The Devil's Vial

by Brumbaugh,Byron

  The other man pulled out a photograph and held it up to Richard. “Yep, that’s him,” he said. “You’ve got a good eye.” He grabbed a hold of Richard’s arm and shoved him toward the sedan. One of the men opened the back door of the car and Richard was pushed into the back seat. The man who held him threw a hard, closed-fisted punch into Richard’s right ribs. It made him gasp for air and bent him over. “We’re not going to have any trouble from you, right?”

  “No trouble,” gasped Richard through teeth clenched in pain. He was caught. Whatever might happen now was out of his control. He had no ideas about how to get out of this. The car door closed, the locks chunked home; there was nothing exposed that Richard could use to unlock the doors.

  The guys in dark suits got in the front. The one in the passenger seat put a phone to his ear. “We have Gregg,” he said. A few seconds later, he turned to the driver. “We’re to keep searching the area for now, then go to the house.” He listened to the phone again. “Any of the other teams find anything?” Short silence. The phone went back into his pocket. “Nothing. The others have seen nothing. Maybe they can get something out of the guy at the house.”

  Oh, crap. They have Oscar.

  . . .

  The two men grabbed Richard under the arms and pulled him from the car. It was hard for him to keep his feet and he stumbled as they dragged him up the stairs to the porch in front of the house. At the curb, there were now black-and–whites, policemen doing crowd control and about fifteen or so men in black clothes moving purposefully in and out of the house. There were a couple of ambulances parked nearby as well. Down the street, both ways, small groups of onlookers gathered; no doubt to see what all the commotion was about.

  Could this be the same house? wondered Richard as he stepped through the front door. The porch was littered with glass, wood splinters, and melted bits of metal. The front door was ripped out of place, leaving behind ragged pieces of brick hanging loosely from the front wall. The front window was smashed over the living room floor and the steel grating that had been behind it leaned up against the wall to the side; its edges were melted back and its woof and warp were no longer flat. There were bullet holes in the walls and ceiling of the living room and gaping holes torn loose here and there, leaving bits of plaster and drywall mixed with the glass on the floor. The shiny hardwood floor was littered with small rubber wheels, little electric motors, short pieces of wire, circuit boards, and chunks of plastic that looked like they had once been toys. The air was thick with the odor of spent gun powder, doused fire and chemical fumes. What happened here?

  The two men pushed Richard toward the kitchen. Others moving through the house had on Kevlar. Their eyes avoided Richard, and their faces wore scowls and frowns. They were not happy.

  Reaching the stairwell to the basement, the men shoved Richard through the door and let him go. He would have fallen down the stairs, but the stairs were gone! In their place was a smooth hard ramp and Richard slid down feet first. He hit hard on the wall opposite the ramp at the bottom.

  “Look what we found,” said one of the two men from the floor above.

  Richard looked up and scanned the familiar room he spent so many hours in. It, at least, looked unchanged. Oscar was lying on his side on the floor and standing, leaning over him, wearing a Harley-Davidson doo-rag, was the tall blond cop that was present at the start of all this - Martin. Oscar was conscious, but obviously hurt. His face was bruised and swollen with streaks of blood and spittle running from his nose and mouth. His T-shirt and jeans had spattered splashes of dried blood. There was one other man present, wearing a black suit, white shirt and black tie, who stood looking on with no expression on his face.

  “Ah, Richard Gregg,” said Doo-rag.

  Richard had a hard time thinking of him as “Martin”; it just seemed too human.

  “It’s been a real pain-in-the-ass to find you.” Doo-rag looked intently at Richard. “You’ve caused us one hell of a lot of trouble.” Reaching up, he pulled off the doo-rag, exposing angry red scars under close shaved, blond hair. “And that's not mentioning the headache your friend and his damned dog caused me.” Replacing the doo-rag, he turned his gaze to Oscar, cocked his leg back and kicked Oscar as hard as he could in the stomach. “And this fat fuck has been one clever son of a bitch, haven’t you, Oscar!” he growled.

