Hidden Threat

by Anthony Tata

  Amanda paused, then stepped toward him and wrapped her arms around his big shoulders. He hugged her back.

  “Sorry,” he said. “We’ve lost so many. I just never thought he would be one of them, you know?”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate it. Please, never forget him.”

  “That, ma’am, would be impossible.” He turned and walked back to his boxy brown truck, backed away, and waved good-bye.

  Amanda motioned back with a slight wave of her hand. She walked down the steps and then onto the bench in the garden toward the end of the porch. The bench was a wrought-iron flowered design painted totally white. Set against the azaleas and dogwoods, it was a peaceful respite. Using her good fingernail, she sliced open the package, which was about the size of a cigar box.

  Inside the clumsily wrapped package was thin wrapping paper balled up around a dirty Velcro wallet. Through the clear plastic cover she could plainly see her photo from several years ago. She was surprised by her reaction. She didn’t cringe at the fact that she had no makeup on or that her hair was not highlighted. The angle of the camera had not even captured her good side. She didn’t care.

  This was clearly her father’s wallet. She opened it and saw the Saint Michael’s medal, silver and worn. She removed it from the pocket and held it between her fingers.

  “Protect us,” she whispered, and looked up into the sky. “Please?”

  She saw a small note inside the wallet. Opening it, she read:

  Amanda, This is your dad’s. Never lose hope.

  I’ll be in touch.

  Love, Uncle Matt.

  She began crying uncontrollably. Hope? How can I lose something I don’t have, she wanted to scream. She shook and bent over her knees, screaming voicelessly into the garden. For the first time she felt entirely alone. Fear was an invisible finger tracing up her spine to her neck, which began to constrict. Her breaths became rapid and shallow, the onset of panic. Guilt was a tightening noose around her throat.

  Forgive me. Please.

  CHAPTER 54

  Afghanistan

  Wednesday Morning (Hours of Darkness)

  Colonel Garrett’s mind drifted into and out of consciousness as if he were looking through a dusty Coke bottle from the inside. Distorted shapes and sounds formed around him. He registered a shadow bending over him, then pulling away. Something was touching him; he wasn’t sure what. Voices were sometimes loud, other times soft, and frequently absent altogether.

  His hands and legs did not appear to be bound, but it was a passing thought. He was uncertain of his status. Dead or alive? Captured or free? The energy it required simply to think about it drained him. His mind began to swoon again. It occurred to him that he may have been drugged. Lightheaded and peaceful, he succumbed to the welcoming respite.

  His mind played on themes from his youth, with Matt and Karen on the farm, and the happy times with Melanie and Amanda and Riley. They were a welcome distraction from the pain and fatigue his body was suffering on the cold, hard ground.

  He awoke to the sound of metal sliding along the dusty floor.

  “Eat.”

  Having no motor control over his limbs, he couldn’t move his body to perform the simple task of nourishing himself. His body was aching for energy, yet he was unable to translate the urge into action.

  Soon he found his mouth being stuffed with something. It was some type of meat, which he readily devoured. He gnawed at the rubbery substance and swallowed. His mind registered that it might be lamb. At least he hoped that was the case. More of the meat came and was followed by a tin cup to his lips. He drank the water like a man with a mouthful of anesthesia after a day of dental work, the liquid spilling across his face.

  The apparition vanished as soon as its feeding chore was done. He found a soft spot on the blanket for his head and rested again, his mind swimming and taking him back to an even less pleasant time.

  Zach was about to deploy to the Philippines; 9-11 was still a fresh wound, and he had rapidly signed up for any mission that would get him into the fight. Like many soldiers, he knew combat and its difficulties, but he also knew that the country and its soldiers needed the best leadership it could muster to win this war against the nation’s enemies.

  Amanda had been ten at the time, and he had called Melanie to orchestrate a visit prior to his departure overseas. Having driven the five hours from Fort Bragg to pick up his daughter, he had an uneasy feeling that something was amiss.

