by Joseph Lewis
Silence. That pleading look that killed her each and every time he wore it. Then, the fake puppy-dog look meant to bring about a laugh, which it always did.
“Take your cell with you and keep it on. You call me when you get there and when you start back home. You go nowhere else, and you stay together. You know the rules.”
“Awesome! You’re the best!”
“Remember what I said, Mike. Stephen, keep him in line,” Jennifer said playfully.
Yet, there was this vague feeling of worry in the pit of her stomach. This wasn’t the only time Mike had been allowed out at night in the dark, but something chewed at her. A mom’s antenna maybe. Perhaps, nothing at all. Still, Mike was getting older, and he was with Stephen, a nice, calming influence on her son, who tended to be a bit more carefree.
“Be careful you two. And remember to call me!”
* * *
The team didn’t have a firm snatch plan. They didn’t have a firm snatch date other than by the end of the week. They couldn’t afford to hang around more than two, maybe three days because of the stolen van and two stolen cars and even that was pushing it. They had decided to take the first available opportunity.
Down the block, Ace sat low in his car somewhat hidden by shrubs that ran in front of the house he sat in front of. Hedges were on the other side of the street also, but no one seemed to be home. He had pretended to alternately read a map and the newspaper and tried to blend in with the neighborhood. There weren’t many people out and about. Most of the jogging occurred in the early morning. Every now and then someone walked a dog but pretty much ignored him or didn’t pay him any attention.
That was what he had wanted.
He saw the two boys walk down the driveway and down the sidewalk away from him towards the van, which was on the other side of the street.
He punched speed dial and said, “Coming your way. Both of them.”
“Got it,” was all that was said on the other end. “Stay back and follow us when we have the package.”
“One or both?’
“We’ll see.”
He watched the van start up and move down the street up ahead of the boys. It took a left, and Ace figured it would come back around the block and park at the corner where the boys would actually walk right to it. Rick drove while Shawn and Clay were the handlers. This was an experienced team, but not as experienced as Frank and Ron had been.
That was the A team while this was the B team. Ace didn’t like working with this group, who tended to be a bit rough and who tended to take more liberties with the boys. But it was what he had since Frank and Ron had been disposed of.
Ace stayed a comfortable half-block behind the boys who were laughing and bumping into one another, taking their time without a care in the world. The way it should be, and the way Ace and the team needed it to be. The cell beeped.
“Yeah.”
“At the corner.”
Ace didn’t respond, but clicked off and slowly drifted up the street, now past the Erickson house. A soft glow of light behind the sheer drapes. Quiet. Fifteen yards from the corner. The boys laughed at something. The van pulled into view at the corner. Shawn and Clay had crossed a yard behind the boys and quickly closed the distance.
Five yards, four. Each had a rag filled with chloroform in hand. Shawn came up behind the Erickson kid, Clay behind the Bailey kid. Arm around chest, rag covering the face, and the boys lifted off their feet and into the van. Door slammed shut as it pulled from the curb.
Total time: maybe a minute, probably less. Result: one new pony for the stable and one pony for the guards to use for a couple of days before he was disposed of.
Less than a block away, Jennifer Erickson finished with the dishes and sat down to read the newspaper, unaware that her son and his best friend were handcuffed to a wall in the van heading east on Blue Mound that would eventually take them to Interstate 895 south towards Chicago.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The flight back to D.C. was quiet, at least from Chet’s point of view. He sat by himself towards the front of the coach deep into his laptop after taking a call on his cell. Doug Rawson had taken over a table in the back and worked his phone and scratched notes on a yellow legal pad.
On the flight to New Mexico, Summer had called Thatcher Davis to inform him of the possibility of a leak within her unit or just simply the guy wearing the baseball cap and sunglasses tying up loose ends, and to get a legal opinion and guidance, but demanding that he not share this information with anyone else. He had tried to question her first about Pete and the possibility that he played both sides of the street.
“What better way for him to maintain control on one hand and to keep tabs on you and your team, while taking care of his dark side on the other?’
Summer had dismissed that out of hand.
“Doug started on him before he and Chet left for D.C. and has just about ruled him out. No way it’s Pete.”
“Who’s doing the background work?”
“Doug has a team of four; two on computers and two doing the files and phone work.”
Thatcher had questions about Chet, the computer geek. Sort of a loaner, quiet and more into gadgets than people. The youngest member of the team, and therefore, not much in common with the other team members.
“Easy for him to cover his tracks and cover any trail that was left out in the open.”
“I don’t see it. Not him,” Summer said shaking her head.
“Then you’re telling me you have no leak, because you’ve covered everyone except for Logan, which I would personally rule out because he’s a suit.”
“Except for the fact that all information runs through him. He has access to everything and everyone.”
This was Doug’s theory actually. Summer tried it on for size, but it didn’t fit.
When Summer told Davis that Pete was still in Wisconsin, but didn’t know where, he asked, “Isn’t that a bit irregular? Why the secrecy?”
Summer told him about George, the murder of his family in Arizona, and that fact that Pete had George flown to Wisconsin to help ID the perps and canvass the crime scene.
