The first attempt to lift the women failed. A plastic drop cloth streaked with body fluids stuck to her underside preventing a firm grip. The smell of human waste filled the air. Ashley, lifting and pulling, worked the plastic loose. With that gone, she searched for something to cover the woman. A man's bathrobe hung from a brass wall hook. She grabbed the robe and spread it over the body, then scooped her limp frame off the bed, and sidestepped through the narrow door of the bedroom. My God, she weighs nothing.
At the door, Ashley kicked it open and carefully backed out of the motor home. As she moved toward her car the woman raised her head and focused on Ashley. In a feeble voice she said, "Are you...Are you..." Then she slipped back into the void. Supporting the woman with one arm, Ashley opened the backdoor of her car and swiveled the lifeless weight onto the seat, allowing her to drop back into the car. She then dashed around to the other side, opened the door and pulled the young woman across the seat. She shut the door, and circled back to close the other door after carefully positioning the swollen feet out of harm's way. No one witnessed the rescue.
THE DRIVE TO THE Roswell Regional Hospital took ten minutes, but seemed longer. Ashley jerked to a stop at the emergency entrance, dashed into the reception area, flashed her badge and demanded help. Two orderlies pushing a gurney ran outside and transferred the victim, still covered with the robe, and rushed into the hospital. Within seconds the unconscious woman disappeared deep into the emergency care center.
The receptionist logged the time of admission as 3:03 p.m.
Ashley, emotionally drained, collapsed into a chair in the waiting room. Had she done everything she could do? Her mind raced through her actions these past fanatic minutes. Yes, she told herself–everything. Now this pathetic, tortured childlike woman’s survival must rely on skilled medical care and a little help from a God she often took for granted. She touched the Star of David pendant she wore hidden under her shirt. Still clutching this emblem of faith, Ashley closed her eyes and for a few minutes drifted into oblivion.
"I'm sorry, Miss, but you have to move your car. It's blocking the entrance." A tall blond haired man, a nursing aid, stood over her. "Or I'll move it if you want."
Ashley woke with a start. "No, thank you. I'll move it. Sorry."
"That's okay, Miss, I understand. The doctors are tending to her now."
"That's good," Ashley answered with a hopeful glance at the man.
The car, the backdoor open and the motor still running, caused Ashley to focus. She pushed the door shut and got in. I've lost it, she thought. It's time I pull myself together. This isn't over. It's just beginning. She parked nearby.
Ashley waited in the lobby. Finally, a doctor dressed in green scrubs appeared. "Good evening, I'm Doctor Rader. I'm told you brought that young patient into the hospital. Your quick action may have saved her life." He nodded his head in approval. "You may see the patient now." They walked back into the intensive care unit where the woman lay behind drawn drapes.
The odor of disinfectant filled the area. A nasal cannula delivered oxygen and an IV bag hung overhead dripping a clear solution into a vein in the woman’s hand. A blinking monitor next to her bed flashed numbers while a steady flow of spiked images crossed the screen.
"We’ve stabilized her," the doctor said. “She's weak and dehydrated. We got to her before gangrene set in, but I'm afraid there will be scars. I feel confident she'll recover. Do you know her name?"
Ashley saw her mutilated body was covered with clean white sheets and her face had regained some color. "No, not yet."
"Based on our examination, I am obligated to report her condition to the local authorities. Clearly this is a case of domestic abuse."
Ashley turned to the doctor, only now noticing his shock of red hair and faded freckles. "Doctor Rader, I'm Special Agent Ashley Kohen with the FBI. This woman is a party to an ongoing Federal investigation concerned with national security. I will need a report from you describing your observations and the medical treatments you performed." Ashley flipped her ID open for inspection. “This matter must remain confidential. No media coverage."
"I'm supposed to report this to the local police."
"I’ll take care of that. We have jurisdiction in this matter. The Bureau appreciates your cooperation." She handed the doctor her business card. "Please send your report to the Albuquerque Field Office marked for my attention."
