They looked from side to side for more mounds and holes as they proceeded. After Robert collected everything he could, they turned back. When the group squeezed into the four-wheel drive vehicle, Camellia said, “I can put Barbara’s photos and all the stuff we did here on the news. Should be a heck of a story, especially this blast of what I gather is methane. I might even risk doing it covered up in a jacket and long skirt.”
“But first you need to talk to the FBI,” Kyle reminded her.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
SAME DAY
LATE EVENING
CAMELLIA’S TOWNHOUSE
IN FRONT
CAMELLIA WAS SUSCEPTIBLE TO THE ATTACK since she had a carry-all bag over her shoulder, her duffle bag in one hand and jacket in the other. It was almost midnight when she stepped out of the taxi she’d taken from the airport. Before Camellia could react, she was grabbed from behind, and a burlap sack was pulled down over her head. She was picked up and dumped into the trunk of a Lincoln Continental. The lid was slammed down, and the tires squealed as it took off. He planned to kill her. That was certain. Kyle wouldn’t be able to save her. She would have to save herself. But how?
She yanked the sack off her head and froze as she realized she was in a very tight space. I can’t panic, she told herself. I have to think! She took a deep breath. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light. How do I get out of here? She bit her lip. There could be a glowing T-handle trunk release. But she couldn’t see one, and waves of panic threatened to engulf her. She forced herself to take another deep breath. There might be a trunk release cable, but where? She couldn’t remember and was nearly paralyzed. Running from the driver’s compartment, that’s it! She felt around, and when she found it, pulled it as hard as she could toward the front of the SUV with her hands shaking so hard she could barely grasp the cable. Nothing happened. She pulled harder and still nothing happened. Her heart began to race. She felt disoriented. But she forced herself to take another deep breath. I know. Maybe there’s a tire iron or screw driver I can use to try to pry the lid up. She felt around but couldn’t find either of those. Terror threatened to overwhelm her. I will not die here! She took two more deep breaths and hugged her sides to control her shaking. Back to the last option. This time she pulled on the release cable with every ounce of strength she could muster. The trunk popped open.
The driver must have realized that because the vehicle slowed. Camellia didn’t wait for it to stop. She lifted herself up and jumped out, landing on both hands and knees. Her bag was still on her shoulder but slipping. She shifted it back and took off running. The enormous arch at the entrance to Pier 54 on the Hudson River loomed just ahead of her. There wasn’t a single soul in sight. She searched for a hiding place and saw a porta potty with a tall trash can next to it behind the pier entrance gate. Fortunately the gate was open. She dashed in and knelt behind them, holding her breath as a muscular man came into view. He wore sunglasses and a dark blue cap pulled down far enough to hide his eyes. She caught a glimpse of a gun in his right hand, partially hidden by his jacket. He scanned in both directions. When he didn’t see her, he retreated. Peeking over the trash can she could see he was headed north along 10th Avenue. She spotted his Lincoln Continental idling on the street where it was likely to attract attention. He got in and drove off.
Camellia pulled her cell phone out of her bag and dialed Kyle’s number. “I’m in trouble! Can you meet me in front of Pier 54 on 10th Avenue and 13th Street?”
“Of course!”
“Don’t turn the engine off. Just stop in front of the gate, and I’ll find you. Be prepared to get out in a hurry.”
“Right.”
He arrived fifteen minutes later. The longest fifteen minutes in Camellia’s life. She dashed across the bike path that ran between the pier and 10th Avenue and jumped into the passenger seat. Kyle took off, narrowly missing a car in the same lane.
“What happened?” he asked as he took the next left and then drove south.
“A man put a sack over my head and threw me into his trunk.”
“And you managed to escape somehow. That’s my girl.”
“I learned how to get out of a trunk from my martial arts instructor.” She started to shudder. “I was nearly paralyzed.”
“Hang on, we’ll be home soon.” He found a parking spot near his condo and helped her out of the car. She was still quivering so he took her arm and helped her walk to the building and into the lobby. The elevator was straight ahead. Camellia looked at it and started to shudder even harder.
