Shockwave

by Norm Applegate

  Chapter 15

  Federal Agents, Miller and Hammons were riding the elevator in Tampa's Hyatt hotel when it stopped on the fourteenth floor. The restaurant was one floor above. They got off and turned right and walking down the hallway; they didn't speak. They were looking at the room numbers, paying attention to sounds in the hall. They were cautious. They had worked with high profile victims before. It was never easy. At the end of the corridor was a single door on their left leading into a large meeting room. Miller knocked, two hard quick triplets. They heard movement, someone walking toward them. The door opened after a moment, Miller was the first to enter, Hammons behind him.

  It was ten o'clock in the evening, the night was beginning to cool down outside. Inside Agent Miller felt warm. He knew what he was walking into. Benjamin Paul, the minister had arrived in Tampa less than an hour ago and requested a meeting with both agents. They were told by Washington to give this guy whatever he wants. Miller hated when someone had pull. It always meant trouble for him. Answering to civilians he didn't like. They didn't understand how the game is played. He knew he'd be up late working reports, summaries and doing too much talking.

  There were two rooms. The larger one was about twenty-five by thirty, a conference room. Leather couches, chairs to match and a few small oval coffee tables, very conservative. The other room was smaller, a sitting room with a bar.

  First to greet them was Minister Benjamin Paul's lawyer. He shook hands with both of the agents and nodded toward two chairs across from the leather couch. His palms were sweaty. He was dressed expensive. Fitted grey suit, cufflinks, kind of a flashy tie. Miller could see he was an arrogant guy by the look on his face. Didn't make eye contact, didn't smile.

  The agents sat down facing the couch. The chairs had straight wooden backs.

  Also in the room were two aides. One, a personal secretary; male young, very nervous. The other never introduced himself. Stayed in the background and kept quiet. But Miller and Hammons noticed him.

  "Has the family heard anything?" Agent Miller asked the lawyer.

  "Let's wait until the minister is ready," he said.

  The lawyer looked toward the double doors leading into the smaller room. They were partially open. Miller could see someone moving, shadows, a big man. Walking back and forth, talking on the phone. They could hear his tone, angry.

  Kelly Paul was the only daughter of Benjamin Paul, an influential TV minister. In her travels there had never been a reason to take precautions. She was low key, transparent. Stayed out of sight. Financial investments, oversaw the accounting operation, not a public figure. She would be thinking about return on investments and land purchases and the cash flow expectations versus the equity increase.

  It was hard work. Long hours, numbers work, lonely work. She could spot trends on a balance sheet. Her father, as smart as he was, could never do that. He needed the graphical representation of data and someone to explain it to him. She was good at it. She made her father a lot of money. She was forty-five and had a son, Jimmy who lived in Tampa, and he was missing.

  He walked into the room. Benjamin Paul. Texas, born and raised. Approaching seventy, silver hair, thinned out, receding in the front, bald on top. Red face, flushed. Charismatic smile, cunning eyes, well dressed in an expensive dark suit. He'd come from a religious family; his father was a minister with a small following outside San Antonio, in the hill country, Kerrville. Taking over the family business, he'd risen like a rocket with a bible thumping TV show airing every Sunday. His wealth exploded with syndication. But it was his daughter who knew how to invest. She put them into the tens of millions per year. She made them one of the wealthiest families in the country. He'd been called when his daughter was injured. But mobilized his team when she went missing.

  "Tell me something, gentlemen," Minister Paul said.

  Everyone looked at Agent Miller.

  "We have some leads," Miller said. "We’re watching someone."

  "Watching!"

  "I expect more from you boys," the Minister said.

  The Minister nodded to the man in the back of the room. He walked to the hotel room door. Opened it and peered up and down the hall. Then closed it, locked it and stood facing the agents, his back to the door.

  "That's not good enough," the Minister said. "I called Washington, yea, hear me. I'll have your God damn jobs you dare treat me like that. When I ask a damn question I want answers. Yea hear me?"

  Miller and Hammons were silent. Their faces flushed. They didn't like the treatment. It caught them off guard. They didn't expect the Minister to be talking like that.

