by Phil Swann
“Once we hit the riverbank, you’ll stay close to Sergeant here,” Captain Ryder ordered, pointing to the man next to him. “Stick to him like glue. Understood?”
Ben nodded. Ellie begrudgingly tipped her head once.
The boat was a Zodiac F470, also known as a Combat Rubber Raiding Craft. All Ben knew was it was small, fast, and scary as hell. He and Ellie sat huddled in the raft-like vessel surrounded by commandos from Nashville SWAT. All were attired in full body armor with an AR-15 hanging off each man’s shoulder. Ben and Ellie donned helmets along with goggles and a floatation vest over Kevlar. As the boat slammed across the water, Ben looked through the spray at the Zodiacs on either side. It looked like war was about to break out. In a way he supposed it was.
“Are we really going to need these?” Ben yelled, pointing to his helmet.
Captain Ryder yelled back, “The last thing I need is a couple of civilians getting killed on my mission. You’ll stay on the riverbank in the trees until I give the all clear. Afterward, Sergeant will escort you in.” He put his hand over his ear. “Roger that,” he responded into thin air. “We’re two minutes from the target.”
When they were taken from the GIM offices to the Nashville PD boat ramp, neither he nor Ellie were shocked to learn SWAT had decided to approach the prison by water. The prison is located along the Cumberland, and the wooded riverbank offered the perfect cover for a surprise attack. Ben knew nothing about SWAT tactical procedures, but as far as he was concerned, this was absolutely the right call, even though the relentless pounding was killing his back and making him more than a bit seasick. He glanced at Ellie. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it. She stared straight ahead, jaw relaxed, body calm. He was sure the only thing eating at her was she wouldn’t be leading the assault team herself. Two hours and twenty minutes had passed since they’d escaped the prison; to Ben it seemed like three days. The first sign of morning was breaking over the horizon, and Ben suspected Ellie was thinking the same thing he was, Had they gotten back quick enough?
The engine suddenly throttled back, and the boat stopped bouncing and began calmly floating along with the current. Two men in the rear took out oars and paddled the vessel toward the dense brush along the riverbank. Before Ben knew it, a man was over the side, into the water, and tying rope to a tree limb protruding beyond the shoreline. One by one the others went into the water and walked to the shore.
The man Captain Ryder called Sergeant was the last commando out, turning to offer his hand to Ellie, who of course ignored it. No such offer was made to Ben, who rolled out of the raft unassisted. The riverbed was muddy, and Ben found walking difficult. Eventually, however, he got to the shore, and with some assistance from Ellie, crawled up the bank onto dry land.
Three more Zodiacs landed in the same way. Once the full team was ashore, Captain Ryder looked at Ben and Ellie and put two fingers in front of his lips—no talking, the not-so-subtle order. He held up his fist, and each man readied his weapon. He made two more quick gestures, and the squad immediately separated, splitting into two groups. Ryder glanced in both directions and then made a sharp, decisive motion with his hand, pointing into the brush. Without hesitation they were off.
The hill wasn’t steep, but the foliage was thick and briary. There was no path, or even remnants of a path. Ben was the last in the row behind Ellie, who followed behind the man known only as Sergeant. The ones in front did all the real work, blazing a trail through decades and decades of Tennessee overgrowth. All Ben had to do was stay close and not break his neck tripping over a fallen tree or errant kudzu vine, which he’d nearly already done three times.
Ellie abruptly fell to the ground. Ben thought she’d tripped, and he went to help her up. He soon realized Sergeant was on the ground too, and there was no one in front of him. Ben dropped to his belly and crawled up next to Ellie. He could just make out the tips of the gothic spires through the brush. Sergeant said something into a microphone wrapped around his jaw, but Ben couldn’t make out the words. Finally, Sergeant motioned for them to follow him, and they crawled to the edge of the woods.
They watched as the SWAT team traversed the open grassy area between the woods and the prison, crossing the road and fanning out along the massive wall. Two men went to their knees at the main gate, and Ben was sure they were setting charges to blow it open. He was wrong. Instead, one man opened a duffle bag and took out a small rectangular box with a hose coming out one end; on the other end was what looked to be a nozzle. Ellie leaned in close to Ben’s ear and whispered two words, “Plasma torch.” Within seconds the gate was open. The men stood to the side with their weapons aimed as two-by-two the commandos peeled off the wall and charged into the prison yard.
So this was it, Ben thought, his heart racing. It was on. Buchanan was going down hard, and a year and a half of questions were about to be answered—and, God, he had so many questions. All he wanted to do was hold Buchanan down with his foot to his throat until he answered all of them. He wanted to hear the bastard explain what the hell was going through his twisted mind. What was his rationale? What did he hope to accomplish? Had Buchanan even considered another way of getting whatever the hell it was he wanted? Or was he just so self-absorbed that pointless death and the ruin of innocent people’s lives seemed completely justified? But mostly, more than anything, he wanted Buchanan to look him in the eye and tell him why Tom had to be killed. And, for the love of God, explain how he coerced D.J., the gentlest man Ben had ever known, into doing it?
