He nodded at Jerry. “I gave him an approximate time, so he should be making contact soon. When he calls, will you please tell him that we need medical attention?”
The flight deck radio crackled to life as he finished speaking. “November 275 Whiskey Tango, this is Ghost Rider. Do you copy?”
Bryan turned to give him a worried smile and then went back to his controls. “Right on time Ghost Rider; this is November 275 Whiskey Tango, awaiting your instructions.”
“Good evening, November 5 Whiskey Tango. See the signal. I repeat – see the signal.” All three of them strained forward, looking out the windscreen into the empty blackness below. His father had managed to string blue lights along either side of the deserted blacktop road that ran through a section of their property. It looked like a damned lit up runway.
Bryan chuckled. “Ghost Rider, November 5 Whiskey Tango sees your signal, and we are proceeding. Request medical attention, do you copy?”
Michael heard the concern in his father’s voice. “Ghost Rider copies, November 5 Whiskey Tango. Medical attention is standing by. Evaluate urgency, please.”
Bryan looked at him, questioning. He considered. “Tell him we need transport to the medical clinic, ASAP.” Bryan repeated his words.
“Ghost Rider copies, November 5 Whiskey Tango. We’ll be ready.”
Jerry and Bryan sat the ostentatious aircraft down sedately and taxied along the bumpy roadway. Squinting out the windscreen, he could see the cavernous warehouse doorway at the end of the drive off to his left, light spilling out onto the cement and the old ambulance sitting on the edge of the apron, lights doused and exhaust spewing. Within minutes they were inside the massive building, the roaring jet engines whining to an echoing stop.
When he opened the door and lowered the stairs, his father’s face, etched with concern was the first thing he saw. His mother was right behind him, standing next to a stretcher with her arms full of blankets. Michael unbelted Rowan from the divan and roused Gabriel, who’d snored loudly and serenely since shortly after takeoff. “Gabriel, wake up, we have to move Rowan out of here.”
While Gabriel stretched and rubbed his eyes, his father stepped aboard the jet. “Welcome home boys. It looks like ‘mission accomplished’ to me. What’s up with your friend here?”
Yawning hugely, he slid into a seat, watching while his father stuck a thermometer in Rowan’s ear and placed a stethoscope on his chest, frowning as he listened. “We’ll transport him to the clinic right away. Sure sounds like he’s got pneumonia.”
Stifling another yawn, he nodded. “OK Dad. Has Mom gotten Rowan’s medical records from Uncle Steve yet?”
His father slumped into a seat across the aisle and looked at him. “Not yet. He was going to overnight all the records today, I mean yesterday.” The older man shrugged. “So, by sometime…later today, we should know what’s going on. I was hoping you would know what had happened to him.”
“Gabriel checked him over before we left. All I know is he’s hotter than hell and has been coughing. Oh yeah, something must be wrong with his right shoulder, because I just barely touched it and he practically jumped out of his skin.”
His father stood up. “Help me move him and we’ll get him settled in and start an IV. I’m sure you want to secure this aircraft and get some sleep.”
He shoved himself out of the seat and faced his father. “Sleep is the farthest thing from my mind right now. Once we get Jerry and Bryan settled in, Gabriel and I will be over to the clinic to see how he’s doing.” Grasping his father by the shoulder, he captured the tired blue eyes that mirrored his own. “Dad, Rowan means a lot to all of us. We appreciate you and Mom getting involved. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to destroy not just his body, but his entire life. We’re going to help him put it back together again.”
* * *
Ralph’s cell phone rang and vibrated on the bedside table, startling him awake. He glanced at his watch, wondering how long he’d slept. Eyes too blurry to read the time, he frowned at the TV and flipped his phone open. “Ralph Johnston.” A FOX News correspondent he knew from D.C., where it was five o’clock in the morning, jabbered excitedly about the breaking story. “Jack, I have no knowledge of what you’ve described. We released Mr. Milani, or Hassani, if you insist, to CIA custody around nine o’clock last night. That is the last we saw of him. Uh huh, well Jack, I’d have to say, on behalf of the FBI, no comment at this time. If anything comes to mind, anything new here, I’ll make sure you get the exclusive as usual. You bet and thanks for calling. Good luck with this one.”
