Bike Week Blues

by Mary Clay

  Fran entered the room and slid a tray with a soft drink and a thick sandwich onto the counter. “What does it say?”

  Carl reached for the sandwich and took a bite. “I don’t know. I’ve found the algorithm. It will take a few minutes to translate the files.”

  “I’ve put a batch of my frozen lasagna in the oven so the boys will have something to eat when they get back. Gosh, I hope they’ve found Penny Sue and Rich. This whole thing is making me tense.”

  That was an understatement. A hard knot had formed in my stomach. If we didn’t hear something soon, I feared a major bout of gastric distress. Knowing Ruthie had a similar inclination, it was fortunate that every room had its own bathroom, otherwise a monumental traffic jam was in the offing. Ruthie. Omagosh, I’d forgotten about her. I checked my watch and wondered how long it took to fill out a kidnapping report.

  “The boys will call, won’t they?” Fran asked. “They took a cell phone with them, right?”

  “They’ll call,” Carl said, chewing slowly, eyes riveted on the computer. He put the sandwich down and rubbed his hands together. “All right, let’s see what we have.”

  We were huddled together, reading over his shoulder when Carl’s cell phone played the theme from Rocky. My heart nearly stopped. Carl answered, and his forehead knit with concern. My stomach did a belly flop.

  “Come back,” he said and hung up. Frowning, he looked at us. “Vulture and his guys took them to the tunnels at Klondike, like we thought. But, all the guys found was the transponder, smashed.”

  Fran crossed herself.

  My hand went to my heart as tears erupted. “Oh, God.” I said a silent prayer.

  Ruthie walked through the door at that moment. “What’s wrong?” she asked when she saw my face.

  I told her.

  She collapsed on a stool and buried her head in her hands.

  “I’d better call the judge.”

  “This might kill him,” Ruthie squeaked out. “Doesn’t Judge Parker have heart trouble?”

  “Someone should tell him in person in case he has a spell,” Frannie said.

  Zack. I’d have to call Zack to go over there. He was the only person I knew how to contact.

  Carl swiveled to face us. “Give me a few more minutes.”

  “We don’t have any more time! It’s getting dark. We need to get a search going. Helicopters and airplanes and boats.” I broke down completely, sobs coming in uncontrollable waves. “We should never have gone along with Penny Sue’s silly scheme. I’ll never forgive myself if ... I couldn’t say the words.”

  Fran put her arms around me. “It’s not your fault. Penny Sue’s a strong-minded woman. You couldn’t have talked her out of it.”

  I blew my nose. No, I couldn’t. At least, this way we have an inkling of what happened. If she’d gone it alone, Penny Sue would be one of those people who simply disappeared—a picture on milk cartons and telephone poles.

  “Leigh,” Carl said. “Do what you have to do. I’m going to work on these files and see if I can come up with any clues on where they might be.”

  I went to my bedroom to gather my thoughts before calling Zack. I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation. First, and foremost, because I hated the news I was about to relay. Secondly, there was still a lot of pain tied up in the sound of his voice. Third, I was not in the mood to discuss Ann and her impending engagement. Finally, what if his hot honey answered?

  I heard he’d moved in with her. I wondered if he took her to his office parties? I’m sure those silicon breasts were a big hit with the old partners like Bradford Davis. Bradford represented Zack in our divorce, and I’d come to loathe the man. I could still see his condescending, crooked smile. Bradford was one man, along with my own worthless attorney, that I’d like to backhand in the mouth one day. Sorry, Grammy. I know I should turn the other cheek and practice forgiveness—it wasn’t in me at the moment. The wounds were too fresh and deep.

  I took a breath and steeled myself for the conversation. Call Zack’s cell phone, which eliminated the possibility that she might answer. Get right to the point. Hit him between the eyes before he had time to make a snide comment.

  He answered on the second ring. “Zack, Penny Sue’s been kidnapped. You need to go over to the judge’s house and tell him in person. He has heart problems, and we’re afraid the shock might be too much. Someone needs to be with him.”

  “Kidnapped? When?”

  “A couple of hours ago.”

