“Denis Nolan—holed up on the Savannah River,” said Jaak.
Frightening thoughts went through his mind and Scott’s at the same time. Thoughts of what Denis might be doing—and thoughts of what they would do to Denis if they found him. There was a period of silence as each tried to think of the next move. Malcolm was the first to speak.
“Jaak, do you remember at the poker game a couple of weeks ago, Jimmy saying he had been hunting on Howard Nolan’s property on a high bluff on the Savannah River?”
“I do, Mal. I think you’ve hit it. Nolan’s place would be within the grid of that last cell tower. Jimmy knows exactly where it is.”
Jaak had Jimmy on the phone almost immediately. And, sure, he knew where it was. Jaak explained the circumstances, and Jimmy insisted on guiding them to it.
“I’m going armed,” said Jaak. “I don’t know what we’ll find. You sure you want to go?”
“Why, sure. I haven’t been in a good firefight since I left Nam. I’ll bring my Remington 700.”
“You do that, Jimmy, but we’re not looking for a firefight. Just want to be prepared. All I’m bringing is my 1911A1—only weapon I own.”
“You can’t go to a firefight with a pistol. I’ll bring you a rifle. I’ve got a half dozen. Y’all ready to go?”
“Yes,” said Jaak. “Malcolm wants to stop at his house and pick up his service revolver, but it’s on the way. We can meet you in forty-five minutes.”
“OK,” said Jimmy. “Let’s meet in the parking lot right in front of Jerusalem Church, the old Salzburger Church at the end of Ebenezer Road. You know where that is, don’t you?”
“Sure. We’ll be there,” said Jaak.
“I’ll drive,” said Scott. “My Camaro’s right outside.”
CHAPTER 50
Professor Denis Nolan hovered over Jennifer. He had a knife in one hand and a rifle in the other. Framed in the doorway of the closet, he was a terrifying image. He knelt down and cut the bindings, freeing her wrists. He then helped her up and out of the closet.
Jennifer saw a large dining table filled with breakfast items: milk, orange juice, scrambled eggs, bacon, and various breads. Even though her fright had suppressed her hunger, the food was a welcome sight.
“Patty, I want you to join me for breakfast. I prepared it for you.”
It was strange, surreal, bizarre—“Patty.” This professor, this man, this monster, had known her for a month. Sponsored her on the trial team and the Dean Search Committee. Walked with her on the beach. Bound her, violently threw her into the trunk of his car, and brought her here to languish for days in a cramped closet. Patty?
“Sit down. I want you to enjoy your meal,” he said with a big smile.
Her eyes were watering from the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. Her mind was groggy, confused. It was difficult to think. Where was she? Through the window, she saw a forest of tall oaks, festooned with Spanish moss. Nothing was moving outside, and the familiar sound of city traffic was missing. Wherever she was, it was not Savannah.
She sat down but did not speak. Nolan sat directly across from her. He no longer held the knife, but the automatic rifle, of a style Jennifer had seen only in movies, was now strapped to his back. He was still smiling, obviously wanting her to speak.
“How do you like our place?” He gestured with his hand, pointing around the room. It was decorated as a lodge, with an array of mounted deer heads, fish, and birds on every wall. “It was my dad’s favorite place, his retreat. It’s ours now, Patty.”
“Ours?” And once again, “Patty.” The pain from the injuries to her wrists, legs, and face remained, but her mind was clearing somewhat. His words, however, remained baffling. She did not respond to his question.
“I want you to be comfortable here—and every place we live. I know this will work out. It must. Patty, you are all I have now. I waited for your response. I knew you would say ‘yes.’”
