by Noel Nash
“The girl’s inside but we don’t know how many kidnappers there are,” a man in tactical gear said. He gestured with his gun toward the home. “Any ideas on how you want to handle this?”
“Yeah. I’m goin’in alone.”
“That’s crazy, man. You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will. Just cover me when I bring her out.”
Uncle Seth walked back over to the car, opened his door and grabbed his pistol hidden beneath his seat. “Sit tight, Luke. This won’t take long.”
He was right. It didn’t take more than five minutes before Uncle Seth barreled around the back of the house carrying a young girl.
“The hostage is clear. Two armed men. Go get ‘em!” he shouted.
In a matter of seconds, the girl was sitting in the backseat of the car. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed.
“I … want … my …. mommy,” she stammered between heaves.
An hour later, Luke watched Uncle Seth place the little girl in a frantic mother’s arms at a nearby police precinct. He didn’t wait for any hugs or thank you’s as he turned and strode back toward the car.
“Who was that, Uncle Seth? Why did that happen? Is she going to be okay?” Luke asked, unwilling to wait for an answer before inquiring again.
“She’s going to be fine,” he said.
“You’re not going to tell me anything about her or what happened back there?”
“A little girl was kidnapped. I saved her. End of story.”
“But—”
“End of story, big guy. Just remember if anyone ever takes you, I’ll be coming after you too. Use your head and stay alive. It’ll only be a matter of time before I show up.”
I’ll be coming after you too.
The memory quelled some of Luke’s fears, but it didn’t provide him with a guarantee.
Use your head and stay alive.
That’s what he needed to focus on now. Thewhyand thewhowasn’t as important as thewhere. He used the side of the trunk for the necessary leverage to peel the blindfold off his eyes. A few pinholes provided just enough light for him to look around the trunk. A piece of crumpled up paper, a grease-stained receipt and a half-empty pack of cigarettes. He contorted his body around in the tight space in order to position his hands to snag the items. One by one, he jammed them into his back pocket.
It’ll only be a matter of time.
Luke was counting on his uncle to keep his word.
The car slowed down and veered right, tossing Luke to the other side of the trunk. It sped up again and continued as a consistent speed for several minutes before slowing down again. The grinding of dirt and gravel replaced the hum of the tires on the highway. Luke then lurched forward as the car came to a halt. He worked to jam the blindfold back over his face. He didn’t want his kidnappers to think he was anything more than a scared kid. It wouldn’t require much acting on his part.
He heard voices outside the trunk.
“You sure nobody can see us?” asked one of the men.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere. Who’s gonna see us out here?” said another man.
Luke swallowed hard and strained to hear the rest of the conversation. But he couldn’t make out anything. They must be whispering.
Moments later he heard a key inserted into the trunk. Click.Creeeek. The trunk flew open and gave Luke his first blast of fresh air in several hours.
One of the men grabbed Luke and yanked him out of the trunk.
“You ready kid?”
CHAPTER 6
GREG ZELLERS SIGHED and donned a U.S. Postal Service uniform. He’d once gone undercover as a Muslim cleric. His disguise and accent were flawless. Instead of being rewarded for his exceptional skills, Zellers viewed his designation as the primary masquerader as a punishment.
“You look great, Zellers,”Jones said.“As my friends in Venezuela might say,muy guapo.”
Zellers shot him a look. “First of all,youhavefriends? Secondly, even I know basic Spanish.”
“I didn’t think that was a term you would’ve heard all that often,” Jones fired back. “Perhaps only when you’re pretending to be someone else—”
Zellers bowed up like he was going to punch Jones.
“Simmer down, Zellers,” Matthews said. “We’ve got a job to do. Besides, we all know you’ve never been calledguapoby the ladies.”
Jones chuckled, which earned him a disapproving glance from Matthews.
“Everything is in place,”Shepherd said.“Are you ready to move, Zellers?”
He nodded and exited the truck.
