lethal one.

  “Here’s what we know right now,” Shaw said. “Admittedly, it is not much. From all indications you are in your early thirties. Your fingerprints aren’t in any of our data banks. That leads me to believe you are not American, even though your speech patterns and accent are flawless.”

  She smiled demurely.

  “We have forwarded your prints to the CIA, NSA and INTERPOL. I suspect you’re European, although you might be Russian. The submachine gun we recovered is a Russian model. We have been more fortunate concerning data regarding your companion,” Shaw said, flipping open the file that he then placed on the table. “His prints identify him a Harvey Donaldson, local muscle for hire; spent some time as a mercenary and linked to organized crime.”

  Finally, she looked up at him. “You were honest at least, you don’t know much. Look, this thing itches.” She indicated the bandage. “Call one of your doctors, the itch is maddening.”

  “The doctors say that is part of the normal healing process, Miss...” She said nothing.

  “Okay, why did you attack John Rourke?”

  “I didn’t attack him, he attacked us. My companion, Harvey, is dead and I may well be maimed for life. I’m the victim here.”

  “Why were you after Dr. Rourke? Look,” Shaw said with finality, “I’m not going to sit here with you wasting time. I don’t believe it will be long before we know who you are and who you’re working for. Now is the time to talk... Once we have that information, what you say will be of... less value to me. Help yourself while you still have the chance.”

  She turned in her chair, her deep blue eyes locked with Shaw’s dark brown ones. Then she laughed. “Alright! Why not... you’re right, it should not take long for you to find out who I am. But you are completely mistaken about my actions.”

  “Really,” Shaw said with a raised eyebrow.

  “I wasn’t trying to kill John Rourke, I was trying to save his life. I wasn’t trying to kidnap him; I was trying to get him into... protective custody. You are partially correct; there are people that want him dead. However, I’m not one of them. My name is Arin Ágústsson; I am a special assistant to the Yfirlögregluþjónn, what you would call the Detective Chief Superintendent of the Icelandic National Police.”

  Taking a deep breath, she slumped in the chair. “I am here on his special orders. The people of Iceland still feel a tremendous debt to Dr. Rourke. He brought us into the new world after the old one died.”

  “Why the ambush, Arin?”

  She smiled. “John Rourke has a reputation for being somewhat... impulsive. My instructions were to isolate and contain him; quickly. Once we had him peacefully in our custody, we could have explained the dangers he was in. We knew there wasn’t much time to make contact, but not how receptive Mr. Rourke would be to our imperatives. His cooperation was not viewed as important as his preservation.”

  Shaw flipped to his report. “Seems you told Rourke, and I quote, ‘I’d prefer not to have to shoot you. That being said, I also believe I have no compunction in pulling the trigger if you do not comply.’ Is that accurate?”

  She looked down at the table between them and took a long, slow, d
eep breath. “Yes, the first part is accurate but I did not want to shoot him. The second part was a bluff. My orders were to get him safely into custody as soon as possible. I would not have shot him. My options were limited by my instructions from the Yfirlögregluþjónn; ‘Make it quick and make it quiet but make him safe.’”

  Shaw smirked. “Yeah, and how did that work out for you?”

  She held up her wounded hand. “Not very damn well, obviously. Look, I was chosen for this mission because I am a descendent of Sigrid Jokli, who was our Madam President at the time of Rourke’s first visit to my country.”

  “That was, what... a hundred and fifty or so years ago?” Shaw asked.

  “Yes, that is close enough,” she said. “Rourke met Bjorn Rolvaag and his dog outside Lydveldid Island during a rescue mission for his daughter who had been kidnapped. It led to the meeting between my ancestor and the Rourkes, and that led to John Rourke moving my country from the idyllic isolationism we had enjoyed since the Night of the War, into the modern world.”

  Chapter Six

  Emma dialed Michael Rourke’s private number but was shuttled to some unidentified underling in Michael’s office. She told the man, “My husband, John Rourke, was late for a scheduled check-in call and didn’t make it. Now he is late for another one; understand? He’s late again.”

