Chapter 36
“Dad, why do you like it so much here?” I asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Let’s see if you can guess, pumpkin,” my father responded as we strolled, hand in hand, on the well-worn trail inside Mohican State Forest. We had visited this spot several times before and he called it “our secret hideaway.” With its tall pillars of pine, the little clearing deep in the woods was tranquil and incredibly beautiful, like some sacred forest cathedral. I loved the quiet time with my dad. No doubt, my love for the outdoors was given birth in that little patch of forest.
“Tell me what you see and that may tell you why I like it here,” he said to me when we arrived at “our spot.”
“Well,” I stared up at the green ceiling of our private woodland sanctuary. “I can see the sunlight and it looks like it’s searching for cracks in the tree tops to sneak through.”
“Very good, pumpkin. I couldn’t ‘ve said it better myself. Now, what do you hear?”
I crooked my head in one direction, cupping my ear with one small hand, and waited a beat before I spoke. “I hear the singing of birds and some crickets chirping, and--” I stared at my dad and lowered my head closer to the ground, “and some snakes crawling along the ground.”
“You have very good hearing, Dee Dee,” my dad said. He never made fun of my make-believes, just one more reason why I loved him. “If you’re going to be a writer, you need to use your senses. Now here’s a harder one. What do you smell?”
I wrinkled my nose at him and sniffed, testing the air. My eyes studied his figure with a question in them. “Dad, I smell...I smell something bad?” I said. “I smell stink, like Jimmy smells when he’s been out playing basketball all day.” I wrinkled my nose some more.
“Dad, what is that?” I asked, but got no response. “Dad? What is it that I smell?” I asked again, suddenly frightened. I shut my eyes in an effort to focus on the smell.
I opened my eyes again and it suddenly looked darker, now with only faint light everywhere I looked. When my eyes adjusted, all I could make out was gray, layers and layers of gray, as if all the colors had been washed out of my vision. And, instead of standing, I was surprised to find I was lying on my side with my head buried in something so that I could only see out of my left eye. Still half dreaming, I sniffed and the smell of human sweat permeated my nostrils. I tried to turn to free my head and look around, but when I moved, my body screamed in pain. I gasped and then heard a voice say, “It’s okay. You’re going to be all right.”
The voice wasn’t my dad. When I tried to see who was behind me speaking, an arm held me tight around my stomach, restraining my movement. When I attempted to shift, to turn over, the pain that shot through me was so intense I almost passed out. Struggling to focus, I forced my one free eye to glance down my own body. I was suddenly aware I had no clothes on. As if this realization shocked me, I began to shake uncontrollably all over.
“W-w-where am-m-m I?” I managed to get out between chattering teeth.
My mind labored to figure out where I was. I couldn’t make sense of it. With all the willpower I could muster, I tried to concentrate, to force my mind to make out my surroundings. My one eye scanning wildly, I studied the gray surrounding my body, tried to take it all in. It didn’t make any sense, but I recognized some clothing that looked like gray sweatshirts and sweatpants. Though it hurt to move, I was able to turn my head slightly and see a little sideways. My eyes were also able to make out the outline of a double door, a sliver of light marking the crease between the two door panels. The semidarkness enveloped me and it dawned on me that I must be on the floor, lying inside some closet.
“It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re alive,” I heard the voice behind me say quietly into my ear.
Lying there, my body aching from pain all over, I began to remember, a few flashes at a time streaking back like broken frames of a deteriorating movie. Awash in my disorientation, I fought to regain some hold on sanity, to decipher just what was going on. As soon as the memories started returning, each new one raw and angry, clawing the previous one out of the way, my fear returned. I didn’t want to remember, but once the floodgates were open, it was no use. Without willing or now wanting it, I felt all over again the blast of bitter wind against my exposed flesh, the crushing blow to my head and the freezing water. And my trembling shame in front of the students. And Bob Holden, Jerod and Christie gone now! As it all came back, my eyes flooded with tears and I sobbed audibly, the sound magnified in the confined space. Then, as if the biting wind and the freezing water engulfed my exposed body all over again, my shaking became violent, my body quivering, as if the chill was permanently embedded in my bones.
