Sweet Dreams

by Aaron Patterson

  Kirk butted in, knowing his boss would drown him in questions if he let him continue. “I’m okay, but I need some help. I was kidnapped—but I escaped. Now, I’m stuck in a little town somewhere in the Middle East.” He braced himself for the barrage.

  “What!? Who took you? You’d better tell me what’s going on. Weston, I mean it!”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll tell you everything. Just get me home.”

  “All right. I’ll make arrangements, but you need to get to an airport. And fast. There’s some kind of wacky crap going down over there. Call me when you get to an airport, and I’ll get you home.” Kirk thanked him and hung up the phone.

  Geoff was sitting on the hood of the Jeep munching on a Power Bar. He pulled another one from his pocket and handed it to Kirk.

  “Hey, thanks. Been awhile since I ate something besides MREs.” At least that’s what he’d imagined was the source of his tasteless food while imprisoned. “And thanks for letting me use your phone.” He handed it back to Geoff.

  “No worries. The magazine pays for it. So–you got a hold of your friend?”

  “Yeah. Now, I’ve got to get to an airport. You know where the closest one is?”

  “Sure. About a hundred miles that way.” He pointed off to the east with his Power Bar still in his hand.

  “One hundred miles!” Kirk cursed and kicked the nearest tire on the Jeep.

  “Tell you what. I’m just about finished with the photos I need from this region. I’ll drive you, on one condition.”

  Kirk cocked his head. “What’s that?”

  A wide grin spread across Geoff’s face. “You let me buy you some clothes and shoes, and maybe a shave and a drink.”

  Kirk managed a smile and took the generous man’s outstretched hand, shaking it with all the strength he could muster. “Thanks a bunch, man. You have no idea.” He hadn’t met a decent person in so long, he didn’t know how to respond other than to say thanks.

  * * *

  MARK RUSHED INTO HIS apartment without even closing the front door behind him. Throwing his car keys on the coffee table, he pushed the DVD into the player. The television screen flashed to life.

  He held his breath. He didn’t know what he expected to see on the video, but he had to see it. As the DVD started to play, the screen morphed from blue to black, fuzzed a little, then cleared up.

  Suddenly, the screen split up into four boxes, each showing a different part of a store. It was the Super Mart, all right. He could see the sign on the wall behind the meat racks on the screen in the upper, left-hand corner. His heart, which was already racing, pounded faster. He looked at the date and time on the bottom of the screen. Nine a.m.

  Three hours before the explosion. He watched with feverish anticipation, though fearing what he might see.

  One of the views was of the front door of the store. Another showed an aisle, another, a stockroom filled with shrink-wrapped pallets stacked on floor-to-ceiling racks. The views rotated as the camera turned a hundred and eighty degrees and back again.

  He sat on the edge of the coffee table. What was he supposed to see? He leaned closer to stare at the screen. He saw people walking around, doing their shopping. As far as he could tell, everything looked normal.

  “Wait. What’s this?” He paused the DVD and all four screens froze. Up in the right-hand display, he saw someone who looked familiar. Where had he seen that kid before? Then he remembered. It was the man he saw running out of the store just before the building exploded.

  He hit the play button and watched the guy wander around the store. He looked left and right as if he was nervous or distracted. The kid looked to be in his late teens, or maybe twenty, with dark brown hair and thick eyebrows. Mark fixated on the kid, who seemed to be looking for something. One by one, he picked up boxes of cereal, jugs of laundry soap and cans of chili as if he expected to find hidden treasure.

  The time stamp at the bottom of the screen read eleven a.m. Forty-five minutes before the bombing. Eventually, the dark-haired youth picked several items, paid, then walked out the front door.

  “That can’t be right. I saw him run from the building.” Mark scanned the screen, looking for any sign of the suspicious man who’d apparently left the building.

  Nothing.

