by Ken Fite
I lifted my hands above my head and slowly brought them down to my abdomen. Once I was sure I had the clearance needed, I lifted my hands over my head again, exerted force against the cuffs by pushing my wrists outward to stretch the zip tie, and I brought my hands down and hit my abs as hard as I could.
It didn’t work.
I again clenched down on the long strand and pulled it even tighter. I winced in pain and tried again.
This time, the locking bar broke and my wrists were free. I grabbed each of them, not knowing if I was bleeding or not, and rubbed them to bring relief to the pain that I was feeling. When the limo made a sharp right turn, I stretched out my hands to stop myself from slamming into the side of the trunk.
After taking a few seconds to consider how I was going to try to get out of this, I crawled to where I thought the left taillight should be and felt around for the panel that housed the brake lights.
When I found the panel, I pried it open and a small amount of light entered the trunk.
I maneuvered my body so I could kick the lights out. Aware of the noise that breaking through the plastic would make, I waited for another bump in the road to try to mask the sound of my shoe kicking through.
The moment the limo rolled over another large bump in the road, I kicked the taillight with all of my might and it dropped outside the vehicle. I pulled myself over to the end of the trunk so I could look out onto the road. I didn’t think that the best option was to flag anyone down. And I knew the chances of the driver being pulled over for having a busted taillight were slim. I just wanted to know where I was.
I looked outside the hole that I had created and saw nothing. No buildings. No cars. Just snow and trees.
It was getting dark outside, but there was still just enough light to see that the driver was on what looked like a backroad. Based on my surroundings, I couldn’t tell where we were going. I didn’t want to find out.
Using the small amount of light coming from where the taillight was, I looked for the trunk release handle. It wasn’t there. The limo was an older model, which meant I’d have to find another way out.
As I felt the vehicle start to slow after it made a sharp left turn, I pulled up the carpet to look for a car jack. There was a spare tire, a wrench, and a rag – but the jack was missing. I braced myself as the limo took another long curve to the right, thrusting my body to the left side of the trunk where it stayed until the road straightened out again and I replaced the carpet back over the tire.
It was difficult keeping my balance with every turn, but once it seemed like we might be going straight for a while, I grabbed the side panel next to my head with both hands and as forcefully as I could – while trying to make as little sound as possible – I yanked on the cardboard paneling and pulled it off.
I searched for the trunk release cable which ran from the driver’s seat all the way to the trunk. I felt around inside the compartment and panicked when nothing was there. Then I touched something.
It felt like the cable.
With all my might, I pulled. My hands were too sweaty to grasp hold of the rubber cable and slipped every time I tugged. I wiped them on the carpet to dry them off and then I tried again. The carpet didn’t work too well in drying them and perspiration remained on the cable, keeping me from getting a good grip.
Then I remembered seeing something underneath the carpet by the spare tire.
I pushed myself back to the side of the trunk and once again pulled up the carpet, reached inside, and found the rag that had been left on top of the tire.
Replacing the carpet, I crawled back to the side paneling.
I wiped my hands with the rag and then wiped the entire length of the exposed cable that I could reach. Keeping the rag in my right hand, I grabbed hold of the cable as tightly as I could and placed my left hand further down and moved my legs so they were against the back of the trunk.
In position, I waited for the driver to hit the brakes, believing that I could leverage the force of the car stopping to my advantage. I hoped that using the rag, the full force of my body, and the inertia from the brakes, I’d be able to pull the cord.
The driver made another sharp right turn and as he did, I felt him start to brake.
I pulled with all of my strength and felt the cable give. The trunk popped and before it could fly open and be seen by the driver, I grabbed the bottom of it and held on tight, keeping it open just enough to let me see out the back so I could try to figure out where I was and get ready to escape at just the right time.
I saw snow-covered fields to my left. Straight back and to the right was a grove of dead white oak and American elm trees. Beyond them, tombstones. It was a cemetery, but didn’t look anything like Arlington.
Where the hell is he taking me? I thought. Somewhere to kill me – that’s where.
I waited for the right time to make my move. The limo started slowing down, almost to a stop.
I held onto the trunk and waited to see what the driver would do. As soon as I felt the limo come to a stop, I counted to ten. Then as carefully as I could, I crawled out and closed the trunk. The man kept the engine running and I stayed behind the vehicle out of view, waiting for it to lift up when he stepped outside.
EIGHTEEN
JAMI WALKED TO the end of the alley, jogged across H Street, and entered Lafayette Square.
She couldn’t believe how many tourists were inside the seven-acre public park, enjoying views of the White House directly south of the park grounds, and reading the signs affixed to the five large statues located throughout the park of President Andrew Jackson and four Revolutionary War heroes.
A young couple walked hand in hand across the lawn and Jami watched as a woman crouched, made a snowball, and threw it at her boyfriend. Jami thought about Blake and how, if the circumstances were different, she may have been here with him, enjoying DC and spending time with the man she loved.
Jami passed the couple and when she got to the statue honoring Jackson, she veered to the left and walked to the southeast corner of the park. She passed Lafayette Statue and checked her surroundings.
