by David Archer
Another dead line. “That guy says goodbye like a cat!”
Rice's eyebrows went up. “Like a cat?”
“Yeah, he just sticks his tail up into the air and leaves! Just hangs up without even saying goodbye, it's annoying! By the way, he says you're not in any trouble, and you'll be rewarded for the fact you kept the package safe the best you could in this mess. I'm supposed to drop you off with some people who will see that you’re safe, and then I have to go meet him.”
Rice looked over at Sam, and his face fell. “Aw, man, I'm sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry for what?”
“I told you, man, if you find out who they are, they kill you. I think he wants to meet you so he can look you in the eye before you die!”
8
It was nearing ten o'clock at night, and Indie was sitting in the living room with Kenzie when the car pulled up into the driveway. She went to the door to see who it was, and an elderly man she didn't know came walking up the steps onto the porch.
“Is Mr. Prichard here?” he asked when she opened the door.
“No, I'm afraid not,” she said, and then she saw the pistol come out from behind his back and point at her face.
“Well, that's good,” the old man said, “because then I'd lose the element of surprise. Let's step inside, shall we?”
Indie moved backwards, and the old man followed, his gun still up close to her face. Kenzie looked up from the TV and saw the old man, but she didn't realize what was happening. “Hi,” she said.
The old man instantly smiled at Kenzie, while whispering to Indie, “I have no desire to hurt you or your daughter, my dear girl. I need to speak with Mr. Prichard, so I want you to get him on the telephone.”
She swallowed, and started to refuse, but then the old man did something that startled her, she stared at him for a moment. She took out her phone and punched the icon that would dial Sam's number.
He answered on the second ring. “Well, hey, good lookin',” he said.
“Sam, there's someone here who wants to talk to you,” Indie said slowly, and then held the phone out to the old man. He took it and said, “Hello, Mr. Prichard. I think we have some business to discuss. And since I have something that you value, and you have something that I value, I think we should be able to come to some equitable terms, don't you?”
In the Corvette, Sam heard the southern accent and knew that this was the voice of the man who had set this whole thing in motion. He motioned for Rice to be quiet, who nodded in understanding.
“I'm listening,” Sam said. “What do you have in mind?”
“It's very simple,” the man said. “I want the material that you recovered from Mr. Rice. In return, I will give you the lives of these two young ladies I found in your home. This is a one-time offer, Mr. Prichard, so don't take too long to think it over.”
Sam thought fast. “Look, I'm wishing I'd never even heard of this stuff, so I'm more than willing to give it up! How do you want to make the swap? Just say when, where and how, and I'm in. Those girls are a lot more important to me than this crap is.”
The old man chuckled. “Oh, I'm so glad you feel that way! I thought you would, but then again, you just never know about people, nowadays. How far out are you, would you say?”
Sam knew he was only about a half hour out of town, but he wasn't going to give that away. “I'm a good two hours away, but I'm moving steadily that direction.”
“Alright then, that'll give us time to get this set up. I'll call you again in about an hour, and tell you where we'll meet. Don't get any crazy ideas, now, I'd hate to have to ruin their hairstyles, but I will if you force me to. One hour, don't forget to answer!”
The line went dead, and Sam instantly called Ingersoll.
“Yes, Mr. Prichard, I assume you're getting close?”
“I'm about a half hour out, but that isn't why I'm calling, Your rogue man was just at my house, and holding my girls hostage. He wants this stuff as bad as ever, I'm guessing, and says he wants me to meet with him to trade.”
Ingersoll was quiet for a long moment. “Mr. Prichard, I am truly sorry that you got involved in this. If he's got them, then I'm sure you have already figured out that he has no intention of letting them or you live, not after any of you have seen his face. That leaves us to decide how to handle the situation, for I do not want their deaths on my conscience any more than you want them on yours.”
“I'm listening,” Sam said, “but we better come up with something fast. I bought a little time by telling him I was two hours out. He's gonna call me back in an hour and tell me where to meet up.”
