by H. L. Wegley
When Jeff reached for his cell, Allie felt a growing panic. She grabbed his arm. “Jeff, wait! Can they really save my family? I mean, do they have the capability?”
“Yes. They're trained for hostage situations and for taking on organized crime. This is a complete team with all the skills, equipment, and weapons that they need.”
“But things could—”
“Yes. Things could go wrong, because the cartel won't just give up your family. It will take force. It will take a SWAT team.”
As she stared at Jeff flashbacks played in her mind of her panic as she ran for her life. The belching of automatic weapon fire. The taunts they yelled at her. The endless running. She was breathing hard but not getting enough air. Her feet and hands tingled now, and she felt lightheaded. She was panting. Allie’s head buzzed.
Jeff's eyes widened when he looked at her. In an instant she was wrapped up in his strong arms. “I think you're having a panic attack. Breathe deeply, but more slowly. It's going to be okay, Allie.”
She pressed her head against chest. Soon the tingling stopped. Her breathing slowed, and she relaxed in his arms as his hand stroked her head. She could hear his heart beating. Jeff's very life, the life he had risked for her.
He spoke softly, “We're doing our very best. If we can get the FBI here, we couldn't do any better for us or your family. There's nothing more we can do but pray for the situation.”
She tensed at the word pray. But Jeff was a praying man and she couldn’t stop him from doing what he believed best.
Jeff's voice came soft and soothing as he spoke like a child to his daddy. She relaxed and listened to his words, words asking for comfort, protection, and wisdom to guide them in their thinking and their actions.
She didn't remember how it happened, but when Jeff finished praying, her arms were around him too, holding onto him as if her life depended on him. Earlier in the day, it had, and he had not failed her. For now, she would trust Jeff and the sincerity of his prayer.
Allie would make no accusations against Jeff’s God. She would simply hold on because, at the moment, this man's comfort and caring were clearly what she needed.
“Allie?”
“What?” She didn't move. Didn't want to move. Not yet.
“Like my prayer … uh, your panic attack is over.”
She released her bear hug on Jeff, letting her arms drop to her sides.
He put his hands on her shoulders and held her at arm's length, studying her face with concern in his light blue eyes. “Are you okay now?”
She nodded slowly. “Jeff, I… I didn't know it could be like that.” She stepped close to him, leaning against his chest and again listening to his heart.
Allie Santiago, what do you think you are doing?
She ignored the question and the accusing voice inside her head.
Jeff put his hand on the back of her head. “Didn’t think it could be like what?”
“Like talking to my dad. Asking him to take care of me. I didn't want it to end.” Who was this speaking? It wasn't the Alejandra Santiago she knew. For the moment, she didn't care.
“It doesn't have to end, Allie. It's best if it never ends. The conversation can just continue on into eternity.”
Jeff, his God, her father—aspects of all three, love, security, tenderness, strength, authority—seemed to blend together until they were impossible to distinguish, except for one discriminating factor, Jeff's arms around her. Those arms brought out deep-seated emotions Allie had never felt before, and she wasn't at all sure what to think about that.
She gave him a quick hug then looked up before stepping back. His face was only inches from hers. The warm, caring look in his eyes pulled her across a line she had never before crossed. Allie rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek, softly, briefly, then she stepped back.
Her face was warm, probably flushed. Jeff would notice. That thought embarrassed her.
Jeff simply smiled and said, “I think this would be the perfect time to make that phone call.”
She nodded, still wondering what had just transpired. Wondering where Alejandra Santiago had gone. Maybe she had been replaced by a girl that Jeff called Allie.
Jeff turned to the computer screen to read the phone number and pulled out his cell.
She tried to gather her wits and think through the process of describing their situation to the FBI. The reality of her situation came storming back in all of its urgency. “Jeff, once you get them on the line and tell them why we're calling, would you please give me the phone?”
When he finished keying in the number, Jeff held his thumb over the call icon. “You sure, Allie?”
“I'm sure.”
“Good. Because you'll be a lot more persuasive than me. You already have been.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“Well … you almost persuaded me to break my…” His voice trailed off and stopped.
It was an impulsive, stupid thing for her to do. “I hope you don't think that I … Jeff, I've never, ever …”
He pressed a finger over her lips, rescuing her from her stammering. “I see. You mean you don’t make a habit of kissing strangers on the cheek?”
She shook her head.
“You know, I made a vow that I would only kiss the girl I was going to marry. But I …” Jeff stopped talking, pushed the button on his cell, and placed it against his ear.
Though he hadn’t said it, Jeff had implied that she had tempted him to break a vow that was very important to him. Or was that only her wishful thinking?
Get a grip, girl.
When she came to her senses, Jeff sat at his desk and he was speaking to someone. Reality, her reality, pushed the fantasy from her mind.
“We're in danger, her family too … Yes, they are cartel members … Because they have assault rifles. Look, they shot at us, and they're all over town looking for us.”
“Give me the phone, Jeff.”
