by Doug Welch
Harvey felt relieved. He’d planned to suggest it, and now Paris had helped him remove a possible distraction. If he had to assign agents to protect Caesar and Alexandra, it would rob him of manpower.
“I think that's an excellent idea. Agent Pell will escort them to the terminal and wait until they’re safely out of Las Vegas.”
Kitty broke in. “I'll go with him.”
Paris responded. “I need you to stay here Kitty. I have some things I want to discuss with you.”
“So, discuss them after Alex and Caesar are gone,” Kitty said.
Pell spoke up. “Actually, I could use Miss Trudeau's help. Extra eyes at the airport.”
It's a losing battle. Harvey could see Paris caving in, although he glared at Kitty. It amused him to see her glare back.
“We have other things to go through this morning, Paris. We need to debrief you about the events of last night, what you observed about the kidnappers –equipment, mannerisms, physical descriptions –all of that. We'll be busy until noon at least. I'm sure your conversation with Miss Trudeau can wait.”
Harvey saw Paris settle, although there was a strange look on his face. For a brief moment he had an uncomfortable sensation, like someone pried at the edges of his mind. The sensation subsided. He had the unsettling feeling that the Paris Fox he observed could turn out to be a very scary man.
Chapter 15
Elizabeth
Elizabeth felt exhausted. She’d walked through the tunnels for hours trying to find a way out. The infrared goggles had given up half way through, the battery supply depleted, so she’d dumped them somewhere back in the labyrinth.
She used brief flashes of the mini-flashlight to avoid obstacles and guide her through the tunnels. It took a great deal of discipline to not just turn it on and leave it on until the battery wore down.
Periodically she’d heard angry voices echo down the tunnels and she imagined the kidnappers were still searching for her. She tried to avoid them when she could, darting into side passages and reversing directions. It didn't seem to matter since she didn't have any idea of where she was. One direction seemed as good as the next.
But now, exhausted, she simply couldn't walk any further. If she didn’t get some sleep soon, she’d just give up and wait for the kidnapers to find her, or curl up in a ball and fall asleep on the dirty concrete.
She’d traveled down a new tunnel toward what seemed to be a light, only to find when she reached the area; it had disappeared, leaving her in the darkness once again. The despair of losing it had overwhelmed her and she didn't feel she could go on.
She decided to risk the mini-light once again, aiming it at the ceiling and walls.
More of the same.
When she extinguished the flashlight, the after image of the tunnel remained imprinted on her retinas. She thought she saw something. She turned the light back on and moved to what appeared to be a circular opening high on the wall.
That's unusual. I wonder what it might be?
She looked around the corridor for something she could stand on and saw a crude ladder laying against the wall. She propped the ladder under the opening and climbed to see what lay inside. Using the light, she saw bedding, what appeared to be a quilt and thin pad.
The round opening was just large enough for a person to rest and sleep while high above the floor of the tunnel. It appeared to have been cleared of filth and was almost clean.
What about vermin?
She laughed at herself. Bedbugs were the least of her worries. She crawled up into the space, reached down, and shoved the ladder away, letting it crash to the floor.
She snuggled onto the pad, pulled the quilt over her, turned off the flashlight, and fell into an exhausted and dreamless sleep.
She was jarred awake by a hand shaking her and a blinding flare of light in her eyes. Beyond the glare she could barely discern the outline of a head with a wild nest of hair surrounding it. She drew in a breath, about to let out a scream, and felt a large calloused hand cover her nose and mouth. The suddenness and shock of the contact overwhelmed her already fragile courage and she fainted.
Chapter 16
Tyler
Paris sat in the living room of the suite staring at Agent Spooner. Spooner sat hovered over his equipment, waiting until the kidnappers tried to get in contact.
Frustration threatened to drive him over the edge. His stomach hadn't quit roiling with anxiety for almost three days, and the tedium of sitting and waiting for a phone call added to the stress.
I need to get out of here and do something!
In desperation, he’d sent Dan out to contact Tyler Bronson. He needed to get away from the FBI and make some sensitive phone calls, and he couldn't do it under their scrutiny with the suite phone or his cell phone.
Come on Tyler. Call damn it!
Jarringly the suite phone broke the silence.
Jaime, who Paris had insisted was the best man to take the initial contact, answered the phone. He heard the murmur of Jaime's voice and observed Spooner as he listened. In a moment, Jaime walked into the room carrying the suite phone.