  Richard looked at Oscar and said, “You alright?”

  “Not exactly,” Oscar answered. Bubbles of blood and saliva formed on his lips as he tried to speak. “These guys seem,” Oscar took a slow breath, “pissed.” He coughed weakly and red spray jetted from his lips.

  Doo-rag turned toward the suit. “Put him in the chair!” He waved sharply in the direction of Oscar.

  Suit bent over, grabbed Oscar under the arms and struggled to slide his bulk into the chair that still sat in front of Oscar’s computer.

  Doo-rag looked at Richard. He moved over to where Richard was lying on the floor, lifted him up by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. “Where’s the pen? Where’s the vial? I know you know what I’m talking about!” He threw Richard roughly into a chair and secured him there with wire ties.

  Richard looked back at the man with a purposely blank expression on his face.

  Doo-rag back slapped Richard. Once, then twice. “I need that vial, NOW!” He let Richard’s head fall onto his chest, then hit him hard in the mouth. He hit him once more in the stomach. Richard slumped over in the chair. His lip hurt and he could feel warm thick liquid running down his chin. He said nothing.

  Keeping his head bent, Richard looked up toward Oscar. No longer the center of attention, Oscar somehow got a hold of one of the small cameras like the ones he placed on Emily and Alex. He surreptitiously reached over and his fingers danced briefly on a computer keyboard on the desk by his chair. His face was drawn into a bloody wince of pain.

  Doo-rag turned back toward Oscar who was once again quite still. He was breathing heavily and clenching his fists in a fit of frustration. “Where are the others?” he shouted at Oscar

  “I don’t know anything,” said Oscar weakly. His breathing was labored and any movement, even breathing, seemed to hurt him. “Really.”

  “Tell us where they are, now!”

  “I don’t know!”

  Doo-rag raised his right arm and gave Oscar a hard blow across the face. “We will resort to other means, if we have to.”

  “Tell us what we want to know now, or you’re going to start losing pieces,” said the suit.

  Doo-rag raised his arm again and struck Oscar. Richard saw Oscar’s arm and the hand holding the camera reflexively thrown forward and the camera flew out and struck the wall. The other two apparently did not notice.

  “It’s awfully public here,” said Suit. “Don’t you think we should get these two somewhere more secure to continue this? There are too damned many eyes around here belonging to outsiders.”

  Doo-rag stood up, took a deep breath and turned toward Suit. “Alright. Get them ready to travel. You know where to take them. And be sure we get all the hard disks out of here too. Strip this place. Collect all the clothing, all the personal effects, everything and take it with you. Leave nothing that’s not nailed down behind. Let’s move it!”

  I gotta hide the vial and pen somewhere else, somehow, and fast!

  Chapter Nineteen

  Alex sat in the back of the van, tapping at computer keys. Across the screen flashed pages of documents they’d lifted from Todd. He wasn’t really paying attention to them; he was sifting through them much like one might shuffle through a deck of cards while thinking about something else. A tight burning grabbed his chest; ice crawled through his veins. Were Richard and Oscar still alive? It seemed too much to hope for.

  After seeing their friends captured, Doug, Emily and he drove to a small nondescript motel near Hanscom Field, outside of Lincoln, Massachusetts. They felt very vulnerable and, under the surface, were waiting for the other shoe to drop – their capture seemed im
minent. Doug and Emily went inside the motel room to discuss their options, but Alex stayed in the van, trying to work on a vague idea he had in the back of his mind for the past few days.

  Damn it! They now have everything! They probably have the vial, or will soon get it. They can tighten the noose at any time. If only we could confront Todd. Make him tell us what the hell is going on. Oh man, I’d love to grab him by the lapels and shake it out of him!

  Document after document flashed across the screen as these thoughts played across Alex’s mind. In the periphery of his attention, he happened to notice a travel schedule for Todd come up on the screen. His love of aviation made him take notice - it hardly seemed important. The schedule indicated Todd was to take a Netjet flight from Hanscom to Dulles Airport in Washington, DC. Alex often wondered what it would be like to pilot a bizjet cross-country. To be able to fly through most weather and to have the capability to get above most of the rest when you had to…

  It began as a tickle in the back of his mind and then slowly blossomed to a vague idea. The idea raised questions that spurred him to bring up other documents and access websites. Soon his heart was pounding and he felt a rush of excitement.