"I understand, Agent Kohen. I’ll note your instructions and see that our records are sealed."
"Good. May I speak with her, now?"
"Of course, but not for long.” Rader stepped out of the area as Ashley approached the patient, pulled a chair next to the bed, and leaned close to her.
The woman opened her eyes.
"Hi. I'm Ashley. I brought you here. The doctor says you will be all right. It'll take some time." She touched her hand. "What's your name?"
The woman studied Ashley's face. In a raspy whisper she asked, "You saved me?"
"I did what had to be done."
She repeated, "You saved me. God bless you." She squeezed Ashley's hand. "My name is Rita. Rita Durand."
"We can't talk too long, Rita. Tell me what happened, if you can."
Rita spoke with a weak and brittle voice. "I'm a good girl. I thought he was nice. We met in the UFO Museum. He asked if I knew about the UFO and did I think it was real." Rita paused a moment, drawing air into her lungs. "I said I did and that my great-grandfather saw it in the sky in 1947, and testified about it. I believed it happened, like grandpa said." She paused again. "Will I be all right?"
“Yes. It'll take time, but you will heal."
"The man said he liked a Mexican restaurant down the street and would I eat dinner with him. He smiled nice. I said okay.” Rita eyes filled with tears. “After dinner we left the restaurant, but I don't remember much after that.” Her lips trembled. “I woke tied to a bed and he was on me." She started to cry. "He hurt me. He hurt me bad."
"I know Rita. We're going to get him. He'll answer for what he did to you." Ashley waited until Rita calmed down. "Did he ever talk to you? Tell you anything about himself?"
Rita's expression changed. Her face turned into a look of horror. The pace of her breathing increased. "Oh my God, yes, he told me what he wanted to do to us–to America. He is evil.
Between naps, Ashley listened as Rita talked for thirty minutes.
THIRTY-TWO
JERRY CEBECK ARRIVED BACK at the trailer at three o'clock and immediately made a dual discovery. The motor home door across the road hung open and Ashley was gone. He checked his watch. The movie would end in a few minutes and it took twenty minutes to drive back across town. Unless the un-sub left the movie early, he could not have opened that door. He grabbed the microphone.
"Unit One and Unit Two, do you copy?"
"Jerry, this is Joe - Unit One. Where the hell have you been? The subject is on the move. He's headed your way. Where's Ashley?"
"She's not here. Have you been in contract with her?"
"No, not for an hour. We thought she might be with you."
"Negative. Hold on."
Agent Cebeck glanced back at the motor home door. Wide open. It didn't get that way by itself. Under his breath he said, "Mother of God, she did it."
"What did you say?" Joe asked.
"Okay, guys, we have a problem." He searched his tracking screen. "Where are you exactly?'
"Fred and I are following the subject. He's headed straight down Main Street toward you. Should be there in about ten minutes. What's going on?"
Jerry shifted into emergency mode. "Here's the deal, guys. The un-sub will find out he's under surveillance as soon as he gets back here. Can't explain why right now. You be ready to follow him. I'm calling downtown for back up, and the field office for orders."
"Are we talking arrest?" asked Joe.
"I don't know, but if I were calling the shots the answer would be yes." Jerry dropped the mike and phoned downtown. "I need two backup car
s with tracking devices, right now. Move it." He then called the field office. "I need to talk to the SAC pronto." The operator transferred him to Dorothy Hogan.
"Special Agent in..." Jerry cut her off. "Dorothy, this is Cebeck. Transfer me to Mr. Kent–ASAP." She did. Kent picked up. "Mr. Kent, Agent Cebeck here. Our Bitty Smith surveillance is compromised. Subject most likely will flee. Do we arrest him?"
"Calm down Cebeck. What's going on?"
"Agent Kohen has fucked the operation. The guy will know we are on to him."
"Has he detected your presence?"
