by Brian Shea
“I ran into Izzy at a training session last month. She’s moonlighting as a negotiator with the Bureau’s SWAT and HRT groups.”
Declan’s unit cross-trained regularly with their Crisis Negotiation Teams (CNT) so that communications and tactics were in sync.
“I asked her if she’d heard anything from Nick. Her face told the story. She seemed sad. Didn’t really say much but hinted that it’s been a while,” Declan added.
“Maybe so, but I’m sure he’d welcome a call from her. Call it a woman’s intuition.” Val loved talking relationships with Declan. She could sense his discomfort with the topic and thus made every effort to torment the man she loved. “I could call her for you if you’d prefer.”
“No. This is something I should do. I want to hear her take on my impression of Nick’s last call. It’ll hopefully put my mind at ease,” Declan said, softly.
Just then, Laney appeared in the kitchen. She stood silently and slowly swiveled her head from Mom and then over to her dad. Her small hand reached cautiously outward and gently intertwined with Declan’s pinky. With the delicate fingers of his four-year-old wrapped around his own finger, Declan automatically began to softly caress the outside of her hand with his thumb. This was a routine connection that his daughter had created a few weeks ago after celebrating her fourth birthday. Declan felt that it was as calming for him as it was for her. Laney still only spoke on the rarest of occasions, but Val and Declan celebrated any form of communication from their daughter. They’d both developed adjusted parenting strategies since she was diagnosed with Autism.
“I’d hate to take off for Texas and leave you all alone with our wrecking crew. Especially if I don’t know what I’m getting myself into,” Declan said.
Val was strong but the demands of their three young daughters were exhausting. It was exacerbated with the constant challenge of Laney’s sudden meltdowns. Those moments were tough even when both parents were present.
Declan was a devoted father and never put work in front of family when possible. They’d adjusted to his sporadic schedule as a member of the FBI’s elite Hostage Rescue Team. His heroics in thwarting a devastating terrorist plot during the previous year had landed him some flexibility that others in his position didn’t have. It also didn’t hurt that he’d been decorated by the President himself.
She answered on the second ring.
“Hey, stranger! And to what do I owe this honor?” Izzy asked. Her voice was a mixture of excitement and guarded inquisitiveness.
“I know. It was good seeing you at training. I wanted to touch base with you on a strange call I received,” Declan said, cutting out the small talk.
“Call?” Izzy asked. “Him?”
“Yup,” Declan answered. She was quick on the uptake.
“Tell me what’s got you worried,” Izzy said.
“That’s the thing. It was what he didn’t say. I called him to give the update about the J’s pizza takedown. He was evasive. Sounded like he wanted to tell me something or ask for my help. But he didn’t.” Declan heard the out-of-character discord. He attempted to clarify and continued, “It was something in his voice.”
“I know you well enough to trust that gut instinct of yours. If you sensed that something was off, then I’m guessing you’re right to be concerned.” Izzy’s voice trailed off.
“Maybe we’d get more if you reached out to him,” Declan said, with some hesitancy.
A sigh and then a long pause before Izzy responded, “Maybe. I’m not sure. But if Nick is in some sort of trouble, then it’s worth a shot.”
“Thanks, Izzy. You’re the best.”
“I wish he felt that way,” Izzy said, softly. Then she hung up.
Izzy stared down at Nick’s number, hovering above the call button. The hesitation frustrated her, but she knew why. It had taken a long time to bury the hope that Nick would call for her. That he would find a way to open himself up to her. And now she would look weak. But Declan’s request trumped her personal misgivings.
19
“This interruption better be worth it,” the man in the expensive suit hissed into the phone.
He was a man of control. A man who was not a slave to the whims of others. The text message was urgent. So, he’d made that call.
“Simon had an early retirement. The delivery was lost,” the man on the other end said.
His voice was clear, and the message was delivered with a simple guise in the event that his boss was in earshot of someone outside of their circle.
“This is unacceptable. Notify Cain. I expect that this situation will be resolved by the end of my luncheon.”
The man in the expensive suit relayed this with an eerie calm. The mention of Cain would express the seriousness of the situation. He hung up without waiting for a response. He returned to the ornate room and to the company seated around the secluded table.
“Senator Murdock, my apologies for the disruption. You know better than most the challenges of running a business.”
“James, no need. Your work and charities are integral to our state. It gave me a chance to pitch your idea to Jerry,” Murdock said. His thick mustache carried a remnant of the cheesecake he’d just forked into his fleshy cheeks.
“Pastor Collins, I think you will be the perfect person to endorse his border reform campaign. Your work with illegal immigrants has been amazing and will help humanize us to those opposing our cause,” Jerry said. “I mean, this is Texas and we’re trying to stop the wall from going up. Nothing like swimming upstream.”
“Please, just call me James. No titles necessary here. Just some friends trying to figure out how to help some people in need,” Collins said, smiling broadly and exposing his perfect teeth.
Collins adjusted the silver cufflinks embossed with the symbol of the Saint Benedict Cross. His open collar gave him a casual air, but there was nothing casual about the man.
