by Dale Mayer
“I’ve got time off coming,” Nelson said.
Taylor spoke up too. “Me too. I’m coming with you.”
Mason’s voice came loud and clear through the phone. “Hold on to that thought, guys. I’ll call back in a moment.” And once again he hung up.
Kanen addressed Taylor and Nelson. “I’d love to have you two join me, if Mason can afford to cut all three of us loose at once. I don’t need an entire team. It’d be nice to have at least one guy for backup. Two would be great.” Kanen’s phone pinged with an incoming text.
Formal request coming from the US government to MI6, asking for their assistance.
A second text read Don’t book any flights yet.
Kanen grinned. “Mason doesn’t want any flights booked at this time. What do you bet Mason snagged the navy transport for us?” Kanen heard another ping on his phone, a text update. Transport on stand-by for you. Working out logistics. Will call with names of your team in five. With confirmed pickup time in next text or two.
Kanen nodded and waited to hear who would be going with him.
When Mason called back, he said, “Okay, I’ve got Nelson joining you for sure. Among his other skills, he’ll be especially good for logistics, having spent a lot of time in England. I need to lock down another, someone with some techie leanings too. I’m hoping it will be Taylor, since he’s with you as well and has already volunteered.” And Mason was gone.
“Nelson, you’re approved for this technically off-duty mission. Thanks for lending your expertise. I’m all for it,” Kanen said. “Taylor, you’re next in line for approval.” Then Kanen frowned. “Even if we get the transport, when will they pick us up?”
Taylor shook his head. Nelson gave a one-shoulder shrug.
Kanen snorted. “We’re farther than we should be for being only an hour out. Let’s head back, double-time, see if we can reach the base of this mountain at top speed without incurring any injuries.”
After about a mile of sideways jogging down the mountain, Kanen stopped.
The others did too, staring at him.
“I think I should contact Charles.”
Nelson frowned. “Don’t know Charles.”
“Charles is in the underground line of our work, helps us out when we’re overseas,” Taylor explained to Nelson, then turned to Kanen. “Maybe wait for Mason to let you know if you’re going as a civilian or as a SEAL. If this will be as official visit, then it’s hotels all the way. Otherwise, Charles should have the space.”
Nelson added, “Ipswich is only like seventy-five miles from London. But, if Charles resides in the capital city, we’d be closer to Laysa if we book into a local Ipswich hotel.”
“As long as it happens now, I’m good. Maybe on the navy transport, I can sneak into the country. That way, this asshole can’t track me. At least not initially. Might give me some time to sneak up on him.”
Taylor grimaced. “If he’s a professional hacker, he’ll know, transport or commercial. He may have a source in MI6 who’ll give you away. I figure Laysa’s captor will somehow have immediate notification when you arrive in the country.”
“And, if he’s such a pro, he’ll get into all the databases he needs.” Kanen snorted. “Hell, it’s probably even easier to do now than it was before.”
“Either way,” Taylor continued, “we must assume he will know before you enter the country, finding your flight info or whatever. If booking a hotel, make it look like you arrived, then sneak out, in case somebody is waiting for you.”
Kanen swore. “Right. Even if I just switch rooms, that could help me lose anybody on my tail.”
“Now you’re thinking. Plus Charles is a great source of all things that you might need for supplies,” Taylor said in a low voice, raising one eyebrow in way of question. “You can always contact him after you speak to Mason.”
Kanen understood. He’d never met Charles, but Kanen knew lots of guys who had. Mostly men who worked for Levi. And everybody by now knew who Levi was and the team of ex-military he’d amassed around him. Kanen had spoken to Charles over the years; Kanen just hadn’t met him in person. And, as much as he understood Taylor’s suggestion to wait for Mason to get back to him, Kanen wanted to give Charles a heads-up. If for no other reason than to clear that To Do item off his mental list and to establish his local contact person. Plus, Kanen couldn’t traipse down this mountain and text at the same time.
