“How do you know?” Randall asked.
“I heard him talking with John.”
“What do we do now?” Sam asked.
Randall felt like he had been punched in the gut. He staggered over to a chair, placing a hand on the back for support. He steadied himself.
“We need to get out of here. With Dumond on the loose, I can’t take a chance of anything happening to the rest of you,” Randall said.
“Okay, we’ll go to my boathouse and stay there while we figure out what to do about John,” Rob said.
Randall nodded, staring out the window.
“Take Sam and Jamie with you.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to find my son.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Still blindfolded, John could hear the ocean water lapping in through the open window. At first it had been a slow trickle, but now it was coming in large gushes. Salt water filled the room up to John’s knees as he struggled to free himself from his chains. He had rubbed his wrists raw. The worst part was not being able to see what was happening. John had tried shaking the blindfold off, pulling it with his teeth and even rubbing it against the wall to remove it from his eyes. All he got for his effort was a skinned forehead.
Despite the pain, John wouldn’t give up. It wasn’t in the Randall DNA to quit, but the situation was becoming bleak. His thoughts kept turning to Jamie. Had she escaped from Dumond and his men? Was she safe? John wanted nothing more than to break out just so he could find out if she was okay.
There had to be a way out; he just had to concentrate. His hands were bound to a pipe that ran along the wall. He tried to pull against it with all of his strength, hoping that the sea air and water had weakened the attachments enough so he could pull a section of the pipe away from the wall. But the pipe wouldn’t budge. He tried kicking it loose. That failed as well. Hoping that the shackles were loose enough for him to wriggle free, John tried to ball up his left hand and push the shackle off with his right. All he accomplished was cutting his hand even worse. He cursed his failures.
“Damn it!”
John had a sudden thought. Dumond had forgotten to remove the contents of his pockets. He still had his phone and could call for help, but how could he reach it? The water had risen well past his knees now. John realized he needed to get to his phone before it became submerged. He struggled to get his hands into his pocket. The pipe ran parallel to the floor at chest height, making it too high for him to reach his phone. He judged that his reach was short by more than a foot. He needed a way to elevate his legs or lower his arms.
Continuing to struggle, he realized that he hadn’t tried sliding the shackles. He walked to his right, dragging them behind him. They moved! John walked faster, pulling the shackles along the wall, splashing water as he went. He moved about three feet, and the cuffs suddenly stopped. John pulled, but they wouldn’t budge. Cursing, he walked back the other way, trudging slowly through the deepening water. It was nearly to his waist now. Frantic to get to his phone, John dragged the chains along the wall as quickly as he could. They were moving freely for a while, but then stopped again.
“Shit!”
John composed himself and felt along the pipe where his chains had snagged and found the cause. The shackles were jammed on a protruding pipe connection. John felt along the pipe and discovered that they dropped down right after the connection.
John frantically tried to work them free as the water climbed up his body. The flow of water was steady now, the tide having fully breached the bottom of the window. John tugged in all directions. No luck. Salty water washed over the ragged wounds on his wrist. The burning was intense. John stopped and breathed deeply. With every remaining ounce of energy in his body, he pulled to the left. With a sudden jerking motion, the chains broke free and slid down the pipe, which dropped nearly two feet.
John scrambled to remove his phone from his pocket. Groping along the material, he finally reached his pocket, grabbed his phone, and pulled it free. His hand and phone were underwater. John jerked the chain back up the pipe, dragging his hands and phone behind. He finally got his phone above the incoming water level and held it gingerly behind his back. He couldn’t see the screen. The blindfold was still blocking his view.
He wriggled his face against the pipe, trying desperately to get the blindfold off. Cold, bare pipe scraped at his forehead as he tried to uncover his right eye. John winced in pain as the salty water splashed into the self-inflicted wound on his face. He caught a glimpse of light. His right eye was half exposed. He tried harder, rubbing again and again at the pipe until the blindfold finally succumbed and his right eye was clear.
John craned his head, to view his phone. He saw it out of the corner of his eye. It was still working.
He strained against the shackles, trying desperately to extend his reach. He just needed a couple more inches.
He pushed the phone to the tips of his fingers. It slipped from his wet hands and dropped. John plunged his hands under the water, trying to catch the falling phone. He gripped it momentarily only to have it slip away and drift to the floor of his cell.
“No!”
He tried to feel for the phone with his feet but had no luck. Surely it had suffered irreparable damage by now and John realized that his last hope had skittered away.
Steeling himself against the inevitable, John accepted his fate. His mind flashed over the loved ones in his life and settled on the simple fact that he would never get a chance to tell them how much he cared about them.
The water was shoulder high now. He only had minutes before it would cover his head. He stood quietly as it slowly rose higher and higher until it was nearly to his chin.
A strange clanging noise came from his right. John glanced over with his exposed eye and saw the submerged door, which looked like a ship’s hatch with a round, metal wheel in its center. He wasn’t certain, but it looked like the wheel was slowly turning. Suddenly, the hatch opened outward, releasing a torrent of water from the cell. The deluge caused the water to drop quickly, from his chin to his chest and then to his knees. Finally, it came to rest once again at his ankles as the raised threshold kept the remaining water from spilling out.
