Pushed to the Edge (SEAL Team 14)

by Mathis, Loren

  She glanced up at the wall clock directly in front of her cubicle, which showed that it was just shy of eight o’clock p.m. It was rather unusual for any of the local crime reporters to be in the office so late on a Friday afternoon. Not that there weren’t plenty of crimes to investigate in Dallas. After all, it was a big city that was home to millions of people.

  However, given the conveniences of modern technology, most reporters were able to track stories and upload their weekly columns without having to spend a lot of face time within the building. Victoria, however, was old school. She loved coming into work every day … well almost every day.

  She knew that Edward probably assumed that she was staying late to investigate the “Highland Hills Robber”—at least that’s what the local news media was calling him. In the past few weeks, there had been a string of robberies had shocked the local suburb community of Highland Village.

  Given the fact that her official title at the newspaper was “local crime reporter,” it would make sense that Victoria would be carefully following the investigation. However, Victoria was in fact not investigating the local thefts—well at least not to a rigorous degree.

  She didn’t necessarily enjoy misleading her boss, but for the two new stories that she was working on, she would make an exception. Instead of focusing on the robbery investigation, she was opting to work on the Ortiz murder case and another “case” that hadn’t really be declared a “case” at all. For her second story, she was busy digging into the details behind former Congressman Henning’s overseas abduction.

  During her time at the Dallas Star, Victoria had earned the reputation around the office as being something of a gunner. Her ultimate goal was to land her dream anchor job at CNN.

  It wasn’t just a pipe dream either—she didn’t graduate from Emory University with a degree in journalism just to cover robberies at the local convenience marts. She only needed to find the right story to land her on the national television news circuit. This type of work related focus had helped to put the final nail in the relationship coffin between her and Joshua Laurent.

  Vicki had met Josh when was spending a semester at UC-Berkeley via an exchange program. She had been hanging out at a bar in San Diego with one of her best friends, Olivia, and some of their acquaintances. Unbeknownst to them at the time, the bar was a regular hangout for military personnel. Upon entering the bar, Victoria had seen Joshua standing at the bar with some friends regaling them with a story. Somehow, she’d caught his eye. And the rest was, as they say, history.

  Joshua’s attraction toward her had surprised her to some degree. Victoria had always been a little self-conscious about her weight. She was a Latina woman who had curves. She was a generous size D in bra cup size and she had well-developed posterior that would make even Jennifer Lopez a little bit envious.

  However, she had never been able to obtain the washboard abs that she constantly strived for. She thought that a man like Joshua—who had a perfect physique—would have been more interested in some of her skinnier friends.

  After their first date, they had been attached at the hip until his fourth deployment to Afghanistan. It was the first deployment that he’d had since their relationship began. Victoria’s guts had been twisted inside out during that whole time. She had been sick with worry for twelve agonizing months until he returned home. She made the decision during that time interval that she just could not deal with the stress of being a military girlfriend … or wife … if it ever got to that point.

  Victoria then did what had seemed to her to be the most logical thing to do under the circumstances. She had told Joshua that she couldn’t be in a relationship with him if he didn’t opt out of his dangerous job for a career that was more stable—and less likely to have him coming home from work in a body bag. She still couldn’t believe that he had chosen the teams over her. The sting of his rejection still hurt.

  Dragging herself away from her thoughts, she focused in on the paperwork in front of her on her desk.

  She was convinced that she was chasing the story of her life: former Congressman Henning’s kidnapping. It had all started when the huge news broke out on every news station that Richard Henning had been rescued in a covert military operation after being kidnapped in a border town in Pakistan by an unknown Islamic extremist group.

  Given its history of leaks, it was really quite a remarkable feat that the U.S. government was able to keep the kidnapping of a prominent former U.S. Congressman quiet until days after he had been rescued. Most news stations were operating under the premise that the Congressman had just fallen into some bad luck in being kidnapped. Pakistan was after all a hotbed for insurgents and Taliban-linked terrorist groups.

  A few days after his rescue, Richard Henning appeared on several national TV news outlets such as CNN and FOX. During those interviews he simultaneously thanked his rescuers—anonymous members of a Special Forces unit—and warned that insurgent, anti-American terrorist acts would not be tolerated. It had proved for dramatic television to say the least.

  Victoria, however, hadn’t been fully convinced by Richard Henning’s passionate (even if somewhat keening) public display. Her doubt had been fueled by information she started to uncover about Henning’s shipping company. The Henning Cooper Company owned a fleet of twenty-five tankers, which included a mixture of both mini-bulkers and combined carriers. She had called also found out some interesting information about the recent management changes of Richard Henning’s multimillion-dollar shipping company.

  Against all odds, Victoria had managed to cajole the former Congressman into a meeting with her to discuss his kidnapping. The meeting was scheduled for two days from now. Of course, Henning was under the impression that Victoria only wanted to ask him questions about his recent ordeal and his feelings in the wake of the kidnapping. Victoria had much more difficult questions on her mind.

