Chapter 2
Into the Web
American Press International
February 17, 1997
Las Vegas, NV-Sources report that a bomb was exploded within the Lido Hotel in downtown Las Vegas this afternoon. Sources tell us that, although the explosion was quite enormous, the bomb appears to have been set off in an area that somehow resulted in minimal damage. At this report there are three casualties, one of whom has since died. Further information will be reported as it becomes available.
Mr. Al-Wadi’s Headquarters – Shortly Thereafter
Carrying Patience between the two of them, Navid and Wassim struggled their way into the office. Observing their arrival, Mr. Al-Wadi motioned to lay her on the sofa and, leaning close to her, he exclaimed, “You stupid bitch! You delivered the package to the wrong office!”
He then turned to Navid and whispered, “How the hell did she manage to get out of there? You were supposed to blow her up!”
“I’ve no idea, sir,” Navid responded fearfully, “We timed it perfectly, just as you told us, and the bomb exploded right on time. We waited for a few moments to see the effects, at which point she came trotting down the street right in front of the van. She’d removed the berka, so she had on her regular street clothes. Fortunately for us, we spotted her coming, so we jumped out of the van and dragged her inside. After that Wassim forced a bit of rufilin down her throat.”
Mr. Al-Wadi turned and glanced at her prone body and, turning back toward Wassim, he instructed, “Give her a stiff drink of something. I want her lucid but compliant, because the first thing I’m going to do is fuck her senseless for what she did, and then I’m going to beat her within an inch of her worthless life!”
“Yes, sir,” Wassim responded obediently.
Mr. Al-Wadi turned to Bernice and barked in a demanding tone, “Get her clothes off of her and make sure you take everything with you. I don’t want there to be any chance of her escaping.”
Bernice paled and said, “Yes, sir!”
He then strolled over to the bar and poured himself a drink. Seeing Bernice had completed her assignment, he commanded, “Now, get out of here Bernice. Come back in an hour. By then she’s going to need you.”
“Okay,” Bernice replied, and at this she turned and left.
Having given her the instructed drink, Wassim inquired, “You want me to handcuff her?”
“No, give them to me,” Mr. Al-Wadi responded, “I’ll do it myself. Now, get out of here!” and at this Wassim left the office.
Mr. Al-Wadi went over to the sofa and rolled Patience over, at which she lurched forward and threw up on him. “Son of a bitch,” he grumbled and, intending to get himself a towel to clean up, he glanced around for one. As he glanced away she jumped up and, grabbing a large marble ashtray from the table, she struck him viciously across the face. Mr. Al-Wadi immediately went down and lay motionless on the floor.
Chicago – The Following Day
Brandt was in his hotel room when Tom banged on his door, bellowing, “Have you seen the news, Brandt?”
Tugging his door open, Brandt responded vacantly, “No, what’s up?” he replied.
Tom demanded anxiously, “Turn on your TV! It’s on CBN at this very moment!”
Grabbing a towel, Brandt found the station just in time to see the news on the television.
The announcer said, “And now this just in – Sources tell us that yesterday wealthy Kuwaiti businessman Hakeem Al-Wadi was transported by ambulance to the hospital in Las Vegas. Mr. Al-Wadi has apparently suffered a serious head injury and is undergoing brain surgery as we speak in order to relieve pressure caused by his injury. Sources indicate that there is no foul play, that Mr. Al-Wadi appears to have tripped and fallen down the stairs at an office complex owned by him in Las Vegas. At this time there is no word on the severity of his injuries. Stay tuned for further developments on this bizarre accident involving one of the wealthiest men in the world.”
Carelessly wiping his face with the towel, Brandt muttered, “What the…isn’t that the guy that you knew at Harvard, Tom?”
“Damn straight,” Tom replied, “That guy was a genius. On a campus known for its geniuses, he was a genius among geniuses.”
“What do you suppose happened?” Brandt responded.
“They just said - he fell down the stairs,” Tom replied.
“You can’t be serious. Surely you know better than to believe that, Tom.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on. No multi-billionaire simply falls down the stairs. Somebody probably tried to kill him.”
“You mean attempted murder?” Tom replied incredulously, “Holy crap, this is unbelievable!”
“Wait a minute,” Brandt murmured, “Hold on just one minute. I have an idea.”
“What sort of idea?” Tom queried.
Brandt quickly logged onto his laptop using the phone connection and his AOL account and, pounding away on his keyboard, he declared, “I’m going to do a bit of checking. “Can you call down and order us some breakfast? This may take a bit of time, Tom. This phone line has an extremely slow baud rate.”
“Okay, but it would be nice if you could tell me what you’re up to.”