“That’s quite a bit of water, mate,” a man’s voice called out from beyond the hatch. A figure stooped through the opening and into the room. “Those aren’t proper togs to go for a swim, lad,” the man said, slowly making his way toward John. The towering hulk hovered over John, who stood dumbfounded by the appearance of his savior.
“Who are you?”
“Michael Thompson, at your service,” the behemoth responded, producing a large pair of bolt cutters. He sliced through the shackles with ease.
John immediately removed his blindfold and examined Michael. He was easily six and half feet tall and nearly as wide. His dark brown hair was medium length and loosely tussled as if a woman has recently run her fingers through it. His face was long and narrow, with defined cheekbones and jovial brown eyes.
“Looks like I got here just in time.”
“I’m confused … how did you find me and why are you helping me?”
“That’s a long story, mate, why don’t you take a seat,” Michael said, motioning to a concrete step. John obliged.
Michael explained that he had once been a member of Dumond’s team of mercenaries, serving under their recently deceased leader Colonel Frank Ramsey. The former British Secret Forces member cast his eyes downward as he related his displeasure and apparent regret over past indiscretions.
“I just didn’t agree with the things Dumond was having us do. It’s one thing to face a fellow soldier on the field of battle, it’s quite another to murder a helpless civilian who doesn’t know a thing about combat.”
“How did you get away? I’m pretty sure Dumond didn’t just let you walk out the front door.”
“It took a lot of time and planning, but I was able to make a powerful friend who helped me.”
&
nbsp; “Who’s powerful enough to take on Dumond?”
“That’s a tale for another day. Right now, you need to get back to your group. Dumond is after your dad and your lady friend.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Randall slid his rental car into a spot behind a black Mercedes, several blocks from Jamie’s apartment building. With a pair of Steiner marine binoculars he had borrowed from Rob, he surveyed the streets and buildings nearby. After satisfying himself that neither Dumond nor his men were in the vicinity, he exited the Jeep Grand Cherokee and slowly wound his way toward Jamie’s building.
Climbing the stairs, he made his way to Unit 201, as instructed by Jamie, and stopped outside the door. He listened carefully for the sounds of someone inside. Hearing nothing, he slid the key into the lock, turning it gently to minimize the noise of the tumbler rotating. He slowly opened the door and scanned the room. There were no signs of life. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
Broken glass littered the floor near Jamie’s dining room table and Randall noticed the fallen picture frame, shattered on the hardwood floor. The room was a mess. Paper and books were strewn about haphazardly as were chairs and other furnishings. Randall made his way into the office, where Jamie had told him he would find the file on Shaw. He needed to find it. It was the only lead they had of finding either Shaw or Dumond.
The office was in no better shape than the living room. Dumond’s men had clearly gone through the desk and bookshelf looking for something. Randall’s body tensed with the fear that they had discovered the file. Without it, they were lost. He drew back the closet door. Jamie’s shoes were scattered, but the carpet was still in place. He tugged on the corner of the rug, lifted it up and revealed the floor safe where Jamie had hidden the file. He placed his finger into the small hole on the front panel and lifted it open. He sighed in relief to find that the safe was still closed. He probed his pocket for the small piece of paper containing the combination Jamie had provided and went to work opening the safe. The folder was safely tucked away inside.
Randall smiled at his good fortune. But the moment was short lived.
“Federal agents, put your hands above your head and don’t move.”
Randall felt a pair of strong hands grasp his right hand and force it behind his back and into a pair of handcuffs. His left hand soon followed. He was then jerked to his feet.
“Turn around.”
Randall found himself face to face with a man and a woman he had never seen before. They were well dressed, the woman in a navy blue suit and white shirt, the man in a gray suit with a bolo tie. The woman had a Glock 23 handgun trained on his chest.
“Who are you?” the woman asked.
“Nick Randall, who are you?”
“Charlie, check him for I.D.”
The man reached into Randall’s pocket, retrieving his wallet.
“Yep, he’s who he says he is,” Charlie said.
“I’m Federal Agent Gutierrez. What are you doing here?”
“My son was kidnapped by the men who tore through this apartment. I’m looking for something that might help me find him.”
“What’s your relation to Ms. Edmunds?”
“I’m friends with Jamie. Are you FBI?”
“Where is she?” Gabby demanded.
“Look, Jamie is in trouble and I’m helping her, but now my son has been taken by a crazy man named Frances Dumond who wants to kill me. We need your help.”
“Never heard of him. My only concern is finding Ms. Edmunds. Where is she?”
“She’s with a friend of mine.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know, I told them not to tell me where they’re going in case I got caught by Dumond’s men. You have to believe me!”
“Take him down to the car, Charlie.”
“Let’s go, Randall,” Charlie said, grasping him by his handcuffed hands.
“You’re making a mistake! If Shaw finds Jamie before I can find John, he’ll kill her!”
“Wait! What did you say?”