“Gladly.” He pursed his lips and shoved his cell at her.
* * *
Jeff shook his head in disgust at the difficulty he had in convincing the person on the other end of the call that their situation was serious. He doubted Allie would have any better luck penetrating the man’s wall of questions obviously designed to keep people out.
Allies voice came soft, but filled with emotion, as she described the slavery of her family, the marijuana plantation, the Sinaloa Cartel thugs, her long flight for her life, and Jeff’s intervention, including his bullet wound.
How could anyone refuse that plea? This was real distress and a very real damsel. If they could only see Allie, that would be the clincher.
She paused and gripped his hand. “I'm on hold. They’re getting two other agents and going into a conference room where there's a speaker. How do you put your cell on speakerphone?”
He covered her hand with his. “You were amazing, Allie. If I was them, I would've caved after your first sentence.” He smiled and pressed the speakerphone toggle on the side of his cell. “You take the lead and I'll jump in if I'm needed. We made it through the first hoop. Let's pray we get through the second one, and that these guys are willing to take some action.”
She touched his cheek. “You pray. It seems that you get results when you talk with … Him.”
After a half-hour of intense discussion with two agents, including an almost brutal interrogation of Allie, the other end went silent. They had been muted.
Jeff took Allie's hand. “I think they're making a decision right now.”
“You were praying, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. Especially when Agent McCheney was grilling you. If he had been in this room talking to you like that … pow.” Jeff pounded a fist on the desk.
“Don't be angry at them, Jeff. They were just doing their job.”
“And interrogation is a large part of our job.” The voice came from the speakerphone.
Great. The agents had heard their conversation, including hi
s words and sound effects about pounding McCheney.
“No offense taken, Jacobs, yet. Changing the subject—your information dovetails with some sketchy intel we have regarding cartel marijuana-growing activity in the mountains along the California border. We’ll need pictures of you two so we can recognize you when we arrive.”
When they arrive?
Allie's arms clamped around his neck. “They really are coming, Jeff.”
Jeff leaned down near the phone in Allie's hands. “Have you got an email address, McCheney?”
“Yeah. Portland at IC dot FBI dot gov. It's a big catch-all e-mail box. I'll monitor it until we get your pictures, so they don’t get lost.”
“Okay, I'm taking pictures of Allie and me now. I'll send them to you in a few seconds.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jeff and Allie got the official word. An FBI SWAT team was coming via helicopter.
McCheney's voice came through the speaker. “I'll be leading the team. You'll know who I am. I'm the big, ugly guy … unlike Ms. Santiago.”
“From the sound of your voice, I'd say polar opposites.”
“Jacobs, you just keep Miss Santiago inside and out of sight and I'll overlook your insults.”
“I've got my eyes on her, Mc Cheney.”
“I'll bet you have. Look, I know what you said about tipping our hand, but I'm going to get some local police protection for you two.”
Allie's eyes widened. “But if they figure out that—”
“Don't worry, Ms. Santiago. We'll make sure the locals are discreetly watching your place. They'll drive by every few minutes and will only stop if you're in immediate danger. Stay put. Our team's ready and the chopper should arrive at your location in about ninety minutes. Jacobs, our satellite picture shows a big field to the east of your house. That looks like a good place to set down.”
“It's old pasture land. Flat as a table and no obstacles except a dry irrigation ditch.”
“Sounds good. You've got my cell number, the local sheriff's number too, right?”
“We've got them.”
“See you in about an hour and a half. At first light, we'll go looking for that plantation.”
After ending the call, Jeff stood and added McCheney's number to his contact list.
Allie’s hand came to rest on his arm.
Jeff looked up from his cell.
She had a major frown on her face as she stared out the window. “Jeff, what if they did find us before the FBI gets here? Do you have any way to protect us?”
“You mean a gun?”
“Yes.”
“Only an old lever-action .22. It's no match for an assault rifle. If they show up here we've got two choices. First—”
Footsteps sounded on the porch. Then a knock on the front door.
Allie gasped.
“Go into the kitchen while I see who’s out there.”
Reluctant to stand in the center of the doorway, Jeff leaned in from one side of the door until his eye aligned with the peephole. A sharp blast of air left his lungs when he saw a swarthy man standing with both hands behind him. He was obviously holding something out of sight.
Like maybe an AK-47?
Jeff didn't recognize this man as one of the two who had chased Allie and him. But Jeff's description would probably have been given to all of the cartel thugs who were out hunting for them.
Bluffing the man could cost him his life, leaving Allie alone. He turned and hurried into the kitchen. “It's one of them. We need to get out of here.” He clasped her hand. “Follow me.”
“Did he have a gun?”
“I didn’t ask, Allie.”
Chapter 5
The knocking on the front door turned to pounding. Jeff took Allie's hand and pulled her to the basement doorway.
“Where are we going.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“We're going to the basement, and then to the root cellar,” he whispered back.
The hand Jeff held pulsed with each beat of Allie’s heart.
