Final Finesse

by Karna Small Bodman

  “Yeah, it’s our TLX 1000 Tracker,” Dick added.

  “While your government is tied up with bureaucratic haggling, we’ve got the tools. We can move much faster on cases like this,” Joe said to Samantha.

  A ray of hope spread through her, the first optimistic feeling she’d had since she learned that Tripp had been taken. “That sounds terrific,” she said. “So you think you’ll be able to follow him? And then what?”

  “Then we analyze the location and figure out what we need …”

  Suddenly, the door burst open and Victor Aguilar rushed into the room, his face ashen. He was carrying a small box. “We just got another answer from the kidnappers.”

  Joe looked up. “And?”

  Victor was visibly shaken. “They don’t want a meeting. They want their money and they sent something. A courier just dropped it off downstairs. And he left before anybody got his name or his company.”

  “What is it?” Joe asked, getting up from the table.

  Victor was about to hand Joe the box, but he glanced over at Samantha. “You don’t want to see this.”

  Samantha’s eyes were wide. What don’t I want to see?

  Joe came around the table and grabbed the box. Samantha jumped up to take a look. As Joe lifted the lid, Samantha stared in horror and screamed.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  LOUISIANA–SATURDAY AFTERNOON

  Juan Lopez studied the message from the fixer on his cell. El presidente was making a major speech today at Casa Natal, the place where Simon Bolivar was born, where the man all of Venezuela saw as their founding king had begun his life. Juan thought this was a good choice. Rossi said that in this speech, their president would be listing all of his initiatives for the New Year. Rossi said that this would be the signal for their final project. It would be their biggest hit and one that Rossi had personally planned. This was when Juan, Simon and Carlos would have to find the right spot to stage their final assault on the Americans.

  Rossi said it was a brilliant plan, one that would wreak much more damage than the individual attacks on the other lines. While those other six events had resulted in tremendous price hikes with a small amount of collateral damage, this final job would have a huge effect.

  If they could pull it off, Rossi had said their payment would be doubled. Juan was excited about the prospect of all that money, but he wondered why the fixer was so anxious about this one last job that he would pay double. He knew that the canisters were important, but he didn’t know what was inside. He couldn’t read the markings because they were in Farsi. They obviously came from sources in Iran. What could be so special that he had to get it from that country?

  Simon and Carlos kept asking him that question. He didn’t want to sound like he didn’t know something, so he just kept putting them off. They asked too many questions anyway. They were getting irritating. Carlos kept acting like the boss, but the fixer had told Juan that once he got over the border and hooked up with the others, he, Juan, would be the boss. After all, he had much more experience, he knew what he was doing, he had been given instructions by Rossi himself, and he wished that Carlos would just shut up and take orders for once.

  They were driving across the state line into Louisiana. They had listened to news programs. While each of them could speak a little bit of English, they had kept trying to find Spanish language stations. They wanted to keep up with what was going on with the pipelines, the repairs, and the price of gas and oil. Every time they heard about another price hike, they all cheered. The more it went up, the more money they would have. At least that’s what they thought.

  As they drove through the rather dreary countryside, Juan wondered if he really needed both of these guys to pull off the last attack. He had the instructions. He knew what he had to do once they figured out the best location. They would have to get fairly close to their final target, and they would have to time things perfectly in order to make their getaway. That’s what Rossi had told him in his last message.

  The more Juan thought about it, he wondered if he could pull this off just using Simon and somehow get rid of Carlos. If there were just two of them left, that would mean they could split the money two ways, not three. He would be a rich man. Maybe not as rich as Rossi, but rich enough.

  As for the stupid Americans, they still had no idea who was sabotaging the lines. With their FBI, CIA, ICE, sheriffs, police, and all the others they talked about on the news, they were still clueless. That made Juan smile. We have outsmarted all of them. We are so much better than these Americanos. I will be rich. They will be paying more and will still be running around looking for us, but they will never find us.

