by Jeff Abbott
The car stopped and Luke opened his eyes in the dark.
He heard Eric’s soft whisper near the trunk. ‘Filling the tank up. No noise from you or I’ll kill the clerk inside.’
Luke pressed a fist against the door.
‘The funny thing is… shooting that man was much harder in my mind. I’d built it up as this terrible thing but after the first squeeze of the trigger my mind turned off a little bit and it wasn’t too bad.’ He sounded almost surprised.
I have to stop you, Luke thought. I can’t let you hurt another person. The pump clicked as Eric settled it back into its slot.
Luke groped in the darkness. He needed a weapon. He felt a circular shape – a set of jumper cables. He groped past the cables and his fingers closed on a pile of plastic boxes. Old cassette tapes. Nothing beneath. He kept searching, turning over to face the front of the trunk. He felt the rim of the spare tire. There were tools to change it, but they lay under the tire, and he couldn’t get to them with the trunk closed.
He reached out and touched the coil of the jumper cables again. Heavy plastic, like a thick braided rope, with the copper clamps on the end.
As the car started and pulled away from the station, Luke began to uncurl the coil.
6
Luke lost the sense of time. He kept the jumper cables close to him and he thought, long and hard, about what he would do when Eric – the murderer – opened the trunk.
Finally the car stopped.
Luke tensed. He pulled the cables close to him. He practiced what he was going to do, best as he could given the tight quarters. It was insane to try but to not try was worse.
He heard a voice close to the trunk. ‘Luke? You awake?’
As if he could sleep. ‘I’m awake.’
‘I’m going to open the trunk now. You will get out and you will do exactly as you’re told.’
The trunk opened. The dark night had become gloomier, gray clouds obscuring the stars. In the distance thunder rumbled. He could see the shadow of Eric standing centered at the trunk’s opening. The arm, cocked, holding the gun, aimed toward him.
Luke snared the cable over Eric’s arm, one neat quick motion, and yanked down, pulling Eric toward the trunk. Then he kicked out hard, caught Eric in the chest.
‘Dumbass!’ Eric roared. Now Luke yanked Eric toward him, keeping him off balance, trying to scramble out of the trunk. The pistol, bound in the cables, was caught between the two of them.
Eric fired.
Heat. Burning. Luke heard the thump of bullets ripping into the trunk’s body. He kicked out again, suddenly afraid of a bullet smashing into the now full gas tank. The two men hit the ground, scrambling for the loose gun. Eric twisted his hands free of the cables. Luke tackled him, drove knees into Eric’s back as he lunged toward the weapon. The gun lay close to his reach, lying now on the grass, lit only by moonlight peering through the clouds. Grass and dirt clogged Luke’s teeth as Eric pushed him off.
Luke’s fingers closed around the barrel and then the heavy rope of the jumper cables looped around his throat.
The cables tightened into the flesh of his neck like a noose. Eric’s knee ground hard into his spine. Luke struggled to turn, to better the grip on the gun and aim the gun at Eric but he couldn’t move.
Eric began to strangle him. The pain – from the pressure, from the lack of air – burst in Luke’s throat. ‘Let the gun go, Luke,’ Eric hissed in his ear. ‘Let it go.’
If he let go he would die. If he didn’t let go he would die. He couldn’t turn the gun around to aim it at Eric; he didn’t have the leverage or the grip on the trigger. He released the gun, spreading fingers, feeling the cool of the grass instead of the heat of the steel.
The noose didn’t loosen, but Eric yanked him several yards away from the gun, dragging into the dirt and grass, then pounded him with a brutal kick to the back of the head.
Darkness, pain. Luke lay stunned, gasping, the ache in his head bright as fire. Blood oozed on his ear, on his jaw. The gun barrel nestled against his hair.
‘You’re not going to screw me over!’ Spittle hit the back of Luke’s neck.
Luke, hardly able to speak past the pain in his throat, nodded, face-down in the grass.
Eric yanked him to his feet and shoved him toward a dirt road that cut through the grass. Loblolly pines rose in thin majesty around him and the air smelled of wet earth and gathering storm. In the distance, thunder sounded, clouds clearing their throats.
