by Paul Stein
Your intimacy will bind you together, the counselor had said, and help you manage the pain of loss. Don’t isolate or turn away from one another. Human intimacy can be a tonic, a source of strength, facilitating healing for couples going through a devastating loss. Sexual relations can provide medicinal benefits beyond anything that can be prescribed. Don’t let your intimacy slip because of your loss and don’t feel guilty about reliving your grief through orgasm. It’s a healthy way to manage the pain. Carrying the grief together is a proven technique for surviving the aftermath of any loss. The goal is to move toward acceptance, and be stronger and more committed to one another through the ordeal.
Ryan’s recollection prompted him to join Sarah in the shower. He had no idea how she would react.
“Want some company?” he asked, cautiously stepping into the billowing steam from the hot water spraying on Sarah’s head. He noted immediately how wonderful it was to see her naked again, remembering that he’d been physically attracted to her from the very first time they met on the quad at the university campus; she looked just as lovely as ever.
Sarah didn’t respond to his question, but merely kept her head down, as if in a trance.
“Turn around,” Ryan said. “Let me wash your back, honey.” She turned slowly away from him, allowing him to gently soap her back with the wash cloth. As he did so, he caressed her shoulders and softly massaged her neck, running his hand down the small of her back. Sarah trembled.
“I need you,” she said, almost in a whisper, continuing to look at the drain. “I can’t help it, Ryan…I want you.”
Sarah turned toward him and pressed her body against his, lifting her hand to pull his face down to hers. Standing under the warm shower, they passionately kissed while their tongues eagerly searched for the other, and for the first time since their separation, their intimacy was rekindled.
Ryan and Sarah left the shower and fell onto the closest double bed, still wet. Sarah forcibly pushed Ryan down on his back and straddled him…guiding herself down onto him. Her thrusts were at first hesitant but soon became more aggressive—it seemed as though she was desperate, overcome by physical need that had been building for an interminable time. She pinned his arms while continuing to thrust down upon him, deeper with each push, her eyes fixed upon him, lost in ecstasy. As in the past, when Sarah approached her climax, she would coax him softly, letting him know she was getting close and he no longer needed to control his release.
“Oh, Ryan…oh, my God…you feel sooo good. I’ve missed you so much,” she moaned, grinding her pelvis against his, as he began to match the rhythm of her thrusts. She kept her eyes upon him, tears beginning to well up, thankful that this wasn’t the same frustrating dream she’d had ever since their divorce. “I never stopped needing you, never stopped wanting you. Oh, my God…I’ve missed you, darling. Ohhhh!” And for the first time in what seemed like forever, they both climaxed together.
When the contractions completely subsided, she collapsed on top of him, relaxing the full weight of her body, breathing rapidly until at last she settled her face into the nook between his neck and shoulder. He held her tightly, continuing to stroke her back, squeezing her buttocks, kissing her lightly.
“I love you, Sarah,” he said after a moment, but he wasn’t sure if she heard him. Sarah’s breathing had changed perceptibly from rapid and shallow to long and deep. She had blissfully passed out from the passion she had needed to spill, her stress relieved. It was the most wonderful thing Ryan had experienced in a long, long time. He was reunited with his lover. His prayers had been answered. He closed his eyes and slipped away, grateful that he was together again with the love of his life.
A loud knocking on the door startled Ryan and he awoke with a start.
“Housekeeping,” was all he could discern, unsure what that meant or where he was. Then he realized he and Sarah were still in the hotel, lying naked on the bed, having both fallen into a deep sleep.
“Just a minute,” he shouted, hearing the maid tapping on the door. “We’ll be right out.”
Ryan and Sarah were jolted into action. Neither of them said a word. They had barely enough time to contemplate anything except to hurriedly dress, pack up, and leave the motel. Surprisingly, they both awoke refreshed and with a renewed sense of purpose. Not ten minutes after the maid had awakened them, they were back in Ryan’s SUV, heading again for an unknown destination.
“Oh, my gracious, Ryan…I’m so sorry,” Sarah said flustered, slamming her fist on the seat. “In the midst of everything I forgot to tell you Jarrod sent us a message. He says he’s been taken to a warehouse fifty-two minutes from his house. He must have timed the ride. He’s seen Jer…he’s okay.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s fantastic, honey,” Ryan said excitedly. “Jarrod’s flippin’ unbelievable! We may be able to pinpoint his location.”
“While you were sleeping, I found an industrial complex that looks to be about the distance Jarrod specified. I’ve got the address right here,” she said, reaching into her blouse pocket to retrieve a slip of scratch paper from the motel.
“I’ll be damned! Now that’s the Sarah Marshall I know,” Ryan said, pumping his closed fist. “Load the address in the GPS and let’s find where our guys are located. These bastards will wish they’d never messed with us.”
“How will we know the right location without alerting the kidnappers?” she asked.
“Short of staking out the entire complex and looking for a black van, the only way we’ll know for sure is if they can signal us from inside. Send Jarrod another message. Tell him we’ve discovered their location but need help identifying the exact place. Maybe if they can create a diversion, something that will be an unmistakable signal, we’ll be able to mount a rescue.”
