At Wit's End

by Lawrence, A. K.

  Hirsch checked the time on his phone. “It appears so. And I don’t think we had Daylight Savings tonight. Why?”

  “Marie should have been here hours ago.” Wit’s brow creased. “She hasn’t messaged me. I thought she was going to after she went to view a building.”

  “Call her,” Hirsch suggested. “I’m going to go change into a suit. Are they still in the guest bedroom?”

  “Yeah,” Wit waved him on distracted.

  “I haven’t seen it since the redecoration. If my shorts have Victorian flowers on them I’ll be going commando and it will be your fault.”

  An image of a naked Hirsch tried to wend its way into Wit’s brain. He fought it off and tapped out a quick text message for Marie. While he waited for the response he too changed into a swim suit.

  Several laps later his cell phone let out a tone. Wit shook the water from his hair and eyes and vaulted from the water. His muscles felt loose and he could feel his brain engaging. If he followed it up with a bag of chips he might start to feel human again.

  Wit picked up the small device and saw the email icon was flashing. He tapped it and saw a message from Marie. He noted it had been sent from her cell phone which he thought odd. At this time of night – morning now - he would have thought she’d be home and on her laptop.

  The body of the message was blank but there was an attachment. He opened it. The tiny screen loaded the image quickly and it took a moment for Wit to recognize what he was seeing.

  Every nerve in his body went numb. The phone fell from his fingers but the image had been burnt into his retinas. He’d never be able to un-see the horrible image. His stomach gave one warning gurgle before he bent in two and vomited everything he’d eaten in his life.

  Wit turned and fell to his knees. He bent to the floor and thrust his hands around his head. He rocked while his glassy eyes stared at something only he could see.

  Hirsch heard the phone drop, the retching sounds coming from the other end of the swimming pool. When he saw his friend hit the ground he jumped from the water and ran to him. Deftly avoiding the vomitus he picked up the phone and swung an arm around Wit’s shoulder. He recognized shock when he saw it. The young man was icy cold and shaking; his lips moved but no sound emerged.

  Hirsch touched the screen and brought the device back to life. Marie was holding a newspaper and she wore a vest with wires going every which way. Hirsch had been given some serious training after 9/11 and he could recognize a suicide/homicide bomber vest from at least a block away.

  “Oh shit,” Hirsch whispered and turned his attention back to his young friend. It was completely possible this could send Wit over the final ledge of sanity he’d been clinging to for six months. One damning picture could easily be the end of Brad Witson. The agent couldn’t let that happen, he knew he was going to need Wit to help him stop whatever this was.

  Chapter 9

  “Bradley! You have to snap out of this!” Hirsch had been trying to get Wit’s attention and failing. He considered his options quickly. The smell of Wit’s purge mixed with the Chlorine from the pool was making his own gorge churn. Still crouched, he duck-walked in an arc until he knelt in front of Wit.

  He placed his hand under Wit’s chin and tried to meet the young man’s eyes. He was staring off into the distance and viewing a scene Hirsch could only imagine. He hadn’t been at the night club when it had exploded; he’d been chasing a lead in a case in upstate New York. Standing at the counter of a cheap motel he had caught the breaking news alert and had, through sheer coincidence, seen Wit standing in shock while fire fighters battled to extinguish the flames.

  Hirsch had left the motel without second thought and raced back to the city. He’d always felt close to the young men who had died in that fire; he had been a mentor to the five of them whether they had known it or not. The look Wit now wore was quite familiar to Hirsch. He’d seen it that night as they’d stared at the smoking wreckage.

  “Witson!” Hirsch’s voice echoed as sharp as a gunshot. He slapped Wit’s cheek and put a little extra into it.

  “It’s my fault. She’s going to die and it’s my fault,” Wit stated without emotion.

  “She is not going to die and it’s the fault of the assholes that have her, not you,” Hirsch said forcefully. “You need to believe that.”

  Wit raised his head. “I have to find her. How am I going to do that?”