Typing furiously, Brandt responded distractedly, “All in good time, Tom, all in good time.”
Hearing Brandt erupt in a loud whistle a short time later, Tom tore himself away from the television and asked pointedly, “Find out anything?”
Motioning him to his laptop, Brandt displayed a photo on the screen, saying simply, “Look at this.”
Leaning forward, Tom immediately recognized a photograph, exclaiming, “What the…it’s a picture of a woman in a black berka going into some hotel. What is this, Brandt? Where did you get this?”
“I hacked the hotel’s security network. It’s actually a film strip, but this phone connection is interminably slow this morning. I should have the entire clip in a few minutes.”
“What - a photo of some woman going into our hotel here in Chicago?”
“No, Tom. It’s the Lido Hotel in Las Vegas, and it was taken yesterday afternoon!”
“So what.”
“The Lido Hotel was bombed yesterday afternoon!”
“Yeah, I heard, but what’s that got to do with Al-Wadi?”
“THAT is the fifty million dollar question, my friend!”
“You’re nuts, Brandt. It’s just a coincidence.”
“Perhaps, but hear me out. Suppose a person went to a festival, an international festival to be exact, in Lincoln, Nebraska three days ago. And suppose also that at this festival he saw two young women dressed in black berkas exactly like the one in this photo.”
“You’re not fooling me, Brandt. That would be you, of course, as you were in Lincoln giving an invited lecture to the NSU College of Engineering.”
“Right,” Brandt agreed.
“So you saw someone in a berka, so what? I admit, they’re not too common in the U.S., but Lincoln is a thousand miles from Las Vegas.”
“Tell you what,” Brandt responded, “Just hold on for a few minutes, and at this he began pounding on his keyboard yet again.
After what seemed an eternity, Brandt exclaimed, “Stoatin!”
At this, Tom raced over, inquiring, “What? What’s so important for you to lapse into your Scottish brogue, damn it!”
Pointing at his computer screen in shock, Brandt posited, “Take a gander at this!”
Peering at the screen, Tom mumbled vacuously, “What the…I don’t understand…what is this…your credit card expenditures?”
“No, Tom, they’re not my expenses. They’re Patience Walker’s credit card expenses!”
“What! Close that web page, you idiot! That’s against the law! Do you want to get thrown in jail, you fool? And who the hell is Patience Walker, anyway?”
“She’s a student I met at NSU the other day. And relax. I’m untraceable on
this line. Besides, this is important,” Brandt replied coolly, adding commandingly, “Now, look closely, Tom. What do you see?”
Following Brandt’s instruction, Tom peered at the screen yet again and, scratching his head in confusion, he responded, “I don’t get it. I don’t see anything but some credit card expenses.”
“Look at the last one, Tom.”
Surveying down to the bottom, Tom muttered, “Seems like some cash withdrawal…”
“Right so far,” Brandt observed, “And where was the withdrawal made?”
“Oh…my…God…” Tom stammered, “At some hotel in Las Vegas,” and raising up, he inquired blankly, “What the hell is going on, Brandt?”
“It seems that Miss Patience Walker has gone to Las Vegas since I saw her three days ago, Tom.”
“What? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’ll tell you what it has to do with anything, Tom. Look at that photo of the woman in the photo there, the woman in the berka.”
“Whatever,” Tom blurted and, surveying the photo, he said, “What do you want to know?”
“What do you notice about her?” Brandt inquired.
“Notice! Why, how could anyone notice anything at all? The only part of her body one can even see is her eyes!”
“And?”
“And what?” Tom exclaimed in obvious exasperation.
“What about her eyes?”
At this, Tom stared at him dubiously for a moment, then peered closely at the photo, mumbling, “I see nothing…nothing at all…just a pair of green eyes…”
“Bingo!” Brandt expounded victoriously.
“Have you lost your mind, Brandt? First we’re talking about Al-Wadi, then some bombing, and now it’s the color of some coed’s eyes in Lincoln, Nebraska. What’s gotten into you?”
“Just this, Tom – the girl I met in Lincoln three days ago had the palest green eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Her eyes were so unusually green that I decided I absolutely had to see them again. So I went to the International Festival that night. And lo and behold, there she was, up on the stage, dressed in the selfsame berka in that photo. And the reason I know is because the eyes are exactly the same.”
Scratching his head in amazement, Tom blurted, “Perhaps she’s some sort of terrorist.”
Eyeing his friend doubtfully, Brandt abruptly announced, “Hold on. Let me just check on one thing,” and, turning back to his computer, he announced with apparent satisfaction, “Yes! It’s finished downloading!”
“What’s finished downloading?” Tom asked vacantly.