They stepped through the door and scurried down the narrow stairway toward the basement. “This house was built before electricity was available here. The root cellar was the fridge. It has two entrances, one from the basement and another from outside, just behind the garage. I don't think these guys will spot the one behind the garage, not when they're so intent on spotting us.”
“But what if they are watching it?” Allie's whisper came as a harsh blast of air.
She was terrified but still following him, not causing any delays.
“Unfortunately, I won't know that for sure until I look out. It's a chance we have to take. I'll be careful opening the door.”
They scampered from the stairway across the basement to another door. He opened the door, pulled Allie into the small room, and yanked the door closed behind them.
Allie gasped when total darkness enveloped her.
“It's okay.” His hand found the emergency flashlight he kept on a shelf inside the doorway. When he turned it on, the room lit nearly as bright as day. He quickly covered it with his hand before his eyes adjusted to the light.
“You wait here while I look out the door.”
Jeff climbed up a ladder and cracked the door a few inches. It creaked.
He stopped and waited. In a few seconds, he lifted it a little higher and, through the narrow slit, scanned all three directions. Voices sounded from near the front of the house and the flashing of lights occasionally lit the area between the house and the detached garage. But there was no one behind the garage.
A loud thump sounded from the front of the house. Then another, followed by a loud crash. They had kicked in the front door.
Jeff lit the ladder behind him with the flashlight. “Come on, while they’re looking inside the house.” He took her hand.
After Allie climbed out, Jeff lowered the door and pulled her beside him, their backs against the rear wall of the garage. He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “We're going to enter the garage through the side door on my right. There's no front door on the garage, so we have to move quickly in case they look in. I backed my truck in when I parked it today. We're going to blast out of here, so move to your door, open it when I open mine, slide in and buckle your seatbelt. Don't close your door until I hit the ignition. Then hold on tight.” He paused. “You ready, Allie?”
“I …” She squeezed his hand. “I'm ready.”
Jeff slid to the corner of the garage and inched his head around it. No one.
A flashlight split the darkness when it shined around the corner. Someone had rounded the corner at the front of the garage.
Jeff reared back, bumping into Allie.
He nudged her farther back behind the garage and stopped, trying to slow his panicky breathing.
They waited a few seconds and the dancing light finished its exploration of the side of the garage, then disappeared.
The two slipped around the corner and through the side door of the garage, pulling it shut, and moved beside the doors of his midsized truck. Jeff gave her the signal to open her door. Both doors opened quietly and they slid in.
Allie's seatbelt clicked.
As they closed their doors, Jeff hit the ignition. When the motor started, he slammed the gearshift into drive and punched the gas pedal.
The wheels of his V8-powered truck squealed as they spun across concrete garage floor.
Directly ahead, the gunmen's large pickup blocked the driveway.
As his pickup rocketed toward the gunmen's truck, Jeff' cranked the wheel hard to his left. He crossed the side lawn and drove into an open field. But a deep ditch lined the road. If he challenged the ditch, he would likely roll his truck.
A bigger concern was that he and Allie were headed away from town and away from the police.
Afraid to slow down and climb the ditch at a sharp angle, Jeff yanked the wheel hard right. The pickup hit perpendicular to the ditch. They caught air as the truck shot the ramp onto the road.
Until now, the garage had shielded them from the front of the house where he suspected the goons were. When he heard the first burst of gunfire, Jeff palmed the back of Allie's head, like he would a basketball, and shoved it nearly to the floorboard.
“Stop shoving me around, Jeff! My head’s not a basketball.” She tried to raise back up.
Jeff squeezed more tightly and pushed harder.
Allie clawed at his hand but couldn’t break free.
Another burst of gunfire. The rear window of the cab exploded. Shards of glass, sprayed the cab, cutting his right cheek.
Allie stopped resisting.
Jeff let go of her head and mashed the pedal to the floor. When he glanced across the cab. The passenger side window had been shattered, too. The spray of bullets had passed through the space occupied by Allie's head seconds before.
She raised up and glared at him. “Like I said, my head’s not a bask—” Allie seemed to freeze in the seat beside him, staring at the shattered glass.
“Allie, if I hadn’t treated your head like a basketball, those AK-47s would have let the air out.”
“So now I’m an airhead?” The words were accusing, but her tone had mellowed.
“You’re anything but an airhead.”
She studied his face as he drove the straight stretch of road. “You’re face. It’s bleeding.”
“Yeah. Cause I’m not an airhead either.”
At seventy miles-per-hour, the air coming through the broken windows whipped Allie’s hair. She swept it from her face and pulled a tissue from the box Jeff kept on the floorboard and dabbed at the blood on his cheek.
Now, his truck flew down the dirt road at more than seventy-five miles-per-hour. They were nearly a half mile from the house, out of accurate gunshot range.
“Jeff, are we safe yet?”
“Out of easy gunshot range, yes. But safe? That depends upon who you think is in control.” He flashed a glance at her, but his eyes caught a light in the rear view mirror.