by Roger Hayden
Knight complied. Caldwell shifted the van into Drive and stepped away, closing the door. “You’re all set.” He pointed ahead through the clearing. “Just drive for fifty yards and you’ll come to a dirt road. I’ll guide you from there.” He slapped Knight on the shoulder in a jovial fashion. “Clock is ticking, my friend. Wouldn’t want to stall you any longer. Good luck. Let the game begin.” He stepped away from the van and walked off to the side. Knight watched him through the side mirror as he left the scene. He caught a glimpse of a concealed station wagon. Once Caldwell faded from his view, Knight shouted for Bonnie as loud as he could.
He was met with only the rumbling of the van’s engine. Caldwell stayed silent. Every minute of inaction brought him closer to death. He lowered his head, eyes closed, and sighed deeply. There was only one thing left to do. He looked up, releasing his foot from the brake, and drove straight ahead, branches scraping the roof from above.
* * *
Bonnie was seated in a dimly-lit room with a flickering TV in the corner. She remained in a state of shock, unclear where she was or what her captors wanted. The dusty room was minimally furnished with a bed, dresser, and a single lamp on a nightstand. The windows were blocked off with plywood. She sat on a sofa chair with her hands cuffed at her lap. Every movement from outside the room gave her shivers.
She was too frightened to even scream for help. She’d been in the room for hours on end. A soap opera played over the TV’s fuzzy reception. She feared for her life, but she feared for her husband most of all. The intruder had whacked Charles over the head with a crowbar, instantly knocking him unconscious. Moments following the attack, she was pulled from the bed and forced inside a station wagon that was parked inside her garage.
The man, who wouldn’t tell her his name, had claimed to be the wanted kidnapper her own husband had been searching for before his retirement. But she had heard Charles refer to him as Everett. From there, she had been promptly transported blind-folded to another house. The man had promised not to “knock her out” again if she didn’t resist. Charles lay unconscious next to her during the entire trip. She didn’t know if she was going to make it out alive.
Approaching footsteps sounded from outside the room. Bonnie braced herself for another round of horror. The door soon opened, revealing a frumpy woman in a dress down to her ankles, holding a tray of food. She stood outside the room in silhouette, with the hallway light behind her. Bonnie seized up, surprised to see another woman.
“Hello there,” the woman said. “I thought you might be hungry, so I made you some lunch.”
Bonnie felt relief upon hearing the woman’s friendly tone and tried to confide in her. “I don’t want to be here. Please let me go.”
The woman walked in without answering Bonnie’s plea. Her footsteps creaked along the hardwood floors. “We all find ourselves in situations we’d rather not be a part of. Rest assured, you will be treated as a guest in our home as much as possible. I hope our courtesies remain mutual.” She set the tray onto the bed and stepped in front of Bonnie. “I made you a turkey sandwich. You can’t go wrong there. My husband tells me that you’ve been very cooperative so far.”
Bonnie stared at the woman with pleading eyes. “Please, ma’am. I need to see Charles. He’s seriously injured. I have to know if he’s okay.”
The woman waved her off. “Oh, he’s fine. Just got a little bump on the head. He’s working with my husband right now, and if everything goes as planned, you’ll be released from here in no time.”
“Who are you?”
“Well, Bonnie,” the woman began. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you Bonnie.”
“It’s okay.”
The woman then sat at the edge of the bed as the mattress sank under her weight. She wasn’t a heavy-set woman as much as she was just big and broad-shouldered. Physically, the more petite Bonnie was outmatched. “I’d love to tell you all about myself, but if we’re going to release you when this is all over, it’s best to keep such information undisclosed.” She paused and scratched her chin. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“When will you release me?” Bonnie asked, desperate.
“As soon as my husband returns with the news. Don’t worry, it should only be a short time.” She slapped her knees and stood up, preparing to leave. “I don’t want to keep you from your lunch. I even poured you a nice cool glass of milk to top it off. Enjoy.” She turned to leave the room when Bonnie called out, stopping her.
“W-what do you want with me and Charles?” she asked.