  He paused the video, closed his eyes, and tried to clear his head. He needed to calm down, so he could think. This was the right day, judging from the date and the times on the display. The police had closed the investigation. This was the proof he needed to have the case reopened. He breathed in deep as he scooted off the coffee table and sat on the floor. Ignoring a shiver, he wrapped his arms around his chest.

  He started the video again. Thirty minutes went by in real time as he scanned each screen for anything out of the ordinary. So far, there was nothing, except the young man who had left the store and had not returned.

  Then, as if he was following a cue, playing a part in a sick movie, the youth re-entered the store with a determined look on his face. Mark jumped to his knees. This time, the guy acted like he had a purpose. He walked through the aisles toward the middle of the store in smooth strides, as if he knew exactly where he was going.

  Mark slowed the video to see where the guy was going—then lost him. He crawled closer to the screen, frantically scanning each camera view, trying to find the mystery man. There! He came into view in the soup aisle when the camera rotated, then was lost again as the camera panned back the other direction.

  When the camera picked him up again, Mark noticed his dark coat looked bulkier than the previous time the kid was in the store. Or maybe he hadn’t noticed the bulge. Either way, he could tell he had something hidden in his coat.

  He watched him grab a phone affixed to one of the pillars in the center of the building near a Gatorade display. He glanced both directions, then spoke briefly into the receiver. Then he pulled out a phone from his jacket and switched it out with the store phone.

  Mark frowned and backed up the video. A sick feeling came over him as realization dawned. The kid was not talking on the phone. He was undoing the clips that held it in place. Like any magic trick, he used the skill of diversion, but this one beat them all. After he switched the phones, he slipped the old one on a rack behind him and covered it with bags of brown sugar.

  Someone pushing a cart walked by and gave him a sideways glance but moved on without a second look. The kid began to dial the phone, but he dialed way too many numbers to be calling someone. The camera rotated again. Mark held his breath, waiting to see what was going to happen next, though he knew exactly what happened. But he couldn’t help but watch.

  The camera panned back. The kid hung up the phone and pushed a button on the top of the phone and bolted. Through the lens focused on the front door, Mark saw him run into an old woman, who tumbled to her knees. The kid almost lost his balance but managed to stay on his feet and charge toward the exit, right past K and Sam, holding hands as they walked to their death.

  A bright flash of light obliterated the screens just before everything went black.

  He dropped his head in his hands and began to weep uncontrollably. He’d watched his family die again, right in front of his eyes. His entire body shook with grief.

  The sound of a man’s voice brought his head up with a snap. Through eyes swimming with tears, he could see a man on the television screen. He was sitting in a big, black executive chair behind a huge desk. Oak bookshelves filled with books in every shape and size lined the wall behind him. There had to be thousands of them.

  Mark wiped his eyes and peered at the man. He had kind eyes and a gray beard trimmed to perfection. Everything about him spoke of refinement and wealth.

  “Mark, please forgive this intrusion in your life, especially on Christmas Eve. I know the preceding has been painful and confusing for you, but I’m here to help you. My name is not important at this time. All you need to know is that I’m a friend.”

  Mark tried to pause the machine, but the pause button
on the remote would no longer work. He tried the buttons on the DVD player, but they didn’t respond to his touch, either.

  “I’m truly sorry for your loss, but we felt you needed to know the truth. This was not an accident, as you just saw. I need you to listen to what I’m going to tell you, because you’ll only get one chance to hear what I’m about to say.” The man leaned forward in his chair, and took off his glasses.

  “I can’t help you in what you must do next. All I can do is point you in the right direction. The rest is up to you. This crime is more than what it looks like on the surface. If you want the truth, you need to find Pat Rotter.

  “You need to do this alone. Do not go to the police. We don’t know how deep this goes in our governmental agencies. For your safety and ours, you’ll need to keep the police out of this.

  “Now I must go. Find Pat Rotter. He can tell you everything you need to know.” He paused, then pointed at the camera. ”Never forget, Mark—justice will prevail.”

  Mark stared at the screen as it darkened, his mind racing. Did the police know it was a bomb? They told everyone it was a gas line. Why would they lie to the public, to the families who’d lost loved ones?

