The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series

by Jacqueline Druga

  “No. Dean. We’ll both get killed, get out!” The top of the elevator came into clear focus.

  “Hold still.” Dean’s hands moved about in the blood that flowed from Frank’s wound, and the metal object that injected itself into his skin.. The elevator drew closer. “You think I’m leaving you here? If you go . . .” Dean looked him in the eyes as his hands worked. “I go with you.” Pulling Frank, the feeling of relief hit as the elevator approached ten feet from them. “Got it!”

  Frank felt his mobility and he shoved Dean to the ladder. Up the two rungs they flew. Dean into the vent first, Frank second. The huge carriage screeched to a crunching halt a split second after Frank shot himself into the vent for safety.

  Grabbing his back, Frank leaned against the vent wall, he huffed, out of breath, the excitement still with him. “You . . . you saved my life.”

  “You’re cut.” Dean tried to see his injury. “Let me take . . .”

  “Dean!” Frank stared at him. “You saved my life.” Frank looked over to the elevator that blocked their way out. “I’ll never forget that. I owe you.” He closed his eyes. “I owe you.” His head turned sharply as he heard the elevator move again. “Wanna jump on it?” Frank smiled.

  “Why not?” Dean crawled past Frank and to the ladder. Frank lowered him down to on top of the carriage. Then jumped down himself.

  They lifted the escape hatch on the roof, and climbed in. Frank first. As his body emerged into the car, he gasped a loud gagging sound. “Oh, man bad idea.” He reached up for Dean’s swinging legs and helped him down. “Watch your step.”

  Dean touched down into the steaming, reddish mounds that lay in the elevator. “Worked better than I thought.”

  “You can be really cold in the name of science.”

  “You can be really cold in the name of war.”

  Frank reached out and pressed sixteen. “In this case, it’s all the same difference.”

  “Why sixteen?” Dean asked.

  “Because that’s where they had Ellen. I hoping Miguel and George are there.” Frank waited impatiently for the doors to open, when they did he stepped out. “Man, Dean.” He shook his head at the mess that sprawled about the floor. “How we gonna count these?”

  “They’re piles, Frank. Count the piles.” Dean followed Frank in a maze walk down the hall. He saw Frank stop. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ellen’s room.” Frank stood in the open door way of the empty room, a huge blood stain on the floor from where he had shot the guard. “Empty. Where are they?”

  George pounded his hand in frustration on his bed, when he heard Frank and Dean’s voices. He thought it when he saw the elevator descending, he hoped it wasn’t true. What did Beginnings do? As a safe guard in his plan, he locked the door and stayed behind it. Waiting for his anger to subside some, he opened up his bag, ruffled up some of his clothes, then reached with total disgust to the door. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath. “Is someone there? Anyone. Help!”

  Frank looked quickly to Dean. “George.” He raced to follow the cries. He found the locked door. “George, that you?”

  George rolled his eyes. “Frank, thank God. Get me out.”

  Frank tried the knob, it was locked. “Stay back.” He backed up and barricaded down the door.

  George, hair tossed, looking in total disarray, flew out. “What . . . what happened? I heard screams.”

  Dean smiled when he saw him. He braced his hands on the arms of the older gentleman who looked so frail, so thin, so shaken. “We’ve come to take you home.”

  Frank stepped out of George’s room. “We brought them down, George. But . . . Where’s Miguel?”

  George closed his eyes and lowered his head. The moment he did that, he sent a sinking heart feeling through Dean and Frank. And they both knew.

  ^^^^

  Frank finished looking through Ellen’s duffel bag, it was still open. Almost as if once she had left, they only removed the guard and left everything else the way it was. Broken bits of rice cakes, an open bag of medication, a few sunflower seeds laid on top of her clothing still folded so neatly. He zipped up the bag, along with Miguel’s. With sadness he held Miguel’s bag across his lap. He felt the canvass of the bag, his heart near breaking. Frank wanted to go through Miguel’s bag also, but that wasn’t his place. That was for his wife. He would have liked to have been the one to hand it to Andrea, and tell her, but George insisted he wanted to do it. Frank agreed. George felt bad enough of about being there, telling Frank it happened moments after he rescued Ellen. How Miguel placed his life on the line for George and lost.