  Alex left the van and ran over to the motel room. In his excitement, he opened the door a little too quickly. Doug and Emily whirled toward him and reached for their guns.

  “Sorry,” said Alex as he raised his hands in submission.

  “Geez, Alex!” Emily said as she took a breath. “Give us some warning!”

  Doug took his hand from his holstered gun. “We’ve been talking about our options, Alex.” He looked over at Emily. “We can try to run, but I’m pretty sure we can’t get very far or stay hidden for very long. We can try to gather more information, but they now know we’re in the vicinity and might even know what we’ve been up to. It’s unlikely we can do much more without being noticed.”

  “But -” began Alex.

  “I suppose it’s unreasonable to think about trying to rescue Oscar and Richard,” said Emily.

  “I’m afraid we have to assume they’re casualties,” said Doug. “Even if they’re alive, which is very unlikely, and we knew where they were, what could we do? Charge the ramparts? We’re outnumbered and outgunned.”

  Emily nodded. “I know.” She took a deep breath. “We could always throw ourselves on their mercy. If they have the vial, they may even have lost interest in us.”

  “Yeah, but -” Alex tried again.

  “To date, they’ve not shown us any reason to believe they’ll grace us with any mercy,” said Doug.

  “Wait! I have an idea!” said Alex. Finally, they took notice of him. “You remember that edge I’ve been working on? Well, I’ve thought of something we can try. It’s desperate, very dangerous, and probably won’t work, but at least it’s something. If we fail, we can always throw ourselves on their mercy anyway. It looks to me like all other paths lead to that end anyway.”

  “What’s your idea?” asked Emily. There was a definite tone of hope to her voice. Doug looked at him with a doubtful expression painted across his face.

  “We kidnap Todd.”

  It hurt to see the hope flow from Emily’s eyes. “So what do we do with him when we’ve got him? What good would it do to capture Todd?”

  Doug seemed to be in thought. “We could pry information and confession from him…”

  “That’s just what I have in mind,” said Alex. His passion was on the rise as ideas raced into his brain. “We record a confession from Todd and then broadcast it on the internet. Even if they have the vial, if we make their scheme public, maybe they can be stopped.”

  “Whoa. Just how are we supposed to kidnap him?” asked Doug.

  “Todd is scheduled to fly in a corporate jet, alone, to Washington, DC. We replace the crew with Emily and me and steal the jet with Todd on board!”

  “Can we realistically do that?” asked Doug. “Can you fly one of those jets? I know that Emily and I can’t.”

  “Uh… I think I can.” Alex stuck his hands in his pockets. “Basically, flying one plane is like flying any other plane. I’ve only flown piston airplanes, but there’s not that much difference between a propeller and a jet. They both just push air. The differences come in the way the plane handles and special techniques required – all of which should be in a manual. There’s some judgment needed to know how far you are above the ground when you land, and a few other things. But if we land at a large airport, there’d enough room for error and I can get by. I don’t have to make it look pretty, just get down in one piece. I’m pretty sure I can do that in a bizjet. A 747 might be a problem, but its smaller brother, I think I can handle. Most of what I need to know, I can get off the web. The rest will be on board the plane – it’s required by law.”

  There was a moment of silence as everyone chewed on the idea. “But how do we broadcast it on the internet?” asked Doug. “It’s not like we could e-mail thousands of people – we need some kind of real time confession that hasn’t obviously been faked.”

  “We don’t have to convince anybody,” said Emily. She lit up with cautious enthusiasm as she carried through the thought. “We just have to be credible enough to make people want to investigate. A lot of people out there love conspiracy theories and would pressure the powers-that-be to press for an investigation.”

  “We need to convince the right people, powerful people,” said Doug. “I don’t think we have the time for social pressures to run their course. I can’t help but feel something drastic is about to happen.”

