Sufficient Ransom

by Sylvia Sarno

  Ann drove past a row of shuttered stores and parked at the end of the strip mall’s narrow parking lot. She wanted to get a closer look at the site so she could better prepare her husband for his mission. She stuffed a sandwich into her jacket pocket, lifted the coffee out of the cup holder, and pushed the car door open. If the police stopped to question her, she would just say she was out for an early morning hike. A car came into view. She waited for it to disappear around the bend in the road before she crossed to the other side. Skirting the compound fence, she searched for the hole where Richard had entered the night before.

  Two German Shepherds charged the chain link, their teeth bared.

  Ann jumped back, startled.

  A large man with a rifle and tattooed wrists emerged from the wall of trees. “What’s up, boys?” His eyes narrowed when he saw Ann.

  “Call off those beasts!” Ann said. Human brutes, she figured, like their animal counterparts, responded well to authority.

  “Sorry, lady.”

  It occurred to Ann that if she was nice to the guard, he might let her into the compound. But she quickly reminded herself that she and Richard had agreed to consult each other before doing anything concerning Travis’s rescue. Tijuana, the tunnel, and especially Chet, were painful reminders of the dangers of not thinking through the consequences of her actions.

  Her lips curved into a cynical smile. “What’re you carrying that gun for? Is this a hunting lodge or something?”

  The guard shrugged. “Just a private meeting. Come on boys, let’s go.”

  The sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves accompanied the man and his dogs as they turned away. As soon as they were out of sight, Ann pulled out her phone and called her husband, eager to tell him what she was doing. Richard’s voice came on the line the same moment he appeared from around the bend in the road.

  “Richard!”

  Her husband looked like he didn’t know whether he should hug or scold her. In the end, he did both. After she relayed her morning activity, Richard said, “Law enforcement’s bound to be heading in soon.” He indicated the hole in the fence. “I’m going in now. Remember Annie. Keep away from Tom and Julian.”

  “Be careful,” Ann said. “The place’s crawling with people as fanatical as Chet and Todd. Any one of these people could kill you. Or Travis.”

  Richard patted his jacket. “My buddy here will defend me. I’ll take March or Pannikin hostage if I have to.”

  She felt his breath on her face. “Richard, I’m scared.”

  “Promise me you won’t do anything rash, Annie.”

  She clung to her husband like a frightened child. “Why can’t I come?”

  “We talked about this already,” Richard said. “Come on. I have to go.”

  Ann dismissed the idea of sneaking into the compound after Richard entered. Doing so would constitute a betrayal; they had agreed that he would be the one to go in.

  “I’ll try to get in at the pedestrian entrance,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t scuttle that idea. “I’ll beg the guards. Oh, before I forget...” She handed her husband the egg sandwich and coffee. “You’ll need sustenance to carry you through.”

  After dispatching the food and drink, Richard jammed the sandwich wrapper into the paper cup and tossed the cup over the fence. “Garbage for garbage,” he smiled.

  Ann threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Richard.”

  He kissed her hard on the mouth. “I love you too, Annie. No matter what happens, just remember. Be safe and be strong.”

  6:25 A.M.

  Ann pulled her car door shut and stared at her ringing phone. The number on the screen was unfamiliar. “Hello? Oh, my God, Max! How’s Kika?”

  Max Ruiz’s voice was low and controlled. “They’re operating on her now, Mrs. Olson.”

  Ann tried to sound hopeful though her heart was breaking for her friend. “If anyone can survive this, Kika can. She’s a strong woman.”

  “The police are looking for Chet March,” Max said. “If I get to him before they do, I’ll kill him.”

  “We think Chet’s here in Pine Wood for his church’s annual retreat,” Ann said. “You probably don’t know this, Max, but they kidnapped our son. Richard went in to the camp to try and get him out.” She explained how Pastor Todd, in revealing to Kika why he had given her away as a baby, had unwittingly revealed his and Chet’s scheme to “save” the children. “You see, that’s why they went after Kika. To keep their rotten secret safe.”

  “They’ll pay for this!” Max said. A stream of angry Spanish followed.