Crossing Pennsylvania Avenue, Jami rounded a corner and walked south on 15th Street, past the U.S. Department of the Treasury building. When Jami found Pennsylvania again, she went east, just like Chris Reed had instructed her. She looked to her left and saw that she was walking alongside Pershing Park.
It wasn’t until Jami passed the park that she felt like someone was watching her.
Jami crossed 14th Street and as she got to Freedom Plaza, she heard someone approaching quickly from behind. Jami unzipped her duffle bag and rummaged through it, looking for something – anything – that she could use to defend herself if she had to. She was relieved that it didn’t get that far.
“Jami, wait up.”
She turned to see Chris Reed cutting across the plaza. “God Chris, I thought you were one of them.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you. We’re not too far away from FBI headquarters. I’ll take you there.” Chris picked up the pace and led Jami across 13th Street. “What happened? Where’s Blake?”
“They took him.”
“Who took him?”
“I don’t know. I think a guy named Donahue.” Jami clasped her hands together and blew hot air into them as she tried to stay warm. “They’re coming after me, too,” she continued.
Chris looked at Jami as they walked. “Do you know why? Or who these people are?” Jami shook her head. “Okay, just two more blocks,” he continued as they ran across another street and approached the building.
When they entered the lobby of the J. Edgar Hoover Building, Chris flashed his badge and cleared Jami through security. She showed her DDC identification and removed the duffle bag from her shoulder, which security took and inserted into an x-ray machine. After getting the all clear, security handed the bag back to Jami who followed Chris to the elevators and watched him punch the button for the third floor.
A minute later
and the two exited. Chris led Jami down a dark hallway, past a security checkpoint, and swiped his keycard which released the magnetic grip that had been keeping the entrance door locked.
Jami heard the entry system beep and Chris pulled the door open, letting them enter.
They walked through another hallway, lined with offices on both sides. Two rows of recessed lighting on each side of the hallway sent light shooting down the walls, providing light to an otherwise dark and dreary interior. “Let’s go to one of the conference rooms. I think I saw one empty a little while ago.”
Before they could enter, Bill Landry stepped out of his office and noticed Jami.
Chris turned on the light in the conference room, then noticed his boss. “Bill, you remember Agent Davis.”
“Of course,” replied Landry as he approached. The last time Jami saw Bill Landry was at the FBI’s Chicago field office with Blake. Instead of extending a hand, Landry gripped a file folder and looked back at Chris, waiting for an explanation as to why DDC Agent Jami Davis was standing inside FBI headquarters.
“Bill, something’s come up. Davis needs our help.”
Landry stared at Chris, then turned to Jami. “Why don’t you step inside my office and we’ll talk about it?”
Jami and Chris followed Landry inside and Chris closed the door to the office before taking a seat next to Jami. “We’re in the middle of a major investigation right now, so I don’t have a lot of time,” said Landry.
“Okay,” Jami began, collecting her thoughts so she could bring both Landry and Chris up to speed on what had happened. “Blake disappeared about half an hour ago.”
“Blake Jordan?”
“Yes,” Jami replied, noticing that Landry was not pleased with the subject. “Blake went down to the lobby of the hotel where we’re staying – the Hay-Adams – and never came back.”
“How long was he gone?” Landry replied.
“I don’t know. Maybe ten minutes.”
“And that concerned you, Agent Davis?”
“Just listen,” said Jami, becoming frustrated. “I didn’t think much of it until a man knocked on the door. Said his name was Mark Donahue. I don’t know, he was asking questions and wanted to know where Blake was. He asked who I was. When I flashed my badge and told him I was an agent with DDC, he left.”
“Okay?”
“I got worried and went downstairs to try to find Blake. That’s when I saw the man again. Donahue. I followed him and that’s when I noticed that I had a voicemail. It was Blake. This is what I heard.”
Jami placed her phone on Landry’s desk and pressed a button to play the audio.
Bill and Chris leaned in. Jami watched their expressions as Blake asked the man he was walking with a question. Then a struggle. Two shots fired. The sound of Blake’s phone hitting concrete. Then nothing.
Landry looked at Chris, then back to Jami. “I don’t know what you want me to do about this. Like I said, we’re in the middle of a major investigation right now and–”
“A possible terrorist attack at tomorrow’s inauguration. I know, Bill. And I know you have your hands full. But I need you to help us find him.” Before Jami could explain further, Blake’s phone rang.
NINETEEN
As soon as I saw the limo lift and I knew that the man had stepped outside, I quickly crawled around to the passenger side, looking underneath the vehicle to watch his feet. He stood and I waited, hoping that he hadn’t seen me in the mirror. I heard what sounded like the pulling back of the slide on his gun to confirm that a round was chambered. Then he popped the trunk. When he started to walk, I crawled to the front.
I tried the passenger door, but it was locked. I continued to crawl, keeping low to the ground, my hands and knees getting cold from the snow. I kept my eyes trained on where the man was. I watched as he inspected the busted out taillight and pointed his gun inside the trunk. When he turned around to look behind him, trying to figure out where I had gone, I jumped inside and threw the vehicle in reverse.
