The Alamo

by Roland Smith

  If they knew Angela was Malak’s daughter, maybe they were trying to set a trap for the Leopard. If she came to Angela’s rescue they would know for sure. But if they harmed Angela in any way, they would have to kill Malak because she would never stop until she hunted down every single one of them. So there was that.

  “You won’t give us any trouble now will you, Q, sugar?” Miss Ruby cooed.

  She needed to work on her manners because when she said “sugar” it sounded totally insincere.

  “Do I shmell cows?” I said. “I like shugar. Do you have some?”

  “How much of that stuff did you give him?” Sean asked Ruby. “He’s babbling like an idiot.”

  Ha. That’s what you think. You just wait until … I … you just wait. I was pretty sure whatever Ruby had injected me with was really wearing off because my mouth was getting dry and I was getting a headache. This worried me a little bit. What if I really was having an allergic reaction of some kind and was going to suddenly develop really serious symptoms? It happens.

  Once inside, they led me into this big study or library full of a lot of floor-to-ceiling bookcases and big leather chairs and couches.

  Sean cut my flex-cuffs and my hands came free. With his hand clenched around my neck he guided me around the big desk and shoved me into the chair. Miss Ruby stood in front of the desk. After lighting a cigarette, she took a really big puff and blew out the smoke. It traveled through the air over the desk and whirled all around me. I was pretty sure she did it on purpose.

  Miss Ruby removed an iPhone from her purse. Her fingers worked over the screen and she put it to her ear.

  “We’re good,” she said. “You have the order,” she said a few seconds later and disconnected the call.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Sean asked. Right then another guy walked in. He looked exactly like Sean, but wasn’t dressed like a waiter.

  “Robert,” Miss Ruby said. “I just gave Marco the order.”

  “Hey, waiter guy,” I said, looking at Sean with one eye closed. “Did youse know there is shombody elshe here who looks exactly like you?”

  As Sean looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “Shut up,” he said.

  “You are so grouchy all the time. You want some of myze hamburger?” I looked around at the desk and the floor to either side of me, my head flopping about. “Where did myze hamburger go?”

  Robert and Miss Ruby laughed and she put the phone down on the desk. I wondered who she’d called. I hoped Marco wasn’t the guy they’d left with Angela and now they were going to … I didn’t want to think about it, but I was pretty sure I knew what “you have the order” meant.

  I couldn’t let them see the worry in my face, so I let my head loll forward and hang with my chin against my chest. I knew Angela was devoting every ounce of the brain- and willpower and energy she had to getting away. I had to do the same. I owed it to her.

  My eyes zeroed in on Miss Ruby’s phone. She had an iPhone with no case, just like me. I hadn’t gotten around to getting a case since my phone was replaced. As a terrorist she was probably switching phones all the time and didn’t bother with a case. Although I wondered if she realized she was missing a chance to cover something else in rubies. How useful would that phone be to Boone once X-Ray got hold of it? If I could switch it out with mine … I just couldn’t stop my thoughts.

  “We’re going to wait,” Miss Ruby said. “Sean, empty his pockets.”

  Sean came around the desk and lifted me to my feet. He pulled open the Velcro flaps on my cargo shorts and emptied all of my stuff out onto the desk. The decks of cards, my ropes, silk scarves, baseball cap, sunglasses, and, most important, my iPhone. All the stuff clattered across the desktop. I stared at my phone, which had landed just a few inches away from Miss Ruby’s. So close. Then he removed my Omega Seamaster. My Seamaster! Please, J.R. Please be monitoring our whereabouts right now and come get me.

  “What is all this crap?” Sean complained as he emptied my last pocket, the one containing my magic coins.

  “Mashick,” I said, continuing to slur my words.

  “Can I has a glash of whater?” I asked, my head still bobbing forward like I might fall asleep at any moment. I raised my head and gazed at Miss Ruby with one eye closed like I was trying hard to focus.

  “I don’t see why not,” she said. “Sean, why don’t you get our guest a glass of water?”

  Sean didn’t look happy, but he left the room. Now all I had to do was stall and give Angela or J.R. a chance to call in the cavalry.

  And figure out a way to get my hands on Miss Ruby’s phone.

  Making a Move

  Angela tried to slow her breathing. Croc’s muzzle disappeared back under the bed. She had no idea how he had gotten from the adjoining room or what he was up to. She tried hard to think of how to get away or at least shout for help or something. She had seen Croc in action on the coach when Speed Paulsen stumbled out of the master bedroom. If she could divert the gunman’s attention just long enough … and then his phone rang. Without taking his eyes off Angela he pulled it from his pocket and answered.

  “Yeah,” he said. Then a few seconds later he said, “Understood.”

  And as it turned out she didn’t have to do anything to help Croc. The gunman left his spot by the adjoining door and stepped closer to her. He raised the gun, the silencer on the end of it now only a few feet from her.

  “Sorry, kid,” he said. “If it’s any consolation, I kind of like your spir—” He never got a chance to finish, because Croc launched himself from somewhere behind the gunman and his jaws clamped down on the thug’s arm. He screamed in surprise and shock.

