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by Unknown

  Messages

  By Hunter Goforth

  Chapter 1

  The Abduction

  Cucuta, Colombia

  Montezuma’s Revenge was the wrong name for it, thought Alan Brennan as he sat in a lone toilet stall. It should be called total evacuation, he said to himself as his insides churned once again. Brennan kicked himself mentally for deciding to eat that salad the day before. Everyone had warned him about eating fresh vegetables in a foreign country but he loved salads and this one was just too much to resist. Now here he was at an international “Sister Cities” conference and unable to finish the final dinner.

  Everyone had enjoyed the conference. It was a real chance to work together with other cities on diplomatic levels – something a mere mayor didn’t usually do. The nonprofit Sister Cities International helped broker cooperation between cities, counties and even states with like groups in other countries. As the mayor of Richmond, Virginia, he had already established partnerships with Krakow, Poland, and Nuku’alofa, Tonga. In both cases, the citizens and organizations of Richmond had embraced their “sister city,” and the cultural exchanges seemed to never end.

  Brennan’s smile at the thought turned to a grimace as his insides gave one more heave. Now he was in the South American nation of Colombia trying to start another one. The four day event had been amazingly productive. The city of Cucuta had hosted the small conference of 15 mayors from the United States and Colombia and he had befriended the mayor of Maicao, a city near the border with Venezuela. Now he was looking forward to making that friendship a little more formal.

  With his stomach finally settling for a moment, Brennan wiped the sweat from his face and cleaned himself up. Flushing the toilet he exited the stall and washed his hands while looking at his face in the mirror. Never again, he thought as he stared at the pale face with slightly bloodshot eyes. Giving a slightly audible sigh, Brennan turned and made his way back to the dinner.

  Each of the American participants had received a special invitation just that morning to a dinner with Colombia’s Foreign Minister. No one could turn it down. The dinner was in a large private conference center and the food appeared to be out of this world. Everyone was impressed with the facility and the meal. Unfortunately he hadn’t taken one bite before he had to dash to the restroom.

  As Brennan neared the restroom door he heard a shout from the other side. Curious, he eased the door open just enough to see a soldier, dressed in black, dragging one of the waiters across the floor and through another door. Oh shit, he thought as he eased the door back until only a sliver of it was open to see through. After a minute, one set of conference room doors flew open as two more soldiers carried another of the wait staff out of the room. Through the open doors he watched as other soldiers were picking up what appeared to be his unconscious colleagues and taking them out another door at the front of the dining room. The tables were now almost completely empty.

  One of the men seemed to be directing the others. He stopped by the table where Brennan had been sitting and stared at the still full plate. Looking around, he suddenly shouted an order and pointed toward Brennan’s direction.

  Brennan looked around in horror. They were going to check the bathrooms and he had nowhere to hide. Thinking quickly, he dashed back to a stall three quarters of the way down the line. Leaving the stall door ajar, he climbed up on the seat and squatted down. It wasn’t ten seconds later that he heard the bathroom door open and someone with rubber soled shoes begin moving across the tiled floor.

  The young soldier saw a closet door and opened it quickly. The closet was full of supplies on some wooden shelves and a couple of mops. Closing the door, the soldier looked around the restroom. It was very quiet. All of the stall doors were open. Getting down on one knee he glanced under the stall walls and saw no feet or anything else which would indicate someone was there. Standing back up, the soldier moved to the first stall door and opened it with a bang. Then he moved to the second. He was about to go further when he stopped and looked around again. Turning on his heel, the soldier angrily made his way out the men’s room door and over to the women’s restroom.

  There was another shout from the dining room and Brennan heard the young soldier quickly exit the women’s room and call out his report. Waiting almost five minutes, Brennan slowly eased off the toilet seat and made his way to the dining room. It was empty. The tables were bare as if nothing had happened. Hearing a truck start outside, he made his way to a window and glanced out. A dingy white panel truck was quickly making its way down the alley next to the building and out to the main street. There were vegetables painted along the sides and, by the roar of the engine, it was obvious that the truck needed a new muffler. The engine popped and growled loudly as the truck pulled away and sped down the street.

  Looking around, Brennan made his way through the door at the front of the room where he had seen the others taken. It opened to a preparation room filled with stainless steel tables and stacks of dishes and glasses. Several of the dining room staff lay propped against the tables unconscious. The table linens and all the food contents were heaped in trash cans along the back of the room. There was no sign of any of the other mayors. In the kitchen next to the room, dirty pots and pans lay everywhere but the chefs were nowhere to be seen.

  Searching desperately for a telephone, Brennan found they had been ripped from the walls and were useless. Disregarding his physical condition, he took off out the back door, making his way down the alley and headed toward the center of town at a dead run. If he was lucky, he would see a policeman.

