Point of Control

by L. J. Sellers

  Once she was dead, her keepers would have the synthetic dysprosium and be able to do whatever they wanted with it. That worried her. She’d just discovered that with a minor tweak, the compound was highly explosive. If her keeper was crazy or evil enough to abduct and imprison her to get his hands on the material, then he was evil enough to make bombs with it. She would rather let the knowledge die with her than give it to a madman. So she wouldn’t go into the lab again, which meant the day of her death was coming soon.

  The need to pee finally drove her from the narrow, uncomfortable bed. As she urinated, cramps made her cringe in pain. Oh no, not again. But the blood was coming. Once the flow started, she was a mess for days, often afraid to leave the house. Fibroids were the culprit, but rather than surgery, her doctor had her taking birth control, hoping that menopause would resolve the issue soon. But she hadn’t taken her pills in days. Now she was bleeding in a basement, god only knew where, with no tampons or pads or Midol for the cramps. A bitter laugh bubbled from her throat, and sobs quickly followed. Once she was under control, Dana made a pad from folded toilet paper, but it wouldn’t last an hour. Maybe her blood would disgust them, and they’d put her out of her misery. The sight of it could be frightening, even for her.

  Could she use the blood and its visual effect to her benefit? Dana washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face, thinking it through. If she smeared the blood on her neck or wrists, would they think she needed medical assistance? Or take her to a doctor if they thought she was dying? No, of course not. The keeper had brought her Lyrica for her seizures, but that didn’t mean he would seek outside help. Still, if she could get him to focus on the blood, maybe she could steal the key while he was distracted. Or disable him somehow. She would have to think it through.

  Dana paced the small room, feeling more alive than she had in days. Scenario after scenario played out in her mind. Using the blood here in her room, waiting for the keeper to check on her, then locking him inside and running. Waiting until she was in the lab, then faking an accident with broken glass. Each possibility made her nervous, yet she wasn’t afraid to try. What did she have to lose? She probably only had one chance at this, so she had to be smart and make it work. She didn’t feel smart. The lack of sunlight, the isolation, the hopelessness—it was all combining to create a mental fog. Her research had been impeded by weird mistakes the day before, and now she struggled to predict the possible pathways and outcomes of each escape scenario. The biggest concern was which way to run. What would she find outside these walls?

  Dana heard the keeper’s heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. He was probably concerned that she hadn’t knocked for him yet. Her pulse escalated just thinking about escape. She’d never be able to wait until she got down to the lab. It had to be now!

  She pulled the toilet-tissue pad out of her pants and smeared the dark menstrual blood on each wrist. It was obviously not fresh, oxygen-rich blood, but maybe a man wouldn’t know the difference. She moved quietly toward the door and lay down on her back, letting her face fall away from the entrance.

  Several loud pounds. “Are you ready?”

  She took long, slow breaths.

  Another knock. “It’s time for the lab.”

  Eyes closed, she counted slowly just to keep calm.

  “Dana? Are you okay?”

  A key turned in the lock and the keeper stepped inside. Cold, damp air from the hall oozed in, and she could feel the weight of him looming nearby.

  “Oh no,” the big man cried out in what sounded like concern.

  Dana felt a whoosh of air brush her neck as he squatted down. Now! She sat up and shoved both hands against his bent knees. Caught off guard, he rocked back and landed on his butt. She leapt to her feet and charged through the open door. The thought of him coming after her made her ill. She grabbed the door handle, slammed it shut behind her, and charged down the hall—in the opposite direction of the lab.

  She passed through a wide foyer-like area filled with dusty boxes and junk, then charged through another metal door. A tunnel! Please let this be the way out! Dana kept running, but began to fear she’d gone the wrong way. Soon, the tunnel widened and she spotted stairs. She pounded up the steps, her breath ragged. At the top was a trapdoor in the ceiling. She grabbed the latch and pulled. It didn’t budge. No! She tried again, yanking with all her strength. The keeper’s footsteps came down the tunnel, moving fast. He wasn’t locked in her room! She’d hit a dead end. Dana turned, prepared to fight.

  CHAPTER 29

  Sunday, March 22, 2:05 p.m., Washington, DC

  Dukko pressed his knees into the woman’s back, then pinched the vagus nerve in her neck. Her body went limp. He pulled plastic handcuffs from his pants pocket and secured her wrists. His belt served as a restraint for her ankles. She wouldn’t be unconscious long. She was a fighter—he could tell. He reached under her sweater for her weapon and removed it. What if she screamed?

  He put the gun on the dresser, then unzipped his travel bag and grabbed a sock. He wasn’t an interrogator, and what he was about to do made him uncomfortable. Especially because she was a woman. But he had to know why she was looking for Lee Nam and what she knew about his disappearance. Kim Jong-un would execute him, along with the American actor, if Dukko failed to bring Nam home. The United States was pretending to look for Lee Nam, but Dukko didn’t trust the FBI, and he wasn’t convinced they hadn’t helped Nam defect.

  Impatient to be done with it, he rolled the woman over and slapped her face. She opened her eyes, blinked, and started to say something. He shoved the sock into her mouth.

