Captured 3

by Lorhainne Eckhart

  Rachel ran into the small living room, surrounded by brown plaid furniture—plain, serviceable. “Daddy, you’re home!” she cried. She was always so happy. She had dark hair, dark eyes, round cheeks—a happy girl. Eric prayed she would never know where she came from.

  He stepped back and lifted her, giving her a little toss. She giggled, and then another set of tiny hands grabbed his leg. He didn’t miss the pure joy in his little boy’s face. Charlie had his mother’s eyes and his father’s expression. Eric couldn’t believe he was a year old already, into everything. He never walked anywhere, he ran.

  He leaned down and set his hat on Charlie’s head. The boy giggled and then raced in a circle as the hat drooped over his eyes. When Eric looked at Abby again, she was frowning, watching him, waiting. Over the past year, she’d become stronger, more understanding, and at times she pushed issues with him when he wanted to just leave things alone. She talked more, listened, and had even started calling him out when she didn’t believe him, like now.

  “You’re more important,” he finally said, hoping she’d drop it. She was, anyway, and so were his children.

  Her gaze changed to understanding. He could see the moment where she suppressed whatever she was thinking and nodded. “I love you,” she said, lifting her hand and hesitating only a second before touching his arm softly, confidently.

  “I love you, too.” He leaned down and kissed her.

  He glanced up when Taylor and Janey wandered into the living room, ignoring them and plopping on the sofa. Abby looked over at the same time he did. Anyone could see how unhappy the kids were.

  “I’m going to get dinner finished so we can eat. Your father’s Skyping in soon,” Abby told the kids before wandering into the kitchen to put dinner on the table.

  Eric connected his laptop to the TV so everyone could see and hear Joe when he called. This was the first time they’d ever gathered together for the call. He’d just opened the screen when he wondered if Joe wanted to talk to him first, alone. There wasn’t much he could do at this point. He’d just presumed Joe would want to talk to everyone, and he’d asked Abby to invite Mary-Margaret and the kids over. There was one thing Eric knew about his former XO, though: Joe didn’t do anything sloppily. He was deliberate, organized, knowing what everyone’s roles and schedules were better than they themselves did. No, this mix-up with the times definitely wasn’t normal for him. Eric shook his head, cursing Joe under his breath. He didn’t like this bullshit, not one bit.

  The Skype signal rang on the computer, and Eric clicked “Answer.” Joe’s face filled the screen. He was sitting in front of his computer, wearing a brown T-shirt. His short, dark hair was a mess, his face a little scruffy, and he was looking down, probably at the keyboard.

  “Is that Dad?” It was Janey who called out, and everyone came into the living room. The kids were chattering excitedly in the background.

  “Joe, everyone can see you,” Eric said quickly. “Your wife and kids are here, but you must have gotten your wires crossed.”

  He didn’t know why he’d said it—maybe to warn him, maybe just to let him know he was on to him. More than anything, Eric wanted to make sure Joe watched what he said. He didn’t want to see Joe screw up something so good. He had family responsibilities, and although Eric wanted to have time alone to talk to his friend, that wouldn’t happen tonight.

  “Hi, guys! How’re you doing? Boy, do I miss you all,” Joe said.

  Eric stepped back as the kids started calling out to their dad and flooding him with questions. Even Eric had to sigh, unable to tell who’d said what. Joe was smiling and leaning down closer to the screen.

  “You didn’t shave today, Joe,” Mary-Margaret said as she held her arms across her middle. She may have sounded calm, but Eric could see how tense she was.

  Joe was grinning ear to ear. “No time. It was either shower and shave or Skype. I only have so much time here.”

  “You’re still coming home Friday, Dad?” Taylor was hovering just behind Eric, who glanced at him. The young teen was struggling with awkwardness. He needed his father.

  Joe was flickering in and out, and he squinted as if having a hard time hearing. “Taylor, I’m coming home Friday, yeah. Listen, how is school going?”

  Taylor shrugged as if Joe were right there. “Good.”

  Far from good, Eric now knew, but Joe didn’t need to hear that right now. On Friday, he could learn everything about his kids and his wife—and then he could have a word with Eric. Eric was also planning on having a much-needed talk with Taylor, and he’d sit down with Steven and Janey, as well, make sure there was nothing else going on.