“Watch this, Tom,” Brandt commanded, and clicking on a file, the pair watched as a film clip began playing.
Seconds later, Tom roared, “Holy shit, Brandt! That’s her, and there she goes, right into the elevator. What the hell was that all about?”
Brandt clicked on it again, saying, “I’m not sure. Let’s watch it again.”
The pair watched it a second time, and this time Brandt noticed something untoward. When it was completed, he posited, “I think we’ve got it, Tom!”
“Got what?” Tom blabbered.
“This time I’m going to play it in slow motion. Watch carefully. She comes into the hotel and she walks towards the elevator, but then she stops for a moment and glances around. Then suddenly she looks directly at the surveillance camera. Did you see that?”
“Yes, I saw it, but so what?”
“Okay,” Brandt said patiently, I’m going to play it one more time, and watch what she does when she looks at the camera.” Having said this, he clicked the film clip one more time.
Peering at the video, Tom announced, “I don’t see anything unusual. She blinks a few times, but that’s it.”
“Exactly!” Brandt crowed.
“Exactly what?”
“She blinks, you idiot!”
“So what?” Tom blathered.
“I’m going to play it again, and this time count the number of blinks, okay.”
“Alright, whatever,” Tom murmured tiredly and, counting patiently, he announced, “I count nine times.”
“Me, too,” Brandt replied, “Okay, here goes, Tom. Last time, check the spacing between blinks.” Brandt now clicked it one last time, and the pair watched carefully.
Narrowing his eyes, Tom scrutinized the footage one last time, announcing abruptly, “My God, Brandt, it’s Morse code!”
“Precisely!” Brandt crowed victoriously.
Tom now confessed, “Unfortunately, I don’t know any Morse code, do you?”
“Well, not really, but there is one part that almost everyone knows.”
“What’s that?”
“Dit dit dit, dah dah dah, dit dit dit.”
“Ok-kay,” Tom murmured doubtfully, adding, “That does indeed appear to be what she is blinking in the film footage, but what does it mean?”
“It means S.O.S., Tom!”
“Oh…my…God…” Tom blurted.
“I should think that this is proof that she did it under duress,” Brandt observed, “And not only that, it proves my suspicion that Miss Walker is quite an intelligent young woman.”
“Well, it’s a tall order, if you ask me, but you may just be onto something, my friend. So what, if I may ask, do you plan to do about it?”
“I don’t know yet, but it gets better, Tom,” Brandt replied self-assuredly.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What else is there?”
“If my guess is right, she’s gone missing, and if I’m correct, she won’t be turning up any time soon.”
“What in blazes are you talking about, Brandt?”
“I’m saying the woman who bombed the Lido Hotel in Las Vegas yesterday is Miss Patience Walker from Lincoln, Nebraska, and she’s not going back there.”
“Why?” Tom replied, obviously confused.
“For the simple reason that she can’t, that’s why,” he replied confidently.
“Oh, for God’s sake, just tell me what you’re talking about, Brandt.”
“If my guess is correct, she can’t go home to Lincoln, because she’s on the run.”
“Why would she on the run?”
“Because, if I’m right, she was kidnapped in Lincoln two days ago, forced to bomb the Lido hotel, and last night she tried to kill one of the richest men in the world.”
New York City – Four Days Later
Barbara was waiting for Patience at the passenger arrival area when she arrived at La Guardia. Without even so much as a polite hello, Barbara blurted, “Geez, you look like you haven’t slept in a week, Patience.” Surveying Patience’s strangely disheveled hair, she added, “And what is with your hair, girl?”
Wading silently into Barbara’s embrace, Patience murmured between muffled sobs, “God, it’s so good to see you, Barb.”
Shocked by her cousin’s state of dilapidation, Barbara spluttered, “My God, what happened to you, Patience?”
Patience stepped back and, dragging one hand to her face, she wiped tears from her now swollen face. Between sobs she whispered, “You don’t want to know, Barb. Let’s get out of here.”
Shrugging acquiescence, Barbara led her to the parking lot. They rode in silence to Barbara’s tiny apartment in Greenwich Village, whereupon Patience collapsed, sleeping nonstop for twenty-four hours.
Ten Days Later
Barbara was slowly coming to the boiling point. Obviously still in a state of shock, Patience had spoken very little at all since her arrival the previously week. Having by now had enough of her slovenly encroachment, Barbara determined to force Patience from her malaise by whatever means possible. Sipping her Saturday morning coffee across from Patience in her microscopic kitchen, she decided on the forceful approach, demanding, “You may as well say something, Patience, because if you don’t pull yourself together, I’m going to kick your ass out on the street!”