  He stared at the back of Carlos’ head as he drove the car and listened to Simon’s incessant chatter. Maybe Simon was too much trouble too. Maybe he could handle this whole thing alone. Maybe after they set the final charge in place he’d figure out a way to get rid of them both. He sat back and pondered the situation. He had a bit of time to make his decision.

  The fixer had told him that as far as he was concerned, the best time for their next act would be late on New Year’s Eve. The Americans would be sleeping off their hangovers and would probably only have skeleton crews on the roads at that time.

  Yes, overnight on New Year’s Eve would be perfect. A perfect time to begin his new life.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CARACAS–SATURDAY AFTERNOON

  “Get her a glass of water,” Joe ordered as he slid the box across the table, took Samantha’s arm and eased her down into a chair. “Bad shock, I know,” he said in a more soothing tone.

  Dick took the box and showed its contents to team members on the other side of the table. “Damn it!” one said. “Holy shit,” another remarked. “You think it’s really his?” Dick asked as he took his pen and probed the severed finger lying in the box.

  “We’ll have to check the print,” Joe said.

  Samantha fished for a Kleenex in her purse, blew her nose and looked up. “You mean you think there’s a chance it’s not Tripp’s?” She sked.

  “No way to know till the analysts check it out,” Joe said. “I will say this. It sure shows these goons are serious.” He started to make some notes on a tablet in front of him. “I’m going to send a text right back demanding a meeting again. These things usually play out like a seesaw. They think they’re one up on us now, but we still have what they want. The dough. So now it’s our turn to set some rules.

  Samantha sat back and watched as members of the team tossed out ideas about the message, the ground rules, the time and place. The kidnappers would have to name the location which was good because they couldn’t afford to take Tripp too far from their hideout. At least that would give them some idea of where Tripp was being held.

  It could be in one of the valleys or up in the mountains surrounding the vast metropolitan area. Maybe they were way out of town in some jungle. She had visions of deadly snakes and scorpions circling Tripp who would be tied up somewhere, powerless to fend them off. She shuddered at all the images crowding her mind. She shook her head and strands of long hair fell into her eyes. She pushed them back behind her ears and tried to pay attention to the conversation again.

  “So we’ll ask for a meeting to make sure that Tripp gets medical attention. After all, if they did hack off his finger, he could be in real trouble.”

  “Yeah, infection and all that,” Dick said.

  “Don’t remind me,” Joe answered. “So a meeting right away, and they have to show him to me. I’ll be going in alone this time.”

  “What are you talking about?” one of the Special Forces men asked. “You need back-up for God’s sake.”

  “I don’t think we can risk it. They could have guys combing the area. We have no idea how many they’ve got. Besides, I’ll bring some money as a down-payment and tell them that unless we know that Tripp is okay, they obviously won’t get any more.”

  “How much will you take?”

  “Victor say
s he’ll get me about half a million in cash. That should do it.”

  “Half a million should get their attention, especially if it’s in dollars.”

  “That’s what he’s putting together.”

  Samantha sat there still stunned by what she had seen. She dealt with terrorism issues, threats to the country, bombers, nut cases, all of it in her White House job. But she had never dealt with anything so … so personal. A man’s life was in danger. A man she loved, one she hadn’t stopped thinking about, dreaming about since the day he had walked into her office during the big ice storm.

  She thought back to that first day when he had showed up in his overcoat with the collar turned up, and she realized he was the same guy she had fallen for so many years before. Then everything had happened so fast. The dinners, the phone calls, the love scenes.

  Oh God, the love scenes. He was so gentle at times, so forceful at other times. The way he used to touch my cheek, run his fingers through my hair, put his arms around m,e and hold me even after we made love. She had a fleeting thought about the old song, “After the Lovin” and realized that Tripp fit the lyrics perfectly.