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Rourke but, as I said, the President is currently unavailable.”

  “Did you tell him that it was me?” She asked, the frustration coming through clearly in her voice.

  “Ma’am, I’m not at liberty to say anymore.”

  She heard a vehicle pull up in the drive and said disgustedly, “Very well, thank you for your help and total lack of information.” Hanging hung up the phone she walked to the front door. Glancing out a window she saw a Highway Patrol vehicle. Strange, she thought as she opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Rourke,” the Sergeant said. “Is your husband home?” The Corporal with him stood silent and solemn.

  Thinking he wanted to talk about the attempt on John’s life by the blond and the man with the shotgun, she said, “No, he is... out of the country at the moment, can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Rourke... Uh, Mrs. Rourke, I’m afraid there has been an incident. May I come in?”

  Emma opened the door. “Of course, what kind of incident?”

  The Sergeant took a deep breath and said softly, “Mrs. Rourke... There is no easy way to tell you. We have a report that your son and daughter may have been kidnapped.”

  Emma sat down on a vacant chair in the hallway used to sit at while changing shoes in inclement weather or dropping book bags on after school. “I have to make a phone call.” Shaking, she dialed a number. “Dad, get over here right now, hurry please!” She hung up and called the Rubensteins; Paul answered.

  “Emma, are you alright?”

  “No, I’m not!” She screamed. “Have you heard from the kids?”

  “HPD just drove up. We just found out ourselves. Stay there, I’m on my way to you.”

  Chapter Seven

  The Detective Sergeant installed a “trace and trap” tap on the Rubenstein’s home phone, and pulled two cell phones from his case. “I need one of you to stay here in case the kidnappers call. Here, you two can use these to stay in touch with each other.”

  Hugging Annie, Paul kissed her forehead and said, “I’m going to Emma’s.”

  “Give Emma my love,” Annie said.

  “I’ll be right back,” Paul said and ran outside and jumped into his car. He pulled into the Rourke driveway a split second before Tim Shaw slid to a tire-screeching halt in the street.

  “Paul,” Tim shouted. “What’s going on?”

  “Come on Tim, hurry.” The two sprinted to the front door; Paul barreled in with Shaw behind him. Tim saw the Patrolmen, flashed his credential case, bellowing, “What the hell is going on?”

  Emma sat rocking her baby son, Eddie; named after her brother. Tears stained her face and light blue blouse. “Oh Dad, our kids... our kids... someone has our kids.” Emma turned to Paul for the first time, recognizing the agony on his face.

  Paul nodded. “Ours too. Tim, they have our kids.”

  Shaw pulled his radio, keyed the mic and said, “This is Shaw. Get in touch with POTUS... I don’t give a shit who he’s meeting with. Tell him to call me immediately at John Rourke’s home. I want a level three security blanket on POTUS, the First Lady and their kids, right now! Locate them all and secure them and let me know when it’s done. Tell POTUS I’m waiting on his call... Just do it. Don’t ask me any more questions damn it! Just follow your damn orders.”

  Shaw broke the connection, took a deep breath and walked over to Emma. He kissed his daughter on her head and took his grandson from her arms. “Come here, Little Eddie, you little angel...” He looked at Emma and smiled, but it was a hollow smile. He had never seen such a picture of such abject agony as he saw on the face of his daughter.

  Chapter Eight

  There was a knock on the door of Michael Rourke’s office. He looked up angrily when the Marine Guard walked to his desk and handed the President a note. “I’m sorry to interrupt Mr. President.”

  Michael opened the note; he read it through twice, then a third time. He felt a block of ice forming around his heart as he stood and faced the window. Slowly he turned around. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m afraid I must stop this meeting. My apologies, but it can’t be helped. I will have my office contact each of you and reschedule this as soon as possible. I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave now, I have an emergency.”