He tapped his finger on his phone for a long moment, then typed a text to Charles, saying Kanen was in trouble and would arrive no later than tomorrow morning.
The response came back in less than a minute. I’m always here for you.
“Maybe double- or triple-book those hotel rooms,” Nelson suggested, “to delay that asshole a bit from finding you.”
Kanen heard Nelson, but, inside his head, Kanen was numb. He kept glancing at his watch, imagining how scared Laysa must be, how much pain she was in, what the asshole was doing to her and who the hell he was.
*
Who the hell is this asshole? Laysa asked herself, yet again. He had been hysterical for the last couple hours. He had beat her first, asked questions afterward. But all of it was insensate nonsense. He seemed to be calming down a bit, if only because he got sidetracked by terrorizing Kanen for a bit on the phone.
He wore a black full-face knit ski mask, a muscle shirt and jeans, his jacket on the couch, with a suspicious gun-shaped bulge in one of its pockets. That she couldn’t see his face she’d taken great comfort in, thinking, if she couldn’t identify him, then maybe he wasn’t planning on killing her.
Now she wasn’t so sure. His jerky mannerisms made her afraid he had a bullet with her name on it. Not with that rage he couldn’t contain. Her body ached; she was already bruised from his initial blows. Although most had been centered on her torso, her jaw would bloom nicely soon.
That he’d pulled Kanen into this made it even worse. She doubted her friend knew any more than she did. She had a simple flat in Ipswich, where she’d lived with Blake. But she’d removed most of his personal items at this point. Kanen had helped clear out much of Blake’s things right after the funeral, as it hurt her too much to see them. She had even boxed up more personal items, but they had remained here, until she’d taken time later to go through them—Blake’s letters and cards to her and other memorabilia. What if she had already disposed of this thing her captor wanted so badly, not realizing how important it was, like some key that wasn’t familiar? What if she’d thrown it away?
Suddenly her captor looked around her apartment. He was not very tall for a man but lean and muscular. His arms showed ripped muscles. His hands were large, yet bony. He turned and looked at her. “Did you always live here with your husband?”
“Yes. Since we moved to England.” She remained in the armchair in the far corner of the living room. Every time she tried to get up, he shoved her roughly back down again.
“Do you have a storage unit here?”
“Not here in the building,” she said hesitantly, wondering at the look in his eyes, as if he were testing her. “One of those storage units at a yard full of them.”
An odd light came into his gaze, confirming her suspicions. “Where is it?”
She frowned. “On Bellamy Street. But I don’t remember the exact address. It’s one of those big-name storage companies with rows of units.”
“What number is your unit?”
“One-thirteen.”
“Is it locked?”
She nodded mutely.
“Where’s the key?”
“In the kitchen junk drawer,” she said.
He walked into her small galley kitchen. She could hear him opening and closing drawers. And then he walked toward her, shaking the container, the keys rattling inside. He held it out. “Which one is it?”
She took the container, stirred around the key mess. Spying the little silver key, she picked it up. The spare was on her key ring. She handed this one to him. “This is it.”
/> He studied her for a long moment, checked his watch, then said, “Stand up. We’re going for a ride.”
She stared at him, but she couldn’t move. He took a menacing step forward.
“What’s the matter, bitch? Didn’t you hear me?”
“Leave me here,” she said in anger. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. Just leave me here when you go look at the stuff.”
He shook his head. “No, it could be a trick.”
“Like I knew beforehand that you would break into my home before I returned from work? That you would beat me up today, not tomorrow? Like I knew Blake had your stuff? Besides, what could I possibly gain by tricking you? Tie me up if you want. Just leave me alone and go check the storage unit.”
He stood for a long moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of leaving her tied up and alone versus taking her where she could possibly escape or attract attention. Then he gave a clipped nod. “I’ll do that. And thanks for the idea to tie you up.”
He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with the packages of straps she’d forgotten were there. She groaned when she saw them. “Please, not tight.”