  “First we’re going to dry off and put on warm clothes. You’ll brush your teeth. Then, in case you have forgotten, I am a federal officer, a trained investigator. You and I are going to put our heads together and see if IGGY is as effective as you believe it to be. I hope it is because we could really use an advantage.”

  Wit felt a nugget of hope begin to warm his insides. He’d designed IGGY for something like this but… “This isn’t a game, Hirsch. IGGY hasn’t been tested in any way that would prepare us for this.”

  “Then we had better hope you’re a better programmer than you think you are. Let’s go back downstairs.”

  Marie sat very still. She was afraid to move for fear the bomb would trigger at any vibration. She wasn’t an expert, how would she know? Every few moments she would notice that she was holding her breath and she’d force herself to breathe. Fainting from lack of oxygen didn’t seem like it would be a very good idea either.

  The clock sat between her legs. It was facing the wrong way for her to see the time, however, so she had no idea how long she sat alone. She was able to read the headline of the newspaper though it was upside down. She couldn’t count how many times she read it while waiting for whatever was going to happen next: New York City Approves Mosque, Protests at Courthouse. The accompanying photograph was along the fold and the tops of people’s heads were visible with illegible signs.

  The door behind her opened. Marie expected to see the guy who had brought her to this place. Her fear had her convinced he looked far more sinister than a slightly doughy and bearded man in his mid-40’s should.

  Marie briefly wondered who would want to kidnap her much less blow her up. In all the ways she had considered her death occurring, this particular method hadn’t even made the top 100. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach this had something to do with Wit.

  The man stood with an erect bearing that intuitively said “military”. He wasn’t wearing fatigues but would be equally, if not more, comfortable in that clothing than in the khaki pants and white dress shirt he wore. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows and the top three buttons were undone.

  Closely clipped hair so blond it would have appeared grey in photographs matched the golden curls on his forearms. His age was difficult to discern. His eyes appeared to have seen centuries while his face and body said middle age. Those eyes rested on Marie and creased in consternation.

  “This will never do,” he stated. His voice thundered across the room though Marie was sure he had been using a normal speaking tone. His was the voice of Authority. “They were supposed to disconnect this before they left.” Shaking his head he reached down and gripped the wires. Casually he yanked them free and dropped them to the floor. At Marie’s flinch he apologized. “I’m so sorry. I should tell you this isn’t a real bomb.”

  Marie swallowed heavily. “Wha-?” Her voice rasped and she cleared her throat. “What?”

  The man reached over and removed a brick of grey clay from the top pocket of the vest. He was careful to keep his fingers from brushing against her inappropriately. “This is Play-Doh. It’s totally harmless.” He pinched a corner from the brick and rolled it between his fingers. “The children play with it after Sunday School. When you mix all the colours together the Play-Doh turns grey for some reason.” He inspected the ball between his fingers. “When I took art class we learned that when you mixed all the colours you discovered mud brown. I guess the teacher had never experimented with this stuff.”

  He dropped the small piece and set the brick on a table near Marie’s elbow. His glance darted over
the handcuffs. “I suppose you’re wondering who we are, why you’re here and that sort of thing?”

  “Yes, please,” Marie agreed.

  “It must feel like you’re in a movie. I assure you, there’s nothing farther from the truth.”

  Unsure of how to receive that statement Marie chose to say nothing.

  “My name is Roger Ingerhoffe. You met Uncle Henry and Brother Jacob. I’m sorry that it wasn’t under better circumstances.”

  “You could say that again,” Marie mumbled. The pain in her head was beginning to subside. The grudge building inside was only growing. Revenge was a feeling she had grown to like. With Roger’s use of Brother and Uncle perhaps the better word would be Retribution.

  “Excuse me?” Roger asked. He crouched down to hear her better.

  Rather than repeat herself Marie forced her voice to be strong. “Why am I here?”