He yawned and put his hands behind his head. Now it would begin. How long would it be before Ainsley called? His eyes had barely gone shut when his phone rang again. He stared blearily at it, saw it was his boss and punched talk, lips twisting in a sarcastic smile. This would be fun. “Ralph Johnston.”
“RALPH. What happened in Sioux Falls last night?”
He pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it. Fuck you, Rodney. “Sir, you want to clarify for me? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did something happen here? Just a minute, let me grab the remote.”
“What do you mean, Ralph? Don’t you know what happened, haven’t you seen the coverage or gotten any other calls?” The outrage and frustration in his boss’s voice gave him immense satisfaction.
“Well sir, I’ve been sound asleep, so I expect you know more than I do. We were surprised, to say the least, when the CIA arrived last evening to transport Mr. Hassani, but they had the appropriate paperwork in hand. I inspected it myself. Dr. Anderson had been informed, and we released the prisoner to their custody at approximately nine o’clock.” Making Ainsley squirm was the most fun he’d had since the whole mess began.
“Ralph, are you telling me neither you nor special agent Cantor accompanied Hassani to the airport?”
“No sir, we did not.” Sliding off the bed to fiddle with making coffee, he continued with a grin. “To be perfectly honest, I was pleasantly surprised and relieved to release Hassani to their custody. I went to the hotel for a well deserved night’s sleep in a real bed. Have you ever stayed at a Sheraton, sir? If you haven’t, you really should. The beds are excellent. OK sir, I have FOX News tuned in. Ah, let me see… Holy shit. Hassani was the victim of an extraordinary rendition? Or he escaped? I’ll be damned. Sir, do you have any idea why that would happen or who was pulling the strings? Were the agents we released him to culpable? Or do you suspect that he orchestrated his own escape?”
Ainsley was beside himself. “Ralph, those agents were overpowered by someone and left in their vehicle. The pilots of the aircraft were detained in their hotel rooms. And the jet they were using for transport to Quantico has disappeared right along with Hassani. That aircraft was brand new with a sixty-five million dollar price tag.”
Why did he believe the CIA would never see that jet again? “Well sir, our hands are certainly clean, but it will be interesting to get the story from the CIA agents who were here last night. Anything we can do along those lines?” He paused, waiting for Ainsley’s reply.
“The CIA can clean up its own mess. Frankly, I can’t fathom how they allowed this to happen. But I will tell you this. If Hassani somehow managed to orchestrate his own escape, I’ll find him, wherever he is, and I’ll prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law.”
He sneered at the phone. Ainsley always made him want to toss the thing as far away as possible. “I’m with you on that, sir. And I am more than happy to allow the CIA to take care of its own problems. Special agent Cantor and I should be finished up here by day’s end.”
“Sounds great, Ralph. Call if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll see you in D.C. in a month. Bye now.”
Snapping the phone shut, he refrained from tossing it, laid it on the desk instead and poured coffee from the tiny pot. “Don’t worry asshole. There isn’t one damn thing I need that involves you.”
* * *
Dan
ielle stared at Derek as he plopped down on the adjoining sofa. Her face felt hot and her eyes were scratchy, the lids swollen. How long had she lain, curled up under the comforter on the loveseat in the living room? “What do you want? Need a moment to gloat? Want to tell me I told you so?”
Derek’s eyes held only kindness, laugh lines crinkling in the corners when he gave her a sad smile. “No, I don’t want to tell you anything. I just want you to know I’m here if you need to talk. I’m worried about you, Dani. It’s four o’clock in the morning and you’ve been down here since yesterday afternoon. Will you at least tell me what happened?”
Gazing at his anxious countenance, her lower lip quivered. “Rowan’s gone. He said… He told me…” It was no use. Raw pain overwhelmed her, hot tears spilled down her cheeks, and the lump in her throat choked her voice. Shaking, she covered her face with her hands.
Derek sank down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. Drawing her close, he patted her head while she sobbed. “I’m so sorry it worked out this way. I know you cared about him.”