“How long has the package been out for delivery?” Cain asked.
He carried no detectable accent. His past had long since been erased. He was known only by the name given to him on the first day he came to work for the Pastor. Collins was the only living person that knew his real name, and it had been so long since he’d heard it uttered that he never reacted to it. His life changed when he met the religious man. His naming carried a reference to his beginnings, like that of his biblical namesake.
“Two hours.” The man on the other end said, knowing why this was asked.
“Intact?” Cain asked.
“Yes. And mobile. Pacing indicates that travel is on foot.” The directness of the man spoke to his awareness of his role. A relay of information. Nothing more.
“Send me the link. Updates to me only until I locate the package,” Cain said.
He stood and drained the last remaining drops from his iced coffee. He left the payment on the table. The cash under his now empty cup flapped in the mid-afternoon breeze as he walked away from the bistro toward his silver Range Rover.
20
The vibration alert in his pocket distracted him from the conversation with Jones. Nick pulled out his cell and stared at the incoming call. Jones was still talking in the background, postulating his theory on where the girl may have gone. Nick stopped listening. Atypical behavior, but the caller had completely derailed his train of thought.
“Are you still here?” Jones chided.
“Yeah. Sorry,” Nick answered, as if coming out of a trance.
“Take it if you need. No hurt feelings here,” Jones said.
“No. I’ll let it go to voicemail.” Nick felt like he needed to add something more in the way of an explanation. “Just a blast from the past.”
“Well, thank God all my exes live in Texas,” Jones said, laughing.
“Not an ex. Well, not really. My former partner,” Nick said.
He stopped himself mid-sentence, realizing that the more he said the crazier he sounded. It didn’t help that his cheeks were starting to flush.
&nb
sp; “Well, don’t get all embarrassed on my account.”
Like blood in the water, the heavyset investigator took this opportunity to rib his colleague.
“You’re really loving this,” Nick said. He smiled, lowered his head and conceded defeat. “Don’t worry. At some point, I will fill you in on all the interesting details of my personal life.”
“I can’t wait.” Jones laughed, giving Nick a playful rap on the back.
“So, back to the girl. Car?” Nick asked.
“That’d be my guess. Maybe she flagged someone down. The bus stop is down the street, but the track didn’t seem to go in that direction,” Jones said.
“Let’s head back to see if we can get some more from Anaya,” Nick said.
“Sounds like a plan. She sent me a text and is back at her office. Also, I checked in with the boss and it doesn’t seem like any of the girls from the motel are ready to talk,” Jones said.
Nick nodded. He noticed that Jones sounded proud to make the claim that Anaya Patel had sent him a text message.
Jones continued waxing poetic. “Anaya’s really good at her job. I’ve worked with her before. I’ve reached out to her for assistance on these types of cases. She’s got a real knack for ‘em.”
“Is there more to this endorsement than job skills?” Nick asked with a hint of playfulness.
This was the second time Jones had acted out of character at the mention of Anaya. Maybe there was something more to the friendship between the detective and the social worker. Nick seized the opportunity to interrogate the other man. It was the least he could do after the innuendoes Jones showered him with after he ignored Izzy’s call.
“Very funny! Don’t be trying to use your legendary powers of observation on me,” Jones said.
Now, with the roles reversed, it was Jones’s cheeks that reddened. Nick smiled at his small victory.
Anaya Patel’s office was cool and smelled of lavender. She had an oil diffuser and the small tea light warmed the white ceramic bowl suspended above, casting the fragrance into the air. It added to the comfort of the room. Nick assumed the victims and families she met here were probably put at ease by the simple ambiance. Nick found it strange that the most recent visitor was so quick to leave.
“No luck?” Anaya said.
She nervously drummed her fingertips on the open file on her desk. Her eyes tightened in hopeful anticipation. There was genuine concern in her voice.
“I wish we had something more. As of right now, she’s in the wind,” Jones said.
“Maybe we’ll locate a surveillance camera in the area that caught her getting into a vehicle. Fingers crossed we might get lucky and be able to grab a make and model of the car. If luck is really on our side, then we’ll get a license plate,” Nick said, trying to reassure that more efforts were going to be made.
“I put a broadcast out to patrol. Units have her physical description. I’ve already sent the still shot of her from the 7-11 to command so officers will have the digital image to assist in identifying her. Public Affairs will create a media broadcast to run on this evening’s news,” Jones injected.
“I wish there was more that I could do,” Anaya said, sitting behind her small, tidy desk as her nervous ritual of tapping her fingers on a notepad in front of her began anew.
“So, no name? No idea where she came from? And no idea where she was going?” Nick asked.
“No. Well, she did tell me her name. Or at least what she goes by,” Anaya said.
She pursed her lips, making a face that was somewhere between a smile and frown.
Anaya then added, “Mouse. She told me to call her Mouse.”