The woman slowly turned back around, facing Bonnie. Her bouffant-styled hair and makeup were elegant, but she looked worn, with circles under her eyes, and a distant gaze indicated that she might not be entirely there. “That’s entirely up to Everett.” Her hand went to her mouth as though she had misspoken. “I’m sorry. I can’t reveal more than what I’ve said. We don’t plan to hurt you. That much is a promise.”
“If you let me go, I won’t say a thing,” Bonnie continued in desperate panic. “I swear it.”
The woman glanced at the floor in thought and then slowly approached Bonnie. After a long pause, she finally responded. “You’re in our son’s room. No one else has been in here. Mrs. Knight, that is where we stand. I will honor my husband’s wishes to the very end, just as you would yours.” Her mood suddenly shifted to a cheerier one as she clasped her hands together. “Now, eat up. We don’t want you to starve.” Her heels clicked over the floorboards upon her exit. Once outside, she shut and locked the door, leaving Bonnie in terrified solitude.
* * *
Detective Harris sat in front of her computer, trying to make sense of the case before her. Knight had inexplicably vanished. With every unanswered call or text message, her worry only increased. Somehow, she believed, Everett Caldwell had gotten to him. She couldn’t prove anything though. The federal task force had utilized her progress for their own benefit.
She felt pushed out, with simple guarantees from the over-confident agents that they would find Everett Caldwell in no time. Yet Caldwell had managed to evade capture for over five years now. She didn’t understand how they could be so sure that the tide would turn in their favor. What she did know was that Caldwell was living somewhere close by, undetected.
Her intensive Internet search brought her to an archived article from a local real estate magazine. Everett Caldwell had been interviewed soon after relocating to Melville, Florida, following on the heels of several successful investments in Florida properties. Harris read the seemingly benign article with hope of discovering a clue that might bring her closer to understanding both his whereabouts and his motivations. And near the end of the piece, she found an interesting quote. To a question about future plans, Caldwell responded:
“I was raised on a farm in rural Ohio, and it’s always been a part of who I am. As much as I strive to surround myself with wealth and prestige, the benefits of my success, a big part of me is that farm boy from Ohio. I’d love to just move away from it all one day and live on a farm. That, to me, would be true happiness.”
Harris zeroed in on the quote and immediately printed the article. She brought up a map of the town, scanning the more rural areas. Her search seemed overwhelming. Where would she even begin? She clicked around an area off a state road, just past the city limits. She came across swamp land and endless pastures, zooming in on properties surrounded by acres of land. She endlessly searched satellite views and street shots of each house as her office phone rang in the background. There could be no interruptions to her work. Harris felt she was close. There was nothing more important.
She soon reached an aerial view of a farmhouse down a long stretch of dirt road. She had barely slept the night before and was nearing a state of delirium, fueled by massive quantities of coffee. She clicked the overhead image and drew in closer. Her heart nearly stopped upon seeing a burgundy Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera parked out in the open near the house.
“Oh my God,” she said in disbelief
.
The discovery felt surreal, too good to be true. She dialed Captain Star on her office phone immediately. He answered after a few rings, testy and impatient.
“Talk to me…”
“Sir, it’s Harris. I-I think we’ve got him.”
“Got who?” he asked, stubbornly resistant.
“You know who. I’m sending you his address now. We’ve got to get moving.”
* * *
Knight was within five minutes of reaching the fairgrounds. It was all blue skies and sunshine above. The time couldn’t be later than noon. He was careful not to speed as Caldwell guided him through every back road along the way. Knight knew that every police car in the county was searching for the van. Once spotted, he didn’t think he’d have a chance. He couldn’t see the timer, though he was repeatedly reminded of it through the headphones. The last update said eight minutes to go. He couldn’t think of what else to do but follow instructions.
His mind raced for the answers and for a way out before the inevitable occurred. It slowly began to dawn on him that he had been forced into a suicide mission. Sweat ran down his face as he clutched the steering wheel, driving steadily down the forested, two-lane road. A few cars passed him, but no one was behind him yet. He believed that Caldwell was close but not following him.