Pushing out of his embrace, she shredded a crumpled tissue and hiccupped through the tears. “He told me I’d never see him again, and I was free to move on. But I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that. All I want is to be with him. That’s all I’m ever going to want.”
Derek tipped her chin up with a forefinger. “You may not believe me, but I do know how you feel. Whenever you need to talk, you just let me know. But kiddo, I gotta go to work. You want me to tell your agents that you’re not coming in today?”
Rowan’s words about Derek whispered through her mind. He’s deep in love with you, and you’re with me. Oh God, if only… Blinking back tears again, she tried to read his face, but saw only compassion. “Thanks, the airport is the last place I want to be today. If you don’t mind telling them I don’t feel well… I need some time to think things through.”
Derek patted her knee. “Good idea. I’ll call you later, but if you need anything, let me know, all right?”
Danielle managed a nod and a murmured, “OK.” Closing burning eyes, she listened to Derek tromping through the house, gathering his jacket, keys and coffee. The door slammed and the house grew quiet. Shasta’s furry bulk pushed against her knees. The big dog whined and she opened her eyes. “What’s the matter, baby? I bet you need to go out, don’t you.” Shasta sat staring at her and then woofed, placing a monstrous paw carefully in her lap. Smiling in spite of her sadness, she stood up, shoved the comforter aside and walked with Shasta padding beside her to the patio door.
Watching the dog bound away into the darkness, she slid the door shut and locked it, then grabbed the last cup of coffee from the pot and wandered into the study where they kept the TV. Rowan had said she’d see news coverage about his leaving. Spotting the remote, she perched on the edge of a chair and hit the power button.
Sure enough, the red and yellow FOX News Alert banner flashed importantly on the screen. Suspected Terror Mastermind Rowan Milani – Victim of CIA Extraordinary Rendition or Daring Escape? She drew a sharp breath as Rowan’s now familiar FBI ID photo appeared, juxtaposed next to video of a powerful looking jet. A blonde anchorwoman spoke. “Federal authorities are beginning an investigation early this morning to determine whether suspected terror mastermind Rowan Milani has fallen victim to Extraordinary Rendition or managed to orchestrate a daring escape. According to employees at the airport in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, a private jet landed there yesterday afternoon and took off again last night. Sources at Sanford Medical Center in Sioux Falls, where Milani was being held pending transfer, confirm that he was released to CIA custody sometime last evening.
However, the two CIA agents were found, bound and gagged in their SUV, behind the airport. The agents were accosted by black-masked gunmen when they boarded the jet with Milani. The pilots of the aircraft were also found bound and gagged in their hotel rooms. They tell a similar story of being detained by black-masked gunmen. Both the CIA and the FBI have declined comment.”
She slumped in the chair, shut off the TV, and closed her eyes.
* * *
Georgia and Frank Cristo stood looking at their new patient, settled into the one bed in the isolation room of their medical clinic. It was the only room in the clinic with a lock on the door, ensuring that none of their daily patients would inadvertently wander inside. Georgia tucked her arm into Frank’s and looked up at him. “He’s one sick man, Doc. Somebody sure smacked him around before he got here.”
Her husband stirred beside her and patted her arm. “He’s going to be in a lot of pain for a while. We need to get this pneumonia resolved before we can take care of whatever else he needs, after we get Steve’s records and examine him ourselves. What do you think, honey? Can you manage? We don’t know anything about his personality and he may be difficult to handle.”
Contemplating the deep set eyes in the face she’d always found so handsome, she nodded. “You’re right about all that, but I’ll talk to Michael and find out everything I can about him. Besides, once he knows he’s safe and in good hands, he’ll respond to kindness, I’m certain of that.”
Frank put his arm around her. “If anyone can relate to him, I know you can. My main concern is the level of pain he’s going to be in once he wakes up. But we can keep a close eye on that, too.”
She nodded again. “When he comes around, I’ll make sure he sees Michael and Gabriel and knows he’s safe, and I’ll have pain meds ready for immediate injection.” Gazing again at the bruised face, shaggy black hair and rough beard of their new patient, she was reminded of when Michael was a boy, bringing home wounded animals for them to fix. They’d faithfully healed every furry patient over the years and they’d do the same for this poor man who meant so much to their son.
