Inherited Threat

by Jane M. Choate

She squared her shoulders as much as she was able, considering she was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

  The tractor trailer growled to a stop. It took several minutes for the vibrations to settle. Laurel braced herself. Another minute passed before someone opened the door, grabbed the rope tying her hands to her feet and yanked her out of the truck and onto the hard ground. The hood was pulled away.

  Calzone was there waiting. “Looking a little worse for wear,” he observed. He cut the rope binding her hands and feet, allowing her to stand, then directed a man to cuff her hands.

  “Do his as well,” Calzone ordered, pointing to Mace. “We’re not risking these two getting free.”

  She managed a quick look around as she got her bearings. The camp was divided into sections according to function: a cook area, a sleep area, and a weapons area. All in all, it was a neatly arranged compound, self-sustaining and efficient.

  “Nothing to say for yourself?” the Treasury agent taunted.

  Mouth full of dirt and gravel, Laurel didn’t bother answering, all her thoughts on Mace. “Please...get him out. Let me see to his head.”

  Two men dragged Mace from the truck, let him fall to the ground. Hands still bound, Laurel attempted to kneel beside him before she was pulled roughly to her feet.

  “Not so fast,” Calzone said.

  “He’s hurt.”

  “It hardly matters. If he’s not dead yet, he will be soon enough. As will you.”

  She shook off his hands. “I knew you were dirty.”

  “You had no idea that I was working the other side. How could you?”

  “The tattoo. I saw the same one on Dresden.” She raised her voice. “Dresden, come on out. I know you’re there.”

  After some shuffling in the background, Dresden appeared.

  “Might as well show her your tattoo,” Calzone said. “She already knows.”

  Both men rolled up their sleeves to reveal intricately drawn hydras, the serpentine water monster of Greek and Roman mythology. She called up what she remembered from school about the hydra. It had nine heads; when one was cut off, two more appeared.

  A perfect symbol for the Collective. When one member was taken out, two others took his place. No wonder it wielded so much power while inspiring an equal amount of fear.

  “It was you who set us up after our visit to the prison,” Laurel said to Dresden, not bothering to mask the contempt in her voice. “Tell me, what does it take to commit treason against your country? A vacation home in Maui. Or perhaps the Bahamas. A Bentley. Or maybe a Rolls Royce.”

  “If I didn’t do it, someone would have,” the warden said without a trace of shame. “There was so much money. Unbelievable money. Why shouldn’t I get my share of it? I worked in that cruddy prison for twenty years and I still don’t make more than what the Collective pays me in one week. So, yeah, why shouldn’t I get something more for myself and my family?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re supposed to keep the bad guys in jail, not join them.”

  “Like I said, somebody else would have taken the job. And I’d have ended up with my throat cut. Or worse. And what about my family? I had to protect my wife and children. The Collective prides itself on taking out the families of its enemies. And what they do isn’t pretty.” Self-righteousness filled his voice.

  She might have believed him if not for the greed in his eyes when he’d spoken of the money involved. “If you were in danger, you could have gone to the authorities and gotten protection. For you and your family.”

  Dresden made a scoffing sound. “Who would you suggest? How could I know that anyone I went to wasn’t on the take as well? They’d cut my throat before I could get two words out.”

  The man had a point, but that didn’t excuse conspiring to commit murder.

  “And greed had nothing to do with it, did it?” Laurel asked. “You could have found a way to refuse and protect your family. You just didn’t want to. You were much more interested in ingratiating yourself with the real head of the Collective.”

  She thought she had the answer, but she wanted to hear what Dresden had to say. “Winston’s the head. Everybody knows that.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. I don’t think Winston has the smarts to run the Collective. And I know you and Calzone don’t. You’re both yes men. You’re too afraid of your own shadows to do anything that requires real planning.”

  Calzone bristled at that. “So who is it?” he asked in the tone of one who believed she didn’t have a clue.

