Shot Down

by Steven Sheiner

  “My god,” he said softly, as a small smile inched its way across his face. He was frightened and aroused simultaneously.

  Chapter 33

  “What did I tell you?”

  Agent Stamper was busy congratulating himself while I was just trying not to throw up. Two weeks had passed and there had been no sign of Christina, no attempts on my life, not even a loud noise from outside.

  It was time to go home.

  Between the stress of waiting around and the frequent nightmares, sleep was hard to come by. Sara felt great. Bored out of her mind, but at least she was well rested. Two weeks of nothing to do will do that for most people. I, on the other hand, was exhausted.

  “So that’s it?” I asked.

  “That’s it,” Stamper replied.

  “Now what?”

  “Now you go home.”

  “Is Christina back?”

  “There’s been no sign… Wait, what? How did you know she was gone?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Is she still out of the country?”

  “Fucking lawyers,” he muttered under his breath. Agent Stamper stood there stewing, probably imagining all the things he’d like to do to William right now. When he settled himself down, he said, “Yes. It appears she’s still out of the country.”

  “‘It appears?’ That doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence.”

  “There’s been no hit on her passport, no FAA reports that her plane has filed any flight plans, no sightings of her in Miami, and no hits on facial recognition anywhere in the U.S.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  Sara and I sat next to each other on the bed, staring at nothing. As stir crazy as we’d been, we were both terrified to step outside. The agents at the door were gone, as were the ones that had been camped out in the parking lot and the lobby.

  It was open season on Dr. Simon Spero. Who knew what waited just outside the door?

  Sara’s voice snapped me out of my stare.

  “Agent Stamper, is Christina the type of person that would sneak back into the country to avoid being spotted?”

  “Absolutely,” Agent Stamper said flatly, and Sara and I both sank a little deeper into our funk. “But, why would she? She has no reason to suspect we’re watching her movements, she used her own passport when she left the country, and she’s done nothing to make us believe she’s a threat to you, or anyone else.”

  It made sense, and I wanted to believe him. But I kept hearing William’s words in my head.

  “Have you ever known the Escalantes to leave a witness alive, a grudge unresolved, or revenge undelivered? The Escalantes are crazy! They will never let this go!”

  My heart pounded and I felt nauseated. Leaving this room terrified me. In addition to Carlos visiting me each night, Christina had also found her way into my dreams, along with any number of creative ways to kill me. Last night, she shot me in the head from the apartment building across the street with a high caliber rifle the moment I walked out the door.

  I didn’t know how it would happen, but I was fully expecting to die today. It was a strange feeling. A small part of me was relieved. The stress, the worry, the nightmares… it would all be over. But I feared for Sara and the boys. Would Christina be satisfied with killing me? Would it be enough?

  I couldn’t tell Sara any of this. I didn’t want to worry her. It’s not like there was anything she could do about it anyway.

  Over breakfast, she had asked me how I slept last night. I lied and told her I slept well, no nightmares. She said she was glad, but I doubt she believed me, considering what I was facing today.

  There was a knock and we both jumped.

  “Can we come in?”

  It was Jordan and Brock on the other side of the adjoining door.

  “Come in,” Sara replied.

  The boys strode in, dressed, carrying their bags, ready to go.

  “Finally, we get to go home!” Brock said.

  “I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed,” Jordan added.

  “Does this mean we get our phones back today?!” Brock asked.

  “Oh, yeah!” Jordan seconded.

  Sara and I both smiled and nodded, though we didn’t share their excitement. They didn’t know about the dangers we now faced. Hopefully they would never know.

  I put on a brave face as I choked back an overwhelming urge to cry. I wanted to watch my boys grow up, graduate college, get married. What would they become?

  Jordan wanted to be a sports broadcaster. Brock an NBA point guard. Right now, I would give anything to be around to see both of those things happen.

  “Are we ready?” Agent Stamper asked.

  “As ready as I’m going to be,” I said, with a lump in my throat.

  I stood, picked up my bag, and turned to Sara and the boys.

  “So here’s the plan. I’m leaving first, with Agent Stamper...”

  “Wait. What?” Sara stood, not sure what I was talking about. Against Stamper’s advice, I decided not to tell her until the last minute. “We need to stay together.”

  I took her hand, and nodded. “We will, I promise. We’ll be together at the house. Right now, Agent Stamper and I are leaving, and he’s going to drive me home. Ten minutes after we leave, you and the boys will follow behind. Your car is outside. They brought it up last night.”

  Sara just stared at me. She wasn’t happy with me or this new plan. She wanted to argue—I could see it on her face—but she recognized the situation for what it was and gave a slow nod. “Okay.”

  “Come here, guys,” I said.

  I put down my bag and hugged both boys hard. I kissed them each on the forehead. Then Sara. I kissed her, touched her cheek and looked into her eyes. We exchanged I love you’s and I picked up my bag.

