by Roger Hayden
An impasse. For a minute, everyone was quiet, until Lou, binoculars in hand, suddenly pointed toward the ground. “Structure sighted!”
Everyone turned to look. A small, abandoned-looking cabin was in the distance, open and exposed. Her heart jumped, but then something was strange about how easy it was to spot. There were no vehicles or people around it either.
“Keep going,” she said to the pilot.
“What are you doing?” Nettles said.
“That’s not the cabin,” she said.
“Looks like a cabin to me,” Willis said.
“Take it down,” Nettles said.
“You guys search that cabin, we’ll get the next one,” Miriam said.
“Just like we planned, right?” Lou added. He looked at Miriam and shook his head, covering his mic. “Damn Feds.”
“We heard that!” Nettles said. Miriam looked out the window as the first helicopter swooped low and touched ground. She then searched out the window for the next cabin, or something resembling it. Lou kept careful watch as they flew over a large patch of trees and brush, perfect cover. Miriam remained plastered to the window when a shiny flicker of light caught her eye.
“There!” she said, pointing.
Lou turned and moved to the other window, crouched down and looked out with his binos.
“What do you see?” Miriam asked him.
“I don’t know. Nothing but trees.”
“It’s there,” she said. “I know it.”
“There’s nowhere to land,” the pilot said.
“Find something!” Miriam said. “I saw something silver and shiny back there. You have to turn back.”
He made a turn and they circled the forest once again. Lou finally zeroed in on whatever it was that Miriam had seen.
“It’s a vehicle!” he said.
Detective Belmont lifted his mic. “Agent Nettles, what’s your status?”
Faint crackling came over their headsets followed by Nettles’s distant voice. “Surrounding the cabin now. Doesn’t look like anyone’s here.”
The pilot turned to Miriam and pointed to a clearing which seemed to be as close as he could get to the area they had identified earlier. Miriam looked closer and could see what looked like an enormous camouflaged tarp hanging from the trees, obscuring the view of whatever was under it.
Bravo Team landed with a jolt and rushed out, leaving the pilot withy the copter. About one hundred feet ahead, Miriam saw an old cabin hidden under a camouflaged canopy, with a vacant air to it—though she could feel Anderson’s presence. Her legs picked up steam as she rushed ahead, driven by sheer instinct.
As the team rushed forward, Nettles reported that their cabin was clear, all but solidifying Miriam’s hunch. When they were twenty feet from the cabin, shots rang out from the inside, blasting from the windows, shattering the glass and hitting the trees all around them. Detective Jade took a shot to the leg and fell to the ground.
“I’m hit!” he yelled.
Miriam pushed forward, moving in between the trees with her Beretta drawn. After a brief pause, more rapid gunfire surrounded them. Lou directed the team to take cover and advance cautiously. Was Ana still inside? Miriam could hardly prevent herself from running ahead to the cabin. Just when it looked as though Bravo Team was going to be pinned down for the long haul, the shooters ran out of the house and toward a muddy Ford F-250, fleeing the scene.
Miriam rushed forward and shot the tires out, taking cover on the side of the cabin. She didn’t know how many of them there were, but she saw three in the truck. They turned and started firing back. She dropped to her knees and took cover as wood chunks flew all around her. As soon as the engine started, she turned and fired at the truck, striking the driver in the head.
He slumped to the wheel as the others jumped out of the truck and tried to run. She raised her gun, but couldn’t bring herself to shoot them in the back. At that moment, a hail of gunfire blasted from behind her, taking the two fleeing men out. Their backs exploded as their heads jerked back and their hands flew into the air. They dropped to their stomachs, motionless and contorted. Miriam turned around, shocked, to see Detective Jade behind her with his rifle aimed.
“What did you do that for?” she asked. Her exhausted eyes were livid with fury.
“They shot at us!” he said defensively.
She turned from him in disgust. “Come on,” she said running to the front porch. “We have to search the house.”