  “How about we set up a teleconferencing time and invite the right people to listen in while we coerce the truth from Todd?” offered Alex.

  “How would we do that?” asked Emily. “And who would we invite to the teleconference?”

  Alex shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. “I don’t know, The President of The United States, The President of Russia, The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom…”

  Doug began pacing, head bent, right hand scratching his cheek. “That just might work. But remember, we don’t know who’s in on this. We have to involve people at the highest levels of society; include enough so we can be sure somebody listening is not part of the conspiracy.”

  “Okay,” said Alex, “then let’s also invite the press. We include The New York Times, The London Times, Der Speigel, Le Monde, a Russian paper, a Chinese paper – go global. There would be enough eyes so those involved have to hide it from those that aren’t.”

  “And,” offered Emily, “we invite The Director of the FBI, the CIA, NSA, British SAS, MI-6, Russian law enforcement, et cetera. A disparate enough group of people already competing with each other, just waiting for someone to screw up. They can’t all be involved and they’d be happy to police each other. Hell, we could invite the members of the Security Council of the UN!”

  “And…” Alex took a deep breath. “If Oscar and Richard are still alive, we might be able to trade Todd for them.”

  There was a moment of silence as each probed what had just been said. Finally, Doug looked up at Emily and then Alex. “You’re right, Alex. At least it’s something. And it just might work. Alex, you get to work on what you need to know to fly the plane. You’ll also need to come up with a plan as to how we can waylay the crew.”

  “I’ve got some ideas…”

  “Emily, you work on where we can take Todd after we’ve got him. It’s got to be somewhere safe enough where we can play out the plan without being prematurely caught.”

  “I think I know a very good place,” said Emily.

  “I’ll work on coming up with a list of people powerful enough to make a difference and diverse enough to police each other,” said Doug.

  “I’m sure you can come up with an idea about how to coerce information from Todd, too,” said Emily. “You do have experience in that area.”

  “True,” said Doug.

  “Uh, there’s one other thing,” said Alex. “We only have two days. Todd is sche
duled to leave day after tomorrow.”

  Doug looked at Alex. “That might not be such a bad thing. If we do have a window of opportunity here, I’m sure it’s closing fast.” He stood up. “We don’t have much time, let’s get to work!”

  What’s the difference between propellers and jets anyway? thought Alex once again, as he went out to the van to download the flight manuals he’d need. They both just push air.

  . . .

  Alex spent the next twelve hours researching what he needed to know. He hoped it was enough.

  From Todd's schedule and flightaware.com, he found the incoming plane would be a Hawker-Sidley HS-125 Model 700A and got its tail number – N45KG. He also got the schedule for its arrival to Hanscom. Knowing the destination, Dulles Field, he researched the IFR route the pilots would file to get there. He decided on a point where he would call Air Traffic Control to ask for an amended clearance to take them wherever Emily decided to go. From flightsafety.com, he downloaded enough of the Recurrent Training Manual to be able to fly the thing – he hoped. From netjet.com, he got pictures of what the uniforms he and Emily would have to wear looked like. I can do this! he thought as he finished collecting the last of what he needed. If only nothing unanticipated happens.

  Emily had to do some driving around to arrange for the use of the place where they would turn the screws on Todd. So, Alex asked her to stop by a pilot shop in Nashua, New Hampshire to pick up the uniforms and charts they would need. He felt more than a little uncomfortable having Emily out where she could be seen and get caught, but what else could they do? Doug spent some time camouflaging her, but still...

  Alex’s next step was to tackle the Training Manual. He had to appear to know what he was doing, so he studied the preflight checklist and walk-around carefully. These, he would have to do as if he had done them a thousand times - he would be in the public eye.

  Pilots are by nature cautious, otherwise they don’t survive long – the “there are old pilots and bold pilots, but no old bold pilots” thing. So he acquired a nodding acquaintance with the emergency procedures section as well. If something untoward did happen, he would at least know where to look up what to do.