  "I called the Governor. I called Senator Dale Oakley. I'll take this right up the chain. That's right, the President. I want ever last damn one of you on this or I'll go public, God damn it. You hear me?" The Minister's neck was swollen, kind of red. His tone violent.

  Agent Miller glared at him. He knew the Minister had that power. The Minister glared back. The room was silent.

  "Ok," the Minister said. "I want one of my men on the inside in this. Behind you is retired Army Major Kenneth Ore. I want him on this case, in the case, all over it. Nothing happens without you talking to my man, you got it?"

  He stared at the two agents, eyeing them up. He'd heard good things about Miller, smart experienced. Played it by the book and organized. Still married to his first wife, and no girlfriend on the side. Attends church and grew up in the south, Atlanta. Hammons was a tough guy. College sports, wrestling, the Minister thought. He was bigger than Miller more muscular. Had a reputation in his earlier days of drinking and womanizing. Almost cost him his career at a strip club one night, getting a lap dance and the broad cleaned his pockets. Identification, badge, money, the whole thing. He had to go to Tampa police and play humble. They got it back later that night but made him sweat it out for three days. Gave it to him after he reported it missing.

  Miller and Hammons turned around and looked at Major Ore. He had the poker face on, wasn't smiling.

  "Miller I want to know her moves, everything she did from the moment she arrived here. Everyone she talked to, everyone she saw. And where the hell is her son?"

  Miller and Hammons twisted around in their seats to face the Minister.

  The Minister turned to the lawyer. "You got him on the phone yet?"

  The lawyer shrugged. "Not even voice mail."

  "He's been missing for two maybe three days," the Minister yelled. He banged the wall with his right hand. "I want answers."

  Major Ore moved behind the two agents. They both turned to look at him.

  "Give us the details on who you're watching. Is it the guy that was with her at the hospital?" the Major asked.

  Agent Miller nodded.

  "Is this the one you had in your custody and let him go?" the Minister said.

  Agent Miller nodded.

  "Ok, let’s start with this guy, where is he?" the Minister asked.

  Miller shot Hammons a quick glance.

  "After we released him he went back to the Starbucks. He was spotted there. He ducked out."

  "Went back to the scene of the crime. To get his jollies off again," the Minister, said. "Is that what you're telling me?"

  "Well not exactly," Miller said.

  The Major moved beside Benjamin Paul. He was equally his size. Both men were towering figures. Both men had serious looks on their faces.

  "Bait," the Major said. "You're using him as bait."

  Agent Miller smiled. He won points with the Minister. He could see his expression, surprise. His eyebrows were raised. He was nodding; he liked the idea.

  The major stared at Miller. Had a grin on his face.

  "I like that," he said. "That's what I would have done. Set him up, follow him, swoop down on him like an eagle. Nail his ass right in the act."

  "He headed north on I-75. We're looking for his vehicle. We'll find it," Miller said. "He was spotted earlier this evening."

  Chapter 16

  A couple of miles
away another set of introductions had taken place. An introduction with a female. Big Red and Tim Harding had driven into the farm with Kelly Paul. She was tied up in the van. She was quiet. They drove past the farmhouse, past the barn and rolled to a stop as they backed up to the barn. Big Red saw the guys moving toward the van. Beau Redell and his team had finished carrying the wood beams into the barn. They had finished building the cross.

  Kelly Paul sat upright with fear when the van stopped and she realized this was where they were taking her. Both men turned around and stared at her. Behind them the barn door opened. Kelly moved from side to side trying to see, but there was nothing, just blackness inside. She knew this was for her. She'd been in town two days and what a mess it had turned into. Big Red turned back and nodded to someone. Harding kept staring. She heard footsteps, voices. More than one person was coming toward the van. Big Red shut the engine off, got out and closed the car door behind him. He disappeared; she heard more footsteps. Right behind the van. People were talking. Male voices. She heard Big Red say something. Then there was laughter. Something or someone hit the side of the van. It was loud, kind of echoed inside. Made a noise like a fist or palm slapping the metal.

