by Al Macy
In the late afternoon Jake, Archie, Renata, and three other agents huddled in the conference room. The long table held maps, notes, and a box with one last slice of pizza. They’d settled on four residences that might be holding Sophia. Renata wanted to send teams to all four, that night.
Jake shook his head. “No, Renata. We’d be stretched too thin. And we need more intelligence.”
Renata paced, showing more energy than she had since Jake arrived. “But it is my company, now, not yours. And my daughter, not yours.”
“Jake is right,” Archie said. “You are too close to it. We can’t make our decisions emotionally. Trust Jake on this.”
Renata fell into a chair and nodded without looking up.
“Okay.” Jake ran his fingers through his hair. “How about this?” He outlined out a plan to figure out which house she was in—if any—and where to go from there.
* * *
Archie Chen deserved his nickname as the Mexican Ninja. His specialty was going in and out of occupied houses undetected.
A few years earlier, one of the company’s newer administrators had voiced doubts about stories of Archie’s exploits. Rumor had it the administrator woke up the next morning with a ninja action figure tied to his penis, with a note reading “Me love you long time.” No one questioned his abilities after that.
Jake and Archie slipped into Temamatla at 2:00 a.m., in a black, slummed-down Chevy Aveo. The car had been disguised with dents and simulated rust spots to make it less conspicuous. It had a custom, quiet muffler, and Jake drove around to each of the four houses and waited while Archie slipped out and attached listening devices to the windows. For two of the residences, Archie scaled a wall to attach a device to a window on the second floor. At no location was he gone for more than sixty seconds. They then joined the techs in the company’s surveillance van.
In the morning, the first house was ruled out. Jake couldn’t understand the scratchy Spanish dialect, but Archie and the technician had little trouble. The husband and wife who lived there argued about everything from who hadn’t cleaned up after the dog to the husband’s lack of cojones for not asking for a raise. They didn’t sound like kidnappers.
The next two houses had no sounds at all. Either no one was home, or the kidnappers, if this was their safe house, were sleeping late.
For the final house they were treated to a long argument about soccer. The first man obviously considered his companion to be an idiot when it came to rating teams. They were about to switch back to one of the silent houses when Jake held up a finger.
“Listen,” he said … “There!”
Crying came from the speaker in the van. It was from an upstairs microphone.
One of the soccer fans swore, and his grumbling transitioned from the downstairs mic to the upstairs one. After a whimper, they heard a slap and the words “Tu será tranquila y comerás el cereal—toda ella—si alguna vez quieres ver a tu mamá de nuevo.”
Archie translated: “You will be quiet and you will eat your cereal—all of it—if you ever want to see your mommy again.”
* * *
Once again, Renata wanted an immediate raid, but Jake convinced her to wait. Anything that involved weapons could easily get Sophia killed. They’d learned from experience not to get the local police involved. The Policía didn’t have good impulse control and were corrupt enough that collusion with the kidnappers was possible.
They kept the house under surveillance but reduced manpower to a minimum to avoid detection. Midmorning, the motorcyclist departed and rode to Mexico City. He called the office and negotiated a ransom drop for the next day at 9:00 a.m. Senor Vela ran through the usual negotiation tactics so as not to reveal that anything had changed. Besides, the rescue could fail.
The waiting was hardest, especially for Renata. She refused to take any tranquilizers.
Disaster hit at 7:00 p.m. One of the kidnappers went out for his after-dinner break. With the reduced surveillance, they’d seen him, dressed in denim, come out of the house but soon lost track of him. The disaster was that he happened to be walking towards the rear of the surveillance van just when a tech opened the back door to take his own break. Jake and Archie locked eyes with the criminal who figured things out in a flash and took off running.
Jake chased him directly, and Archie took an indirect route along a parallel alley. Denim man was within sight of the safe house when he looked back to see how close Jake was. Archie caught him unawares, tackling him from the side. The criminal’s head hit the bumper of a car on his way down, and he was knocked unconscious.
