Virtuality

by H. L. Wegley

  Vince fought off the nausea by trying to answer questions about the identity of the kidnappers. LACO was a multibillion-dollar corporation. They could certainly afford a chopper. But could they afford to risk a crime like kidnapping?

  There had to be something more sinister about Patrick’s work in the lab than anything he had conjured up. And perhaps there was another potential partner waiting in the wings, an entity that would do the very things Paul didn’t want done with his technology.

  The potential partner must be a business organization willing to commit crimes for profit. That conclusion begged the question Vince feared to ask. Was organized crime involved?

  Had Paul suspected something like this before his death? Was that why he hung on to life until Vince arrived? To warn Vince? Paul said someone was spying on Virtuality.

  Paul's intensity in his last few living moments came rushing back at Vince. But he wasn't sure how much he should read into the desperation on a dying man's face. Maybe it only meant that Paul was facing death.

  No. That wasn't true. Paul was the most unselfish person Vince had ever known. His concern would be for others, for innocent people, and for the evil this technology might bring. And the evil people it would attract, people like those who had flown away with Jess.

  Someone must've been stalking them, spying and waiting for a chance to take her. Were their phones or his car bugged? Regardless, he had to get help to track them down and to free Jess.

  Vince pulled out his cell and looked at the signal strength. A single bar flickered on and off. He dialed Paul's home phone to see if he could place a call.

  He lost the connection before it even rang. He needed to get back to his car and drive to a location with cell service. But how had Jess said they would hike back to the car? She said it was a two-mile hike around the wall. Which direction? Northeast or southwest?

  Vince set out to the northeast, the shortest distance to his car.

  After an hour of trying different routes, the Sunshine Wall still cut off his descent. Vince was in no shape to climb rock walls of any height. Besides, he had abandoned his remaining climbing equipment at the top of Choss Master.

  After thirty more minutes of encountering sheer drop-offs, he gave up and turned to the southwest to hike around the far end of the wall.

  Two hours later, Vince trudged into the parking area. Pulses of pain shot through his left hand with every beat of his heart. His fatigue grew almost as fast as the desperate desire to find Jess.

  Vince climbed into his car, tore out of the parking area, and raced toward Ellensburg and phone reception.

  The question now niggling was whom should he call, the police or someone else? Maybe he should call someone who was willing to bend the rules to take down the bad guys. Someone like Paul's friend, Dave Craig.

  Paul had contracted with his old high school buddy, Dave Craig, for security services before negotiating the contract with the DOD. Craig ran a private security company that performed work for the DOD in places like Afghanistan, Iraq, and in the U.S.

  Craig employed ex-military people, nearly all former special forces—weapons sergeants, team daddies, detachment commanders—the kind of people trained to move into any area on the planet without being detected and carry out their mission.

  Maybe threatening the kidnappers with Craig’s men would—no. It might spook them into dumping Jess's body and splitting. It was best to let Craig handle any discussion with the kidnappers.

  First, Vince would try the Ellensburg police.

  Thirty minutes later, Vince sat on the edge of town talking to an Ellensburg police officer. Since he was already near the police station, the officer asked him to come to the station.

  After fifteen minutes of being passed around, Vince had been handed off to Detective Mooney, who sounded like a no-nonsense sort of cop. Somebody who might help Vince.

  “Did you say her name was Jessica Martin?” Mooney looked up from his notepad.

  “Jessica Jamison.”

  “How old is Jessica?”

  Jess's birthday was next month. She would be Vince’s age. “She's almost 26.”

  “How long has she been missing?”

  Here it comes. Vince stood, ready to bail on the police. “About four hours.”

  “Look, she's an adult, so we can't declare her missing until—”

  “Mooney, she was kidnapped!”

  “And you witnessed this?”

  “Not exactly. I was stuck on a cliff after the kidnappers cut my rope while Jess was belaying me up a rock face. After I reached the top, forty-five minutes later, I saw them fly off in a helicopter.”

