by Tony Lavely
CHAPTER NINETEEN
New Terrors
BECKIE AND MELISSA WERE FIRST to arrive in Jamse’s room. Breakfast had been laid on the table, and looked inviting. In short order, deVeel and Susan entered, followed by Mike.
“Wait a second,” Beckie said. “What about the guys at the plane? Don’t they get any of this?”
“Appearances notwithstanding,” deVeel replied, “when we’re finished here, I’ll head over and relieve whoever’s on watch. I expect either Derek or Dan has already taken over, and brought Werner some food, too.” He grinned. “Don’t want him to die before we can get even.”
Beckie gave him a little nod of thanks.
Following the second round of toast and jam, deVeel sipped his coffee, then addressed Jamse: “You know, there was an interesting bit on the news I taped this morning. Seems that across the pond, a schoolbus full of…” Beckie looked up at the unexpected word to see him staring at her. “… hmmm, middle school?”
Beckie nodded, a little confused. “Yeah, we have middle schools.”
“So a schoolbus full of middle school kids was hijacked, the report went. Some of the kids were released, but a dozen or so girls are still missing, along with the bus.”
While everyone else considered this information, Melissa asked, “Across the pond? What’s that mean?”
“In the United States. Across the Atlantic.”
Beckie shivered as Jamse asked, “Which part of this news intrigues you, Kevin?”
“The whole thing, you know. It’s intriguing that a schoolbus was hijacked; that a bunch of kids was released, but some girls weren’t, that it happened in the United States. You know, everything.”
“Was there a description of the girls?”
“No, not yet. It just happened. Yesterday afternoon, very early morning our time, so these were the first reports.”
“Hmmm. What age are middle school students, Rebecca, please?
Beckie’s mouth was dry. This can’t be happening. “Pr—” Her voice broke. She took a sip of water and started again, “Probably twelve to fifteen, least back home.”
“Thank you. A dozen twelve to fifteen year old girls are hijacked and you are intrigued? Did the news organizations see fit to identify the location of this event?”
“SkyNews reported Southern California, I believe. Somewhere north of San Diego.”
“Very well. I know why I am intrigued. Why are you, Kevin?”
“It sounds kind of silly, when I say it out loud.”
No, it so doesn’t, Kevin.
“No, it doesn’t.” In echoing Beckie’s thought, Susan took up the gauntlet that Jamse had thrown down. “He’s thinking Werner’s people have made an attempt to stock that place in the notes. RP or whatever.”
“I agree with the possibility of that interpretation. Also, when we know them, I expect the descriptions of the missing students will be eerily similar to two whom we know…” He gave Beckie a twisted smile. “although younger. Perhaps… I wonder if…”
“Wonder what, Mr. Jamse?” Beckie asked.
“More information is needed, I think, but I suppose our actions could have precipitated, or rather, advanced this ‘restocking’—”
“And you said Ian has no feelings, Kevin!” Susan was jubilant. Turning to Jamse, “Can we try to, what’s the word you used last night?”
“Redress?”
“Yeah! Can we try to redress this?”
Beckie was dumbfounded. How can they be so happy about this? They want to fight this guy? Okay… Okay, so do I. I think. Yeah, I think I do, too. She settled back as, across the table, Mike straightened.
“Wait a second,” he threw in. “How’d we cause this, anyway?”
“I think,” deVeel answered, “that when we took Cari, Beckie and Melissa out of the supply chain, pressure was put on someone to make up the difference. Hard to imagine a better environment than a schoolbus for collecting kids, all of a type.” He paused briefly, but while Jamse looked unconvinced, he didn’t object and deVeel continued, “And I agree with Sue, if that’s the case, we should try to help get those girls out of harm’s way.”
“Yeah!” Beckie exclaimed, then forced herself to relax. “Yeah, that’s right. But you’ve got what’s his name, Werner, locked up. Who’s gonna set up something—”
“You missed the part where I told Ian that Cäcilie has escaped, I think.”