“Mister Fox? There's a mister Tyler Bronson on the phone. Will you take the call?”
Paris tried not to let his face reflect the relief he felt. “Thank you James.” He accepted the phone from Jaime. “Hello, this is Paris.”
“Paris. I've been waiting to call you until things settled down. Have the police found anything?”
Paris took his clue from Tyler. “The kidnappers haven't contacted us about the ransom and the police still haven't found Elizabeth.”
“I can just imagine what kind of strain that is. How are you holding up?”
“Not very well, Ty. The stress is getting to me. I'm cooped up in the suite, hovering over the phone, waiting.”
“Maybe you need something to take your focus off it.”
This is it.
“Maybe. Do you have anything in mind?”
“Well, I was planning a dinner party for a small circle of friends at my home, and I would love to have you and your friends over. That is, if you can leave the suite long enough.”
Paris glanced over at Spooner who glared at him and shook his head in a violent no gesture. “I think that would be a good distraction. God knows I need it. I'm about to go stir crazy just sitting. –What time?”
“We’re going to start with cocktails at about five-thirty. Is that doable?”
“Five-thirty sounds fine. You can count us in.”
“Good. Then I'll see you this afternoon.” He disconnected.
Spooner spoke up immediately. “I can't authorize this Paris. I need to call Agent Sanders.”
“Quite frankly Spooner I don't care what you can authorize, I'm going.”
After some arguments and a little nudge from Paris' mind, the FBI agents caved in and allowed him to leave the apartment. Kitty, Dan and Roxanne joined him and they took the resort limo, with Jaime driving.
The conversation in the car centered upon their current problems. Paris needed to fill everyone in to the extent that he could without revealing too much.
“Is everyone aware of what the FBI has discovered?”
From the driver's seat, Jaime spoke first. “I heard that those bastards had your wife down in the flood control tunnels. If that's what you mean.”
“What do you know about them, Jaime?”
Jaime shook his head. “They're bad, Paris. There are hundreds of homeless people down there living in the tunnels and some of them are dangerous mental cases. Not to mention poisonous spiders, snakes and God knows what else. But that's the good news.”
Paris grew alarmed. “What's the bad?”
Jaime sounded gloomy. “The weather. Those tunnels flood when we get rains and they flood bad. We've had water running down the Strip and carrying cars away during severe storms in Las Vegas. People drown in the tunnels if they don't get out in time.”
Dan broke in. “The cops didn't say anything about t
hat. I thought you were living in a desert.”
Jaime laughed. “The city lies in a valley almost surrounded by mountains. We get snow on the peaks during the winter and all the water that falls there comes roaring down to the valley. That's why we have flood control. We get some bad storms during the fall, winter and spring months, and the weather’s been weird. The season may start earlier this year. Just pray it doesn't rain.”
Paris struggled with this new information. Their problems had just been magnified by a significant factor and he felt overwhelmed. What do I do, where do I start?
“This just gets more and more complicated, not to mention dangerous.”
“What's the problem?” Jaime said. “You just pay the ransom and let the FBI handle it. You get Missus Fox back, and let the feds take care of the rest.”
What do I say? How much can I trust him?
Then Paris thought back to his time in Iraq and the occasions when he trusted Jaime with his life.
“I lied to the FBI, Jaime. The kidnappers don't want money. They want something I can't possibly give them. That's one of the reasons I need to see Bronson tonight. You okay with that?”
Jaime lapsed into silence for a moment. Then he sighed. “I trusted you to keep me alive in Iraq, Lieutenant. I guess I can trust you now.”
Kitty had been silent the whole time but she broke in. “It may not be necessary, Paris. I managed to get Pell to let something slip. That's one of the reasons I wanted to go with him to the airport even though you were being a dick about it.”
Paris couldn't help it. He grinned. “So that was it. Okay, I give. Spit it out, Sis.”
She scowled. “I wish you would stop calling me that! The jury's still out on our so-called –relationship.”
Paris laughed. “Not in my book. Never mind. What did you learn?”
“If you’re going to be a smartass, then maybe I'll keep it to myself,” Kitty said.
“And maybe I'll toss you out of the car,” Dan growled. “Out with it!”
“Ooh. Mister macho detective, you treat all the girls that way?”
“Kitty...please,” Paris said.
