Every Second

by Rick Mofina

  “Got it.”

  “You’re further ahead on this case than any other press people. Our problem is we don’t want you tipping off the suspects to details that would help them.”

  “I get that, so what can you tell me?”

  “We believe that the motive in this case is more than a financial one, that it’s connected to crimes in the past and possibly other conspiracies.”

  “What other conspiracies?”

  “That’s all you’re getting.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Kate wrote it down.

  47

  Somewhere in New York State

  Lori Fulton stared hard through the cabin window and into the forest, refusing to look any longer at the computer screen Thorne held in front of her.

  She looked at the treetops swaying in the late-day breezes until something inside her cracked.

  She groped for answers, begging to be wrong about what she now knew to be true. What was happening to her family went beyond a robbery, beyond a hostage-taking.

  Thorne pulled the computer away and returned to the table.

  Lori’s mind swirled at his indictment.

  You were chosen because of your crimes as nonbelievers!

  With trepidation she turned toward the far corner and the tripod with the camera. It was then, for the first time, that she noticed the large knife leaning against the wall...waiting.

  Let me show you what happens to nonbelievers!

  She shut her eyes and prayed, then heard the subdued jingle of a chain as Billy stirred, groggily positioning himself with his head in her lap. Lori caressed his hair, hoping he wouldn’t feel her shaking fingers or her body trembling under him as her mind raced with a million fears, rocketing her back to her time in California, back to that night in Santa Ana...

  ...coming off a long night shift of piddling pain-in-the-ass calls, a suspicious vehicle, loud music, barking dog, homeless guy sleeping in a homeowner’s flower garden... Tim’s supremely happy...he and Charlene are trying for their first baby. They pull into a twenty-four-hour store for one last coffee to end the tour...says he’s dreaming of daddyhood...shifting the car into Park...joking about names—Brad for a boy, Angelina if it’s a girl...he steps out of the car away from the door, then he sees him...the guy’s backing out of the store, sparks blazing from the handgun he’s firing at people inside... Tim goes for his weapon...in a heartbeat... Lori’s coming around the car behind Tim and sees it all...in a heartbeat...the world slows...every second thudding in her ears...in a heartbeat...the shooter wheels, fires above the vest...a gout of blood blasts from Tim’s jaw, a clump of flesh rips from his neck...another round tears into his shoulder, knocking him back into her...sending them both to the ground...in a heartbeat...a deafening roar swells inside her...she catches Tim, her partner, a future dad...thinking...training...acting...she’s reaching for her weapon...in a heartbeat...the shooter’s firing again and she feels every round pounding into Tim...his body’s shielding her...in a heartbeat...gripping her weapon...raising it... Tim’s spasming torso absorbing rounds...and she’s firing...the shooter’s angry eyes fill with surprise...she empties her magazine into his chest, putting him down...in a heartbeat... Tim’s blood warming her... Brad for a boy, Angelina if it’s a girl...shouting...screaming...sirens...blood drenching her as Tim empties of life...she’s holding him...like she’s holding Billy now...

  Lori opened her eyes, looking back at the trees.

  In the time after they’d buried Tim, she’d helped the investigators and the district attorney, answering question after question. “You were where? Then what happened? What actions did Officer Rowland take? What actions did you take?” She’d gone to counseling, done all she could to hang on while inside she was descending into an abyss of pain, guilt, fear and rage.

  Lori had been shown photos of the shooter, Malcolm Jordan Samadyh, who was only twenty-five years old and had already done time for armed robbery. Though her actions were justified, she had taken a life and it haunted her.

  Then, on the steps of a civic building during the investigation, she’d run into Samadyh’s mother and brother. The devastation in their eyes had cut through her and she’d spoken from her heart.

  “Every second of every day, I wish for everyone that it never happened,” she’d said, hoping that they might forgive her.

  But Samadyh’s mother’s face had twisted into a mask of fury and she’d spat on Lori while the little brother’s eyes burned with hate, and then...then...everything clicked.

  Lori looked to Thorne working on the laptop and suddenly knew. She’d barely recognized him from that chance meeting all those years ago, but now she knew without a doubt who he really was.

  “You’re...Malcolm Samadyh’s brother, aren’t you? You’re Jerricko.”

  He stared at her for a long moment but said nothing and turned back to his computer.

  “Is that why you’re doing this?” she asked. “Because of what happened in California?”

  He ignored her questions.

  “Jerricko, your brother killed my partner, wounded others and tried to kill me.”

  He threw her a chilling glare.

  “My brother was a martyr.”

  “Jerricko.” Lori kept her voice soft and quiet. “What happened was a horrible thing. I never wanted to hurt your brother but he killed my partner. I did what I did because I had no choice. You do. You don’t have to hurt more people. You can end this now—just let us go.”

  He continued to work without speaking and Lori grew desperate.

  “Please, Jerricko. Let us go. Please. I regret that night, you have to see that. I live with it every single day and I swear I wish it never happened.”

