Jill cringed to her core as she turned her face away from the exploding glass.
Almost immediately, Romeo began to regret his outburst. He had lost control. And deviated from the plan. But how in hell could she have recognized him? That would ruin everything.
Romeo’s loss of control had accomplished one thing: it stopped Jill from talking any more about whether she knew him—at least for the time being.
He began to speak again, much more calmly now. “We need to leave here.”
She saw him now with a small bottle and a piece of cloth, and realized he was going to put her out again. Terror began to well up in her. Even though she was quite sure she knew who he was, she obviously didn’t know him as well as she thought she did. What might he be capable of? Where would he be taking her? She had to risk doing something.
“Can I please leave a note for my fiancé? We were supposed to go out to dinner tonight.” That was a lie and Jill was hoping her tormentor could not detect it. Chad and Jill had no plans for the evening. But she felt she had to say something to justify the need for a note.
The idea of Jill leaving a note for Chad went against Romeo’s better judgment. He had planned everything to the finest detail—how to get into the house undetected, bringing with him exactly what he needed, carrying out everything he brought in, getting out of the house with Jill, again undetected. Right down to the use of the electronic voice changer he’d built from a kit, everything was orchestrated, every move preconceived, so there would be no variables, no slip ups, no clues.
But already he had broken the glass, which was not part of the plan. He really did not want to vary any further from his schema. At the same time, he felt a powerful, almost compelling, need to smooth over his outburst. This was actually rather frustrating. The broken glass was Jill’s fault, not his. But still he felt vaguely ashamed of having lost control enough to break it. His sociopathic core unexpectedly found itself grappling with his neurotic, insecure side. This internal argument was set to rage, a sense of self-loathing welling within as a result, when the faux behaviors that drove his external persona suddenly prevailed. As if his more calculating self had been reduced to a mere onlooker, he heard himself saying, “Okay. Quickly. Keep it short.”
“There’s some paper in the study,” Jill suggested.
“No. I’m not moving around the house,” Romeo said, glancing around the neatly kept kitchen.
He walked over to a corner cabinet opposite the table where Jill was seated. An open paper bag containing a few grocery items that Jill had not yet put away was the only thing on top of the cabinet. Romeo tore off a piece of the paper bag about the size of an open hand.
“Where can I find a pen?”
“There’s a few in the middle drawer,” Jill responded, referring to the same cabinet upon which she had left the bag of groceries.
He quickly selected one of several ballpoint pens from the drawer and walked the pen and makeshift paper over to Jill.
“I’m going to free your hand now, so you can write. Don’t try anything stupid.”
He removed a small pair of diagonal cutting pliers from his right hip pocket and snipped the cable tie that held Jill’s left hand fast to the arm of the kitchen chair. Apparently, Romeo knew that Jill wrote with her left hand. A coincidence or lucky guess? Jill didn’t think so.
The idea of trying to use the pen as a weapon crossed her mind, but with only one free hand and no way to move, she decided against it.
Just as Jill was about to start writing, Romeo put his hand over the paper. “Short and sweet,” he commanded. He continued to hold one side of the paper down to the table, so it wouldn’t slide as Jill wrote.
Jill’s wheels were turning on what exactly to write. She wrote the date at the top of the torn paper, added a “Dear Chad” line, and then waited desperately for some form of inspiration. How could she tell Chad the only thing she knew about this situation without Romeo knowing she had told him?
When, after several seconds, she hadn’t started writing, Romeo began to lose patience. “Look, you’ve got five seconds to start and thirty seconds to finish. That’s it.”
Jill started writing quickly and completed her note just within the time limit. When she was done, she placed the pen on the table, not at all sure she had accomplished her objective.
Romeo picked up the note and read it carefully. Innocuous enough, he thought. “Okay. Close your eyes now.”
The terror began to swell in her again and Jill’s heart commenced an episode of unbridled pounding. She tore at her mind but did not know what to do. What could she do, given her position. Could she possibly fight him off with only one hand?
