* * * * *
Eldon Dayle took a sip of Fillico water and recapped the bottle. “So, Skip, how do you think we’re doing?”
As usual, she stood close to the door, jacket unzipped, hands behind her. “Very well, sir. The locals, the cops, are on it, but getting nowhere. We’ve virtually paralyzed the feds. Their phone trace really backfired on them, just as you intended. They’re so busy with their ‘internal investigation’ that they’re hamstrung right now. Actual field work is very difficult for them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they bring in two new agents on the case, and have to start from scratch. They’re chasing their own tails.”
“Yes, that was the plan. And the boy?”
She was silent for a minute. “He’s confused, sir, but I don’t anticipate any problems. He didn’t know about the rough treatment. He thought that he’d waltz in here, seduce the girl, break her heart, and waltz back out. It hasn’t happened yet. But they seem to be getting close, I mean, really friendly. No sex yet. I’m a little surprised by that. Do you think he’ll turn on us, sir?”
Dayle laughed. “No, not that boy. He’s a hoodlum with social skills and a flair for acting, which is why we chose him. You heard their conversation when she was dressing his wounds. He wants that money. Add that together with teenage hormones and a nasty disposition. And what has the girl offered him? An old war story. No, I think he’ll do just fine. Of course, he’s looking at some heavy criminal charges, including statutory rape, but once the job is done, he’ll be long gone.”
“Yes sir. And the girl will be. . . .”
“A different girl,” he said. “Her parents won’t even know her. And neither will . . . He.”
“Yes sir. Very good, sir.”
Dayle smiled when he glanced at the Goth. Her eyes gleamed behind her contact lenses.
* * * * *
“I think that’s all I can do for you,” Cassie said, as she collected the discarded wrappers from the gauze pads and put them back into the white bag. “You ought to lie down and try to sleep. You’re probably even more worn out than I am.”
Brandon sat on the mattress and looked up at her. “Yeah. . . . I think I can sleep, even with these cuts. You probably felt a lot worse than this after that woman beat you up. Anyway, I really thank you. I couldn’t have handled this without you.” To his own surprise, he realized that he meant it.
Cassie shrugged. “I’m glad you didn’t have to. And I’m sorry you got kidnapped, but I’m glad you’re here. No offense.”
He managed a grin. “No offense? I feel the same way about you!”
She smiled and walked out the door.
He eased his way down onto the “bed.” Lying back, wincing at the rough mattress against his back, Brandon stared at the ceiling. This is getting complicated, he thought.
Cassie walked down the hall to the white room and reached for the doorknob. How about that? They really did leave the doors unlocked. She opened it and walked toward the bedroom, hoping that Dayle wouldn’t interrupt her on the video screen.
He didn’t. But, as she neared the bedroom door, she felt a sudden impulse to look in one of the wooden cabinets by the video screen. Why? Why would he give me any “rewards” today? She walked back to the first cabinet and pulled open the top drawer. She felt dizzy when she saw what was inside.
My Bible! Not just any Bible, but my Bible, from home! She reached out, hardly daring to believe her eyes, and snatched it up. It even has the cover. She had bought a polyester zip cover, pink of course, to keep the book dry; it even had room for pens and a small notepad. How did it get here? I didn’t have it when I went for my run.
She closed the drawer and slipped the beloved book under her sweatshirt, hoping to hide it from the cameras, and moved quickly to her room. She plopped down on the bed and examined her new treasure. It’s really mine! Flipping through the pages, she saw her old highlights and notes. She carefully slipped the leather cover from the polyester case, and there was the gold imprint, from when it had been purchased: Cassandra Hixson.
But how did it get here? These people wouldn’t . . . couldn’t . . . have gotten it. Nobody else has been here. But . . . I asked God for a Bible. . . .
The tears trickled down her face, and onto the pink cover.
* * * * *
Eldon Dayle frowned, adjusting the controls for the cameras in the white room. What in the name of Hell itself is happening here? He had been listening to the girl and boy saying their goodbyes, and seen her enter the white room from the hall, when all the monitors went blank at the same moment. Now, ninety seconds later, they were back on, but she had obviously gone to the bedroom.
I’ll have to tell Skip to check these damned circuits, he thought.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Investigating and Arm Wrestling
Royal and Celeste sat knee to knee at the small cherrywood table, hands clasped together, surrounded by caskets.
“I’m glad you could come, Roy,” Celeste said. “I think this might really be important, and you’re the only person I can talk to about it.”
“Sure, babe. But I gotta be back at work in forty-five minutes.” Celeste was helping out at the funeral home, and they were both on their lunch hours. They sat in the Selection Parlor, where the bereaved chose the coffins for their loved ones, but no one was using the room today. Roy smiled. “I always like to see you all dressed up, anyway.” She wore a sleeveless blue dress with white trim, instead of her usual leathers, which contrasted with his green overalls from the Mountainview Nursery.
She squeezed his hands. “Thanks. You’re sweet. But this is so important. You’ve gotta promise me you won’t tell anybody, okay? Even your dad.”