  “Who? Have you called the police?”

  “A roughneck biker called Vulture. We think, maybe, he’s someone the judge locked up. And, yes, Ruthie filed a police report. But, with Bike Week down here, resources are scarce.”

  “You were there when it happened?”

  “Ruthie and I were both there. It was clearly personal.” I wasn’t going to mention the potshots at Penny Sue’s license plate. That would only evoke a long lecture of about what we should have done and didn’t. “We’re staying with a friend, Fran Annina. Take down her phone number.” I heard him punching it into his cell as I gave it out. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything.” Then, I hung up and started to cry.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  Bobby Barnes’ distinctive bass voice blasted me out of my stupor. I ran to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. My eyelids were swollen and red. Crying always did that to me. There wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it short of ice packs, which I didn’t have time for. I hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Bobby and most of the Klingons were sitting around the table eating huge plates of lasagna and sopping Italian bread in spiced olive oil. Carl and Saul were conspicuously missing.

  A wave of emotion bubbled up when I saw Bobby.

  “We’ll find her, Leigh,” Bobby said. “We’re working on a plan. Carl thinks he’s onto something. Rich was working undercover for someone, but it’s not clear who. It seems that Vulture and his wacko band of merry men are worse than we thought.” Bobby swigged his soda. “Saul’s gone home to change and get some stuff. One of our Navy buddies, Roger, is in town. They’re going back to Klondike Beach to snake through the tunnels. They’re covering the back door.”

  “And, the front door?” I asked.

  “That depends on what Carl finds.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked hearing that.

  Fran handed me a plate of lasagna. “Eat something, honey. Starving won’t help Penny Sue. You may need the strength. This could be a long night.” I nodded and sat at the table next to a crew-cutted blond Klingon named Thomas.

  I’d only taken a few bites of pasta when Carl flew up the stairs from the Bat Cave with the laptop under his arm. “Those friggin’ mudderfuc—” he caught his mother’s stern glare, “—er, fruitcakes are into drugs and arms dealing!”

  He set the computer on the kitchen counter and typed in few codes. “Look at this email—it’s from Fox to Shorty. There are several messages from Fox—that’s Rich’s code name I think. He says the Scavenger—Vulture, probably—is dealing drugs and using the profits to stockpile weapons. He’s not sure if the arms are for resale or if the Scavenger is planning to use them himself. Fox says Scavenger’s friends believe the Feds have embedded chips in drivers’ licenses to track Americans. They also think the CIA is conducting mind control experiments from satellites.”

  “Boy, those guys are sick,” Ruthie said.

  “Shorty must be Rich’s contact. What’s the email address? We could send him an email and tell him Rich has been kidnapped,” I suggested.

  “It’s a Hotmail address, the kind anyone can set up from anywhere. I suspect the addresses are rotated and this one is no longer in use.”

  “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  Carl rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. “Yeah, but then we’d have to explain what we were doing with this computer.” He glanced at Bobby. “I have no idea what laws we’re breaking.”

  “Holy shit,” Thomas muttered, then glanced
at Fran and shrugged a Sorry. “These guys think satellites are being used for mind control and a military satellite is going up on the Atlas V. You don’t think they’re going to try to sabotage the missile, do you?”

  “I hope not,” Todd said quickly. “The satellite’s nuclear powered. If the missile blows up, it’ll contaminate the whole East Coast.”

  “Holy cow!” Fran said. She uncorked a bottle of red wine and poured a few fingers worth into a juice glass. She chugged some, then tilted the bottle toward Ruthie, who declined.

  “When is the rocket going up?” I asked.

  “They’ve stopped announcing the times until twelve hours before launch, precisely because of terrorists’ threats,” Todd said. “I’ll check the Canaveral web page to see if they’ve released it yet.”

  “We’ve got to do something!” Fran took another swallow of wine.

  “Damn straight,” Thomas said. “I have no desire to glow in the dark.” The other guys muttered agreement.

  “The launch is tomorrow morning, right before sunrise—six-fifteen,” Todd called from the stairwell to Carl’s apartment.