  “See you soon,” I said, lying to them, and myself.

  As I turned to leave, I tried to hold back the emotions that were welling up inside.

  Would this be the last time I saw them?

  Was I about to die right in front of them?

  Was Christina outside right now, waiting for me?

  “I’ll go first… just in case,” Agent Stamper said sarcastically, and gave me a wink. He told me I was being paranoid and took pleasure in mocking me.

  As we moved to the door, my heart pounded out of my chest and my stomach was in knots. I felt my knees buckle slightly as I walked, and I realized I’d never been so scared in my life. Even in the bank, it wasn’t like this. Two weeks of anticipation had built up to this moment.

  Stamper cracked the door and I saw daylight for the first time in two weeks. I had to shield my eyes. He peered through the small gap, before opening the door wider and inching forward. I tucked in right behind him, so close I could smell the cologne he was wearing. I was his shadow. I turned for one last look at Sara and the boys and mouthed the word “Bye.” Agent Stamper rested his hand on the pistol holstered on his hip and stepped outside. I followed close behind.

  I never saw it coming.

  Chapter 34

  The lights from the cameras was so bright, I could barely see. We were not five steps outside the room when the light blasted me and microphones were thrust in my face. The questions came fast and furious from every direction.

  “How did you know Carlos Escalante?”

  “Are you a member of the NRA?”

  “Why is the FBI protecting you?”

  “Are you entering the witness protection program?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t even look at them. I raised a hand to block the light and looked around. It was a media circus. There must have been thirty people—reporters and cameramen—pressing in on me. Agent Stamper did his best, but he couldn’t hold them back. There were simply too many of them.

  How did this happen?

  Who told the press I was here?

&nb
sp; Behind the throng of reporters, leaning against a car, I saw him.

  William.

  He stood with his arms folded, looking right at me with a cheeky grin on his face.

  Son of a bitch.

  Stamper and I began to push our way through the mob. It was like swimming in quicksand. All thoughts of Christina, all worries about taking a bullet in the head disappeared. The reporters kept firing their questions.

  “Why did you go into hiding?”

  “Where did you learn to shoot?”

  “How long have you owned a gun?”

  They shouted over each other, making it easier to ignore them.

  We made little progress, but we were slowly getting closer to William, who seemed to be enjoying the show. He was practically laughing as he watched me struggle to make my way through the crowd.

  “Dr. Spero, did you know there have been protesters assembled outside your office for nearly a week?”

  That one I heard, loud and clear.

  I stopped walking and turned in the direction of whoever asked the question. I scanned the crowd, looking for whoever asked it. She was young, maybe thirty, with blonde, shoulder-length hair, blue eyes and fair skin. Her blue pant suit screamed wanna-be news anchor.

  “Dr. Spero,” she said, thrusting her microphone right in my face. “Are you aware that protesters have been outside your office every day for the last week?”

  “No, I was not.”

  Every reporter stopped talking, and stood still. Now that I had broken my silence, they wanted to make sure they got a clear sound bite.

  “What are they protesting?” I asked, regretting it immediately. I knew better than to engage with them, but my curiosity got the better of me.

  “You. The doctor that took a life.”

  “What?! It was self-defense! I was protecting myself! And the other people in the bank! What did they expect me to do?”

  The questions came flying fast now. I had broken the seal and they were ready to pounce. The questions were ugly. They were less interested in hearing the truth, and more interested in attacking me. They were asking about my decision-making, about my motives. Hell, they were practically accusing me of murder.

  I started getting nauseated. When the day began, I was too worried about Christina to think of anything else. I hadn’t eaten anything today. The sun was beating down, and I was getting turned every which way by the throng of reporters around me. Now I was being attacked as if I was the bad guy.

  I felt a hand grab my arm and pull. I started to move through the crowd, slowly, but making gains. The reporters continued to pound me with questions, shouting over each other. I had answered one, and now the sharks had smelled blood in the water.

  “That’s it folks! No more questions!”

  The voice boomed over the rest, and I recognized it immediately. It was William. He was close. I looked up and realized he was the one who had grabbed my arm and was leading me through the crowd.

  When we finally broke free, Agent Stamper steered us toward his waiting car. We rushed over, got in, and quickly closed the doors. William and I were in the back, Stamper in the driver’s seat. He drove off before the reporters could surround the car.

  I closed my eyes, leaned my head back, and took a few deep breaths, hoping to calm my nerves. They would not be calmed.

  “Well, that was entertaining,” William said from beside me in the backseat.

  I took a breath, opened my eyes and glared at him.

  “What the hell, William?!” I shouted.

  “What?”

  “Why would you tell the press where I was?”

  “You think I’m responsible for that?” he asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the mob now behind us.

  “I know you are! I saw you smiling!”