“Sell it hard,” Matthews said. “We can’t afford to put Luke or the senator at risk.”
Zellers emerged from the team’s van parked just beyond the view of Senator Daniels’house. He adjusted the strap to his mail carrier and began his ruse. A few hours earlier, he’d arranged to deliver the mail for the regular mail carrier during his afternoon route through the senator’s neighborhood.
The regular postman gaped at Zellers once he approached the official mail truck. “You look like—”
“You?” Zeller said.
“How’d you do that?” he asked as he stared at an exact duplicate of his name tag: Eric Bowman.
“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you, Eric.”
The postal worker stared at Zellers and didn’t say a word for a few moments. He finally mustered a weak response. “Seriously?”
“I don’t joke about such things.” Zellers traded bags with the postman and began to walk the route.
Through clenched teeth, Zellers asked, “Can you read me, Shepherd?”
“Roger that,”Shepherd said.
“Let’s do this.”
Zellers loathed disguise work. Any monkey could do what he was doing. But Zellers was good — too good. He once gained access to Jack Nicholson’s court-side seat for a Laker’s game while on a reconnaissance operation. That performance solidified himself as the resident expert in disguises. No one dared ask Matthews to don a disguise after that, while Zellers quickly learned to refrain from begging out of such tasks. He owned it whether he liked it or not.
Shepherd fed him intel as he meandered up the hill near Senator Daniels’house. He advised Zellers on what to look for and what might be out of place. “You don’t look like an Eric,” Shepherd finally said.
“Will you knock it off? I’m supposed to be delivering the mail, not serving as a stunt double.”
“I’m not so sure about that,”Shepherd said.
Zellers stopped.“What are you talking about?”
“Look at that car up there.”
Zellers scanned the street. “The black SUV?”
“Yep, that’s the one. It’s not normally here at this time of day.”
“So, what’s it doing here now?”
“Just keep walking and don’t draw attention to yourself.”
Zellers complied with Shepherd’s request, eyeing the vehicle through his sunglasses.
“How are you feeling out there?” Matthews said.
“Vulnerable. Scared. Nervous.”
“Seriously?” Shepherd asked. “I thought I was the only one who—”
“Bag it, Shepherd. I’m not in the mood. Besides, I’ve got mail to deliver.”
Zellers moved methodically from house to house, inserting the mail in each proper box. He watched for any sudden movements out of the black SUV. Nothing.
He moved to the’senator’s mailbox. The red flag was up as planned. Zellers also tripped just before he reached the house — as planned. His bag tumbled onto the ground. Click. Click. Click. Zellers collected a few errant junk mail flyers and stood upright. He dusted himself off and looked around.
“Zellers, you’re a pro.” Matthews’voice came through loud and clear in his earpiece. “Just another clumsy mailman looking around to see if anyone saw you”
Zellers snarled and continued down the street toward the next house. Several houses later down the street he walked righ
t by the suspicious vehicle, slowing down and moving his bag from one shoulder to the other as he passed it. Click. Click. Click.
Out of earshot of the car, Zellers rubbed his nose and spoke into his com link. “Tell me you got something, Shepherd.”
“Hustle back, Zellers” Matthews said. “We’ll brief you as soon as you get back in the truck.”
Inside the truck, Shepherd rhythmically tapped on his keyboard as if he was playing Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1.“Working on it,” he blurted between a flurry of key strokes. “There”he said as he pounded the final key. Images began to populate the screens in front of the team shoehorned into the truck.
Zellers quickened his pace and dipped below a rise and out of view from the black SUV. Awaiting him on the other side was the real Eric Bowman. With nothing more than a “thanks”Zellers handed the bag back to the mailman and darted down a side street until he was able to circle back around to meet up with the team.
“’What’d you find?”Zellers said as he climbed into the truck.
“That you better not quit your day job to become a postman”Jones quipped.
“Save it, gringo”Zellers snapped.