He was delusional; the conversation, such as it was, was absurd. As the minutes passed, her mind slowly began to function with some clarity. The pieces were coming together. She recalled the conversation with Max Gordon at the party—Nolan’s obsession with Patty Hearst and her abduction by the Symbionese Liberation Army. She was Patty, and he was the Symbionese Liberation Army. The rifle strapped on his shoulder was his prop for the storyline with which he was obsessed. There were many pictures of Patty Hearst and her captors holding automatic weapons in their hands or strapped across their shoulders. According to Gordon, Nolan had movies—several movies—of actual footage of the SLA in action. And now he was acting it out. The words “Stockholm syndrome” echoed in her mind. Yes, he was attempting to control her by making her so utterly dependent on him that she would become emotionally attached to him. This psychotic man was manipulative and cunning—and very dangerous. But she would never be his Patty.
“I can see that your eyes are saying yes, aren’t they? But you have not really responded with the words I want to hear. Remember our walk on the beach when we shared our two goals in life? First, I would be dean at Savannah Law. And then, we would spend our life together. I’ve lost the first. Ben Sterner called me Friday. That was the most hurtful call I have ever received. He said I did not receive enough votes from the committee to remain a candidate. But I knew already. It was the trial. I saw you there. You came to see me, and I will always cherish that, Patty. We won. The jury said we won. But TV and the newspapers changed the verdict. How can they do that? I could not believe what they wrote in the paper. Those were stressful days, but we won. The judge said we won. But the newspapers... the newspapers lied. They told lies about me and the trial. But you knew the truth. I know you voted for me, didn’t you, Patty?”
Nolan’s voice was rising, and his eyes were darting as he faced Jennifer across the table.
“You did, didn’t you, Patty? The committee. You were there. Tell me you voted for me! I have to know!” His voice became louder and sharper.
Jennifer could feel the danger building. She searched the table for an object to focus upon. She could not look at him. She was both terrified and traumatized.
He jumped suddenly from the table. Instantly, he was at her chair and spun it around to face him. He then reached for her throat and placed his hands around her neck in a firm strangle hold. “Tell me! Tell me that you voted for me! Now! Tell me now!”
“Yes!” Jennifer screamed. “Yes! I did!”
Immediately, he removed his hands and became still. He had a look of repentance. “Of course. Of course. I never doubted you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He took his seat again. He opened a small metal pill container, removed a tablet, placed it in his mouth, and swallowed. She recognized the container. She had seen it when she visited his office. He had pulled it from his desk, claiming he needed to take an “aspirin” for a headache. Then, as now, she knew it was not aspirin, but it was a drug of some kind—perhaps amphetamine, perhaps a tranquilizer, perhaps worse. Jennifer knew her life was in imminent danger. Her silence was unraveling whatever sanity he possessed. Her survival, she knew, depended on keeping him calm. She must respond enough to keep him in a positive mood.
“We have enough food for a week, maybe two. Do you like it here, Patty. I gave you a pillow last night. Were you comfortable?”
“Yes. Very comfortable.”
“You can sleep with me tonight, Patty. Would you like that?”
She saw the danger of leading him on. If she said yes, he would be expecting her in his bed, and when that did not occur— and it would not occur—his reaction would be unpredictable but likely brutal or deadly.
“I was quite comfortable last night, thank you. I will be pleased to just stay there again. But without the wrist bands.”
“Wrist bands? You had wrist bands?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, yes. They were put on to protect you. You should not leave the house. You are safe here. Come over here, Patty, to the window.”
&n
bsp; Nolan got up and walked to the window and motioned for Jennifer to join him. She felt she had no alternative. He was pointing to something outside the window.
“See that fence? It will protect us. No one can get through that fence. Should they come to take you away, they will regret it. No one can harm you now, Patty.”
Nolan patted the rifle sling that stretched across his shoulder. “This is an M2 carbine. It’s automatic, much more deadly than an M1 carbine. The magazine holds thirty rounds. My dad taught me how to use it when I was twelve. He served in the Army in Korea, a radioman. He told me radiomen were armed with carbines, but they were M1 carbines. He always wanted an M2, the automatic kind. When he built this house by the river, he bought one. We came out here often, my dad and I. Almost every weekend, all through high school. I was homeschooled, you know. We had targets over by that big hickory tree.” Nolan pointed out the window to a large tree beyond the fenced area.
