by Lori Power
“Not yet,” Mariam’s reply sounded a bit agitated. “She normally calls before Kris goes to bed at eight. But she said last night she was having trouble with the cell service.”
“Oh.” Mitch checked his watch. After nine. “Do you happen to know how far it is from the site of the shoot to her hotel?”
“She said it was about a two-hour drive north.”
Mitch closed his eyes. He hoped he was overreacting. The dread in his belly grew heavier. “Thanks, Mariam.”
Mitch hung up and called Luke. “What’s the news on the two in the car?”
“Still there. What’s up?”
“I just have a bad feeling, man.” He walked to the coffee maker and helped himself to a stiff cup of joe.
“We’re on it, Mitch. Grandma and the kid will be fine.”
Nodding into his coffee, he replied, “I know you are, man.”
The investigation had changed so much in the last couple of hours due to the information Lorna had provided in her dossier. With the newly acquired intel, Boulet had given him and Hank the thumbs up to proceed; the old man even took the initiative to link with the Prince George detachment.
“Hell, I’ll make the call,” the Chief said, smiling, one hand laid protectively across the folder. “There’s certainly more to this little lady than I bargained for. She sure knows how to do her homework.”
Of course she does; she hacked computers and could hijack information before she could spell. Shaking his head at his fickle boss, Mitch dialed through to Communications as he brought the cardboard cup to his lips for a hesitant sip. Blaa. God-awful. But it had the essential caffeine to keep him motoring, so he stomached another mouthful. He wanted all cell coverage mapped to track cellular movement within the last known area where Lorna had been. Mariam had provided him with a radius from Lorna’s hotel to use.
“Sure. Why?” Jordan, on the other end of the phone, was clearly typing as they spoke.
“It’s a remote location, and cell coverage is limited. Anyone using up there would stand out, and we’ll be able to pinpoint where we need to concentrate our efforts.”
“Oh, I see,” the voice sounded slightly more interested and the typing had paused.
He reiterated his message for clarity. “If something’s going down, she’ll need to communicate, and it’ll be the easiest way of tracking.”
“Gotcha, just thinking here,” Jordan said. “How about OnStar while we’re at it?”
“OnStar?”
“Sure,” the IT specialist replied. “If this woman was driving an OnStar-equipped vehicle and something occurred, say an accident where she just drove off the road and no foul play, then the vehicle satellite would have sent a signal. We can avoid further costs of tracking something that doesn’t need to be tracked, if this is the case.”
Damn, I hadn’t thought of that.
“But if she was taken,” Jordan continued, “and she was in the vehicle and no signal was sent, then we’d know. We’ll be able to track the vehicle she was driving.”
“Excellent.”
“But,”—there was a warning note in the young man’s voice—“only if Lorna is driving an OnStar-equipped vehicle.”
“Keep me posted.”
Racking his brain, searching for anything he might be missing, Mitch started towards the hangar door, and the pilot gave him the thumbs up. Mitch held up his five fingers, stalling for time, and the pilot nodded assent. Good, enough time to call Tia.
“Sorry to trouble you at home,” he said, striving for an air of nonchalance. “I haven’t been able to reach Lorna today and was wondering if you’ve heard from her?”
“No, I haven’t, which is weird. I just checked my e-mail, and she hasn’t even responded.” Tia laughed nervously. “She never not answers her e-mail. Even on vacation, she checks in. She’s so anal.”
“I know.” Mitch allowed a smile to touch his voice. “Always has to be on top of everything. In control.”
“Exactly,” Tia agreed.
“But nothing from her today?”
“No, not yet.”
“What about the others from the shoot? Tim Fong? Any of them? Are you able to contact them to see if they’ve heard from her?”
There was a long pause on the line before she answered. “I don’t think I’d be able to get ahold of Mr. Fong, and I don’t want to chance the wrath of June, his assistant. But I can certainly call the production crew and check.” He could hear her shuffling paper. “I’ll call you right back.”