  “No screaming or I’ll have to hurt you.”

  She nodded, hatred blazing in her strange green eyes.

  “Sit up!”

  He didn’t have to tell her. She was already scrambling to get upright on the bed. Maybe she thought he was going to rape her—a heinous act that would be unworthy of him. To put that fear out of her mind, Dukko dragged her to the chair she’d just occupied, surprised she didn’t fight him. Smart. Saving her strength for when it might be constructive. He pulled the other chair up close so he could manipulate the sock in her mouth.

  Her eyes were suddenly calm, as if she had accepted her fate.

  “If you answer my questions truthfully and quietly, you won’t get hurt.” He prayed that she would. Assaulting her would be shameful, but it was his duty. “Who are you and why are you looking for Lee Nam?” She’d called herself a private investigator, but he didn’t understand that term. With two fingers, he pulled the sock from her mouth, careful not to get bitten.

  “I’m a federal agent,” she said, without emotion. “The hotel clerk knows I’m in this room, and you’re in a shitload of trouble.”

  She was lying to save herself. She had to be.

  “My badge is in my satchel. Outside zip pocket. You really need to rethink this.”

  He shoved the sock back into her mouth and reached for the bag on the bed, but he knew the badge would be there. Shibal! What now? If he were arrested and jailed, North Korea would be shamed, and he would rot in an American prison. The only other option was to kill her. Or go on the run as a fugitive in America.

  She tried to talk around the cloth, but he didn’t understand her words. It couldn’t hurt to hear what she had to say. Dukko removed the sock.

  “There’s another choice.”

  This strange, fearless woman knew what he’d been thinking. “What do you mean?”

  “We both want the same thing, so let’s work together. Yes, I’m pissed that you assaulted and restrained me, but I’m more interested in finding the kidnapping victims than sending you to jail.” She gave him a knowing smile, with a little shrug. “I’ve done the same thing to people I wanted information from. Although I’ve never used a sock.”

  Was she mocking him? It didn’t matter. She was offering to let him go unpunished. “Why?”
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  “I’m trying to prevent a crisis between our countries.”

  The implication was that his motive was less noble. “That is my goal as well.”

  “So untie me and tell me everything you know.”

  He let out a harsh laugh. “You first. Who are the kidnappers?”

  “We think one is named Jerry Rockwell, but he’s just a hired hand. I don’t know who the mastermind is, but I think it’s someone who makes cell phones or plans to start making them.”

  This was about cell phones? “What companies?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been traveling constantly just to keep up with the abductions and haven’t had time to do enough research.”

  She showed no signs of lying, and she looked like she’d been on a plane for a week. “What other abductions?”

  “A scientist with a specialty in synthetic metals.”

  What? He didn’t understand the connection to Lee Nam, an encryption specialist. “Who else was kidnapped?”

  She hesitated, and he watched her eyes as she calculated how much to tell him. “A scientist named Nick Bowman.”

  “Is Lee Nam with him? Where are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He assumed she had an idea or a plan to figure it out. He would follow her when she left the hotel. If she got on a plane, so would he. She seemed more determined and flexible than the agents who’d questioned him after Lee’s kidnapping. They had been convinced that Nam was a defector and that Dukko had to be a conspirator. Lies and nonsense. He’d been charged with protecting the coding genius, and he’d failed. What if the abductors tortured Nam for information, then killed him? “Is Lee Nam’s life in danger?”

  “Maybe.”

  “How can the North Korean people know that your government didn’t plot this?” Frustration made him gesture, something he rarely did.

  “Why would we? Call Kim Jong-un and tell him to back down. Buy us some time to investigate.”

  “I can’t do that without proof that Nam is alive and not a hostage of the American government.”

  “Then let me go so I can get back to work.”

  He didn’t trust her not to have him arrested. “I’ll leave first.” He jumped from the chair, shoved the sock back into her mouth, and grabbed his luggage. “I’ll call the hotel in twenty minutes and tell them to release you. Please report that this was a joke.” Was that the right word? She seemed to understand. Near the door, he turned back. “I don’t care if the American actor is killed, but I may be the only person who can stop it—and whatever comes next. If I go to prison, I’ll never make that call to Kim Jong-un.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Sunday, March 22, 11:05 a.m., Seattle, Washington

  Garrett poured another cup of coffee and sat back down in the recliner. How did detectives and agents do this? Calling business after business looking for information—it was mind numbing. Yet it was obviously part of the job. His father had complained about occasional drudgery a few times back when he still lived with them.

  Garrett couldn’t imagine Bailey having the patience for this. He didn’t know her well yet, but she seemed to be constantly thinking, moving, and planning. Her intelligence was a huge part of his attraction to her. And her fearlessness. He wished he could be more like her—logical, decisive, and unconcerned about how people would react. He often put himself in the other person’s frame of mind, and that could be confusing and counterproductive. But despite Bailey’s unemotional nature, she also had an uncanny ability to anticipate his needs and moods. She was a mystery. He was falling in love.

  The thought startled him. This was supposed to be a casual fling with a woman who would leave town in a few days or weeks, never to be seen again. Infatuated was a better word, he decided.

