The Warning

by Saul, Jonas

  “Call it a two for one deal. I will give you two people in exchange for one.”

  “I’m going to need a little more than that.”

  “All you need to know for now are the names of the people involved in the trade.”

  “I’m listening,” Sam said as he reached in his jacket to pull out a pad and pen.

  “I will give you both of Sarah Roberts’ parents, Amelia Roberts and her husband Caleb Roberts. I’d actually be happy to get rid of Caleb. He has proven to be quite a problem.”

  Sam felt the color leave his face. This was the closest anyone had gotten to this group in days. He had to go along. But who could they want in exchange? This was over his head. Yet the last thing he would want to do was give this to the assholes at the FBI.

  “In exchange, I want you.”

  He heard it said so quickly that he wasn’t sure he heard it right.

  “Excuse me? Who do you want?”

  “I want you in exchange for the parents. Tell me, does this work for you? I will give you only seconds to give me a yes or a no.”

  It was funny, Sam thought, he could actually hear a clock in his head ticking away the seconds, even though his answer was almost spontaneous. He spoke before he could do a gut check.

  “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Good. I will call you back within the hour. Talk to no one about this. You’re not stupid, you know how this works. We see any problem, the parents die. And get rid of Parkman.”

  Chapter 24

  With his coffee finished and an excuse to leave, Sam jumped in his car and started driving back into to town.

  Questions assailed him. How did they know he was talking to Parkman? Had they tapped his phone? Were they watching him or both of them? But the biggest question of all, why him? What would they do to him? He had fought in the line of duty before, been shot and almost killed, but he never willingly walked into the bear’s cave knowing full well that he probably wouldn’t walk out.

  Could he even go through with it?

  His hands were shaking on the wheel. What would happen if he didn’t? Could he live with it if Amelia and Caleb were found dead in a ditch next week?

  These guys weren’t playing around. Sarah’s parents would die and it would be on his head. The reason he said yes on the phone at the truck stop so readily was because he knew he had to do this. The police always get there too late.

  He was duty bound. To protect and serve. A nervous laugh escaped his lips.

  “To protect and serve,” he said out loud. “That’s funny.”

  He’d done that his whole adult life. His reward: the evidence room. He admitted part of that decision was his, but if he hadn’t agreed they would’ve put him there anyway, or worse.

  Even though he was shot and almost died four years ago trying to save Sarah, he had disobeyed direct orders to stay out of it. He’d been warned, by no other than Special Agent Jill Hanover, that he’d be charged with obstruction of justice if he got involved.

  Instead of being arrested in his hospital room, they offered him a job where he wouldn’t get in anyone else’s way.

  Two days ago he wouldn’t even have contemplated this. Two days ago he was considering what movies to rent for the weekend.

  As much as life had become quiet for him, he was getting itchy to do something more important.

  When Dolan called, he wanted no part of it. A natural resistance allowed a weak wall of balsa wood to be erected. It crumbled at the first push and Sam was thrust onto this case.

  Not only did he risk further trouble by showing up at the scene where two fellow officers were killed, but he might have risked his job with Jill seeing him there asking questions of Parkman. She had been suspiciously quiet.

  Was there a connection with the FBI? Unless the FBI had undercover operatives working inside the criminal network?

  He could only hope. By agreeing to do this, and he hoped he had it in him to go through with it, his only prayer was that the FBI had infiltrated this group and were right now looking to bring them down.

  He drove, fast and erratic, and made it home forty-five minutes after he received the call. He rushed in and opened his gun cabinet. The Drop Point Knife sat right where it was supposed to be.

  Sam lifted it out and unsheathed the blade. It was designed for big game hunting with a robust, curved blade of thick steel, which allowed the user to remove the skin off an animal with ease. The reason he liked it so much was how the steel blade protruded to allow for easy slicing of a combatant if it ever came to that.

  He strapped the knife to his inner thigh.

  This was indeed a suicide mission.

  Once the parents were safe and out of the perp’s control, Sam meant to do as much damage as he could.

  There was no way they’d let him have a gun. Someone would do a cursory frisk.

  But a knife might pass a lazy inspection if it was on the upper inside of his thigh.

  At least he hoped he was right.

  His life depended on it.

  The cell phone in his jacket began ringing. At the sound his heart and stomach dropped.

  “This is it,” he said aloud and answered the phone.

  “Are you ready?”

  Chapter 25

  Sarah fluttered to consciousness. Something stank. She forced air out of her nostrils and shook her head to clear it. Pain seemed to be everywhere, but when she shook her head it flared in her cheek and arm.

  “Ooohhh,” she moaned.