She decided she could not and simply closed her eyes.
As she felt the cloth press against her face, Jill instinctively fought with her free hand. Romeo didn’t blame her for this. It was a natural thing, given the sensation and the situation. He was much stronger and he knew she could not hold him off with only one hand. If he had another cable tie with him, he would have used it to tie her hand down before putting her under again. But he didn’t have any extra ties. That wouldn’t have been part of the plan.
Chapter 32
Romeo looked again at the note and at Jill’s now inanimate form, knowing she would stay unconscious a lot longer this time. He still had a vague misgiving about leaving the note she had written for Chad, however brief and inconsequential it appeared to be. He could see no danger at all in what she’d written—but it just didn’t feel right.
For starters, the note wasn’t at all part of the plan. And there was the continually frustrating issue of Jill and Chad’s pseudo-telepathy, for want of a better term. Sometimes it seemed like Chad and Jill could read each others thoughts.
He read the note again.
7/25/87
Dear Chad,
I’m truly sorry, but I will have to break our dinner date for tonight. Maybe I’ll call home and explain later.
All My Love,
Jill
Romeo’s intellect told him there was nothing in this note to worry about, but he still could not shake that vague uneasy feeling. He had always had a sixth sense about things—part of the reason he’d been able to make everyone think he was normal for so long. Using this sense, he’d learned and practiced his normal mode from a remarkably young age—quite successfully. But did they really think he was normal? Of course they did. He was normal, really. He just saw some things a little more objectively, and more deeply. It wasn’t his fault that others were too limited to appreciate the intricacies and flavors of his musings.
Romeo abruptly terminated his daydreaming self-evaluation and forced himself to focus again on what to do about Jill’s note. But the neurotic corners of his sickly mind harbored conflicts that rendered him incapable of making a logical decision in this situation. Somehow, even in this cruel, warped charade, he couldn’t tell an outright lie to Jill about something so important to her. He found himself powerless to simply destroy the note.
As the clock ticked and he let his mind and eyes wander around the room, inspiration unexpectedly alit upon his warped little psyche.
Leaning against the wall in the corner of the kitchen was Chad’s guitar—the Epiphone Casino he had loaned to Jill. This was a delicious solution. The note would literally be in Chad’s hands, but he would never know it.
Romeo took the rough-edged note, folded it carefully and slipped it through one of the two f-holes of Chad’s guitar.
Neurotic problem solved.
Chapter 33
Now
The call from Chad came fairly late in the evening, about 10:30. Morgan was very happy and somewhat relieved to hear her father’s voice.
“Morgan, I’m sorry but I have to talk fast. There are some things I want to tell you about in person.”
“Fine, Dad. Just tell me how to get to you and I’ll come.”
“No, I’ll come to you. I have to be in the states anyway and—”
�
�No, they’re looking for you.”
“Let me worry about that. Now listen. If you and I were to go by the book like Kirk and Spock and Kirstie Alley, day could seem like night and Spanish could seem like fractured English. By the book.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Morgan exclaimed, puzzled and somewhat frustrated.
Chad did not respond directly, but simply continued, “Don’t worry about it. Just meet me Thursday night at ten at the Black Cat.”
Chad was momentarily startled by the sound of knocking at his cabin door.
“Chad? It’s Pablo. You home?”
Pablo Cruz’s timing couldn’t have been much worse.
“Hold on a minute, honey.” Chad muted the phone and called out to Pablo. “Come on in.”
Pablo let himself in, surprised to see Chad with a phone in his hand. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were on the phone. I’ve got Angel holding on the sat-phone. He’s with John, your lawyer. You still want to talk with him?”
“Yeah, yeah. I need to talk with both Angel and John. I’ll be right over.”
Pablo nodded and exited Chad’s cabin, closing the door behind him. Since the village’s sat-phone was a fixed installation, Chad would have to take the call in the training building.