  With closed eyes and tilted head, Frank stayed there. They were there for hours, sifting through what was left of the people there, destroying valuable equipment. Frank’s back pulled a bit as he sat there. Dean took a few moments to stitch him before they undertook the grueling mission. Pushing four o’clock, Frank wanted to just leave, head home, get as close as he could before they stopped for the night.

  “Frank?” Greg stepped into the room. “Pile counting done.”

  “How many did you get?”

  Greg blew quickly shaking his head. “It’s hard to say. We think we counted eight.”

  “We counted fifteen. That’s eighteen unaccounted for.”

  “Maybe they disintegrated completely.”

  “I don’t think so.” Frank took hold of both bags and stood. “I think they’re elsewhere.”

  “We leaving now?” Greg asked.

  “Yep.” Frank took one more look around. “Let’s, uh . . . let’s go home.” Slowly he walked from the room. A mission completed with success and they were heading home. But they were heading home without one very important thing . . . Miguel.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  She didn’t do it well, but Ellen gave it her best shot. Even though she knew Frank would complain about, Ellen did the laundry. And she felt she did it well . . . for once. She worked hard at it. It kept her mind occupied. A mind that started to take off with thoughts the moment they had taken off for the mission. The simple knock on the door as she folded a tee shirt made her drop the garment from her hands. She turned around. “Joe.”

  Joe stepped in the bedroom. “Josh said you were doing laundry. I rushed up. What’s wrong?”

  Ellen shrugged.

  Moving to her, Joe laid his hand on her shoulder. “You worried?”

  “Do you think they did it.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Joe sat on the bed. “I know they did.”

  “Andrea . . . Andrea doesn’t think Miguel is coming back.”

  “I know how she feels.”

  “You too? What about George, what are you’re feeling about George?”

  Joe tilted his head and gave a thinking face. “George is fine. I’m sure of it.” He answered he with one eye closed. “Am I easing your mind?”

  “Not really.” Ellen halted her reach for another shirt. “Joe, can I ask you something. I need you to swear to secrecy, because I need some fatherly advice. You can lecture me after you hear.” she took a deep breath. “I did something. At first I thought about just not saying anything to Frank. Now I think . . .”

  “Don’t.” Joe stopped her. “If you’re thinking about telling my son you had an affair with Dean. Don’t you do it.”

  “Oh, my God. How . . . how . . .”

  “First.” Joe held up his hand. “The lecturing you clued me in. Second, I saw it coming a mile away. What you and Dean had was unresolved. And the amount of time you spent together . . .” Joe shrugged. “I just think you shouldn’t say anything. Let it go. Frank loves you Ellen. Don’t hurt him like this. Put it behind you and move on.”

  “I swear, Joe, I never meant for it to happen.”

  “I believe that.” Joe reached up and grabbed her hand. “But it did. I think you were spending so much time atoning for your sins of the past with Dean, you didn’t see the creation of sins of the present. You’ll get through this.” Joe released her hand. “Now finish you
r laundry and . . .” he looked oddly at the bed.

  “What?” Ellen panicked. “What’s wrong?”

  “You worry about telling Frank about Dean? You have more immediate concerns he’s gonna kill you over.”

  “What’s the matter?” Ellen was confused.

  “Ellen, Christ.” Joe stood up lifting a sock and a tee shirt. “Everything is pink.”

  ^^^^

  The slips of paper with work details on them were passed around the site where Frank and his men stopped a third inside of Wyoming. Work details, used as bets in a wager that some had lost when they saw Dean was still alive at the end of the mission.

  Frank thought the bets were funny. Laughing as he drank his water, he saw Dean sitting by the small campfire. Frank approached him. “Hey.” He sat down next to him.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” Dean scooted over. “You make me nervous.”