  Be quiet.

  Too late. It was out. She could only hope no one was close enough to hear. She waited and listened, breathing in and out slowly, remaining quiet.

  After what felt like a full minute, she attempted to move. Everything responded with protest. Parts of her were either stiff or injured.

  It was pitch black. She couldn’t even see a glimmer of light anywhere. She tried to spin her body around while remembering what had happened.

  She had almost escaped and then thought better of making a run for it. She’d hide under the floor. They’d already checked there. The last place they’d think she could be was back in her own prison portable.

  But someone had followed her back in. She was sure no one had seen her, only suspected she was there. They had shot the floor up. Bullets hit her.

  Or was she hit? Was she bleeding?

  Both hands scoured her body for new injuries. Her left arm ached as she did this and a new wetness had formed on her leg. She used her right hand to inspect the leg and felt a small scab encrusted over the area where it looked like a bullet might’ve just nicked her.

  The ache in her left arm was the same thing, but deeper. She could actually feel a gouge near the top of her triceps. She got hit with two bullets, but both of them only grazed her enough that they could clot on their own. Otherwise she would have lain in this shit hole and died.

  She couldn’t roll like before because of her left arm and leg wound. The last thing she wanted was to get any of this filthy dirt into the openings.

  As gently as she could Sarah turned, using all of her right arm and some of her uninjured leg, she pushed toward where she thought the hole in the portable would be. In the absolute darkness she misjudged by a couple feet. The wood above her was littered with little holes where bullets had tried to locate her.

  A burning desire to get out from under the portable and into fresh air drove her to struggle against the pain and the smell. She could feel the dirt still encrusted in her hair and on her neck when she had tried to cover herself with it in an attempt to hide.

  It was a give up and die or struggle and fight life for Sarah. There seemed to be no in-between. Maybe this was her purpose? Struggle and fight her whole life? Or maybe she would give up on this automatic writing thing when she got out of here?

  Nowhere in the travel guide did it say I’d get shot and have some fun crawling around in a shit hole that was literally filled with shit.

  Her fingers caressed the edge of the broken hole
. With careful and quiet motions, she got herself up and sitting on the edge where she hesitated to catch her breath.

  When was the last time she’d eaten? Breakfast with Jack at least twenty-four hours ago?

  The loudest noise in this tiny jail was her stomach. Wouldn’t that be the shit? she thought, to get caught because she was hungry.

  Sarah stood up and walked to the edge of the door. The darkness was broken by the lights that were scattered around behind some of the portables. She couldn’t see a single person anywhere.

  With her good shoulder leaning on the door frame, she ever-so-slowly peeked around the door and scanned the entire area in front of the portable.

  Earlier, when she had almost walked out of here, the sun was just rising. Now, it felt like it was very early in the morning. That meant she had been under the floor for almost twenty-four hours. Did she have a head injury? A concussion?

  A quick feel of her head determined there were no injuries. Well then, how did I lose a day?

  She had two choices now. Leave the portable and try to get as far from here as possible or wait under the floor for however long until a rescue came. That’s crazy: what rescue?

  Her experience with police procedures told her that was there would be no rescue. She had to get out on her own. She always had to take care of herself.

  With a careful step, Sarah walked out into the open.

  She waited for a bullet to hit her or an alarm to sound, but nothing came as she retreated into the trees behind the line of portables.

  A sense of freedom moved through her, but also a sense of sadness because - though she might be escaping - people close to her would still be held captive.

  She rushed headlong into the foliage trying to navigate with what little light the moon offered. Her eyes had adjusted enough now that she wouldn’t walk into a tree at least. Her leg wound began throbbing noticeably, but it didn’t stop her. She took deep breaths to rid her nostrils of the horrid smell of the shit hole. It didn’t work though because she was covered in shit dirt. She wondered if, even when she showered and changed, she would ever get rid of that disgusting smell.

  In minutes she had left the lights of the compound behind. The trees opened up a little, becoming sparser as she walked into an open field. She couldn’t see to the other side of the field in the dark but could tell that another line of trees were there.

  To catch her breath, Sarah slowed and scanned the area. The only light that was in evidence was a minute ray filtering through the trees from the way she had come.

  For concealment, the group who had kidnapped them must have built the portables hidden among the copse of trees near that main farm building they had taken her to for the interrogation. No one would see a thing unless they were looking from above.

  With no plan but to get as far away from the portables as possible, Sarah began walking through the open field.

  The night air was cool and refreshing. She walked on, knowing that the thugs could or would hurt the people close to her as revenge for her escape.