As the tires ran over the man, the limo rocked, causing the driver’s side door to close. I waited until both tires had crushed the man, then I put the limo in drive and I drove over him again. When the rear left side of the vehicle was propped up, letting me know that the tire was on top of him, I put it in park and got out.
I approached cautiously.
The gun was just out of the man’s reach and I tried to kick it away, but all I did was bury it deeper in the snow. I kept an eye on the driver and carefully reached down, grabbed the gun, and checked the chamber.
I pointed it at the man’s head and crouched down. “Who sent you?” I asked.
The man tried to speak, but the only thing that came out was a gurgle. The tire was resting on his right leg, but based on his condition, I was sure that I had rolled over his chest. No doubt his internal organs were damaged. My eyes moved to his left leg that he kept moving to help deal with the pain. “Who sent you?”
The man looked at me for a moment before turning to his right, back underneath the vehicle. He tried to speak again, but I couldn’t understand him. When I leaned in to try to hear better, he turned and spit. I backed away and wiped my face with the back of my left hand as the man started to laugh. “We already told you, Jordan – you were making things complicated for us. We were eliminating a problem.”
“I think you’re the one with the problem,” I replied, glancing at his leg again.
The driver winced and it was obvious that the pain had become unbearable. I stood and turned around to look at my surroundings. There was nothing there except for snow, trees, and the departed in the cemetery past the wooded area.
“What are you going to do?” he managed to ask before he opened his mouth and a gush of blood flooded out. That was when I realized that the man might actually die. If I was going to get information out of him, I had to do it fast.
The driver coughed up more blood as I crouched down next to him. “Who sent you?” I asked again and watched the man smile and keep his eyes fixed on mine. “You think you have me figured out?” I asked. “Trust me, you don’t.”
With that, I pointed the gun at the man’s left leg, just above the kneecap, and pulled the trigger.
He screamed and writhed his body in pain. “Who sent you?” I yelled. No answer. “Give me the name! Who sent you to kill me?” I dropped to the ground and pushed the gun into his neck.
“Give me the name! All you have to do is give me the name,” I yelled again.
To my horror, the man continued to smile. “Don’t make me do this, you son of a bitch,” I said. I got back into a crouch and pointed my gun below the kneecap. I waited, shook my head, and pulled the trigger.
The driver again screamed in pain and grabbed his thigh. I looked up from the man and noticed that the sun had all but disappeared. It was becoming difficult to see much of anything around us.
I heard the man speak, but the words were hard to hear.
“What did you just say to me?”
The man gasped and took a breath. “Two problems,” he managed to say. “We eliminated two problems.”
Jami – had they gone after her, too?
“What did you do to her? Where is she?” I asked and fired another shot just to the right of his head.
“Stop wasting my time and give me the name!”
The driver reached behind his back and tried to grab something. “What are you doing?” I asked, trying to figure out what the man was trying to reach. I trained my gun on him in case it was another firearm.
Instead, he pulled a knife. I stepped back.
“Drop it,” I said. “Drop it now – I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to.”
“You think you have me figured out?” he asked, smiled again, and drove the blade deep into his neck.
“No!”
The man’s body trembled for a few seconds, then became lifeless. I dropped the gun and sank into the snow. I placed both hands on my face, brought them down
slowly, and thought through everything that had taken place over the last few minutes. I had lost the only source of information available to me.
I walked to the limo, put it in drive, and pulled up five feet before returning to the man. I removed the knife and checked his pulse. Using the knife, I pierced his jacket and brought the knife down.
There wasn’t anything identifying the man left inside his jacket.
I checked the pockets. There was nothing there. The man was a professional.
Frustrated, I paced around the perimeter of the limo, trying to figure out what my next move should be. There was no way to know who had ordered the driver to kill me. And the other agent – where was he?
I climbed inside the limo, closed the door, and rummaged through the glove compartment. After a few seconds, I managed to find the driver’s ‘Secret Service’ credentials. Jason Chastain, the name read – which I was sure was an alias. But more importantly, it had a picture of the man and that was all I needed.
There was a panel on the dash that I realized was the car’s navigation system and I activated the screen.
I pressed a telephone icon and heard a dial tone. The screen that previously displayed a map telling me exactly where I was changed to a set of numbers to place a call. I hesitated, unsure that I should call Jami because I didn’t know who might trace the call. I closed my eyes and tried to remember Reed’s number.
TWENTY
BILL LANDRY STARED at Jami. She reached into her bag, picked up Blake’s cell, and put it on speaker. “Hello?” she said after answering and glared at Landry who sat motionless across the desk from her.
There was silence on the line. “Hello?” she said again and turned to her right to look at Chris Reed.
“Jami, it’s James Keller – I’m looking for Blake.”
“Sir, you’re on with Chris Reed and Bill Landry, FBI.”
“I know Bill,” Keller replied. “What’s going on, Jami? Blake was supposed to meet with me at Blair House hours ago, but he never showed up. I cancelled my staff meeting not wanting to miss him. Where is he?”