  He had learned to expect the unexpected in almost all facets of life, but the one realm that continued to catch him off guard was the new tack that had begun with Amanda. It was part disbelief and part debilitating love. His mind could perceive, yet never understand, some of the actions that had taken place at the hands of Amanda’s mother and grandmother. Yet, his heart refused to believe that anyone could be so cruel, especially to their own flesh and blood. Which was why he was continually surprised.

  At the exit off I-85, he pulled into a RaceTrac gas station to get his wits about him. Normally he would call Amanda and chat the remaining fifteen minutes to the house. She had been distant on the first call and then had not answered his two subsequent attempts.

  Driving always gave him time to think. Sometimes he would listen to a book on tape. Other times he would drone along, staring at the white passing stripes, and try to understand where it had all gone wrong.

  His discussions with Riley had given him enough insight into the idea that a child who was once close with her father, if sufficiently manipulated by the mother, could develop a split personality, of sorts. Nothing clinical, she had told him, but the child would develop an outward ability to ‘handle’ the noncustodial parent—the father typically—while remaining loyal to the custodial parent, the mother in most cases. Further, Riley had pointed out, in a case like Amanda’s, her pre-existing love for her father, though muted, was expressed in the form of not wanting to hurt him.

  As he pulled up to the guard shack at the gated community on the outer reaches of Spartanburg, the guard stepped forward.

  He rolled down his truck window and said, “Hi, I’m here to pick up Amanda Garrett, please.”

  The guard was a hefty female wearing a white shirt with a sewn-in patch that said “RONCO Security.” She was a block of a woman, no shape or pattern to her. Her face was oval, and she looked mad at the world.

  “Just a second,” she muttered. Walking to the far side of the shack, she waved at someone. A uniformed police officer for the city of Spartanburg appeared while Zach was idling in his truck at the shack. The gate was a standard wooden arm with a cantilever that lifted the barrier when block woman pressed a button. He was trapped.

  “Sorry to do this, Mr. Garrett, but I have a summons to issue you to appear in court next week.”

  This couldn’t be happening. Then it occurred to him, of course, that this was the famous baited ambush. Amanda was the bait, and he was the target. The attack could not have been performed better by Sun Tzu himself. Naturally, he had to deploy in three days and could not appear in court the following week. He had no attorney and was only hoping to spend a couple of days, perhaps his last days ever, with his daughter before heading off to combat.

  “Well, I’m heading overseas Monday, can’t this wait?”

  “I’m sorry, it can’t. My orders are that I have to issue this to you if I can find you. And here you are.”

  Zach took the document and signed the police officer’s paper on the wooden clipboard. He opened the document and began to read it, but block woman raised her voice. “Come on, buster, you’re holding up traffic.”

  The arm lifted and his spirits sank, but he pushed forward anyway. He heard the woman mutter, “Deadbeat,” as he was moving past the gate.

  He pulled into the parking lot of the country club and did what not many Airborne Ranger captains would readily admit to—he cried. He processed the last three years of pain through his system, weeping at his own ignorance. But he grieved mostly for A
manda. He had failed her.

  His overriding thought was that if Amanda’s mother was capable of doing this to him at this time, what on earth had she been doing to Amanda?

  He was horrified at the thought.

  He rolled on the dusty floor again, still inside the Coke bottle, but somehow less so. Pain was coursing through his body as if along fiber-optic lines, unimpeded. He surmised he had been given some kind of painkiller earlier because presently he was awake and fully aware that he had some broken bones and serious lacerations.

  He ran his tongue across dry, chapped lips that were cracked and bleeding. He felt the stubble of days of beard across his upper lip. Again he was surprised that he was not bound or gagged. Perhaps his captors understood his injuries to be so severe that he was immobile, which certainly seemed to be the case.

  There was always the possibility that he was dead and simply hovering above his physical being prior to departing for eternal peace. He had so much unfinished business, though, with Amanda that he was skeptical of the notion. Plus, the sheer pain was an indication that he was still residing in the confines of his mortal tabernacle.