“Shepherd is working on the plates of that SUV right now” Matthews said. “But the biggest news so far is the discovery — or lack thereof — regarding Luke’s bike.’It’s nowhere to be found, which means he had to be taken somewhere between the house and the school.”
“So,’what’s next”Zellers asked.
“Let’s split up,” Matthews said. “Hammond, Zellers — you two start at the school. Jones and I’ll start at the house, while, Shepherd, you stay with us but monitor everything. We’ll all meet in the middle later. Daniels said he’d been getting threatening letters for a while now and they seem to be coming from an investment group that opposes his vote on a new bill. I want everything you can get on these guys, Shepherd. Phone taps, bank records, the works. Check out their wives and girlfriends. Heck, check out their dry cleaners and who mows their lawns. We need to find out as much as we can if we’re going to get Luke back safely. They’ve already got a six-hour head start on us, so let’s move, people!”
CHAPTER 7
LUKE DANIELS FELT the car lurch to a stop. When the trunk swung open, he struggled to shield his eyes from the blast of light. He retreated deep into the trunk before two strong hands took hold of each side of his shirt and yanked him into the fresh air. A man removed the gag from his mouth.
“What’s goin’on? Why are you doing this?” Luke asked as he squinted.
“Keep your mouth shut,” one of the men snarled.
As his eyes began to adjust, Luke thought it might be good advice. Three men wearing masks surrounded him, all of them pointing their guns at him. Then the largest man among the trio strode toward Luke before pushing him to the ground.
The man knelt down beside Luke and grabbed a tuft of his golden locks. “You do what we say. You understand?” He didn’t wait for Luke to respond before continuing. “If you play along, you might get out of here alive. But try anything cute and we won’t hesitate to put a bullet in the back of your head and send you back to your daddy in a body bag. Is that clear?”
Luke nodded and stared at the ground. His head bounced as the man released his hair. The man returned to his fellow assailants and discussed something quietly.
This is crazy! Calm down, Luke. You can do this.
Luke glanced at his watch: 1:30 p.m. That meant he’d been in the car for six hours. Doing quick math, he figured they couldn’t be any further than 400 miles from home — and even that would be a stretch. These guys certainly wouldn’t want to get pulled over for speeding. And they made two stops that had to last about ten minutes each.
While the men talked, Luke glanced westward. They appeared to be about a half-mile off the main road, far enough away that motorists speeding by would be unable to see the details of the situation. All he could see was a towering sign that skied above all the vegetation: Springfield Truck Stop. Springfield, Illinois. Luke had seen this place before on a trip with his father. He was stumping for a friend whose campaign was sinking fast. It didn’t make any difference to the election, but Luke remembered it because it got him out of school for two days.
After a few moments, the hulking man lumbered toward Luke.
“We’re going to get some supplies at that gas station,” he said. “Don’t make a move or I’ll have to kill everyone there.”
Luke nodded. As fearful as he was for his own life, the last thing he wanted was to be responsible for the death of others. He could be cool, if only for a few moments.
They all loaded into the car and tore off down the road toward the truck stop.
When the car came to a stop, Luke waited for a few moments until the trunk popped open. One of the men — now unmasked — told Luke to keep his head down and go to the bathroom. “We’ll be watching,” he said. The man cut Luke free, ripping through the ropes that bound his hands and feet.
Cramping, Luke struggled to gain his balance. He’d been shut up tight in the trunk for nearly half a day and his muscles weren’t so easily manipulated. One of the men picked him up and slung him into the car. Luke felt his head slam into the inside portion of the car door, causing an even greater headache.
“Walk like you’ve done it before,” one of the men barked.
Luke clambered to his feet and headed toward the restroom. He stumbled as he walked past the counter and snatched a receipt left behind by a disinterested customer. Crumpling the paper in his hand, he avoided even the slightest glance from the clerk or his captor. It took him a few moments to shake the bound feeling he had. He still felt bound, but it didn’t stay that way for long.