Staring distantly at her over the rim of her coffee cup, Patience eventually murm
ured morosely, “I’m sorry, Barb. I’m behaving like a three year old, I know that. But I’ve had a hard time of it, I mean - really hard.”
“What the hell happened, Patience? Where were you?”
Shaking her head, Patience responded, “I can’t tell you. It might put you in danger.”
“Damn!” Barbara exclaimed and, spitting out her coffee in shock, she propounded, “I knew it was bad, but this is worse than I could have imagined! Are you in big trouble?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“No! It’s nothing like that, Barb. Listen, I may have been followed. I was very careful to cover my tracks, but nobody is completely invisible. I’m afraid that I am going to have to disappear.”
“Boy, you must have done something really stupid to be this terrified, girl. Please tell me it’s not drugs.”
“No, it’s not drugs, but it might as well be,” Patience replied forlornly. “Look, for your own safety, I can never tell you what it’s about, but if some unsavory characters ever come around looking for me, I’m going to need your help to escape yet again. In the meantime, I’m going to need a place to hide out. Can I stay here with you for a while?”
“Of course you can, but can you get a job and pull your share of the rent? And don’t forget, you owe me the five hundred dollars that I loaned you to pay for your plane ticket from Dallas.”
“Sure, but I’m going to need to change my name. I can’t be traced, or I’m dead.”
At this Barbara paled and, grasping her throat, she replied reassuringly, “Of course, we can do that. Absolutely anything and everything can be done for a price in New York City. Let’s take it one step at a time. First, you need a new name, something far away from Patience.”
“I already thought of that. I thought about it all the way from Phoenix to Dallas - on the bus.”
“So you were in Phoenix?”
“Yes, but don’t bother trying to figure it out, Barb, because that’s not where it happened, and there’s no way I’m going to tell you more than that. Anyway, I’ve decided to be Christine. I’ve always wanted to be named Christine.”
“What about a last name, er, Christine?” Barbara queried.
“I don’t know. Actually, I don’t even care. Any suggestions?”
How about something really nondescript, something that will really blend in with the masses, like Smith or Jones?”
“Hmm,” Patience, ergo Christine replied softly, “Christine Smith…Christine Jones. I don’t like either. I think I’ll be Christine Black.”
“What on earth for?” Barbara queried.
“It suits my mood, that’s what for,” she replied defensively.
Barb replied, “Okay, whatever, Miss Christine Black.” Noticing that the newly named Christine was toying with something in her hand, she added, “What’s that in your hand that you’re playing with?”
“Oh, nothing, it’s just a barrette.”
Sensing another brick wall, Barb replied, “Oh. I suppose that under the current circumstances you can’t call your mother.”
“Right, and that’s the worst part of all. She’s really sick, Barb. She might die,” Patience responded.
“I know, girl. I checked up on her after you called me from Dallas.”
“Really?” Patience responded, staring wide-eyed. “What did they tell you at the hospital?”
“I didn’t talk to them. I called my sister in Lincoln. She checked on your mom. She’s resting easy, but scared to death about you. She of course was aware of your disappearance.”
Paling at this, Patience responded, “They know in Lincoln?”
“Yes, of course they know, and now there is some sort of rumor in Lincoln that you were connected to that bombing in Las Vegas two weeks ago.”
Clutching her throat in anguish, Patience blurted, “Oh, my God! What must my mother think!”
“Good question, Patience, But I doubt you’re going to find out the answer to that one any time soon.”
“What else did your sister say, Barb?”
“My sister says they are aware that you wore a berka to some festival in Lincoln. Tell me you weren’t involved in that bombing.”
“No, no, of course not!”
Barbara replied matter-of-factly, “Liar, liar, pants on fire!”
“Okay, I guess I’d better tell you something. Otherwise you’ll think I’m some sort of scumbag. Look, I got in over my head and I was in Las Vegas, but believe me, whatever happened was against my will, okay?”
“Ok-kay,” Barb responded doubtfully.
“And I only did it once before I escaped.”
“Escaped?” Barb replied, and now it was her turn to grasp her throat in fear.
“I’m not saying anything more. I’m in danger, and I don’t want you to be in danger as well. Okay?”
“Look, let’s go for a walk. I’m sure you are in need of some air, Christine.”
“I don’t want to go for a walk!” Patience replied.
“Precisely, which is why you and I are going to go for a walk,” Barb replied insistently. “Now get your tail off that chair and let’s get you back into the world. New York is a fabulous place. I’m sure we can drag you out of your malaise in no time.”
“Oh, alright Barb, but allow me to register my complaint - I do so under duress!” and at this, the pair giggled for the first time since Patience’s arrival ten days earlier.