What’s this all about? Roy wondered, frowning. “I guess that’s okay,” he replied. “I can keep a secret. ‘Specially if you think it’s important.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not what I’m sayin.’ You can tell him sometime, but just not right now. I don’t want to make problems. Okay? Quiet for now?”
“Yeah, okay,” he grumbled. “What is it, anyway? Bein’ all hush-hush ain’t your style. Isn’t your style.”
“I know. So listen. You know how I take the bike out to the old airfield sometimes?” He nodded. “I did that last night. It was nine-thirty, ten o’clock. I checked out the runways, like I always do. Then, when I’d just started havin’ fun. . . .”
She told him the whole story. The lights in the Tri-State hangar. The mysterious figure in the doorway. The car driving away, its headlights off. Her own “escape” from the place, and her hurried return home.
“So what do you think, Roy? Does this make any sense to you? Are they doin’ something out there that they haven’t announced?”
He thought for a long moment, rubbing his leg. “No, I don’t think so. Pops woulda mentioned it if the airport had any new projects goin.’ Last I heard, they were gonna bulldoze that whole area and make room for somethin’ new. But that was a few months back. . . . What do you think?”
“Oh, it’s. . . .” She squeezed his hands harder. “It’s crazy what I think. It’s so, so crazy.”
“Celeste?” he interrupted, his voice soft. “I don’t think you’re crazy. You think that’s where they’ve got Cassie, don’t you?”
She stood up and moved around the little table, throwing her arms around his neck, weeping with relief into his shoulder. “Yes, bae! That’s just what I think. Oh, thank you! You don’t think I’m crazy after all.”
“Not unless I’m crazy too,” he replied, returning her embrace. “I think you’re right. And you know what? We’re gonna get her back.”
* * * * *
The little Gulfstream jet passed over Louisiana — or was it Mississippi? — at thirty thousand feet. Burgess couldn’t tell, peering out the window: clouds formed a billowy vista as far as the horizon in every direction. The agent only knew that he’d left Yorkville an hour before, and that he’d reach his destination in another ninety minutes or so.
He was the
only passenger. The pilot and co-pilot, members of the Surveillance and Aviation Section of the FBI, knew nothing of Burgess’ purpose; that wasn’t their job. It’s a miracle that this trip was approved at all, he thought to himself. With everything in such a shambles at the office, it’ll also be a miracle if anything gets done for awhile. The agents had all passed the polygraph tests, but the clerical staff was now being examined, one by one, and the matter of Cassandra’s phone communications still hadn’t been cleared up. But now his thoughts were elsewhere.
Thank God for Barbour Ludwig, he thought. A former head of the Investigation Division in Washington, Ludwig had been called out of retirement, and sent to Yorkville as temporary Special Agent in Charge, as soon as Cassandra Hixson’s telephone had thrown the office into chaos. Burgess had known Ludwig since his days at the Academy, and had persuaded his old mentor to approve this trip. I just hope I find what I’m looking for. This could be another wild goose chase. But Ludwig was on the job long enough to know that sometimes a wild goose chase catches the goose. He pulled out his notebook and glanced down, for the umpteenth time, at his notes.
If Olivia Mendel’s hunch had been correct, the statistics had been easy enough to find. Eleven states. Twenty-five years. 23,900 teenage girls dead in accidents, murders, or suicides. 21,439 grieving fathers, 17,027 currently alive. 931 incapacitated in hospitals or retirement homes, or incarcerated in prison. Among those living in their local communities, 151 were current or former high school teachers or college professors.
Agents of the Bureau had either contacted each of the 151, or adequately investigated them, and were satisfied that none could logically be connected with the Hixson kidnapping. With one exception.
Special Agent Donald Burgess was on his way to College Station, Texas, to find out why Dr. Eldon Dayle had apparently vanished from the surface of the earth a few years ago. Shannon Maclean would handle the case in Yorkville until he returned.
* * * * *
Cassie and Brandon sat on the floor in the hallway, leaning against the wall outside his room, chatting and drinking the unrefrigerated soft drinks that had been provided for them. They had guessed that the hallway was the only area without microphones, so that’s where they went to talk.
“We look like we’re in Phys Ed or something,” Cassie commented. She had returned to her room and taken off her sweatshirt, and now they both wore gym shorts and t-shirts. “You want to run some laps up and down the hall? I could probably beat you.”
“No thanks,” he shuddered. “I’m as close to that hole in the floor as I want to be. And no, you couldn’t beat me. I’m a marvel of human engineering.”
She laughed as she was taking a drink, and soda sprayed from her nose. “Yeah, you look like it,” she teased, wiping her lip.
“We both do, don’t we?” He tapped on one of her thighs with a fingertip. “Do those bruises still hurt?”
“Not really,” she said. “My wrists are still sore. But the bruises are going away. I just hope we don’t get any more. How’s your nose?”