“Get a grip,” he said harshly.
“What!” She stopped shaking instantly. Damn you!” she said angrily as she pushed his hand off her arm. When she realized what he had accomplished, she said, “Oh, thanks. You knew that would help me pull myself together.”
“No elevator,” he said quietly. Taking her arm again, he helped her up the four flights of stairs. When they entered his unit, her knees buckled. He picked her up and carried her into the living room and set her down. Shivering and trembling, she clung to him. He held her so close that eventually the warmth of his body helped her calm down. “You’re in shock,” he said as he led her over to his liquor cabinet. He took out a bottle of cognac, poured her a drink and handed it to her. “Drink this.” She gulped the burning liquid.
“I need,” she started to say.
“You do NOT need to go home,” he interrupted.
“I need a bathroom.”
“Follow me.” He took her into his bedroom and showed her the master bath. “I’ll be right outside.”
There was a skylight in the ceiling that made the room seem larger. Camellia went over to the toilet. She got down on her injured knees, grasped the toilet bowl and threw up until there was nothing left in her stomach.
When she didn’t reappear, Kyle tapped on the bathroom door and went in. He found her still leaning over the toilet bowl. He lifted her up gently and set her on the edge of the tub while he wet a washcloth and wiped off the edges of her mouth. Then he saw her scraped knees and hands. He got another washcloth and cleaned them up. “This will hurt,” he said as he took iodine out of the medicine chest and applied it to the worst of the cuts.
She flinched but remained quiet.
“Put this on.” He handed her the long-sleeved button down shirt he’d brought into the bathroom with him. “You’re staying here tonight.”
“I need,” she started to say again.
“You are NOT going home,” he repeated.
“I need a toothbrush. The taste in my mouth is horrible.”
He took a new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste from a shelf in the linen closet and handed it to her.
“Thanks. Now go away.”
He returned to the bedroom and pulled back the covers on his bed. When she emerged, she was wearing his partly buttoned shirt over her underwear. She dropped her clothes on the floor. He pointed to the bed. “Get in,” he said. “I’m not propositioning you. You’re too ratty to be appealing.”
“You, you…” she sputtered. Then she saw he was laughing. “You know how to make me as mad as a mule chewing on bumblebees.”
“Nice expression,” he said. “In.” He patted the mattress. “I’ll go sleep in the other bedroom.”
She climbed onto the bed, and he tucked a sheet and blanket around her, then reached for the switch on the bedside lamp.
“Leave it on. Please.”
“Sure. You’re okay?”
“Yes.”
He went down the hall to the guest bedroom. After he took off his shoes, socks and t-shirt, he lay down on top of the double bed.
“No! No! Help! Help me!”
Kyle woke instantly when he heard Camellia scream. He dashed into the master bedroom. She was sitting up in bed shaking violently. “He pulled me out of the trunk and crammed me into a box. He was going to dump me in the Hudson,” she gasped. “I could see how murky the water was. I couldn’t get away.�
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Kyle took her in his arms and rocked her. “It was just a dream,” he said. “You’re safe here.”
“Don’t leave me,” she pleaded.
He let her go, lay down on the other side of the bed and pulled her back into his arms. She curled up against him, still quivering. “You’re safe,” he repeated. He wrapped his arms around her and held her so close that she couldn’t move which was soothing. He kissed her forehead, her hair and the tip of her ear and continued to hold her. A few minutes later she was sound asleep.
“I love you so much it hurts,” he murmured.
She snuggled closer. He couldn’t tell if she’d heard what he said.
The next morning Camellia woke up with the sun shining in the window. She was disoriented. When she figured out where she was, she reached over to the other side of the bed and was startled to find it empty. She started to tremble.
Kyle came into the room carrying a tray with cups of coffee and a plate holding three whole wheat bagels coated with boysenberry jam. He put it down quickly when he saw that she was distressed.