  The Marine Guard turned to escort the members of Michael’s Cabinet out. Michael said, “Mr. Attorney General, I’m asking you to please stand by. I have a private phone call I have to make.” He told the Guard, “I need the Directors of the FBI and the NSA in my office, immediately.”

  “I’ll be right outside your office, Mr. President,” the AG said.

  Michael nodded his thanks, sat down heavily and dialed Tim Shaw’s number. “Shaw here, Mr. President... I hope you’re sitting down and alone.”

  “I am, Tim.” These were the last sane words he said for the next fifteen minutes.

  Chapter Nine

  The snatch was going off without a hitch. Davis asked the girls if they wanted to see some “really cool artifacts we found.” Paula and Natalie had jumped on the idea. They found the boys and waited for them to finish their last game. Natalie said, “Come on guys, this is C.J. and he has some neat stuff to show us. He’s an archaeologist.”

  Tim looked at Jack, both of them were frowning. Jack was the first to speak up, “I don’t know...” he started to say.

  C.J. smiled with a laugh. “Come on guys, I’ve got something for you two also.” They walked outside and crossed the street to the van. McAllen had been watching the door to Benny’s and Bubba’s; seeing Davis, he left the vehicle and stood against a wall by the van. He looked like just another homeless guy on the street.

  Davis/C.J. twisted the door handle on the sliding side door. “Come on girls. Look in the back, there’s even a gold headband...” Reaching into his front pants pocket, he pulled out a small aerosol container about the size of a breath spray and took a deep breath which he held. When the girls leaned in, Davis hit them both with the spray and flipped them into the van.

  At that instant McAllen exploded into motion and shoved the boys between their shoulder blades as hard as he could into the van. Jack hollered, “Hey...” and started screaming “Help, help us...”

  Tim got to his knees, turned and swung a punch at Davis. Davis slapped him across the mouth with a backhanded swat that sent Tim flying into a side wall; stunned. Davis took another deep breath and hit both boys with the knockout spray as he climbed in and moved to the driver’s seat and cranked the motor.

  McAllen slammed the sliding door and jerked open the passenger door and jumped in.

  Two men, driving a pickup, saw the attack. The driver slammed on the brakes an
d pulled in front of the van and jumped out. He shouted, “Hey, what the hell is going on?” His passenger ran to McAllen’s door and tried to open it.

  McAllen hit him in the mouth, the man flew backwards landing on his back; his head slamming into the concrete curb... He laid still, very still. McAllen shouted, “Let’s go. Let’s go.” Davis slammed the van into drive and spun the steering wheel hard to the left. The pickup driver dove out of the way; he hit the hard concrete road on his right shoulder, tearing his shirt and ripping the skin on his shoulder; he kept rolling out of the way.

  Jumping up, he started running after the van. Running hard and fast, he saw the signal light ahead turn red. He ran even harder. Now I’ve got ‘em, he thought.

  Davis looked both ways and jammed the accelerator to the floor, tires screeching and smoking. He shot ahead trying to make it between an off-green, four-door sedan coming from the right and a city garbage truck coming from the left. The sedan, loaded with a mother and two kids, slammed on its brakes and fishtailed before coming to a stop.

  The garbage truck driver locked up his brakes; tires squealed and smoked. He clipped the left rear fender of the van, spinning it to the left. Davis saw he was going to be hit and turned into the impact. Metal crunched, the left rear hubcap flew off. Davis cursed and stomped the peddle once again. Burning rubber, he took off in that new direction. In seconds, he was gone.

  The runner slowed and stopped, watching helplessly as the van disappeared up the street. He ran to the sidewalk, jerked a cell phone out of the hand of a man dressed in a business suit and quickly dialed 911. Breathlessly, he said, “Kidnapping... kids snatched... older white van... driver white... last three of the license... 677... Hawaii plate,” then slumped to the ground.

  Catching his breath he handed the phone back and looked around for his friend, but his passenger was nowhere in sight. Down the street, he saw his friend lying on the sidewalk, not moving.