  “That is not my intention.” Frank picked up a stick and poked the fire. “George seems all right, doesn’t he?”

  Dean looked over, George sat alone. “Not as traumatized as I thought he’d be. Frank, why are you sitting with me?”

  “What? I’m trying to be civil to you. I’m trying to be nice.”

  “Please don’t.” Dean stood up. “I liked it better when we fought.”

  Frank laughed as he lifted himself to his feet. “Yeah I did too. But you saved my life out there, big time. Not as a doctor . . .”

  “Stop Frank. Not right now all right.” Dean turned and faced him. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired, and after today there’s nothing more that I would love than to see my family and hold them. Or does that sound like a wuss idea to you?”

  “No. That sounds like a great idea.” Frank walked away from the fire and gathered the attention of the men. “Listen up! We have about three more hours driving ahead of us, I know it’s pushing midnight, but anyone else besides me and Dean want to chance driving in the dark and just go home now?” He looked at Dean. “See our families. I think we need to. We can unpack the truck tomorrow. Anyone?”

  Frank didn’t get a verbal answer, he got reaction. Immediately, without hesitation, the men began to gather the gear they had set out for the night. They were going to chance it, they all just wanted to head home.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  September 17

  Andrea cried as she stood in George’s living room. Expected tears. She knew they would come, yet she kept them under control and wiping them away with her handkerchief. Joe and George had awoken her in the middle of the night to tell her they were back, to bring her the tragic news. She held Miguel’s belongings, crying herself to sleep. But with the new day brought questions and she sought George for the answers.

  George brushed his hand down her face, staring at her puffy eyes. “You would have been so proud of him, Andrea.”

  “Did he suffer George?”

  George shook his head. “He died instantly. They had me Andrea, at gun point. Ready to shoot me and Miguel stepped in. A hero. My hero from now on.”

  “Thank you, George, for saying that.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for being there. At least I know he didn’t die alone.”

  “He didn’t. I was with him.”

  Andrea shivered, rubbing her arms as she took a deep breath. “I’m going home now. You need your rest. You’ve had quite the ordeal too.”

  “I could use it.” George patted his stomach. “After I’ve eaten.”

  “I’ll leave you.” Slowly and sad Andrea opened George’s front door. “Thank you again.” With a semi-lowered head, she closed the door and stepped out. She saw Joe. “Going to see George?”

  Joe nodded. “How are you?”

  Andrea shook her head. “I’m not good.” She leaned into him and rested her head against his chest for comfort. “I’m not good.”

  Joe looked to George’s house, then wrapped his arms around Andrea. His talk with his fellow council member could wait a few more minutes.

  ^^^^

  Frank hollered a lot at the garage as they unpacked. But it was good to be back. It was worth lugging that bag, when he saw the smile on Ellen’s face when he returned it to her. She had her clothes back. She sat on the ground, like opening a present, checking all the contents.

  Dean staggered in, his hair wet, rearing to go. “I’m here.” He snickered and touched the pinkish shirt Frank wore. “Nice. Ellen doing laundry?”

  Frank snarled, then regained his composure. “I’ll let that go.” He cleared his throat. ‘You saved my life.”

  “Frank, stop.” Dean raised his hands. “Please stop. It’s making me nauseous.”

  “I owe you. I owe you big time. I won’t forget what you did.”

  “You don’t owe me.” Dean started walking away.

  “I do. I just wish there was some way I could repay you.”

  “Well, there . . .” Dean spotted Ellen sitting on the ground with her bag. He turned back to Frank. “You know there may be some way to repay me.” He smiled snidely. “If you really want to.”

  “I’d like that.” Frank placed his hands on his hips. “What is it?”

  Dean took one more look at Ellen and thought, ‘the perfect payback’ for all the joking around Frank did on the mission. “O.K., Frank, I would like for you and I.” Dean pointed. “I’d like for us to have an . . . understanding.” He looked for Frank’s anger.

  “An understanding?” Frank was clueless.