“Let me get this straight. You have a leak. One of the team members you suspect . . .”
“Did suspect. We don’t anymore . . .”
“You have a leak, and one of the team members you had suspected flies in a fourteen year old kid to do forensic work, who is now in the hands of the same team member who you had suspected of being a leak, and no one knows where this kid or team member is. Do I have it about right?” There was a brief pause and then Davis said, “Jesus, Summer! What the hell are you thinking?”
Summer rubbed her forehead, nineteen different kinds of a headache grinding away behind her eyes.
“Or it’s the guy wearing the baseball cap and sunglasses tying up loose ends. We can’t rule it out, and it’s looking more like that’s the case.”
“Oh come on, Summer!” Thatch yelled.
“You make it sound a lot worse than it is. As I said, we did suspect Pete, but we ruled him out.”
“In what, an hour or two of digging? I’m thinking you have the world’s best on this, or you’ve just not done a thorough job. It’s sloppy and either you’re slipping, or Barney Fife is rubbing off on you.”
Summer caught Skip Dahlke’s eye and the frown on his face.
“I’ve got to run. I’ll be in touch.”
“Keep me in the loop from now on if for no other reason than for you to have an outside, objective view.” He softened and then said, “Sorry I was rough on you, but Summer, I’m worried. There’s something really weird about this, and you have to take another, deeper look at Pete. Promise me you’ll do that? Please?”
Summer sighed.
“I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
Pete got to the Holiday Inn Express on Blue Mound, about fifteen minutes from the Evan’s house. He sat down on the uncomfortable chair at the cheap desk, pulled out his little notebo
ok that he kept in his sport coat pocket, turned on the desk lamp and began writing. He had stopped at an Office Max a block from the hotel and purchased a pad of paper and two cheap Bic pens; one blue and one red. He began developing a timeline of what had occurred since he and Summer had flown out to Arizona, making a list of approximate times, dates, and the people who had access to the information. The times and dates he wrote in red, names and information in blue. The only thing he didn’t have was a cork board to pin things on.
When he thought he had written down everything, he read it over and then read it over again. If there was a leak, he couldn’t identify who it was or when it had occurred. Something didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t a team member, then it had to be someone close to the team, perhaps someone who was privy to the information or on the periphery of the investigation, or the guy in the baseball cap and sunglasses tying up loose ends. Which was it? He pulled out his cell and punched in Summer’s number.
“You and Skip find anything yet?”
“Still looking. We landed almost three hours ago. It’s a mess, and it looks like a massacre. It looks like the grandfather, women and children were marched out of the house. The women and children were huddled together, but the grandfather stood away from the group. Skip can’t tell who was killed first. He thinks it was more bang-bang, not a lot of thought into it. I agree. The fires were an afterthought. Wood structures, dry country. They went fast. Large weapons, military-issue. They were meant to get the job done.
“George’s brother could have been his twin, but a bit smaller, thinner. From a distance, they looked the same. We think the shots came from the helicopter. Same weapon. Almost cut him in half. Really ugly, Pete. Meant to send a message.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Leonard and a deputy will wrap this up with one man from Albuquerque. Doug’s already had him checked out, and he was told to keep this off the books for the time being. Skip is heading back to Wisconsin, and I’m taking a flight to D.C., should get there tomorrow morning.” She paused and then said, “I thought you were going to call me when you had George placed. Where are you, and what have you been doing?”
Pete took the phone away from his ear, looked at it curiously, then replaced it and spoke slowly, annoyed and wondering why the quick change in her voice.
“I’m calling now. I needed to be certain George was safe. I think he is.”
He told her about Jeremy, the twins, and Jeremy’s friend, the detective.
“I think he’s in good hands. I like the detective . . . he and Jeremy have been friends for years, so I think George is safe. But Summer, this information goes nowhere, only you and me, no one else on the team or outside the team until we figure this thing out.”
“That’s just it, Pete. Doug doesn’t know where the leak is. He started digging before we boarded the plane in Green Bay and has been at it ever since; a team of four, good, young, aggressive. They’ve come up with no one. Nada. The only one left is Logan, but come on . . . you and I both know he’s clean for chrissake . . .”
“He might have just scratched the surface, Summer. A couple of hours won’t tell him much at all.”
He told her about his timeline and his list of people who had access to the information, asking her to develop a similar timeline and a similar list.
“I’ve come to the same conclusion as Doug, but if that’s the case, then it’s out of Albuquerque, or . . .”
“Doug’s already started to look at Albuquerque, but I’m not holding out a lot of hope. Something is right in front of us, and we’re missing it. What is it?”
“If it’s not a leak, it’s the guy in the baseball cap and sunglasses. But someone might have something buried pretty deep that a couple of hours won’t find. How soon can we clear Chet?”
“Doug’s already ruled him out.”
