The Vanishing

by Gary Winston Brown

  “No… time.” Once more the darkness threatened to envelop him. Virgil struggled to keep it at bay.

  “No time for what?”

  “You’re in danger, Amanda. So am I. We need to get out of here. I was coming to help you.” Virgil looked down at his leg. “Now it looks like it’s your help that I need.”

  “Help me? What are you talking about? We’re perfectly safe here. You know that.”

  Virgil shook his head. “I wish that were true, but it’s not. I can prove it. But you have to help me. You need to come with me. To the supply shed.”

  “You’re obviously not well, Virgil,” Amanda replied. “You’re in no condition to be going anywhere. Come inside and rest. I’ll get Sky and tell her you’re hurt. We’ll get you back to your room.”

  “Blessing and Sky have left the compound. Reisa, too. They’re not coming back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I’ve been trying to tell you all along. We’re in danger. I need you to come with me, Amanda. Now!”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you, Virgil,” Amanda said defiantly. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

  “I will, soon. I promise. But right now, we have to get to the supply shed.”

  “What’s so important about the supply shed that we have to go there this very second?”

  “That’s a question I’d also like to know the answer to, Mr. Lutt.”

  Fallon and Prophet stood at the corner of the building.

  “Virgil, Virgil, Virgil,” Fallon mocked. “I’m surprised at you. You struck me as an intelligent man, but it seems I was wrong. You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? Had to stick your nose in where it didn’t belong.”

  “Let the girl go,” Virgil said. He hobbled in front of Amanda. “She knows nothing. It’s me you want.”

  “How heroic,” Fallon scoffed.

  “It’s too late for that, Virgil,” Prophet said.

  “Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Amanda said.

  “There’s no easy way to tell you, Amanda,” Virgil said. “Prophet killed your parents. I don’t know why, but he did. Now they’re afraid the authorities will come looking for you.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Amanda laughed. “Joseph would never do that.”

  “Joseph?” Virgil replied.

  “You didn’t know?” Amanda said. “Virgil, Joseph is my husband.”

  Fallon walked over to Virgil, leaned forward, and whispered in his ear. “That’s right. Her husband. And you know what? A wife can’t testify against her husband.”

  “Maybe not,” Virgil replied. “But I sure as hell can.”

  “Only one small problem with that,” Fallon said. He leaned over and pressed his thumb deep into Virgil’s wound. “Dead men can’t testify.”

  Virgil screamed in agony and crumbled to the ground.

  “Take your hands off him!” Amanda cried as she tried to push Fallon away. Fallon grabbed her by the back of her neck, twisted her hair until she screamed, then threw her into Prophet’s arms.

  “Put your dog on a leash, Joseph!”

  “How dare you touch me!” Amanda screamed. She tried to strike out at Fallon.

  “Shut up!” Fallon yelled. Prophet held her back. “You made this mess, Joseph!” he said. He pointed his finger at Amanda. “Clean it up. Once and for all.”

  Fallon pulled the semi-automatic from his waistband, chambered a round, and forced the gun into Prophet’s hand.

  “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen!” he raged. “She’s a fucking liability! Cap the bitch right now and be done with it!”

  Amanda turned to Prophet. “What are they talking about?” she asked. “What did you do to my parents? Tell me this isn’t true. Tell me they’re lying.” She sobbed. “Look at me, Joseph. Tell me, please!”

  Prophet stood before her in silence.

  “What’s the matter, Prophet?” Virgil asked. His breathing had become heavy, labored. “Too much blood on your hands? It’s a little late to be developing a conscience, isn’t it? The girl wants an answer to her question. What are you waiting for? Tell her the truth, if you’ve got the guts.”

  “Shut up, Lutt!” Prophet yelled.

  Virgil pushed himself to his feet. “You know why he won’t tell you the truth, Amanda? Because he’s afraid you’ll see him for the murderer he really is.” He turned to Prophet. “You took advantage of all of us. You and your lackey. Everyone believed you. But it was all a lie, wasn’t it? Well, it’s over. I’m leaving, and Amanda is leaving with me.”