  “Yeah an . . . understanding.” Dean waited, still no anger.

  “O.K., yeah, sure, we can have an understanding. Maybe that’s what we need to put everything behind us.”

  “Great.” Dean smiled. “We’ll start our understanding, say . . . now?”

  Frank agreed. “Sure, what exactly are we understanding?”

  “El.” Dean called to her. “Come here.” He motioned, and waited for her.

  As clueless as Frank, Ellen approached the pair. “What’s up?” she asked.

  Dean looked smug. “Frank says it’s all right if he and I have an understanding.”

  Ellen looked confused. “About what?”

  Dean smiled, placed his hands on Ellen’s face. “This. Thanks Frank.” Dean placed his lips to hers and began to kiss her.

  Frank’s eyes lit up, he stepped closer. Dean wasn’t kissing his wife, he had to be faking. He placed his face closer to the two who were interlocked. He studied for a second. Dean’s moving lips locked to Ellen, that indenting in his cheeks. Frank stopped peering and stood straight up. He understood . . . understanding. “Hey!” His yell shot though Dean like a knife. “I don’t give a shit if you saved my life or not. You have a three second head start pal.” Frank glared at him. “And then I’m killing you.”

  Dean stepped back and smiled. “Frank, I was kidding.”

  Frank held up his hand. “One . . . two . . .”

  Dean wasn’t waiting for three, he took off running.

  ^^^^

  It was kind of ominous that George was peering in the black case when Joe arrived at his home. The same black case the held the vials that he would use to eventually bring Joe down. He held it in his hand when he opened the door and laid the closed case on the table in plain view. It was his own little demented tease to Joe. “I’m really tired.” George said as Joe stepped inside.

  “I realize that. I do.” Acting very upbeat, Joe moved to the living room. “I’ll only keep you a minute.”

  “Sure.” George placed his hands in his pockets. “What’s up?”

  “Gosh.” Joe snapped his finger. “You look good. Son of a bitch. You lucked out.”

  “I guess I did.”

  “Yep.” Joe jingled his hands in his pockets with keys. “I was speaking to Andrea, she told me how you said Miguel laid his life out for you. When did it exactly happen?” Joe asked, reaching in his pocket for a cigarette.

  “It happen as soon as Frank got Ellen out of there.”

  “How soon?”

  “I don’t even
think Frank had left the compound yet.”

  Joe took a deep breath and let it out slow, he lit his cigarette. “Who did it?”

  “Why does this sound like an interrogation.”

  “It does?” Joe shook his head and laughed. “I’m sorry. I just think it amazing that my son wipes out a few guards, leaves you two alone on that floor and Miguel ends up getting shot by two guards that come out of nowhere. It was two guards wasn’t it, or was it three?”

  “Joe, it happened fast.” George walked to the living room. “And I’m beat.”

  “And hungry too.” Joe followed. “You know you have to be one lucky son of a bitch.”

  Growing even more angry, George just wanted Joe to leave. “Why is that, Joe?”

  “Well.” Joe scratched his nose as he sort of bounced back and forth from heal to toe. “Miguel was shot, what, almost immediately? My daughter, well, my daughter, she was there four days, and in the course of that time, she was starved, beaten, tortured, drugged and, and let’s just say, worse. But you. Look at you. You were there a month. Not a scratch on you. And you look good, thinner but good. Why do you suppose that is? Do you think it’s because you were president. And they still saw you like that?”

  George shrugged. “Don’t know.” He felt the heat began to grow beneath his collar, but he controlled himself. “I don’t know why.”

  “Did they say?”

  “They never spoke to me. I never saw them. A guard opened my door for food.”

  “And they just locked you in a room? Son of a bitch.” Joe shook his head, then looked at his watch. “I have to go.” He smiled and walked to the door reaching for it. “Oh and one more thing.”

  “What is it Joe, I’m tired.” George’s irritation finally showed through.

  “Nothing much. I’m just finding it odd. You were the president. The land was leased to the Caceres society. They worked here and you didn’t know anything about it?”