“You’re almost there,” Caldwell said over the headset. “Just remember, the timer doesn’t stop, regardless of your circumstances.”
“You’ve told me that already,” Knight seethed, his head pounding and heart leaping in his chest.
“It’s important to repeat that if you see flashing lights behind you, don’t stop. You will reach the destination by any means necessary.”
Knight wanted to live. He wanted to believe that Caldwell’s scheme was just an elaborate scare, but he couldn’t leave it to chance. He saw no other choice beyond sabotage despite the consequences to himself. His life would be lost and possibly Bonnie’s too, but he wasn’t going to let Caldwell get his way. He had followed directions the entire route, but with each passing minute, the opportunity to prevent the attack was evaporating.
“I know you have your doubts,” Caldwell said, as though he sensed Knight’s apprehension. “If you do this, we’re square. There’s nothing else to it.”
“Sure,” Knight said, slowing at a stop sign. “What’s my time?” He waited for the answer in near panic as a woman and her dog slowly entered the crosswalk and finally made it beyond the van.
Caldwell told him to turn left as emergency sirens blared in the distance. Knight could hear them through his headphones too, indicating that Caldwell was close. Knight turned left with the zip-ties constricting his wrists. He wanted nothing more than to rip them off, but there didn’t seem to be a way. He turned down Brentwood, a residential street, and drove on in desperate search of somewhere to stop. There were too many houses around and people everywhere. Some were bicycling, others were walking about. Knight then remembered: the Fall Harvest Festival was scheduled for Saturday.
“Six minutes,” Caldwell finally responded. “You’re doing great, Charles. Stay the course.”
Knight revved the gas, increasing his speed to get away from the surrounding houses as quickly as he could. “Yeah. I hear you,” he said, attempting to stall. His heart was beating on overdrive with sickness sweeping over him. The houses soon passed into the distance behind him, leaving an open field on one side and an empty lot on the other. I can do this, Knight thought. I must do this.
Suddenly, a police cruiser appeared far down the street ahead. Knight seized the wheel, trying to keep his head together. He instinctively slowed down, going just under thirty-five, sweating from his bandaged head as he watched the cruiser race past the van without a glance. Knight watched in the rear-view mirror as it continued down the road. He couldn’t believe how small the distance between them had been, how vast the opportunity lost.
“You’ll reach Hinton Drive in half a mile. Take a right, and the fairgrounds will be down that road. I think you know your way from here.”
“Yeah,” said Knight as stinging sweat flowed into his eyes. Even with the driver’s side window down, he couldn’t help sweating like a dog.
“You’re almost there. Don’t fuck it up,” Caldwell said.
Knight slowed at the stop sign ahead, prepared to ruin Caldwell’s plans. “I’m on it,” he said, “There are police everywhere. I don’t think I can pull this off.” No one was around, but he thought he’d test how good Caldwell’s tracking system actually was. Did it give him an actual view of the area, or just a GPS position?
“You keep driving until the mission is complete,” Caldwell warned.
Another helicopter flew in the distance, circling the area. Knight squinted into the sky and saw that it was black, with white FBI letters on the side. It soon drew away. Knight neared the fairgrounds. On his left, he saw a grassy parking area filled with vehicles that had been roped off. There was a clear police presence at the entrance and exits. Beyond the lot, he saw the fairgrounds in open view. At least two hundred people populated the area, where booths and stages and even a Ferris wheel had been set up. The event looked to be just kicking off.
He passed under a large Fall Harvest Festival banner that promised: Food, Music, and Fun! He glanced in his mirror and noticed several cars now behind him. Food trucks aligned the shoulder to his right, increasingly boxing him in. There appeared to be few alternatives left. He thought of speeding right past the festival before Caldwell caught on. Whatever the decision, time was running out.