“Hey,” he said. “You need to polish off all three of these. Won’t do to lose your male fans.”
She sat up straight and scowled at him. “Maybe mad as a mule chewing on hornets or wasps would be better.”
He laughed as he placed the tray on her lap. “When you’re ready to get dressed, we need to go talk to the FBI. But if we’re going to get out of here, you need to button up. You do seem to have a problem with buttons.”
His shirt was still only partly buttoned. She actually blushed and quickly buttoned it up all the way up to the collar. “I thought you said I’m too ratty,” she replied.
“I’m willing to make allowances.”
Camellia glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s already ten o’clock!” she exclaimed. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep that late. Frank’s funeral is at twelve thirty. Too tight to make it now. We’ll have to go to the FBI after that.”
“You needed the sleep.” He put her clothes on the foot of the bed. “I did the best I could with these, but you’ll want to change at home. For now, I think this t-shirt won’t be much too big.” It read CONSENT IN THE SHEETS, DISSENT IN THE STREETS.
“Is there some kind of message for me in that?” she asked.
“By all means, take it that way if you’d like.” He would continue to work on the consent thing, but now wasn’t the right time. “But it would be better than your torn blouse.”
“Thanks. I think. And thanks for helping me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” She was still having a hard time accepting his help. “Even if sometimes you make me madder than a puffed toad.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
SAME DAY
AFTERNOON
GREEN-WOOD CEMETERY
BROOKLYN
THE CASKET WAS ABOUT TO BE BURIED. Kyle and Camellia stood next to Sujin and Bobby who held a yellow rose and clung to his mother’s hand. Camellia was cradling Hope, swaddled in a pink blanket. Warm rain poured down on a large gathering of mourners. Most were NIP employees.
Green-Wood was an early 19th century cemetery in Brooklyn with headstones so ancient the wording was no longer legible. Ornate monuments intermingled with headstones of various sizes and shapes. The park-like landscape in the English manor style included mature trees and ponds scattered around the hilly terrain. Water-logged bouquets lay propped against the head of gravestones.
The mourners were dressed in somber colors and held umbrellas partially shielding them from the rain. Kyle sheltered Camellia and the baby under his oversized umbrella. Sujin dropped a rose on the coffin as it was being lowered into the ground. She led Bobby closer to the coffin and let him drop his rose. When he began to sob, she bent down and wrapped her arms around him. The other mourners started to leave.
Sujin looked up at Camellia and Kyle. “Thanks for coming. I don’t think I could have managed without you. And I couldn’t possibly have afforded the $19,000 for a gravesite.”
“I wanted Frank to be somewhere beautiful where you could visit him. And I’m happy to do anything else that might help,” Camellia said. “You’re going to need it now with the baby. Please promise me you’ll call anytime. Night or day.”
“Yes. I will.”
“I’d be happy to take Bobby to the fire station near you,” Kyle offered. “He’d probably love to be able to sit in a fire engine. It wouldn’t help much now, but could be a start when you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Sujin said. “That’s kind of you. Now, I’d like to be alone with Frank for a few more minutes if you don’t mind.” She choked back a sob. “I never had a chance to say goodbye.”
Camellia looked down at the coffin and sighed. “Of course. I can only imagine how painful that is.” She gave Hope back to Sujin who managed to hold her and the umbrella. Then she wiped tears from her eyes and let her own rose fall on the coffin.
Camellia and Kyle headed away toward the magnificent gothic revival inspired cemetery gates, his arm around her back while still holding the umbrella. His car was parked near the ornate double arched passage. As they reached it, Camellia bent down to wipe mud off a shoe with a branch she found on the ground. As she finished and was about to straighten up, a motorcyclist sped by and fired at her. She wasn’t hit, but the car window on the driver’s side, next to where she stood, was shattered as the bullet tore through the umbrella and into it. The motorcycle raced off, skidding as it slid in the mud.