  It had all been so beautiful. So perfect. Even in the midst of the crises at the office, the pipelines exploding, the people being killed, the stock market crashing and Congress screaming, the presence of Tripp in her life had made her feel almost like a Pollyanna, finding something good and optimistic in every single day. Now it had all come crashing down, and she had turned into a Cassandra, seeing threats and doomsday scenarios everywhere. At least now, finally, some good guys were taking action.

  She thanked God that Tripp had told her about Joe Campiello, told her about some of their exploits and how Greyfield operated. If she had to wait for the government to try and rescue him, he could be there for … for … she just couldn’t bear to think about it.

  Joe was winding up the meeting. “I’m heading back to Victor’s office to get this finger print analyzed and then I’ll send the message. From now on, you know the drill. We check our equipment, we stay in touch and we wait for an answer.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CARACAS–SATURDAY NIGHT

  WHERE ARE YOU? HAVE YOU FOUND HIM? CROWN IS CRAZY OVER TWIN XMAS ATTACKS … MORE REPORTS OF DEATHS, INJURIES, SUPPLY DISRUPTIONS. ALERT LEVEL RAISED. JOAN SAYS GREG GOING BALLISTIC OVER YOUR ABSENCE. SAYS HE’LL FIRE YOU, ACTS LIKE THE TERMINATOR ON STEROIDS (EXCEPT IN FRONT OF SR. STAFF OF COURSE). I WORRY ABOUT YOU. PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE OK … ANGELA.

  Samantha read over the anxious email on her cell. So Crown, Secret Service code-name for the White House, was going crazy. Well, so was she. She wondered if she should reply. She had not been in touch with her office since she’d arrived in Caracas. She wanted to maintain the impression that she was unreachable, in a bad zone or something, though she knew that was pretty lame. She was stalling for time. Of course she was. But she was simply praying that working with Greyfield, they would get Tripp back. And once they accomplished that, she figured Greg and everybody else back in Washington would forget about how she broke every rule in the book. At least every rule in the White House staff manual.

  She appreciated Angela’s concern but decided to wait a little while longer, at least until she had something concrete to report. Right now all she had were hopes. Hope that the kidnappers would actually show up at a meeting. Hope that Tripp was alive. Hope that Joe really could pull off some sort of rescue attempt and get them all out of the country and back home. Hope that while she was gone, the FBI and all the other agencies had gotten a lead on whoever was sabotaging the line and then worked together to run them down, or at least prevent another attack.

  She was back in her tiny hotel room after having spent the evening with Joe, Dick, and the others. One of the team had picked her up and walked with her over to the Centro Lido Hotel right there in the financial district where the rest of the group was staying. It was also on Francisco de Miranda Avenue but was nothing like her cheap hotel. Their place had a sleek modern entrance with a fountain in front and was known as one of the most decent Boutique hotels still operating in the city.

  Joe had told her that they were on a good expense account, so why not stay in nice digs? They had all gone up to the Le Nouveau Restaurant that had an incredible view of the city. “Good place to get our bearings,” Joe had said. “Besides, when I checked in, I saw the menu card in my room. Looks like it’s one restaurant in town where we can get a T-Bone steak with Texas BBQ sauce. They must have somehow flown it in from Argentina. But at what price? None of the people who work here or walk by on the street could afford anything they’re offering. That’s for sure.”

  Seated at a circular table with a white cloth and flower arrangement in the middle, Samantha sensed the incongruity of it all. Here they were on a mission to free a man who was probably being held in a cell of some sort, eating Lord knows what, and they’re up in a penthouse restaurant dining on steak with special sauces.

  As their entrees were served, Joe had said, “Okay folks, time to chow down. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. Meeting is all set.”

  “Wait a minute,” Samantha asked, looking over at him expectantly. “Did you hear back already?”

  “Just got a message. The goons now say that I can come and see Tripp.”

  “But that’s terrific. When? Where?”

