“That would be Kyle,” Jameson said. “I’ll be right back.”
On his way out the door, he watched as the principal handed the plain-clothed detective the file he’d brought. “These are all the exchange kids. We have them from Brazil, from France, and, this year, a batch from Syria. With the civil war going on there and all, we agreed to take in a few extra.”
Jameson stopped, dead still. “You said Syria? How many from Syria?”
The principal leaned back on his heels. “Let’s see, ,I think, six at Oberon. But a couple of the other high schools took a few, as well. We’re all trying to help out.”
“All high school age?”
“Yes. I believe the youngest is thirteen.”
“Boys or girls, sir?” the detective wanted to know.
“Um, mostly boys. We have one girl, but the rest, as far as I know, are boys.”
“She’s a sister to one of them,” added Kendra.
“Ah, no ma’am. None of these students are related.”
“But my sitter said he was bringing over his sister and they were all going to study together, if these are the right kids.”
“Well, I’m not sure of that.; In fact, if they were brother and sister, we’d place them in the same home, together. But they requested separate homes and explained it wasn’t proper for her to stay with a family with unrelated boys in it. Made a big deal about that. So she’s staying with the Campbells, and they have a daughter the same age.”
“The Campbells?” Kendra’s voice filled with panic. “As in Maureen Campbell?”
“Yes, Maureen. Is this; is that significant?”
Kendra faced the detective. “We found an erotic poetry book—Rumi is his name—left behind when Maureen babysat a few months ago. I called her mother and told her. She told me Maureen had gotten it from the exchange student they had. I didn’t think to ask what country they were from.”
“Ah, Well, Mrs. Reeder, I doubt the presence of an erotic poetry book in the hands of a high school girl is anything like a clue or something to get us tied in knots. Kids these days—”
Jameson had to insert himself. He knew Kyle would have some light to shed on the situation. “My friend outside? He led that raid on the compound several months ago. You know the one, where they captured some would-be terrorists and killed that radical sheikh?
“Go get him, Jameson,” ordered the detective.
“You got the Campbell’s phone number?”
“Yes, I have it,” Kendra answered.
Jameson greeted his new LPO, who was more serious than he’d ever seen him. “Kyle, thanks for coming. I know you guys were planning on leaving today.”
“Already fixed that. So you tell me what you got. We’re just here to help, NOT to interfere. In fact, we’re not supposed to do much of anything except report and assist on U.S. soil. You know the drill. You’ve heard the training.”
“Yeah, like the raid on the compound.”
“We knew they were holding hostages, abusing them, too, and we didn’t want to wait for the Feds to get their act together.”
Jameson hoped he was wrong about this whole thing, but was grateful Kyle and some of the boys decided to stay back for the assist. “Well, I hope this isn’t a hostage situation. These girls are only three.”
“And you have a teenager, too. Don’t forget that. At least the girls know her.”
“Yes. Who might or might not be in on it. I just want the girls back without coming to harm.”
“Jameson, if we can obtain some good intel, we’ll get ‘em back for you if they’re still in the area. But you have to understand, these types are never really predictable, and they’re on the move constantly.”
“I want you to talk to the detective who says he’s trying to bring in the FBI. They’re going over to the sitter’s house and interviewing neighbors here. He’s also talking about the girls being held for a ransom demand. It might not be terrorist-related. We don’t have any evidence of that, really. Just a hunch.”
“Yeah. That’s a pretty good hunch, though--about the size of the Jumbo Tron in San Francisco.” Kyle put his arm on Jameson’s shoulder, and he took comfort from it. “Now, let’s go meet your JV team. The varsity’s in town.”
He liked hearing that a lot.
After making the introductions, Kyle sat at Kendra’s kitchen table and examined the files the principal brought.
“So you know the sitter is missing. What about the other girl, the old sitter, the one who was hosting the exchange student. You never called her back?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Are they around? Maybe they know something?”
“That’s what I was about to do. Let me call her.” As an afterthought, she looked up at the Detective. “Okay?”