He zip-tied her legs, one to each of the legs of the chair. And then her arms behind her. He glanced at his watch again, key in hand, and said, “I’ll be back in two hours.” He narrowed his gaze at her. “Make sure you’re here.” He turned and left.
Chapter 3
The door slammed shut in front of her. Everything hurt, but she ignored the pain. She had two hours. He’d be back, and she’d be in deeper trouble than she already was. She twisted her fingers, trying to loosen one of her hands from the zip strap behind her. He’d pulled the strap tight, but she had balled up her hands into fists, trying to bulk up her wrists. It worked slightly, in that she had gained a little wiggle room within the tie.
Laysa continued to work her fingers until she got one hand through, then the second to slide out. Immediately she pulled her arms forward and rubbed her sore wrists. She rotated her shoulders, groaning at the pain from just being tied up that short amount of time. Both of her feet were strapped to the legs of the chair. They would be harder to release. The coffee table was beside her. She opened the drawer beneath it, hoping for something sharp. But, no, there was nothing.
She straightened up, and, holding the chair, she hobbled and hopped her way to the kitchen. Soon she had the zips cut. She replaced the chair where it had been. Grabbing her wallet and her phone, she took one last look around her small apartment and slipped into the hall. Afraid her tormenter would be standing outside the building, waiting for her, watching for her, she raced upstairs instead of down.
One floor up, she knocked on Carl’s door. He was a friend, but he also was a cop. When he opened it, she bolted in. “Close the door,” she whispered softly from the living room. “Hurry, shut it.”
When he did, he turned and looked at her.
His wife, Sicily, hopped up and asked, “What’s the matter, Laysa? Oh, my God! Are you hurt?” When Laysa choked up with tears and couldn’t respond, Sicily added, “I’ll get you an ice pack for your face.”
Laysa gasped and sobbed, partly in relief at getting free but also because she knew the guy would be back. She explained what had happened, taking the ice pack from Sicily with a small smile.
Carl was on the phone immediately, bringing in a team.
“Send somebody to the storage unit address I gave him,” she said. “He’ll be there. He should be there now.”
“They will send someone,” Carl said, then turned slightly to talk into the phone.
She glanced at her watch and nodded. “He’s been gone at least fifteen minutes. He could be there already.” She looked up at Carl. “Unless he knows I lied. I told him the correct general location. I just didn’t tell him the right number for the storage unit. And I don’t know why, but asking about this seemed like a trick question, or maybe he already knew about the storage unit. I don’t know. … Nothing there is worth worrying about. But, … well, they are Blake’s things. I don’t want a stranger touching them. If he knows I lied, maybe he wanted to follow me to see who I trusted?”
Carl said, “It doesn’t matter if he did. We’ll get him. Keep that ice on your jaw.”
Sicily patted the vacant seat near her and had Laysa sit on the couch beside her. “I’m so sorry. That must have been terrifying.”
Laysa nodded. She fumbled with her phone. “I have to tell Kanen that I’m safe.”
“Why would that stranger think Kanen would have something or would know more?” Carl asked. “Were Kanen and Blake best friends?”
Laysa nodded. “We’ve all been friends for a long time, but Kanen lives in California.” She held the phone to her ear. It rang, but there was no answer. Frustrated, she hit the Off button, wondering why it hadn’t at least gone to voice mail. She redialed and waited. After ten rings, the voice mail kicked in. “Kanen, it’s me, Laysa. I escaped. He will be looking for you. Don’t come here. Keep yourself safe. I’ll hide until the police capture him.” Then she hung up.
She looked at Sicily. “I’m still shaking so badly.” She held up her hand, and, indeed, the tremors made it difficult for her to hold the phone steady.
“Of course you are, my dear. Of course you are.” Sicily stood. “Let me get you a cup of tea. That’ll help.”
Carl returned after finishing his phone call. “Let me get some photos,” he said. When she balked, he added, “We need them for evidence.” He brought out his phone and then stopped, looking at her. “I have to ask, did he hurt you further? Did he rape you?”