Pasadena, California – Two Weeks Later
Brandt awoke with a start. He had been dreaming again - it was the nightmare that had invaded the very night that he had gone to the International Festival in Lincoln. In the dream, he had been chasing a woman, whom he couldn’t quite make out, when three men had chased him down, tackled and beaten him, each time awakening him in terror.
Though a month had passed since the festival, his memory of it had faded not one iota in that span of time, his emotions remaining entirely raw and conflicted. Had she really been the reason that Al-Wadi had ended up in the hospital? As it developed, Al-Wadi was expected to make a complete recovery, but Brandt had been unable to find out anything further up to this point in time.
Beneath it all was a deep and abiding conviction that a young woman he barely knew had bombed a hotel against her will and, to make matters worse, he had somehow become obsessed with her. A conviction was beginning to form in his mind that he was not going to let go of this fixation without taking some form of action. Lying within the enveloping darkness, he pondered his options and, checking his alarm clock, he realized that it was three in the morning.
Still wide awake as the sun came up, he considered what action he might take in order to restore sanity to his lost sense of equilibrium. He was now at the stage where he was losing substantial sleep night after night. Realizing that something had to be done before his health became seriously affected, he resolved to initiate his program of action the following weekend.
By Saturday Brandt had begun to form a plan of attack. First off, he decided to see if he could locate any information online about his obsession – Patience.
Of course, there was always the possibility of checking records of individuals in Lincoln, Nebraska with the name of Patience Walker. He reasoned that there can’t have been too many women with that name in a city of two hundred thousand people.
Next, he decided to plan a weekend trip to Las Vegas as soon as possible to see if he could pick up the trail of Patience. Realizing that he had suddenly become a very busy man who now had two full time jobs, he spent the morning gathering what information he could from the web.
By the end of the day, Brandt had determined that there was only one individual living in Lincoln, Nebraska by the name of Patience Walker. He began to assemble a file of information about her. Turning now to his extensive computer hacking skills, he began searching for whatever he could find on her. Within minutes he discovered that her mother’s name was
Brenda, and that they lived in a house on Juniper in Lincoln. He was able to determine that Patience had worked summers as a barista at Starbuck’s, and he was able to confirm that she was indeed a student at Nebraska State University. He logged into the NSU website, confirming that she was registered as a junior majoring in computer science. Unkempt and out of sorts, he nonetheless felt a sense of progress for the first time since his trip to Lincoln.
Grabbing a bite for dinner, he set back to it immediately thereafter, and for some reason he decided to check back issues of the local newspaper in Lincoln. It was painstaking work, but around midnight he struck pay dirt of sorts. Two weeks after the bombing a photo of Patience had been printed in the Lincoln Journal Star. It was a headshot, and it showed a woman with a rather bizarre coiffure, something akin to a mohawk. And, although it was somewhat grainy, it was clearly her, the caption below the photo reading in confirmation - Last known photo of missing NSU student Patience Walker. Why on earth had she done such a thing to herself? The only explanation he could conceive of was – she hadn’t. Someone else must have done it to her, for what reason he could only guess.
Around five in the morning, unable to support his head any longer, he collapsed into bed, sleeping soundly for the first time in weeks. Four hours later he was back at it, searching yet deeper into the internet.
By now he was focused on what had transpired after her disappearance on the night of the festival. Reexamining her credit card expenditures, he was able to determine that she had made no purchases between the time of the festival and the bombing. And perhaps even more telling, she had made no purchases whatsoever after her lone withdrawal of two hundred dollars in Las Vegas. As it turned out, that cash withdrawal had been made at the Pelican Hotel and Casino, located less than two blocks from Mr. Al-Wadi’s office complex. From there the trail went ice cold.
New York City – A Week Later
As she came in through the door, Patience noticed that Barbara was sitting on the sofa awaiting her arrival. Sensing that her behavior was a bit odd, she volunteered, “No luck yet, but I’ll find a job soon I’m sure. I promise, I’ll pull my share of the weight, Barb.”
Apparently ignoring Patience’s attempt at conversation, Barbara instructed, “Please, sit down.”
Now concerned, Patience asked, “What is it, is something wrong?”
“It’s your mom,” Barb replied with an ominous stare.
“Oh, my God, is it bad?” Patience asked, her face turning pale with fear.
“I’m afraid so,” Barb replied gravely, “She died this morning.”
Pasadena – The Same Day
Brandt, working furiously during the daytime on his pattern recognition software, was by now certain that the solution to this challenge would bring him closer to the trail of Patience. Each night he searched the internet, scanning for clues of any kind related to Patience.