“A man named Shaw is looking for Jamie and I need the folder in that safe to help us find him first,” Randall said, nodding toward the closet. “For some reason, Shaw is after Jamie and my son John. He tried to kidnap John a few days ago. We think he has ties to the military, but we’re not sure.”
“What does Shaw look like?” Gabby asked.
“He’s a tall, thin guy with short gray hair. Probably about my age. John says he chain smokes like there’s no tomorrow.”
“You said you think he has ties to the military?”
“Yes, John was working on a government project that was funded by the military. His research partner Jacob disappeared, and when John went to work, Shaw was waiting there and tried to kidnap him. We also found out that Shaw visited Jamie a few months ago, claiming to be with an insurance company from D.C.”
Gabby lowered her gun. “That sounds like the guy from the DOD. Randall, how were you going to get back in contact with your friends?”
“I told them to call me at 4:30.”
Gabby looked at her watch. It was 3:58 p.m. “Grab a seat, we’re going to be here a little while.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The afternoon sun hung low in a brilliant cobalt sky dotted with wispy clouds as John made his way back from his ordeal. A cool ocean breeze caressed his face and he could hear waves crashing in the distance. He trudged up the walkway toward the barracks, making his way to the corner unit where Rob stayed. Dripping wet, his body felt like a lead weight. It took every ounce of energy to keep moving. Every square inch of his being ached from the torment suffered at the hands of Frances Dumond; his mind was awash in a sea of questions. But at this moment, all John wanted was to rest. He yearned for a bed or even a comfortable couch or chair to collapse on. He finally made it to the unit and opened the door. He was greeted by three armed men, one of which he immediately recognized.
“Shaw!”
“Glad you remember me.”
“You son of a bitch! What did you do with my family and friends?”
“What are you talking about?”
“They were here waiting for me and now they’re gone. You fill in the blanks.”
“I don’t know what happened to your friends, but I’m glad to know they might come back.” As Shaw spoke, three more armed men appeared behind John, surrounding him.
“I trust you have the folder that you stole from the office a couple days ago? I want it back. Now!”
“Sure, it’s right here in my pocket. Oh wait, that’s right, I left it in my other pants. I don’t have your stupid folder!”
Shaw nodded his head and one of his men smashed the butt of his hand gun across the back of John’s head, knocking him to the ground. John rolled on the ground clasping the back of his skull.
“Get him up,” Shaw ordered. “Next time, you’ll think twice before opening your mouth, smart ass. Now, where’s Jamie?”
“I told you, I don’t know,” John said, rubbing the back of his head. “They were supposed to be here waiting for me. Dammit! Dumond must have them.”
“Who’s Dumond?”
“He’s the one who did this to me,” John said showing his injured wrists. “He kidnapped me and tried to get Jamie, too. He knocked me out and tortured me to get information about Jamie, but I got away.”
“What did he want with Jamie?”
John explained the situation, too tired to hide the details. Shaw’s gaze was transfixed on him while he spoke. Despite his best poker face, Shaw’s eyes went wide at times, hearing the details of John’s harrowing escape from Dumond.
“For your sake and hers, we better find Jamie before Dumond and his men do,” Shaw said.
“So you expect me to help you? Why would I do that? How do I know you’ll treat her any better than Dumond?” John said, recoiling from Shaw.
“You don’t have any choice,” Shaw said, stepping closer to John. “If I say jump, you say how high. Do I ma
ke myself clear?” Shaw moved within inches of John’s face. “I didn’t spend all of this time on you and your partner just to lose out to some French punk who’s upset because he was anal probed by an alien. I’m going to finish my mission, and that means you’re coming with me.”
Shaw motioned to his men, who pushed John toward the parking lot and a black SUV with heavily tinted windows and a bulbous satellite dish protruding from the top. As they approached the vehicle, the rear door opened and a man clutching a snub-nosed machine gun hopped out. The man scanned the area as they approached. John glanced back at Rob’s place and wondered if his dad and the others were safe. He hoped they were and that they didn’t come back here looking for him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Michael Thompson sat in the lobby of the administrative wing of the Composite Materials Corporation. Having changed outfits since saving John, he was now impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray Armani suit. To an outsider, he appeared to be nothing more than another stuffed shirt, drawing a fat salary from the multinational firm.
Outward appearances can be deceiving.
He smiled as he watched the office workers mill about. Although the fat salary part was accurate, his compensation was the result of his unique skillset. One that no one else in the company had. Not even his employer, Margaret Seivers.
Michael propped his chin on his fist as he surveyed the office, taking careful note of everyone and categorizing them into groups. Although he seriously doubted that anyone here posed a threat to his wellbeing, it was still a useful exercise, one meant to keep him sharp. He started at the far end of the room and slowly scanned the area until his eyes came to rest on Seivers’ attractive assistant. He allowed his eyes to linger on her finer features as he waited.
“Mr. Thompson, Ms. Seivers will see you now.”
“Thanks, Love,” he said, flashing her a crooked smile and wink. She blushed at the attention, then shook her head as a broad smile spread across her lips.
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