  Prophet tossed the weapon on the ground. “I’m sorry, Amanda,” he said.

  “So what Virgil is saying is true?” Amanda cried. “You killed my parents? You son of a bitch!”

  Fallon picked up the gun. “Enough of this bullshit!” he yelled. “If you don’t have the balls to do it, then I will.”

  “No!” Prophet cried. He pushed Amanda to the ground, forced Fallon’s arm into the air. The two men struggled for control of the weapon.

  “Amanda, run!” Virgil yelled. “The woods! Run for the woods!”

  “I can’t,” she cried. She tried to stand. Fear held her down.

  “You’ve got to! Run. Don’t look back! I’ll find you!”

  Fallon locked his thumb into the trigger guard, prevented the gun from firing. He thrust his knee into Prophet’s ribs. The cult leader clutched his side, fell to the ground.

  “Both of you on your feet,” Fallon yelled. He grabbed Amanda by the arm, placed the gun against her temple. “Or I’ll do her right now!”

  Prophet gasped, held his side, rose to his feet, “Hurt her and I’ll squeeze the last breath out of you with my bare hands.”

  “You’re forgetting which side of the barrel you’re on,” Fallon replied. He waved the gun. “The supply shed. Move!”

  60

  “ON THREE,” MARTIN said. “Ready? One… two… three!”

  With a running start, Martin and Earl charged the door to the supply shed in which they and Claire were being held prisoners, tried unsuccessfully to break it down.

  “It’s no use,” Martin said. He peered through the slats of the wooden door, found the source of the obstruction. “There’s a cross brace in place. No way we’ll be able to budge it, much less break it down.”

  “Try this,” Claire said. In her hand she held two wooden dowels. “It’s all I could find. If you shimmy these through the cracks in the frame, maybe you can lift the beam high enough to push it out of its brackets.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” Martin replied. He handed the trucker one of the wooden sticks. “See if you can find an opening on your end, Earl.”

  The gap between the planks of the old wooden door formed an irregular channel between the timbers. Earl fitted the length of dowel between several boards until he found a space wide enough to accommodate the thin stick.

  “Ready on my end,” Martin said.

  Earl nodded. “Mine too.”

  “We’re probably only going to get one shot at this, so let’s take it slow and easy,” Martin said. “The beam is about eight inches wide. Claire, when Earl and I raise it clear of the brackets and I give you the word, push the door as hard as you can. That should knock it clear of the brace.”

  “Okay,” Claire said. She stepped between the two men, placed her hands against the door.

  “All right, Earl,” Martin said. “Like I said, slow and easy.”

  The dowels bent under the weight of the thick beam.

  “Mine’s too weak,” Earl said. The stress on the wooden stick was extreme. It began to snap. “It can’t take the load.”

  “Keep going. Just a little higher and we’ve got it. Get ready, Claire. When I say push, push hard!”

  “It’s breaking,” Earl said. “I can’t raise it any higher. It’s stuck in the channel.”

  “I’m almost there,” Martin replied. “Now, Claire! Push!”

  Claire pushed against the door
as Earl’s dowel broke in his hands. The beam teetered, almost fell away, then dropped back into its bracket with a loud clatter.

  “Damn it!” Martin yelled. “We almost had it. Look for more of those dowels, Claire. We’ll try again.”

  Earl raised his hand. “Wait!” he said. He stepped away from the door. “Move back. Someone’s comin’.”

  Footsteps stopped outside the shed door. The heavy beam rattled free of its brace. A voice called out to the prisoners inside.

  “Step out slowly,” Fallon announced. “And if you’re thinking about rushing the door, forget it. You’ll be dead before you see moonlight.”

  Martin, Earl and Claire stepped out of the confines of the supply shed into the cool night air.

  Claire recognized her sister immediately. “Amanda!” she cried. “It’s me, Claire. Thank God you’re all right!” She stepped forward to embrace her sister. Fallon blocked her path, trained his gun on her. Martin pulled her back.

  “I was right,” Earl Bentley said. He pointed an accusing finger at Fallon. “That’s the fella I gave the ride to.”