“Sure. Someone knows something. Haven’t heard from my guys outside or the folks interviewing the mother, so I’m thinking we’re shooting blanks.”
“Estelle? This is Kendra Reeder.” She paused, her forehead creasing as she listened to something disturbing on the phone. “When was the last time you saw her?” Kendra was staring back in shock at the group overhearing her conversation, her eyes wide with worry. Jameson’s gut fell to the floor. He put his arms around Lizzie, who clutched him like the lifeline he was trying to be.
The detective extended his hand for the phone, wiggling his fingers. Kendra handed it to him.
“Mrs. Campbell? This is Detective Blalock from Nashville PD. When did you notice your daughter was missing?”
Jameson could hear the woman sounding frantic and learned she hadn’t been missing longer than today, which relieved him.
“And how about your exchange student, um,” he checked the paperwork, “Malia, is that how you pronounce it? Is she around?” He paused, waiting for the answer. “Chicago? Why would Malia go to Chicago?” After an explanation, Blalock added, “We’ll be sending over some people. Not sure if we can round them up tonight, but I need you to stay home until we take a look at Malia and Maureen’s room, okay?”
He sighed. “Now there’re two girls missing. I’m gonna need additional resources. Excuse me, while I go call the Bureau.”
Kyle motioned to Jameson and Lizzie to follow him outside. Jameson knew he was hatching a plan.
“Listen, we need to get over to that house and find out if there’s anything there that will point to where they’ve gone.”
“Right.”
“What’s this about Chicago?” Lizzie asked.
“We’ve just learned about this other guy, this new shiekh—you know when they lose one they replace them with another one to take his place. We had one leader in the central valley in California go to prison for income tax evasion. The one before him was deported. They send replacements quick.
But in Chicago, there’s a group that worships at the White Mosque, and they are especially unfriendly individuals. Discreetly, I think we’ve had our eye on them, but you didn’t hear it from me, okay?”
“So we go then.” Jameson looked at Lizzie. “You okay with this?”
“I should stay with Kendra.”
“Yes. And you can let us know if something comes up on this end. You can be our eyes and ears here. Jameson, you, me, and the boys will head over there right now. I’m gonna need that address. Can you grab it?”
“Of course.”
With the plan in place, Jameson noted the address and committed it to memory. Lizzie sent a text with Mrs. Campbell’s phone number when Kendra gave it to her, and the five SEALs left for the house, luckily only ten minutes away.
Nashville Seal: Chapter Eighteen
They elected not to call the Campbell residence beforehand and just show up, letting Mrs. Campbell think they were with the local police. She ushered them into an upstairs room done in flowered wallpaper, which hid what Jameson knew was a dark secret. The frilly outward appearance only added to the danger he felt at hand.
A bulletin board made of covered fabric and laced with satin ribbon held pic
tures of dances and events, outings with friends, pets, and hunky movie stars. On the opposite wall, all by itself, was a huge poster of Jameson.
“Well, would you look at that,” Fredo quipped. “We got us a fan. I’m guessing it’s not the Syrian girl.”
Kyle had found a picture tacked to the wall beside Malia’s pillow. “I think I have something.”
Jameson examined Kyle’s picture of the two American girls, golden blonde hair flowing in the sunshine with their mutual Syrian friend between them in a three-way hug. In the background was a house.
“See that?”
Jameson squinted, making out what looked like a portion of a tanned, sandaled leg and a small strip of white appearing to be the bottom hem of a kaftan. He stared into his LPO’s face.
“We got us a new sheikh,” whispered Cooper.
“Fuck!” Jameson sat on Maureen’s bed and knew the clues had just ratcheted up. The threat to Charlotte’s life was more eminent.
“Jameson, you’re gonna call the mother up here and ask her about this place. See if she knows it. She might not be honest with me,” said Kyle.