I cried in a hoarse whisper, “I-I-I’m so c-c-c-cold.”
I felt a strong arm wrap around my middle a little more tightly and I heard the now familiar voice. “It’s goin’ to be okay. You’re safe now. I’ll take care of ya.” I realized then that I recognized the voice, and somehow that comforted me, but I couldn’t quite place it. Then I felt his arm release the hand from beneath my breasts and lay it flat against my naked stomach. My modesty argued I should’ve been embarrassed, but I wasn’t. Some part of me wanted to object, to protest, but I didn’t, because the skin of the hand felt so warm against my flesh. I didn’t want whoever it was to ever move his hand.
“You’re freezin’!” the voice said. Then the warm hand was gone, the wonderful warmth lost and I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out. “I’m sorry, Dee Dee, I don’ know what else t’ do.” It was Jerod’s voice. How could that be? I saw Jesus hit him.
But it was Jerod. Through my hazy vision, I could make out his dim figure--I recognized him. He edged slightly away from me and knelt over my shivering body in the cramped quarters. I lay shivering in the pile of crumpled clothes, and it looked like Jerod, whose tall figure knelt over me, was taking off his clothes. That didn’t make any sense. Why would he be getting undressed?
I turned to look, edging my head up even as the twist of my neck reignited the blazing pain. He was removing his own clothes. My confusion growing, I watched as he stripped completely and lay back down and settled his large body in next to me. He pulled a sweatshirt and pants out from undereneath me and my body bumped against the floor. I winced. Then he used the clothes to spread over top of us. I tried to look at him, to catch his eyes, but his body was too long in that cramped space and all I could bring into focus was his neck. My senses dulled and my aches throbbing, I felt his naked body slide against my exposed flesh.
The incredible warmth of his flesh started to blossom onto my frigid skin. At least he’s warm, wonderfully warm, was the last thought I remembered, as I felt the heat of his body radiating onto mine.
Then I was gone again.
Chapter 37
“Sir, this is James Cromer again, sir. I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know how to tell you this,”
“What is it, Cromer?” snapped President Gregory.
“Sir,” began the hesitant voice through the phone line. All eyes in the room stared at the speaker sitting in the center on the polished wood. “Sir, it’s, it’s gone.”
“What? What’s gone, Jim?” This time Tom Dickson fired the question, his large body leaning forward.
“The helicopter, sir,” the Warden said, incredulity evident in each syllable. “I climbed up to the watchtower so I could get a better look at the helicopter. I was following it with my binoculars.” He stopped and Harold could almost see his friend shaking his head in disbelief.
“And?” Dickson shouted back.
“Sir, the chopper’s gone. One moment it was flying straight across the lake toward the high school, just like you directed.” He took an audible breath and continued. “The next moment there was a huge explosion and then the chopper dropped into the water.”
There was a pause and then the Warden said quietly, “I watched with the binoculars and I didn’t see anyone get out of the helicopter.”
�
��What the hell happened to it?” demanded the president.
“Mr. President, sir,” Cromer said, “I don’t know. It just exploded.”
“Well, was it a bomb? Mechanical failure? Was it shot down?” President Gregory fired questions one after the other.
“It was too far away to tell for sure, but I doubt it was mechanical failure.”
“There may be a way to find out, Mr. President,” offered Samson. “Where are you now, Jim?”
“I’m in my office,” answered the warden. “I thought we might need a secure land line for this conversation, so I came back here.”
“Good thinking, Jim,” said Samson, trying to settle the warden down.
“Do you want me to go to code red, Harry?” Cromer asked. “I’ve got the protocols ready.”