“We would stand beside the fence and take turns shooting. I was a pretty good shot, but I never was as good as my dad. I never was as good at anything as he was... never.” Nolan shook his head slowly and walked away from the window.
Jennifer remained, viewing the tall fence that surrounded the house. It was a chain-link fence with two strands of barbed wire about six inches apart at the top, which made the fence at least seven feet tall. She could see a hinged metal gate. It had a chain wrapped around the bars near the handle. She did not see the lock, but she knew it was there. She was in a compound, a stockade, overseen by a madman.
Nolan moved into the living room and was standing near a mounted, antlered deer head.
“Come join me, Patty. This is the first deer I ever killed. My dad was real proud of me. It was the happiest day of my life. Yes, my dad was so proud. I was fifteen. These woods were full of deer back then. Still are, but I never go hunting now. Would you like to go deer hunting, Patty? We can, you know. It’s our place now—all the way to the river. I’ll show it to you this afternoon. We can walk all around our land. We have almost five hundred acres. I’ll bring my carbine. I’ll protect you. No one will harm you.”
Jennifer had followed Nolan into the living room but had said nothing. She took a seat in an oversized chair and watched Nolan as he spoke.
“I wish I had a TV for you, Patty. My dad never allowed us to have TV out here. And no telephone. But I have a cell phone we can use when we need to. I called your friend Scott this morning and left him a text message. You were sleeping so well, I did not wake you. But it was from you. I just wrote, ‘I have gone away; don’t come looking for me.’ Are you pleased I did that, Patty?”
Jennifer was not sure if this was good news or bad, but she felt a response was necessary to keep his mood stable.
“Yes, fine.”
“I feel tired. I think I will lie down. I must bind your wrists again so they can’t harm you.” He walked to a wall shelf that contained tape, wire, and pliers. “Come over here, so I can help you.”
“I’m fine; that’s OK. You go lie down.” She was surprised she could even respond, but she was certain it would not appease him. It didn’t.
“Come, Patty. Don’t be difficult. This is for your safety.”
How delusional, how surreal, she thought. If he would just lie down, go to sleep. At least, she would be safe for a while, and maybe she could find his cell phone. She must not let him bind her wrists again. She would be even more helpless, if such were possible. Besides, her wrists were lacerated and hurting. Her body was still sore from the cramped ride in the car trunk following the violent struggle in her apartment. And her face was throbbing from the cut on her cheek, though it was no longer bleeding. No, she must not let him bind her wrists again. She did not move from her chair. They were exchanging stares.
Nolan began to walk toward her with the wire and pliers in his hand. Jennifer could only stare; she could not move. And even if she could, there was no safe place to go.
As Nolan began to walk toward her, they both heard the sound of approaching vehicles. Nolan ran quickly to the front window and looked out.
“They are here! Reporters, liars! I knew they would come! They destroyed me, but I will not let them harm you, Patty.”
He unstrapped the carbine from his shoulder and rushed to the dining area. He reached in the top drawer of a cabinet, removed a magazine and placed it in the carbine. Jennifer had not noticed that the carbine had not been loaded. But she knew now that this madman had an automatic weapon and thirty rounds of ammunition. It was a deadly combination.
Nolan opened the front door and rushed outside. Jennifer could see him through a window, taking a position behind a concrete-block pump house, about four feet high. He was quite visible to Jennifer but could not be seen by the three men approaching. They had parked their two vehicles about a hundred yards from the fenced compound and were walking slowly towards the house. The pump house was just a few yards from the fence. They were walking into a trap set by a psychopath armed with an automatic rifle.
Jennifer did not recognize two of the men, but Jaak was clearly visible and in the middle of the group. They were walking slowly, side by side, about ten feet apart, on the right side of the road that led to the compound’s gate. The area did not have dense underbrush—just a few scattered saw palmetto bushes underneath a thick canopy of oak and other hardwood trees. The ground covering of dry leaves produced a loud crunching sound as they walked. She could see that Jaak was armed with a rifle. One of the other two men had a rifle, and one was carrying a handgun. They were glancing from side to side, but it was obvious that they were unaware of the deadly trap they were about to enter.