  “So it's possible she went willingly.”

  “Not unless she wanted me dead. This was my first climb and I nearly fell trying to climb solo to the top without most of my equipment.”

  “Is it possible that … she intended you harm?”

  The surge of heat on Vince's neck drove his fist at the policeman. A split second before he contacted Mooney's face, Vince opened his fist, grabbed a handful of the detective’s shirt and twisted hard. “You're not listening to me. Jess and I were as close as two people can be. Best friends. No, she was taken to get—”

  The more he tried to explain, the more complicated the story would become … and less believable. When he got to the missing pieces, Mooney would probably dismiss Vince as a nutcase.

  He needed to get out of here. Now.

  He released Mooney’s shirt.

  The detective glared at him for a second, then smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt. “I could have you arrested, Mr. van Gordon. Maybe—”

  “I'm sorry. Maybe you could forget that I even came in here. I'll call after twenty-four hours if no one has heard from Jess.”

  Mooney shrugged like he meant to shrug off the whole incident, including Vince van Gordon. “That I can do. You go cool off. Make some phone calls and, if you haven't heard from your girlfriend by tomorrow evening, call us.”

  Girlfriend? If only their relationship were that simple. Mooney hadn't a clue about Jess and him. And if Vince stayed here any longer, he was likely to get himself thrown in jail. “Thanks. I'll do that.” Thanks for nothing.

  Vince walked out the door.

  What did the disciples do in the Bible when the people in a town wouldn’t listen to their message? Didn’t they shake the dust off their feet? It sounded like a great idea.

  He looked at his dirty, quadruple-E climbing shoes covered in dust glued on by dried pigeon poop. Shaking anything off those shoes wasn’t possible.

  Time to recruit Craig. Vince stopped by his car parked at the curb and pulled out his cell to search for the number for Craig's company, Delta Security.

  Vince almost dropped his phone when it rang.

  Chapter 16

  As Vince stood beside his car near the Ellensburg police station, his ringing cell derailed the carefully crafted speech he’d prepared for Craig, the head of Delta Security. But, if Vince mentioned Paul to Craig, he wouldn’t need a speech. Paul’s name would be enough. Craig would help him.

  Paul had opened a lot of doors for Vince in Paul’s short life. All except one.

  The caller ID displayed an area code Vince didn't recognize. An icy chill ran down his neck as he realized who the caller might be and what he or she probably wanted.

  His strategy, reveal as little as possible. “Hello.”

  “Mr. Vince van Gordon, I presume.” The voice was flat, deadpan.

  Vince pictured himself talking to a corpse, then realized the person on the other end may have intended such a dead end for Vince earlier this morning when they left him hanging from Choss Master. “Are you the doofus who cut my rope? The man who flew away in a blue Bell Helicopter, tail number—”

  “Cut the smalltalk, van Gordon.” Deadpan had resurrected as a breathy growler, who sounded like he was about to lose his cool.

  Good. Anger might give Vince an advantage in this war of wits and words. He wanted to ask about Jes
s, but since she was Deadpan’s bait, Vince wasn't going to bite. At least not immediately. “Smalltalk? That’s all a small man with a small mind can comprehend. You getting any of this?”

  The mouth on the other end blew out a blast of air, filling Vince's ear with static. “van Gordon, I'll overlook the insults if you cooperate. And if you don't, a pretty little woman will—”

  “Aren’t you overlooking something? I'm going to end this call unless you put Jess on the line. Now! You got that?”

  Vince hadn't meant to lose it during the call or give clues about how desperate he was to get Jess back safely.

  No reply.

  You said it, dude. Now you gotta follow through.

  “Goodbye, small man.” Vince terminated the call.

  From a long-neglected place deep inside, the words of a prayer came. But Vince’s prayer transcended words. It came as pain, panic, and other feelings too deep to be uttered. His silent petition traveled from Vince’s heart straight to the One who knew it best.

  Please, God. Let the phone ring again.

