THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA

by William Melden

  “What’s that?” Ethan asked.

  “It would let Cassie know we were coming. We don’t know where she is. Or if she’s tied up, or locked up, or what. But wherever she is, the music would tell her that help was on the way. And if she’s not tied up or trapped, she could help us. Maybe, anyway.”

  Celeste was grinning, excited. “If it was the right kind of music,” she said. “If it was rap or speed metal or something, it would just confuse her. But if it was godly music, something her kidnappers would never play. . . .”

  “Yes. That’s what I was thinking,” Olivia added. “You guys would probably do better with the selection. But something old, something she’d recognize. Maybe ‘Amazing Grace?’”

  Ethan was intrigued now. “So, how would we do it? Sing it? That wouldn’t be much help.”

  “No,” Olivia said quickly. “And we can’t carry a whole sound system with us. But at my dad’s store? He’s got every kind of boom box on earth. Some of those things are loud enough to use in a club. I can borrow one, I mean, I’m allowed to do that, if I return it in good shape. And Ethan. You can do some shopping online, and get the specs. Go for the highest decibel range you can find, without distortion. Even if my dad doesn’t have that exact brand, he’ll have something comparable. Something you could hear all over an aircraft hangar, for sure.”

  “That’s right,” Roy added. “I know a guy, at the gym, who works in a machinist’s shop. They have big drills and presses and everything, but they have a boom box so loud that everyone can hear over them.”

  Despite the excitement, the room fell silent for a few moments. Finally, Celeste spoke.

  “Look, we already said that God’s gonna have to help us. And now Livvie comes in here with an idea from God’s word. Are we gonna brush it off?”

  “Well,” Olivia relied, “I don’t have any illusions. We’re not Gideon or Joshua. But this has some good benefits, if we time it right before we go. It lets Cassie know help is on the way. It confuses the kidnappers, maybe just for a minute, but that might be just the minute we need. And it helps us, too. It boosts our adrenaline. Right, Roy?”

  He nodded. “Uh-huh. Why do you think the pro boxers play that loud music when they’re goin’ to the ring? An Irish guy’ll have bagpipes. A Mexican guy might have one of those bands with the guitars and the big hats. Whatever they need to get their blood up.”

  Olivia felt a strange combination of excitement and peace that she’d never known before. I wish I could tell them where I got this idea. Well, I can tell Ethan, anyway, like Gabriel Terrena said. Roy and Celeste already seem convinced. She suddenly remembered Ethan’s account of seeing the strange man at the Pavilion with Cassie. Could that have been him?

  As they all closed the Bibles, Celeste smiled. “Those poor kidnappers. . . . They just don’t know what’s coming at all!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: The Final Demand

  Maclean sat on the hammock in her underwear, typing away at the laptop she had brought from the motel earlier in the day. She was ready to don the Goth outfit at any time: she could do it in two minutes, if her makeup and spiked hair were already in place. She’d become so accustomed to the contact lenses that she rarely removed them, except to sleep.

  But she wasn’t thinking of her Goth activities at the moment. Get your affairs in order, she told herself. Get everything lined up right. As soon as the money gets here from the Hixsons — or the government, if they’re stupid enough to help — be ready to go. She finished typing the brief letter and reviewed it for errors:

  Ms. Elizabeth Surrat-Jenkins

  Executive Assistant Director, Human Resources Branch

  Federal Bureau of Investigation

  Washington, D.C. 20535-0001

  Dear Ms. Surrat-Jenkins:

  Effective this date, I am resigning my position as a Special Agent of

  the FBI. Although my time with the Bureau has possibly been the most

  rewarding and meaningful experience of my life, I have decided to pursue a

  career in the private sector.

  Sincerely yours,

  Shannon Amber Maclean

  cc: Special Agent in Charge Barbour Ludwig

  Special Agent Donald Burgess

  Satisfied, she saved the document, to print out on the official letterhead later. Like everything she did on this laptop, it was encrypted and re-encrypted. She’d actually print and mail it when the time came.