  “Isn’t the area secured? How could they possibly get to the rocket?” I asked.

  “A Stinger missile would do it,” Bobby said.

  “How could they get something like that?”

  Ruthie’s eyes went wide. “A shipment of missiles and ammunition was hijacked last week in North Carolina. And there was another in Georgia yesterday. The stories were in the newspaper. Maybe Vulture’s gang was responsible.”

  “Or, bought some of the hot cargo.”

  “A Stinger’s range is about five miles,” Bobby said. “That means they have to get a lot closer than Klondike Beach. The gang must be headed for Playalinda, which borders the Kennedy Space Center. That’s about ten miles from the tunnel we found.”

  “Ten miles? Could they cut a tunnel that far?”

  Bobby nodded. “Sure, fanatics are dogged if nothing else. Extremists tunneled from Egypt to Palestine to smuggle weapons. Drug traffickers dig tunnels from Mexico into California. The Feds find one tunnel, the bad guys dig another.”

  “Vulture probably had to start that far away,” Todd added. “Since nine-eleven, the Space Center’s tightened security. Playalinda Beach is closed off for shuttle launches. I don’t know what kind of precautions they take for military rockets.”

  “If the Cape has beefed up security, maybe there’s no need to do anything. The park rangers will find Vulture and Penny Sue,” Ruthie said hopefully.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Bobby said. “I suspect Vulture has scoped out the park rangers routine and taken steps to avoid them. That’s apparently why they’ve burrowed all those tunnels through the brush. Who knows how long they’ve been working on it? Probably worked at night for months, maybe years.”

  “Wait, if there is tighter security, how can we get through?” I asked.

  “The Bird of Prey could avoid detection. Going in by water, we could save Saul and Roger ten miles of crawling through the tunnels.

  “Yes, but how can we find the gang without going through the tunnels? There’s a lot of real estate between Playalinda and Klondike.”

  Carl grinned. “Infrared. I doubt these guys are smart enough to shield their body heat. Even so, they probably didn’t plan on having Penny Sue and Rich along. My sensors will find them. All we’d have to do is run parallel to the coast and scan. Yesterday was the new moon, so it will be dark tonight. Vulture’s thugs will never see the Bird.”

  “Is the Bird seaworthy?” Bobby asked Carl.

  “Of course, I’ve taken it out in the ocean many times. And Todd is an expert yachtsman. I’ll let him take the helm.”

  Bobby sopped bread in olive oil and took a bite. “Okay, Ace, I’m counting on you.” He flipped open his cell and dialed Saul. “Change of plans. Come here,” he said, then gave Saul the address and hung up. “No offense, but paintballs aren’t going to make it with this group. I think we should create a distraction and concentrate on rescuing Penny Sue and Rich. Saul and Roger will take the gang down.”

  Carl frowned. “We don’t know how many people Vulture has. How can two men handle a whole gang?”

  “Trust me; they can do it.” The force of Bobby’s voice left no doubt.

  “If they’re the back door, what’s the front?” Ruthie asked. “What are we going to do?”

  Bobby regarded her soberly. “You ladies are going to stay here and answer the phone.”

  “I don’t think so!” Fran flew around the counter and gave Bobby thelook. He drew back. “Don’t talk down to me,” she warned.

  “I may have been hasty in my statement.” Bobby glanced sidelong at Carl. “On second thought, you women would be a valuable asset. Penny Sue may be hysterical and need female reassurance.”

  “Penny Sue’s not the hysterical type,” Frannie stated flatly. “And, we can contribute a lot more than reassurance.”

  Bobby shoveled in a forkful of lasagna. “ This is excellent, by the way.”

  “Friggin’ A,” Fran said.

  * * *

  Bobby and Saul were solidly built men who’d kept themselves in good shape. My guess was that they worked out at the gym several times a week. Their old buddy Roger was built like a brick sh—well, you get the idea. We’re talking prime Arnold Schwarzenegger, including a hint of a Germanic accent. He filled the entire doorway—top to bottom, side to side—when he thundered into the kitchen. Thomas, the Klingon, immediately got up and offered him the seat next to me. Still sitting, I had to look up at his shoulder. No wonder Bobby said Roger and Saul could handle Vulture. One glimpse at this former Navy Seal and Penny Sue might stomp Vulture herself to get at Roger. Even the largely unflappable Frannie May did a double take at the big guy.