21
The red dot on his screen hadn’t moved in forty minutes. He was still an hour out of the city. He’d left Dallas after receiving the call. The priority of the orders caused him to end his previous task abruptly. The Hand’s work is never done, he’d thought. The Range Rover hummed quietly as he traveled south on the interstate. Cain always kept the speed within plus or minus three miles per hour of the posted limit. No need to draw unwanted attention. Blend and move. A shadow in the darkness.
The infectious words of the Pastor piped through the speakers. It was the only thing Cain listened to when inside the vehicle. He had a voluminous collection of CDs containing the preacher’s sermons. Each word was scripted to him and applied directly to his life, as if God himself had whispered these great things in his ear. It was the Pastor’s voice that had called out to him in that room years ago as a child. That room had been filled with horrors which now seemed more like an old nightmare instead of a memory. The Pastor had been his salvation from the demons. He had brought Cain into the light.
The Heathen was probably eating. Or just hiding. It did not matter. With each passing mile marker, Cain tingled with excitement in anticipation of what was to come. He relished the opportunity to serve. And the Heathen would soon pay for upsetting the Pastor. It didn’t matter the age, gender or race of the Heathen because he’d been taught that the devil can take many forms.
Once Mouse was far enough away from the site of the car crash, she found the shade of a tree and sat. The dump of adrenaline during her escape had subsided and now left her exhausted. The tough Saint Augustine grass poked at her pants as she adjusted to a more comfortable position, ensuring that no fire ant mounds were underneath.
She pulled her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins as if giving herself a hug. Mouse let her forehead rest on her knees and she closed her eyes. Sleep was not the intention, and she knew that would be a long way off. She just needed a minute to reset and clear her mind of recent events.
She had two maps that she’d purchased from the convenience store in her backpack. One was of Austin and the other was of the Continental United States. She pulled the latter one out and spread it across the dry grass.
Slightly refreshed by her respite in the shade, she navigated her fingers around the map’s surface, finding Texas and then isolating Austin. It was an overwhelming network of roads leading in and out of the state’s capital. A bigger city than she’d expected. Easy to get lost in.
She straightened her back and then slowly shifted her head from side to side. The tension of the crash caused her muscles to ache. It would only worsen as time passed. With her neck cocked to one side, something caught her eye in the near distance. She examined the sign and immediately knew her next move.
The emergency vehicles working the crash scene were close enough that the whine of their sirens floated in the heavy mid-morning air. People would be looking for her. Some of those people would want to hurt her. Others would want to send her back. Both options were unacceptable. Forward was the only way. A promise to her mother to keep.
A Greyhound Bus depot was just beyond where she sat. The billboard advertisement rising high above the low trees pitched cheap fares to destinations anywhere across the country. Mouse had a little over four hundred and fifty dollars now. She no longer had the knife. The nice lady with the office bed had taken that from her during her short visit. That knife had served its purpose but also carried with it the terrible memory of the old man’s death. She was glad to be rid of the tainted blade. It didn’t matter anyway, now that she had the driver’s gun tucked at the bottom of her backpack.
A weapon is only as deadly as the person who holds it. Her father’s words, strange but true.
Mouse’s finger slowly drifted up the large unfolded map of the United States. She moved away from Austin and stopped when it hit the blue water of the Michigan lakes. She wanted to start her new life far away from where this journey began. And she liked water.
Some of her only memories of her father that didn’t include his challenging survival training were those of the fishing trips they took together. He was a different man when the two would sit along the bank of the Rio Grande. It was the only time she recalled seeing him smile. Maybe he’s smiling now at seeing the result of all his hard lessons?
She l
ooked around the lake area, scanning the map for the right destination. Her father had taught her how to read a map, using the legend and scale to interpret the details. He explained that the size of the letters on a map indicated the population and size of the city. She wanted to find one that was not too big and not too small. Just like Goldilocks, it had to be just right. Her finger stopped. Pidgeon, Michigan. Funny to name a place after a bird. It sounded like a good enough place for her to begin her new life.
Content with her decision, she reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of water and an apple. The slight bruising on the red fruit’s exterior caused by the turbulent crash did little to slow her consumption. She ravenously devoured it. The fruit’s juice trickled down the little girl’s chin.
To an onlooker, she appeared to be any other kid, but Mouse was anything but ordinary.
22
“I don’t know about this. Don’t seem right,” the grizzled man said, slurring as he spoke.
His breath, a potent combination of cigarettes and booze, filled the air around his face. In the heaviness of the day’s heat, the stench enveloped him like a blanket.
“Please. My grandmother is dying, and I need to get home to see her,” Mouse said.
Her voice sweetened, giving a softness that made her seem younger and more innocent than she was. Her eyes pleaded into the man’s bloodshot stare. The jaundiced coloring of the man’s skin gave him a sickly look. The cruelties of his addiction evident.
“Hmmm. How’m I gonna know you ain’t runnin’ away. Con-terr-abootin’ to a minor’s de-linq-uency is bad.” The man’s limited education was readily apparent to the girl. His intoxication added to his dimwittedness.
“I wrote down on this slip of paper where I need to go. Find out how much and I’ll give you that plus a twenty for your trouble,” Mouse said.