As there was nothing, not even the scent of a trail, he turned his attention to the lone person that Patience appeared to have had contact with since he’d seen her at the festival – Mr. Hakeem Al-Wadi. He was able to determine that Al-Wadi was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate named Equus Investments, a subsequent search indicating that he had been born in Kuwait in 1957. His assumption that Al-Wadi was a very shady character by now rather deep-seated, he was therefore disinclined to search any further for information about him utilizing a web address that was traceable. Instead, he determined to be patient until he could access the web from an untraceable site before further investigating Al-Wadi and Equus Investments.
The trail having remained cold, Brandt was beginning to feel like a caged animal. Realizing that the time had come for a visit to Las Vegas, he nevertheless viewed this possibility with considerable trepidation. If his perception was indeed correct, he could be placing himself in danger by going anywhere near the headquarters of Equus Investments.
The Following Weekend
Pulling his new Porsche 911 out of the parking lot, Brandt did so with mixed emotions of both anticipation and fear, for he was headed to Las Vegas.
On arrival, he went directly to the Pelican Hotel. Showing the photo from the Lincoln Journal Star to several of the workers at the hotel, he at first drew a blank. Eventually one person bit and, indicating that he couldn’t be sure about the face, he assured Brandt that he had only seen those pale green eyes once in his lifetime. It had been around six weeks earlier, and according to him the woman had sported a rather bizarre coiffure that he termed a ‘watusi’. He was certain it was the same woman because two men had shown him a photo of her the day after he had seen the woman within the hotel, and the photo was of a woman sporting the same hairdo. Brandt was now relatively certain that she had in fact escaped that night, but as a result he was equally certain that she was in grave danger.
Making his way to the hotel exit as quickly as possible, he was suddenly concerned that he might be spotted by Al-Wadi’s associates if he made too much of a show of searching for the woman with the bizarre hairdo. Vegas might be a big place, but it could also just as easily have big ears.
Returning to his hotel room, Brandt shacked up within his room, carefully contemplating his next move. Unable to resolve anything at all, he finally summoned the nerve to do something. As a result, he drove in desperation to Al-Wadi’s office complex and parked down the street.
The minutes stretched out, people coming and going intermittently, but no one that he thought might be helpful to him. Eventually, most of the employees having trickled out, he reasoned that they would be of no use whatsoever if Patience had only been there one night. Having no other recourse, he nonetheless continued to watch and wait.
Eventually, boredom getting the better of him, he decided to drive around the block. Turning the corner, he spotted a sign down the street that read ‘Equus Club’. The similitude being far too obvious, he decided to pull in and check it out.
Sauntering up to the door, he was eyed menacingly by a rather large bouncer. Attempting nonchalance, he inquired vacuously, “I hear the show’s good here, right?”
“Step right inside and see for yourself,” the man retorted, flashing a much too compliant grin.
“Thanks,” Brandt said, making his way within. Once inside, he realized that though small, it was quite a high-class establishment. There was a respectable crowd, and an exotic dancer was performing on a stage surrounded by a bar, thereby allowing the patrons an eye-popping view of her performance. Brandt took a seat and ordered a drink, intent on determining if there was any connection between this club and Al-Wadi.
Two hours later, having discovered nothing whatsoever, he gave up and left. However, once out on the street, he decided to await developments, just as he had at the office complex. He therefore remained in his car, examining the comings and goings.
Finally, at around three A.M., a middle-aged woman came out, appearing exhausted and bedraggled. She got into a beat-up Ford pickup truck, and for some reason he decided to follow her. She drove about a mile and, pulling into an all-night restaurant, she hopped out and went inside. It was one of those seedy places that are frequented mostly by street people, and as there wasn’t a soul within the restaurant other than two waitresses and the woman he had followed, he decided to take a chance.
Climbing out of his Porsche, he sauntered inside and walked directly up to the woman, who was by now sitting in a booth sipping on a cup of coffee as she read a newspaper.
Glancing up at him, she exclaimed before he could even introduce himself, “What do YOU want?”
“Hi,” he said, “I’m Roy Robertson, FBI,” and so saying, he flashed her the fake ID he had made up for this purpose.
“Right,” she replied doubtfully, “An Irish FBI agent, what will they think of next.”
“Scottish,” he replied.
“Well, that may be, Mr. Rob Roy Robertson, or whatever your name is, but you sure as hell ain’t no FBI agent!”
Wincing a
t her instantaneous destruction of his cover, he nonetheless determined to try and bluff his way out of it. Playing to her gruff attitude, he proffered, “You have excellent powers of deduction, Miss…,” and observing her silent glare, he continued with, “May I sit down?”