  He grabbed his tablet and logged into Contra, his current favorite video game and the closest he would ever come to carrying a gun. But after a few minutes, guilt made him put it down and go back to his pharmacy list.

  He still had twenty-six drugstores he hadn’t contacted yet and another twelve follow-up calls to businesses that hadn’t been open or had said to call back. Yesterday’s effort had been cut short by a windstorm and a power outage, and he’d started late this morning. He was determined to finish today, leaving only the follow-up calls for the morning.

  Just as he started to make a call, he heard an engine in the driveway. He got up and hurried to the window. His father was here. But why? Garrett’s gut tightened. This had to be about his mother. Please don’t let it be bad.

  He opened the door, stepped back, and waited. A moment later, his father’s massive body filled the frame.

  “Garrett. Is everything all right?” His father looked surprised, but he stepped in.

  “I’m fine. Any update on Mom?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I just thought I’d see how you were doing. Maybe take you to lunch.”

  Garrett didn’t invite him to sit or close the door. “Thanks, but I’m busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  He couldn’t tell him about the pharmacy calls for several reasons, and he wanted to get back to them. “Catching up on my class assignments. Maybe we’ll go some other time. After we get Mom back.”

  “I hope you mean that. I’d like to spend more time with you.”

  “Sure.” Garrett just wanted him to go.

  His father slipped his hands into his pockets, not going anywhere. “Maybe we’ll try bowling again. We used to enjoy that.”

  That was a long time ago. Before he’d lost his foot. His father had been out of town on assignment when it happened and hadn’t visited him in the hospital. A decade-old anger surfaced. “Why now? Why not when I was a kid and needed you around?”

  His father shook his head, his expression a little sad. “You didn’t want to see me, remember? You were mad.”

  That was a lame excuse. “I was a teenager. You shouldn’t have given up.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t have. But your mother put up barriers.” They were both still standing in the foyer, and his father stepped toward him. “Let’s put it behind us now.”

  “What barriers?”

  “No matter when I called, she’d say you weren’t home. When I offered to take you somewhere, she’d say you had plans.”

  Was that true? Why would his mother let him think his father didn’t care enough to contact him? “Mom’s not like that. You’re exaggerating. And this is a bad time to be saying shit about her.” Garrett reached for the edge of the door. “Please go. I’m busy.”

  His father looked crushed. “When we get your mother back, we’ll all sit down and discuss this. She won’t deny it if I’m there.” He turned and walked out.

  Garrett knew his father was telling the truth. He had many flaws, but he’d always been painfully honest. At the time, his mother had probably thought she was protecting him. But still, he felt betrayed. What else would he learn about his mother during this incident? He pushed it all out of his mind. First, he had to find her, then he could confront her. He sat down again and found his place on the list.

  The day before, he’d worked his way through all the big cities in the western part of the state and started calling pharmacies in central Washington. In the cities, many drugstores were part of a larger grocery or retail business, and it had taken longer, often several transfers, to get connected to someone who could answer his questions. He’d been relieved when he reached businesses that only had one or two employees and he could get right to it.

  He dialed the next number and waited.

  “Rite Aid,” a young woman chirped into his ear.

  “This is Agent Bailey with the FBI. I’m working a kidnapping case, and I need to ask about a prescription that might have been picked up.” He’d perfected his spiel to elicit the least amount of surprise and questions. Most of the clerks he talked to had been wome
n, and they were happy to help him—but they were often inquisitive and chatty.

  “A kidnapping? Here in Wenatchee?”

  “No, but we think the victim might be in your area now. Has anyone new or unusual filled a prescription for Aptiom within the past few days? Or some other kind of anti-seizure medicine?”

  “Oh goodness, the poor woman. What was the name of that medicine?”

  “Aptiom. But there are about twenty anti-seizure medicines, and I’d like to know if you’ve filled a script for any of them.”

  “I’m not the pharmacist, and I can’t keep all the drugs straight. Let me ask.”

  He overheard her conversation with another woman in the background and almost didn’t wait for the clerk to return.

  “I’m sorry, but we haven’t. We have a regular customer who picked up her medicine early last week, but that’s it.”

  “Thanks anyway. If someone new comes in and asks about anti-seizure medicine, will you please call me?” Garrett gave her the number of a cheap little phone Bailey had given him in case anyone called. So far, no one had.

  He gulped some coffee while it was still hot and made another call.

  “Decker’s Pharmacy. How can I help you?” An older woman this time.

  Garrett repeated his lines, sounding more deadpan and unhopeful than he intended.

  “What are you asking?”

  “Has anyone new or unexpected filled a prescription for Aptiom since last Thursday? Or some other kind of anti-seizure medicine?”

  “The kidnap victim has epilepsy?” She sounded puzzled and worried.

  “Yes, and if her abductors have picked up medicine for her, we need to know where.”

  “That is so odd. Just a minute, I have to deal with a customer, then take this call into the back.” He sensed excitement in her tone. But he’d encountered that a lot. Pharmacy clerks didn’t get many inquiries from the FBI. He’d stopped feeling guilty about the deception after the first five calls. He was Bailey’s proxy.