  The White House

  President Steve O’Bannon sat back in his favorite recliner on the second floor of the White House and kicked the shoes off his feet. He was completing his first term in office and it appeared he would win the upcoming election by a landslide. The electioneering was still going on by the opposing party, hoping that something would happen which might topple the President from his office. Between the election and the job of running a country O’Bannon was turning in some long hours. Luckily, his friend and Chief of Staff, Jim Butler, had been able to take much of the load off. Ever since the night they had teamed up when the North Koreans had launched their attack three years before, the two had become the closest of friends and allies. They thought alike and didn’t mind tackling any problem. As a result, the White House had become an efficient team, allowing the President to concentrate on his job without getting bogged down in minutia. It also meant more time with the family and getting the rest he needed.

  Sipping on his caffeine-free soda, he skimmed through some political briefs that his handlers wanted to make sure he was familiar with. These were mostly about the issues the other side was raising. It was almost boring. Ever since the war with North Korea things had seemed to slow down. The excitement just wasn’t the same each day. Sure, there were interesting things happening all the time, but nothing could compare with that experience.

  Lowering the papers, he thought back on all that had happened. The attack had hurt, but thanks to Jim Butler and Roger Hammond they were able to get things together very quickly. Roger had become another good friend. More than that, he had been the one to help get the nation back on its feet and ready for war. As a reward for all he had done, O’Bannon and the Navy leadership had given Hammond command of a battleship. It was the best decision the Navy ever made. Hammond and his ship made history.

  O’Bannon chuckled as he remembered the look on Hammond’s face when he saw him aboard USS Iowa, and again when he had presented him with the Medal of Honor. He was like a small boy getting a big gift. He never expected anything for himself, but was glad to get it. As a matter of fact, Hammond had always shied away from receiving praise. Most of the time, he was too busy turni
ng the praise toward others. Now Hammond was the Commander, Naval Surface Forces, Pacific. Although he knew Hammond hated not going to sea on a ship, the President also knew he didn’t have to worry about his Navy on the West Coast. Hammond was a born leader.

  So was Claire Richardson. She was like Hammond when it came to thinking things through. Taking advice from General Black, he had turned her loose on the North Koreans. Like an angered bulldog, she had led the First Marine Division all the way up the peninsula and had personally orchestrated the surrender in Pyongyang. Now she was head of Defense Special Operations in the Pentagon where she and Black were busy making the Pentagon into an efficient machine. O’Bannon could almost see her snarling at some of the staffers and ‘sand crabs’ in the ‘E-Ring,’ the outermost ring of offices in the building.

  The President heard the floor creak and looked up to see Jim Butler coming around the corner. “I thought you had gone home,” he said with a grin. Then he noticed the concerned look on Butler’s face. “Okay, what’s happened,” he asked as Butler solemnly handed him a sheet of paper.

  “Bad news,” Butler said.

  The President quickly read the first paragraph, then skimmed the rest. As he read, his face became a mask of frustration. He finally put down the paper and closed his eyes. “Fourteen mayors,” he said in a low tone, almost as if it were too much to handle. He looked at Butler. “What else do we know?”

  “I talked to Al Peterson at State. He called down and talked to Mayor Brennan personally when the word got out. Brennan says it was a definite abduction. He saw military types carrying the other mayors out the door and drive off in a panel truck. He has no idea who it might have been. The ambassador told me that Brennan escaped because he was in the bathroom at the time. He said he ran a mile and a half until he finally found a police station. Then it took another half hour to get someone to translate for them. The way I figure it, they are long gone and we don’t know who did it. The Colombians are having a fit right now trying to find the truck and get these mayors back. They closed the borders and airports. You will probably be getting a call from their President any time now,” Butler said.

  “You have people on it?” the President asked, knowing he already did.

  Butler smiled. “Al is going to offer any assistance they may need including military. I called Black. He’s getting the services alerted. I also let Hal Mossman know at FBI and Craig Harris at CIA. They are getting things spooled up. CIA got a call from their resident about the time we got the word and they are calling in some chips. There’s not much we can do as yet, but no use waiting.”

  The President nodded.

  “But boss, you didn’t look at the names, did you?” Butler prodded.

  The President glanced down at the fourteen names on the sheet. He stopped at number ten and turned white as a sheet. “Does he know?”

  Butler shook his head. “We also don’t know this might be in retaliation for his actions in the war. There are still some fanatics out there,” he said.

  The President sat up in the recliner. “Dave,” he called out.

  The Secret Service agent turned the corner. “Yes, Mister President.”

  “Dave, do me a favor. Find Hammond. Get a detail around him right now and keep him safe until I say so,” he said with determination.

  Chapter Two

  Old Times

  San Pedro, California

  Vice Admiral Roger Hammond was sitting back enjoying a concert. It was the final day of the Iowa reunion. The banquet had been excellent and now this concert topped things off. The crew, their wives and families and some from the city of San Pedro were sitting on the fantail of the great ship. Moored outboard the Iowa was the new guided missile cruiser, USS Kings Mountain. Its captain, Brian Davis, the Iowa’s former executive officer, had requested the port visit just for this occasion. The Kings Mountain crew was also on deck enjoying the concert. Just beneath the guns of turret three was a platform where the Iowa band was playing. “The guys can still crank it out,” Hammond said to Davis as they listened to some of the songs the band had played when the ship had last been in commission.