Chad un-muted his handheld sat-phone and got back to Morgan. “Sorry honey, but I gotta go now.”
“Wait! Wait, Dad! Wait a minute. The Black Cat. That’s that place in Cambridge you used to go to, right? Near MIT?”
“Yes, the Black Cat is in Cambridge. Just remember what I said—everything I said—and that I love you.”
Morgan was still confused, but before she could protest, the connection self-terminated, having reached its preset time limit. She whispered to the dead phone line, “I love you too Dad.”
She sat quietly, trying to make sense of what had just been said. They had only moments to talk. Why would her father waste any of that precious time on some bizarre and useless reference to Star Trek of all things? Morgan knew her father well enough to answer her own question: he wouldn’t. Although clearly bizarre, the reference could not be useless—or meaningless.
Morgan knew that her dad had been in to the Star Trek movies and even the old TV show since he was a kid. He said Star Trek wasn’t only about sci-fi. It also dealt with values and strategies—a lot about strategies. But truthfully, Morgan’s eyes would glaze over whenever he started talking anything Star Trek. It was one of the few topics Chad would talk about that she found completely boring.
Not knowing where else to start, Morgan went to the source: Google. She typed in “Kirk, Spock,” and, after hesitating for a few seconds because it seemed so ridiculously out of place, added “Kirstie Alley,” as she shook her head and rolled her eyes. She hit the enter key, held her breath, and hoped for . . . something. Anything.
To Morgan’s amazement, there was a direct hit. Apparently, Kirstie Alley played a character named Saavik in Star Trek II: the Wrath of Khan. Morgan supposed that learning this was progress, but very slight progress, since she had no idea what the hell it all meant.
Next, she went to the Wikipedia page for the film. She read the article word-by-word, hoping for some clue as to what her father had been trying to tell her. Hope was beginning to fade, when about two-thirds of the way through the section of the article entitled “Plot,” she came upon a statement that appeared to be what she was looking for. She read it over aloud, as an unexpected smile lit up her face, “Kirk and Spock use a coded message to arrange a rendezvous.”
Now she knew that her father had been speaking in some kind of code, but she still didn’t know what he had been trying to tell her. One thing she did know was what she would be doing for the rest of the night. That is, if the video store down the street—one of the very few left in the area—was still open and had a copy of the Wrath of Khan.
Chapter 34
Inspector Frank Peters was trying to wrap up a cell phone call when he entered the second-floor meeting room at Syracuse PD headquarters. Detective Tom Drake and surveillance specialist Jason Boggs had been waiting for Peters for almost a half-hour. Boggs had some very solid information that would lead to apprehending Chad Swan. He also had a critical meeting on another case and less than two minutes to get to that meeting.
Because the effort to track down Swan was being conducted in concert with the FBI, Peters wanted to be updated with any major developments. He had been burned some years ago when his department was hit with a shitstorm due to a blown operation involving the Bureau. He was staying as close as time allowed on this one to make sure nothing like that happened again.
As Peters continued trying to get off the call, Boggs pointed at his watch and passed an urgent look over to Drake. Since Boggs had already briefed him, Drake motioned to Boggs to go ahead to his other meeting.
As Boggs stood up and threaded his way past Peters to get to the door, Peters shot him a furrowed brow then glanced over at Drake with eyes that asked, “What are you doing?”
Drake motioned with his hands to let Peters know he had it covered, but Peters had already looked away, distracted by another twist in the frustrating phone conversation that had now gone on way too long. Meanwhile, Boggs disappeared down the hallway.
“Where did Boggs go?” demanded Peters as he folded up his cell phone, finally free of the phone call from hell.
“He was late for a debriefing on another case, but he already gave me what we need,” said Drake confidently. “Swan will be meeting with his daughter, Thursday 22:00 hours, at the Black Cat in Cambridge, Mass.”
“We’re sure about this?”