  The idea of Chet mangled and dead pleased Ann.

  “I’m at the hospital,” Max added. “As soon as I hear Kika’s okay—I swear I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s not—I’ll head to Pine Wood to help you. Don’t do anything crazy, Mrs. Olson. May God protect you and your child.”

  Ann thanked Max and hung up. She couldn’t shake the feeling that efforts to rescue her son would end in tragedy. Or maybe I’m just afraid I’ll screw things up again.

  6:30 A.M.

  Chet March woke up feeling claustrophobic, as if an invisible bag was slowly tightening around his head. His fever raged unabated, despite the many aspirins he had choked down to quell it. By the time Chet presented himself to Pastor Todd, his shirt was wet through, and the skin of his face slack and clammy. He looked and felt like a swollen rotten tomato.

  “You’ve got to get yourself together, Chet,” Pastor Todd whispered, pushing him toward the back room of the Main Hall where Todd was set to greet New Way’s Council of Elders, a select group of the church’s biggest donors. “We must show a united front. Remember. We need the Elders’ help more than ever for our work.”

  Chet lay sprawled across the battered sofa in the back room. Through the thin wall he could hear Pastor Todd’s rich voice rise and fall in rhythmical cadence as he addressed the Council. Outside, the sound of children shouting and playing on the adjacent field wrenched his heart. “Lord help me,” he murmured. “You know that I did it all for them.”

  Sweat slipped down Chet’s forehead onto his swollen eyelids. He was too weak to wipe it. “We saved their souls,” he whispered. A deep cough shook his body. He put his hand to his mouth and felt a sticky hotness. Chet coughed again. Dark blood spurted between his fingers onto the cushion. He wiped at it frantically.

  Chet stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the sink. The cold water on his feverish face felt good. Pink water gushed down the drain. The coughing had subsided. His bloodshot eyes in the mirror frightened him. Chet pulled a pair of sunglasses from his jacket and jammed them on his nose. He passed a comb through his damp hair, straightened his body as best he could, and headed for the back door. He was in no condition to court New Way’s biggest donors, or anyone else.

  7:00 A.M.

  The white tops of the family tents inside the Pine Wood Conference and Resort Center swayed in the early morning breeze. By daylight the tents looked to be closer to the fence than they had the night before. The chain link that enclosed the rest of the site was, at the pedestrian entrance, replaced with a ten-foot high cedar fence that extended the length of the perimeter it shared with the town square, some several hundred yards. The wooden expanse served as a kind of public bulletin board for local news and posters.

  Ann pretended to read the notices while she watched the guard out the corner of her eye. It occurred to her that he might let her in if she posed as a reporter for the Los Angeles Times come to do a piece on New Way. When she walked up with a big smile on her face and told the guard just that, he looked genuinely sorry. “Only members with special passes are allowed in, Miss. Sorry, no exceptions.”

  Remembering Tom Long’s threat to arrest her and her husband on sight if they caught them interfering, Ann moved to the edge of the square where the fence curved to the left, away from knot of people. She passed men in dark suits with bulges under their jackets, and others in hiking clothes with binoculars dangling at their necks
. She wished she knew what law enforcement was planning.

  7:30 A.M.

  Todd Pannikin rushed through the camp searching for Chet. The whole place was abuzz with talk of Kika Garcia. News of the brutal attack in La Jolla was apparently all over the newspapers and the Internet. Pannikin feared rumors implicating Chet were spreading, though, as of yet, he had no evidence that this was the case. Breathing hard from his hurried walk, he slumped down on a wooden bench abutting the path that led to family tents, and pulled out his phone.

  Though Pannikin had suggested Chet “take care” of Kika Garcia, he didn’t actually tell him to kill her. He passed his hand over his damp face. If only he could calm his frazzled nerves and come up with a plan. Suddenly, he pictured Jesus on the cross. He sat upright. The Lord had sacrificed His Son to save mankind. It’s simple. Chet will confess his crimes so that I can continue our work on behalf of the Lord. Pannikin sighed with gratitude. Jesus always guided him to do the right thing.

