by JA Essen
That’s odd.
Walking across the bed, I stand and peer out the window, looking for what could’ve caused it. Straining to the right, I see nothing out of the ordinary. Peering around to the left though, I notice a white van parked well in the distance that hasn’t been there before. It’s partially obscured by a tree, but it definitely wasn’t there yesterday, or even this morning.
Fear and hope race through me at the same time. Is it our captors? Will they see the SOS? Is it someone that could possibly help us? Will they see the SOS? I don’t dare scream or try to draw attention to us in any other way than just letting the sign work on its own. Standing and staring for what seems like an eternity, I notice no hint of movement, no opening doors, no anything. I begin to wonder if maybe I’m just hoping too much and the van has been there the entire time.
Flopping down onto the mattress, I draw my knees up to my chest and start to shiver, even in the overwhelming warmth of our foul smelling, dark and dusty confines.
Zander, I love you.
Help.
Thirteen
Zander
Sitting here in the surveillance van and playing the waiting game is worse than Chinese water-torture. The screen capture image we were able to acquire from the Facetime feed was invaluable. One of the males had his back to the camera on the iPad, but the other looked nearly dead on into it.
He is a low level member of the Sinalon Cartel. His rap-sheet is a mile long with everything from drunk and disorderly conduct, to weapons charges, to assault and battery. When Eads had the team run a full work-up on him, the report brought back information on a van he owns that matches the wheel track and tread pattern of the evidence left outside the hotel room.
The industrial park we are now sitting in is a suspected hot zone for Sinalon Cartel activity. Drug deals, gun running, and human sex-slave trafficking are all part of their organizations doings. The grounds of the long abandoned industrial complex are massive and currently being carefully scouted by team members outfitted with heat vision head gear.
“Team Lead, this is Bravo, I’ve got a black van matching the description.” The crackle and squawk of the walkie-talkie system catches me off-guard.
“Go ahead, Bravo. We’ve got you loud and clear.”
“License plate, Echo-Charlie-Foxtrot-One-Two-Eight-Seven.”
“That’s a positive ID, Bravo. Watch yourself.”
We wait anxiously for several minutes for further communication. “Team Leader, situation is clear. The van appears to have been dumped on the south end of the property. No heat signatures and winds have blown any possible tracks away from the vehicle. Over.”
“Update received. Continue scouting. Out.”
Turning to me, Eads begins, “Well, that just drastically increased the chances that she is here. Hopefully one of the…”
“Team Leader, this is Delta. I’ve got heat signatures moving in the unit. One hundred fifty yards north, northeast of your position. I count seven unique, all armed. Over.”
“Transmit your feed, Delta. Over.”
Eads presses a button and one of the screens comes to life in the van, showing exactly what Delta team member is seeing. Several men roaming inside one of the buildings all armed, just as he reported. He appears to be at the end of one of the smaller complexes I can just see from the front windshield of the van. He continues to scan slowly for us.
“Wait, what is that?” I point to the top corner of the screen where a larger heat signature is pulsing.
“Delta, scan up to the second floor and to your right. Over.” The display changes as he moves his head and he focuses in on what I saw on the screen. “Stop. Right there, Delta. Can you zoom in any? Over.”
The heat signature grows larger on the screen and then seems to separate into two, and then three different ones, all very close together.
Suddenly the feed shifts dramatically as Delta moves his head swiftly. “I’ve got movement on the ground, Team Leader. Another van just pulled up to the building.”
We watch from our stake-out location as the display shows us exactly what is unfolding. Two men exit the vehicle from the front and remove what appears to be another victim, presumably unconscious from the lack of fight or body movement, from the side sliding door. Delta follows them with his sight as they carry the body into the building, up a flight of stairs, and to the same room where the group of three heat signatures huddled together was spotted earlier. Depositing the body, the two men return to the ground floor where the others are moving about.
“Looks like were in the right place for sure, Zander.” Eads face is full of hope. Mine mirrors his. “Team,” Eads presses a master button on the electronic display inside the van, “pack it in and reconvene at Station One. Over and out.”
As we wait for everyone to return, Alex, who has been sitting quietly in the front seat, working on his iPad, slides the panel open. “Eads, with confirmation of the van, the obvious signs of hostages, facial recognition from the screen-cap image, and known intel for this being Sinalon ground, I say, along with confirmation from Langley, that we have enough reliable information to make a move. Do you agree?”
“I do. Once the team returns, we will formulate our strategy.”
As we wait, I watch impatiently through the front windshield. I can see in the distance where the van is parked, a silhouette in the light of the moon. Our team consists of Alex, Eads, and four other well trained FBI members, but that still puts them outnumbered. There’s no telling what kind of artillery these cartel members are armed with, but I can guarantee you it’s not going to be low end.
In the moonlit night, I see the red rear lights of the van come on. “Guys, the van is leaving.” The three of us watch as it pulls away and off the property.
That’s at least one less member to have to deal with. Good news for us.
A one, one-two knock on the back door of the surveillance van and the rest of the team quickly piles in. After everyone has their headgear off and a bottle of water, Eads begins. “We have the intel we need. Here’s the assignments…”
I can hear him giving out detailed information to each member of the team, but my mind is elsewhere. Thoughts about whether or not Rachel is indeed in that group of hostages.