“Free country,” she replied, taking another long drag from her coffee and, suddenly calling out to one of the waitresses, she said, “Sherry, bring my friend Robby boy here a fresh cup of coffee,” all the while continuing to eye him doubtfully over the rim of her cup.
A few moments of silence spreading between the pair, she eventually inquired, “So, Robby Roy boy, what can I do for you? Which one of them is it you’re after?”
“Which what?” he replied, confused.
“Which girl, you numbskull. You ain’t the first guy to come wandering up in the middle of the night flashing a fake ID, you know. Mr. Al-Wadi’s girls are all magnets for lonely guys. And every one of you damn fools gets a fixation on one of those girls. It’s just a basic instinct with males of our unique and illustrious species.”
Blushing at having been discerned so easily, Brandt responded with, “Touché, Miss…?”
Abruptly sucking in yet another sip of coffee, she eyed him and replied succinctly, “Bernice.”
His coffee having arrived, he took a swig of his as well and posited, “Alright, I may as well come clean, Bernice. My name is Tom Wilson. I work in L.A. I was at one of the shows about a month ago, and I haven’t been sleeping well ever since. I was hoping that you could give me a line on one of the girls.”
“What’s her name?” Bernice replied.
“Patience, Patience Walker,” he responded brazenly.
At this she suddenly scrunched her eyes up, and scrutinizing him carefully, she sneered accusingly, “Oh, I get it. You’re a PI, right?”
“A PI, what’s that?” he replied.
Very nearly spitting out her coffee at this admission, Bernice snickered, “Hee hee…okay, so maybe I was right the first time – a boyfriend looking for the girl who ran away, right?”
“Something like that,” he replied, feigning desolation, “Can you tell me anything about her? She seems to have disappeared.”
“And she’d better stay that way, too,” Bernice responded. “If Mr. Al-Wadi’s boys ever find her, she’s dead meat.”
“What?” Brandt replied, doing his best at pretended trepidation, “Whatever for?”
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you, since you know her, Robby Boy, or Tommy boy, whichever the case may be. She never got the chance to perform onstage. Instead, she skipped out on Mr. Al-Wadi.”
“Skipped out, to where?” he replied.
“Nobody knows, and it’s a damn good thing for her, I’ll tell you that. Because before she went, she whacked Mr. Al-Wadi with an ash tray, a big marble one. Knocked his eye right out of its socket! Damn near killed him, but he’s gonna be alright.”
“She knocked out one of his eyes?” Brandt replied with affected surprise.
“Damn straight she did. And they couldn’t fix it, so he ain’t gonna be real pleasant to her when he finds her, if you know what I mean, Tommy boy.”
Acting as if this was news to him, he murmured as if to himself, “Damn, so she’s on the run. I get it.”
“Yep. You got it,” she replied, “Too bad. She was a real sweet kid, you know, and built like a bombshell. She had real potential. The boss wouldda taken real good care of her. Instead, as soon as the boys find her, she’s gonna end up at the bottom of some large body of water wearing concrete boots. And believe me, Tommy boy, they’ll find her. They won’t stop looking till they’ve turned over every rock bigger than a lizard’s dick on this whole damn planet.”
Brandt stared at her morosely, and realizing that there was nothing more to be said, he slowly got up and mumbled grimly, “Thanks Bernice, I really appreciate it. Thanks a lot.”
“Sure,” she replied, “Any time.”
As he traipsed towards the exit, she called out, “Tommy!” at which Brandt continued walking. She repeated more forcefully, “You, Tommy!”
Startled, he turned around and, eyeing her sheepishly, he realized that she had outwitted him yet again. Seeing his embarrassment, she exclaimed, “Yeah, I thought so. You ain’t no Tommy boy. You’re just another one of those lonely guys, ain’t you! Was she your girl back in Nebraska?”
Hanging his head in an admission of guilt, he replied awkwardly, “Yes, she was, Bernice.”
She responded empathetically, “Well, Tommy boy, or whatever your name is, I hope you find her, and if you do, you take good care of her, you hear? She’s a good kid.”
Suddenly regaining his composure, he inquired, “Just one last question, Bernice - you don’t seem to care much for Mr. Al-Wadi. So why do you continue working for him?”
Sipping her coffee as if she was contemplating exactly how to reply, Bernice murmured sagely, “Because my sense of morality is exceeded by my instinct for survival.”
Brandt peered at her and, realization slowly dawning on him, he replied, “Got it…perfectly clear to me. Thanks Bernice. Bye.”
Thereafter he drove back to the hotel and, catching a couple of hours of sleep, he simply couldn’t seem to stay in bed past sunrise. Having attempted for several weeks to piece together what Patience might have done after her escape that night, his impression of his lone encounter with her was that while she was perhaps naive, she was also anything but obtuse.