  Was it ten seconds or ten minutes? He didn't know, but his phone did ring. Same number.

  “I wouldn't play that little game again, van Gordon, or a certain little lady will have a painful, life-changing experience.”

  “Whatever you want, it’s no deal unless I talk to Jess now. If she's not okay, you've made the biggest mistake of your sorry little life. Put her on the phone. I get to ask my questions. You're not going to spoof me with voice recordings.”

  “Take it easy. We’re reasonable. We knew you would want to talk to her. We're not stupid, lamebrain.”

  Vince bit his tongue until it hurt, trying to stifle some choice words he had for this guy.

  Raspy sounds and muffled voices came through the phone.

  Someone panted into the mic on the other end. “Vince, are you okay?”

  Her voice brought reality into context and an ache to his gut. He opted not to tell her about Choss Master's vengeance taken out on a novice climber’s hands. “I'm fine, Jess. Have they hurt you in any way? Any way at all?”

  “Not really. Only enough to force zip ties on my hands. But they cut your rope, Vince. How did you—”

  “You're a good instructor, Jess.” That's all she needed to know.

  “I … I've got to go now. Do what they say, Vince. I'll be fine. Pretend I’m captured just like when we played cowboys and Indians.”

  “But you always—”

  “Exactly. Just tell them you’ll do whatever they ask.”

  He caught her implication. Tell them. Don’t necessarily do it.

  “Enough games.” Deadpan again. “She gave you some good advice. You going to follow it?”

  Cowboys and Indians. She had given him more than deadpan realized. “Yeah. On one condition.”

  “You're in no position to—”

  “Yes, I am. Now get this, knucklehead. If anything happens to her, your life is over. I'm coming after you with a team of ex-special forces—Navy SEALs, Army Rangers—people I know. They can go anywhere on the planet, slip in undetected, and complete their mission, which will be to take you out—you get the picture. You die, and I guarantee it won't be painless.”

  “Getting a little worked up, are we? Big talk for a guy who writes novels. Probably fantasies.”

  “If you want to live, slime face, don't hurt Jess. You got that?”

  “This conversation is over, dude. You've got twenty-four hours to sign a sales agreement with Mr. Michaels or your girlfriend’s face will get an extreme makeover, and then she'll really start to scream. Don't call us, we'll call you. Have a nice day.”

  The dirt bag on the other end terminated the call.

  Chapter 17

  She should have known Vince would make it up Choss Master. Jess had never seen anything stop him when he was determined. And the guys who cut the rope and took her had given Vince plenty of motivation.

  The big brute with a shaved head ripped the cell phone from her zip-tied hands, ending her short conversation with Vince.

  She would have tried to give Vince a clue about her location, but the blindfold that chrome dome had put on her in the chopper hadn't come off until her three abductors had forced her into this large windowless room. Their flying time, thirty or forty minutes, would put her location somewhere between sixty and ninety miles from Vantage. But which direction?

  She had given Vince one clue. She fully intended to escape from the three goons who held her. Vince should have gotten that message from her cowboys and Indians reference.

  Chrome dome pushed her onto a folding chair. “Sit and be quiet or those threats I made to your boyfriend will become a painful reality.”

  The guy wasn't good at intimidation. But his frequent smirks said he thought he was. He could think that for a bit longer while she gathered intelligence from her kidnappers’ animated discussion.

  “Sal, come over here and explain to Louie why we're just waiting.”

  So chrome dome’s name was Sal.

  Sal strode across the room to his two cohorts and poked a finger in the chest of the short guy who had called him.

  Jess almost giggled. She was watching The Three Stooges.

  But chrome-dome Curly acted more like Moe, the infamous eye gouger. That meant the guy with Moe’s bad-haircut must be Larry. By default, the third guy, the one with the wild hair, was—she needed to focus and listen.

  This was no comedy, and she doubted this trio was a feckless as The Three Stooges.