  A bang had Eric glancing back at the screen, which was flooded with bright light and wobbled a bit. “Joe, what’s going on?” Eric said. He was right in front of the screen, close to the mic.

  There was commotion behind Joe and a lot of static before the screen went dead.

  “Eric, what’s going on?” Mary-Margaret said. She was right beside him, gripping his arm, and the kids were calling out, “Dad! Dad!” Janey started crying.

  “It’s probably just the connection,” Eric said. “Everyone needs to calm down. It happens from here to there. Damn satellites,” he snapped, feeling bad immediately for losing his temper.

  “So that wasn’t an explosion?” Mary-Margaret said. She ran her hand through her hair, shaken and wide eyed as she reached for her kids, who all went into her arms.

  “That could have been a hundred different things. I guarantee you it was most likely a problem with the satellite, so whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

  Even as he spoke, though, Eric was thinking the worst. He wouldn’t share any of his suspicions until he found out what was going on, but Eric knew what an IED sounded like, and the screen between them had muffled the reality of how bad it really was. Where Joe was stationed, anything could happen. His wife didn’t know that, though, and neither did his kids, and Eric didn’t intend for them to find out now. Eric had lived and breathed war for most of his life, and he knew the drill. Whatever it was, the family would never find out the truth.

  This anxiety, though, the worry and not knowing, wasn’t something he was familiar with.

  “Abby,” he said. When he turned, she was holding Charlie, and Rachel was gripping her leg. Both kids were quiet, taking in the stress in the room. “I’m going to make a call just to ease everyone’s minds, find out what’s going on. Why don’t you get the kids ready for bed?”

  Her eyes darted to Mary-Margaret and the kids and then back to Eric, and she rubbed Charlie’s back, resting him on her hip. She started to say something and then hesitated, glancing at the kids. “Janey, Steven, Taylor, why don’t you give me a hand getting Rachel and Charlie bathed and ready for bed?”

  Good distraction. Man, he was proud of her. She met his gaze, and for a minute he knew she understood. Abby called the kids again, and this time Mary-Margaret let them go. Before Abby could move and step away, he touched her face, and she leaned in. It was only a second, but it was a connection he needed. She could be so grounding at times. He could see how she’d changed, having become more confident, handling a situation he knew she couldn’t have before. She nodded before putting her arm around Janey and leading the kids down the hall. He turned back to the blank screen and the sound of Skype trying to reconnect. But there was nothing, just a quiet room and Eric and Mary-Margaret, alone.

  Chapter 2

  One minute, Joe was sitting in a metal chair in front of his laptop, talking to his wife, his friends, and his kids. The next, all hell was breaking loose. He was now face down on the ground, eating dirt.

  There was yelling from outside his tent, and his ears were ringing from the blast—not just one blast but three. Something had landed on his shoulder, and part of his tent was down. Dust filled the air.

  In his fatigues, he scrambled to his feet, boots gripping the ground. He grabbed his rifle and slammed his combat hat on his head as he left the tent, staring
out into the early morning sun. There was yelling and gunfire, and Sergeant Kratz slid down beside him. He was a big guy, his head shaved.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Joe yelled. Debris drifted to the ground amid the smoke and fire and yelling. A Humvee raced past, guns ready.

  “Sir, this way!” Kratz shouted. “We’re taking fire from the north!”

  Blasts sounded, and the ground shook. Joe covered his head.

  “That’s us fighting back, sir,” Kratz said as he fired off a couple rounds.

  Joe huddled down and pulled his rifle up. The minute Kratz was on his feet, running, Joe followed, hunched over behind the sergeant, taking cover behind sandbags with two lieutenants, Pike and Riske. Riske was a dark-haired girl from the Midwest, Colorado or one of the Dakotas, Joe couldn’t remember which. All he knew was that the young lieutenant was all about guns. Pike was short, dark haired, with Native blood, and he could always be found not far from Riske.