“No, he hasn't, but he soon will."
"Why?"
"Because the woman is gone."
“Woman? What woman?”
“Kohen removed a woman the subject had mutilated and confined in his motor home.”
"Where is the woman now?"
“I don’t know.”
“Where is the subject?”
"He went to a movie and is on his way back. Be here in ten minutes."
"And you're sure he hasn't detected you?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"There is no reason for him to link the missing woman with our surveillance. Since he doesn't know about us, he would assume someone discovered the woman and freed her. Maybe he'll think a bleeding heart saved the person or possibly a relative or someone in the RV Park heard something and checked it out."
Cebeck hadn’t thought of that and hoped Kent was right, but his instincts told him otherwise. "So what should we do?"
"Do not arrest. Continue the surveillance at a distance, but don't lose the subject if he runs."
"Okay. You're the boss."
"What about Ashley?"
"Gone."
"Where?"
"Don't know."
A moment passed. "Keep me informed."
"Yes, sir." Cebeck then ran across the road, checked to be certain the woman was gone, and shut the open door.
IN THE DARKENED theater Abdullah gripped the arms of his chair. The action of Crime Hunter flashed in front of him. Lost in the make-believe world of the cinema, his body made involuntary jerks from side to side as his mind dodged the blows delivered by the hero. The sound and flashing lights engulfed him. In the final scene of the film, the mob boss lay dying with blood dribbling out of his mouth. Without realizing it Abdullah had rooted for the wrong character. He exited the theater by the side door, disturbed by the ending. His eyes narrowed in the bright daylight.
The Lincoln, heated by the afternoon sun, greeted him with hot leather seats and a steering wheel too warm to touch. Holding the door open, he waited until some of the heat dissipated. He noticed a man sitting in a gray sedan in front of him–the motor running and the windows up.
He headed south on Main Street and wondered if he needed to stop and pick up anything on the way home. Nothing came to mind. Abdullah sneered as he passed several signs advertising beer and liquor in the windows of two restaurants and a tavern. These Americans take alcohol into their bodies and cloud their minds. What fools. Never would an Islamic warrior like himself drink the devil's poison and take the ominous drugs that prop up those too weak to face reality. Many die of this indulgence. It is Satan's revenge on an immoral culture.
The RV park sign marked his turn into the campgrounds. He approached his site, and then backed into his parking space so his car faced the loop road. He inserted the key into his motor home door and turned the lock, but when he pulled on the handle, it didn't move. He tried again, this time turning the key in the opposite direction. The door opened. Had he left the door unlocked that afternoon? He must be more careful.
Abdullah entered and looked about. No sound came from the bedroom. He remembered she hadn't made much noise the past week. It would soon be time to dispose of her. She no longer held interest for him. All the fight had left her, and his needs were no longer met by her meager offerings.
If only he heard from Rome.
He lifted the lid of his notebook and booted up. Maybe an encrypted message awaited his attention. He quickly opened his messages and scanned them. Nothing. "In the name of Muhammad, the Messenger from God," he shouted, "why must I endure this trial? Am I not a true disciple of Allah the Majestic?" He slammed the lid shut.
Distraught, he stood and paced the long center aisle of the motor home, while mumbling prayers. As he entered the bedroom and started to pivot, he stopped. Then it struck him. She is gone!
Impossible. She is weak, a mere woman. She could not break her bonds–not possible. He slammed his fist against the wall. Someone violated his privacy. Someone took his wench–cut her ties and carried her off. Abdullah rushed to the front windows and moved the curtains aside. No one in sight. Everything appeared normal. He sat behind the steering wheel and peered across the loop road.
Who knew she lay at his disposal? Almost a week and no report on TV or the newspapers of a missing girl. The American press would pounce on a story like that. They feed on the misery of others. It earns revenue. Abdullah continued to stare out of the massive windshield.
If a stranger had found her, a report would have been made. The authorities would be here. There would be police with guns. He would have seen their marked cars before he drove to the campsite.