  He had so many feelings rushing through him, he didn’t know if he should be sad or angry, or if he should just kick the wall. What is going on?

  “Mark? Are you okay?” Maria stepped in the door. “It’s freezing in here.” She stared at him sitting in front of a black, fuzz-filled screen.

  He turned.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You must be watching old Christmas videos of your family.” She started to back out the doorway. “I can come another time. I should have realized the holidays would be hard for—”

  “Maria… uh… I’m okay. I just…” He couldn’t hold on any longer. He desperately needed someone to talk to. He crawled to the couch, collapsed onto a cushion, and began to sob.

  He heard Maria close the door, then felt her settle in beside him. She pulled him close and wrapped her arms around him. “It’s okay to cry, Mark. Just let it out.”

  As he cried into her shoulder, he thought how stupid she must have thought he was, but he didn’t care. He had just relived the deaths of his wife and child. To top it off, the explosion wasn’t some random act of terror. Plus, the man on the video had hinted the police might have been in on it.

  * * *

  KIRK TURNED TO LOOK behind the Jeep, to make sure no one followed them. But all he could see was the cloud of dust the tires churned up as the vehicle sped through the desert like a cheetah on the run. He settled into his seat and fell asleep. When he was bounced awake, he asked Geoff where they were going.

  “Dubai, or rather, the airport in Dubai.” The Jeep jerked through a pothole as they bumped onto a paved road. Kirk was happy to see other cars on the road. At least they were headed back to civilization.

  “You made a go at the sleeping thing,” Geoff said. “You must have been exhausted to sleep through a ride like the one we just had.” He smiled in his goofy way, which looked all the goofier with the wind blowing his crazy hair all over his head.

  Kirk rubbed his sore eyes. His long beard and hair flapped in his face, as well. He made a mental note to avoid children. He’d scare them, for sure. “Yeah, I could sleep for about a year, just to catch up. This Jeep isn’t bad, compared to what I’ve been sleeping on.”

  The journalist’s eyebrows rose. “So, uh… What were you doing out in the desert wandering around?”

  Kirk grunted. He should give him something. He’d been more than generous. “Well, most of it would be pointless to tell you. But to sum it up, I woke up in the desert with a lump on the head, dragged from an important case in New York. I’ve been gone for over a year now.”

  Geoff’s eyes widened. “Whoa. What did they want?”

  “That’s the weird part. They never asked for anything or even said why they took me. It about drove me crazy not knowing why I was kidnapped.” Kirk had a good idea of whom he was dealing with, but he needed more proof. He needed to find out what this WJA group was—then take them down.

  “Hmm, you’re a cop. Maybe it had something to do with one of the cases you were working on.”

  Kirk eyed Geoff, who probably didn’t know how close he was to the truth. He yawned. “I just want to get home and sleep in my own bed.”

  The road got busier as they neared Dubai. He wondered what kind of city it was. He had never been outside of the States. The sun was on its way down as they approached Dubai. He was surprised how much it looked like Florida, with palm trees, restaurants, and casinos lining the streets and skyscrapers dotting the skyline. Cars bustled about the thoroughfares. Some had only one tire in the front and resembled small, covered motorbikes. Most of the cars were tiny compared to the huge trucks and SUVs many Americans drove.

  “Well, here we are! Welcome to Dubai, the city of surprises.” Geoff waved a hand at a beautiful skyscraper that seemed to jut out of the earth. Covered with glass, the structure circled up into the sky like a sail on a ship that had just caught the wind.

  “Impressive.”

  Geoff steered the Jeep onto what appeared to be a freeway. After they passed a sign with an airplane symbol on it, Kirk breathed a sigh of relief. They were getting close.

  “I called my office while you were passed out. They gave me permission to use the company jet. I need to get back to the States. If you like, you can join me. The passports and all the mumbo jumbo of getting a flight out of here on a commercial airline would take you weeks, if not longer.” He grinned, showing all of his white teeth.