* * *
As the last vestiges of the drug Gabriel had given him faded from his mind and body, Rowan heard his own strained breathing and felt knife-sharp pain in his chest. He opened his eyes and saw Michael and Gabriel, smiling down at him. A woman he didn’t recognize appeared next to them. Instinctively rubbing his right foot against his left leg, relief swept through his mind. The hated leg irons were gone… He was no longer a prisoner.
He tried to speak, but couldn’t. Shallow, painful breaths were all he could manage. While he blinked at his friends, Michael spoke. “Rowan, you’re safe. No one can find you here, and we’ll be with you every step of the way to recovery. You’ve got pneumonia, but we’ll take care of that. We’re going to let you sleep now, brother.”
The woman bent over him and the familiar, slow burn of drugs into his vein brought relief from the pain and slowed his mind. Eyes heavy, he wondered for an instant where he was and then slid back into unconsciousness.
* * *
Chad rubbed gritty eyes and stared vacantly at the French doors opening onto the patio from the family room, wishing he’d slept, now that the sun peeked in behind the drapes. But he’d been too wired. With a disconsolate sigh, he hunched forward on the sofa, thinking about his career, no longer sure he belonged in the Bureau. Smiling to himself, he admitted that Bettina had unwittingly thrown a monkey wrench into his future as well. Besides that, he’d made another decision during the night.
Mouth stretching in a gaping yawn, eyes watering, he blinked to ease the scratchiness. Leaning over and grabbing his phone from the end table where he’d dumped it along with his car keys, he flipped it open. He’d saved the number Rowan had recited, and he intended to call Ghost Rider and tell them he wanted in. Startled when the phone rang in his hand, he fumbled it onto the table and picked it up again, frowning at the screen. Oh hell. He punched talk. “Hey, Bettina,” was all he said.
She replied, voice high pitched and filled with anguish. “Chad, I had to call. Do you know what happened to Rowan? We saw on TV… Is he really gone?”
He slumped back on the sofa, a hand over his face. The thought of deceiving her twisted his gut, but he had no choice
, and she’d never know it was for Rowan’s sake. “The president transferred custody of Rowan to the CIA, and they showed up at nine o’clock last night. We had to release him. This morning, we were surprised to hear that he’d been…taken by someone else.”
Gazing between his fingers, he cringed at her next question. “What does extraordinary rendition mean? CNN said maybe he’d been kidnapped. It doesn’t make any sense. Why would someone want Rowan?”
He closed his eyes, left his hand on his face. “Well sweetheart, extraordinary rendition is when the CIA plucks up a foreign national and takes them someplace secret, out of the country, for interrogation.”
“Oh no, they’ll torture him.” Her words dissolved into ghastly cries. The whole exercise wrung him out, and he knew it had to be a hundred times worse in her shoes.
Lowering his hand, listening as Bettina’s heart wrenching sobs subsided, he glanced at his watch. He needed to meet Ralph. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” Grabbing his keys and wallet, he slipped out the door. “I’ll call you in a couple hours. Can you hang in there?”
Sliding into the Mustang, he started the powerful engine, wondering if she’d hung up. “Sweetheart, are you there?” He pulled out of the driveway and roared onto the street.
Bettina sniffed. “Chad, you be careful with that Mustang. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Her voice wavered, but he was proud of her courage. “Please let me know if you find out anything. I love you.”
* * *
Staring at the TV in his Portland, Oregon hotel room, Muusa Shemal clutched his head in his hands, crying out in guttural, shrieking rage as he listened to CNN’s coverage of the extraordinary rendition of his prisoner by someone else. By all that was holy to Allah, he would murder the ones with the audacity to take what was rightfully his, what he had bought and paid for at an exorbitant price. His hands shook as he watched video of the powerful jet aircraft he had paid to use. It had disappeared, along with the ghost agent, the man who managed to usurp him at every opportunity. He had never dealt with such an opponent. The face of Rowan Milani – his prisoner, his rightful prize – appeared again on the screen, and he pointed an index finger at the picture of the man he so desperately wanted to kill.
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