“Hold on that for the moment, Jim,” responded Samson. “First, patch me through to communications, will you?”
Samson looked up from the speaker and caught the gaze of the other three men at the table. They did not have a chance to raise any questions. A few seconds later, another, obviously younger voice came through the speakerphone. “This is David Wise, IT.”
“David, this is Harold Samson in Washington. David, you’re on the speaker with President Gregory, Director Dickson and Chief of Staff Dean Settler.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. What can I do for you?”
“David, you’re aware that we may have a situation out there at HBE?” Samson asked.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Samson, but we’re not exactly sure what we have.”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, David,” Harold replied coolly. “You have the feed from all the cameras there video-streamed into your archives, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Samson. We archive an entire week from all one hundred forty-eight cameras around the prison.”
“What about the camera from the FBI helicopter?”
“Yes sir, we have that as well, but the video’s not as clear because it’s bounced back to us.”
“Okay, David, here’s what I want you to do.” Harold pulled out his Iphone and turned it on. “I want you to isolate the video from the helicopter for today and stream it to the address I’m going to give you. You ready?”
“Yes sir, give me a chance to download it and send it. With this equipment, it shouldn’t take but a few minutes,” explained Wise.
Samson rattled off the address and said, “Thank you, son.” He got up from the table and walked to a computer console at the rear of the room and began striking keys, explaining as he went. “Mr. President, if you will watch that monitor,” he pointed to the third large screen display, “the video should come up there. The camera on the helicopter is automatically activated when the engine is started, so you should be able to see the film from the beginning of the flight. On the Bell, I believe the camera is mounted front right, just below the windshield, but there’s no sound as the blades would drown everything out.”
He returned to his seat at the table and, as all four men watched, the screen brightened. No one spoke as the projected image came alive on the monitor and then the picture bounced with the take off of the helicopter. The video swooped over the prison compound as the pilot banked and turned. The camera’s view captured the water, the wind from the blades blowing up small whitecaps, as the helicopter skimmed not far off the surface. Then the water fell away as the Bell climbed to a higher altitude and there was little visible in the picture but gray mist.
For ten seconds, it was as if someone had drawn gauze over the camera lens. All four men squinted toward the display, straining to make out anything in the gray fog. Finally, the dim outlines of a building emerged from the mist and they were able to make out the rear of the high school.
The camera lens captured the deck at the rear of the building and they could make out a large number of individuals on the deck. Samson rose from his chair and edged nearer to the screen to get a better look, trying to stay out of the others’ view. He peered at the display and was able to make out scores of people scurrying into the building, moving away from the camera. Then two men emerged from the throng and came toward the camera. One of the men raised something on his shoulder, something that looked like a pipe. After a beat, a flash erupted from just behind the man. A split second later, the picture jumped and turned away from the school. Two seconds later, the screen went blank.
“God dammit! That son-of-a-bitch just shot down our Bell helicopter,” Tom Dickson screamed at the now blank screen, breaking the silence of the room. “That helicopter cost my budget $3.5 million dollars and they just blew it out of the sky!” He paused a second and then added, “To say nothing of the two good men who were piloting the chopper.”
“Well, Harold, I think we just found your terrorists,” muttered President Gregory. “Looks like you knew what you were talking about. Dean, get Garcia in here. I don’t care if it is his daughter’s birthday, tell him to get his ass in here.”
“Will do, Mr. President,” replied Dean Settler.
“Obviously, we need a better assessment of the situation,” the President said. “Tom, what do you recommend?”
Wresting his gaze from the blank display, the FBI Director said, “Maybe, we should move some of the troops from the prison to put them in place by the high school.”
“Harold?” President Ryan asked.
“Tom’s idea has merit, sir,” Harold said, “and we need to have a better idea of exactly what’s going on at the high school. But, Mr. President, it’s possible that’s exactly what the terrorists want us to do. To move troops away from the prison.”
As soon as Samson finished, the intercom phone beeped.