  “We'll know what he's up to,” Sal said. “Joe stuck a GPS tracker under his car.”

  A GPS tracker. Jess drew a sharp breath. Vince was a bulldog. He would find her if it was the last thing he did. With these stooges tracking him, it might be the last thing Vince did.

  Since these men had left Vince dangling halfway up Choss Master, they weren't overly concerned about his health. They would probably kill him if he got too close. Killing wasn't as clean a solution for controlling Virtuality as a signed sales agreement, but it would still give whoever hired The Three Stooges what that person wanted.

  The danger to Vince gave Jess an even greater incentive to escape. But what if she died in the attempt? They might still force Vince to sell the company by telling him she was alive and promising to free her after the sale completed.

  Vince’s name came from across the room.

  Jess listened.

  “It looks like van Gordon's headed our way,” Sal said. “He just turned onto I-90 headed west.”

  If Vince was headed west, toward them, he must be somewhere near Ellensburg. That would place Jess near Virtuality’s lab, or at least on the west side of the mountains near I-90. Lead foot Vince could arrive in an hour, and these guys had already shown they were indifferent to his potential death. And now, maybe they wanted him dead. That meant they could dispose of her too … anytime.

  Jess needed to act now, or she and Vince might never have a chance at life together. And Paul's worst fears, abuse of his technology, would be realized.

  Jess looked down at the zip ties around her wrists, thankful they hadn't tied her feet too. When she looked up, Sal hovered over her with another pair of zip ties in his hand.

  “Time to put the ties on the …” he launched into a vile description of her womanhood.

  Jess refused to flinch at his words and returned them with a glare that made silent but similar accusations about his manhood. “Is that the best you can do, slime face?”

  Sal pulled his head back. “Slime face? That’s the same thing your boyfriend called me. Or is he your pimp?”

  She brushed off his crude insinuation. “Boyfriend? Who told you that?”

  “That's what the nurse in the CCU thought. You were all curled around him like two—”

  “Curly, you need to get a better source of intelligence, or maybe just some intelligence—about 100 IQ points might do it.” She’d called him Curly. Hopefully, he hadn’t made the—

  “Time to s
hut you up, you worthless piece of …” While he spewed phrases straight from the sewer, Sal grabbed her ankles.

  Evidently, he’d made the Curly connection and didn’t see any humor in it.

  Having those irritating plastic manacles on her feet would complicate her escape. But with all three men in the room, this was not the time to attempt anything. And what had he meant by shutting her up? Maybe he was going to move her where Curly didn’t have to listen to her insults. That meant she’d have at least one less guard.

  Sal yanked hard on the ties cutting into the flesh on her ankles.

  Jess wouldn’t give him any satisfaction by yelping or complaining. But she gasped when Sal grabbed her zip-tied feet and wrists and slung her body across his broad shoulders.

  Riding on his shoulders, Jess could gouge his eyes, but that would be pointless and might get her killed.

  Sal turned and headed toward a door.

  Jess craned her neck to check out the door. It looked like an interior door with a lock on the outside of the doorknob.

  “Louie, open the door.” The man with the Larry-like hair hurried across the room and opened the door to a small storage room.

  Inside were empty storage shelves. There were no windows.

  Sal stepped inside the room, stooped, and let her roll off his shoulders, catching her inches before she hit the concrete floor.

  Jess looked up at Sal and then at the doorway. A light switch had been installed inside the room on the wall near the doorknob. One naked bulb protruded from a socket in the center of the ceiling.

  While she studied the room, Sal had stepped out. He slammed the door.

  The room went black.

  Lying on the floor on her back, Jess kept her eyes focused on the spot where she saw the light switch, praying that the bulb wasn't burnt out.

  She rolled onto her stomach, pushed her body onto her knees, and then stood on her bound feet. After two or three dozen small incremental movements Jess managed to turn a one-eighty. When she reached out her hands in front of her, they both touched the wall. She slid them to the right and her left hand bumped into the molding around the door frame.