As he neared the parking area, Knight heard live music. There were Missing Posters for Crystal Parker planted along the road, along with others announcing a later vigil ceremony to “bring her home.” Her innocent, youthful face served as a reminder of why he couldn’t follow through with Caldwell’s demands. “You’re almost there,” the odious voice chimed in. “Past the parking lot, there’s a vendor entrance into the fairgrounds. It’s fenced-in, but you’ll see an opening with a small dirt road leading inside. Bypass security and drive right in. Don’t stop for anything.”
Knight clutched the steering wheel and seethed with contempt. “You mean for me to drive directly in the middle of the festival? No. Fuck you. I won’t do it.”
Caldwell laughed in amusement. “There’s no winning this, Charles. If you choose to die beforehand by disobeying me, so be it.” As his words dropped, Knight could hear the same music coming through the headphones. He perked up and looked at the parking area with laser focus. Within a distant row of vehicles, he saw a familiar station wagon. His suspicions were immediately confirmed. Caldwell would want, above all else, to be present to see his grand attack realized. Knight cut the wheel and tore into the parking lot, breezing past two uniformed officers directing traffic. They jumped out of the way, rolling onto the grass, as the van bounced along the bumpy terrain, engine roaring.
“Lost you for a minute there,” Caldwell said. “Where’d you go?”
Knight remained concentrated on the parked wagon toward the end of the lane. By some miracle, he was able to zero in precisely on its location. Nothing was going to stop him.
“Answer me, you prick!” Caldwell shouted.
The van barreled over uneven ground, tearing into the dirt and swerving toward its destination.
“I’m right behind you,” Knight said with confidence. He floored the gas and closed his eyes to brace for the impact. The van pummeled into the back of the station wagon, wheels screeching, metal crunching, twisting, flying into the air with a thunderous crash that shook and reverberated everything in sight. Glass from the windshield exploded onto the dashboard. Knight jerked forward as smoke billowed and swelled and filled the interior of the van, escaping in wide stream through the caved-in windows. The van halted at an angle, dug far into the side of the wagon. After the shock waves settled, Knight opened his eyes, unable to see through the haze of smoke.
His headset had flown off. Caldwell was nowhere to be seen in the wrec
kage. No explosion yet. He waited, expecting the worst, then felt himself double up in relief. Maybe Caldwell was knocked out, unable to get to the detonator. If that was the case, he knew he might have only moments left to save himself and everyone else. Knight’s hand moved to grab a nearby glass shard, and his first finger and thumb just managed to grasp it. He heard sounds of police approaching from all directions.
He slid his bound wrists closer together on the wheel and was able to cut the zip-tie with one hand braced against the other. Blood and sweat ran down his face. He had no idea how badly he was injured, but he was able to run on pure adrenaline. The first zip-tie finally cut loose. With one free hand, he cut against the other as shouts from approaching police grew louder. Nothing had exploded yet, and with the remaining seconds left, he cut his other hand free and jumped outside the van.
Knight rolled onto the grass and crawled toward the station wagon. Both vehicles were melded together, with glass and debris everywhere. Using the rear bumper of the wagon, Knight pulled himself up, wincing in agony. He saw the driver’s side door swing open and Caldwell hobbling out, looking disoriented and battered. Knight moved quickly toward him, using the wagon for balance.
Caldwell turned around in a daze with blood running down the side of his head. Before he could even react, Knight tackled him to the ground with every bit of energy he had left. The two men rolled and grunted. Knight ended up on top of him and gripped Caldwell’s neck with both hands, too enraged to notice the police officers surrounding them with pistols drawn.
“Where’s the detonator?” Knight shouted.
Caldwell looked up at him, gasping as he tried to free himself. His arm reached out toward something. Knight turned and saw a remote control lying on the ground behind them. Instantly, Knight’s brain locked into place again, reality took hold, and he knew exactly where he was, exactly what was happening, and what needed to be done. He looked up and then slowly released his grip on Caldwell’s neck. He leaned back, drawing away from Caldwell, and slowly made it to his feet with his hands up. “I’m with you guys,” he said in an exhausted plea. The police closed in, listening closely as he said the word “explosives” and pointed at the wreckage that was the van.