  “It’s the last person anyone would suspect. The person who’s remained in the background. The person who could visit Winston in prison without drawing attention. The person who could carry back supposed orders from Winston.

  “You might as well come out, Jenni-Grace,” Laurel said, raising her voice. “I know you’re there. You wouldn’t want to miss this.”

  Exiting a tent, the woman sauntered into view carrying a rifle. “I was afraid you’d figured it out. How did you know?”

  “I had to ask myself why a woman like you would have anything to do with the likes of Ronnie Winston. Why would you lower yourself to even give him the time of day, much less marry him?”

  “Now why would I go and do something like that? As you say, I’m a classy society lady.” Jenni-Grace made air quotes around the words.

  “Because you saw something in him. A kind of charisma that you could turn to your own ends. You were playing a long game, content to watch him take center stage while you appeared the dutiful, if somewhat dimwitted, wife.”

  “Right the first time,” Jenni-Grace said, reluctant admiration in her voice. “I met Ronnie when I was twenty-five. He was ten years older, but he was going nowhere. Still, I saw his potential. He had a way of talking that made people want to listen. I knew I could use that.”

  “You used him just like you used these two.” Laurel gestured to the two men. “They’re like Ronnie. They’re weak, don’t have the brains to do anything on their own, but I’m guessing they knew how to obey orders.”

  Both Calzone and Dresden took umbrage at the unflattering description. “You can’t say that about us,” Dresden said, all indignation and puffed-up pride.

  “Shut up,” Jenni-Grace ordered. “She’s right. You two don’t have the brains to blow your own noses unless I tell you to. Fortunately, I didn’t bring you into the Collective because of your brains.”

  Calzone threw back his shoulders, while Dresden continued to sputter.

  “Don’t be going all macho on me,” she told them. “You’re both weak, but you have your uses. That’s why I recruited you. You’ll continue to do as I say when I say it. You wouldn’t want to disobey me. You know what happens to those foolish enough to do so.”

  Both men shrank from the menace in her voice.

  “She’ll turn on you,” Laurel said to them. “Both of you. When you’re of no further use to her, she’ll get rid of you. Same as she’ll get rid of Ronnie when he ceases to be useful. No doubt she has others in the wings who can take your place.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Jenni-Grace ordered the two men. “Or you’ll find yourself like that judge from a while back.”

  Laurel recoiled in horror at the woman’s casual mention of murder. “You need help. Ordering the deaths of anyone who stands in your way and their families is sick.”

  Twisted pride gleamed in the other woman’s eyes. “Sick? I call it preventive medicine. The Collective needs to be feared. What better way to do that than to take out its enemies?”

  Laurel looked for an opening, any opening, to get the drop on Jenni-Grace, but with her wrists cuffed, she was at a distinct disadvantage.

  “You’re wondering how you can take me down. Don’t bother denying it. I see it in your eyes. I know how you think. I saw it when you paid me a visit this morning. You didn’t talk much. Y
ou were assessing. My house. My clothes. Me. Wondering how I’d come to marry Ronnie. I could see then that you were going to be a problem.

  “You and I have a lot in common. It would be interesting to see how a match between us played out, but I can’t risk it. There’s too much at stake.”

  Laurel was repulsed at any comparison between herself and Jenni-Grace, but she let it go. She was too busy thinking of the time that had passed. Had Shelley and Jake figured out that she and Mace were missing? Even if they had, they’d have no idea where she and Mace were being held.

  Time was something they were quickly running out of.

  * * *

  Mace heard the exchange between Laurel and Jenni-Grace. He longed to get to his feet to protect Laurel from the woman’s viciousness, but he didn’t, though it cost him dearly to remain still.

  Two things rendered him silent. First, he was still hovering between unconsciousness and wakefulness. More importantly, he had the advantage of Jenni-Grace and the others not knowing that he had regained consciousness. That might be the only thing he and Laurel had going for them. He had to bide his time.