“It’s sore, but it’s still straight. Did your dad really show you how to fix that?”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t say he did. I said my dad was a doctor, which he is, but he didn’t teach me that.” She told him about what she’d seen at Royal’s fight.
The boy stared at her. “Are you kidding? You hang out at fights?” There’s more to this girl than I thought. . . . But I already knew that.
“Not very often, but . . . oh, it’s a long story.”
“Well, we’re not really pressed for time, are we? Tell me about it.”
“All right,” she sighed. “My best friend, okay? Her name’s Celeste. Her boyfriend is a boxer. He’s gonna turn pro next year, I think. They’re black. She’s a home school girl, like me. And a couple of years ago I was looking for a good workout, so they got me started on, like, boxing exercises. I hit the bag and jump rope and stuff. That’s how I got kidnapped. I was out doing my morning run, and they grabbed me.” She didn’t go into details.
“Are you kidding? No, I’m sorry. . . . You wouldn’t kid about that. But I can’t picture you hitting one of those big bags. If you’re not gonna be a fighter, what’s the point? Doesn’t it hurt your hands?”
Boys can be so dense, she thought. “Not if you wear bag gloves. And the point is, in addition to breathing and cardio, it makes me really strong. My arms, at least, and my back.”
He glanced up and down her body. “Well, no offense, but you don’t look so strong. I mean, you look great. But you’re not like one of those female weightlifters, all muscle-bound.”
He’s beginning to sound like Chad. “Okay, smart guy,” she declared. “Lie down on the floor. On your stomach.” Before he could speak, she’d started to take the same position, facing him.
“What are we doing?” he asked, puzzled, as he began to stretch out on the floor.
“Well, we don’t have chairs and a table. This will have to do.” She bent her arm and rested her elbow on the floor. “C’mon, put ‘em up. We’re gonna arm wrestle.”
He laughed. “Are you for real?” But he grabbed her hand. Using their free arms to prop themselves up, they clenched hands tightly. “I really don’t want to hurt a girl.” He was struck by a sudden realization. I really don’t want to hurt this girl. In any way.
“Oh, thank you so much, kind sir,” she said. “Now, keep your forearm flat on the floor, and your other elbow down. Got it?”
“Uh-huh. You’re crazy.” He grinned.
“Yup,” she said. “And you’re a marvel of human engineering. Call it. I’m ready when you are.”
He studied her face. She’s got a strong grip. Well, so do I. “Okay, Cassie . . . go.”
She looked in his eyes, her gaze unwavering, as their arms flexed. He began to push, but her arm didn’t move. He pushed a little harder. She’s pretty good. But I’ll show her who’s boss. He took a deep breath through his nose, held it, and began pushing as hard as he could. The tendons in his forearms bulged.
Cassie’s hand began to move backwards as he pressed. Now, both of their arms were starting to shake. She never took her eyes off his. Her arm moved closer to the floor, as he began to smile. He glanced down to see how close he was to victory.
When she saw his eyes move, her hand tightened even more around his, and all the muscles in her arm stood out. She took a deep breath and blew it out in a sudden burst. In a single quick move, she reversed his push, and smashed the back of his hand to the floor.
“Ow!” he cried. “You didn’t have to . . . I mean, you won.” He stared at her. He couldn’t believe it.
“Uh-huh,” she smiled, releasing his hand. She looked at him with mock concern. “Are you okay? I really didn’t want to hurt a boy.”
She almost flinched when he moved forward a few inches and kissed her. She didn’t resist . . . but he didn’t try to prolong it.
Blushing, sitting up, she didn’t look at him. “Um, thanks. Anyway. . . .”
“Anyway what?” he smiled, sitting next to her again.
“Well, anyway . . . your mistake was, you held your breath. That’s why I beat you.”
“Really? I was thinking you might actually be stronger than me.”
She shook her head, still thinking about the kiss, or trying not to think about it. “I dunno. Maybe we’re about equal. But it’s not just strength. That’s what I meant about the workout. Learning how to breathe, and when to breathe, can make all the difference.”
“I guess so. Huh. . . . I never thought about it.” He wasn’t even trying not to think about the kiss.
“Well,” she said, “You’re strong enough. You wore me out. I’m gonna go back to my room and take a nap or something, okay?”
“Yeah, Cassie. Maybe I will, too.”
She stood up and smiled at him, feeling nervous in a new way. “I’ll see you in a little while.” She headed down the hall.
This is getting weird on so many levels, she
thought.
* * * * *
Brandon lay on the mattress, his hands clasped behind his head. I need a cigarette, he thought. No, I need a pack of cigarettes! But they won’t let me have them. . . .
It’s not supposed to be happening this way. That guy . . . and the Goth . . . they just wanted me to act like I’d been kidnapped, and hook up with this girl, whether she wanted it or not. They didn’t even send that video to my parents, not that they’d care. . . . I was supposed to charm her, spider and the fly, then drop her, hard and fast. Fool her and forget her. Break her heart. It was part of that guy’s plan to screw up her religion.
THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA Page 19