by Tami Kidd
“Before we go on, I just want to thank you both for being here.”
“Pop, don’t talk like we aren’t going to come out of this alive.”
“Nah, that’s not what I meant. I know this has been hard. We’ve had no sleep. We’ve looked for white vans till we were cross-eyed, and now we’re following this ugly POS car to God knows where. I’m doing this for my baby sister. Neither one of you have a dog in this fight.” He paused and his breath caught. “I just hope she’s okay.”
“She’s my aunt, so I do have a dog in this fight.”
“Don’t think another thing about it, Noah,” Wally said. “I have known you since we were little snot-nosed tots, and by golly if I can’t help a friend then I don’t need to be breathing.” Wally pointed at Noah. “But don’t think for a second that my generosity is gonna get you outta paying for the gas and expenses.” He snickered and winked.
“Not at all, old buddy, not at all,” Noah said, wiping his eyes. He put the Tahoe in drive and proceeded down the narrow dirt trail at a snail’s pace. The brush scraped the sides of the vehicle like fingernails on a chalkboard. He slowed when they came to a brown and yellow sign that read: Boat Ramp Ahead.
Noah’s face went white. “Holy hell.”
“What’s wrong?” Asher asked.
“I think we just got our asses handed to us,” Noah said.
Wally rubbed his chin. “I think you’re right.”
Noah drove the Tahoe into the clearing. A murky river streamed before them. He pulled next to the empty Taurus and parked. The three men got out. In the distance, the faint drone of a motor broke the silence. Noah kicked the dirt with his boot. “Sheeit! We’ve gone and lost them.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Now what?”
****
The wind whipped Alex’s blond curls like flags dancing in a summer storm. The speed the little johnboat reached astonished him. He inhaled appreciating the fresh, fragrant aromas of nature, much more pleasant than the stale, musky air inside the van. Trees cloaked with Spanish moss bordered both sides of the small channel. Spooky dark crevices created by craggy underbrush hid unknown creatures. Alex watched for alligators, hoping not to see one rear its jagged head. Images of snakes falling from the trees into the boat caused his pulse to quicken. He chided himself for watching too many episodes of Crocodile Hunter. In California, the most dangerous things he encountered were crazy drivers, earthquakes, and the occasional lunatic he might confront on a case.
“Where are we going?” Alex yelled over the roar of the motor. “Where are we?” He regarded Kale and then the boat. He sent a silent prayer they would stay afloat. Isn’t there a weight limit on these small boats?
“You’ll see when we get there.” Seated in the bow, Doyle turned back to look at Alex who sat in the middle. Settled in the stern, Kale operated the motor.
Alex studied the water level where Kale sat. It seemed dangerously close to the rim of the boat. He turned to observe Doyle who seemed to be riding in the clouds. Alex smiled as he imagined the boat hitting a wake and Doyle flying into the air, perhaps to be eaten by a hungry gator.
“What are you smiling at?” Doyle asked, glaring at Alex.
“Oh nothing, I was just wondering if we might see some alligators.”
“It’s possible, so I’d keep my hands and feet inside the boat. This river is murky and you can’t see what lies beneath the surface.” Doyle’s mouth widened as he broke into a grin.
To forget about the creatures below, Alex thoughts turned to Noah. He felt bad knowing they were close behind. A few times he noticed Noah’s SUV behind them, but luckily Laurel and Hardy hadn’t caught on that they were being tailed. Alex knew that once they took off in the boat there would be no way Noah could follow them any longer.
Suddenly Doyle started wiping furiously at his mouth and spitting. “Blah, blah, phut, phut, yuk.”
“What happened?” Kale asked concerned about his friend.
“A ug fu in my ou.” Doyle’s tongue hung.
“What?” Kale asked again.
Doyle wiped his tongue with his shirt sleeve. “A bug flew in my mouth.”
Alex turned to exchange glances with Kale. They both burst out laughing.
“Shut up, buttheads. It’s not funny. I’m not sure it wasn’t a small bird. It felt like a hummingbird.” Doyle’s face contorted.