  It seemed like she’d been walking for at least half an hour when the sky started to brighten in the east.

  Sarah had traversed hills and small thickets of brush but hadn’t crossed a road yet.

  Maybe she was walking parallel to a road. She turned to the right, which was still heading away from the compound and continued on.

  A half an hour later, as the edges of the sun crested the hillside she was on, Sarah saw her first glimpse of civilization. A dirt road was about five hundred yards ahead. It led to a small white farmhouse. She could see there weren’t any lights on, nor were there any cars in the driveway.

  With her senses on full alert, watching her back and keeping an eye on the road, Sarah headed for the farmhouse.

  It didn’t look abandoned. There was a large aboveground pool in the backyard right beside the porch, but the water looked an odd color. As she got closer she discovered it wasn’t the water but a green pool cover lying across the top.

  Newer curtains hung in the windows, the lawn looked freshly mown. She walked right up to the siding near the back corner without interruption.

  When she placed an ear to the wall she could detect no sound. It didn’t mean the house was empty though. Cautiously, Sarah crept toward the back door. With a final look around the field behind the house, she opened the screen and tried the handle. The door was locked. She eased the screen back into place.

  When she got around to the front of the house, she glanced into the living room window. A fine arrangement of furniture littered the area. It looked new, like whoever owned this house had money. Silently she prayed no one was home and that they wouldn’t come home anytime soon so she could shower, borrow some of their clothes and contact the authorities.

  She eased up the front steps, her aches and pains forgotten for the moment. Again, she did another look around. The only things moving in the early morning sun were the birds that seemed to be extra happy this morning judging by all the chirping they were doing.

  She tried the front door, only to find it locked too.

  She looked horrible, covered in dirt, bloody and bruised, but she really had no choice. The knocker was a lion head. She grabbed it and rapped the door three times.

  The screen door didn’t bang as she let it go and moved back to the edge of the porch steps. Nothing happened. The door didn’t open. If anyone was home, they had to be asleep.

  Sarah opened the screen door and tried the knocker again. This time she hit it five times and a lot harder to make sure if anyone was asleep they’d be awake now.

  Nothing happened again.

  The farmhouse had older storm windows. The last time she’d seen windows like these was back in a cabin she was held in over four years ago. Gert had tried to use screws to seal the windows shut. Unless they were locked or sealed shut, she should be able to just raise them up.

  She tried the two front ones but they didn’t budge. Being careful to keep watching for an approaching vehicle, she walked around the house trying all the windows.

  She hadn’t been too lucky in the last day or so, but when she got to the back of the house, the window leading into the kitchen lifted with ease. She pushed it up as far as she felt she needed and lifted herself onto the sill. With a slight wince, both legs swung around and into the kitchen. She hopped off and dropped down to the tile floor.

  “Ouch!” she muttered under her breath. “Damn, does that ever hurt.”

  The place looked lived in. People had been here recently. This meant they could be back at any time. She looked for a phone but couldn’t find one in the kitchen. She walked into a hallway and then into the living room, being careful to remain quiet. No phones could be seen anywhere.

  Maybe they didn’t have phone access this far out. That reminded her that she had no idea where she was. She had been blindfolded on the way in. All she knew was how long the ride had been.

  She was pretty sure the house was empty at the moment, but she needed to be certain. The stairs were off the hallway. On each step she tested it for creaks while keeping an eye above her. At the top there were three open doors which looked like bedrooms and one that was a bathroom. After a peek in each bedroom, she started to relax. All the beds were made and no one was home. The only fear now was if they came home while she was still inside. Although, on second thought, let them call the police so she can tell them what happened.

  No time to waste. She walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Hot water came quickly. She disrobed out of all her disgusting clothes and jumped in.

  Five minutes later, clean but in pain from the water hitting her wounds, Sarah walked into one of the bedrooms and opened a closet door. It was empty except for a few boxes. She went into the other bedroom and couldn’t find any clothes there either.

  Oh no, she thought to herself, don’t let me find an empty home so I can shower, but no new clothes. I am not getting back into those shitty ones ever again.

 
In the last bedroom, the master suite, she opened the closet to reveal a large wardrobe of men’s clothing.

  With a quick check of pant sizes, she found a slim pair of track pants that would fit because it had a tie strap she could adjust. A clean white undershirt and a collar shirt to go over that got her dressed fast. She ran back to the bathroom and grabbed her running shoes. Most of the dirt came off when she’d walked through the foliage, but she brushed off the remainder and put them on. With a final look in the mirror, she was ready to go.

  She stopped cold and stared.

  The collar shirt had a rip in it at the base just like Jack’s.