Finally, we stop our descent and Sneer reaches into his pocket. This time, he pulls out an LED flashlight and a tiny circle of light shines forward, showing tons of rock overhead. With each step I take the walls get closer. Then, the ceiling and floor squeeze tight as well. Struggling for air, I gasp, and drop to my knees.
“What’s wrong with you? Get up. Move.” He bends over to pull me up by my underarms but I wriggle forward, just beyond his grasp.
Holy fuck. That was close. If he’d lifted me, he surely would’ve found my gun. My wheezing steadies, I get to my knees, and the illusion is gone. The tunnel is back to normal.
“Sorry, claustrophobic.” I force an apologetic look on my face which he seems to accept with a grunt.
After we walk for what must be miles, we stop at an eight-foot, gray metal door. When it opens, I’m blinded by excruciatingly bright lights. When my eyes adjust, a vast expanse of gleaming steel lights up like Giant’s stadium.
I remember reading something in The Sunday Times about the construction of a new tunnel. These giant tubes must be tied to the water system but it’s weird. In a far-off corner, I count two golf-carts, a twelve-foot motor, and other machines in various states of disassembly.
I’m so tired my feet feel like lead and when he pushes me into a small office, I’m thrilled to sit on the cold floor, that is, until I see the bloodied man lying on his back near me. His leg’s in a splint made with two-by-fours and electrical tape. Eyes, lips, and nose are so bruised, not even his mother would recognize him.
He stirs and opens one puffy eye. “Who are you?”
“Blakely.” A plastic bottle of water rests on the desk so I bite down on the cap and drop it on the floor next to him. “You are?”
“Philip.”
“How long have you been down here?” I kneel, squeeze the bottle with my knees and turn the cover off with my teeth.
Scooting forward on my butt and using my knees and nose, I manage to get a few drops into his mouth.
He swallows and coughs. “What day is it?”
“Thanksgiving.” I bite the lip of the bottle, carry it to the desk, and let it tip onto its side. As it spills, I lap, cat-like.
When I’ve had my fill, I bring it back to the injured man who’s now sitting with has back against the wall. “I was kidnapped over a month ago. They keep moving me around.”
“Is he the one who beat you up?” I shift my eyes out the door to where Mr. Sneer sits in one of the broken-down golf carts having no problem drinking his water.
Philip lifts up a little so he can follow my gaze. “I never saw him before.”
The fucked-up-ness of my situation grows exponentially as his words sink in. “Just how many are there?”
He shrugs and turns his poor battered face toward me. “I’m not sure but I’ve seen over a dozen at any given time.”
This is far worse than I thought. “Did you notice how he’s not bothering to hide his face from us?”
“None of them do. That’s why I tried to escape but they caught me, beat me, and broke my leg…” He stares down and looks so beaten, my heart goes out to him.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. But what do they want with you?”
“You ever hear of Jackson Pharmaceuticals?”
I nod. Who hasn’t?
“I work for them. Well, I did, up until a few weeks ago. The company asked me to research the contaminated vaccine, find out what happened. They gave me free access to all their files. That’s when I discovered the whole damn flu vaccine is a huge hoax. Even if you take it, there’s less than a five percent chance you’ll be protected. I was about to blow the whistle to the Feds when these Chinese guys broke into my lab and dragged me off.”
“Forgive me for being rude, but why not just kill you?”
His grin is lopsided and must hurt like hell. “I have documented proof and I made sure the Chinese knew all about it. If they kill me, my paperwork goes straight to my pal who writes for The Times.”
I stare, not quite able to fully believe him but somehow his story rings true. I did some research and after, never again got a flu shot. “Isn’t anyone looking for you?”
His eyelids shut and he shudders. “I just don’t know… When those kids died, I was so, so angry.”
Taking a deep breath, he exhales slowly, his battered face scrunching up in pain. “So, I explained why I’m here. What about you?”
I sit in the office chair spinning in circles. There’s got to be something sharp so I can free my hands. “My husband is Senator McAlister’s bodyguard. A few days ago, someone tried to kill him. I’m betting these guys are using me to get to him. We need to get out of here.”