Beckie’s eyes grew large at that thought; she remembered the slap on the plane. She rubbed her cheek. “She doesn’t like girls to swear,” she breathed.
“While I find the plight of those girls to be disheartening,” Jamse continued, “there is another element which stimulates me and the group even more strongly.”
“What’s that, Mr. Jamse?” Beckie asked.
“One of the oldest motivators: money. Ms Jinet found records of accounts in Werner’s name that total almost four billion euros.” He picked up his cup and sipped. Beckie smiled at his surprised look. “Who would have thought sex paid so well? With no evidence that Werner has been doing God’s work with his money, redistributing it seems fully acceptable.”
“God’s work?” Mike asked. “I don’t understand.”
Beckie grinned. This she did understand.
“I mean to say that there is no sign that Werner has applied any of his considerable resources to any endeavor other than abducting girls and selling them. And his own luxury, of course.”
Mike nodded.
Jamse turned the focus back to deVeel. “Of course, you agree that the only way to be certain Werner is involved is to undertake the mission?”
“Yes, there’s the risk that we’d rescue them and find it was completely somebody else to blame.”
“And who would pay the bills, then?” Susan added, with a big grin.
The conversation lagged as they finished breakfast. While the words were few, Beckie’s thoughts ran rampant. I want to work with these guys again! Ok, with Mr. Jamse, if he’d pay any attention to me. But helping those girls, isn’t that a good thing to do? Even knowing that he was coming to get us, I was… Not terrified, exactly, but scared is probably fair. I can’t imagine how they’re feeling, out there being raped and all. She shared many looks with Melissa from behind the lip of her cup. I think Lissa feels the same way. Yeah. If we can help, we should! Finally Beckie spoke aloud as she sipped her tea. “I think Melissa and I would want to help these girls, too.” Melissa nodded. Thank God! “If they’ve actually been kidnapped the way it looks.”
Several responses overlapped, but Jamse’s was the one she heard: “Not at this juncture, Rebecca. You must return home. Even if that were not the case, we have insufficient information to mount any operation; even Ms Jinet and Mr. deVeel will agree with that, no matter their enthusiasm for the chase.” He looked across the table; they both nodded somber agreement.
“I concur that you have all performed beyond my expectations. While this argues favorably for having your assistance in the future, at the same time I am certain that you have done much more than I should have asked of you. You all should be freed to be teenagers again, not worried about these things, at first hand at least.
“Kevin, you should take the point in the California investigation. I am still uncomfortable about events during this past exercise.” This led to a discussion about the likelihood of success or failure, neither man convincing the other that he was unsuited and the other better. Finally, Susan told them to listen to each other; once they did, deVeel accepted the new role.
The rest of the conversation was dull, once Beckie and Melissa agreed that they would wait for Jamse to make the decision, and accept it even if they didn’t like it, as long as it was predicated on having the best opportunity to rescue the girls.
The conversation was nearly as dull as the flight home. Snuggled with Lissa, Mike told them to update their FB to account for the gap in time, as he’d done. Except for Beckie fearing, and hoping a little, that Mr. Jamse would have to stick around bec
ause her car wouldn’t start the first time, it was as uneventful as it was keeping her parents talking about their trip to England.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Twelve Liters of Water
SIX DAYS LATER, KEVIN DEVEEL and Derek Hamilton sped across the Tanami Desert west of Tennant Creek in Australia’s Northern Territory.
“He’s beginning to stir,” Derek hollered over the sound of the open pick-up roaring across the sandy desert track.
“Couple more klicks, I think. For all the noise this thing makes, we’ve taken seven hours to travel 300 kilometers.” He spun the truck in the soft ground, then stopped. He did not shut off the engine as he signaled to Derek and they both dismounted.
It took a minute or so to lift Werner out of the bed and place him under the only bush they could see.
“He’s so damn heavy,” deVeel said. “That’s why I brought you.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m so big and tall,” Derek scoffed under the load.
DeVeel dropped a backpack next to Werner, who was trying to sit up.