Mrs. Campbell was in near shock, her hair falling down over her neck after trying to secure it with a clip. Her mascara had run from her crying. She was holding a stiff drink and smelled like she’d had a couple already when Jameson handed her the picture.
“You recognize this?” he asked.
She squinted, working on her focus, and then recognition came across her face. “That’s the Stadler’s place.”
“You know where it is?” asked Kyle, forgetting the rules of engagement.
“Yes, I’ve been there lots of times when the Stadlers lived there. But they moved to Florida about seven months ago. They tried selling the house and the little ranch. Couldn’t get enough for it, so I believe they decided to rent it out.”
Kyle and Jameson shared a look.
“It’s a ranch, too? Are there outbuildings and such?”
“Oh yeah, they raised chickens, although I don’t suppose they’re there now. They had a small barn and a shed for the apples they picked and sold in the late summer.”
“Ma’am, could you find me the address of this house, please?”
“Sure, I’ll do you better, I’ll give you the property flier.
It has the address and a map on it. I saved a couple to send to them in Florida.”
All of the SEALs had their Sig Sauers, never leaving home without them, sometimes another backup, and a KA-BAR strapped to their lower legs. No one had brought their MP5s, because they had been traveling to Tennessee to attend a concert, not go to war. Jameson heard the cursing in the background, as several felt they were under-armed and didn’t care for it one bit. The only time he’d seen his SEAL buddies act nasty was when something was wrong or missing with their equipment, or they’d contracted something that Anti-Monkey Butt Powder couldn’t handle.
Jameson hadn’t been brought up to speed yet, so all he had was his hunting rifle, but he was a crack shot, especially at long distances.
The little house came into view as their rented van pulled slowly into a clearing just outside a good view of the front porch. On a normal day, it would look like a welcoming rural homestead. But he just knew it was the prison that held his daughter.
Kyle whispered instructions again, just like they’d discussed on the short trip over. Without IEDs or little flash bombs, they’d have to coordinate their attack flawlessly, if the surveillance proved to be accurate.
Armando came back with the information. He could hear the little girls playing in one of the bedrooms downstairs, supervised by one of the sitters, and everyone seemed to be doing fine.
Jameson leaned back into a tree, closed his eyes, and nearly lost his bowels, he was so grateful. Cooper and Fredo gave him an appreciative pat on the back.
“How many inside? Can you tell?” Asked Kyle.
“Didn’t want to risk it, but I’m thinking I heard maybe five separate voices. They’re working on something in back, a new delivery of two-by-fours and some steel and bags of concrete, but no one working at this hour.”
“These fuckin’ maggots. You send some of them back to the source, and then they fly the coop and set up shop somewhere else,” whispered Fredo.
“Well, not this group. I don’t want anyone killed if we can help it. But if you see any of the girls in mortal danger, you have my permission to shoot. I’ll get the court martial, but you’ll be able to live with yourself, hear?”
“Yessir,” everyone whispered in unison. Everyone readied their weapons.
They checked their timekeepers and followed Kyle’s silent countdown, knowing when they were supposed to do what they’d outlined. Jameson and Jones were to go in through the window in the girls’ bedroom. Armando would take the rear door with Fredo behind him. and Kyle would take the front door breach. Anyone reaching for a gun would be disabled and killed if they didn’t stop. Anyone who held a hostage got a bullet to the head, plain and simple.
Like all their operations, the assault started on time with complete accuracy. The girls screamed when they heard the window shatter, running to their babysitter, but Charlotte’s eyes grew wide when she realized Jameson stood before her, on his knees, ready to accept the body slam she gave him. Even the sounds of gunfire in the next rooms didn’t faze her. Jameson held her close and assisted Jones in safely stowing the girls behind a mattress and box spring sitting near the outside corner. The SEALs propped the bed up with two sturdy wooden chairs and instructed the girls not to leave the area.
Jameson was carefully monitoring the emotional level of the teenager. He could see she looked scared and sported a recent black eye. “Are you Cissy?”
“Yessir,” she said sweetly. “God, I’m so glad you came.”