  Kelly Paul jumped.

  "Well bitch. You're quiet now."

  It was Big Red. Kelly recognized his voice.

  Harding grinned, ran his tongue over his lips, adjusted himself in the passenger seat and moved closer. They were about five feet apart.

  "Pretty women don't give me much time," he said. "They stay away. Just like you. You don't like me do you?"

  He understood his place with women. No woman with half her faculties would pay him much attention let alone talk to him. He was a creep. Kelly was sure of that. He gave off a vibe. Country hick, reckless, out to prove something. Kelly didn't respond.

  "Don't ignore me bitch. I asked you a question," he said.

  Again Kelly sat there silent. She'd learned long ago to ignore the obnoxious and they usually go away. It brings their ego down. They get pissed off; don't have the skills to deal with a smart woman. They give up. Find someone their own intellect.

  "Do you understand what's happening?" Harding yelled. "You're ours."

  He was angry. Kelly just stared at him. His face was flushed. His eyes were bulging. He was agitated because he didn't know what to do. He wasn't in charge. He was low in the pecking order and he knew it.

  He turned around and slid out of the vehicle. The door slammed.

  "She's gonna get hers," he said to the men standing alongside the van.

  The side door flew open. The first face Kelly saw she didn't recognize. He was grinning. Staring at her. Staring at her thighs. He bent down and got into the van. Moved her onto her side. Her black dress was crumpled. She felt exposed. She could hear the jangling of keys. Then the cuffs were removed. The pressure around her wrists was gone. She relaxed her arms forcing some circulation back into her hands. Pulled her dress down. Tried to cover herself. At the door were other faces, ones she'd never seen before. They were looking at her legs. Behind them was Harding. He was nervous, biting the skin on his thumb. Spitting bits of flesh out of his mouth.

  She thought about resisting, maybe putting up a fight. Her father had taught her to be a fighter. But after seeing what they did to the orderly at the hospital, Kelly didn't know what to do. A part of her said stand your ground. But she knew better, she was smart. Fighting would only get her beat up. She had to play it cool, maybe go with what they wanted. They might be gentle.

  Kelly Paul was pulled through the door by her elbows. There were five maybe six men staring at her. White men, in their thirties or forties. One guy had a shotgun. It was pointed toward the ground. But he looked mean, small dark eyes. Wasn't smiling like the rest. He was having different thoughts, ugly thoughts. He was comfortable holding a gun. Like he knew what his job was.

  Outside of the van it was dark. The sun had gone down. The ground felt uneven as Kelly started walking. Someone from behind had her by the elbow. Two guys walking in front led the way. One of them was Big Red. Off to the right side was the guy with the shotgun. Kelly could feel him watching her. Just ahead, the door to the barn was open. Kelly Paul felt a hand on her back pushing her forward into the darkness. The hand slid down her back resting on her ass. She tensed up. The hand stayed there. She started thinking about what was happening. Started imagining them raping her. She was in the middle of nowhere. Nothing she could do. The rest of the men followed.

  Kelly looked to her left. Blackness. She saw shadows, people moving. It was quiet inside, nobody talking, eerie. She felt material, like a curtain, brush her face. She shook it off. Then they entered a large open room.

  The walk was short. She felt herself being nudged toward the center of the room. She thought this was it. She was thinking about her son. After a few seconds her eyes adjusted to the dark. She saw ten, fifteen men around her, young, old, all with short hair. Military look. There were benches lined up in rows. Something stood in the center of the room. Kind of large, seemed out of place. Along the edge of the room she could see heavy drapes were hung from the ceiling to the floor. The room was warmer than outside. It smelled different, like drying paint.

  Big Red was talking to someone. Another big man with a round face. They were staring at Kelly as she approached the middle of the room. The men formed a circle around her. She stood there, everyone looking at her. She looked down, didn't want to make eye contact. She was shaking.