  “Meeting’s set for late tomorrow afternoon. Maybe they figure they can keep an eye on things, you know, make sure that I’m alone if it’s still daylight. Then again, that means they’ve picked a spot where they don’t expect anybody else to wander by.”

  “Well, where is it?” Samantha pressed.

  Joe leaned over the table. They were sitting at a table way over in the corner so there were no other diners nearby. Still, he lowered his voice and replied. “I’ve got it pinned down. They say it’s a place on El Avila.”

  “The mountain?” she asked.

  “Yep,” Joe said, pointing to the landscape they could see out a far window. “That big one over there.” He motioned to Dick. “See what kinds of maps you can take down of the entire area.” Dick nodded as Joe continued. “They said to take the cable car up the mountain and then hike two miles due East. He gave some more instructions. I have it all in my room. So here’s what we’ll do. We recon the whole area early tomorrow morning. We’ll take the first cable car up, scout the whole scene, figure out where the meet will be and then come back down. That way I’ll be sure to be on time, and I’ll also know the best way back. This also means that they must be holed up not too far from there. Who knows? But we’ll know how long the ride up takes, how long the hike is, all of it. Then I’ll go back up alone tomorrow afternoon.”

  “But I think we should go up with you and just stay some distance back,” one of the pilots said.

  “Not sure that’s a good idea, Joe said. “But after we scope it all out in the morning, we’ll make a final decision.”

  Snakes and scorpions crawled through the underbrush toward someone tied to a tree. As they got closer and closer, the man squirmed, straining at the ropes and chains. He heard rustling in the leaves nearby. He tried to stamp his feet to scare them away, but they kept coming. Always coming. The man was alone, hungry, tired, and unkempt. There was no one to help him. No one to free him. He pulled at the restraints but the knots only grew tighter, chafing at the bare skin of his arms and ankles. And they kept coming. Closer and closer.

  Then he was falling. Falling over a cliff, plummeting down, landing on a jagged ledge, screaming for help. His body was quivering at an odd angle, bent, broken. No one could come. No one could reach him. No one could stop the bleeding. A final breath seeped out of him because there was no one there to help.

  Samantha bolted upright in the narrow bed, her forehead damp and glistening, her head pounding. The nightmares about Tripp and her former husband, Dexter, were morphing together now, becoming more terrifying with each replay, and she had no idea how to turn them off or hit delete. She switched on
the bedside light, pulled her knees up and sat there, arms around her legs, head down. She was panting as if she had just run a very long race. But here she was in bed with nothing on but a horrified expression.

  When would the nightmares stop? When would she be able to sleep again? She thought the dreams about Dexter had faded. They had dwindled over the years, and she hadn’t dreamt about him after she first met Tripp. But now with the kidnapping, they were coming back, the scenes of his body falling over the cliff mingling with shadowy impressions of Tripp being held in a strange place by strange people with strange animals and insects crawling all over him.

  She knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep for a while, so she switched on the small TV set perched on top of the dresser and scrolled through the few channels that were offered. There was a show about a twenty-foot-high storm drain in Kuala Lumpur that doubles as a toll road. She kept clicking and saw the replay of a soccer game on one channel then came to a food channel that was explaining “The History of Tacos.”

  She remembered that she hadn’t eaten much at the dinner with Joe and the team. She was so worried about Tripp and concerned that their schemes might not pan out that she couldn’t work up much of an appetite. She sat relatively still while the team went over their recon plans, their trackers, sensors, helicopters, night vision goggles, weapons and the latest gadgets on Greyfield’s Gulfstream 5 they had flown down here. Boys and their toys, she had thought at the time. She just prayed that some of those toys would come in handy in the next crucial days.

  She finally found one last TV channel. It was a news station where she saw a rebroadcast of a speech by el presidente. She could understand most of the Spanish. It looked like he was in some sort of a museum, but she couldn’t be sure. But what she did note was that his small audience kept interrupting his remarks, clapping and shouting. Those people were probably bussed in to make him look good.