“You hurt? Anybody hurt?”
“I’m fine, but Maureen—”
The sounds of gunfire were over, and he heard a series of “clears” and knew it was safe to begin to breathe.
“Where are Malia and Maureen?”
“Malia went off to Chicago to prepare the wedding. I think Maureen is in the front room.” As an afterthought, she asked, “You don’t think they—”
Jones interrupted, “Not these guys. Okay, Jameson, I’m going outside to make sure it’s safe.”
The tall dark-skinned SEAL slipped through the doorway.
Jameson held the two little ones, their shaking bodies feeling cold. They were still in their nighties and were barefoot. Their feet and legs were dirty, faces smeared with what appeared to be jam, wispy hair flying up in all directions. He warmed them with his body, still aware of the sounds around him, especially outside.
“What were they going to do?”
“I’m so sorry. You her daddy?”
“Yes.”
“They had these girls sold to some guy in Chicago.” Her lip quivered. “I overheard them talking, the boys speak perfect English.” As she watched Charlotte being embraced she added, “I didn’t know anything about this. They just showed up.” She began to cry and Jameson pulled her over next to the other two girls and huddled with them all.
The SEALs walked through the bedroom door together with a swagger he hoped to have one day.
“Jameson, why is it whenever we find you, your surrounded by ladies,” Kyle barked. Armando and Cooper were trying not to laugh but finally gave up.
Yeah, he knew how to charm the ladies all right. He knew how to sing a hit record and be the man on stage. All those things were good and honorable. But he was looking at the men he would die for, if need be, and they’d just saved the most precious thing in his life: Charlotte. They could swagger all they wanted, boast about their exploits, and be as obnoxious as hell, but they got the job done. For that, he would forever be grateful and not mind putting up with everything else.
Nashville Seal: Chapter Nineteen
Jameson clutched Charlotte, wrapping her in his jacket. He smoothed her hair, kissed her forehead, and whispered to her o
ver and over again how much he loved her.
She relaxed in his arms, and he was gratified to hear her begin to chatter just like the happy little girl he remembered. She was safe. His brothers had helped save her, and it now appeared she was resilient to the danger she’d just lived through. God knew, he’d be making sure she never wanted for anything the rest of her life. He would ache whenever he had to leave her, but he would always come home again to her and her mother.
Still clutching his daughter, he walked into the living room of the structure. Cooper and Fredo were stacking computers, cell phones and piles of loose papers, throwing everything into cardboard boxes. Eight young men, children, really, sat with their backs against the wall. Four armed men lay dead on the floor.
Kyle was giving instructions to the locals by phone, directing them to bring a large van for what appeared to be quite a haul of information.
Sadly, they’d not found the sheikh, nor any of the older men, except one. He said his name was Assad, and he’d been an interpreter for American forces in Syria recently, he said. The younger boys were ziptied, their faces showing the shock and surprise of capture. Fredo let Assad chatter on while the boys in front of him were restrained.
“Oh yeah?” Fredo remarked.
Assad was trying to talk his way into Fredo’s good graces, something Jameson knew wasn’t going to fly very long.
“You know, asshole, I’m about done with your bullshit.” Fredo picked up a wide piece of duct tape and placed it over Assad’s mouth. The strip was so long that it also covered his ears.
“That’s better,” Fredo said. Armando pushed Assad next to his Jr. Militia and used the tape to wind around the man’s wrists several times.
Jameson was ready to get Charlotte home but they waited for the emergency vehicles to arrive on the scene to take control of the prisoners and the intel.
He boarded the second seat in the van. Cissy and her other charge were helped to the rear seat, sitting securely between Coop and Fredo. Charlotte was curious at first, but then tucked her head under his chin, her fingers playing with the beads on his shirt, touching the different colors. His emotions welled up, and he began to silently sob. He didn’t want to scare her, so he took deep breaths to attempt to calm himself, part of the training he’d received, but also just instinct.
Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers Page 16