She pulled the ice away from her face and shook her head violently. “Thankfully, no. He beat me up pretty good though,” she said, reaching to her swollen cheek and jaw. Now that she was safe, Laysa was more aware of her throbbing body. “I’m sure I’ll be black and blue everywhere tomorrow.”
He nodded. “After your tea, I’ll take you to the hospital, and we’ll grab any evidence we can from you.”
She winced. “You mean, like hairs or fibers?”
“Did you scratch him?”
She frowned, looking at her nails. “I certainly fought. I clawed at his muscle shirt. I don’t know if any DNA is under my nails or not. I did get a good slug into his shoulder or back, but I think it was just my fist, no claws involved. He was wily, staying just far enough away, except for when he hit me.”
“That may be,” Carl said, “but we have to try.”
She nodded but didn’t hold out much hope.
Sicily returned with the tea. “It’s not superhot. I wanted you to get some of it down fast.”
Laysa sagged farther into the couch, her mind spinning in fear. “I feel like I need to get out of this building,” she whispered. “I’m afraid you guys will be his victims too. I shouldn’t have come.” The more she sat here, the more worried she got. She slugged back several big sips of tea, put down the cup along with her ice pack and then bolted to her feet. “I can’t stay,” she cried out frantically. “He’ll be back. He’ll try to find me, and he said he’d kill me if I wasn’t there when he returned.”
Carl reached out and grabbed her. “Easy. I’ll take you to the hospital myself.”
She stared at him, loving the friendship and the stability he represented in her world gone crazy. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “This guy is really good. Like, seriously good. For all I know, he’s a pro, and I might be putting you in extreme danger.” She looked at the front door, then looked at them. Red flags popped up all over in her mind. “I have to go. Now.”
She bolted for the front door. She couldn’t understand her panic, but it rode her hard. Just as she reached the top of the stairs, she saw somebody coming up the stairwell from below. It was him. Now she knew why she was so terrified. He’d found her Contacts info for Carl and Sicily on her phone. Her attacker was coming up here after them.
She raced back to the apartment and motioned to Carl, then whispered, “He’s coming. He’s coming. He’s coming.�
��
Carl slammed the door, locked the chain on top and called the security office in the apartment building.
She curled up in the far corner of the living room behind the couch, shaking violently, her arms wrapped around her knees, her mind spinning, uselessly trying to figure out what she was supposed to do.
Sicily bent in front of Laysa, holding her hands. “Whatever it is, we can do this,” she whispered.
“What if he kills you?” Laysa asked painfully. “I’ll never forgive myself. Coming to you for help has brought him to you.”
Carl asked from the other side of the couch, “Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, “but he would have heard the door, I’m sure.”
“That doesn’t mean he knows it was you though,” Sicily said quietly.
Just then a hard sound came; wood shattered, and a bullet careened through the front door to land in the opposite wall.
Laysa gave a broken laugh and whispered, “Well, that answers that question.”
Carl patted her hand, and she realized he was armed too. She stared at the gun in relief. “I didn’t know you were allowed to have guns at home.”
He shrugged. “Marksmanship is also a hobby. I do have licenses for them.”
“As long as they shoot real bullets,” she said, “I don’t care if you have licenses or not. I just don’t want to be taken by him again.”
Carl waited. She watched, worried he was too old for this young, fit madman. But Carl stayed well out of the way and waited. No second bullet came. Nothing. Not a sound. Carl leaned over the corner of the couch, as if to assess the doorway.
Laysa whispered, “Don’t go out there.”
He looked at her and then shrugged.
She shook her head. “He’ll be waiting.”
“The cops should be here soon,” Sicily whispered.
Laysa wasn’t so sure. It seemed like the cops were slow everywhere. But then again, Carl was one of their own. Maybe he commanded a faster response than other people.
Just then her phone rang. She tried to shut it down but realized it was Kanen. Keeping her voice low, she whispered, “Hello?”
