by Alton Gansky
Four medics started for the stairs, and Tuck extended a hand to stop them where they were. They looked confused. “Masks and gloves. There’s something in their flight suits that made them sick. This is the same thing that happened on Atlantis . Watch their blood pressure.” No sooner had the last syllable flown from Tuck’s lips than he was down the stairs. The colonel was there to meet him.
“I hoped to meet you, Commander, but I never expected it would be like this. Let me get a medic to look at you.”
“No need, Colonel, I’m fine, but I do need your help, and I need it fast.” . . .
Jim entered the code into the keypad lock on the rear door to the hangar and pushed it open, making certain it closed behind him. He entered like a man victorious from a successful flight, took several steps, and then stopped in his tracks. He stood frozen in place, taking in the scene. He already imagined what it would be like, but it was important for him to play his part. “Well, I feel like I’m interrupting something.”
“That’s because you are. Who are you?” The man asking the questions did so with a confident air about him. Jim took in every detail of his appearance and couldn’t help noticing a banged-up ear on the side of the man’s head.
“Maybe I should be asking you that.”
“I’m your new host and I brought party games.” He held up the gun and an electronic device that Jim couldn’t quite make out. “Now once again, who are you?”
Jim didn’t answer. He was afraid that if he appeared too cool he might tip his hand.
Roos spoke up. “His name is Jim Tolson, and he’s the pilot for Condor. He’s supposed to be here.” Roos addressed Jim. “This man is holding us hostage. The woman with the backpack — well, the backpack has some kind of bio-bomb. The device the man is holding is a dead man’s switch.”
“Man, did I pick a lousy day to be punctual.”
“That you did, Jimmy boy. That you did.” Quain motioned with his gun. “I would feel a lot more comfortable if you joined the party.”
Jim said nothing as he blended in with the others in the huddled crowd. . . .
Myra’s back hurt and the cold seeping in through the metal side of the container made the pain worse. Still she didn’t move. Tucked under each arm and pulled tightly to her body were her children. Under her left arm, Penny quivered more from fear, Myra was certain, than from the cold. Beneath the other arm, Gary rested. He had not succumbed to tears, but she could feel the tension in his body. Myra wished she could do more, but embracing her children was the best she could offer. She decided that if she were to die, and her children along with her, then they would die in one another’s arms. Although no ideas for saving themselves had come to her, she had not given up on the process. Her mind alternated between heartfelt prayer and cold logical reasoning, but despite her best efforts, no ideas came.
Benjamin had yet to sit down. Perhaps it was the old firefighter in him; perhaps it was because he was the only male adult available; but he had resisted the temptation to settle in one of the dark corners. He tested the doors a dozen times and used the meager light from Gary’s cell phone to examine and reexamine the small pendulums of death that hung from the ceiling. Myra had no idea if what their abductor had said was true, but she didn’t want to test the validity of his statements. Perhaps the glass vials contained nothing more dangerous than water. Then again, they might hold a horrible, torturous death.
“Any ideas, Grandpa?” It was the first words Gary had uttered in the last hour. Myra assumed it had been an hour. There was insufficient light for her to look at her watch and she saw no benefit in doing so.
“No, Son. Not yet. I feel like I’m overlooking something.”
Myra could feel Penny raise her head. “Dad sometimes tells me I overthink things. He says that I’m always looking for the complex answer when the obvious would do the trick.”
“He would know,” Benjamin said. “I can’t tell you how many times I told him that very thing when he was your age.”
“I didn’t know that.” Penny’s words were soft. “I wish I could hear him say it one more time.”
“You will, kiddo.” Benjamin’s words carried a note of confidence.
“I’m scared, Grandpa. I feel all broken inside.” The last few words came from Penny with tears.
“How can you be so calm, Grandpa?” Gary’s voice was shaky. “Aren’t you scared?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.” Myra could hear Benjamin’s footsteps as he continued to walk around the perimeter of the container. In her mind, she could see him taking one slow step after another, being certain he avoided the dangling vials. “I’m plenty scared.”