  After dialing Chet’s number for the fourth time and receiving no answer, Pannikin stood up and strode down the path toward the first of the tents that sheltered the special families.

  The communal space in the first tent—cluttered with toys, tables and chairs—faced a grassy corridor flanked with rows of “rooms.” Each room was divided by twelve-foot hanging plastic tarps, held up by an intricate set of ceiling strings. The spaces were rendered private by hanging doorways made of the same heavy material. Some of the flaps to the rooms were tied back exposing their inner contents—cots and blankets, suitcases and trunks. The air smelled like fresh plastic and grass.

  Pannikin pulled a brass bell from his coat and rang it. Seven women and five men appeared from the makeshift rooms. Searching the assembled faces, the pastor’s anxiety deepened. “Where are Alan Earne and his wife?”

  No one seemed to know.

  “My friends,” Pannikin announced, when he had everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for the special work you have done in the name of the Lord, our Father.”

  There was murmured assent all the way round.

  “For many of you, taking these youngsters into your homes and raising them to fulfill their purpose as God’s children, hasn’t been easy. For all your hard work and selfless devotion, I thank you. And Jesus thanks you. Now there’s something of the utmost importance I must share with you today, but first I must have a word with John.” Pannikin signaled a dark-haired man with black eyes, to follow him outside. Before exiting the tent, the pastor leaned into a middle-aged man with blond hair and a fat face. “Brian, please go around and summon the rest of the families. I have an important announcement to make.”

  Minutes later, when Pannikin and John re-entered the tent, they faced a group of twenty men and women whom Brian had assembled. Just as Pannikin was about to address the group, a heavyset man hurried in and waved him outside. The man’s pale face glistened with sweat. “Pastor,” he said in a low voice. “There are men with rifles and scopes stationed in the trees all around the camp. What’s going on?”

  “Find Pastor Chet and bring him to me at once,” Pannikin ordered. He leaned inside the tent. “The rest of you, get the children inside.”

  A small man with pinched lips and hard eyes stepped outside the tent and pulled Pannikin aside. “Pastor, we have a right to know what’s going.”

  “They’re looking for Pastor Chet,” Pannikin said.

  “Who’s they?” the man asked.

  Just as Pannikin was about to answer, a tall man emerged from the trees. He held a young boy by the hand. The pastor and the tall man locked eyes. The man tried to shield the boy with his own body as they picked up their pace.

  “Stop them!” Pannikin ordered.

  The man and the boy started running across the field, toward the pedestrian entrance.

  “Stop them now!” Pannikin shouted.

  Black-eyed John lunged ahead, gun in hand.

  7:30 A.M.

  Ann spotted Julian Fox at the far end of the square, his red-yellow hair blazing like a warning beacon in the morning sun. The agent was talking to a group of men and thankfully hadn’t noticed her.

  Ann moved toward the gate. Her past efforts to find her son were still painfully fresh in her mind. She feared that she was making yet another mistake, but she didn’t know what else to do.

  Ten yards from the gate, a muscled man in a gray suit stepped in front of Ann, blocking her way. “We’ll be closing this area off, Miss. Please, this way.”

  The sound of a distance siren was drawing closer.

  “I have business at the gate,” Ann said, trying to sound brave.

  “I have my orders, ma’am. We’re clearing the square.”

  “Do you hear that ambulance?” Ann said, knowing that her next words committed her to go through with her sketchy plan. “My mother’s very sick. She has a heart condition and she needs medicine. I have to prepare the guard to let the paramedics into the camp. There’s very little time. If we don’t hurry, my mother will die!”

  “There’s been no mention of any one being sick,” the man said. There was doubt in his eyes.

  Ann spotted the ambulance at the far end of the square. Seeing her opportunity, she sidestepped her interrogator and sprinted ahead. At the gate, she steeled herself to look back. An alarmed look on his face, Julian Fox was talking to the man in the gray suit and to the paramedics, who had joined them.

  “Quick!” Ann said to the startled guard. “Open the gate! The paramedics need to get to my mother. She’s having a heart attack. Hurry!”