But it was clear to Jennifer. She opened the front door, pointed to the pump house, and screamed, “He’s there! With a rifle!”
As if on cue, Nolan opened fire with a burst from his M2 carbine. Jimmy was hit and went down. Jaak and Malcolm hit the ground, rolled a couple of times, and then returned fire in the direction of the pump house.
Scott, the only one unarmed, had been instructed by Jaak to remain in his vehicle while they scouted the fenced compound, and he reluctantly did as instructed. He watched from behind his steering wheel as the three men moved slowly toward the house, into the trap. The burst of gunfire was as unexpected by Scott as by the others. He watched as Jimmy went down and Jaak and Malcolm hit the ground. He saw just a head peering from behind the concrete wall of the pump house, and then, immediately after the burst of fire, he saw the head disappear. Then the head appeared again, and there was another burst of gunfire. This was the first time he actually saw the rifle. The shooter disappeared again behind the safety of the concrete blocks but not before Scott got a good view of him. There was no doubt; it was Nolan. He was now crouching safely behind the pump house.
As if by instinct, Scott started his Camaro and turned onto the dirt roadway. He braced himself and gunned it. A ton and a half of “wheeled steel,” with its 190-horsepower engine, roared down the roadway toward the gate. Jaak and Malcolm watched as the thundering beast passed them and crashed into the gate. The chain link fence was no match for the massive projectile. The steel posts broke at ground level, and the wire was forced to the ground. But the vehicle did not stop. It careened forward, slamming into the concrete blocks of the pump house, where it finally came to rest.
Nolan had heard the roar as it headed toward the compound and directly at him. He ran toward the front door of the house to escape and, in doing so, presented a clear target to Jaak and Malcolm. Both shot at the same time.
Nolan fell near the doorway. Jaak ran forward, leaping over the collapsed fence, fully intending to finish off Nolan if he moved. He did not move; blood was now coming from his mouth and his chest.
“You bastard,” Jaak muttered under his breath. Then he called to Malcolm. “He’s down—down for good. Go see about Jimmy.”
By this time, Scott had climbed out of his wrecked Camaro, momentarily dazed from the impact. His face and arms were peppered with superfici
al cuts from flying glass, but his seatbelt held and saved him from serious injury.
Jaak stepped over Nolan’s body and threw open the front door. With Scott right behind him, he rushed to find Jennifer, who was staring out the window, as if frozen in place. She had observed it all from the window.
Scott embraced Jennifer, and she began to weep. She felt cold and was trembling. He walked her over to the sofa, while Jaak searched for and found a blanket. Scott wrapped the blanket around her and continued to hold her close. She continued to cry softly, finding release from the terror that she had experienced during the past day and a half.
Jaak hurried back outside to make sure that Nolan was, indeed, down for good. Finding him with no signs of life, Jaak ran over the recently destroyed fence to where Malcolm was tending to Jimmy, who was conscious but seriously wounded. He had been hit in the thigh and losing blood fast. Malcolm had already cut through Jimmy’s trousers, found the wound, and was applying pressure to stop the bleeding when Jaak came to assist.
“Keep the pressure on that wound, Jaak,” said Malcolm, “while I call 911.” He placed the call from his cell phone, and when the operator came on, he said, “We’ve got two people down with serious gunshot wounds.” He then gave directions to their location. He stayed on the phone until he was assured that medics were on the way.
“I think most of the bleeding has stopped,” said Jaak, “but I hope they get here soon. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
Malcolm needed to make another very important phone call. He dialed 411 and asked the operator to connect him to his party.
Meanwhile, Scott had retrieved a first-aid kit from his thoroughly demolished car, and returned to the house. Jennifer declined Scott’s offer to treat her injuries and, instead, took the kit into the small bathroom.
Scott went outside. He could see Jaak tending to Jimmy and called out, “Do you need any help?”
“No, help is on the way. You see about Jennifer.”
Scott went back into the house but kept watching from the window for any sight or sound of an emergency vehicle.
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