  “If you’re going to fly out of here anyway, I’ll be glad to join you.” He could see that his new friend was a giving person. Shaking his head in amazement, he wondered if Geoff was his polar opposite and some higher power had thrown them together as a cosmic joke.

  After Geoff parked the Jeep in the rental-parking garage, the two tired, dusty, windblown travelers made their way to a hangar at the back of the main airport. Kirk smiled when he saw the twin engines of a G5 Learjet through the open hangar door. It was a beautiful plane with white paint that glinted in the evening light and the magazine’s logo on the tail.

  Before the plane even took off, he fell into one of the beds in the back of the plane. Finally, a real bed, one with a mattress and a blanket. He’d soon be back home in Detroit, but how was he going to explain to his boss why he was over a year late for work.

  CHAPTER 10

  CHRISTMAS DAY MARK AWOKE from the nightmare he’d been dreaming to find he was living it. He rubbed his eyes and looked around his bedroom, trying to remember the previous evening. Was the video real or a twisted part of his brain wanting to make sense of the explosion? But, in reality, things made even less sense than before.

  “Oh, shoot… Maria!” Jumping to his feet, he grabbed the robe draped across the back of a chair and threw it on. He opened the door and sniffed. The apartment smelled like pine trees solution.

  “Morning, sunshine!” Maria smiled from the kitchen. “You’re just in time for breakfast.” She cracked an egg and dropped the contents into a skillet. “I hope it’s okay I borrowed your couch last night. You were so upset, I hated to leave you alone. Are you feeling better this morning?”

  “Uh… yeah. Guess I let too much tension build up from everything… and… Wait! The video!” He scrambled to the DVD player, then sighed with relief when he saw that the disc was still in the tray, which meant it was real. Now he had the proof he needed.

  He looked over at Maria, who was watching him with wide eyes.

  “You sure you’re okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I just… Well, you wouldn’t believe me, anyway.” He stared at the disc in his hand. He’d told her everything he was feeling but left out the parts of the story that made him look crazy.

  “Mark, I’m your friend. Remember? I have no reason to distrust or disbelieve you.” She turned off the flame and moved around the kitchen counter to sit on the edge of the couch. �
��What’s on that DVD?”

  He sat next to her and started at the beginning. He told her about the mysterious appearance of the first note in his locked car, then about the package that had also appeared in his car, again locked, containing the second note and the disc that had turned his world upside-down again.

  She touched his arm and watched his face as he told his story, a soft smile on her lips.

  When he finished, he looked away, hoping she wouldn’t laugh and insist they drive straight to the asylum.

  She ran her finger over the raised lettering of the WJA logo on the package. “Wow! So, the whole thing was a planned attack, not an accidental explosion. You should tell the police or the FBI or somebody.”

  “I would, but we don’t know what or who this WJA is. They could have made up the whole thing, created this video—although it looks real enough. I need more proof. And the only lead I have is this Pat Rotter person.”

  Maria’s big, brown eyes lit up. “I’m great at finding stuff on the web, Google and all. I was a bit of a techie nerd in college.” She laughed. “I got into trouble my sophomore year for hacking into the Center for Disease Control website.”

  He grinned. “Of all the places to hack into. You must be a nerd.” He cocked his head. “I thought you were a good girl, but all this time, you were hiding a priceless, useful talent.”

  He laughed and pushed her off the arm of the couch. He was amazed how much better he felt after letting his emotions out last night. Maria had a way of making him feel not so broken, almost whole again.

  “You better be nice to me, or I’ll burn your eggs.” she teased.

  Mark waved his hand in the air, signaling that he was not listening. He walked over to the DVD player and shoved the disc into the player. Maybe he’d learn more about the mystery kid. The screen flashed white, then all at once went black with the words Top Secret scrolling across the screen.

  “What!?” He tried to take it out and reinsert it into the player. But this time, he saw a timer in the lower left-hand corner of the screen. Nine… eight… He hit the eject button.