Luke and Eric moved down the road and suddenly a light flickered on, high and bright. Luke blinked at the harsh brightness. He could see a chained gate cutting across the road. A light above the gate glowed. No person stood on the other side of the gate; the light must be keyed to a sensor.
Eric shoved Luke against the gate. It was secured with chains and the links clattered as Luke stumbled against it.
‘Turn around.’
Luke did and Eric held up a cell phone.
‘Smile.’
Luke didn’t.
‘I want that bitch to see you’re being delivered in good condition. Smile.’
Delivered. Luke bit his lip, then smiled.
‘Good.’ Eric fiddled with the smartphone. He clicked buttons, kept his gaze flickering between the keypad and Luke. Luke guessed the pine forest had been cleared of a width about forty feet for the scrabble of road. Eric could gun him down before he reached the woods.
Eric put the phone up to his face. ‘I just sent you a photo of Luke Dantry. Where is she?’
Eric listened, said, ‘You better not be lying.’ He clicked off the phone.
‘You called the British woman,’ Luke said.
Eric didn’t answer. He powered a bullet into the chain’s lock. It shattered in the quiet, sent birds flocking up from the pines. Eric unwound the chains, creaked the gate open. He produced a small flashlight from his pocket and waved Luke forward with it.
Luke shambled along, gravel kicking under his shoes. The road looked like it had been built for quiet murder. The only noise was his footsteps, the hiss of the wind, and a low song of owls. The dark smelled dank and the circle of flashlight danced at his feet. A soft rain began to fall.
‘Who’d you send my photo to?’ he asked. First the dead man in Houston, now him. ‘Who am I being delivered to?’ He risked a thrust. ‘Is it Jane?’
Eric stared at him, shook his head. ‘You are done talking, period. You don’t say a word. I don’t need you making things worse for me.’ Like Eric was the victim, more than Luke or the dead homeless guy.
The road split and Eric said, ‘Turn left. And hurry up. Hurry.’ He prodded Luke in the shoulder blades with the gun. Ahead he saw a soft glow of light.
Luke stumbled forward, Eric urging him into a loping run.
Suddenly the trees on each side opened up and a small cabin stood in the clearing of the pines. A thin light shone from a small window near the front door.
Eric stopped him as they reached the door. Eric kicked over a flowerpot filled with dead remnants of rosemary. In the puddle of the light Luke saw two keys. One large, like a house key. The other was smaller, similar to the kind to undo a luggage lock.
‘Open the door,’ Eric ordered.
Luke slid the key into the lock, eased the door open.
They stepped into a dark, short entryway. The thin framing of light came from a closed door on his right. Eric put a hand on his shoulder – almost gently – and opened the door.
It was a small room and it smelled of cleaning fluid and sweat. A small lamp stood in a corner and in its feeble circle of light Luke saw a woman. She lay on a metal bed. She was in her mid-twenties, dark haired. She wore jeans and a thin sweater. Her hair was a tangle over her face and she smelled of having gone a couple of days without a good wash.
She stared at Luke in complete terror.
‘Baby, it’s me,’ Eric said, stepping from behind Luke.
The woman coughed a whisper that sounded like oh God Eric and she trembled. �
��Oh my God, why, get me out of here…’
‘It’s all okay. It’s all okay,’ Eric said. Luke could see that shackles bound the woman to the bed – a set of chains braceleting her to the cot, at her wrists, another set of shackles at her feet.
Eric hurried toward her but stopped himself. He made sure to not turn his back on Luke and he backed away from the bed. He pressed the small key into Luke’s hands. ‘Set her free.’
‘Eric, who is he? Where are the police?’ the woman asked.
‘Say nothing more. You’re safe, that’s all that matters.’ Eric stepped back, the gun not aimed at Luke but at the ready.
‘Why the hell do you have a gun?’ The woman demanded, an edge in her rising voice.
‘Just hush, babe, you’re safe now.’ Iron in Eric’s voice, a huge relief. ‘Safe and sound.’
Luke fumbled with the keys. He unlocked the chains cuffing her wrists and the links fell to the mattress. She slapped the constraints away as if they were radioactive. The links tinkled as they slid to the hardwood floor.
‘Thank you,’ the woman said to Luke. ‘Thank you so much…’
‘Don’t thank him,’ Eric screamed. ‘Don’t say a goddamned word to him!’