  His focus shifted and he became alert as he heard voices. Hanging onto the prayer that all of this was worth something, he shuddered as he saw men with weapons come into the room.

  CHAPTER 55

  Spartanburg, SOUTH CAROLINA

  Tuesday Evening (Eastern Time)

  Nina’s wrinkled hand separated the miniblinds so that she could see Amanda sitting in the garden crying.

  She watched Amanda open a box and extract something from it, though she couldn’t determine what the object might be. Her narrow eyes tried to squint in an effort to see better, but were unsuccessful because the Botox had frozen her face muscles in place.

  Amanda's plight plucked no particular string in her heart other than to cause her to worry about the pending $500,000 in insurance money and whether the child might waffle on her commitment. Nina knew that she and Melanie could not close the deal on the mansion without the half million dollars. A child mourning her father was no big deal. A new house on the lake would soothe that wound, and soon there would be no memory, no pain.

  And so as she watched Amanda in the garden, she felt no emotion whatsoever. Amanda’s father might have been a decent guy. It didn’t matter. With a soul as dry and dusty as a Kansas prairie, Nina Hastings had no sympathy.

  The blinds flapped closed with a shattering sound as she turned and walked into her daughter’s bedroom. “Melanie, I think you’ve got problems.”

  Melanie was staring in the mirror, applying the last touches of lipstick. She smacked her lips and looked at her mother. “Nope, mama, we’ve got the Army coming over right now, and then the real estate agent is bringing the paperwork. Amanda told me she wanted to knock it all out today.”

  Though it didn’t square with what she had just seen, Nina accepted it.

  “You sure?” she replied curiously.

  “What’s not to be sure about? Her father’s dead, his house burned down, her boyfriend’s under house arrest, and her shrink’s comatose in the hospital. What else could this be but the capitulation? She’s got nowhere else to go.”

  “Well, something doesn’t feel right.”

  Ever the skeptic, Nina walked from the room and answered the front door as the chimes rang.

  The Army major and the chaplain entered. They produced the paperwork as pleasantries were exchanged.

  “Amanda has to be the signatory on all of these documents,” Major Blair said to the two women staring at him. “I hope you understand.”

  “They understand,” Amanda called from behind the group. “Let’s go into the dining room.”

  As the group began to move from the foyer into the dining room Amanda said, “Mom, Nina, I’ve got this.”

  The two women stopped briefly and then continued on.

  “Amanda, you’re not even eighteen. As your guardian, I need to ensure what you are doing is legal and proper,” her mother said.

  Amanda was unrelenting. “Major, is there somewhere else we can go?”

  Major Blair stopped and replied, “Certainly.”

  “What are you doing, Amanda?” Nina inquired.

  The five of them stood in a circle like a football huddle. Amanda was in the unfamiliar position of calling the plays. She was looking at the line of scrimmage, reading the defense, and calling an audible.

  “Do we need the money or not?” Amanda asked. Neither her mother nor Nina responded. “If you can’t trust me to do the right thing, then what good is any of this?” This play was a calculated risk, but in a sense she needed to be hiding in plain sight. “Besides, I’ve always trusted both of you.”

  After a long pause, Melanie said, “Okay, we’ll be in the kitchen.” Amanda saw Nina snap her head toward her mother, uncharacteristically showing a hole card.

  “Thank you.”

  Amanda sat at the dining room table facing the door opening to the kitchen. She motioned to the two Army officers, indicating for the tall and broad-shouldered Major Blair to sit across from her with his back to the door, to block their view. Major Blair reached into his briefcase as he was sitting.

  “Just sign right here, Amanda,” he said, pointing at the two documents he spread on the table. He only made his comment once, though. He looked at her as he did so.

  She nodded in recognition. Harlan had mentioned the other document would be presented to her. She quickly signed her name to both documents. The chaplain leaned over from the head of the table with a notary stamp and pressed the seal into each signed document. Then the major and chaplain signed as witnesses.

  The major smiled at her and nodded, then grabbed her hand with both of his. “It’s going to be fine.”