  “They came out of nowhere, sir,” Riske said. “There were seven, came into our tent, took Dunlop and Grieger. They tried to take me, too. Those bastards, they just took them!” Riske was sweating and swearing as she yelled and let fire again. She screamed a stream of curses that had Joe taking another look. She was mad, and she shot off a few more rounds. She was scared.

  Grieger and Dunlop were both women. Dunlop was new, and Joe remembered reprimanding her once about her hair. It was long, blond, a mass of curls. He’d told her to tie it up or cut it off. She was tall, slender, with a set of breasts that drew every man’s eye. Joe worried she was going to be a problem in the camp, as every warm-blooded man there wanted her, even the married ones. That was a distraction, a problem—and a strike against her. Grieger was African American, with dark eyes and dark hair that she kept cropped short. She was shorter than the other women, slender, and absolutely stunning. For Joe, there was something about her that was real and natural.

  “Who took them?” he snapped.

  “They were hostiles, faces covered. It was their fucking eyes! When they came in, one grabbed my leg. I kicked the shit out of him and went under the side of the tent. I heard them scream, Grieger and Dunlop, but I had to take cover when they started firing. I couldn’t get to them. They’re gone, those motherfuckers took them!” Riske fired again.

  He heard someone yell out, “Hold your fire!” Then there was a commotion and running. Riske’s chest was heaving as if she’d run for miles. Joe was up and racing over to Commander DeLaurie, the tall gray-haired man who stepped out of a Humvee as it skidded to a stop.

  “They’re gone,” one of the marines called out as he hurried over. “Team two is in pursuit now, as the first team was taken out by a rocket somewhere up in the hills.” Joe recognized the man as Tex—a nickname, maybe because he was from Texas, with all the accompanying swagger and twang, and he never let anyone forget how big Texas was.

  Joe listened as he looked around. Why take the women? What the hell did the enemy want with them, and how had they known where they were? Did they want hostages? Something was up. Security had been breached somewhere, and as Joe stared down at Riske, he realized she might know something. “Lieutenant Riske, I find it odd how these guys came in and went right to your barracks—and for three women only. Do we know if anyone else was taken?”

  Commander DeLaurie was also staring at her, and he took another step closer. “Anything else taken from the camp? Any other personnel gone? Someone report and tell me what the fuck is going on!” he yelled, all the while staring down at Riske.

  Sergeant Kratz was on his radio, and they could all hear the response: “Just Dunlop and Grieger missing. These assholes came in and got out, had people in the hills, ready and waiting for them, firing off grenades to create a diversion. This was a planned kidnapping.”

  Riske’s eyes widened in alarm, and her face paled.

  “I suggest you start talking right now, Riske, before I have you written up,” DeLaurie said. “How the hell do insurgents get into my camp and into your tent? How did they know where you were?”

  “Why do you think I know something?” Riske snapped back. Joe didn’t miss how defensive she had become—surly, even. She was being stupid, considering she was talking to her commander. Pike swore under his breath. Maybe he, too, had figured out what Joe had.

  “Because they came in just for you women,” DeLaurie replied. “They wanted hostages or something, but why stop with the women? There are higher-ranked officers worth far more as a bargaining chip, so tell me right now what you know. I won’t ask again.” The commander was leaning closer, pissed off.

  Joe didn’t know how many of them were staring down at Riske. She snarled but didn’t flinch as her face hardened and she stared up at Joe. “Sir, we didn’t ask for this,” she said. Maybe she thought he’d believe her.

  “Maybe not, Riske, but you know something, and right now you’re not talking. I advise you to start now,” he said.

  “Dunlop has been talking to some guy online,” she finally replied.

  DeLaurie glanced over at Joe with the same wariness Joe was feeling. “What guy?” the commander asked, crossing his arms and practically breathing down on Riske.

  “I don’t know, sir! I told her she was just being dumb, but she’s always on her laptop, chatting with some guy. I didn’t think anything of it, as she has all these friends on her Facebook page. All her downtime, she’s glued to that damn computer. When they came into the tent, I heard one of the guys say to her in perfect English, ‘We came for you with Avi.’” Riske glanced down and away from the commander. “Sir,” she finally said, “I think Avi was one of her Facebook friends.”