“You don’t show it,” Gary said.
The footsteps stopped. “Many years ago, years before your father was born, I was assigned to my first fire station. I was wet behind the ears and eager to do my job. Just putting on my uniform made me feel brave. I thought I was really something.
“Then my first call came. It was a big house fire — we called them boomers. I was on the pumper. We rolled up and my feet had no more than hit the ground when the captain told me someone was inside and trapped in the flames. The captain looked at me, pointed, and said, ‘Tucker, get in there.’ ” Benjamin paused, then said, “The smoke was thick and black and I could feel the heat from the flames all the way to the curb. It rolled out of broken windows. I had never seen flames licking at the eaves. I donned my tank and mask and then turned to face the house again.”
“What did you do, Grandpa?” Penny asked.
“I was shaking in my boots, but then I noticed some-thing: none of the other firefighters seemed afraid. They just went about their business. They did their jobs. They did what was required of them. So I pretended not to be afraid, and I went into the house.”
Gary straightened. “Did you save the man trapped inside?”
Benjamin gave an actor’s laugh. “Turns out, there wasn’t anyone trapped inside after all. Nonetheless, it did me a world of good to stare fear in the eye and still do my job. Later, a guy on my rig took me aside.”
“What did he say, Grandpa?” Penny’s voice had strengthened.
“He asked if I had been afraid and I admitted to it. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Because the day you stop being afraid is the day you retire.’ He said at such a blaze, every firefighter was frightened and that I shouldn’t trust anyone who wasn’t. It was a good lesson — and he taught me something even more important. He’s the one that led me to faith in Christ. He said that there were many courageous men in the world, but a courageous man with faith was unstoppable. I never forgot that, and I don’t want you to forget it either. Got that?”
Gary and Penny said they did.
“Tell you something else; everyone experiences death. Our faith enables us to face it with courage.”
Myra heard the old man approach and judging by the source of his voice knew he had squatted down next to them. He spoke softly. “We’re not giving up. Everyone dies, but that doesn’t mean today is our day. We need to use the faith, the courage, and the brains God gave us.”
Myra heard him stand again. “Thanks, Dad. That helped.”
Benjamin didn’t respond. Instead, he resumed his pacing, and once again, Myra could hear his footfalls on the metal floor.
“Have you figured out what those things are, Grandpa?” Gary sat straight, pulling away from Myra. She resisted the urge to pull him back in place.
“I don’t know, Gary. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. The driver told us not to touch them and implied that doing so would be deadly. That means that these glass vials hold some kind of chemical or poison. I’ve been afraid to touch them because someone who’s gone through this much trouble must have assumed that we would try just that. My concern is if I touch one the others will fall.”
Benjamin paced a little more, then stopped. “Why would he go through such an elaborate scheme? If he just wanted to kill us, he could have driven us to this isolated spot, shot us, and
been done with it, but he didn’t. He found this container here or maybe he had it put here, but why imprison us? Why set up these vials?”
Myra had not thought about these things and Benjamin’s questions bored into her mind. “It’s Tuck, isn’t it? It’s the only thing that makes sense. It must have something to do with today’s space flight.”
“So we’re hostages.” Benjamin’s words were a statement, not a question. “That means he plans to keep us alive until he doesn’t need us any longer. That’s why these things haven’t dropped yet.”
“So he’s going to release this after he gets what he wants?”
“No, Penny, I wish it were true.” Benjamin’s words hung heavy in the air. “I don’t think these vials are just for us. I think he intends to kill us — and whoever tries to rescue us.”
Myra listened to the conversation and her mind flew to her husband, who she knew must be miles away in space.
“Why keep us alive?” Myra asked. “Why not just kill us and store our bodies in here? If he’s after Tuck, then he could tell him that we were still alive even though we weren’t.”