Alex and Kale laughed harder. Kale’s laughter made the boat wobble and become unsteady. Doyle grabbed the sides of the boat to keep from flying out.
Alex’s cheeks hurt as tears streamed down his face. He tried to contain his laughter, but the harder he tried, the more difficult it became. He bit his lip and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“It’s not funny!” Doyle yelled. “You’re both assholes. I hope you both get eaten by gators.”
“Sorry,” Kale said. “I didn’t mean to laugh so hard, but when Alex started I couldn’t help myself. You know laughter is contagious.”
“Well, ha, ha, ha. I must be immune, because I didn’t laugh.”
A few minutes later, Doyle motioned with his hand for Kale to decrease the speed. “I think we’re getting close.” He pointed at a piece of florescent-orange construction tape hanging from a tree limb. “See that orange tape? Turn right into the next inlet.”
Thirty yards farther down the channel, they found a narrow cove on the right. Kale turned the boat and entered, creeping along the low-hanging limbs. The men had to hunker down several times to avoid being slapped by branches. Inside the narrow canal, the sunlight dimmed. Alex caught strobes of light through the trees as they drifted deeper into the passage.
About two hundred yards inside the inlet, a small beach emerged. Kale slowed the boat and put it into reverse to stop the forward momentum. Doyle jumped out onto the small sandy beach. “Hand me that rope.”
Kale threw the rope to Doyle who tied it to a spindly tree. “Come on, it should be just a short walk past this tree line,” Doyle said.
The trees and vegetation surrounded the three men like a blanket. Sunlight streaked through the trees in ribbons of gold. The sounds of squirrels barking and birds chirping in the canopy above broke the silence. Even the men’s footsteps were softened by the velvety growth on the forest floor. The short walk that Doyle mentioned took longer than expected.
From nowhere, men carrying weapons appeared. “Hands in the air,” one of them said.
Alex and his companions reached for the sky.
Twenty-Seven
Mara opened her eyes, struggling to remember what happened. Bit by bit the memories returned. Lifting her fingers to her cheek, she slid them to her mouth. Her swollen lips stung from her touch. The slap. An ache filled her chest as tears pooled in her lower lids. She wanted to go home, in fact she really didn’t care where she went, anywhere except this horrible place.
Looking around, she realized someone had placed her on the cot in the sleeping area she had seen earlier in Duncan’s living quarters. Silence endured except for her breathing. Propping herself on an elbow, she studied her surroundings. On the nightstand next to the cot, the digital clock displayed 3:17 in big red numbers. How long have I been out?
Mara swung her legs over the side of the cot and sat still waiting for signs of dizziness. Feeling nothing, she focused her attention on the nightstand, noticing it had a single drawer. She rose and tiptoed to the edge of the partition, leaning forward just enough to gaze into the adjoining room. Empty. In two quick steps, she returned to the nightstand and pulled the drawer open with care. Inside she found a spiral bound notebook with a pen stuck inside the wire binding. The pages were blank, but she noticed shreds of paper in the binding from pages that had been torn out.
When she removed the notebook, a prescription bottle rolled to the front of the drawer. Picking it up, she read the label issued by the Good Health Pharmacy of Pensacola, Florida, to a Spencer Duncan. Huh, his first name is Spencer. Mara wanted the name to jump out at her, but it didn’t. There was no aha moment.
The medication Lurasidone didn’t ring any bells either. The instructions stated take two tablets, twice a day with meals. Placing the medication back, Mara found nothing else. Then as an afterthought, she felt underneath the drawer. People always tape things under here in the movies. Her shoulders slumped when she felt nothing. I should be so lucky.
She walked into the kitchen and strolled around a solid, rather large natural-oak island, running her fingers along the gray granite top, which extended well beyond the base. The base of the island appeared to be about three by four foot and approximately three feet high. It struck Mara as peculiar that such a piece of workmanship would be in this type of building. It sparkled like a gem in a room full of rocks. The piece could be in any top-of-the-line home; yet, here it was in the middle of a cement-block building with rooms separated by office partitions. Odd.