  To Angela the sound of the lowlife shouting for mercy sounded like music. Her mother had told her that oftentimes people in situations like this one tended to see real-time events in slow motion. It was a way for their brains to put a limit on the flow of information and process what was taking place. Her mother also said people who possessed this ability were more likely to keep their cool in tense situations. And this is what was happening to Angela.

  The gun spun wildly in midair. Without hesitating, she was up and out of the chair and moving toward the door. Partly to get away, but also to get clear of the gun in case it accidentally discharged when it hit the floor. But it clattered away under the bed.

  Croc’s momentum at first carried the guy forward toward the room’s window. But Angela made note that the old dog was extremely agile for his age. He twisted his neck and body in midair. His weight and the fact he had his teeth firmly planted in the guy’s arm allowed him to face-plant the gunman on the bed.

  “Get off, get off me!” He tried punching at Croc with his free hand, but kept missing because Croc was never in one spot more than an instant. To Angela he even looked different, just like Q had said. Younger and more agile, with a mouth full of teeth. Sharp teeth. Not a single blow was landing on the dog. Angela thought the creep looked like he was trying to swat a swarm of bees. Croc bit him on the back of the neck and started in on his ears, his calves, his hands, moving like a blur.

  Angela was on the way toward the door, when she spied the camera on the first bed, where the guy had tossed it. Croc was still biting, snarling, and growling but the man was getting his legs under him and trying to rise.

  For the gunman, his bad day was about to get a lot worse. For just as he got to his feet—with Croc still making like the dude was the world’s biggest dog biscuit—Angela swung the camera with all her might. It connected flush against the side of his head, and he dropped to his knees and slumped over on his side.

  Out cold.

  “Good boy, Croc,” Angela said. Her breath was coming in short gasps and she hugged the dog hard. Sitting as he was on the bed, he was almost as tall as she and didn’t seem to mind the hug one bit. In fact, he gave her cheek a nice long lick with his tongue. It did more than anything else to snap her back to reality.

  “Ack. If you hadn’t just saved my life,” she compla
ined mockingly, wiping dog drool off her cheek. Croc stared at her with his blue eye, his tongue sticking out through the empty spot in his mouth where his teeth were missing. She couldn’t deny what she’d just seen. But she sure as heck didn’t have an explanation for it.

  “How did you do that?” she asked. Croc just stared at her and blinked his blue eye—almost like a doggie shrug. Angela had never had the chance to be around dogs much but there was a part of her that thought Croc understood everything she was saying. Which was, of course, impossible.

  “Okay. Got to think. I have to call Boone.” With her phone in pieces on the floor, she went to the room phone, but as she reached for it her arm stopped in midair. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t know Boone’s number. Or anyone’s on the SOS team. The numbers were all preprogrammed into their phones. She knew her dad’s but she couldn’t call him. She had to hurry. There was no telling how soon the guy would wake up. And if he got away or got word to anyone, Q was probably dead.

  Croc waddled across the bed and stared at her. She wondered if maybe he was hurt and reached out to pat his head. As she did, Croc pawed at her wrist.

  “What are you doing? You keep doing that. Stop it. Are you okay?”

  She reached for him again and this time his head moved really fast and he took her wrist in his mouth but he didn’t bite down.

  “Croc, gross! Let me—” Then she got it. Her wrist! Where she would normally be wearing a watch. A very special watch given to her by the president of the United States. One that she kept in the pocket of her backpack because she didn’t want her dad to see the same watch her mother had worn and start asking questions. Her Omega Seamaster.

  “Old and smart,” she said, digging the watch out of her backpack and dialing the number etched on the casing with the room phone. A familiar voice answered on the third ring.

  “Mr. President,” she said. “It’s Angela Tucker.”

  Deception

  “Who likes mashic tricks?” I was still slurring. Miss Ruby and Sean looked at me blankly.

  “Card tricks and stuff. I’m a mash-ishcan,” I said. I lifted my head again and stared at Miss Ruby with one eye and then the other, like I was still looped on whatever she gave me. In truth, it had almost worn off. This would be my best magic trick ever, if I could convince them I was still whacked out. No pressure.

  “Oh, here they are,” I said. I picked a deck of cards up off the desk and tried shuffling them, making it look like I had absolutely no hand or eye coordination. They didn’t shoot me or anything so I guess they either found me mildly amusing or just confusing. I tried again and this time, as I shuffled, the cards scattered all over the desktop.

  “Oopsie,” I said. “Tha’ no good.” I picked up another deck and held it up in front of my eyes, like I needed to study it carefully before it could be used. This time the cards shot out of my hand and flew over the desktop. A few scattered on the floor.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I made a mesh.” Then I giggled. “Better clean thish up.”

  “How much of that stuff did you give him again?” Sean asked.

  Miss Ruby shrugged. I stood up slowly and pretended to have trouble picking up the cards.

  “One … two …”

  “Shut up,” Sean said.

  “Wanna … trying to make shure I get them all,” I said, looking at him with one eye. For good measure I wobbled a little as I stood. As far as they were concerned I was helpless.