Once inside the restroom, Luke headed straight for the first stall. He entered it and sat down. It was the first moment he’d had to relax in the past several hours.
What to do — what do do.
Luke stared at the stall wall.Oh well. Here it goes.He began scribbling on the wall with his new prized possession.
Due east. Three men. One shorter and white. Two big guys — brothers. Both black. One always playing with a knife. Help.
He folded up the paper tightly and rammed it into a small slot in the cinder block wall. Then he drew a large arrow pointing toward it.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he hiked up his pants, zipped them up and flushed the toilet. He shuffled toward the sink and washed his hands.
“Everything come out all right?” one of the guards quipped. He was unmasked but Luke refused to look directly at him. Side glances would suffice for now. He said a little prayer and hoped they didn’t inspect the stall for new markings on the wall. His prayer was answered.
“Let’s go,” one of the captors barked, cutting short Luke’s hand-washing session.
Without any resistance, Luke walked toward him with his head down. He looked around the convenience store, hoping to catch a glimpse off a reflective surface of his two men. The more information he could offer his uncle, the better. That is, if his uncle could findthisplace.
Give him something else.
Luke’s mind whirred as he tried to remember everything he’d been taught by his uncle. It was precisely this kind of situation that they practiced for — but this time was different. This time it was real.
Before Luke could take another step, he remembered:Smile for the camera.
Luke let his eyes do the work while his head remained in a downward posture.The key to outwitting your captor is not letting them know you’re doing it.A tidal rush of information flooded his mind. If only he could figure out a way to follow all of these rules.
His eyes darted back and forth, searching for a camera out of the corner of his eye.Bingo!But finding a camera was never going to be a problem — smiling for it was. Luke put his snack and drink on the counter. He heard one of the guys mutter the name “Longshore”, to which the white guy responded — though it was with a scowl before shooting a look Luke’s way. They w
eren’t saying anything but Luke understood:Don’t say my name in front of the kid.
Luke pretended to read the nutrition information on the back of the bag of chips and Mountain Dew bottle in his hand. Then the gang threw their items on the counter. Luke followed suit.
“Is that all for you, guys?” the clerk asked.
Act like a normal teenager. Luke glanced up and nodded before returning his gaze to his feet. No adult would suspect anything about a kid who would barely make eye contact.Just stay calm and wait.
Once Longshore paid, everybody snatched their snacks and drinks off the counter and turned toward the door. Longshore first, then shorty, then Luke followed by the other guy behind him. He was running out of time.
Think, Luke. Think.
After the other two men exited the door, Luke dropped his bag of chips on the ground. The guy behind him stopped.
“Come on, man,” he said as he stopped down to pick up the bag for Luke.
It was the second and a half Luke needed to smile at the camera without them knowing it.
“Sorry,” Luke said as the man shoved the chips back into his arms.
The man nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”
As they continued the slow march toward their vehicle, Luke began flexing his hand.
It caught the attention of his trailing captor. “You all right, kid?”
“Yeah. Carpal tunnel syndrome’s acting up. Too many first-person shooter games.”
“Don’t confuse video games with reality, kid. It don’t always work out in real life.”
Luke nodded and continued to stretch his fingers.
“Get in the car. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”
CHAPTER 8
“WE NEED TO SPLIT UP if we’re going to have a chance of tracking these guys,” Matthews said.
They roared down the road until they reached a parking lot where they’d left one of their vehicles.
“Jones and Shepherd, you’re with me,” Matthews said. “Hammond, Zellers — you two see if you can get a scent. They’ve already got a good head start on us. Let’s move.”
Zellers and Hammond jumped out of the vehicle and scampered into the black Ford Escape awaiting them. Its tinted windows gave them the cover they needed in most surveillance missions, though it didn’t matter at the moment. Finding Luke’s abduction point was essential to tracking him. Without it, they’d be groping in the dark and putting their fate in blind luck. It was something they knew Matthews wasn’t willing to risk, in this case or any other.