“Ryan, he also said the machine works. They must have put something together in the warehouse. Could he use the machine to signal us?” she asked.
Ryan felt his stomach constrict. He looked across at Sarah with a mixture of envy and disappointment. The goal the two cousins had chased for the better part of their lives was finally realized. Jarrod had harnessed gravity. Ryan had long suspected that his dream of building a frictionless crane capable of circumventing gravity was only a pipe-dream. Jarrod’s theoretical research was the more practical path, but it still hit him hard that Jarrod was the victor in their life-long challenge. Yet that was all behind him now. He resolved to be the better man and congratulate Jarrod at the first opportunity. Man alive, what next? It’s amazing how my life’s changed so dramatically since Detective Westbrook showed up in Taos.
“Good idea. Ask Jarrod that question in your message.”
The vehicle’s GPS unit directed them onto the Bayshore Freeway, indicating a twenty-six mile journey to the address where Jeremiah was being held. Before entering the freeway, Ryan glanced at the fuel gauge on the Durango and decided to stop at the Chevron station near the freeway onramp.
As he fueled the vehicle, Sarah recognized that the Denny’s Restaurant next to the gas station prominently displayed a Wi-Fi connection. She decided to send her next message to Jarrod: JC: Heading your way. Can machine send signal to where you are? Sarah.
She sent the message with positive vibes that Jer would be safe and unharmed. But then she received Jarrod’s next message almost immediately in return: Entire troupe moving. Big plan for machine. Heard mention ‘South.’ Danger! Don’t get too close. Contact Morris, PAPD.
“Ryan,” Sarah shouted, hastily stepping out of the SUV to read Jarrod’s message aloud. “We’re too late!”
“Damnit,” he lamented, slumping his shoulders from the latest news. Jarrod’s message further provoked his frustration; he berated himself for tarrying much longer than was prudent. Had Sarah and he not fallen asleep earlier, they might have been able to catch up with Jeremiah before they departed. Now there was nothing but an obscure message as their latest lead.
“We need to contact this Morris. We can’t continue without p
rofessional help. I know Dad’s working on something—he’s going to need our cooperation with the authorities. Please, can’t we get help?” Sarah implored.
“Sarah, we’ve discussed this,” he replied emphatically. “I can’t turn myself in! I’m not going to jail while Jer’s missing. God only knows how long it would take to get me out...by then it could be too late. Please don’t ask me to do that, Sarah.”
“Ryan, I didn’t mean for you to give up,” she explained. “But we need to call Morris. The police need to know Jarrod’s suspicion about a plan for the machine. It may mean something…maybe the police can set up roadblocks, who knows? I’m going to call them, Ryan. This is too big for us to handle alone,” she said, determined to have her way.
“Alright, you win. But don’t give them our location,” he said, watching as she fished her cell phone from an oversized purse. “They’re going to demand you turn us in…you know that. And remember, Jarrod said they could trace us with the cell phone, so shut it down as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll only tell them about Jarrod’s last message, I promise. I’m still behind our plan, but we need every available resource.”
Sarah made the call to the Palo Alto police and was connected to Lieutenant David Morris. She provided a full accounting of everything she’d heard from Jarrod, carefully deflecting his warning that she and Ryan immediately turn themselves in. She asked about Sela, and Morris confirmed that she, too, had been abducted, presumably by the same men.
“There’s a world of hurt coming down on these guys, Mrs. Marshall,” he told her. “These are very dangerous men. Please don’t compromise your safety or our ability to solve this case. Let us handle the situation.”
Sarah promised to stay in touch, but nothing more. She then terminated the call and removed the battery from her iPhone, confident she had accomplished Jarrod’s instructions.
As they were leaving the Chevron station, Sarah recognized a Catholic church by the cross prominently displayed high atop a steeple. She crossed herself and closed her eyes, praying that the path that lay ahead would lead them to rescue their missing son, Sela, and Jarrod Conrad.
FORTY-THREE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
09:00 HOURS
UNDER THE BEST OF TIMES, passing through security at the Hart Building was an arduous effort, but never more so than when entering the U.S. Senate offices outside the customary hours of operation. Before admittance it was mandatory for everyone to step through ultrasensitive metal detectors and send all purses or briefcases through an X-ray device. But anyone accessing the building outside normal business hours between 8:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m. was required to answer a battery of additional questions explaining the necessity for entry. Ever since the much-publicized anthrax letter in 2003, entry to all congressional offices was under very tight security.
Ben Dare had called each of the senator’s staff and ordered that they get to the office immediately; he didn’t explain the particulars, except to say their presence was required for a matter of utmost urgency. He arrived at the Hart Building just before 8:00 a.m. and explained to the lead security officer that his entry was imperative. He confided that while he wasn’t at liberty to disclose the urgent matter that required the staff’s early presence, he gave assurance that they would shortly receive an official memo explaining the breach in protocol.
Senator Alfonse Coscarelli arrived shortly before nine and was indignant that security demanded an explanation for his staff’s early arrival. He informed them that a family matter was the cause, and his chief of staff would be preparing the requisite documentation, including an official account as security stipulated. When he finally entered his office, he called Ben for a briefing on the status of efforts to find Sela and Jeremiah.