His eyes settled on the large trailer that had turned up yesterday. He had enjoyed isolation until its arrival. No one left or entered the unit that he could see. But then their door faced away from his vision. The front window, covered by a metallic material like the kind he mounted on the window of Smith Trading, reflected sunlight bright enough to make his eyes squint. Could there be a connection?
It doesn't matter. The woman, still alive, will talk. I told her fragments of my plans–plans I believed she would never live to repeat, but now she has escaped. Have I violated my oath as a warrior of Islam? I must assume the worst possible threat to me and my mission. I need to survive.
THIRTY-THREE
EVERYONE KNEW DOROTHY HOGAN considered the people in the field office as family, and that she hated it when they fought. Monday morning she told Ashley about Jerry Cebeck's report of what happened the night before in Roswell. She warned her to be ready.
Walter Kent's voice blared over the intercom. "Dorothy, I need Agent Kohen, in my office right now."
"I'm sorry Mr. Kent, she's on an early lunch break."
"Is she in the cafeteria?"
"No sir. She never eats lunch. She's in the gym working out."
"Send someone down and get her up here now." He punched the intercom off and with the other hand gripped a pencil hard enough to snap it in half.
A few minutes later Agent Kohen dashed into Dorothy's office with a wisp of hair between her eyes. She wore a red tank-top damp with perspiration halfway down her back, and black gym shorts. Holding a towel in one hand, she clutched a folder in the other. Out of breath as she headed for Kent's open door, she asked over her shoulder, "Is he pissed, Dorothy? I mean really pissed?"
"Good luck, Babe. May the force be with you."
Ashley entered the doorway. "You asked to see me, Mr. Kent?"
Kent turned from the window. "Yes, I did, Agent Kohen. Sit down."
"I'm on my break. They told me to come right away. I didn't have time to change." She advanced to the center of the office. Her tank top didn't quite reach the top of her shorts revealing well-developed abs.
"I said sit down."
She sat.
As head of the field office Kent held final authority over matters of personnel. His authority had a downside. At times his position required him to take actions he didn't like. Kent noticed her still damp face, bright blue eyes and black hair in disarray. He cleared his throat. "This morning Jerry Cebeck made his report on the former Roswell surveillance that ended late last night in a fiery explosion."
Ashley frowned when she heard the word 'former'.
"Yesterday Cebeck called and said you had removed a woman from the subject's motor home without authorization. He claimed you had abandoned your post durin
g a critical period in the surveillance, and he did not know your whereabouts."
"I did not abandon my post."
Kent turned and began pacing behind his desk. "He called me yesterday and confirmed the woman was gone and advised me the subject might bolt as soon as he discovered it. I hoped that would not happen or if it did, we would keep in contact with the subject making an arrest possible if no other alternative existed. I was wrong."
If Kent had payed close attention, he would have noticed Ashley’s hands tightly clasped. "Since you weren’t there, let me tell you what happened. Yesterday afternoon, the subject returned to the RV Park after the movie. He remained in place and did not try to run. Our team stayed on high alert. The audio listening devices Jerry planted picked up the usual sounds inside the motor home. As the evening progressed, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Lights on inside and then lights off about nine o'clock. An hour later all hell broke loose. The motor home exploded and caught on fire. The firefighters arrived and tried to contain the inferno, without success. It burned to the ground with only the metal frame left standing. The park office and two adjacent homes were damaged including our rented trailer. One firefighter was hospitalized. After the fire, Cebeck inspected the site and found no human remains. He did find the rear emergency exit hatch in the grass next to the burned out shell and a hole cut in the chain-link fence behind the campsite. The fire was a deliberate act. Our man has vanished."
Kent stopped pacing and faced Ashley. He waited.
She looked at her boss. Her voice wavered a bit. "I hear Jerry got a nasty burn on one hand. Is he all right?"
The Seventh Message Page 14