She kicked the door open and ran inside, taking cover behind anything she could—a book case, table, and cabinets—making her way forward. As she passed the kitchen, she realized there was no one inside the room, and possibly no one inside the cabin. Even Ana. It looked as though it had been abandoned in a hurry, as was clearly the case. Her feet creaked across the floorboards, and she immediately focused on the basement.
“Miriam, where’d you go?” Lou said over the headset, frantic.
“She’s here. I know it!” Miriam said. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Any minute her heart would explode. She approached the basement door cautiously, put her hand to the knob, and swung open the door with her pistol drawn. Below was a set of stairs, which was all she could see in the darkness, and nothing more.
“Ana!” she shouted, wiping her eyes. She then cleared her throat and changed to a more authoritative tone. “Philip Anderson, this is Agent Castillo with the FBI. Come out with your hands up high, or I will shoot you!”
There was no response. Too fearful to wait any longer she stormed down the stairs and flew to the ground at the bottom on one knee. The vest weighed heavily on her shoulders, making it harder to aim, and the helmet blocked her side vision. On the mattress, not ten feet away, a girl lay motionless with her back toward Miriam. She leapt up gasping and ran to the bed just as footsteps clamored from upstairs.
“Miriam!” Lou shouted.
She dropped to the mattress and turned the girl on her side, facing her. Somewhere under the bruises and cuts on her face was Ana. She was unconscious but breathing.
“Oh my God,” Miriam cried, cradling Ana in her arms. She kissed her face repeatedly as waves of relief rushed through her body. In the midst of her jubilation and fear of Ana’s condition, she suddenly heard a gun click.
She whipped around and saw Phillip Anderson standing in the shadows. Her mind froze along with her body. She had been taken off guard and had no idea what to do. Her pistol lay on the bed near her knee. Both her arms were around Ana.
Philip glanced at his watch while holding a pistol with a silencer attached to the muzzle. “Record time. I’m impressed.” He laughed and shook his head. “I really didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, fighting the fear that was consuming her body.
“Somewhere they’ll never find me. I can assure you that.” He smiled again, and then his face suddenly dropped.
“Now stand up and get against the wall before I put one in your head and your little girl’s.”
Miriam released Ana and slowly rose from the bed. Her own pistol was in view. The minute her eyes glanced at it, Phillip spoke.
“Not happening. One wrong move and you’re fuckin’ history. Understand?”
Miriam looked away from her pistol and rose up from the mattress, keeping a careful distance from Ana with her safety in mind.
“We had a deal,” she said.
Phillip’s eyes remained on her, unblinking. “Tell that to my guys. Some of them had families too, you know. They were strapped for cash and trying to make ends meet. And none of them deserved to die.”
“They were criminals,” she said. “Now, please. I don’t care what you do to me, just let my daughter go.”
Phillip smiled. “Maybe I want to take her with me.”
“Miriam, where are you?” Lou shouted from upstairs. Bravo Team’s footsteps could be heard continuing their search of the cabin.
In that split second, Miriam lunged for her pistol. �
�No!” she screamed.
Phillip shot two shots into her chest without hesitation while his pistol barely made a sound. Miriam hit the ground, smacking hard against the pavement. As she collapsed, Phillip ran to Ana but froze halfway. The footsteps upstairs were close. They’d be down the stairs in second.
Phillip turned around and ran to the opposite corner of the room where a large bookcase sat. He heaved with all his strength and pushed it to the side, revealing a crawlspace that led to an underground tunnel. Hurried footsteps scrambled down the steps just as Phillip ducked inside. He pulled a rope, sealing the trap door shut, followed by an automatic pulley that moved the bookshelf back against the wall.
Lou was the first to reach the bottom, with Detective Jade behind him.
“Miriam!” he shouted.
He rushed to her as Jade went to Ana.
Lou crouched down and picked Miriam up, holding her. Her face was pale, and she wasn’t breathing.
“Talk to me, Miriam.”
He shook her as her head bobbed and her eyes closed.
“Miriam, come back!”