Ingersoll sighed. “Well, that gives us a small advantage. I was under the impression that he was gone today, out of town, and I assumed he'd gone with those he sent to follow you. I was obviously wrong, and this means that I've underestimated him twice now. Let me think for a moment.”
“What is it about this stuff that makes him want it so bad? Is it some kind of super-concentrated heroin, or something? Rice said he was told that just smelling it would kill him; is it really that potent?”
Ingersoll didn't answer for a moment, but then Sam heard him sigh. “Can Rice hear me?”
“No, just me.”
“Good. Mr. Prichard, things are not always as they seem. The product you are carrying is not a drug at all, but a very potent chemical weapon, one that could kill thousands just by spilling it out into the air. It was smuggled into this country by agents of ISIS, through networks that normally transport drugs. The person Rice was taking it to is actually an undercover operative of the US Government who was to take it further to a research lab, to have it reverse engineered for the development of an antitoxin. I can't give you more details than that, but you should be able to figure out who is really behind my operation.”
Sam felt his mind begin to reel, and forced himself to keep calm. Holy Crap, I've gotten mixed up with some crazy CIA thing! He shook his head.
“What about the guy who's got Indie and the baby? Will he be alone?” Sam asked. “If he is, I can probably take him.”
Ingersoll chuckled. “Mr. Prichard, the man you’re dealing with was once one of America's most elite soldiers, a navy SEAL, and has spent an amazing amount of time in the employ of the CIA. He's in his sixties now, but as old as he is, I assure you that you could not take him. In fact, I sincerely doubt that any fewer than a half dozen men would be able to take him down, unless they were themselves so highly trained. This is not a man to toy with. Let me make some calls, and I will get back to you in a few minutes.”
Sam slammed the phone down into his lap. “Now, look at this crap!” he yelled. “I go out on a limb for you, and now I've got two people I care about who could end up dead!”
Rice looked over at him. “Is it the southern guy?”
Sam nodded. “He's got my—my girlfriend and her daughter,” he said, using the official version to save time. “He wants your package or he'll kill them, he says.”
Rice slumped down further in his seat. “Man, I'm sorry. I made a real mess of all this, didn't I?”
Sam shook his head. “I don't know who to blame, Rice, all I know is that those girls mean a lot more to me than you or that damned bottle.”
They were on I-70, less than twenty minutes from his house, but the chance that he'd be able to get there and actually save the girls was not good enough for him to risk trying it. As much as he hated the thought of working with an organization like the Company, he didn't see any other way to come out of this with everyone in one piece. He only hoped Ingersoll was not as inept as he seemed where this guy was concerned.
The phone rang and he snatched it up, checking the caller ID to be sure he was answering Ingersoll.
“Go,” he said, and Ingersoll began speaking.
“I've asked some specialists to come on board for this operation, Mr. Prichard. I've had your phone tapped, so that when he tells you where to meet, we'll know it as soon as you do. That will allow me to get some people o
n site quickly, and some of them will have the sole duty of seeing to it that those hostages are not harmed. These are professionals of the highest quality, and will do whatever it takes to accomplish their mission goals. While they are getting into position, however, you will need to go in and do your best to keep him convinced that you are working alone. Do not, I repeat, do not give him the product at any time, for the moment it is in his hands, he has no further use for you or the hostages. If you try to bluff him, he will know it and will kill you. If you try to barter with him, he will lie to you. If by some miracle you get a chance to kill this man, Mr. Prichard, do not hesitate for even a split second, for that is all the time he would need to turn the tables on you, and then you will be the one who will die.” He seemed to take a breath, and then went on. “There is hope, Mr. Prichard, but I cannot say there is a lot of hope. The men I've contracted for will do all they can to take him out. If they succeed, be careful, for he may not be working alone. Watch for someone else who may appear and try to get the product, and don't hesitate to shoot if you are sure you have a target! As soon as this is over, call me.”