“Thanks, Tia.”
The wait seemed agonizingly long as he watched Hank remount the steps to the waiting chopper. Mitch jumped on the phone after the first ring. “Morgan here.”
“Heya, Mitch.” Tia sounded a little breathless. “Apparently, they’re having a real storm up there. High winds, hail, the works. The crew said it took them close to three hours to get back to town. They thought Lorna wasn’t far behind them, but her car’s not in the parking lot and she didn’t make it to dinner.”
Mitch caught her faltering. “What?”
“Well, she planned to go through details for the promotional work with them this evening.” The pilot was waving at him as the blades began to turn. “Mitch, that’s not like her. Something’s wrong.”
“I don’t want you to worry, Tia,” Mitch soothed. “I’ll call over to the closest detachment to see if they have a patrol car up to the area.”
“You’ll let me know, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Mitch said, ending the call and redialing Luke.
“Get the woman and the boy out of that house,” Luke commanded without preamble.
“What’s up?”
“Something’s wrong, Luke.” Mitch was striding through the hangar, not wanting to waste a minute more. “I feel it as sure as I breathe. Lorna never made it back to the hotel.”
“You could be overreacting…”
“I’m not.” Mitch stopped before opening the door leading to the tarmac. “Just get them and put them up at some hotel for tonight. Better safe than sorry.”
Not concerned about the noise as he ran towards the chopper, Mitch called dispatch. “Hey, Beverly,” he said, recalling the built-like-a-brick-shit house woman with the cat-like glasses. “Mitch Morgan from upstairs.”
“What can I do for you, Mitch Morgan from upstairs?”
“We have a person of interest who we know was in between Mackenzie and Chetwynd, B. C. She hasn’t checked in, and she’s a few hours overdue.” He paused to pull out a file photo of Lorna with a written description from his breast pocket. “I’ll e-mail you the particulars as soon as I hang up. Can you make a call across to see if they have any patrols in the area? I want to make sure she hasn’t gone off the road or something.”
“You sure this is a subject and not a girlfriend?” she questioned, a thread of humour icing her words. “We’re not the depot dating agency.”
“No. It’s official. I’ll send you the info over the secured network.”
“Okay, I’m on system now.”
Mitch hung up, strapping into his seat, positioning his earpiece before taking a picture of the photo of Lorna and the description on the back. He transferred these to PDFs and sent them through to depot, watching for the confirmation.
***
Curled towards the side of the truck bed, Lorna did her best to protect herself from the rain and hail drilling down upon her. Every pebble-like hailstone that struck her shoulder and the side of her face felt like an instant bruise. Pulling with the tips of her fingers on the tie straps, Lorna hooked her thumbs through the brackets connected to the box of the truck to try to alleviate the ache in her wrists. The iron taste of blood mixed with the rain as it rolled down the length of her arm and blew into her face. There was little to be done to protect her ankles, stretched and elevated as they were against the side of the truck.
Gritting her teeth to bear the pain lacing up her legs, she struggled to concentrate on counting. It was an old trick
she used to do when she was a little girl, locked in the pitch-black closet that smelled of rot and mildew. She would play a game to see how long her uncle kept her locked up. It served two purposes; one a distraction to keep her from getting scared, and two, a way to help her fall asleep. Neither was going to be the case in this instance.
Old habits die hard, she thought. And it seems bastards never do. “Aghhh,” she moaned, tilting her head to receive the blow from nature in the form of hail, which took her mind off her current torture. She couldn’t allow herself to give in to the torture. Staying alert would keep her alive. If they had Kris, she needed to be strong for both of them.
Memories she had tried to bury long ago flooded back to the surface. How many times have I counted in my life to measure time and ignore current suffering? Whenever things went bad for her uncle, she suffered first through his shouting rants and then with his fists. Many times, the closet offered an escape from his punishments. Once he had shaved her head so she would understand his shame of not having enough money to feed his addiction.