  The guard, a young man with a pug nose and a wispy beard, said, “Aren’t you the reporter from the LA Times?”

  Ann silently cursed herself for that lame story. “No! Hurry up!”

  The guard scratched his head, apparently weighing what to do.

  Ann glanced nervously over her shoulder. Julian Fox was hurrying toward her, the medics on his heels. Behind them, Tom Long was running toward all of them from the bottom of the square, a determined look on his face.

  Ann leaned in to the guard, her voice low. “If my mother dies, I’ll hold you responsible! Now hurry up and open the gate!”

  The gate opened.

  A rough hand took hold of Ann’s arm and swung her around. Julian Fox’s blue eyes bore into her. “You’re under arrest, Mrs. Olson.”

  Ann jerked her arm free. “Leave me alone!”

  One of the paramedics stepped up to Julian. “Pine Wood police okayed this call. We have to check…”

  Ann took advantage of the men arguing to scan the inside of the compound. There was no sign of Richard or Travis. To the right, the white tents faced the clearing at an angle. On the far end of the field, a stretch of woods separated the main buildings from this more remote area. Ann strained to see past the dense tangle of trees. She could hear voices coming from the other side of the tents, but she couldn’t see anyone.

  Tom Long joined them. Out of breath from his run across the square, he turned to the two local policemen who had followed him. Indicating Ann he said, “I strongly suggest you arrest this woman for obstruction of justice.”

  Ann stepped back. “Please Tom! I want to talk to you first.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh my God! Look!”

  A man and a small boy had emerged from the woods. Richard and Travis. They were walking rapidly along the edge of the field toward the gate.

  A black-haired man appeared from the direction of the tents. He shouted, “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  Ann saw a glint of metal as Julian Fox stepped beside her. The agent tried to elbow her out of the way with his free arm, but Ann stood her ground, her eyes locked on her husband and child. Tom Long emerged on Ann’s left side. He too tried to pull her back, but she stood firm, afraid to lose sight of Richard and Travis.

  Richard had come to a halt and pushed Travis behind him. Apparently eager to see what was happening, Travis peered around his father’s back. Seeing Ann, he shouted, “Mommy! Mommy!”

  A mega
-phone voice made Ann jump. “You!” it shouted. “Inside the camp! Drop the gun or we’ll shoot!”

  Travis tore himself from his father and started running the hundred yards toward Ann. “Mommy!”

  Before they could stop her, Ann pushed past Tom and Julian. She reached Travis moments before Richard did. She picked her son up, pressed him to her chest, and started for the gate. Richard ran alongside them, shielding them with his body.

  Gunshots sounded.

  Ann felt a searing pain in her leg. Travis started kicking and screaming. Still clutching her son, she stumbled. Richard pulled them both up.

  Ann heard shouts and more gunfire. Tom Long was suddenly there. He pulled Travis from her arms.

  “No!”

  Before Ann knew what was happening, Richard lifted her up. The world upside down, she was whisked away. Ann felt a warm stickiness moving down her jeans. She noticed that Richard’s hands were slick with blood. She was afraid of the answer, but she had to know. “Is Travis okay?”

  CHAPTER 29

  Saturday, November 3

  11:30 A.M.

  Ann pulled her son close to her.

  “Mom, that hurts. Don’t squeeze so hard.”

  Ann wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry honey. I can’t seem to let you go.”

  “Mom? Can we go back and get the Lego truck I made?”

  “No sweetie. You’ll never go back there again. Not ever.”

  “You should have seen it, Mom. It was huge. All black and green like real soldiers have. And it had big wheels too.”

  Ann looked into her son’s beaming face, careful not to squeeze him too hard, this time.

  Travis touched the mass of gauze and tape on her arms and legs. “When will your Band-Aids come off?”

  “Soon, honey. Soon.”

  “Did getting shot hurt, Mom?”

  “Not really. Don’t you worry about mommy, sweetie. Everything’s fine.”

  Ann and her son sat together on her hospital bed. The morning sun from the open window spilled over the white walls and the polished oak floors. A gentle breeze wafted in the smell of freshly mowed grass.