  In preparation, she had lined up a meeting with Henning’s, ex-partner, Walt Mickelson. Mickelson used to be a named partner listed on the shipping company’s website. Inexplicably, three years ago, Mickelson had exited the multimillion dollar company. His stake in the company had been watered down to such an extent, that his ownership in the business was now only a miniscule percentage. Mickelson hadn’t gone quietly into that dark night, however.

  He had done what most Americans would do if they felt that they were being unfairly shafted—he filed a civil suit. The three parties had later settled the matter out of court for an undisclosed amount. Obviously, there had been a falling out of some sort between the three men, and Victoria was determined to find out what it was.

  Not long after making his exit from the shipping company, Mickelson had formed his own consulting business called Mickelson & Associates, P.C., which was located in Fort Worth, Texas. Per his new company’s website, the business specialized in advising oil, gas, and shipping companies in a wide variety of subject areas.

  Victoria had scheduled an eleven o’clock meeting with Mr. Mickelson in his new offices. She was planning to leave at around ten o’clock tomorrow morning to make the quick forty-minute trip west to Fort Worth. She was anxious to hear what he had to say about his former partnership with Richard Henning.

  Looking up at the clock again, Victoria saw that it was almost nine o’clock p.m. She shut off her desktop computer, locked her desk drawer, packed up her Coach attaché case, and then took the elevator to the downstairs lobby.

  Her stomach started to growl when she got into her car. Or maybe it had been growling for a while, and she had just noticed it. Victoria had the habit of becoming so engrossed in her work that she would forget meals.

  Victoria quickly did a mental list of the contents of the refrigerator in her apartment. She had not been to the grocery store in about two weeks, so she only had a couple of cans of tuna, half a jar of peanut butter, and a half of loaf of bread in her cabinet. Not liking these choices, she decided to stop by the local pizzeria to pick up a bite to eat.

  Lorenzo
’s Pizza Parlor was a staple in her community. Lorenzo’s was a thirty-year old successful, family-run business that had somehow managed to survive the Great Recession. It was located only a few blocks away from her small, one-bedroom apartment.

  The pizzeria was located just off a main street and was situated inside a strip mall. The building that housed the pizza place had been built in the late 1970s. It still maintained a retro-décor that was reminiscent of a 1950s soda shop (complete with a jukebox and all). The restaurant had become known as a popular weekend hangout for the teenage crowd.

  She parked right up to the front of the building hurried inside the eatery. It was particularly busy tonight. She waited patiently in line for ten minutes and then placed her order for a medium cheese pizza. Victoria walked back out to her car with the pie twenty minutes later. She entered her apartment a few minutes later.

  Upon shutting and locking the door, she placed the hot pizza on the kitchen table, and then went to check the messages on her answering machine. The screen on the machine was blinking, indicating that she had had four missed calls and three voicemails while she had been away from home.

  She pressed the play button on the answering machine, which was located on her living room desk, and then walked into the kitchen to grab a plate from the cupboard.

  The first message was from Ms. Ortiz. Ms. Ortiz was inquiring about whether Victoria had made any additional headway in the investigation into her son’s shooting. It had become apparent that the local police department was not taking the murder seriously. At least not as seriously as the Ortiz family had hoped. Because Antonio had been a young, Hispanic male, the Ortiz family feared that the Dallas Police Department was prematurely chalking the death up to gang violence.

  So far, Victoria had not been able to find a shred of evidence indicating that Antonio had been a member of a gang of any kind. Victoria was still trying to run down information on to identify Antonio’s mysterious “employer” at the time of his murder.

  The second message was from her mother, Gloria. Victoria’s mother was a vivacious sixty-year-old schoolteacher who still taught first grade at an elementary school in the Bronx. Victoria’s mother and father, Miguel, had immigrated to the United States from El Salvador before she was born. Her mother was a firm believer, however, that Victoria be aware of her family’s culture and history, and had maintained Spanish conversations in their home.

  Victoria’s father had been a firefighter in Austin for twenty-years before his death. He perished in a car accident five years ago. His sudden death had broken and nearly destroyed her mother. Her parents had had somewhat of a rocky relationship, but even after nearly thirty years together, they still had loved each other. After her husband passed away, Gloria moved from Texas to New York for the stated reason that she wanted to be closer to her sisters. However, Victoria believed that her mother had just needed to get away because it hurt her too much to live in the same house that her husband was never going to come back to.

  Victoria loved her mother, but given their similar strong-willed personalities, they managed to annoy one another quite frequently. Since Victoria had turned thirty, her mother’s favorite topic of conversation was marrying off Victoria and having grandkids.

  It would be fair to say that Gloria hadn’t been very excited about her only daughter’s relationship with Joshua, and she had been more than a little ecstatic when things had ended between the two. Not that Gloria disliked Joshua as a person; she just wanted her daughter to have a husband with a stable 9-5 job.

  So for the past year, Gloria had constantly attempted to set up Victoria on blind dates with single doctors and lawyers whom she had met at while at church functions or PTA gatherings. It didn’t even matter to Gloria that she now lived across the country from her daughter. Whenever Gloria found a man that met her high standards for her Victoria, she was sure to pass the word along.