  “And just who the hell are…?” Fallon asked. “Wait a minute. I recognize you. You’re that trucker.”

  “Guess I should have left ya right where I found ya,” Earl Bentley replied. “Broken down on the side of the road. If I had, I probably wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

  “How very astute of you,” Fallon replied. “I take it these are your friends. Let me guess: FBI? CIA? INTERPOL? HOMELAND?”

  “Neither,” Martin replied. He pointed to Amanda. “We’re here for the girl. Let her come with us and we’ll disappear. No one will know where you are. You have my word on that.”

  “Do you really think I’m that stupid?” Fallon replied. “That you could locate her means you’ve done your homework. You know who we are. That makes you a liability. Besides, Martin, I’m surprised you don’t recognize me.”

  Martin stared at Fallon. “How do you know my name?” he asked.

  “Actually, I knew your wife and daughter very well. Mind you, the last time I saw you, you were lying on the ground. Remember the barn? Memories like that never fade, do they? Remember watching Anne leave? How she walked past you like you were a total stranger? I do. I was there. I’m the one who took her. Melanie too.”

  With Fallon’s words, a vortex of memories whirled in Martin’s mind: Little Melanie, alone and crying on the kitchen floor… the surreal chanting emanating from the barn… the circle of hooded strangers… Anne’s vacant stare as she walked past him despite his pleas… the final horrible blow to his head that left him unconscious and utterly alone…

  “It was you?” Martin said breathlessly. “You took my family, my life.”

  “Yes, but it was for a good cause,” Fallon replied nonchalantly.

  “You motherf--!”

  “No, Martin!” Claire screamed. Too late, she tried to stop Martin as he lunged forward.

  Fallon stepped aside, avoided the attack, caught Martin by his outstretched hand, twisted his wrist in a tight circular motion, sent him reeling head over heels to the ground several feet away. He walked to where Martin lay, buried his boot into his throat, and pressed down. Martin gasped, clutched wildly at Fallon’s leg, fought for oxygen.

  “No one took your life,” Fallon said. Dirt from his boot fell into Martin’s mouth. “You fucking well gave it away.” Fallon released his foot, stepped back. Martin rolled to his knees, grabbed his throat, sucked in huge, gasping breaths and spat the dirt out of his mouth.

  “You’re a dead man, Fallon.” Martin said feebly, his voice dry, raspy. A trickle of saliva hung from his mouth. He looked up at his adversary. “I swear on Anne and Melanie’s life, I’m going to kill you.”

  “Such a heartwarming sentiment,” Fallon replied, unfazed by the cold threat. “I’ll look forward to it. It’ll be like a family reunion.” He turned his attention to Earl Bentley. “You, trucker. Get him on his feet.”

  Earl walked over to Martin, helped him up from the ground. “Better do as he says.”

  “I hope everyone’s feeling energetic,” Fallon said. He clapped his hands together. “We’re going for a little walk. Joseph, can you manage Lutt?”

  “He’s no problem,” Krebeck replied.

  “Good. Then you lead the way. I’ll keep an eye on our newfound friends. Take them to the cabin.”

  With Fallon’s words, Virgil’s legs grew weak. God, no! he thought. Not the cabin!

  61

  MAGGY STAYED AHEAD of the team and tracked through the dark forest until she arrived at the edge of the clearing. There she lay down, an alert to her human companions that she had reached her destination.

  Dan and Cynthia remained with Maggy and took cover behind the treeline at the edge of the woods. Mark and Karen moved along the perimeter of the forest. The moon-shadowed buildings of the Brethren compound jutted up from the ground like cemetery tombstones.

  Mark’s voice crackled in the headsets of the team members. “Team two. Position report.”

  “Hard to say,” Dan replied. He surveyed the meadow for signs of activity. “Looks quiet enough, but I can’t tell. Switching to night vision.”

  “Copy that,” Mark said. “Everyone, eyes on.”