The Abducted: Vengeance
Escape
An intricate underground tunnel stretched a mile beyond the cabin, leading to a riverbank, then past the sawgrass prairie and into the tropical wetlands of the Southern Glades. The challenge was much harder than Phillip Anderson had anticipated. On his belly, he inched forward. With each movement, one elbow dug into the unforgiving cement and thrust him forward, followed by the other.
His body was sore and exhausted. He crawled for over half a mile before stopping to catch his breath in the tightly confined cement tunnel. In one hand he held a flashlight, in the other, his radio.
Everything else he had to leave behind. His bodyguards had been killed—his hideout cabin exposed—and he was on the run again. And through it all, he didn't have Miriam to accompany him, as he had planned. She would pay, soon enough, more than she already had.
The darkened tunnel was cramped and stuffy—a nightmare to wade and crawl through. With each tiring push forward, Phillip was on the verge of collapse. At six feet, two inches, and two hundred and twenty pounds, he was a big man and could barely fit through.
If not for Miriam, he wouldn't be desperately seeking escape from the feds. With about a quarter-mile left to go, he stopped, sweaty and gasping for breath. Somehow, he had to escape. They were undoubtedly closing in on him now from all directions.
His hiking boots scarped against the hard surface, pushing him forward. The sandy concrete tore against his faded Levis. He dragged along a satchel with some emergency cash and his silencer pistol tied to his ankle by a rope. His beige Anderson Auto Salvage T-shirt was drenched in sweat. He had never felt so afraid, and yet there was a certain exhilaration to it. But there were also no guarantees that his escape plan was going to work.
Phillip was a man who seldom liked to take chances. In addition to the escape tunnel, he had a boat waiting for him—a small, unassuming fishing boat. He had a guy keeping watch, patrolling the waters, and ready to take off as soon as Phillip resurfaced—a welder named Joe who used to work at the salvage yard. Phillip could very well operate the boat on his own, but he needed someone there and ready in the wait.
Phillip had recruited Joe, like many of the others, at a hefty price. The others—Ed, Dusty, Mike, Chuck, Ken, Dale—were either captured by the feds or dead. Phillip was on his own.
He stopped for a moment, panting. The journey ahead seemed impossible. At thirty-nine, he couldn't move like he used to. Down here in the tunnel, he could barely see straight from exhaustion and dizziness. He dropped his flashlight as its beam paused and flickered and grunted. Awkwardly, he reached into his side pocket and pulled out a handheld radio.
“I'm almost at the end!” he spat into the radio between breaths, clutching it. “You ready yet?”
Nothing came through the speaker but some static and a few crackles. He kept the radio close and held up his flashlight. The end of the tunnel was close. He could feel it. He pushed himself forward, gaining momentum as the tunnel curved slightly to the right. He shined the flashlight ahead, breathing rapidly, and looked ahead as stinging sweat dripped into his eyes.
Twenty feet ahead, there was a crawlspace which led out of the tunnel—an exit hidden within a thick, shaded patch of sawgrass near the riverbank, surrounded by trees. Even if the authorities had found the tunnel and crawled through it, the hatch would be locked and Phillip had the only key dangling around his neck.
He clenched his teeth, dug his elbows in, and pushed himself forward, reaching the escape hatch with barely an ounce of energy left. He climbed up and unlocked the padlock holding it shut. Frantic, he pushed up on the hatch as fresh air blew inside, providing instant relief. Phillip climbed out and fell to the side, rolling onto the grass and looking up into the trees.
Beyond the needled branches of the pine trees, he could see a clear, blue sky above. For a moment, everything seemed peaceful and reassuring in the shade. He pulled his satchel to him and took out his silencer, ready to move. His head pounded from heat exhaustion. His throat was sandpaper dry. He pulled a one-quart canteen from his satchel and downed the entire bit as water ran down his stubbled cheeks.
Feeling better in the fresh air, he spun around, crawled back to the hatch exit, and slammed it shut. He locked it with the same padlock and then crawled to the base of a nearby tree, peeking around in the direction of his cabin. In the distance, he could see a line of federal agents moving through the weeds, combing the area. The rumble of helicopters was getting louder. He had even less time to escape than he had imagined.