Hold on, baby. We’re coming for you.
“Get some shut-eye, men. We breach at four A.M.”
“No, Zander. You have to stay here. You bring an unstable element to an already volatile situation. Let my men handle this. You know as well as I that they are well trained. I would trust any of them with my own life.” Eads holds his hands up at me at the back of the van as they all assemble.
I’m pissed as hell, but I know he’s right. I probably shouldn’t have been allowed to come at all, but after much deliberation between him and Alex, he gave way. “Fuck. Alright.”
The monitors are all set up for Alex and I to keep an eye on as the team makes their way to the building. Five of them, and at last count, there were at least seven Sinalon inside. The team splits off, and two of them approach from the back side as Eads and two others head to the front. With it being four in the morning, there is absolutely no motion inside whatsoever.
Scanning from screen to screen, I can see almost all the cartel members are asleep on the lower floor, and it seems there is one at the top of the stairwell on the second floor. Alex and I watch as the two FBI members enter from the rear and make their way through the long hallway leading to the forward, primary area. Eads and his men, cautiously enter from the front.
Suddenly and without warning, there is a bustling of activity inside as the sleeping Sinalon men rush to their feet and begin to scatter this way and that.
Alex depresses the master communication button, “Incursion team, you’ve been compromised!”
“This is Team Leader, weapons hot, I repeat weapons HOT! Team two, hit the stairwell. The hostages are your only concern.”
My stomach sinks as I watch the chaos unfold on the screens. Weapons fir
e can be seen and heard as men take up positions on both sides to defend themselves. The Sinalon that was at the top of the stairs has already made it to the bottom floor, and he and another have the hallway covered where Team two was approaching from. They’ve had to duck into a side room.
Eads and his team are slowly pushing forward, bottling the other cartel members backwards, two having already fallen. “Team two, what is your situation?”
“We’re pinned down, sir. There’s two of them at the base of the stairs. We’ve ducked into a side room, but have no way to push forward.” More automatic gun shots are heard from both ends.
“Stay there. We’re pushing forward. Over.”
“Understood, Team Leader.”
“Bravo, Delta, sweep right, I’ll go left. Force them back toward the stairwell!”
Carefully, the trained FBI team handles the situation, moving the cartel members back, bottling them down to where they are nearly on top of the other two who are holding Alpha and Charlie from moving. When Eads has them as close as he needs, he announces over the comm system, “Grenades incoming, get ready to make your move Team two.”
Suddenly the line goes deafeningly silent and the screens blank out white. Flash and concussion grenades knock out mine and Alex’s ability to know what is going on. I can’t stand by any longer. Grabbing a tactical sidearm from the rack, I yank down a flak vest and throw open the rear doors.
“Zander, get the fuck back in the van!” Alex yells at me.
“Fuck you, I can’t stand by and do nothing.” I race off at full speed and cover the one hundred and fifty yards in record time. Still along the side, but nearing the front, a window shatters and a Hispanic male comes rolling out, hitting the ground on his side, and then bolting to his feet.
I catch him off-guard as he regains his footing. Tackling him with both arms and a bull-rush, we are both propelled onto the ground. Fighting against me, he raises his head back swiftly, catching me in the forehead with the back of his. Dazing me, he manages to flip me off and scrambles back up again. I lost the gun when we both fell, so I do the only thing I can and sweep his feet with mine, sending him onto his back.
Leaping onto him, I grab him by the collar, lift his head off the ground and slam my fist into his face. “Where is Rachel you son-of-a-bitch?!” I spit out at him.
Pulling him back up, I smash my fist once again into his left cheek. “Where the fuck is she?! Where is my girl?!”
I never saw the knife until it was too late.
The sting of the serrated metal tearing through my left bicep sends waves of pain radiating through me as I roll off the man, barely missing his return swath with the blade at my neck. Getting quickly to my feet, I start back peddling as he swings his knife wielding hand wildly at me time and again. My mind races as it tries to assess the situation and make a determination as to what to do. Another flash bang goes off from inside the building, and my eye catches the glint of the gun. It’s behind him.
Making my decision, I throw myself forward, ducking down into a right side roll and pray I’ve calculated it right. Coming out of the roll, I reach my right hand out and grab ahold of the gun muzzle. Flipping it expertly in my hand, I turn to my back and pull the trigger as the assailant pivots on his heel, blade raised, ready to strike.
Loud cracks from the sidearm echo off the side of the building as I put two shots through his chest, sending him to the ground. Dead.
Thank you.
I hadn’t noticed, but all the gunshots and yelling from inside the building has ceased. Dropping the gun, I set myself upright and unclasp the vest. Pulling it over my head, I toss it to the ground and then remove the belt from my pants. Cinching it down on my arm above the laceration, I get to my feet and wait for some kind of sign.
The first thing I see is Alex racing up the expanse between me and the van. When he nears, I see the FBI team begin to exit out the front of the building with one member of the cartel in custody. I presume the rest are all dead.