“Yes, Marilyn?”
“Joyce Caster, Mr. Samson’s secretary, sir.”
“Put her through,” Ryan Gregory snapped.
“Mr. Samson?”
“Go ahead, Joyce,” Samson said.
“Sir, we just received a fax that I think you and the President will want to see. May I send it there?”
“Do it now, Joyce.”
Five seconds later, Harold jumped out of his chair and retrieved the fax. He slid the single sheet across the polished cherry surface of the table. Dickson rose and stood behind the President, peering at the fax.
President Gregory picked up the fax and read it carefully, taking his time but did not utter a word. The he set the single sheet of paper down and read aloud the few words printed in huge letters.
FREE ASAD, FEARLESS SOLDIER OF ALLAH OR SEND YOUR CHILDREN TO MEET HIM IN PARADISE TONIGHT
--ALLAH’S FAVORED SONS
He slapped his hand down on the white sheet of paper. “God damn it!”
Chapter 38
I lay there, my eyes shut, and basked in the feel of the sun beaming on my face, radiating its life-giving heat. My body felt so much better, no longer frozen but warmer, wonderfully warmer. I could even sense a warm breeze on my hair. I curled my body and nuzzled closer into something comfortable. Perhaps this was heaven, I thought. Content and willing to chance it, I opened my eyes slowly.
It took a few seconds for my vision to focus and I was dragged sluggishly back to reality. I was not sunning myself on any sandy beach--and this sure as hell wasn’t heaven--but instead I lay in some dark closet, staring up at Jerod’s neck and feeling his hot breath on the top of my head. As consciousness ebbed back, I noticed our naked bodies were wrapped around one another. The embrace, if you could call it that, was anything but erotic. It was more like a desperate, protective clasp. His arms encircled my chest and his legs wrapped around my butt and legs, pulling me tight into him. And as reality dawned, unlike the fantasy of my recent dream, I realized I wasn’t exactly warm. In fact, I was still chilled, but I was no longer freezing and could feel my body temperature rising. My body was sore and my head pounded where I had been hit. But, after a rest and some warming, the pains were more subdued, as if God had dialed the pangs back a notch.
I glanced across at Jerod; my rescuer was s
till asleep. Secretly, I hoped he wouldn’t awake, at least not just yet. The touch of his skin on mine emanated such incredible warmth and comfort, that I didn’t want it to end. I tried to tell myself that it was just the assurance of his body safely enfolding mine. Just that I was lying here alive and for the moment safe.. Okay, who was I kidding? Lying there naked, pore to pore, next to a man that I didn’t know all that well, I should’ve been embarrassed. I’m usually pretty modest and would’ve thought I’d at least be uncomfortable. But I wasn’t. Coming face to face with your imminent death can alter your perspective on a few things. To tell you the truth, right then what I really wanted was to just lie there and let him take care of me. I didn’t want to play the heroine any more. Instead, I was the damsel in distress. A day earlier, I would’ve objected loudly; right then, it felt perfectly natural.
Tentatively, I stretched out my index finger to touch Jerod’s upper arm and noticed that his skin had cooled considerably. Lying there, in that odd but comfortable embrace, I remembered the lesson taught in those required first aid classes.
“If you are outdoors in the freezing cold and you come upon a body whose temperature is dropping rapidly,” explained Nurse Hedges to our group of teachers, “you need to find some way to raise the body temperature quickly or the person can go into hypothermia, shock or even die. If you don’t have any other way--blankets, fire or warm shelter--one way you can save a freezing person is to lie close to them, your naked body against theirs, allowing the heat from your body to literally transfer from your skin to theirs.”
Jerod had just saved my life.
He stirred then. “Are ya’ awake?” he whispered.
“Yes,” I tried to say, but all that came out was a single croaked syllable, my voice hoarse beyond recognition.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. I think so,” I managed.
“Good,” he said and pulled his arms tighter around my body. “Good.”
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