“Good luck with that.” He rests his head back on the floor staring up at the ceiling.
It’s true the office doesn’t have much to offer. There’s a white board with some sort of schedule written on it, markers, and a coffee maker. There’s not much else but a pile of cardboard boxes. I stomp on one and it breaks open but it only contains bottles of liquid.
I twist my hands, trying to free myself from my tight bonds. “Philip, I need something sharp to get out of these.”
“Don’t even try. They’ll beat you to within an inch of your life if you’re caught. You’re far too pretty for that.” Philip sounds discouraged and I can’t blame him. He doesn’t know I’ve got a weapon under my arm.
Standing, I move the boxes aside. Behind them, there’s a small pile of broken electric tools with paper tags tied to them.
Eureka! I sit so the pile is behind my back and work my plastic tie-wraps over the broken edge of a thick drill bit.
Suddenly, the door opens and slams so hard, the opposite wall shakes. Mr. Sneer gazes around the room, his eyes stopping on my face. Immediately, my eyes lower, my heart thumping so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
“Stand up.” His cold command sends chills down my back. Am I to be beaten like Philip or killed outright?
I roll to my knees and when he reaches into his jacket, I say a small prayer.
Please God, take care of Jack. In a few seconds I’ll be in heaven with our baby. My husband is the one who’ll need strength to carry on.
I struggle to my feet biting my cheek, all the while my gaze is glued to his hand. It slips out but it’s not holding a gun, rather my phone. He must be getting off on my fear because he chuckles as he plugs in my sim card and places a call.
“Hello?” At the sound of Jack’s worried tone, my heart goes out to him.
“Hello, Jack you there?” I want to say more but Mr. Sneer pulls me back.
“Back off.” He cuts the connection.
“No… wait. He needs to know I’m okay.” Jack, oh Jack. I’m so sorry.
“If you behave, I’ll let you talk to him later. Sit down.”
Shaking, I do as he says, for the first-time tears rolling down my cheeks. Then, I remember the drill bit, back up, and sit down more determined than ever.
When Mr. Sneer glances my way, I scoot my back to the wall and pretend to rest. However, my mind races as I plan my escape. When another voice shouts out in Chinese, Mr. Sneer answers back with an angry tone. Face red, he picks up the phone and storms out of the office.
With my window of opportunity almost at an end, I rub my wrists against the sharp edge of the bit not caring when I nick flesh. This may be my only chance to escape and I won’t screw up.
When the plastic cracks off, I whisper, “Philip. Wake up. We have to go.”
He moans. “I can’t. Not with this leg.”
Another new voice joins the other two and I glance out the door’s small window. One well-dressed Asian and two in jeans argue, faces inches from each other. As they lean in, fists clench and eyes narrow.
It’s now or never.
Gritting my teeth, I reach under my arm, and grab my pistol.
I’ve never shot anyone but I’ve discussed it with Jack. At first, he didn’t want me carrying but I argued for weeks. One of my former cult members m
ight come after me when he wasn’t around. Thank God he finally agreed.
Inching toward the door, his voice plays in my head. The trick is, never let anyone close enough to take your gun. They’ll use it against you.
With my nose to the window, I locate the last man to arrive. He’s not at all like Mr. Sneer or the others. This Chinese man oozes wealth from the top of his expensive suit to the tip of his designer shoes. He keeps pointing at the office and shouting but I can’t understand a word he says. The other man in jeans frowns occasionally, adding his two cents.
“As soon as I get free, Philip. I’ll send help.”
“Don’t do this.”
“I have to.” My baby’s depending on me.
I step out, steady my pistol with arms outstretched, and shout, “Everyone. Hands up!”
One moves his hand into his jacket and picturing him as a black shadow man on a white paper target, I shoot.
I can’t falter, can’t allow my gaze, my gun, or even my voice to waver. “Keep your fucking hands in the air and walk to that wall.”
My chin points in the direction of some yellow vehicles parked with their guts hanging out. While they walk, I do too, but backwards toward the exit.
I don’t want to shoot them all but if I don’t, what will happen to Philip?