Once again, the line went dead, but this time Sam was ready for it. The line had to stay clear for the old southerner's call, and Sam could only hope that whoever Ingersoll had brought in would be capable of doing the job.
Because he had given the old man a false timetable, Sam decided to keep moving in circles near the middle of the city. That would enable him to get to any meeting place quickly, possibly giving him some advantage. With two innocent lives on the line, Sam was going after any advantage he could get.
The phone rang almost exactly an hour after Sam had last spoken to the southerner, and he answered, praying the old man could not tell the line was tapped.
“I'm here,” he said.
“And so am I,” said the southerner. “I've been thinking about where to meet up, and I think that we should go to the warehouse. I think you know the one I'm referring to, don't you? The one you visited the other day, before you called Eugene?”
“I know where it is, yes. How do you want to make this trade?”
“I think the simplest way would be inside, don't you? I'll have the loading doors open, and you can drive right on in. When you get inside, you will simply step out of your car, walk twenty paces straight ahead and set the product on the floor, carefully. The lights will go out for a few seconds, and when they come back on, the product and I will be gone, and you will find these two lovely young ladies waiting safely in one of the offices.”
“If the lights go out, how do I know they and I won't end up dead? I've got a better idea. I'll go to the warehouse and pull inside. I'll get out, and have the bottle with me, and you send the girls out to me. They get into my car, and then I'll set the bottle down and back out of the building and drive away. When we're gone, you can take that bottle and shove it up your ass, for all I care!”
The line was quiet for a moment. “Mr. Prichard, do you think I've come to the position I'm in by letting people like you dictate to me? If you want these girls to die, then go ahead and try to push me again. I can always track you down and get the bottle after I've disposed of their bodies. Now, once again, we shall do this my way.”
Sam shook his head, praying he was doing the right thing. “Nope. For all I know, the girls may be dead already, and you're luring me into a trap. If I don't get the girls, then you'll never get this bottle, because I'll personally destroy it. The only chance you've got to get your hands on it is to do this the way I want.”
Indie's voice came on the line. “Sam? Kenzie's asleep on my lap, and he's got a gun pointed at her head right now. Oh, and I fed your stupid dog, Herman! Sam, get me out of this, please?”
Sam made a face. His dog? Herman was the computer program—holy cow, she was saying that there was something on the computer that might help! He spun the wheel and raced toward his house as the southerner came back on the line.
“As you can see, they are alive for now. Test me again, and they won't be. What I will do is this: when you arrive at the warehouse, I will have them in plain sight. You can set the bottle down and walk over to them, I'll leave the lights on until you get there. The lights will go out then, and you will wait one minute, then you may take them and leave, and our business will be concluded.”
The line went dead, and the phone rang again less than twenty seconds later.
“You did very well, Mr. Prichard. He expected you to try to manipulate him, and you played it just right. I've got people moving in on the warehouse right now, and it appears that he is not there yet. If possible, they will take him down before you arrive, but I've given orders to only do so if they can keep the hostages safe.”
“Okay, and I'm on something, too. The girl said she fed my dog, but I don’t have a dog. That was a code telling me to look at her computer, and that's where I'm going now.”
Sam slid to a stop in his own driveway, and hobbled as fast as he could inside the house, with Rice following him. He went to the dining table and opened Indie's laptop. The screen lit up, but at first, all Sam saw was a map of the area. He stared for a moment, and then realized that there was a moving dot, and it had Indie's cell phone number on it.
“Good girl!” he said, and then remembered the phone. “She set her computer to trace her own cell phone, somehow, and that's what he's using to call me. Right now, they're at the corner of Washington and 78th Street in Welby! What the heck is he doing? That's nowhere near the warehouse...”