“Then bring him in the loop and have him do some magic with his computer. I’ll catch a flight out of Milwaukee early and be in D.C. by ten. Meet me at the office and the three of us will put our heads together.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mike woke first but didn’t open his eyes right away. He tried to remember exactly what had happened, but only bits and pieces came back to him. His head hurt, and when he tried to move his arms, he found that he couldn’t. He tugged, but that only hurt his wrists. He tried to shift his legs, but couldn’t move them either.
Next to him, Stephen groaned. Mike opened his eyes and saw that Stephen was as naked as he was, and three men watched them. Stephen groaned again and woke up, and as Mike did, tried to move his arms and legs but couldn’t.
“Where are we?” Mike asked.
None of the men answered.
“Who are you?” Mike asked. “Where are you taking us?”
Tears dribbled down Stephen’s face as he said, “Please take us home.”
A man with longish red hair looked at them and said, “You won’t be going home. Not now, not ever.”
* * *
The boys should have been there by now, and Michael should have called, Jennifer thought as she started out the back door, hoping they’d be sitting in the driveway or kicking a soccer ball back and forth. They weren’t. She walked to the end of her driveway and down the sidewalk towards the mini-mart the boys had headed. No sign of them on either side of the street. She walked back into the house and grabbed her car keys.
“Honey, have the boys come back yet?” She asked, knowing they hadn’t, or she would have known.
“No, they’re probably horsing around. You know how those two get.” Mark called up from the basement.
“I’ll try calling again.”
This was the second time she had called, and each time it rang and rang before going to voicemail. Why won’t he answer, she thought.
“Mark, he’s not answering his phone. I’m going to go look for them,” she yelled, and not waiting for an answer, let the screen door slam behind her.
She backed out the silver mini-van or ‘Soccer Mom Van’ as the boys called it and drove slowly towards the mini-mart. While doing so, she tried calling Mike’s phone again, but this time, a young girl’s voice answered.
“Who’s this?’ Jennifer asked.
“Amber.”
“Amber, where did you get this phone?”
“I found it on the sidewalk.”
Reaching the end of the block, Jennifer saw a little blond girl, maybe eight or nine, talking on the phone facing a house on the corner. Jennifer stopped the van in the middle of the street and jogged over to the girl.
“Amber?”
“Yes, who are you?”
Frantic and not in the mood for twenty questions, Jennifer asked, “Where did you find that phone?”
“In the grass, there,” she said, pointing to a spot near a hydrant.
Near the hydrant was a black Addidas sandal, the kind the boys wore. Without another word, Jennifer grabbed the phone and the sandal and ran to her car, pulling away with a screech of tires.
* * *
By the time Jennifer found the phone, each boy had been forced to take two pills each, one blue and one white, washing them down with beer. At first, Stephen spit them out but was slapped by the man with red hair. He picked the two pills off the floor and rammed them down Stephen’s throat. Michael didn’t know what the pills were but didn’t want to get slapped around, so he swallowed them.
By the time the van reached the exit for Milwaukee International Airport, Jennifer had called 9-1-1 and was told that the police were on the way.
By the time the van reached the Illinois border, Mike had screamed himself hoarse as he was violated. Stephen didn’t know if Michael had passed out or was dead. He made no sound. Stephen had watched helplessly, glad they weren’t doing that to him, but guilty for feeling that way. That thought didn’t last very long.
By the time they came to a stop outside a dirty red-bricked building, each boy had been forced to do things that no child should ever have been forced to do.
And each boy wept silent tears as their dignity and innocence was stolen away and destroyed.
* * *
“Would there be any reason for the boys to run away?” the officer asked.
Frantic, Jennifer all but screamed at him. She shook the Addidas sandal and the phone in his face as she said, “No. They didn’t run away. They were taken by someone.”
Mark paced the living room like a wild animal, one hand on the top of his head, the other swinging wildly.
He stopped, turned on the officer and said, “If you don’t call this in right now, I demand to speak to your supervisor! Now!”
Officer Bryce Fogelsang called dispatch and reported that two boys were missing under suspicious circumstances. He gave their names, ages, physical descriptions, and described the clothes they had been wearing. Mark and Jennifer gave him recent pictures of the two boys, taken from a bulletin board in Mike’s room.
Ted and Sarah Bailey ran into the house, both yelling questions at the same time, Sarah crying and Ted angry, demanding to know how this had happened, even though Mark had tried as best as he could to explain to him with his phone call. Ted got into Jennifer’s face, spit flying as he yelled, and when Mark stepped between them, Ted shoved him backwards into Jennifer. Deputy Fogelsang stepped between the two before the fists flew, threatening both men with an arrest if they didn’t sit down and “shut the hell up!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
George, Randy, Billy and Jeremy were eating popcorn and watching The Jackal when the phone rang. Jeremy checked the caller ID and saw that it was Detective Jamie Graf, his friend, and the only other person to know about George.
“What’s up?” Jeremy asked after swallowing a fistful of popcorn.
“Did you see it?” Jamie asked.
Jeremy sat up a bit straighter and asked, “See what?”
“Turn to any network station. Quickly. Now.”
Jeremy left the room with the phone to his ear, entered the kitchen where there was a small TV mounted under the cupboard and turned it on.