The guy with the bullet in his gut moans and I feel bad until I remember these guys are ruthless. There’s no way they were going to let me live. Still, I can’t just commit cold-blooded murder.
I point at Mr. Expensive Suit. “Take your jacket off, real, real, slow. If I even think you’re reaching for a weapon, I’ll shoot.”
No one, not even Jack, ever told me how hard it is to have the upper hand. You can either be ruthless or run. I do neither.
What would Jack do?
“You.” I point to Expensive Suit. “Use the wire to tie up the other two.”
They both glance at each other, sending silent messages but I’m ready. When Mr. Sneer tries for his inner pocket, I shoot him in the leg.
Damn, I was aiming for his chest.
“You need a bullet, too?” I level the gun at Expensive Suit.
He hisses and presses his hand to Sneer’s wound. “Bitch. Go. But you better warn your husband to stay clear of things that don’t concern him. You have no idea what you’re up against.”
A male clears his throat at the office door and I turn, about to shoot but it’s only Philip. He found a shovel to lean on. I rush over and put my gun in his hand. “Careful, the safety is off. Just point and shoot if anyone moves. I’m going for help. Be safe.”
Without overthinking, I run out the metal door, dreading the return trip. Shit. I should’ve taken Sneer’s flashlight. I’ll probably be walking for hours in the dark. I may even get lost. Reaching my arm to the side, I use the wall to guide me.
After a while, with no one following, I begin to relax and find my pace. Then, my hand slips over cool round metal. Stopping, I feel around in the dark finding many rungs against the wall. Should I risk it?
When I picture fresh air right overhead, it’s a no-brainer. So, I climb for what seems like an eternity, resting every so often, glad I can’t see how high up I am. Suddenly, I bang the top of my head against something hard.
Wrapping one leg around the side of the ladder, I push up with both hands but it doesn’t budge.
What if I have to climb all the way back down and find another way out?
My heart sinks but I won’t give up, not when I’m so close. With a herculean effort I push and metal gives. Filled with hope, I continue until a round manhole cover moves aside.
Holy shit. When I climb out, I’m in the middle of some street. I duck down until traffic stops and quickly exit.
I need a phone or a cop, preferably both. Unfortunately, New Yorkers don’t generally stop to help out strangers, especially those splattered with dirt and blood, coming out of the sewer. I probably look like a schizophrenic homeless person.
After approaching several people who quickly back away, I’ve had enough. I spy a young man on the sidewalk his eyes glued to his cell phone as he texts.
I jump in front of him, grab his phone and call nine-one-one.
“Hey! Give that back.” He reaches but I slap his hand away.
“For God’s sake. Let me borrow it for just a second. I swear to God I’ll cut off your balls. You have no idea. I’ve had the worst fucking bad day ever.”
The operator picks up. “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“This is Blakely Smythe-Taylor. I was kidnapped and just escaped.”
“Blakely, can you tell me where you are?”
I put the cell phone on speaker and hold it to the owner, who’s mouth has dropped open. “Can you tell the 911 operator where we are?”
“43rd between Fifth and Sixth.” The guy has the decency to look concerned as I bring the cell phone back to my ear. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes ma’am. Help is on the way.”
Suddenly, I picture poor Philip. “Wait, you have to let them know. There was another guy. I left him behind with my gun.”
“Where was that ma’am.”
“I don’t know. Way, way under the sewer, under the subway. You need to send help.”
“Are you safe? Are the kidnappers nearby?”
How is she not getting this? “I’m okay. I left them underground.” I guess I’ll leave out how I shot two of them. That will become obvious soon enough. The operator wants me to stay on the phone but I hang up and call Jack.
Chapter 9
Jack
I jump a mile and a prayer crosses my lips when a strange callerID pops up on my phone.
“J-Jack?” Blake’s sweet voice causes my fucking heart to stop as air whooshes from my lungs.
Thank God. I put the phone on speaker and hold it over the kitchen table so the two FBI agents can hear. Hopefully, her captors aren’t listening in, too.
“Shush, Blake. Where are you?” Please don’t say I don’t know.