  Big Red nodded to one of the men. He approached Kelly. Cocky, proud, tough guy. He reached toward her. She pulled away. He grabbed her, took the ring from her finger. Twisting, forcing it off. A solitaire from her husband. It was either him or her father and the ministry. Kelly chose her father. He husband left her with one son, Jimmy Paul. The guy went through her purse. She had nothing; everything was at the hospital. He fell back into the group. Tossed the purse on the floor.

  Their eyes went to the guy talking to Big Red. Kelly glanced around the room. Then saw him moving toward her. Older, large man, overweight, short hair, kind of reddish complexion. Dressed in dark pants and a shirt that matched, military look.

  He stood in front of Kelly Paul. His big hands the size of baseball gloves, on his hips.

  "I'm Beau Redell," the guy said. "I'm in charge here."

  A booming voice. Southern accent. Kelly Paul stared at him afraid to say anything.

  "We missed you first time around," he said. "But the boys got you at the hospital. Welcome, we're going to enjoy dealing with you."

  Kelly Paul was smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

  The leader, Beau Redell looked at one of his men and nodded. Harding stepped forward and shoved Kelly Paul toward the wood beam sticking straight up out of the concrete block. Another guy grabbed her left arm and stretched it one way. Harding grabbed her right arm and stretched it the other direction. The wood was sticky. From behind, someone slipped a nylon strap around her wrist. They pulled it tight. Secured it to the beam. Then the other wrist was bound the same way. Kelly looked left then right. She was tied to a cross. Medieval, primitive, religious.

  Kelly closed her eyes and looked up to God. She was asking for help. Searching for answers, why her?

  Big Beau Redell walked around the cross. Tapping his hands on his thighs to a marching beat. She heard him and opened her eyes. He appeared happy to Kelly Paul. Redell sat down, folded his arms across his barrel chest. He was in front of Kelly Paul maybe fifteen feet away. Stretched his legs out. He winked at her. Twelve men sat down on the benches surrounding Kelly Paul. They stared at her.

  "Told you she was a pretty one," Redell said.

  Chapter 17

  Dwyer walked into nowhere. It was night, dark, quiet. Stars were out. He crunched across the grassy field. The only sounds he heard were his footsteps and the distant squeal of truck brakes behind him. The big rigs make a distinct sound as they braked and pulled into the gas pumps. He was moving at a quick pace. Dwyer was a runner. Three, four
times a week he would do a couple of miles. Not that gym stuff on treadmills. The real stuff on a real surface. Prepares the legs muscle better than a gym. Trains the mind and body for balancing. Don't get that in the gym. He thought if he made it to the beach he'd get a good workout. Watch some women, relax a bit.

  He was moving further away from the truck stop. Eyes focused on the forest in front. Ears trained on the sounds behind him. He was listening; it's work. You have to train yourself to the sounds around you. Accept them, know them and then filter them out so you can pick up on the aberrations. Dwyer was doing that. He forced the sounds of his footsteps and background noise into a small compartment in his mind. Then let his ears roam the sounds that were in the distance. Judging if they were dangerous.

  A few hundred feet into the field he stopped. Didn't move, slowed his breathing. Concentrated hard on his listening. It was something he learned from his uncle, reinforced every time he went hunting with him. Every time they went after bail jumpers. When stalking prey, reverse the situation; pretend you're the hunted. Just stop and listen.

  Dwyer had no reason to believe someone would be following him, but he wasn't taking chances. Taking chances was when you had nothing to lose. Taking chances is laying a bet down on a Vegas crap table after someone rolls snake eyes twice, and you put money on them doing it again. Small chance they'll hit it three times in a row. Snake eyes has a one in thirty-six chance of it happening once. Three times, one in forty-six thousand, not a chance it's going to happen.

  Dwyer didn't like taking chances. So he stopped and listened. Quiet, safe.

  There was no trail. No path to follow. Behind was the highway. Ahead the forest, left and right, rolling fields and more forest. He moved forward. Decided to walk, the sounds were different. He entered the first line of trees. Tall, bushy mostly live oaks. One hundred and fifty feet in, it opened up. A grassy area with a ravine running through it. He heard the water. It was bubbling over the rocks, shallow. It was three feet wide, not deep. Dwyer splashed through it.