  Before Roger could answer the door opened. Henry came in. He was typing on a handheld device. At Roger’s inquiring look he said, “Everyone is in place. You should be able to give the go ahead in approximately,” he checked his watch, “seven hours, sir. We have eyes on the building and will know when the cleaning crew leaves. There’s one guard to take care of and the men will remove him from the area before the blast.”

  A satisfied glint appeared in Roger’s eye. “Excellent. Keep me updated. Good work, Henry.”

  “Yes, sir, I will. Thank you.” Henry backed away into the shadows of the room. He continued to work on the device.

  “Now, where were we? Ah, right. I was going to explain what you’re doing here. First, let me do this.” He removed a group of keys from his pocket. Selecting the smallest one he unlocked the handcuffs that had been keeping her restrained to the lawn chair. “Please, feel free to remove the vest. It’s harmless and may keep you warm, however. This place can be a little drafty.”

  “Where are we?” Marie rubbed her wrists. They weren’t sore, it was an instinctive reaction based on being restrained and having watched hundreds of crime dramas in her life. She looked around the room. It reminded her of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “It’s an old resort in the mountains. It was closed down in the early 70’s. The government took over the land and forgot about it. We unofficially moved in.” Roger told her. He took the vest Marie had removed and carefully removed the Play-Doh from the pockets. “I’ll have to put that back in the nursery before they know it’s missing. And hopefully Rhoda can get the stains out of the pocket.” He shook his head and laid the vest down.

  Marie cocked her head. The man was being very forthcoming with information. She’d read or heard or seen somewhere that if a person who is kidnapped sees the perpetrator’s face it is a near certainty they wouldn’t live until the end of the negotiation.

  “Are you going to kill me?” Marie asked bluntly.

  “Good Heavens, no!” Roger exclaimed. “I’ve researched you, Ms Marie Lee Chase. I know you’re a good Christian woman. Besides, your name reminds me of a nursery song.” The man began humming Row, Row, Row Your Boat. At the merrily, merrily, merrily part he began singing with a strong bass.

  “No, we’re not going to kill you but I’m afraid we do have to use you as a pawn of sorts.”

  “What do you mean?” Marie wondered if this man was totally insane. How many people sing to their hostages? Then again, how many people take hostages?

  “Your new friend Bradley Witson is of great interest to me. You see, he’ll be testifying as an eyewitness against two of my men in a trial that starts pretty quick here. These men are being wrongly accused of domestic terrorism. If Bradley does not testify my men will go free.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” Marie asked. She kept watch on Roger as she rose awkwardly from the lawn chair. Her butt had fallen asleep on the hard plastic and she wanted to move around. The man hadn’t threatened her with anything other than a children’s moulding toy so she gave it a shot. He made no move to stop her.

  “I don’t want to kill Bradley. He’s a good Christian man and someday, when he sees the Light, we’ll be able to use his skills to bring about the Peace we’ve been looking for.”

  “Peace, amen,” Henry echoed from the corner.

  Roger continued. “Rather than do harm to a fellow Christian I went the opposite route. We’re going to offer Bradley the opportunity to take a several weeks long vacation. You’ll receive one as well though you two cannot go together. I’m afraid yours will be a camping trip here with us. As for Bradley, where he goes is his business. My men will go with him, unobtrusively, and when the judicial coast is clear everyone can go home.”

  Marie moved about the room, examining it, while ignoring the tingling in her backside. The wooden floors with faded throw rugs creaked under her light steps. “Dirty Dancing,” she blurted out.

  “Excuse me?” Roger asked. “Did you just say dirty dancing?”

  Marie nodded, embarrassed. She hadn’t known she was going to speak. “It was a movie in the 80’s. Patrick Swayze was in it. ‘No one puts Baby in a corner,’” she quoted.

  “I’m aware of the movie,” he said stiffly.

  “That’s what this room reminds me of. Are we in the Catskills?” Marie asked.

  Roger cast a benevolent smile. “You’re close. We’re near the Poconos.”

  Marie nodded with satisfaction. It felt good to figure something out. “I hate to bring this up but what about forensics? I would imagine the government has an airtight case in that regard.”