If as he suspected she was in fact quite intelligent, he now asked himself, “Suppose I was dressed like a freak so that I stood out in a crowd, and faced with the necessity of getting out of Las Vegas as quickly and unobtrusively as possible, what would I do?” The answer that immediately came back to him was, “Don’t leave by any means that is traceable.” Suddenly suspecting that she might have hitch-hiked, a new question came to mind, “Where would she have hitch-hiked to?”
He quickly downloaded a map of the U.S., examining it for the better part of an hour. Because she was from Nebraska, he assumed that she would head in a general eastward direction, thereby making it unlikely that she would have gone to Los Angeles. At any rate, he could easily check out that possibility when he got back home on Sunday.
Reasoning that she wouldn’t have gone directly north in winter, he suddenly hit on the issue of what she had been wearing when she left Al-Wadi’s office. “Hell,” he realized to himself, “She had to have removed the berka in order to escape the Lido Hotel.”
How she had been recaptured by Al-Wadi was unclear to him, but the fact that she had struck Al-Wadi suggested that she had for some reason returned to his office after the bombing. That being the case, Al-Wadi could well have had his men take her clothing as a means of preventing her escape, meaning that she might not have had much clothing at all!
This suspicion, together with the fact that the bombing had occurred in February, provoked him to focus on destinations to the south of Las Vegas. The answer that immediately jumped out at him was Phoenix. Armed with this new possibility, he grabbed a quick breakfast and headed directly for Phoenix.
Having thought things through in route, he made directly for the bus station on his arrival in Phoenix. Once there he described a woman with green eyes and wearing a strange hairdo to several employees, and within minutes he located a ticket agent who confirmed having seen a woman with that style of hairdo a few weeks earlier. Rewarded monetarily, the man volunteered the single word, “Dallas.”
Having justified the long drive, he turned to leave. But, suddenly thinking better of it, he turned back and asked the agent, “Anyone else ask about this woman in the past few weeks that you can recall?”
Still grinning at his unexpected windfall, the agent responded, “Nope, not a soul.”
The return drive to Las Vegas fairly flew by, Brandt convinced that Patience was most likely safe somewhere in the eastern half of the country. The trail had once again become blazing hot.
The following morning Brandt drove back to Pasadena, buoyed by the now renewed prospect of locating Patience. Unfortunately, it would be four long years before he was able to trace her whereabouts further.
Las Vegas – A Week Later
Wassim jumped up as Mr. Al-Wadi entered the office, exclaiming, “Welcome, Mr. Al-Wadi, it’s good to have you back.”
“Thanks,” Mr. Al-Wadi replied. “That hospital was a real pain, but the rehab center was even worse. What a dump! I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Nothing but a bunch of old people waiting to die, if you ask me.”
“It must have been difficult for you, sir,” Wassim replied. “I hated just visiting!”
Al-Wadi grabbed a scotch and water and, collapsing on the sofa, he inquired pointedly, “Are there any developments regarding our escapee?”
“Cold trail, sir. Our agents have been searching everywhere, but so far they’ve uncovered nothing of significance.”
“I want that bitch found, damn it! She’s going to pay for what she did to me. You tell them they’d better find her soon, or I shall not be happy with them. And tell them that I want her alive. We shall see how she likes losing an eye. An eye for an eye will be quite appropriate for that bitch, and then we’re going to ever so slowly slice and dice her into pieces so tiny that she’ll fit between a lizard’s lips. Before I’ve finished with her, she’ll beg me to put her out of her misery.”
“Understood, sir. How is your eye?”
“What do you mean, how’s my eye, Wassim! The damn thing looks in whatever direction it wants to, and it still hurts like hell when I go to bed at night. I won’t ever quit until I capture that bitch, if it’s the last thing I ever do!”
Regretting having brought it up, Wassim murmured, “Yes, sir.”
Mr. Al-Wadi sucked in an enormous gulp of scotch and, displaying a sinister expression, he asked, “So what’s the scoop on Navid. Did you take care of him like I instructed?”
“Yes, sir. We dumped him out in the desert. He screamed like a newborn baby at the end.”
“Excellent. After all the training he had, he should have known better than to do that. Never mind how he managed to take it, I still can’t believe he was so stupid as to sell that picture of that bitch to that paper in Lincoln. He should have known that we’d find out it was him. Anyway, he got what he deserved.”
“Yes, sir,” Wassim replied. “We have a new agent to replace him, and he is aware what happened to Navid, so he won’t give us any problems.”
“Good,” Al-Wadi replied and, apparently still adjusting to the foreign object planted within his face, he fingered his eye socket gingerly.
Finding Patience Page 4