  Dan slid his goggles into place, turned on the device, and watched as the mountain came to life. A family of deer, their presence undetectable in the dark, grazed in quiet solitude at the foot of Mount Horning. Suddenly aware of the intruders in their midst the buck raised its head, stopped chewing, looked towards the forest, then bolted, followed in leaps and bounds by the rest of the herd.

  “Did you see that?” Dan asked.

  “Yeah,” Mark replied. “Karen and I are going to get closer. Maybe we can see what spooked them.”

  “Copy that. Let us know when you’re in place and we’ll assume your position.”

  Mark motioned to his partner. “Follow the path as far as you can. Let me know what you see.”

  Karen nodded, headed deeper into the forest.

  Maggy growled. Dan tried to hush her. “Maggy, Control,” he said.

  “What’s with Maggy?” Mark asked.

  “Don’t know,” Dan replied. “She jumpy as hell.”

  “Jumpy my ass. Something’s got her bugged.”

  Karen’s voice interrupted the channel. “We have movement. Southeast sector. Heading this way. Seven by my count.”

  “Confirming your visual,” Dan replied. “Copy that. I make five males, two females.” He pulled the case photo from his pocket, examined it.

  “Sonofabitch,” he muttered. “Mark, you’re not going to like this.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It’s Martin and Claire. Looks like they found our extraction target before we did.”

  “Amanda’s with them?”

  “Affirmative. Our unfriendlies too. Krebeck’s up front with two unknowns. Fallon’s got his six o’clock. He’s armed.”

  “Is Krebeck?”

  “I can’t confirm if Krebeck is carrying or not.”

  “All right,” Mark replied. “Hold your positions for now. We can’t risk making any sudden moves with Martin and Claire in the line of fire. No one engages unless absolutely necessary. Clear?”

  “Copy that,” Dan and Cynthia replied.

  62

  “WHERE ARE YOU taking us?” Claire asked as she trudged along the narrow path into the woods.

  “Shut up and walk,” Fallon replied.

  “You can’t be stupid enough to believe people won’t come looking for us,” Claire pressed, “or to think they won’t find us.”

  “That’ll just add to the body count. Bad for them.”

  Martin turned, looked back at Fallon. “Where’s my daughter?” he demanded. “Where’s Melanie?”

  “Damned if I know,” Fallon replied.

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “What’s the point?” he said casually. “You’re never going to see her again, anyway.”


  “Then it shouldn’t matter if you tell me, should it?”

  Fallon paused. “Uganda, last I knew.”

  “Uganda?”

  Fallon scoffed. “Please, Belgrade. Do I look like the fucking daddy type to you? Taking your kid was never in the plan. I could give a rat’s ass about your brat. It was Anne that was important. The kid was baggage. But Anne refused to leave the country without her, so we took her with us.”

  “Where did you take her?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me.”

  “It shouldn’t.”

  “Humor me.”

  “I don’t know,” Fallon replied. “Some orphanage. Sacred Light Mission or something like that. I dumped her with the nuns. Gave ‘em some bullshit story about her mother being killed by the guerrillas in the north.”

  “And they believed you?”

  “They had no reason not to. Whites working in-country in Christian missionaries disappeared every day. The LRA was wiping out entire towns. The sisters had become accustomed to taking in survivors and the homeless. They didn’t bother to ask questions, and I wasn’t particularly interested in whether the kid was getting tucked in at night. It was getting a little hot down there for us, and I’m not referring to the temperature.”

  “So I heard,” Martin replied. “Selling out your country. That’s got to make your mother proud.”

  “Wake the fuck up, Belgrade,” Fallon replied. “Our politicians sell us out every damn day and get filthy fucking rich in the process. You think any of us down there really gave a shit? Krebeck and I weren’t alone. Everyone was on the take. We just got busted anteing up a little info in return for a piece of the action. That’s all.”

  “And aiding a murderous dictator.”

  “A minor detail.”

  “I don’t get it,” Martin said. “You were CIA. You had top-secret security clearance, were working under a presidential directive, yet you pissed on the flag. You could have had your choice of any cushy job in the agency when the assignment was finished.”

  “Fuck the agency. We had the chance to live out the rest of our lives in style, so we took it.”