  Another Klingon who’d finished eating gave up his seat to Saul. Fran and Ruthie immediately appeared with plates of pasta and bread. I noticed that Ruthie made a point of serving Saul. Bobby quickly filled his buddies in on the new developments. For the most part they listened without comment as they scarfed up the pasta and bread. The mention of the Atlas V and Stinger got Roger’s attention.

  “Man, these guys are verrucht, crazy. That’s bad. Men like that will do anything.”

  “Vulture has that reputation,” Bobby said. “I think you have to treat this bunch like a cult—loose cannons that might go off at any minute.”

  Roger shook his head and resumed eating.

  His reaction was not reassuring. At some level, I wanted these men to tell me that Vulture and his crew were merely a bunch of blustering fools. But, if Roger—the Incredible Hulk lookalike—thought the situation was bad, it was truly dreadful. My stomach drew up into a hard knot at that realization and I pushed my plate away. No more food for this puppy.

  Bobby continued with the briefing, letting Carl explain the capabilities of The Bird of Prey. That, too, got Roger’s attention.

  “You came up with this yourself?” he asked.

  “I had help from my friends.” Carl waved at the group standing around the kitchen.

  “This boat has stealth capabilities and can scan the coast for heat signatures?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you did this all for a Star Trek game?”

  “It’s not just a game,” Carl replied defensively. “It’s a role-playing exercise.”

  Roger laughed—a deep rumble on the order of a 7.5 earthquake. “I like Worf and Kahless.”

  Every jaw in the room dropped. Roger was a Trekkie! The sparkle in Carl’s eye was unmistakable. I could almost hear the wheels whirling in his head, planning how he could recruit Roger for his team. I also noticed Todd’s face droop noticeably.

  The big man pointed at Frannie’s glass of wine and nodded.

  “I’m sorry, how rude of me.” She hurried to a cabinet, pulled out two stemmed glasses and prepared to pour.

  “No sissy glass, please. I’d rather have one like yours.”

  Ruthie handed Fran a
juice glass for Roger. Saul declined the offer in favor of water.

  Roger downed the wine in one gulp. Fran hovered at his shoulder and refilled his glass.

  Everyone looked at Bobby, the silent question hanging in the air, “Should Roger be drinking?”

  With a flick of his thumb, Bobby communicated, “No problem.”

  Considering Roger’s bulk, the glass of wine was probably as intoxicating to him as gargling with Listerine. In any event, this man, who’d never met Penny Sue, was willing to risk his life to save her. That went a long way in my book. I could almost hear Grammy Martin say, “Judge not, least ye be not judged,” then a “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  Yes, ma’am. Klingons, Romulans, and Navy Seals—I’d try not to judge it all. On the plus side, I had to admit my narrow, sheltered life had broadened considerably since my divorce.

  Bobby went on to explain his two-front assault plan. Todd, Saul, and Roger would do reconnaissance, pinpoint the gang’s location with The Bird of Prey, and ultimately do the takedown. Their objective was to stop the Stinger missile. Meanwhile, Bobby and the rest of us would create a distraction and go after Penny Sue and Rich.

  There was some discussion on whether Roger would fit into The Bird of Prey. A customized, stealthized skiff, it held three people, tops. Everyone finally agreed the plan would work if Roger sat in the middle at the apex of an angular protrusion, and Todd kept the hatch open while they motored along on gas power. Once in range of Playalinda Beach, where they’d switch to electric, the top would go down, and Roger would have to hunch forward. “No problem,” he assured us, draining the second glass of wine.

  Now, for the distraction.

  “The pontoon boat at the center makes a little over six miles an hour, which means it will take five hours to get to Playalinda.” Bobby checked his watch, it was seven-thirty. “Going at night won’t slow us down much, I know those waterways like the back of my hand.”