“Twelve liters of water, some energy bars and a hood. I think you’ll figure it out.”
“Cheerio,” said Derek, climbing back into the truck.
Seven days later, Werner reached a phone.
Part II: Evaluation
CHAPTER ONE
Wendy
WENDY GROVE FOLLOWED KYLIE AND William, all headed to the buses. In front of and behind her, classmates flowed out of the buildings of the John Kennedy Middle School, filling the courtyards, sidewalks and driveways with kids from the sixth through eighth grades, ready to do homework, after school activities, post pre-teen mating rituals, whatever.
The California sun was bright this April afternoon, but not quite warm enough for the beach.
Wendy watched her friends as they paused at William’s bus. Like her, Kylie wore a code approved dark blue button-up shirt and knee length khaki skirt. William looked very similar, with pants instead of the skirt. Wendy walked slowly toward them, watching William run his hand through Kylie’s dark blonde hair. Wendy shook her head. The monitor moved quickly to speak to him; he stepped into the bus. Look at that smile, she thought. Like he’s gonna ‘stop cause teacher says! Now that William was safely out of sight, Wendy hurried to catch up with Kylie. Together, they headed toward their own bus.
“How come you lettin’ him play with your hair?”
Kylie made a face and pulled her long hair over her shoulder to hang down her front. It reached almost to her waist. “He likes it. That’s all. Nothing more.” She stopped, turned to look at Wendy. “You’re not jealous?”
Wendy was stunned. What can I say to that? She giggled. “No. Just wondered. What’d that teacher say?”
Kylie gave her a grim expression and raised her voice. “‘Young man, you know I’ll have to report you if this continues. Now get on the bus.’”
Wendy’s giggle turned into a full laugh, which she tried to swallow once she looked back at the woman. “Still gonna come over and work on math?” she asked after recovering.
Kylie shrugged and followed Wendy. “I suppose. It is so dumb to have to learn all this stuff. I mean, who could possibly use all the crap we’re supposed to know when we get out of here?”
Wendy recognized her own question, and decided not to pursue it. Climbing into the bus, she heard a gruff voice: “He’s sick, back tomorrow,” and noticed the driver was not the usual plump, jovial man they were familiar with.
As she stepped onto the top step, someone pulled her hair. She spun around, ready to do battle with whomever took the liberty, but relaxed when she saw Kylie holding a few strands. “Hey, cool down, ginger,” Kylie said with a laugh of her own.
Wendy snatched her tresses back and gave Kylie a fake snarl: “It’s strawberry, not flippin’ ginger!” and stomped away. Her attitude passed by the time she was seated. Kylie pushed by to take the window seat, and the girls talked about subjects other than math while the bus filled and departed.
A minute later, shouts of surprise caught Wendy’s attention: “Hey, you didn’t stop back there. I gotta get off.”
Looking out the window, she realized that the bus had driven by the first stop where it would normally have dropped four or five students, and was continuing to the east.
The driver—Maybe he’s confused about the route?—exited the highway to head north on the freeway. Wendy was familiar with the road, but she couldn’t guess why the driver would choose it.
Kylie took her phone from her backpack. “Hey, that’s weird.” She pointed to the screen; it reported “no service.” Wendy could hear others having the same experience. “I called yesterday, remember?” Wendy did recall sitting next to Kylie while she and William had engaged in what even her mom would have called safe sex, using their cell-phones. Wendy giggled to herself.
“Hey, what’s funny?”
Wendy chose to keep her own counsel; she watched the freeway slide past the window. “Hey, Kylie,” she whispered, “try the window.”
It was locked.
The atmosphere in the bus became more and more somber. She began to wonder if they were being hijacked. But who would want a bus full of kids?
Calls to the driver were unheeded; apprehension peaked when one of the boys started toward the front of the bus to confront the him and was met with what Wendy thought was a double barreled shotgun, being held by the stranger in hat and scarf she had dismissed as a monitor.