  Roger turned to the corner. “Uncle Henry? Would you care to explain?”

  The older man nodded. “Of course, Father Roger. Ma’am, in less than seven hours the evidence will no longer exist. Fire is a great equalizer.” He turned his attention back to the updates he was receiving from the field.

  “And what if I don’t want to hang out here for the next, what, month?” Marie challenged.

  “I said I don’t want to hurt a good Christian man or woman, that does not mean I won’t,” Roger told her. “Now, I have some things to attend to. Your purse is there with everything in it except your cell phone. I’m afraid Henry disposed of that after your journey here.”

  “You threw my phone away?” Marie asked, stricken. She’d loved that phone, had been thrilled when she could finally afford the latest and greatest in communications technology.

  Yes, Ma’am, I’m sorry. I had to remove the battery and destroy your cell. Witson has capabilities to track GPS. We’re going to limit his options until he goes. Out of the country would be best though I’ll accept his going underground so long as his federal friends can’t find him,” he explained.

  Marie’s heart sank. She’d been counting on Wit doing exactly what the man had prevented. Her rescue options were dwindling and she knew she should start figuring out an escape plan. Sometimes a girl had to do it on her own.

  “There’s an intercom here, by the door,” Roger pointed to it as he moved to the exit. The only available one in the room as the windows appeared to be boarded over. Marie would be testing the nails’ strength shortly. “We’ve found if you hold the button for more than a moment it will send out a small shock. Be careful. Our electrician hasn’t gotten to this yet. If you need anything, however, press the button and one of my men will get it for you. The restroom is through that door,” he pointed and when she turned away to look he and Henry slipped out. She heard a lock click from the outside.

  “Well, shit,” she said to the empty room.

  The two men entered the penthouse apartment. Wit strode to a sideboard containing crystal decanters of differently coloured liquors. He reached for a bottle Hirsch recognized as being filled with whiskey. He slapped the bottle from Wit’s hand.

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough of that shit?” he asked. Wit stared at him with his jaw figuratively at the floor. Hirsch had never raised a hand to him in any way before. “I need you to have your wits about you. This stuff,” he jerked his head toward the many
bottles, “is the farthest thing you could get from being helpful. Are you with me?”

  The bottle rolled on the floor and whiskey drained into the carpet. Wit watched the spreading stain and decided it looked too much like dried blood. He raised tormented eyes to meet Hirsch’s steady stare. “Pun intended?” he quipped with a shaky voice.

  He knew Hirsch was correct about the liquor. He didn’t know what had taken over him. Certain things should never be allowed to become habit and he’d been turning to that crutch long enough. He decided he was done with the dangerous pattern.

  Wit clapped a hand on Hirsch’s shoulder. “Let’s go. We need to find my girl before those bastards kill her. I may kill them before we’re all said and done. Ugh, I need to brush my teeth.”

  Several alerts waited on Wit’s Command Center when the now clothed men entered the fortified office. While Wit read those Hirsch began reading his file on The Brotherhood for the fifth time that day. His eyes were blurring at the information and he was now sure he hadn’t missed anything. He needed a new avenue to explore.

  “Let’s see which database is better,” Wit startled Hirsch from his thoughts, “IGGY came up with a name for us. Roger Ingerhoffe. He’s buried under several layers but I think I have him. His signature is on the paperwork for the tax exempt status for their supposed church. They recently changed their status from a business to a religious institution.”

  “Now we’re moving,” Hirsch turned to his keyboard. Both men entered the information Wit read off from the alert and hit enter at the same time. “What about GPS?” he asked. “Can you track her phone? As soon as I call for that information you and I will receive a whole lot of official attention.”

  “I’d rather avoid that,” Wit replied.

  “As would I, for now,” Hirsch cautioned. “This is exactly the kind of situation the FBI was created for, you know. If this goes in a direction I’m not comfortable with I will call in the cavalry. Are we understood? Wit?”