Jake and Archie looked over to the house where Sophia was held and didn’t see any faces in the window or at the cement balcony. They gathered up Denim Man, held him between them as if he had passed out from drink, and walked him back to the van.
The tech who’d caused the catastrophe apologized profusely, but Jake and Archie concentrated on what to do next.
“Any sign of alarm in the house?” Jake asked.
“No. Not a sound. And his absence won’t be noticed for a while. The breaks can be almost an hour long.”
Archie bound and gagged their prisoner. “Lucky. We took him down right in front of the house. I guess we got away with it. Now what?”
Unable to pace in the crowded van, Jake clenched his teeth and jiggled his leg. “We have to manufacture a valid reason for his absence. I’m thinking the reason could be he was hit by a car.”
Archie shook his head. “They would have to know he was hit by a car.”
“Right, so we have him hit by a car right in front of the safe house. I’m thinking out loud here. Screeching tires, horn, throw him on the street.”
“I don’t know. The kidnappers hear the commotion. They come out and get involved. Unless our guy driving the car is a great actor, they’ll get suspicious. But maybe we could use this opportunity as a diversion and go in and rescue Sophia.”
“That would work only if both of the remaining kidnappers come out onto the street.”
“If they both show themselves, we can take them out with snipers,” Archie said.
“Yeah. I guess that’s what we’ll do.” Jake got a faraway look in his eyes.
Archie squinted. “What?”
“I saw an old ambulance in an alley near here.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, the ambulance’s siren filled the air. Jake and Archie were in position. Two techs remained in the van and patched the sound from the bugs into the earpieces of the others. As the hot-wired vehicle approached the final turn, Jake watched for the heads of the kidnappers. There’s no way they can ignore an approaching siren.
One kidnapper appeared on the balcony, and the company’s sniper watched from behind a wall, his rifle ready. The other kidnapper was more experienced, and only brought his head slightly above the sill of the second-story window, not presenting a clear shot.
Jake willed the man to raise his head all the way, but it didn’t happen. If they shot only one, the other could kill Sophia.
Jake spoke into his mike. “Abort rescue. Abort rescue.” They would have to go with Plan B, which was starting to feel risky at this point, but they didn’t have any alternative. The kidnappers needed a nonthreatening reason for the disappearance of their comrade.
As the ambulance turned onto the street of the safe house, the driver made a screeching swerve, honked the horn, and slammed on the brakes. At the same time an agent in the vehicle pushed the unconscious body of Denim Man out the back. The effect wasn’t perfect, but with luck, it would seem that the ambulance had struck the man when it made the turn.
Timing was now critical. They wanted the kidnappers to know it was their friend who’d been hit, but not have enough time to look too closely into the situation. The plan was to give one of them time to come down into the street, but it turned out that wasn’t necessary. “Santiago fue golpeado por una ambulancia!” came through from the upstairs microphone. Santiago was hit by an ambulance!
Before a kidnapper could come out to investigate, they packed Santiago into the back of the ambulance and whisked him away.
Back in the surveillance van, Jake admitted to himself that the plan had been too elaborate and risky. But it had worked. When thought about what might have gone wrong, he started shaking.
* * *
Archie grabbed a few hours of sleep before returning to the surveillance van, joining Jake and two techs. Tonight’s the night.
Jake had headphones on, listening to the feed from the bugs.
The evening hadn’t cooled off, and the body heat from the four men made it feel as if the vehicle were standing in the sun. The locker-room smell was hard to ignore.
Antonio, the new leader of the gang, was in the safe house. Through the bug, they’d listened as he called the closest hospital. He sounded satisfied with what he heard. Not surprising, since Renata had bribed the woman at the information desk to say Santiago had serious injuries and had been transferred to another hospital. Which one? Unknown.
No bad-guy reinforcements arrived, so they were down to two men in the house: Antonio and Rodriguez. One of the kidnappers hit the sack at midnight, but the other stayed up, old movies playing on TV.