She didn’t want the memories to resurface. She didn’t want Kris to face that kind of life. She needed to get through this, make sure Kris did not go down the same road she had to travel. Where did these bastards come from?
“Fuck! Six hundred and forty-two,” Lorna yelled, knowing no one in the truck could hear her through the noise of the storm, even if they did give a damn. “It’s not working.”
The pain in her limbs felt like she was being pulled apart by the seams. Her body swayed with the water in the truck bed as they took the turn off the highway. Committing the number to memory, she started fresh.
In addition to the pelting rain she was splattered with mud. They had turned onto a dirt road. Lorna hoisted her weight forward as the truck slipped all over the pathway and fell into ruts. Spinning tires sprayed the mud like water from a hose as they struggled to continue on their chosen course. The truck bed, awash in rain, caused her body to move from one spot to another; her legs were almost numb with the pain.
At just over the ten-thousand mark, the truck hesitated. Lorna paused the count. We’ve either arrived or the road is washed out. She committing the number to memory, unable to focus on anything else but counting.
Readjusting herself closer to the side of the truck to relieve the pressure, her ribs voiced their own opinion on the current stationary situation. The whirring of tires spinning without traction in the heavy muck warned her to brace for the jolt of the vehicle’s push forward. They didn’t advance very far before the Ford turned in a wide arc and came to a stop.
Beams of light pierced the driving rain. Someone shone a flashlight beam directly in Lorna’s face over the side of the truck. “Get her off there,” the woman shouted, her voice and the light fading away in the grey night.
The tall man, who had taken the brunt of her efforts to his midsectioned unmentionables, jumped up on the back of the Ford, bending close to her face. “Not so fucking feisty now, are you, bitch?” he said in a low, menacing voice as he pulled the straps free from her tender wrists.
Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, Lorna swallowed the scream of pain that threatened to escape as he sliced through the bindings on her ankles. You’ll get worse than a kick to the balls if you have my baby, she thought, bracing herself bravely for whatever was to come next. She collapsed, flat on her back, and had a mere moment to force feeling back into her extremities before she was hauled like a flour sack to the tailgate.
“Look, Stan,” the wider gap-toothed man she hit with the Buick said to the one gripping her arm and pushing her to the edge by her head. “She doesn’t even have any shoes.”
Spinning Lorna around by her matted hair, Stan grabbed her by a shoulder before pausing to slap the speaker. “Shut it.”
“What?”
“No names,” Stan replied, forcing her to march forward with a poke to her back.
Feet sinking in the thick mud, Lorna peered through the dark and weather to see her surroundings. Visibility was impossible. The most she could make out was the glimmer of a newly lit lamp from where she assumed the woman had gone. Wrapping her arms around her shivering body, she concentrated on taking one step at a time, pushing one foot forward while pulling the other free of the suctioning mire.
The door opened just as Lorna took the first of two stairs to the small, slant-roofed porch. “The chair,” the woman illustrated behind her, stepping aside. “Sit.”
Like I have a choice. Lorna pushed her hair off her face and walked with forced dignity towards the only stool. They will not get the best of me. Three of them surrounded her, leaving her with nowhere to go, so she did as she was told. The woman pulled out more tie straps and gave them to Stan. “Here.”
Turning towards Gap-tooth, Lorna saw her perception of him was correct. He was wide, but squat.
“There’s some wood out on the porch,” the woman commanded, obviously in charge of the trio. “Grab some and build a fire.”
The men followed the woman’s instructions without comment or complaint as Gap-tooth turned on his heel and retreated back out the door.
Biting the inside of her cheek to contain any emotion from showing on her face, Lorna’s mind raced to Kris and Mariam. Where do they have my baby? Is Mariam okay? For sure she would give them a good fight. They didn’t mention Ma. Why? Maybe if she had called Mitch back today when she had a chance. Maybe if she had told him about the information he would have gone over to the house, and now these bastards wouldn’t have an opportunity to hurt her family. Questions and doubt filled her.