“Certain. the FBI surveillance boys transmitted the recording to Boggs over secured connection. How do you think we should play this? Fox does not want to put a tail on the daughter.”
“No, I agree. No tail. We know where they’re going to be. Why risk spooking them? Is Fox taking the lead on the op?”
“Yes, he’s the SAC. He wants to set the rendezvous point like a Venus Flytrap and take Swan down as soon as he’s in. He told me he’s got a dozen agents from the Boston field office working with federal marshals, state police, and the Cambridge PD.”
“What are your travel plans?”
“I’ll be flying to Boston on Tuesday night,” Drake explained. “That will allow me to be there for the review of the plans for Thursday night’s operation. Fox is calling the op Iron Noose.”
Peters rolled his eyes. He was a jaded fifty-something and had outgrown catchy op names years ago. “I love the Bureau. So dramatic.”
Chapter 35
As Chad had hoped, terminal D of Dallas Fort Worth International Airport was crowded when he arrived. Not even Morgan knew he would be flying into DFW, but he still felt the need to make his way from the terminal to the rental car center as inconspicuously as possible, and the bustling atmosphere would help.
His knowledge of security and surveillance systems also gave him an edge in avoiding detection. He knew how to spot security cameras, as well as where those that were impossible to spot were most likely located. By second nature he would angle his face away from cameras, use headwear to casually obscure the view, raise his hand to his face, even use other individuals as a shield when necessary. It was all more or less automatic to him.
The heavy beard that he now sported would provide another helpful layer of obscurity. At no other time in his life had Chad worn a beard, and the fact that he had one now was something else that not even Morgan knew.
Upon leaving his arrival gate, D22, he made a quick visit to the men’s room directly across from the gate. He had checked no bags, so his next trick was just to get a car and exit DFW. The on-board snack was not holding him, so he was happy to see there was a Smoothie King near the gate. He stopped there to pick up a Blueberry Heaven to slurp down on his way to the rental car center. Wanting to stretch his legs, Chad decided to walk through the terminal to the shuttle stop rather than take Skylink, DFW’s automated people mover.
He
waited at the rental car shuttle stop for only two minutes before the shuttle arrived. The shuttle ride to the rental car center was uneventful and took less than ten minutes. Things were going perfectly so far.
At the rental center, Chad considered that his alter ego would really like to drive a yellow Corvette. That would be . . . flashy; a way for him to zig when those looking for him would be expecting him to zag. And he got a charge out of the idea of his pursuers picturing him inside it.
He stepped up to the one counter where there was no line and requested a chrome yellow Corvette. This counter was off to one end of the rental center and because of the way the cameras were positioned there, they would be easy to avoid. He pulled out an American Express card and in less than five minutes, he had the keys to a shiny new Vette.
“Thank you, Mr. Jonas,” the rental agent said as Chad stepped away from the counter. The use of aliases was a necessary evil that Chad had gotten used to over the past year.
Less than five minutes later, Chad was in the car. As soon as he started the engine, the unmistakable last several seconds of “Baba O’Reilly” began thundering from the car’s stereo. He cranked the volume, sorry he’d missed most of the great tune. The classic rock station the car’s stereo had last been tuned to happened to be playing “Who’s Next” in its entirety that day. He wouldn’t be turning the volume down until “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”
He figured he would make his first stop in about ten minutes. It didn’t matter exactly where, as long as it wasn’t in the direction he was really headed and he could avoid cameras and onlookers. It would only take him a few minutes to disable the car’s GPS tracking device, but he wanted to do it as inconspicuously as possible.
* * *
Disabling the GPS took even less time than Chad had anticipated. Roger Daltrey was just starting on the opening lines of “Getting in Tune” as Chad pulled out from the makeshift parking area he’d found and onto the roadway heading in the direction of his actual first destination, a company called Hugo’s Transport and Logistics.
Romeo's Tell (A disappearance mystery turned international thriller) Page 10