  Chapter 3

  It was raining. The overhead street lamps were the only light on the darkened streets as Eric drove to the base, hoping to find answers. After calling the base and learning that the problem hadn’t been caused by a downed satellite, he’d tried to get Joe back on Skype for more than an hour. He’d finally picked up the phone and called Colonel Hancock at home, and he didn’t give a crap how irritated the man was. This was Joe, his friend.

  What Mary-Margaret didn’t know was that Joe was in a camp outside Fallujah with a mix of Brits and Americans, marines, navy, and army. Right now, Eric was more irritated at Joe than ever for taking the posting as part of the tactical movement team. Of course Mary-Margaret had no knowledge of the danger her husband was putting himself in—and Eric wasn’t about to enlighten her. Joe was on the frontline, or close to it, which was somewhere he’d never been.

  He walked Mary-Margaret and the kids home, reassuring them again that the disruption had most likely been caused by the satellite connection. He didn’t think he’d convinced her, though, and he promised to let her know as soon as he learned something. He would, right after he found out firsthand, but he would tell her a story that was close to the truth, hiding everything she didn’t need to know.

  There were others inside the building on the base, a concrete two-story block with two MPs posted out front. They recognized Eric in his full uniform as he strode up the steps to the front doors, which were opened for him. The hallway inside was darkened, deserted, but he could hear the squeak of footsteps on the linoleum floor.

  “Captain Hamilton, everyone is in the situation room,” came the voice of Corporal Miller, who was carrying a paper cup of coffee. The boy was young, lanky, and efficient. He walked beside Eric and handed him the coffee.

  “Any news?”

  “No, sir, but the colonel’s arrived. Lieutenant Perkins, too.”

  Eric stopped outside the room and keyed in his security code. He dismissed his corporal and then took a swallow of the lukewarm coffee before walking in. The room was filled with personnel, computers, and a projector screen at the front. Everyone was talking. He walked past the rows, recognizing the glassed-in office in back and his superior officers inside, standing, talking. Perkins was round in the middle, too much time behind a desk. Colonel Hancock’s gray hair was parted on the side, and he
wore dark-rimmed glasses. He was a head shorter than Eric. Eric closed the door behind him and didn’t miss the annoyance on the colonel’s face.

  “Any word from Lieutenant Commander Joe Reed?” Eric asked.

  It was Lieutenant Perkins who said, “Hostiles made their way into camp and invaded the women’s quarters. They managed to abduct two of them, but a third managed to get away. It appears these hostiles entered the camp with the sole intent of taking those women. We’re not sure yet on all the details. The team in pursuit was taken out by insurgents in the hills. A launcher detonated on them—one dead, two wounded. What we know is that this was planned, and they knew exactly the way into the camp and the details of where the women’s barracks was situated. Reports are sketchy, but Lieutenant Commander Reed is one of the members of the third team, which has left to go after the women.”

  Eric couldn’t believe it. Why would Joe have done that? He was meant to be coming home in a few days.

  There was a knock on the glass door before it was opened. “We have the commander on com now, Colonel.”

  Perkins nodded to one of the corporals in the doorway.

  “Bring it up,” Colonel Hancock said.

  Eric followed Perkins and the colonel into the bullpen. A big screen was on, and a gray-haired man Eric didn’t recognize came on.

  “DeLaurie, what’s the status with the women?” Colonel Hancock was standing in the middle of the room, wearing army boots and green fatigues. Lieutenant Perkins, on the other hand, was dressed in blue jeans and a dark blue golf shirt.

  “We don’t have all the details yet, Colonel, but rest assured we’re going to find the taken women.”

  “You’re not telling us anything. What have you been able to find out?” The colonel was cutting right through the bullshit, something Eric appreciated.

  On the screen, DeLaurie snapped his fingers in the air. There were personnel behind him, and someone handed him some papers. He shoved on a pair of reading glasses. “What we’ve been able to piece together from Riske, who was one of the women they tried to take, is that Lance Corporal Dunlop has been communicating online with a man in northern Iraq. Apparently she’s formed some kind of relationship, and he contacted her through Facebook. Our techs have been digging around on her computer.”