After an hour, Jake said, “I bet he fell asleep with the TV on.”
Archie rubbed the back of his neck. “Can we take that chance?”
“How about this: If there are no sounds of movement by 4 a.m., we assume he’s asleep, and we go?”
Archie agreed.
At 4:0 a.m., Jake and Archie left the van.
The Mexican Ninja had full confidence in his ability to get in and out without being detected—if the occupants were asleep. He and Jake drove to the house in their Chevy Aveo, shutting off the headlights and engine and rolling the last half block. The only sound came from the tires.
Archie looked the house over even though he was familiar with every inch of the facade. It was an ugly cinder block building with an opening for the balcony on the second floor.
Taking one final calming breath, Archie glided up the wall, aided by the protrusion of a utility meter. He carried a large duffel bag. At the balcony, he raised his head and looked in. Antonio was facing away from him, slouched in front of the TV. Archie climbed over the wall in slow motion. He ghosted through the balcony’s door and into the living room. He raised his pistol, ready to put a bullet through the back of Antonio’s head. Should I risk waking the other kidnapper? But the man stood up, a shotgun in his left hand. He shuffled to the bathroom, taking his shotgun with him.
Archie held his breath. I’ve got enough time.
Sophia lay in a corner, tied to a radiator with a rope around her neck. He went to her and squatted down. After holstering his gun, he pulled a halothane-soaked cloth from a plastic bag and held it over Sophia’s nose and mouth. Her eyes snapped open, but the anesthetic took hold fast enough that she was under before making any sounds. He placed her gently in the duffel bag, closed it, and retrieved his gun from the holster. This will work.
He jumped when Antonio’s voice rang out. “Guess you should have shot me when you had the chance.”
* * *
Jake checked his watch and continued watching the balcony for Archie’s reappearance. It’s taking too long.
A shotgun’s boom shattered the silence of the night.
* * *
Archie had spun around as soon as Antonio had started speaking. The words “when you had the chance” were still in the air when Archie’s bullet hit the man in his chest. He put a second bullet through Antonio’s throat. But as the man collapsed, he pulled the trigger on his shotgun. He scored a direct hit on the duffel bag, which slid back towards the wall as if yanked with a wire.
Archie reached back, grabbed the duffel and headed to the balcony. A confused shout rang out from another part of the house, but Archie didn’t want to risk wandering around to find the other kidnapper. Instead, he scrambled to the balcony and looked over the edge. Jake was already on his way up. Archie gave him a “stop” hand-signal and tossed the duffel bag down. The plan had been to lower it gently with a rope, but Archie was confident Jake could catch it. Indeed, Jake jumped backwards off the utility meter, landed on the sidewalk, and caught the duffel gently.
By the time Archie reached the car, Jake had put Sophia in the back seat and jumped into the driver’s seat. Archie got in and Jake started the motor. But when he reached out to close his door, a second shotgun blast rang out. Archie looked up. The second kidnapper was on the balcony, reloading.
Jake caught the pellets in his upper arm and shoulder and started bleeding immediately. Archie grabbed the wheel from the passenger side. He mashed Jake’s foot down onto the accelerator.
After a few blocks, Jake recovered. He said, “I’ve got it.”
But he was fading. After a mile, with no evidence of pursuit, they stopped and switched drivers. Jake asked whether Sophia was okay and then passed out.
Archie called Renata to fill her in. He hung up before she could ask if Sophia was okay.
* * *
At the emergency entrance to Hospital Ángeles del Pedregal, Jake blinked his eyes open. He watched Archie reach over the back of the seat and open the duffel bag. They had lined it with six layers of Kevlar. Jake looked in. Sophia was uninjured. Archie handed her over to the ER doctor. The rope was still tied around her neck. The doctor appeared to take it in stride; he’d been alerted a kidnapping victim was on the way.
Two other nurses loaded Jake onto a gurney, and he passed out again.