Mara walked to the sink and turned the water on letting it run over her hands. She lightly rubbed her eyes and then gingerly patted the swollen area around her lips. Wincing from both pain and pleasure of the refreshing cool water, she ran her damp hands over her hair. A shower would be wonderful right about now.
While imagining the enjoyment of a hot shower, she jumped, startled into the here and now when she heard the door open. Stiffening, she had no idea what to do, so she walked around the partition to face whoever had entered on the other side.
Spencer Duncan blocked her way when she rounded the side of the partition. “I see you’re awake. I trust you feel better.” His lips formed a thin smile.
“I’d feel better if you let us go.”
“I’m sure you would.” He turned to open the door, extending his arm. “Please follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you back to Mr. Porter. Your evening meal should be ready soon.”
“What about the information you so desperately wanted.” Damn, I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Byrne, we’ll get to that all in good time. First, you must eat, and then I suspect you’ll want to freshen up.”
They walked in silence until they reached the block building Mara and Michael Porter were held after their abduction. Duncan unlocked the door and swung it open for Mara to enter. The room now contained two cots separated by partitions, a table, and four chairs. In the far corner, another space was completely boxed in by partitions.
“What’s that?” Mara said, pointing at the partitions.
“It’s a private area where you can freshen up. I’m afraid this is the best I can arrange for now.”
Duncan turned to leave. Without looking back, he said, “Your meals should arrive shortly.”
Mara walked to the cot where Michael Porter had been sitting in silence. The look on his face reminded her of a man on death row, on his last day on Earth. “Wow, you look horrible,” she said smiling, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“You don’t look any better.” He nodded toward her face. “What happened?”
She sat on the cot next to him. “He hit me, but—”
“Son of a bitch. He’s really asking for it.” Michael’s hands formed fists and his eyes flared.
“I’m okay. I passed out and woke up alone on a cot. In the nightstand next to it, I found a prescription bottle for something called Lurasidone, prescribed to a Spencer Duncan. It was filled a few days ago at the Good Health Pharmacy in Pensacola. Does the name ring any bells for you?”
“No. Not at all. The drug sounds familiar though.” Michael’s forehead wrinkled as he appeared to be thinking.
“While I was gone, did you see Dodger or Dr. Foster?”
“No.”
“Did he make you give him the information?”
“No, oddly enough. Before he brought me here, I asked him about it, but he didn’t seem interested anymore.”
“Maybe Dr. Foster’s amnesia cleared up.”
“Yeah, that’s another thing that’s not right.”
“What? Her amnesia? She seemed almost catatonic.” Mara rubbed her scalp. “Is that normal for people with amnesia?”
Michael stood and started to pace. “No, I don’t think so. Of course, I can only gauge by what I’ve seen on the battlefield.”
“What have you seen?”
“Some guys who suffer head traumas sometimes have amnesia. They ask lots of questions, some are scared and jumpy, but I don’t think I’ve seen any just sit and stare like she did. It’s almost like she’s—”
“Drugged,” Mara said, finishing his thoughts.
“That might explain the Lurasidone.”
“Yes, and if she gave him the information, then he has no reason to keep us. I doubt he’s just going to let us walk out of here.”
“You’re right. We need to figure a way out of here and fast. I’m sure the agency has crews searching for us. When Oscar didn’t report in, they probably ordered a SAR.”
“SAR?”
“Search and Rescue.”
“We don’t know how far we are from Dr. Hildegard’s house or in what direction.”
“They’ll find us,” Michael reassured Mara.
The door opened and a guard came in carrying a tray with two plates of food. He looked at Mara and Michael and said, “Come get it while it’s hot.” Leaving the tray on the table, he exited the building.
Mara looked at Michael and raised an eyebrow. “Think it’s safe to eat?”