  He listened to Jenni-Grace’s bragging and agreed with Laurel. The woman was sick. It had been her all along. Ronnie hadn’t used her; it had been the other way around. She had deceived everyone. The ladylike facade was just that. A facade. Her act had been a convincing performance, but an act was all it was.

  With the layers peeled back, her true self was exposed. Hers was an ugly and twisted soul. It all made sense now. Ronnie Winston was a puppet, controlled by a master puppeteer. Mace recalled Laurel’s theory that Ronnie didn’t have the brains to run something as well-organized as the Collective. She’d been right.

  Unfortunately, she had come to the truth too late. He hoped it wasn’t too late for them as well. He still had things he wanted to say to her, things he needed to say.

  Despite everything, Laurel’s faith had never shaken. He wished he could claim only a bit of that for himself. Regret that he’d never told her that he loved her swelled within his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

  * * *

  “How did you manage it, making Ronnie and everyone else think that he was the Collective’s head?” Laurel asked. She wanted to keep Jenni-Grace talking. Anything to buy time.

  “All I had to do was put ideas in his head and make him think they were his. Easy enough, considering that he hasn’t had an original thought in his life. Ego took care of the rest. He was a puppet.”

  “And nobody will be the wiser. Why are you telling me all of this?”

  “Because you won’t be here to tell anyone else.” Jenni-Grace’s tone turned accusatory. “I knew that you were smarter than the average fed or reporter who comes sniffing around every so often. You’d have seen the truth sooner or later.” She shifted the pearls around her neck and pointed to the emerald clasp shaped like a hydra. “I noticed you looking at this. I’ve always loved the hydra. The power of it.”

  “A perfect symbol for the Collective,” Laurel agreed. She understood why Jenni-Grace had her brought here rather than having her killed when she and Mace had been run off the road. “You wanted the ledger and thought I still had it. Too bad.”

  “Too bad for you, you mean. Unless your people will trade it for you and your friend.” Her eyes grew sly. “Of course, once I get the ledger, I won’t need to keep you around.”

  “You’ve got to see that you can’t keep up all the killing. Pretty soon someone is going to catch on that you’re behind everything.”

  In a fraction of a second, Jenni-Grace was once more a well-bred Southern lady, eyes wide and innocent, mouth bowed. “Who’s going to suspect me, a genteel lady, of running the Southeast region of the Collective?”

  “You’re not as smart as you think you are,” Laurel said. “People will be looking for us. They know we saw you earlier and will put it together. You’ll never get the ledger if you don’t let us go.

  “You can stop all this. Put an end to the violence. No one else needs to die.” The sneer on the woman’s face erased whatever else Laurel might have said.

  There’d be no remorse from this woman with the hard mouth and even harder eyes. Her heart had turned against any softness or compassion, if it had ever had any in the first place.

  “If you give yourself up, you may get a reduced sentence.” Laurel was stalling. She knew it.

  Jenni-Grace’s sly smile confirmed she understood what Laurel was doing. “Give it up. There’s no reduced sentence for treason.”

  “Treason, as in selling weapons to terrorists?”

  “Got it in one. Terrorists pay plenty for American weapons to fight America.” Her voice hardened. “America won’t know what hit her.”

  “You’d sell out your country?” Even as Laurel asked the question, she realized the foolishness of it. Jenni-Grace had no remorse for anything she’d done.

  “Looks like I was wrong about you being smart. You’re almost as stupid as your mother. She stole from us, then tried to blackmail us. Plus, she had the ledger and the money. If either ever got out before we’d put our plans in place, it would have ruined everything.”

  “Of course.”

  “Sarcasm? Like I said, you’re almost as stupid as your mother. She was nothing. Just like you.”

  She pushed Laurel with the butt of her rifle, causing Laurel to stumble and fall.

  Jenni-Grace yanked Laurel up by her hair.