Hours later, although it felt like only seconds, Jake once again regained consciousness. The surgery had gone well. They’d found no broken bones and had removed most of the shotgun pellets.
Archie stepped over to the bed.
Jake had trouble focusing. “She okay?”
“She’s fine,” Archie said. “She recovered from the halothane with no problems. Still traumatized, but—”
Renata came into the room and walked to Jake’s bedside. Sophia was squeezing her mother’s neck with a death grip, her head buried against it. When she saw Jake, she held out one arm toward him. Renata leaned down, and Sophia added his neck to her grip, pulling Jake and Renata together. Jake, still groggy, made an exaggerated choking noise. That got big laughs from everyone except Sophia. Comic relief.
The team was beyond exhaustion, and the hospital let Renata fall asleep in a bed next to Jake’s, Sophia still attached to her neck like a limpet.
CHAPTER FOUR
This short story is derived from a scene deleted from my book, A Mind Reader’s Christmas. Even if you haven’t read that book, it’s okay to read this story.
However, be warned that this scene gives away something that happens at the end of Democracy’s Thief. In other words: Spoiler Alert!
This story takes place in 2032. Eric and Viviana are vacationing in snowy Vermont with their ten-year-old daughter, Cosmina. She—and here comes the spoiler part—is able to compel people to do her bidding but doesn’t realize it!
Some other things you need to know (or remember) from other Eric Beckman books:
Eric can project his thoughts and compel people to act, but only when he’s exhausted.
When Eric reads someone’s thoughts, it’s punctuated with angle brackets, like this:
* * *
While on vacation, I continued working with our ten-year-old daughter, Cosmina, helping her improve her mind-reading skills. But on a December morning, while Cosmina was visiting a friend, I had a training session for Viviana. That’s right, a training session for my not-a-mind-reader wife.
I had to prepare her for the upcoming apocalypse. That is, for the day when our strange and wonderful daughter realized she could project her thoughts and compel people to do whatever she told them to do.
My ability to turn down the gain of my mind reading also works to block incoming mind control. That is, if I tamp down my inlet ports, so to speak, I am safe from being
influenced. So, come the day that Cosmina realized her awesome power, she wouldn’t be able to control me.
But she would be able to control Viviana.
I felt guilty about having these thoughts about my daughter. Cosmina was a loving and caring child, but power corrupts, right? Would Cosmina be able to resist making her mom let her stay out late with a guy who had nothing but bad intentions? Would she compel Viviana to take her to the mall? Buy her a pony?
What were the chances I’d be able to teach a normal person—a Muggle, you might say—to resist an influx of thoughts? Hard to know. To find out, I needed to influence Viviana through mind control and teach her to resist it. And to do that, I needed to tire myself out.
I hated cross-country skiing. Downhill? Fun. Cross-country? Not so much. It was like jogging with long, inconvenient things fastened to your feet and hands. Viviana, however, was a pro at the sport. It was popular in Romania, and she’d started skiing in preschool.
We rented our skis at Ye Olde Sports Shoppe, in Newburn, Vermont. Viviana chose traditional skis and picked out the right glide and kick waxes. She convinced the proprietor to let her apply them herself, using the shop’s vise and other equipment.
I, on the other hand, went with modern, accelerometer-equipped skis. Each ski knew if it was traveling forward or backward. If the latter, micro flaps under the ski would drop down. The owner demonstrated by holding a ski above my head, parallel to the ground. He’d shift it backward, and hundreds of the little flaps, like fish scales, opened up. “You can even go up a steep hill with no backsliding.” Nice, right? Perfect for a newbie like me.
The trail we chose wound its way up Horse Mountain, with two robot-groomed tracks side by side. We set off, Viviana wearing a purple jumpsuit that accentuated her curves. She soon got frustrated with my ineptitude and slowness. Sometimes she’d zip ahead, do some kind of graceful kick turn, and come back to give me encouragement.