“Zander,” Alex snaps me out of my daze, “are you alright?” He begins checking over my wound.
“Yeah, man. It’s just a flesh wound. I never even saw the knife.”
“I told you to stay in the damn van. It’s definitely more than a flesh wound, but nothing that twenty or thirty stitches won’t fix.” Alex slaps me on the back as he helps me to my feet.
Eads looks me over. “Well since you’re already here, you need to come with me. Team two is waiting on the second floor.”
Fourteen
Rachel
The four of us are still huddled together in the far back corner of the room, even after all the explosions and yelling and chaos has ended. We’re all shaking, scared to death, holding tightly to one another.
I can smell the smoke from the fire fight below us, but I can’t hear anything. Even after my hearing came back from the deafening concussion blasts, I haven’t heard any movement, any voices; nothing.
What happened? Was that our rescue? Did it fail? Is anyone left alive? Maybe we can get out now somehow.
My train of thought is broken when I finally hear an announcement from beyond the door.
“This is the FBI. We’re coming in. Stand back from the door.”
Oh my God! Thank you!
There are two loud thumps against the door and then it’s broken off its hinges, left hanging from a set of chains and locks.
Two men step into the room in full gear, FBI emblazoned across the front of their vests.
“Thank you.” I say meekly, most of the strength gone from my body from the fear of the past half hour or so. “How did you…”
My sentence is cut short when I suddenly hear another, familiar but shaky male voice from the hallway, “Rachel, are you in there?”
Zander comes into the doorframe, cradling his left arm that is wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet.
As tears burn down my cheeks in rivers, I push myself up from the bed and try to stand. My legs are so weak and wobbly, that upon my first step I tumble and begin to fall.
I never hit the ground though.
Zander is there and catches me with his right arm, hoisting my frail self back up and against him. Carefully, he lowers the two of us to the bed as other FBI team members come into the room and begin attending to Samantha, Alyson, and the newest girl.
Curling up into Zander’s lap, I lay my head against his chest and listen to the sound of his heartbeat as he strokes his right hand through my hair. “I thought I’d never see you again, Zander. I was so scared.” I can barely speak through the sobs, but as my fear evaporates, it’s replaced with a feeling of contentment as Zander holds me against his warm, firm body.
When I look up, wondering why he hasn’t said a word to me, my heart shatters. My beautiful, perfect man is broken.
Tears are streaming down his face as he stares at the ceiling, mouthing something over and over again.
“Zander?” I whisper.
“Zander.” I say again more forcefully, taking his face between my hands. “Look at me.” I use my thin fingers to wipe the tears from his cheeks as he slowly lowers his face to mine. I reposition myself so that I’m straddling his body, my legs wrapped around his hips on the bed.
“Baby, you’ve got to talk to me. Say something.” He looks so tired, like he hasn’t slept in days. His beard is unkempt and even though I am sitting here in his lap, he feels like he’s a million miles away.
Finally, after several seconds of staring into one another’s eyes, he whispers under his breath, “I failed you, Rachel. I wasn’t there to protect you, to keep you safe when you needed me the most. What kind of man does that make me?”
The shattered pieces of my heart crumble even more as I begin to cry again, with him.
Taking a deep breath, I say what I absolutely must, “Zander, you saved me. Against all odds, using everything you had at your disposal, you saved me. You didn’t let anything stand in your way. That makes you the strongest, most incredible man I’ve ever kn
own.”
Never hold back. Tell him Rachel. It’s okay.
“I love you, Zander. I’ve loved you for months, I’ve just been too afraid to say it. To even admit it to myself, but I do.”
I search his face with my eyes, looking for a spark, something to tell me that he’s there, under all the pain and guilt, that my Zander is still in there. When his eyes finally meet mine again, he slowly draws his right hand up, cupping my chin between his fingers and thumb, pulling my lips to within a breath of his and whispers, “I love you too, Rachel. More than you will ever know, and more than I can ever express.”
Passionately, he takes my mouth, his lips desperately seeking mine in return. My fingers tangle into his messy hair as I feel the love from Zander pour out through his actions. His strong hand pulls my body firmly against his as our tongues dance in my mouth. I’ve never been kissed like this in my life. The feeling of him needing me to reciprocate each movement of his, to dance in unison as one, is utterly mind blowing.
There is nothing erotic or sexually provocative about this moment. This is love. This is what I’ve waited for.
And now that I’ve found it, I’m never letting go.
When we finally draw back for air, I lay my head on his shoulder, legs still wrapped around his waist as he stands. Walking out of the building where I was held captive, the moonlight shining down on him, I whisper into his ear, “You saved me Zander. I will never stop loving you.”
ZANDER
Hearing this admission from Rachel warms my heart, but still doesn’t diminish my feelings of being inadequate in her most dire moment of need. Yes, she is now safe in my arms once again, but the near week in captivity has taken both a severe mental and physical toll on her body.
She has lost several pounds already and her skin is thin and dry to the touch. Feeling her shiver in my arms from the breeze only serves to emphasize this knowledge. She’s not well, and I need to get her to medical care as soon as possible, but not in this shit-hole. We’re heading back to California this morning, come hell or high water.