Phillip looked inside his satchel just to ensure that his passport and two thousand dollars cash money were still there. It was enough, he hoped, to buy his way out of the country for good. He looked up in a panic upon hearing dogs bark. The K-9s were loose.
He stood up hunched over as the shouts of the feds grew. He held his radio close and spoke. “I'm out now. Meet me at the east bank!” he said with urgency.
A voice finally came over the radio, much to Phillip's relief. “I'm already there. Hurry up. They got helicopters out now!” Joe said back.
Phillip wasted no time answering. He sprinted off, zigzag style, through the woods, steadily approaching the riverbank. Even with the helicopters deployed, he wasn't too worried. There were plenty of other boats along the Southern Glade trail, but his small window of escape was narrowly closing.
As he ran alongside palmetto bushes and heavy vines hanging from cypress trees, he felt cautiously optimistic. He reached the riverbank at the edge of the calm, green everglades and headed east where his boat awaited. On the boat were a variety of emergency items: food kits, weapons and ammo, and some disguises for good measure. His boots dug into the ground with each hurried step, and he called into his handheld once again.
“Where the hell are you? I don't see anything.”
“I'm right where I said I am. East bank right over the divider,” Joe said, referring to a four-foot wired fence separating Phillip's property from the other land.
“Damn it,” Phillip said, frustrated. “They’re right on my tail. Move it up.”
“I’m not moving from here. Hurry up!” Joe argued back.
Phillip wanted to kill him for the insolence. Maybe he would later. After all, Joe was just a welder. Nothing special. Phillip continued his frantic journey, sloshing along the riverbank, when he stopped dead in his tracks. There was a man standing under a tree, fishing. He looked to be in his fifties, wearing a fisherman's hat, glasses, and a pair of overalls. He turned his head to Phillip and waved.
“Howdy, there.”
Phillip stood frozen, covered in dirt and sweat.
The man lowered his arm slowly as his smile faded. “Everything all right?” he asked, concerned.
Phillip didn't answer. Instead he got right to the point. “You do know this is private property, right?”
The man blinked, confused. “Uh. Not ent
irely, no. I was just following the bank. You know, I never did care for that fishing port off the state road. This is much better.”
Phillip turned slightly toward the faint barking behind him. The man seemed to take a sudden interest in the approaching noise.
“Hell of a commotion going on over there, don't ya think?” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his bucket and pole and waved at Phillip. “Sorry I wandered on your property. You have a nice day.”
“Wait!” Phillip said nervously.
Startled, the man turned around.
Phillip approached him immediately with his hand out. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to chase you off. Let me introduce myself.
Phillip suddenly drew his pistol, placed it against the man's forehead, and fired. With a muffled thump, the back of his brains sprayed into the grass. The man collapsed on his back like a rag doll, with a stunned, wide-eyed expression that showed he hadn't seen it coming.
Phillip jammed the barrel back into his jeans pocket, crouched down, and pushed the man's body toward the water's edge. The body rolled into a pond, disturbing calm waters while floating on the surface. The man was covered by enough weeds and lily pads to keep him out of sight for the time being.
The dividing fence was ten short feet ahead. A large cypress tree branch stretched over the water, covered in hanging moss. The boat was directly below it. Ecstatic, Philip ran to the fence and hopped over—awkwardly—but with fervent urgency. The ground was spongy, and the sawgrass went up to his waist. The sound of the helicopters was dangerously close.
“I'm right around the corner. Start the fucking boat!” he said into the handheld.
“You got it,” Joe said.
A few yanks on the cord and the engine started—not nearly as loud as Phillip had feared. It had a low hum, noticeable but low-key enough to buy them some time. He ran the rest of the way to the boat, right into the water, splashing everywhere, his clothes soaking wet. The K-9s seemed as though they were right at his heels. Standing in the four-passenger boat, Joe looked down at Phillip and seemed about to make a comment, but then decided against it.