The man lowered the gun and, in shock, Wendy watched him pull one of the triggers. Her ears gave up listening; ringing was all they were good for. The acrid smell of gunpowder assaulted her nose but not before she ducked; she saw the boy—Vince, she thought—folding up, hands across his belly. Her knees hit the floor and her face hit the seat as Vince landed on the floor. She saw no blood gushing from his body. How come he’s not… dead? She turned to see Kylie still sitting, eyes wide, mouth open, but the look was indignation as much as shock. Wendy reached up to pull her friend down between the seats.
“Ha-ha-ha!” The laughter came from the front, where the man who fired was standing. Wendy shuddered and clutched at Kylie, sure the man was insane and they would be the next to die.
Kylie crushed herself down atop Wendy. “What’s happened?”
Wendy could barely make out the words for the screams and shouts. “I sure don’t know,” she said, keeping her head well down.
The man with the gun waited briefly before stalking to the rear door. Wendy’s heart was pounding; she couldn’t look to see above his knees as he passed. His trip brought silence, except for scattered sobbing. She heard scuffling, then the man stopped beside her head. Kylie was snatched off her back and tossed to the window seat. She felt her collar pull tight as he dragged her out from between the seats and let her go over the seat. When he got to the front, he leaned on the seat and propped the gun against his leg. “Up, off the floor, all of you. Sit and stay quiet.”
Wendy’s heart beat had barely slowed when the bus took the state park off-ramp down to a central clearing where several hiking trails converged. She didn’t expect to do much hiking after she saw the two nondescript cars parked there.
Five people left the cars as the bus rolled to a stop. When the bus driver opened the door, one came up the steps into the bus. Wendy joined in the nervous laughter greeting him. It wasn’t that the rubber face, that of Lincoln, was so funny, but it was sufficiently incongruous to release the tension built up over the past few minutes.
The newcomer also carried a shotgun “loaded to do the most damage.” All the hijackers blatantly displayed weapons. Lincoln and the fake monitor herded the students out of the bus and grouped them with one or another of the hijackers.
In these smaller groups, Wendy heard instructions to remain silent. Incredulous, she watched Lincoln as he went from group to group, culling a few girls out of each to form a new group beside the bus. When he took her arm, she attempted to pull away. With a grunt, he pulled her along. At the bus, he
twisted her arm so she dropped to the ground. She looked up to see the fake monitor, his rubber mask now apparent, watching this group. Lincoln gave him a look, then went back to his rounds.
When he had visited all the groups, Wendy counted ten girls next to the bus with her. Kylie was there, too, which gave Wendy a very small sense of relief. Once Kylie gave her a hand up, though, the fake monitor took their back packs, then patted all the girls down the way TSA had when she’d gone on vacation. Her phone disappeared along with Kylie’s phone and iPod. While they watched, he even relieved Luisa of her cigarettes and lighter.
Once the last backpack had been pitched to the side, and the last pocket turned out, Wendy and the other ten were shoved back on the bus. Wendy watched three of the hijackers join the driver with them; out the window, she could see the others keeping the kids in the parking area still.
Now that they were moving again, the monitor leaned back in the seat behind the driver. “Excellent!” he said. “Just over twenty minutes to get on our way.” He turned toward the group of girls, huddled in six seats halfway back. “Make sure they stay down and quiet, yeah?”
A short woman wearing a bandanna and plain sweat shirt nodded back. “Don’t worry, they’ll be quiet.” Walking back toward the girls, she smacked her palm with her baton. Wendy winced at the sound, then cringed as Kylie stood up and swung her fist at the woman.
This provoked laughter from the monitor, horrified gasps from the other girls and a quick catch, twist and arm lock from the woman. She hooked Kylie’s feet and drove her to the floor, landing with her knee in the middle of Kylie’s back.
Wendy stared as she heard Kylie trying to breathe. Why had she been so stupid? She saw no one trying to help. She stood to push the woman off her friend. She was grateful that she didn’t get the reaction she expected; the woman merely moved slightly and shoved her back against the window. Without a look, she reached down and picked Kylie up by her shirt front and threw her against Wendy.