And Buchanan wasn’t the only one he had questions for—there was Baros. Ellie could only see him as her grandfather, but Ben knew the old man held some very dark secrets. Maybe he wasn’t directly responsible for Tom’s death, but he was involved. How exactly, Ben didn’t know. But he was sure going to find out.
Ben looked through the brush at the prison. Nothing was happening. He looked at Sergeant. The man was expressionless, staring through his binoculars and saying nothing. Ben reasoned that was a good sign, that things were going as planned. Before boarding the boat, Ben and Ellie had gone over the precise layout of the prison with Captain Ryder and his team, pointing out exactly where the hostages were being held as well as what they knew about the buildings surrounding the infirmary. Ryder was confident the operation could be executed quickly, efficiently, and without incident. In the perfect scenario, SWAT would storm the prison, meet no resistance, and rescue Sarah, Stewart, Baros, and Ms. Whitt, most likely without a single shot being fired. That all sounded great at the time, but now, lying in the brush, wet, cold and helpless to do anything about what was happening behind that wall, Ben ached for a little more action. Any action. It’s not that he wanted bloodshed, he didn’t; it was just so dammed quiet. Somebody fire a gun. Somebody yell or something. What the hell is going on in there?
Ben was about to break protocol and ask Sergeant for an update when he heard him speaking into his microphone again. He shot Ellie a look. Sergeant put his hand to his ear, listened, and then said something in reply. Turned out, Ellie’s patience was spent too.
“Tell us what’s going on,” Ellie said, not as a whisper but not in full voice either.
Sergeant held up his hand without looking at either of them. He nodded as if answering the person in his ear. Finally, he looked over his shoulder, “Follow me.”
Ben and Ellie quickly got to their feet and followed the man out of the brush. The morning light glistened off the serene dew covering the grass, and Ben couldn’t help but notice how different the prison appeared in the light of day. It wasn’t the imposing evil fortress he and Ellie had escaped from hours earlier. Now, it was just an old building.
As they neared the wall, several cars appeared from nowhere, speeding down the access road beside the prison and squealing to a stop in front of the gate. Chief of Police Sam Hines leaped from the first car, followed by dozens of uniformed officers, as well as several plain-clothed men and women from the other cars. Captain Ryder emerged from the prison yard wit
h his helmet off. He walked out of the main gate and went directly to Hines. Ellie broke into a run, crossing the road and passing Sergeant. Ben followed.
“What’s going on?” Ellie yelled, still several yards away. “Where are they?”
Ben caught up to Ellie just as she reached Ryder.
“Answer me,” Ellie demanded. “Are they okay?”
Ben gently took hold of Ellie’s arm.
“You two, come with me,” Ryder ordered, looking at Ben.
They followed Ryder back through the main gate. Hines and officers from both Nashville PD and State Police came along as well. Halfway across the yard, Ben understood where they were heading. His heart began to pound, and a sick feeling filled his stomach.
They entered the building through the same door he and Ellie had escaped from hours earlier. They followed the concrete hallway to its end and then turned the corner. Ryder pulled open the door leading into the old hospital wing. Ben and Ellie entered first. Three steps in, and they were stopped cold by what they saw—or in this case, didn’t see. They stood in the middle of the filthy room surrounded by nothing but rusty broken down beds and paper-thin mattresses. The clean, sanitary, white room built inside the room was gone—like it never existed.
“Where is it?” Ellie asked, her voice trembling. “I don’t understand.”
Ben said nothing, too gutted to speak.
“We were only gone for a couple of hours.”
Ryder said, “So we didn’t make a mistake, this is where you were being held?”
Ben said, “Buchanan must have come back and…” He looked at Ellie, her face drawn, tears welling in her eyes. He took her by the hand. “We’ll find them, Ellie.”
“How did he—”
“It was a movie set. It wouldn’t have taken him long to—”
“What if they’re—”
“They’re not,” Ben interrupted. “Buchanan wants them alive. Otherwise, he’d have killed us all from the start of this. They’re alive, and we’ll find them.”
Chief of Police Sam Hines turned to the uniformed woman standing next to him and held out his hand. The officer passed him a cell phone. “Governor,” he said, standing a bit straighter, “she’s not here. The former first lady is still missing.”
“Copy that, Sergeant,” Ryder said, putting his hand to his ear and moving quickly toward the door. “I’m on my way.” He glanced at Hines. “They found something.”
The nondescript, one-story rectangular building at the end of the yard was not only the smallest structure in the prison but also the most isolated. There was nothing within a hundred yards of its four windowless walls. At first look, few would think there was anything special about the dilapidated white building. A closer look, however, and one would eventually notice the two words stenciled above its unassuming entrance: Death Row.
“Oh God no,” Ellie said, her run trailing off into a numb-like walk.
Ryder had already entered the building by the time the rest had gotten there. Ben took Ellie’s hand as they walked in.
There were no more than a dozen cells on each side of the straight, narrow walkway, the exit lying just a few yards away at the opposite end. The cells were slightly larger than the ones in the other blocks, but unlike those cells, these had doors of solid iron, the only opening a small slit in the middle of the door. As Ben and Ellie approached the other end, Ryder appeared.