“I got myself free. I’m on 43rd, between Fifth and Sixth.”
“Are you hurt?” Dashing out my apartment door, I take the stairs two at a time. “I’m coming, babe. Be there in about ten minutes.”
“Huh? I thought you were in DC?”
I give Pat a thumbs up in the lobby, vault over the ugly-ass chairs, and exit onto the sidewalk. “I’ll explain later. Don’t hang up. I’m on my way.”
She’s okay! Outside it’s frigid but I warm up on my jog to Seventh Avenue. In the street, I raise my arm to hail a cab. “Blake, is our baby…”
Over excited shouting in the background, her voice softens. “We’re both fine, hun. Really we are.”
It seems the two Feds have caught up with me. They pull in front of me in the street so I open the door and jump in.
While Special Agent Diamond drives south like a madman, our call mutes, and the phone bleeps, then I’m back on with Blake. “I’m putting you on hold. Be right back.”
I pick up the other call. “She’s free. I don’t know how the hell she did it but she’s waiting for me midtown. I’m on my way with the Feds.”
“Great news. I’ll meet you there.” Slate hangs up and in the front seat, Diamond places a blue rotating police light on the roof and turns on the sirens.
He flips a switch on the dashboard and his amplified voice startles the hell out of me. “Pull aside. Repeat. Pull aside.”
Valiantly, Special Agent Diamond tries to fight holiday gridlock but we get stuck on South Broadway between Thirty-Ninth and Fortieth. Unable to wait one second longer, I jump out and run as if chased by the hounds of hell. My heart thumps not from the mad dash but by the shitload of overwhelming emotions I don’t know how to deal with.
“Passing on the right!” Pedestrians part like the red sea, some cursing me out but I don’t give a shit.
When I turn onto her block, I see her on the sidewalk, blond hair hidden by a black cap. “I see you hun.”
She tu
rns and I know the instant she sees me. I thought I’d never see her beautiful fucking smile again. By the time I reach her, I can’t talk so scoop her into my arms and hold her close to my racing heart until I’m certain this is not a dream.
Needing to know she’s really okay, I cup her dirty cheeks in my palms. There aren’t words for the depth of shit in my heart so I stare into the ocean of her blue eyes. I didn’t realize I was crying until she reaches up and touches my wet cheek.
“Hey, love. I’m here now. It’s over.” She’s comforting me?
I lock my lips onto hers and thank God almighty for her taste, her feel, and the baby bump between us. We hold the kiss even as horse hooves clop on pavement right beside us.
When the animal snorts, we break apart as an NYPD officer dismounts. “Are you Dr. Blakely Smythe-Taylor?”
She nods as a crowd gathers taking pictures of his horse with their smart phones. Almost simultaneously, Diamond pulls to the curb with his sidekick. His blue bubble rotates and spews blue lights over the gathering crowd and the buildings. In the distance more sirens scream, the beat cop yells for people to give us some room, and ambulances squeal.
As cars honk, unable to get crosstown, New York’s skilled Emergency Services Unit arrives on the scene in a dark armored vehicle.
The Feds approach, I break out of our embrace, and suddenly her eyes go wide. “Oh my God. I almost forgot.”
She grabs Diamond’s outstretched hand and points to an open manhole. “I promised to send help. There’s another victim, a man, down there.”
The two Feds motion over a cop with more bars on his uniform who shouts into his walkie talkie, “We have a two-oh-seven-A. We’re going to need-”
Without warning, Blake’s full weight is in my arms. Grabbing her under back and legs, I walk her over to the closest emergency vehicle. A paramedic helps me sit her down on the tailgate, and he hands her a bottle of water.
She gulps and unties the cloak around her neck, a bit dazed. “I’m fine. It just got a little too warm.”
Diamond sits down beside of her. “Are you feeling better, Doctor?”
Of course, she’s not. However, just as I take a deep breath to send him packing, Blake puts a finger to my lips. “I’m fine. I just got weak in the knees. I have to tell them where to find Philip so they can get him out of the tunnel.”
Jack II Page 6