  She went online and checked the airline schedules for her departure from Yorkville. Although her home was originally Tallahassee, she hadn’t lived there since joining the Bureau, and she’d already cleared out her small apartment outside Washington. The rent was paid six months in advance, so that when the lease expired, she’d be long gone. She marked down her itinerary: Yorkville to Toronto, then Toronto to Amsterdam. She’d buy open-ended round-trip tickets, so as not to raise suspicions. At current prices, the first class fares would add up to just under $9,000. But money won’t be an issue when the time comes. She smiled to herself.

  She hadn’t decided on her plans after setting up housekeeping in Amsterdam. Her hands would be dripping with blood by that time, but she’d learned at the finest school in in the world, the FBI itself, how to avoid incriminating herself. She wouldn’t be a suspect or a fugitive. With today’s constant surveillance, of course, anyone in the government could follow her, but they’d simply think that she was taking a well-deserved vacation between jobs. For safety’s sake, she’d destroy her personal cell phone somewhere in Europe, and buy a new one.

  She’d toyed with the idea of setting up someone else for the murders of Dayle and the Hixsons, but decided that creating a false paper trail would be a waste of time. Eventually, the Bureau would find some poor innocent stooge to prosecute, or just close the case. Either way, it wasn’t her problem. Play it cool. When the time comes, submit the letter. Make some tearful phone calls to ‘friends’ in the Bureau. Have a nice, happy chat with the folks back home, of course. Her parents would probably approve of her resignation, and be glad she was leaving a dangerous career. Her big brother, as usual, would support anything she did. He was her biggest “fan.” It would be nice to see him one more time. But making explanations might get complicated. Whatever you do, don’t hurry. Your whole life is ahead of you. . . .

  She closed the laptop, stood up, and locked it away in the duffel bag she’d brought from the apartment. She began slithering into the Goth outfit. Duty calls. . . .

  * * * * *

  “What would you buy if you were gonna buy something?” the voice boomed out, nearly filling the entire store.

  Ethan jumped, but Olivia just laughed, the bear-like arms of her father suddenly grabbing them both around the shoulders from behind, as he greeted them with his silly television catch phrase.

  “Hi, Dad,” Olivia laughed, squirming around to kiss his cheek. “You done snuck up on us!”

  The man squeezed and then released her. “That’s what I done, all right,” he joked. He turned to Ethan and grabbed the boy’s hand in his pudgy fingers, shaking it. “How are you today, Ethan? How’s the world treating you? How’s my little girl treating you? You like this hot weather?”

  He jabbers as much as Ethan does, Olivia thought. If they ever got excited about something at the same time, yikes. . . .

  “I’m doing great, Mr. Mendel,” the boy replied, looking up at him. Olivia’s dad was easily six inches taller, in addition to being so heavy. “We’re just looking at some speakers and boom boxes. I looked online first. For the speakers, I mean. We knew we were gonna come here, but I wanted to do my market research, you might say. You have a good selection.”

  “Smart shopper,” the older man said. “Well, we don’t have as much of a selection as those big box electronic places, but we try to keep the customers happy.” The size of an average grocery store, J.B. Sanders Jewelry was stocked to the ceiling with merchandise of all types.

  “Yes sir, it looks like it,” Ethan agreed. He pulled
a box from the shelf and examined it. “This isn’t a boom box. It’s way better. It says that it puts out 115 decibels. Is that possible?” The speaker, shaped like a pyramid, was only twelve inches high.

  “Ouch! Yes.” Mr. Mendel covered his ears. “We’ve sold those to some clubs that were just starting out and couldn’t afford a big sound system yet.”

  “Where do you put the batteries?” Ethan asked, inspecting the box carefully.