Luke unlocked the shackles on her legs. He met the woman’s gaze; she was confused, glancing at him and then Eric. She kicked the chains away and wriggled past Luke off the bed. She fell against Eric’s chest, drinking in the comfort of his touch. He kept the gun aimed at Luke.
‘I want to go home,’ the woman sobbed into Eric’s shoulder.
‘So do I,’ said Luke.
Eric kissed the top of the woman’s head, stroked her shoulder. He eased her toward the door and turned back to Luke. ‘Get on the bed.’
Luke sat on the mattress’s edge.
‘I’ve moved heaven and earth to keep you safe,’ he said to the woman.
She nodded, looking confused, and he kissed her forehead.
‘But I need you to do what I say. I need to keep the gun on him. So I need you to lock this guy to the bed.’
Luke’s throat froze and the woman mumbled, ‘What?’
‘Lock him to the bed. He’s taking your place.’
‘Eric…’ the woman began. ‘You can’t abandon a person here. No. Let’s just go to the police, please, let’s just go to the police.’
At the same time Luke stood. ‘No.’
‘Sit down!’ Eric shouted.
‘You’re not leaving me here.’
‘Aubrey, please,’ Eric said. ‘Do as I say.’
‘I don’t understand-’ the woman started to say and Eric yelled, ‘Don’t question me, not after I’ve put everything in my life on the line for you. Just do it, goddamn it!’ Eric pushed her toward the bed and following her, put the gun to Luke’s temple. ‘Stay still. Don’t struggle.’ He swallowed. ‘He’s a bad guy, baby. Don’t feel bad for him.’
‘Don’t listen to him, he kidnapped me-’ Luke shouted. He stopped. If he told this woman Eric had committed murder then Eric might kill him instead of leaving him here. He shut his mouth.
‘He’s one of the guys behind your kidnapping,’ Eric said. ‘I grabbed him, he’s your ransom. So don’t feel bad for him, babe.’
The woman – Aubrey – stared hard at Luke and Luke shook his head. He grabbed at her smooth wrists. ‘He’s lying. I’m not a bad guy. Please.’
‘Let her go!’ Eric roared. He fired a bullet past Luke’s head, into the wall.
Luke and Aubrey froze, doubled over in surprise. She trembled at the gunshot and Luke released her. She raised the cuffs to his wrists and clicked the shackles on him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I’m sorry.’
Aubrey glanced at Eric. Then she attached the chains to his ankles.
‘He’s lying to you, I’m innocent…’ Luke said.
‘All I did,’ Eric said, ‘was deliver a ransom.’
Aubrey stepped back, shaking, and the man embraced her again. ‘Go outside, wait for me. We’re going home.’
Aubrey stumbled out of the cabin.
Eric unfolded the phone. He pulled a small metal device from his pocket – Luke guessed it was a modulator, designed to mask his voice – and snapped it over the phone, and he punched in a number. He raised his finger to his lips in a hushing motion.
The phone was on speaker and Luke heard Henry say, ‘Hello?’
‘Henry Shawcross. I have bad news. Your stepson, Luke Dantry, has been kidnapped.’
‘What? Who the hell is this?’
‘Let’s just say I’m passing the baton to you,’ Eric said. ‘Listen carefully. To get your stepson back, you must wire fifty million dollars to a series of offshore accounts.’
‘Henry doesn’t have fifty million dollars. Are you insane?’ Luke said softly. The idea was ridiculous. ‘You’ve made a serious mistake.’
A long, agonizing beat of silence. ‘I wish to speak to Luke,’ Henry said.
‘Tell him you’re alive and well. Nothing else.’ Eric unhooked the device from the phone and put it close to Luke’s face.
Luke said, ‘Henry?’
‘Luke.’ Henry sounded stunned. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘No. He grabbed me at the airport. He had a gun. He-’
Eric stood and replaced the modulator onto the phone. ‘He’s alive and unhurt. Do what you’re told or your stepson is dead.’
Another long stretch of silence; Luke could hear the rasp of Henry’s breathing. ‘I’m sorry. I will not pay.’
Luke froze. He thought he had misheard. He said will not. Instead of cannot. ‘What?’