Watching without seeing, Lorna only noticed the fire Gap-tooth built when it started to smoke in the pot-bellied stove in the middle of the room. Her chair was close enough to feel the heat from the flames, and she prayed the sparks wouldn’t jump onto her clothing, sure this miserable bunch wouldn’t prevent her from being burnt. The smoky flames filled the one-room shack until the woman returned, with some exasperation, to tell Gap-tooth to open the door and window to clear the fog.
“Don’t be so fucking stupid all the time,” she sneered.
“Well, if you don’t like the way I do things, do them your fucking self.” He huffed before stomping out of the room.
Movement was out of the question with each limb tied to a spindle. Even pulling marginally on the straps caused such intense pain that she allowed her limbs to go limp in the restraints.
Compartmentalizing the pain, Lorna concentrated on what she knew. Not much. We turned off the highway shortly after leaving the crash site. Though she couldn’t be sure—however much she had counted to try to maintain some semblance of time, she didn’t think it was far. The dirt road was another matter entirely. It could have seemed far only because the going was rough, but I’ll have to assume we’re at least six to seven times the rough distance that we travelled on the highway.
Shivering as much from fear as from cold, Lorna watched the woman close both the window and door after the smoke cleared. If they wanted me for themselves, they’d be doing something right now. It doesn’t make sense to drag Kris into this if it was a random kidnapping. I’ve heard about this highway of tears, but I simply didn’t ever think anything like this would happen to me. Girls, women going missing, never to be heard from again.
But then it hit her, if this was a random pull from the highway, they wouldn’t know about Kris, and they would never use his name. They don’t want me for themselves. They’re working for someone. Then Tim’s strange look from the afternoon played across her memory. His sad smile. The way he held onto her shoulder a fraction too long. He knows I hacked into Aqua’s mainframe. He knows I know. She pulled at the straps, fear turning her insides to water. They’ve gone to the house looking for the files. That’s how they got Kris and Mariam. Ohmigod, I did this.
The woman shot her a hostile look, and she ceased her movement. As the woman scraped a homemade bench across the planked floorboards towards the lone window, Lorna caught sight of her own ref
lection in the grimy window. Not only that, I’m involved with the cop they knew was part of a sting operation to penetrate their organization. As much as Mitch thought I was working for the Fongs, Tim thinks the cops planted me.
Clamping her teeth together to keep them from chattering, she couldn’t imagine what they planned to do with her and her family. Were Kris and Mariam here? The place looked deserted when they arrived. Are they on the way then? If their intention was to kill her in retaliation, why go to all this trouble to bring her here? They could have easily finished the job out on the highway. Maybe they need to know how much I know? Her head came up straight in her chair. No. They need to know if I told anyone.
The pinch of her phone in the soft flesh of her underarm reminded her there was hope. If only I could call Mitch. Tell him where I am. If I knew where I was. Without moving her head, Lorna watched the rough-looking woman seated on the bench along the wall opposite. Her back against one wall, her booted feet were propped upon the windowsill as she texted on her phone. “Goth” was the best word to use to describe her look. Inky black, chunked hair partially obscured her face as she concentrated her attention on her mobile. Lorna wriggled her fingers, trying to maintain feeling in her extremities. Eyes focused, Lorna was positive the other woman was texting based on the number of dings coming back and forth. Cell coverage. Here? Her heart skipped a beat, praying her phone was undamaged. Perhaps we’re close to a cell tower.
Duct tape covered her mouth and she ached to rub her nose. The urge to urinate was as strong as her thirst. She needed to see if her family was here. She needed to get a sense of her surroundings. Having remained as quiet as she could throughout this ordeal, striving to keep a cool, calm head, Lorna now moaned to capture Goth’s attention. Needing a bathroom break might be her only excuse.
The woman’s eyes flicked in Lorna’s direction with irritation, and she huffed. “What?”