  “You don’t,” the man said. “There’s a permanent battery inside. You re-charge it from a wall socket. Plays up to eight hours. It’ll take your music from an MP3 player or your cell phone like a Bluetooth.”

  “Um, Dad,” Olivia smiled, her fingers intertwined on her father’s shoulder, “Could we take one home and try it out? We might decide to get a different model. And we’re already buying a lot of stuff.” She gestured to the shopping cart beside her. “I don’t want to get too close to my limit on the credit card.”

  “Sweetheart, of course you can, with one condition. You’re not playing that thing in our house.” She’d been “borrowing” things from the store, with his permission, since childhood.

  “Oh no, we don’t want to. We’re thinking of having a get-together with some friends, maybe at the Pavilion, maybe somewhere else. Not at the house. This would be perfect.” That’s not really a lie, she rationalized. Once we get Cassie home, we might have a big celebration.

  Her father glanced at their shopping cart, and his eyes widened. “Mercy, you are getting a lot of things. Walkie-talkies, flashlights, bungee cord . . . what d’you need all that for, if I may ask?”

  Ethan looked him in the eye and smiled. “We’re planning a surprise attack on a group of evildoers.” Olivia’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She held her breath. Has he lost his mind? Before Mr. Mendel had a chance to react, Ethan added, “See, it’s gonna be a night assault. By the way, do you have paintball equipment? We might need some new loaders and ammo.”

  Olivia closed her eyes and exhaled. Her father laughed. “Paintball! For a minute, I thought you’d declared war on the Mexicans or something.” He sobered suddenly. “Not that you’d ever want to do that, of course!”

  “Of course,” Ethan laughed. “México es seguro.”

  For once, Mr. Mendel looked nonplussed. “Come again?”

  Olivia laughed. “He said Mexico is safe, Dad.”

  “Oh. I knew that,” her father replied, winking at her. “Well, you two go buy your battle gear, and just let the cashier know you’re borrowing the speaker. I have to get back to work. Great to see you, Ethan!”

  “Thank you, sir. It’s always a pleasure.”

  As he moved away from them, Mr. Mendel smiled to himself. It’s good to see them taking an interest in having fun. They’ve been so worried about poor Cassie Hixson. . . . He zeroed in on another customer. “Hi there! I’m Sam Mendel. What would you buy if you were gonna buy something?”

  * * * * *

  Cassie and Brandon sat on the edge of her bed talking for at least an hour. After they dropped the subject of their captivity, they simply chatted about their backgrounds, and their different outlooks on life. Although they didn’t come out and say so, they found that they understood each other much more than they might have expected to.

  When there was a lull in the conversation, Brandon cleared his throat. “You mind if I use your bathroom, Cassie?”

  “No, of course not, make yourself at home.” She winced at her own words. “Some home.”

  “Yeah, some home. Thanks.” He disappeared into the little room.

  He’s not a bad guy at all, Cassie thought. He lives like a bad guy, but I can see why. If I had parents like his. . . . She shuddered at the thought. He’s made some bad choices, but it’s not like he tries to hurt people on purpose. And he could have made much worse choices. She didn’t exactly feel sorry for him, but she could see a lot of the reasons for his actions. Biting a fingernail, she thought about her own life, especially in the past few years. Lust and gossip and pride. . . . Brandon’s no worse than I am, that’s for sure.

  The boy leaned on the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. Aren’t you something? He frowned at his reflection. People have been judging you all your life. They think you’re so rebellious and rotten and wild, just because you’re not what they expected from a kid with such a wonderful father, the “great man.” The street people judge you because they think you’re crazy to walk away from the money and the “nice home.” Even this guy who hired you . . . he just looked at your life, and figured you’d do anything for money, even be his cat’s-paw. And the worst part is, he was right. Then along comes this girl who’s really clean, really straight, and really believes the Christian stuff. And she doesn’t judge you at all! He thought of Cassie lying on the floor, arm wrestling. Cassie laughing, spewing soda from her nose. Cassie taking such good care of him when he was hurt. You’ve always sneered at those kids in church. Sure, a lot of ‘em are hypocrites. But when you just blow off a whole group that way . . . who’s judging who? He splashed some cold water on his face, dried off, and returned to the bedroom.