  He stared at her, his face reddening with anger, letting a long silence pass.

  “But it did happen,” he said.

  “I’m so sorry.” Lori let a long tense moment pass. “I understand how you feel.”

  “Understand? You don’t understand. Ignorant, arrogant people like you and other Americans like you, will never understand.”

  “I want to understand. Help me to understand, so no more people get hurt, please.”

  He stared at her, his eyes flashing with anger and pain.

  “My mother never wanted to come to this country, but she loved her husband and followed him here. You cannot comprehend what that meant, leaving her home. She did her best to adjust. She’s a spiritual woman, she fasted, kept the holy days, our house was filled with prayer but what she saw every day all around her was the filth of this country.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the racism, the worship of sex, drugs, pornographic dancing and music. We were exposed to that filth every day and it infected my brother. He began drinking, smoking, pursuing women. It broke my mother’s heart because he was being disrespectful to God. She was losing him to your disgusting culture, which had poisoned him.”

  “Yes, there’s a lot wrong with this country, but that’s because it’s a free, tolerant society. Jerricko, deep down we’re good people who want to live right and do the right thing.”

  “Right thing? Is it right that you hate our babies and plan to kill them?”

  “What do you mean? We don’t hate babies.”

  “In Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan, you bomb our people, kill our babies and orphan our children. Look at the lives you destroy with your aggression, with your arrogant, evil foreign policy, you meddle in our affairs. By your actions you tell our people in all walks of life all around the world that you hate them and will kill them.”

  “That’s not true. We don’t wish to kill children. It’s much more complicated than that.”

  “No, it’s very simple.”

  He stared at her.

  “When we came to America my mo
ther studied American politics and foreign policy. She taught us how 9/11 was created by the American government to make the US hate us, so it could lead an invasion against us. While she was here my mother kept in touch with family back home. They told her of the bombings, the killings that still continue day after day.”

  Jerricko pointed to Cutty.

  “He lost family in the bombings. So did the other two brothers on our team. We all did.”

  Jerricko paused to reflect.

  “When Malcolm went to prison he found God again. My mother was so pleased that her son had returned to his righteous path. In prison, he’d vowed to become a soldier in the war against this evil American genocidal policy. The night you killed him, he was trying to raise money for an operation to support the cause.”

  Jerricko stared off.

  “I loved him. My mother was drowning in grief. She called out for vengeance. For me, losing Malcolm was like an amputation. Part of me died that day, too, and I blame you, the face of the police—the tool of the US government in its war on my people.”

  “Jerricko, it’s not like that. I’m so sorry about Malcolm, but it’s not like that.”

  “Oh, yes, it is. You see, losing my brother hammered home the truth about the crimes committed by people like you in the name of your country. It meant I had to do something about the atrocities committed by your lying government. They force me to pay taxes to pay people like you to kill our brothers and sisters, here and in our homeland. You support this government. You are a tool of this government. You have blood on your hands. You are guilty and you will be punished. They call us radicalized, but the truth is we are blessed defenders of an oppressed people. We embrace our responsibility and will sacrifice our souls to it.”

  “But my family...they’re innocent.”

  “After my brother’s sacrifice, I spent a lot of time thinking about you and what you did. I studied your family and I learned that your husband was a banker—a greedy nonbeliever. It was then that I decided that the way to make you pay for your crimes would be one that would help me on my path. My brothers and I needed funds to accomplish our goals, so we tracked you down.”

  “But I was the one involved. Punish me, but let my son and husband go. They’re innocent.”

  “Innocent?” Jerricko sneered. “When I informed the council of your crimes and our plans, they convened a tribunal and ruled that you and your family are guilty. You’re all guilty. We’re going to make examples of you.”

  “But my son...” Lori said. “He’s just a boy!”

  “This is war. This is your fate. There’s nothing you can do.”

  Jerricko closed his laptop, left the cabin to stand on the front deck.

  Lori was numb on the mattress, her mind reeling.

  ...in a heartbeat...

  Her lower lip trembled as she looked down on Billy.

  ... She saw Tim bleeding on her...

  ... She imagined Billy’s severed head...

  Lori clamped her hands over her mouth, but inside she was screaming and screaming.

  48

  Somewhere in New York State

  Miles from where Kate Page stood with investigators and reporters, Dan Fulton battled the dread gnawing at the edges of his mind about what was awaiting him.

  Still under the tarp of the moving SUV, he’d tried to determine how far they’d traveled, but it was impossible because since they had taken him from the car they’d stopped a number of times, and for long periods.

  During those stops Dan had heard the men talking to each other, then on the phone, but he was unable to make out their conversations from under the tarp.

  Now that they were back on the road they’d made no other stops and Dan sensed that they’d been driving for a great distance. The whole time he thought of Lori and Billy, imagined their faces, heard their voices and prayed to be with them again. He ran his thumb over the edge of the utility knife tucked under his sleeve. Not much of a weapon against guns, but it was all he had—and he would use it to fight back. To save his family.