“You shouldn’t go in there, ma’am,” he said, noticeably shaken himself.
Ellie squeezed Ben’s hand. “Why?” she wailed, tears rolling down her face.
“You should take her out, Mr. Lambros. She shouldn’t see this.”
Ben began to pull Ellie back when she let go of his hand, lunged past Ryder, and bolted through the door.
“Ellie, no!” Ben yelled. But it was too late.
The room was small, just a few chairs scattered about with a rectangular opening cut into the far wall. Ben found Ellie standing at the opening just staring, not moving, saying nothing. He walked up next to her, conscious to keep his eyes on her at all cost. “Ellie?” he whispered. Ellie didn’t respond. When he finally turned his head and looked through the glassless window, a sour taste filled his throat, and his knees went weak. He didn’t know how many executions had taken place at the Tennessee State Penitentiary over its long history, but he was sure it had never seen one as gruesome as this. From floor to ceiling there was blood, in some places puddles of it. Even the railing separating the execution chamber from the viewing room was spattered. A raised platform sat in the center of the chamber where an electric chair once sat. Now, in its place was a wooden chair. Ben looked at the chair; he knew it’d be an image he’d remember to his last breath. On the chair, looking back into the viewing room, sat a bloody, disembodied head, eyes opened, the look of fear frozen on its lifeless face.
Hines entered the room with his personal assistant and stood next to Ryder. Hines could hardly breathe; his personal assistant looked like she was about to faint.
Ben turned around. It wasn’t his intention, but when he spoke, there was a slight sound of relief in his voice, “That’s the cop who was guarding us.”
“You’re sure?” Hines asked.
“I am. He’s one of Buchanan’s men.”
Hines nodded. “Captain, your work here is done. Let’s turn this over to the white coats.”
“Yes, sir,” Ryder replied.
“Alec,” Hines said, turning to the woman, “I want to see every captain under my command in one hour. I want to know who the hell this goddamn Buchanan guy is!”
“Yes, sir,” the assistant replied, getting out of the room as fast as she could.
Ben took Ellie by the hand and led her out.
The crisp morning air felt like a pillow being lifted off their faces. Before Ben could ask Ellie how she was doing, she buried her face in his chest, the tears falling freely. He held her tightly and rubbed his hand up and down her back.
“See, I’m not Indiana Jones,” Ellie sniffled, lifting up and wiping her eyes.
“Buchanan’s a psychopath,” Ben said.
“Mr. Lambros?” the stranger said, surprising both Ben and Ellie.
Ellie had never seen the tall man in the dark suit before. He wasn’t at the GIM offices and wasn’t a part of the SWAT team.
To Ben, however, he looked familiar.
“Mr. Lambros, do you remember me?” the man asked, not extending his hand nor showing any identification.
Ben didn’t reply.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Who are you?” Ellie asked.
“I’m Special Agent Grey Pryce with the FBI. Mr. Lambros, we need to talk.”
Part Three
Chapter Thirty
When the families began arriving, most did so by car, driving in from Louisville, Memphis, Atlanta, and St. Louis. Only the very elderly or ill of health were given special permission to fly directly into BNA. Also, keeping with security protocol, no one stayed at an expensive five-star hotel, even though all of them could easily afford it. Instead, they opted for modest yet comfortable accommodations at one of Nashville’s many three-star establishments catering to tourists and business travelers on a budget. The exception being the small few who could stay with close relatives living locally.
It was a misconception that the families didn’t get along—they got along quite well. Any hostility among the two clans was mostly at the executive level and had little to do with bloodline and more to do with simple ideology; there were conservative Eumolpidae and liberal Kerykes, and vice versa. But even then, the debates were erudite, stayed on point, and always civil.
The Gathering, as it was now called, had been held quinquennially in Nashville, Tennessee, for more than a hundred years. It was suspended only once when World War II made discreet foreign travel to the USA impossible. In recent times, The Gathering had been primarily about fellowship; a chance for the two families to catch up on gossip, brag about business conquests, an
d exchange pictures of their kids. Email and texting between the families wasn’t prohibited, but in the interest of security it was discouraged. This time, however, everyone knew the conclave would be different. The past eighteen months had been challenging. Things were spinning wildly out of control, and this assembly was charged with the weighty task of setting it right again. A responsibility everyone, in both families, took quite seriously.
»»•««
Grey pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of a small diner, much to the annoyance of Ben and Ellie, who emphatically told him they weren’t hungry. Grey responded with a simple, “Well, I am.” What he didn’t say was he needed to talk to Ben alone and would feel more comfortable doing it anywhere other than Nashville police headquarters. It wasn’t until he had them in the car that he decided a secluded booth somewhere on the outskirts of town would work just fine. He also concluded having Ellie around would not only be okay, but might prove helpful.
“They’re out there somewhere,” Ellie said, sitting in a booth next to Ben and across the table from Grey, her eyes red and voice shaking. “We should be looking for them. And the police are probably wondering where we are.” She stopped talking when the waitress delivered three cups of coffee to the table.
“Food will be right up, y’all,” the waitress announced.
“Thank you,” Grey replied.