“Ben, can you give me an update?” he asked, using the intercom that linked their two offices. He slumped behind his ornate desk, feeling weary and disoriented.
“Good morning, sir,” Ben replied. Promptly entering the senator’s office, he was shocked by the strain etched on his boss’s face. He had never seen the senator look more disheveled. Alfonse took pride in his appearance, believing the office he held demanded strict attention to superlative sartorial decorum, but the news of the kidnappings had evidently superseded this habitual propriety.
“Please come in, Ben,” Alfonse invited, lacking his customary gusto.
Ben glanced at his notes to see where to begin. “First, you’ll want to know that Charles Vickers will be here any moment. Emerson Palmer has also agreed to look into the case. He’ll be able to address your questions about the cleaners.
“All the staff’s assembled in case we need anything at all,” he continued, trying to anticipate the senator’s questions. “Everyone’s been briefed about the personal nature of the problem and has sworn to keep everything that happens today strictly confidential. Any media calls will be directed to me. LaDonna is also preparing a statement for your approval. Is there anything else you immediately want to know, Senator?”
Al was massaging his forehead, fighting a nasty headache. “Yes, Ben…explain what we’re doing about Sela?”
“We’ve contacted the DC Metro Police and filed a missing persons report. So far no one at Johns Hopkins has heard anything from anyone demanding ransom or otherwise. We don’t have any leads at the moment, sir. The police visited her home and although the front door was smashed in, everything else appeared normal. There was no evidence inside suggesting a physical altercation. That’s good news, Senator. At least we think Sela’s okay.”
“None of this is good news from where I sit, Ben. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but damnit…I want better answers than this. Is that all Sarah could give you last night?” Al asked, looking uncharacteristically harried.
“Yes, sir, I’m afraid so,” Ben said apologetically, feeling ineffective. “We’ll know more as the day progresses. At some point, the kidnappers will make contact with ransom demands and we can formulate a response. I know this is difficult, sir, but the authorities need time to gather evidence. The people responsible will eventually make a mistake, and when they do our guys will be there.”
At that moment LaDonna entered the office and announced that Director Charles Vickers had arrived. Ben asked that she not keep the Director waiting.
Vickers was a portly, balding man of tall stature, which seemed odd for the director of the Secret Service. The stereotypical agent was usually in excellent physical shape, of medium build, with a full head of closely cut hair. But Agent Vickers was an anomaly. He was a veteran of the service, having served in the Reagan, Bush, and Clinton administrations. Vickers was a young agent when President Ronald Reagan had been shot by John Hinkley, Jr. coming out of the Washington Hilton Hotel in May of 1981. He steadily rose through the ranks and finally landed the top government job charged with protecting the president of the United States. Vickers was known as a no-nonsense agent with a low tolerance for superfluous meetings that wasted his time. His presence meant that he considered the senator’s problem significant enough for him to personally respond.
“Good morning, Director Vickers,” the senator said crossing in front of his desk to shake hands as he entered. “I appreciate you responding on such short notice.”
“Not at all, Senator. I’m happy to be of service. Sorry to hear about your daughter.”
“Well, let’s get right to it then,” Alfonse said. “Under the circumstances, what can you do for me? I understand your authority is limited to providing security for the president, but is there anything you can do to help locate my daughter and grandson?”
“I’m sorry, sir. You understand correctly that my power is centrally focused on the executive branch. I don’t have much latitude to investigate anything beyond this very limited scope,” Director Vickers said, folding his arms across his chest, looking somewhat defensive. “However we do routinely work with local law enforcement and I don’t see any reason we wouldn’t do that in this case. I’ve assigned a couple
of agents to follow up with the authorities investigating your daughter’s disappearance, and I’ll do the same with the authorities in California. But I regret to inform you that the service’s involvement will be limited only to inquiries, Senator. I wish I could be of more service.”
“What about a cleaner?” Alfonse asked. “I’m certain you could get in touch with those guys. Can they help in any way?”
Director Vickers looked askance at Ben, frowning as he did so. “I see Mr. Dare has been spreading rumors. I assure you, in my official capacity as director of the Secret Service, I know of no such organization within our government. That is my unqualified statement on the matter and I would so testify if asked about the subject under oath.”
He paused to let the statement sink in.
“But unofficially, Senator, yes, I know about the organization. They’re a group of men and women outside the government who routinely work beyond the usual channels. I have no idea how to contact them, Senator, and would advise you to think carefully before you attempt to do so.” Vickers’ rigid body language spoke volumes about his thoughts on the subject.
“The cleaners get their name from mopping up messy situations that require deniability through official government channels. It’s unclear to me who has authority over this clandestine group…certainly not Secret Service or even the FBI. The CIA also disavows any contact with them, although their agency is the one most likely to warrant this type of activity. They are independent and work outside the law—they’ve been rumored to carry out assassinations, rip-off drug dealers, and incite riots. Anyone associated with them will be guilty of conspiracy at the very least. Please, sir, tell me you aren’t considering this course of action.”