“The warehouse,” Ingersoll said, “is obviously a trap. He's got someone waiting there, I'm sure, to kill you and take the product. He's probably taking the hostage somewhere else to dispose of them, and the only place out that way he could possibly be planning to use would be the recycling center out in Northglenn. I'm diverting forces there now, and they should get there before he does.”
Sam looked at the computer. “Okay, I'm going there now. I've got Rice here with me, and I'm parking him on this computer to keep me advised of any changes in their direction. I'll call you back when I know more.” This time it was Sam who hung up without a goodbye.
He grabbed Rice and pointed at the computer's screen. “Here's where you get to pay for the mess you made. See that moving dot? You watch that thing, and if it makes any turns at all, you call me at this number.” He scribbled his cell number on a piece of paper and shoved it at Rice. “Now, give me that damned bottle!”
Rice handed it over and Sam shoved it into a pocket, then took off out the door, hopping on his good leg and bouncing on the bad one, to make a clumsy sort of running motion. He was back in the Vette and rolling within seconds, heading towards Northglenn at high speed.
He punched the recycling center into his phone's GPS, pushed the big 427 for all it had, and made it to US 87 in only a minute and a half. The traffic at nearly midnight wasn't heavy, and what there was didn't slow him down, but he had a few near misses when he flew through red lights and stop signs. He was in a race against Death, and he didn't plan to lose.
He passed the 84th Avenue exit and suddenly saw police lights come on behind him, but he didn't have time to worry about a speeding ticket. The squad car couldn't even come close to catching the Vette, so he cut off onto Thornton Parkway and took it over to Washington, then turned north again. The police car had kept going on the highway overpass, and Sam remained focused on getting to where he was going. The GPS recalculated after his detour, but he was still only minutes away.
His phone rang, and he answered. “Go!”
“That dot stopped,” Rice said. “It's at the corner of Washington and 112th Avenue. It's been there for about half a minute, so I thought I should call.”
“Good job,” Sam said. “Call me back if it moves again.” That was not the location of the recycling center, but it was close. At the speed he was moving, Sam would be there in less than two minutes.
Two minutes can be a lifetime when someone you care about is in danger. Sam shoved the accelerator down
as hard as he could, making the old Corvette move even faster as he dialed Ingersoll.
“He's at Washington and 112th in Northglenn,” Sam said as soon as he got an answer. “I'm almost there now. Give me something, what can I do to get through this and save those girls?”
“I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Prichard. I've got a team on the way there, but they'll be at least five minutes more. If you can find any way to stall, take it! My team will be there as soon as they can, and they will do all they can to take him down.”
“I'll do what I can,” Sam said, and cut the call. He saw a sign indicating that the next light was 112th, and began slowing, downshifting to let the engine drag the vehicle's speed lower. At the light, he was down to only forty miles per hour, and managed to turn into a parking lot for a small electronics store. He stopped and let the car idle for a moment, trying to figure out where to go next.
On three sides, the intersection was surrounded by residential areas. Only one corner had some commercial buildings, like the one he was parked at. Further up the street was a small strip mall, but there were almost no cars in sight. There was no sign of the southerner or of Indie and Kenzie.
His phone rang, and he snatched it out of his lap. It was Indie's number, and the southerner's voice came on instantly.
“Are you confused yet, Mr. Prichard? I see you understood the young lady's message, and found the computer tracing us. Obviously I wanted to get you alone, but I needed to separate you from my former associate, Eugene. Miss Perkins and her daughter are safe and here with me, and as soon as you are ready, we can all meet and get this unpleasant business over with.”
“Where are they?” Sam asked, looking around frantically. It was apparent that the southerner knew he was there, and had even wanted him there, but he didn't understand how Indie was involved.
A car across the lot flashed its lights, and Sam eased his clutch out to roll toward it. As he got closer, a door opened and Indie stepped out. Sam sped up and slid to a stop in front of her, then jumped out. His hop-skipping run covered the short space between them as the old man behind the wheel got out of the car and came around to him, dodging a small newspaper delivery van that almost ran him over.