  “I pray that it is.”

  He started collecting all of the paperwork, saying, in a voice calculated to carry, “I know it’s getting close to supper time, so let me get these copies to you in a couple of days.”

  Standing, Amanda said, “That’s fine.” She noticed her mother and grandmother returning from the kitchen.

  Amanda walked the two officers to the door and bid them farewell.

  “You didn’t even get to keep a copy?” Nina squawked.

  “They’ll get it to us,” Amanda said. “I’m just so glad it’s over, you know?”

  She continued to stare through the open front door as the men drove away.

  As Amanda closed the door, she noticed a Lexus SUV pull into the driveway. Not recognizing the vehicle, she turned to her mother, who was standing behind her and announced, “I think you have company.”

  Her mother stepped onto the porch and waved hello to Tad Johnson, her real estate agent. Tad climbed the steps with an accordion folder tucked under his arm. Melanie introduced him to Amanda and Nina.

  “Let’s have a seat,” she said.

  They discussed the asking price of the mansion. One point four million dollars.

  “I thought it was one point two million,” Melanie said.

  “There’s another offer coming,” Tad replied. “It’s for one point three. The owners said they’ll sell it to you for one point four if you decide today and close by Wednesday.”

  Melanie leaned back in her chair, despondent.

  “It’s okay, Mama,” Amanda said, reaching out to her mother. “I just signed away the entire five hundred thousand, and I think with this house sold you’ve still got the money.” Amanda chose her words carefully as she spoke.

  “Well, we’ve only got two hundred thousand in equity in this house. I think Mama’s talking about providing two hundred thousand.”

  “All I’ve got,” Nina Hastings muttered.

  “Yes, but it’s still a four hundred and seventy thousand dollar mortgage. At these rates it’s going to be about three thousand a month in mortgage payments.”

  “Well, maybe I can get a job, you know, instead of going to college right away. That would help, wouldn’t it?” After making them go
into the kitchen while she signed the insurance paperwork, she needed to reel them back in quickly. Forgoing her college career for her mother and grandmother was an indicator she was willing to sacrifice for them.

  Nina and Melanie exchanged glances. If nothing else, it told Amanda that she was back in the fold. They trusted her. She felt the constant allure of their twisted affection. Much like battered women return to an abusive husband, Amanda could sense the ease with which she might come back to the only thing she knew, submissive capitulation to the whims of her matriarch. She struggled with these feelings as she objectively tried to set the conditions for her plan.

  “I think we can work something out,” Melanie said, triumphantly.

  “Okay, well, let’s sign the paperwork and get an earnest check. They need one hundred thousand dollars by tomorrow,” Tad thumped cheerfully.

  Melanie pondered the thought, looked at her mother and then turned to Amanda.

  “How soon did those Army guys say you can get that money?”

  “It won’t be tomorrow,” Amanda responded. “You probably want to close on the house first.”

  “This is all happening so fast.” Melanie leaned back in her chair again.

  Tad, ever the salesman and smelling 3 percent of $1.4 million, quickly summarized. “The nature of this market, Melanie, is that you either act immediately or not at all. I had two houses sell yesterday in the same neighborhood. One went for 1.7 million and the other for 2.5 million. This market is sizzling. In a year you can probably turn around and sell this house for anywhere from a five hundred thousand to one million dollar gain. It’s a no-brainer. We’re doing these quick closings all the time. Banks prefer them, actually. Saves all the hassle. I can have an inspector at the house tomorrow. He’ll give you a punch list that we attach to the contract, and you’ve got a fail safe.

  “I do have to advise you that this sale is final. There is a clause on the contract, as all of them are stating nowadays, that affirms the contract. It is not revocable once you sign. Both homes I sold yesterday were the same way. So there’s no way that your buyers can back out and leave you hanging. We can get all the paperwork done in less than three days, and then it’s up to you to get the movers rolling you into your dream home. That house is a gold mine.” Perry Mason had never made a better closing argument.