  The last man that she had agreed to go out on a blind date with—per her mother’s request—was Harold. Harold had moved from New York to Texas to open up his own dental practice about eight months ago. Her mother had given him Victoria’s phone number and suggested to him that Victoria would be the perfect person to show him around the city.

  Harold was a thirty-three-year-old dentist with a head full of black hair, which was sadly starting to gray around the edges. He had a young daughter from a previous marriage who lived with him on a part-time basis. She had even been to his townhome in Highland Village on one occasion for a wine tasting event that he had thrown for friends.

  Victoria’s first impression of Harold was that he was a genuinely nice guy. Unfortunately, it didn’t take her long to discover that he had a personality about as exciting as drying paste. She had gone out with him for a few times before she called it quits. Even though they had only dated for a short timeframe, those few dates had put her mother under the misguided impression that she would soon have the pleasure of planning a Spring wedding for her only child.

  Not wanting to hear Gloria’s new idea of whom she should be dating or marry, she skipped past her mother’s message and moved onto the last one in the queue. It was from Richard Henning’s key aide, Jonathan Baker, who was calling to confirm her upcoming interview with Richard Henning at a local Dallas hotel.

  Walking back to the kitchen, Victoria turned on the television before grabbing a slice of pizza. Sitting down on her sofa, she watched the late night news anchor drone on about the local police investigation into the local convenience store thefts. The police still had very few leads about the two masked individuals who had so far managed to rob three convenience stores.

  The robbers’ haul hadn’t been significant, but they were becoming more and more aggressive with each new robbery. In the last robbery, they had beaten an elderly male cashier who apparently hadn’t opened the cash register quickly enough for them.

  She mentally reminded herself that she needed to send in a few emails tomorrow, to follow up on the robbery case. She also needed to touch base with Ms. Ortiz. The main thing on her mind, however, was her interview with Walt Mickelson tomorrow. She was looking forward to what Henning had to say about his business relationship with Henning and his role in the Henning Cooper Company.

  ****

  Richard Henning was being watched. And not just by the errant paparazzi who had become a permanent fixture outside of the former Congressman’s mansion. He probably hadn’t helped matters after deciding to go on the national TV gauntlet to discuss the harrowing details of his kidnapping and his later dramatic rescue. Of course, he’d taken a few liberties in his descriptions of the events.

  No one needed to know that by the time the SEAL team had arrived, he’d been unconscious. It would indubitably undermine his reputation as the “toughest” U.S. Congressman if reporters ever got wind of the fact that within thirty minutes of his kidnappers’ “interrogation,” he had promptly wet his pants.

  Another pair of eyes that Richard was aware of was the extra security detail that his key aide had added upon his return home. These days he traveled with at least three bodyguards. Both his wife and daughter had received extra security as well.

  But the extra security did not stop Richard Henning from worrying. Now, wherever he went, even with his additional security guards as an added measure of protection, he kept an eye out for any suspicious vehicles or individuals who might be tailing him. Even though he hadn’t been able to discern any suspicious persons, or a specific threat, he was still very concerned.

  Richard had every reason to be concerned. He was no longer under the misguided impression that his kidnapping had just been some random act by an unhinged extremist group. He was positive that it was directly due to the information that he had discovered a few months earlier. Of course, he didn’t have proof of this. But he knew that he was without a doubt, officially up shit creek and without a paddle.

  Ever since he was a small child, he had had impressive ambition accompanied by a solid work ethic. Striving for success
was a compulsion for him. He had been determined that he and his future family would have a better life than he had had as a child. He had clawed his way out of the pit of a life that he had back in Abilene, and made it all the way to one of the highest public offices in the land. Not to mention, he had amassed a fortune along the way through his shipping empire. It was, however, through this very same shipping empire that his life and his family lives were now in great jeopardy.

  Because of his success, his family had opportunities that he could have only dreamed about as a child. His daughter, Isabelle, had gone to an elite boarding school in Switzerland for high school, and now she was attending the prestigious Brevard College in New York.

  She was majoring in “Basket-weaving” or “Life Studies” or whatever it was that the dilettante offspring of the extremely wealthy majored in. He had spent countless dollars for her annual backpacking trips across Europe. His wife, Clarise, had insisted that these yearly sojourns were a necessity for Isabelle because as a young woman she needed to “find herself.”

  Richard found it quite amusing—and ironic—that his daughter did not so much as don a backpack during her escapades. Unlike other youth who stayed in cost effective hostels, in order to realize their dream of self-realization via travel experiences, he was bankrolling his daughter’s lodging. Therefore, Isabelle had the good fortune to room in five-star hotels during her each of her “soul searching” trips.

  In addition, his wife was the prototype trophy housewife of the American privileged. She had long, auburn hair, a lithe body, and a still youthful face thanks to the thousands of dollars that she spent on plastic surgery. Her days were typically filled with charity work and shopping, and she spent her evenings attending fundraising galas with other members of the Dallas elite.

  Clarise didn’t ask questions about where her husband’s money came from. She probably did not even care where his money was coming from. Clarise just did her best to spend the money as quickly as he could bring it in.