  “Just keep quiet,” Sean said. Disgusted, he stalked away from his spot by the desk across the library to the window. He stood sulking, staring outside, apparently not a fan of drug-addled teenagers or magicians.

  But it served my purpose. As someone who studied magic, I knew the human eye is hardwired by the brain to follow motion. Unless you’re concentrating on something else really hard, your eye is drawn to movement. Part of it is a defense mechanism. Something that moves anywhere in your field of vision, even at a distance, could be a predator or potential enemy. But the instinct works well for magic tricks because a magician creates misdirection and gets the audience to look elsewhere, and that’s what allows him or her to pull off the trick.

  Miss Ruby’s eyes followed Sean all the way across the floor to his spot. While she looked in that direction, I palmed her phone, switched it to vibrate, stuffed it in my pocket, and moved mine to where hers had been. Mine was already set on silent mode. When she looked back at me I was still acting like a heavily drugged kid, preoccupied with straightening up a couple of decks of spilled cards. The only thing was, her phone felt like it weighed a thousand pounds in my pocket. I hoped Angela or Boone or somebody got here quick.

  And I hoped Miss Ruby didn’t need to make a call.

  Calling In the Big Guns

  “Angela? Is everything all right?” J. R. Culpepper asked.

  “Sir, I … things are … Boone isn’t here. I forgot to memorize his number. They took Q.” Everything came rushing out of her.

  “Boone is looking for the SUV. What do you mean about Q? Who took him?”

  “A big, bossy woman. Giant hair, rings on every finger, earrings the size of sea turtles. Said her name was …”

  “Ruby Spencer. I know who she is. Boone briefed me. I’ve been looking into her background. Like most cell members, there isn’t much there,” the president said. Angela could hear some clicking keys over the phone. “However … provided he’s still wearing it, Q’s watch is showing up at her ranch about thirty-five miles from your present location. Now, tell me what happened.”

  Angela reported everything as accurately as she could.

  “And the guy is still there?”

  “Yes, sir. I knocked him out with a camera and Croc went … something is not right about Croc … that dog went medieval on the guy and then I clocked him. Oh. I already said that.”

  The president was chuckling.

  “Sir, are you laughing?”

  “Yes. Because you remind me so much of your mother.”

  Angela was flattered but had no time to think about that now.

  “What are we going to do about Q? You need to get Boone here and …”

  “Angela, listen to me. I can’t pull Boone off his search for the SUV. There could be thousands of lives at stake. And if I call him, he’s going to come and get you to safety and go get Quest. He’s the single reason I haven’t cleared the city and sent in an entire battalion of Marines to find that truck. No. We need to do this together.”

  “But … sir … I …” Angela took a breath. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Angela, I wish there were another way. And this should not be something for any fifteen-year-old girl to deal with. But you’re not just any teenager, are you, Angela? You’re Malak Tucker’s daughter. You’ve already proven yourself more than capable. We’re going to get Q back.”

  “But how? He’s thirty miles away. I can’t even drive! Can’t we get Felix or—”

  “No, we can’t. You are going to run this op, Angela Tucker. The good guys need you right now. You’re going to rescue Q. I’m going to tell you how. You can do this!”

  “Mr. President, I’m going to need help.”

  “Have no fear. I’ve got a couple of people in mind. When you hang up, I want you to take the phone cord and tie up the bad guy. Take his cell phone and put it in your pocket. Make sure he can’t get loose. I have somebody on the way to take care of him, but they won’t be there for a while. After that, head down to the lobby. Someone will meet you there in exactly ten minutes.”

  “Who? How will I know who it is?”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll know. Now go.”

  Angela hung up the phone and did as POTUS instructed.

  You’ve Got to Be Kidding

  The elevator door opened and Angela and Croc burst into the lobby. It was a mass of teeming bodies and the noise and chaos were nearly overwhelming. The six banks of elevators had golden doors and they opened every few seconds and disgorged another river of people in
to the already crowded space. Angela circled the lobby, Croc beside her, not sure who or what she should be looking for. She had been in such a hurry that she hadn’t asked the president a whole lot of questions.

  Angela looked at her watch. J.R. had said ten minutes. It had been exactly seven minutes since she had left the gunman trussed-up in her room. J.R. said she would know the person. For a dog that mostly slept all the time, Croc was full of energy and when she stopped in the middle of the lobby, he kept trotting toward the front door.

  “Croc,” she hissed, “where are you going? We have to wait here until …”

  But Croc didn’t listen. He kept right on until the automatic doors opened and he walked outside to the front of the hotel where a long line of guests was waiting for cabs. There was also a large crowd surging into the streets, bypassing the cab lines and walking the few blocks to the concert site.

  Croc sat apart from the line of people waiting for a cab. Angela went out and stood beside him, studying everyone she could and wondering what in the world was making the dog act so strangely. She was about to implore Croc to go back inside, when a huge silver Cadillac Escalade screeched to a stop in the valet parking lane. She couldn’t say why, but something told her this was her ride. Then the driver emerged and her heart sank.