  This was a special time for the old crew. After the ship was decommissioned two years before, the Navy had maintained the Iowa for possible future operations while allowing the museum to use her for tours. Because of that, the crew had made a point to come back aboard every year for a week long reunion. Not satisfied to just visit, they decided early on that no one could take care of the ship better than its crew. So instead of going on tours and just lounging or drinking away the days, they reported aboard in dungarees and work clothes. During the next few days the men performed planned maintenance, cleaned and painted. About the only things they had not done was light off the boilers and get the ship underway. As a result, the ship appeared pristine to all the visitors coming aboard for tours.

  The band, however, had a different job. Having gained notoriety during the war, people across the United States had wanted to hear the guys play. After a short national tour the nine men had finally gone home and resumed their lives. But each year their job was to attend the reunion and give a concert. Coming out a few days early, the band made arrangements with local high schools to have a sort of music lab for really talented students to work with them, learn a little improvisation, and give a final big concert.

  The week of hard work had paid off. On the stage were over twenty young people playing various instruments and following along with the Iowa band. This year, some of the new songs had a distinctive Latin beat and there appeared to be more percussion players. The trumpet and trombone players had mixed in well and were adding some punch to the older songs as well as some solos which had been very impressive. The concert had started with just the students playing, then the Iowa band joined them for a few of the older songs punched up with the additional instruments. But now it was just the Iowa band. The mix of Doobie Brothers, Three Dog Night and others brought the crew back to the time they had all been together on this great ship. They had all done wondrous things aboard Iowa and had loved nearly every minute of it.

  When the band broke into “Black Water” Hammond had nearly shed a tear. That was Patricia’s favorite song from the band. They had played it especially for her on her trip to Korea and had been playing it when he stood on the bridge wing and showed her the ring he had bought for her. He still remembered the look on her face as she stood on the pier and nodded her head. Patricia Crowell had come the first day of the reunion but had to leave for a conference and couldn’t be there for this concert. Everyone welcomed their mayor with open arms. She had returned the gesture by going from place to place on the ship and talking to “her guys.”

  Many of the crewmembers turned to look at Hammond as the song was played. Hammond was and would always be their captain. They had come to honor and respect the man who had brought them together as a team and led them through a war. Even though he now had three stars, Hammond remained their “shipmate,” and for many, he had become a lifelong friend. They remembered the times when the Mayor had been aboard and the happiness both had exuded. Nearly all the crew attended the wedding.

  The final song was “Listen to the Music.” The band started, and then on the chorus the entire group of students began adding their parts until it had risen to a whole new level of sound and sight. By now the whole audience was on its feet clapping to the beat and in some cases dancing in the aisles. Only a few noticed the four men rushing up the gangway of the ship. Quickly scanning the crowd, they focused in on Hammond and rushed to his side, taking him by the arms and hustling him around the stage and into the after athwartships passageway.

  “What’s going on, Bill,” asked Hammond as he was led inside the ship. He had immediately recognized the Secret Service agent who had come aboard in Japan two years before.

  “Trust me Roger, we need to get you up to the cabin and to a phone,” Bill Peters said as they rushed forward along the port passageway to the captain’s cabin.


  Hammond didn’t say much along the way. He knew something bad had happened and these guys could only be sent by only one man. Going up one level they then crossed to the starboard side and entered the cabin, securing the doors and portholes before saying a word. “Let’s hang out here a minute while we get some things lined up,” Peters said. “Sorry about this, Roger, but the boss said to get some people around you right now. All I know is I need to make a phone call for you,” he said, grabbing the outside phone and dialing a number. After a minute he handed the received to Hammond.

  Hammond looked at the phone and placed it to his year. “Hammond speaking,” he said.

  “Roger, it’s Steve,” was the reply he heard on the other end.

  “Mister President, what’s wrong,” he asked, dreading what might have happened.

  “Roger, I won’t mince words. Somebody has kidnapped Patricia and the rest of the mayors at the Colombia conference,” the President said.

  Hammond sat stunned. He didn’t say a word. Patricia Crowell had become his whole life and to imagine her being harmed chilled him to his core.

  “It’s too early to know much but I promise I’ll get her back, Roger. Jim and I are already on top of it. We don’t know the reasons as yet, so that’s why I asked the Service to keep an eye on you for a while. I promise I’ll let you know anything that comes along. In the mean time just stay safe,” the President said to his friend.

  Hammond gave off a small sigh. “Thanks Steve. The concert just finished up anyway. Maybe I’ll just go home for the night and wait to hear from you,” he said in a low tone.

  “Just be careful, Roger. I’ll call the minute we know anything,” O’Bannon said.

  “Thanks, Steve,” Hammond said as he hung up the phone. Hammond sat in his seat still too stunned to move.