  Cassie smiled at him, and stood up. “I guess we’ve been in here long enough. Those horrible people are probably hoping I’m pregnant by now.” They both laughed. “Are you ready to do some more acting?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, looking down, momentarily ashamed. “At least I’ll be doing it for the right reasons this time. We’re gonna make ‘em think they’ve got us right under their thumb . . . and then they’ll find out.”

  “Right!” She moved in and hugged him tight, but without a kiss, and they walked into the white room, hand in hand.

  They hadn’t gotten halfway across the room when the video screen flickered to life. “Ah, there you are, children.” Dayle was leering at them, an artificially paternal smile on his face. “We were afraid you’d disappeared into thin air. Did you enjoy a bit of ‘quality time’ together? Cassandra, have you been explaining all the mysteries of the Bible to Brandon? I’m sure he’s a changed man, or rather a changed boy, after listening to you babbling about your ‘Saviour’ to him. Or were you perhaps investigating the pleasures of the flesh?” He twirled the fountain pen between his fingers.

  The two released each other’s hands. “What makes you think I need ‘changing’?” Brandon challenged.

  “And what business is it of yours what we do when we’re together?” Cassie added. “After all, we wouldn’t even be together if you hadn’t kidnapped us.”

  Dayle smirked. “Ah, Cassandra, still so ungrateful. . . . Just consider me the matchmaker who has brought the two of you together. You can work your magic on each other, and with a bit of compromise, we can have two matching hypocrites, spouting Scriptures when they’re not thrashing around in bed.”

  Cassie had to fight hard against her anger. Then she thought of Gabriel Terrena: Remember his words. “Would you like for me to spout some more Scripture, Mr. Genius? How about this? ‘And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.’ Does that one ring a bell?”

  Dayle inhaled in a long hiss, his eyes narrowing, his face reddening. He dropped the pen and clutched the sides of his desk. “You think you’re clever, child, but you may be too clever for your own good. I’ll —” His final words trailed off in a harsh, babbling cough. The video screen went blank.

  Within moments, the hallway door burst open and the Goth stormed into the room. She held a newspaper in her hand, Dayle’s digital camera hanging around her neck. She moved quickly to the pair and shoved Brandon roughly toward the couch. “Sit,” she snarled in her muffled voice. Caught off guard, stumbling backwards, he did exactly that, landing on the couch, somehow avoiding the heavy coffee table. “Hey!” he protested, but stayed where he was.

  The Goth slapped the newspaper against Cassie’s chest and pointed to the far wall. “Same as before,” she
growled. Cassie glared at her, but took the newspaper and stood against the wall, as she’d already done twice. Standing there in her gym shorts and t-shirt, she realized that more of her skin was showing than in past pictures. Thank God the bruises are finally gone. She held the paper up in front of her, and, for her family’s sake, managed a sort of smile.

  The Goth took several identical photographs, then hung the camera around her neck again. As she started to move to the door, Brandon stood up and approached her. “Aren’t you gonna take another one of me, for the judge?” He couldn’t let them suspect that he’d told Cassie his true situation.

  Instead of answering, the Goth slammed her gloved fist into his groin. He gasped and fell to the floor, groaning, clutching at himself.

  Cassie had reached her limit. Seeing her new friend writhing in pain, confronted again with the woman’s cruelty, she wanted to scream in protest. But what good would that do? She moved into a training stance and slipped up behind the Goth. Heavy bag, go low, get the kidney, hard. But instead of using her hand, she smashed her right elbow into the woman’s lower ribs from behind, exhaling all her breath in a loud “huh!” Her feet momentarily left the floor, as she put all of her body’s weight into the blow.