“I think there’s a fifty percent chance it could be poisoned.” He walked over and looked at the plates of food. A sandwich and an apple filled one plate, and an identical sandwich and orange occupied the other. Michael lifted the top slice of bread on one to reveal bologna and cheese. “I guess the kitchen must be closed.” He snorted.
Mara picked up the orange.
“I’ll trade you,” Michael said, tossing the apple in one hand like a ball.
“No chance. I love oranges.” Mara held it close to her chest like a priceless possession. She dropped the orange when shots from outside exploded. “What the hell?” Mara stared at Michael with widening eyes.
Twenty-Eight
Noah turned to Asher and Wally. The pained look in their eyes caused his chest to fall in disappointment.
“Come on, Pop, there has to be something we can do.”
“Damned right,” Wally agreed.
Noah ran his hands through his hair. “We have to get in the water. There has to be a boat rental place around here somewhere. Asher, use that fancy phone of yours to see if there’s some place we can get a boat.”
Asher took the phone out of his pocket and shook his head.
“What?” Noah asked.
“No service.” Asher started walking around holding the phone high over his head, keeping his eyes on the screen, watching for magical bars to appear.
“Okay, let’s head out. Maybe we’ll find a place with boats or you’ll get cell service.”
The three men hurried back to the Tahoe. Wally volunteered to drive, claiming Noah had to figure out a plan instead. Now on the main road, Noah told Wally to turn left instead of right, the opposite direction they had originally tailed.
“We know what’s in that direction.” He leaned his head to the right. “Maybe the other way we’ll find a bait shop or boat rental.”
The farther they traveled down the road, the faster Noah’s heart raced. Sweat beaded on his brows and fear churned in his belly. Failure was not in his vocabulary. It literally made him sick to not succeed. He knew finding Alex would lead him to Mara, and he had to find his sister. Just when he was about to give up and tell Wally to turn around, a sign caught his attention. Squinting, the partial words read: noe Rental.
“I think that sign says Canoe Rental.”
“I can’t see it,” Asher said from the back seat.
“I can only see part of it. A tree branch is blocking some of the words. It’s on the right.” The closer they got, the more Noah was certain. “That’s it!” he shouted, pointing at the side of the road where the sign peeked ou
t from behind tree branches. Canoe Rental was written in black block letters with an arrow pointing to the left. Just past the obscure sign, a small driveway led to a tiny parking area on the right side of the road.
Wally pulled the Tahoe into the dirt lot. The building, nothing more than a small shed, looked deserted.
“Doesn’t look like there’s anyone here,” Asher said.
Wally shut off the engine.
Noah jumped out and walked to the shed. The sign on the outside read: A. J.’s Canoes and Fishing Supplies. No other vehicles were around. Noah tugged the door but it was locked. He knocked and then tried to look inside through the diamond shaped window in the door. He couldn’t see if there were any supplies or canoes inside, so he walked around to the back. Behind the shed, he saw a driveway that led farther into the woods. He started walking.
“Noah, where you going?” Wally yelled, his head sticking out of the SUV window.
“I’m gonna see if there’s somebody around here that can help,” Noah hollered without looking back. At the end of the long driveway, he finally came to a lot surrounded by a chain link fence and a double-wide trailer. A dilapidated pickup truck was parked inside. A German shepherd bounded to the fence and started barking as Noah approached. A fierce dog, its thick muscular body, probably 80 pounds, and powerful jaw with sharp teeth tensed, waiting for the intruder to make a move. Noah felt sure that if the fence hadn’t been between him and the dog, he would have been today’s snack. The slobber dripping from its jowls confirmed his suspicion.
Noah decided to hold his ground and not provoke the animal, not that the devil dog would allow him any other option. “Hello.” he yelled hoping someone inside would hear him over the barking. “Hello, anyone home?” he asked again. No response. Finally, Noah thought he heard footsteps inside the trailer.
The front door opened and a large man with red frizzy hair and equally frizzy red beard lumbered onto the porch. “You hollering at me?” he bellowed at Noah.