  Tiny daggers of misery speared through her scalp. Laurel barely bit back tears at the pain, but she knew something Jenni-Grace didn’t. No one was always the smartest person in the room. And no one was invincible.

  SEVENTEEN

  Laurel asked the question that had been nagging at her. “Why do this? You had money, background, family name.” Even in the New South, family name remained all-important.

  “Background and family name mean nothing without money.” Jenni-Grace made a dismissing motion with her hand as though the subject were of no importance. “If you’d turned over the ledger and money in the first place, you could have saved your life.”

  “You were never going to let me live. I knew that from the beginning.”

  Jenni-Grace appeared to consider it. “You’re probably right. But you’d turn it over now if it would save your man’s life, wouldn’t you?” Viciously, she kicked Mace in the kidneys.

  Laurel wrested her way free of the men who held her arms, but she couldn’t throw herself over Mace without body-slamming him. She glared up at Jenni-Grace. “Leave him alone.”

  At a fulminating look from their boss, the two men jerked Laurel to her feet.

  “Please don’t do this. Do what you want to with me, but don’t hurt him anymore. Don’t kill him. He hasn’t seen you, any of you. You’re safe to leave him alive.” The words scratched at her throat as she thought of what was waiting for her and Mace.

  “How touching.” The sneer in the woman’s voice promised no mercy. “The two of you have caused me no end of trouble by forcing my hand. I’ll have to move up the timetable because of it.”

  Jenni-Grace gave Mace a final kick.

  Laurel had witnessed her share of depravity. There were people in the world who fed on cruelty. Jenni-Grace Winston was one of them.

  * * *

  Mace assessed their situation, all the while fighting the need to curl up in a ball of pain and give way to the oblivion of unconsciousness that beckoned. It would have been easy—too easy—to do exactly that. With a probable concussion and his hands bound, he was worse than useless. He fought back the wave of nausea that threatened to overcome him.

  Bad didn’t begin to describe the danger he and Laurel faced. They were in the clutches of a woman who had no remorse about killing anyone who got in her way.

  Laurel had definitely gotten in the way. She’d stood up to Jenni-Grace without regard for her own life, but
she’d pleaded for his unashamedly. Never would he forget her magnificence. Or her selflessness.

  His SEREs training—survival, evasion, resistance and escape—was imprinted in his brain from his Ranger training. He had missed the window for evasion, but there was still survival, resistance and escape. He might not be able to escape or to survive, but he’d resist with his last breath. That’s what Rangers did.

  He wanted to signal Laurel that he was awake, but he didn’t want to alert Jenni-Grace or her henchmen.

  Patience, he cautioned himself. Patience.

  * * *

  Laurel wasn’t done yet.

  Adapt and overcome. The axiom was drilled into spec-op warriors. She and several of her buddies had adopted the SEAL motto as well—Never let failure become an option. It had stood them in good stead during high-stress ops that could easily have gone south.

  An inkling of a plan formed in her mind. It might get her killed, but on the other hand, she didn’t have a lot to lose. She needed only a heartbeat of distraction. She threw herself at Jenni-Grace and, with her bound hands, grabbed at the woman’s hair.

  Jenni-Grace screamed and slapped Laurel hard enough that she fell to the ground.

  “Hair-pulling? Really? You’re a Ranger. I thought you were better than that.” Jenni-Grace patted her hair back into place.

  “Sorry to disappoint.” Blood trickled from Laurel’s mouth, but she didn’t wipe it away and got to her feet, not an easy feat with her hands cuffed.

  Her captors regarded her with varying degrees of distrust and hatred.

  “Kill them now,” Calzone urged. “We’re never going to get our hands on that ledger, and nobody can decode it anyway. I always said you made too much of it when that woman took it.”

  Dresden sent the other man a withering look. “As long as the ledger and the money are in play, we aren’t safe. You’re so stupid, it’s a wonder you don’t shoot yourself with your own gun. I don’t know why we recruited you in the first place.”