  Eventually, the sound of the road changed, indicating they’d turned on to some kind of gravel path.

  Dan took in a long, slow breath.

  Stones pinged against the undercarriage, and he was bumped and shifted as the SUV twisted and turned along what had become a long, rough stretch. They continued for what seemed like miles, curving, dipping and tottering but always climbing.

  Dan’s heart galloped.

  The blinking red light of his suicide vest continued its relentless countdown, and Dan was overwhelmed with the realization that they were heading to a remote area, and soon he was going to die.

  This is it. It’s—

  Bang!

  The sound of the explosion filled his ears and the SUV lurched off the road.

  49

  Somewhere in New York State

  Warm tears rolled down Lori’s cheeks.

  Several long moments passed before they dried. She could no longer hope and pray for the best; she accepted what she now believed to be true.

  They’ve killed Dan and they’re going to kill us. They’re just waiting for the others to bring the money.

  The red light on the battery pack of her suicide vest continued flashing.

  No one was coming. No one would save them.

  It’s just me.

  Drawing on her counseling experience, Lori took deep breaths. She couldn’t lose to hysteria. No matter the odds, she couldn’t give in. She needed to turn her fear into action. She’d been a cop, a good street cop. She needed to use her training. To think. Take stock. Assess options.

  I won’t let Billy die here.

  Lori looked at Cutty, who’d seemed indifferent the whole time she and Jerricko spoke, immersed in the chiming of the video games he was playing on his phone. Jerricko had returned to the table and was working on his computer.

  The swish of bottled water meant Billy was awake, taking a drink.

  She glanced at the persistent blinking light on his vest, then caressed him while cooing soft words of encouragement and love.

  “Do you think Dad’s coming with the police to get us?” he whispered in her ear.

  “I do, sweetheart.”

  “Maybe he’ll bring Sam?”

  “Maybe.” Lori smiled, holding him close, feeling his skin next to hers, inhaling his scent, fortifying her resolve as she began forging a plan.

  Again, she took stock of the cabin—the beds, the bags, the kitchen area, the table with the backpack and laptop. Then she considered the duct tape wrapped around their wrists over the plastic cuffs, the metal handcuff around their ankles, secured to the long chains. The video camera in the corner mounted on the tripod.

  The knife.

  Lori searched for potential gaps and weaknesses but there was nothing.

  Except the obvious.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.

  “You just went,” Cutty said.

  “The sandwich didn’t...agree with me. I need to go.”

  Cutty muttered, tucked his phone in his pocket, grabbed his rifle, then got the handcuff keys and used them to release her. Then he tossed the keys back on the table next to Jerricko.

  “If the kid has to go, you’re taking him. It’s your turn,” Cutty said, then raked the muzzle of his gun at Lori to the back door. “Let’s go.”

  With her wrists bound in front of her, she stepped carefully to keep her balance while walking along the twisting, narrow trail to the outhouse. The low sun cast long shadows, but she drew upon all of her concentration to analyze the surrounding geography, searching for neighboring cabins, cars, people, any signs of life she could use to her advantage.

  There was the van, but Lori didn’t know who had the
keys and was not confident in her ability to hotwire it, even if she had the chance.

  At the outhouse she again endured the humiliation of being forced to keep the door open. She watched Cutty test his phone for a signal. By the face he made, it appeared to her that service didn’t cover this area, something she noted as Cutty resumed playing his games on his phone.

  When they walked back, Lori studied every aspect of the trail at every step. There was nothing. Nothing she could see that would help.

  Time was running out, and hope, like the day, was fading fast.

  Panic was churning in the pit of her gut as they neared the cabin, when a sudden bang stopped them in their tracks.

  The sound echoed over the hills.

  50

  Somewhere in New York State

  The explosion stopped the SUV and it was sagging on the right side.

  Dan exhaled.

  I’m still alive.

  Looking down at his vest, he was relieved to see the little red light still blinking away. Then he heard the front doors open, his captors getting out to talk.

  The rear opened.

  The tarp was dragged off of him and he was yanked from the back by Percy while Vic held him at gunpoint. Squinting in the waning light Dan noticed that both men had removed their coveralls and were wearing military camouflage pants and dark T-shirts. He examined the surroundings. They were high in the hills, isolated amid vast forests. He drank in the cool, sweet air and tensed, like a condemned man.

  This is it. Keep your hands clasped. Focus. Be ready.

  The red light on his vest continued ticking down...

  As Vic shoved Dan around the side of the vehicle, Dan saw that the front passenger tire had been shredded by jagged rocks.

  Not an explosion, then, we just blew a tire.

  Percy began removing the jack, wrench and spare, dropping them on the ground to change it.

  He’d set his gun next to the tools.

  Vic reached into the SUV for the bag with the money, hefting it over his shoulder. “Get up to the cabin after you fix that and we’ll get started,” he said to Percy.