“He’s not sane, Myra. No one does this kind of thing, goes to these lengths without being at least a little batty.” Benjamin’s voice faded, then, “Maybe he gets some kind of thrill out of all this, like those serial killers who leave clues for the police or send them letters. It’s a way to make people suffer longer.” He sighed. “The reason doesn’t matter now. Escaping does.”
Myra agreed. She started a new prayer.
Her prayer was interrupted.
“Did you hear that?” Benjamin asked. He stopped his pacing.
Myra strained her ears to catch a sense of whatever Benjamin had heard.
“I hear it.” Gary’s words echoed in the container. “What is it?”
Before Benjamin could answer, Myra heard a distant thumping. At first, she thought she heard thunder, but then noticed the sound came in rhythmic pulses. “Helicopters?”
“Yes,” Benjamin said. “From the sound of them they’re big — maybe military helicopters.”
“When Dad and I came out here to visit Mr. Roos, he told me that he had been stationed at Edwards Air Force Base. He said it wasn’t far from where Mr. Roos did his work.” There was excitement in Gary’s voice.
“He’s right, Edwards is close by.”
Penny asked, “Is it Dad? Is he coming to save us?”
Myra could hear Benjamin take a deep breath. “I pray so, but it could just be a routine flight. There’s no way for us to tell, no way for us to signal them.”
The thumpa-thumpa of the sound grew louder, and Myra could feel vibration through the metal skin of the container.
“Oh no,” Benjamin whispered.
Myra returned her gaze to the direction of his voice and saw her father-in-law activate the cell phone again. He raised the dim light to one of the vials. What she saw made her courage drain from her.
“This is not good,” Benjamin said with a calm that belied the situation.
Myra’s eyes fixed on the same thing as Benjamin’s. The vials that dangled like pendulums on a string were vibrating in resonance with the sound made by the powerful rotors of approaching helicopters.
Benjamin moved the light to another vial and Myra saw the same terrifying sight: a delicate glass container dancing to the music of heavy motors.
If the helicopters get any closer . . . Myra couldn’t finish the thought. . . .
Colonel Riggins’s voice stabbed Tuck’s ear as the officer shouted into the onboard communication system. “Could that be it?”
“Where?” Tuck tried to keep his wishful thinking in check.
“Two o’clock off our heading — on the ground — a structure.”
Raising binoculars to his eyes, Tuck looked in the direction that Riggins had indicated. It took a moment, but he soon locked his sights on a worse-for-wear metal box. Its peeling white paint stood in contrast to the taupe ground. Through the powerful lenses of the binoculars, Tuck studied every inch that he could see from a low-flying CH – 53E Super Stallion helicopter. The aircraft belonged to the Marine Heavy Helicopter Squadron – 769 stationed at Edwards. At the controls sat a man who looked too young to be manhandling such a large craft. At the moment, that didn’t matter to Tuck; he felt grateful that Riggins had been able to call in favors with the squadron commander.
“It looks like a storage container,” Tucker said. “I can see tire marks leading to the door.”
The pilot chimed in. “I just got word that our second chopper has found a van on the roadside. They could see a body in the passenger seat from the air. They’ve landed and investigated: one male, dead.”
Tuck felt sick with worry. “Can they describe the man?” Tuck’s thoughts ran to his father.
“Stand by one, Commander.” A moment later, “Male Caucasian, midforties, short, and thick build.” Another moment ticked by before the pilot asked, “I hate to ask, but does that sound like one of yours, Commander?”
A wave of relief rushed over Tuck, followed by another wave of guilt. The description did not fit any member of his family, but nonetheless, a man lay dead in the desert. “No.” Tuck tried to picture the image he’d seen over the video monitor. He could see his family and could tell that they were in some kind of artificial surroundings, but the camera angle was too tight for him to see anything more than darkness behind them. Could they have been confined in the container below? Tuck knew only one way to find out. “Let’s take her down, Colonel.”