Kyle dropped the umbrella, grabbed Camellia’s arm and shoved her into the car on the passenger side. He dashed to the driver’s side and opened the door. There was shattered glass on the seat and floor mat. He picked up the umbrella and used it to brush glass off the seat. He got in and pushed broken glass on the floor away from his feet. Jamming his key in the ignition, he started the car and took off in the opposite direction from the way the motorcycle had headed. The tires barely gripped the wet road as they screamed off.
“That was way too close. We need to get to the FBI as soon we drop my car off,” he said. “These last two attacks have to be taken seriously by them. I’ll go in with you or wait downstairs for you in the building’s lobby, whichever you prefer.”
She shook her head. “I’ll handle it. But thanks. I have to call Sujin and tell her we won’t be able to make it to dinner this evening. I was hoping we could squeeze it in before the broadcast tonight. Frank’s parents flew in from Illinois but didn’t arrive in time to make it to the cemetery.”
“You still have a problem with accepting support.”
“I guess I do,” she admitted. “But I’m working on it. Truly, I am.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
SAME DAY
EVENING
KITCHEN
CAMELLIA’S TOWNHOUSE
CAMELLIA RECOVERED FROM THE LATEST ATTACK FASTER THAN SHE HAD FROM THE PREVIOUS ONE. She and Kyle sat at the kitchen table, eating pepperoni pizza out of a box. A six pack of Vermont’s Hill Farmstead Brewery pale ale was next to the pizza, two bottles missing. It’s citrus and pine aroma mingled with the herbs in the pizza topping. Rain could be heard pelting the roof overhead.
Kyle wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and took a swig of ale from one of the bottles. “Maybe the rain will finally cool things off a little. It was too noisy on the subway to hear what you were saying. What did the FBI make of your story?”
Camellia pulled out a piece of pizza. “It took an hour for them to talk to me and another hour to check out my story. But they seemed to take it seriously. Said they’d check it out. I had the feeling they were already concerned about Trotford for some reason. They did say they’d look into his financial records and contacts with Russia. Oh, and I mentioned his meeting with some Russians when we were in Moscow.”
“Good.”
Camellia removed green peppers from her pizza and took a bite. “I forgot to tell you I caught the first few letters o
f the license plate, the one on the car parked by Pier 54. They seemed to think it could be helpful. I also described the motorcycle as best I could. And I told them about the hate notes, threatening calls, dumped garbage, and the rat. They’re going to check that out too. They said they’d arrange for the local police to keep a watch on my townhouse so maybe that will help.” She took a last bite of pizza. “Here, you take the rest of it. Wouldn’t do for me to add pounds,” she said as she pushed the pizza box toward him. “I’ll stick with the apples.” She pointed to a bowl of apples on the counter as she pushed the pizza box toward him.
“I do like you just the way you are, no makeup, sloppy t-shirt, Alabama bare feet and all. But you do have a couple more pounds to put back on, so save at least one more piece for yourself.” He pulled a slice out of the box and set it aside.
“Watch out, buster. I might just start to take you seriously.”
“About time,” he said as he took out another piece of pizza for himself. “I’ve noticed you always have apples in that bowl and that there are apples on your bedspread. Why is that?”
“When I was a kid, I used to snitch apples that had fallen from a neighbor’s tree as soon as he left for work. I’d take them home and give them to my siblings. Sometimes there wasn’t much else for lunch.”
“Good god! That’s awful.” Kyle put his pizza down. He was shocked.
“Yeah, well the money Mom made from cleaning homes sure wasn’t enough to house and feed a family. She died young, worn out and bitter.”
Kyle shook his head. “How did you manage to get where you are today?”
“My second grade teacher knew about my Dad’s desertion. She would lend or give me books, and helped me all through my school years. She had an old laptop she didn’t need, and taught me how to use it. She even briefed me on taking the SATs. Without her I would never have gotten my full scholarship to the University of North Carolina.” She smiled. “She doesn’t know it, but I found a way to supplement her retirement income. The amount she had was pathetic.”
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