  “Yeah, I was smiling. I told you already, there’s a book deal in this for you. Maybe even a movie. You’ll be getting a lot of media coverage now that you’re a free man. I just didn’t expect it to start so soon.”

  “I don’t want a book deal! I don’t want a movie! And I definitely don’t want the press hounding me!”

  “Simon, I hate to break it to you, but you’re a little bit of a celebrity right now.”

  “Really? Is that why those reporters were practically calling me a murderer? And why there are protesters outside my office? Did you know about that, by the way?”

  “I did. But I didn’t want to worry you with it. There was nothing you could have done about it anyway.”

  “I can’t believe this. I just want this to all be over.”

  “Over? This is just getting started, Simon. The media requests are going to come pouring in. Television, radio, newspapers, magazines… they’re all going to want to talk to you, to hear your story.”

  “I don’t want to tell my story. I just want to be left alone.”

  “Good,” said William. “I think it’s better right now if you just keep your head down and stay out of the spotlight for a while. She hasn’t tried anything yet, but Christina is still out there.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? They know where I live. They know where I work. They’re just going to keep hounding me, aren’t they?”

  “Probably.”

  “This is unbelievable.”

  As we merged onto the highway heading south, I stared out the window. After spending two weeks locked in a hotel room, I suddenly found myself in a different kind of prison. The press was stalking me, the public was protesting me, and Christina was hunting me. I didn’t know what kind of game she was playing, but I knew she wasn’t going to let this go.

  We rode in silence for several minutes. I kept hearing the questions they shouted at me, when a question of my own popped into my head.

  “William?”

  He turned from his window to look at me.

  “If you didn’t tell the press where I was, who did?”

  Chapter 35

  We made it back to the house without further incident. Sara and the boys were already there. They left the hotel shortly after we did, but when Sara saw the throng of reporters, she led the boys away and looped around to her car. She hugged me, happy we were all alive and back home together.

  “What was that all about?” Sara asked. “How did those reporters find you?”

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  Agent Stamper did a quick walkthrough in and around the house, but found nothing. He pulled a card from his coat pocket and handed it to me.

  “If you need anything, call. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  “Do you really believe that?” I asked.

  “Dr. Spero, if Christina wanted you dead, you’d be dead. She’s either showing incredible restraint or she has no interest in you whatsoever, and I’ve never known her to show any degree of restraint.”

  I looked over at William who could only shrug. He had never seen the Escalantes, Christina especially, just let something go. And we were talking about her brother. Yet, here I was, two weeks after her brother’s death, and not a peep from Christina, or anyone else. Could it really be over?

  The doorbell rang and I jumped.

  I moved toward the front door, Agent Stamper right by my side. I peeked through the peephole and relaxed. It was my next door neighbor, Tim.

  I opened the door and he smiled. Tim was one of those genuinely nice people. He was always smiling, never spoke an unkind word about anyone, and always seemed to be in a good mood. He regularly offered to help me with whatever I was working on around the house and was always kind to Jordan, Brock, and Mandy.

  Before we left for our two-week lock-in with the FBI, he agreed to collect our mail and newspapers, which were in a large paper bag by his side.

  “Welcome back!” he said.

  “Thanks, Tim. How are you?”


  “I’m doing great. Glad to see you’re all back home. Everything okay? You guys alright?” he asked, peering around me at Sara and the boys.

  “We’re all good, Tim. Thanks,” Sara said.

  “How about you?” he asked, looking at me. “You hangin’ in?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”

  “Glad to hear it. Well, here ya go.” He handed the bag full of mail and newspapers.

  “Thanks, Tim. I really appreciate it,” I said.

  “Anytime. You know that. Don’t ever hesitate to ask.”

  “Same here, Tim. Let me know if I can ever return the favor.”

  He leaned in a little closer and, pointing at the bag, he said, “There are a few articles in there you may not want to read.”

  “In the newspapers?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, Simon.”

  “Well, if it’s anything like what I heard from the reporters that ambushed me this morning, I know what to expect.” I tried to brush it off like I didn’t care what the media was saying.

  “Okay,” he replied, but the look on his face told another story.

  I thanked him again, and we said our goodbyes.

  We also said goodbye to Agent Stamper and William. I thanked them both for all they’d done. Agent Stamper offered a hand and I shook it. He pointed to a box on the table near the door. “Your phones are in there. Freshly charged.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said.

  “Good luck,” he said, before heading out.

  After Stamper drove off, I turned to William and apologized for accusing him of ratting me out to the press. He dismissed it with a wave.

  “Thanks again, William. I really appreciate everything.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be getting my bill,” he said with a grin.

  “Don’t I know it.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  I closed the door behind him, locked both locks, and hurried over to the kitchen table to dump out the bag Tim had given me. Sara and the kids had dispersed to unpack. I waded through the pile, and then I saw it. The headline was screaming at me. I pulled the newspaper from the heap, unfolded it and began reading.