The helicopter began a slow descent fifty yards away from the large metal box. The rotor blast kicked up dust and sand, and Tuck could feel the vibration of the powerful engine run through his body. If his family were indeed trapped inside that container, they would feel and hear his arrival.
THIRTY-FIVE
I asked a straightforward question!” Quain’s temper flared. A few feet away from where he stood lay the bleeding bodies of the two Secret Service men. Quain had not wanted to use the gun. There was always the risk of a gunshot being heard, but when he caught sight of the Secret Service agent slowly and foolishly making his way toward him, Quain did the only thing he could. The percussion of the 9mm blast rolled through the empty space of the hangar. The first Secret Service agent staggered back, clutched at his chest, then dropped to the concrete floor. Quain gave no thought to his next action: he turned and squeezed off another round, striking a second agent in the left shoulder. The man spun, cried in pain, and dropped to his knees.
At the first shot, nearly everyone in the hangar hit the ground. Several screamed, women wept, as did several men. Quain gazed over the frightened masses. Some covered their heads as if the bomb had gone off; others huddled on their knees as if in prayer. Only Tammy remained standing, shivering as if she stood on an Antarctic plateau with nothing more than a T-shirt and shorts to protect against the icy wind. Most amusing to Quain was the way old man Pistacchia stared at him. The man with him — a chauffeur, his guard, his personal assistant, whatever he was — had done his best to cover the old man’s body with his own.
It was then that Quain had noticed the video feed from Legacy had gone black. He had been standing over Roos’s shoulder watching every keystroke as he transferred money from one offshore account to Quain’s. He turned to the three people seated at the control panel and asked, “What happened to the video?” No one answered.
Quain moved closer, put his face close to the communication tech’s ear, and shouted at the top of his lungs, “What happened to the video feed?”
The man shivered in fear. “I don’t know. It just went blank.”
Quain stood erect. “When did it go blank?”
This time, he didn’t have to ask twice. “Maybe five minutes ago.”
Quain nodded as if mulling over the statement. “Listen up, people. This man is lying to me, and it’s about to get you killed.” He held up the dead-man’s switch so that everyone in the room could witness his next act.
He released the switch.
The moment he did a piercing beep emanated from the backpack hanging from the frightened woman’s shoulders. Her limbs shook as if suddenly struck by palsy.
“No, no, no, no. Please, please. Don’t kill me. No, no, no.” . . .
Before the helicopter had fully touched down, Tuck was out the door and sprinting toward the battered container. “Myra! Dad? Kids?” he shouted the words while still ten yards from his destination. His heart no longer just beat, it pounded against his chest with rib-cracking intensity. He stopped just two feet away from the container and looked down. Footprints. Shoe prints of various sizes. Tuck didn’t consider himself an expert in tracking, but he knew enough to know that four or more people had been standing here not long before.
“Myra? Myra!”
A muted voice: “Tuck! We’re in here.”
“Are you all right?” Tuck put his face close to the doors.
“Unharmed. Scared. It’s wonderful to hear your voice. The kids are here. Dad is here.”
Tuck looked down at the doors and saw that the two handles that opened the container were bound with a large Yale lock. “Hang tight, I’ll be right back.”
“Tuck . . . wait . . .”
Tuck didn’t wait for the rest of it. He sprinted to the helicopter. Riggins met him halfway. “They’re in the container. There’s a lock on the doors. Is there anything on the chopper I can use to break the lock?”
Riggins said, “I don’t know, but I know how to find out.” He and Tuck ran through the soft dirt toward the chopper. What they found was a disappointment.
“We have a toolkit and a hacksaw; what you really need are bolt cutters.” The pilot and the copilot moved to the back of the craft and opened a toolkit. “The hacksaw might do the job, but it’s going to take some time. Wait, I have a better idea. We just got a report from our other helicopter. The police and fire department have arrived at the hangar. I know the fire department carries bolt cutters on their trucks.”
“How long?” Tuck asked.