Henry’s voice sounded thin, tinny, a ghost of his usual confident baritone. ‘I don’t know what money you’re talking about. Please don’t hurt Luke. But I don’t have this money you want.’
Eric said, ‘Don’t lie. You know you have the fifty million, you bastard.’
‘I do not.’
‘For God’s sakes, give him what he wants!’ Luke yelled. He was thinking: if you don’t have the money, just tell them that you do. Stall them; make them think the money is coming, get the FBI on the job. ‘Please, Henry. Tell him you’ll cooperate.’ Maybe Henry was too stunned by the ransom demand to know what to say.
‘Luke, I cannot. I cannot.’
His stepfather – smart, determined, more than capable of thinking on his feet – was not willing to bluff. He was not willing to lie, to promise complete cooperation, and get off the phone and call the police. He was leaving Luke to the murderous mercies of a kidnapper. The realization hit him like a stone hammering into his chest.
Why wouldn’t he lie, say anything to save Luke?
‘You don’t understand, you don’t cooperate, he will die,’ Eric said.
‘I can’t help you.’ Henry, unyielding.
‘He’s already killed one guy. He knows about the Night Road!’ Luke yelled. ‘Give him what he wants!’
Silence, like a thread pulled to a breaking point. ‘I suspect this is a sort of very bad joke. Luke, why are you doing this?’
Eric retreated across from the room, holding the phone still, a look of disbelief on his face.
What does a kidnapper do when the family tells him to screw himself? Luke thought. ‘Henry! It’s not a joke!’
‘I am going to hang up now,’ Henry said.
The line went dead.
Eric and Luke stared at each other in the dim light of the cabin. After their yelling the room seemed to echo with the silence.
Luke was afraid to speak, instinct told him to be silent, that Eric was on the brink of either killing him or calling Henry back or calling back Jane, the British woman – the master pulling the strings – to report Henry’s refusal.
Eric stared at him. Raised the gun.
Luke stared back in his eyes. It was his only defense. Eric had shot the homeless man in the back; he hadn’t had to watch his victim face death.
‘She’ll hear,’ Luke said. ‘She’ll hear and she’ll know what you did. Know what you are.’
> The gun wavered.
‘You can’t talk about this,’ he said. ‘Your stepfather’s in deep. That’s all I can say. You’re in deep as well.’
‘Deep in what?’
‘The woman who took Aubrey, Jane, she’ll call Henry again. I’m sure they’ll work out an exchange for you.’ Eric’s voice broke.
‘I just want to go home. Please.’ Luke rattled the chains.
‘I’ll give you a bit of advice if you get free or Henry pays up. Find a place to hide if you can. Trust no one. That’s your life now.’
‘You know Henry. You know about the Night Road. How?’
Eric leaned against the wall, as though the weariness of the past day had drained him of bone and blood.
‘What the hell is my stepfather involved with? Why would he have fifty million dollars? Tell me.’
Now Eric looked at him again. ‘I can’t afford to feel sorry for you. Goodbye.’ He walked toward the door.
‘Don’t do this. Don’t leave me here.’ Luke struggled against the chains. ‘For God’s sakes, no one knows I’m here in the middle of nowhere.’
‘You’re right. And that ignorance buys me time.’ Eric turned and he left, slamming the door behind him.
A few minutes later Luke heard a car – his car – start, in the far distance, past the grove, past the gate. The BMW’s engine gave what sounded like a joyful revving. Of course. Eric and Aubrey’s ordeal was over.
His sure as hell wasn’t. He was alone, chained to a bed. In the middle of nowhere. With no way out. And no one to help him.
7
The bombs required a high level of trust. It started with several hundred pounds of high-grade Semtex explosive smuggled out of the Czech Republic and then sold to an operative in the FARC terrorist group in Colombia.
The explosives were then bartered for detailed intelligence on a new surge of anti-narcotic operations supported in Colombia by the American government. This trade resulted in the eventual torture and murder of four undercover agents.
The Semtex was muled into America by the most trusted couriers of a Mexican drug lord in exchange for the name of a key government informant inside his own ring. The informant was tortured for three days. Her body, with her throat slit, was left on her mother’s doorstep in a quiet Mexico City neighborhood.