Kitty relented. “Okay. He said that the Vegas police think that Elizabeth might have escaped the kidnappers. They've been interrogating some of the homeless people that they arrested, and they were saying that some scary people were prowling the tunnels wearing goggles and looking for someone. They were all terrified because the men had guns and had threatened some of the people that lived down there. But that's not all –”
Jaime interrupted and slowed the limo, moving it toward the curb. “Wait! Are you saying Missus Fox might be wandering around in the tunnels?”
Kitty sounded irritated. “How would I know? I don't know a damn thing 'bout those friggin tunnels. I’m just repeating what Pell said.”
Paris broke in. “What's the problem with that, Jaime?”
Jaime answered him. “There's over three hundred miles of tunnels and it's darker than the bottom of a coal mine. Some of them empty out to the middle of the desert, for Christ sake! She could be wandering for days.”
His words almost torpedoed the last of Paris' self control. The image of Elizabeth wandering alone and lost in the darkness caused him unbearable pain.
Kitty's voice broke his dark thoughts. “Wait a fucking minute! I haven’t finished talking!” No one said a word. “If mister gloom and doom in the front seat is finished, I can tell you why I don't think he's right.”
Paris heard Dan speak up. “I think we all need to hear you. What do you know?”
“When the jerk Paris met up with left the bar, we saw him make a phone call,” Kitty replied. “He seemed to go ballistic and the car they were driving hauled ass. Pell and I think that Elizabeth escaped at that time. We're certain that the kidnappers had maps of the tunnels, and they would have guarded all the exits, trying to herd her into a limited area where they could find her. So she's likely in the vicinity of the Strip. It's still a big area, but if she's managed to elude them up to now, she might have gotten some kind of help. That also may be why the kidnappers haven’t called. They don’t have anything to trade.”
Chapter 17
Elizabeth
Elizabeth sat at a folding card table. Her environment seemed almost surreal. A checkered table cloth covered the table which was illuminated by a candle stuck in a wine bottle. She hungrily dined on a savory plate of pasta with an excellent marinara sauce.
Across from her sat a huge black man who had a napkin tucked in the neck of his shirt. He slowly wound some of the spaghetti on his fork.
“So, Cecil, you live down here?”
The deep bass voice issued from his chest. “Yes, ma’am, don’t like the surface.”
She studied him as she ate. He was s big man with a wild mess of uncombed gray hair surrounding his face. His skin seemed black as coal, but his expressive brown eyes looked at her with compassion.
* * *
When she’d regained consciousness, she’d awakened lying on a cot and he’d sat by her side.
Terrified by the apparition, she’d opened her mouth to scream, but he’d covered her mouth with his big callused hand.
“Don’t scream missy, please. If you scream, they’ll hear you.”
She’d stared at him, afraid, not knowing what he intended but she nodded. He’d removed his hand.
He spoke quietly. “You the kidnapped lady?”
“I guess so. Who are you?”
“People in the tunnels call me ‘The Cook’ sometimes ‘Cookie’.” He laughed. “I guess they mean Kooky. They think I’m crazy.”
“Cookie. Is that your real name?”
“No ma’am, the name’s Cecil. I used to cook for one of the casinos, but I had a hard time, so I ran down here.”
“Where are we, Cecil?”
“You in the flood tunnels under the city, ma’am.”
“Flood tunnel? Is that what this is?”
“Yep. It’s a good thing I found you. This place is dangerous, especially for a purdy little thing like you.”
She didn’t reply at first because she didn’t understand his reference to ‘flood tunnels’.
“So, where are these tunnels?”
“You under the strip ma’am. It be part of the Las Vegas flood control tunnels. When it gets rainy they fill up with water. If it get bad rain, they fill up with water purdy quick.”
“It rains here? Wait –forget I said that. –Of course it rains in the desert.”
“Sometimes real bad, ma’am. Sometimes it floods the whole city. I found you sleepin’ in my hidey-hole. I use it to outlast the water when the tunnels fill up. It be high ‘nough off the floor.”
“So, Cecil, do you live here?”
“Lots of us down here. Some folks got nowhere else to go. They’s homeless. But some’s just plumb crazy and don’t wanna be locked up.”
* * *
Elizabeth brought her attention back to Cecil who sat quietly eating. “Cecil, you said that you had a hard time on the surface. What was it? Drugs? Alcohol?”
He stopped eating, laid his fork on his plate and replied, “No ma’am, nothin’ like that.”
“I don’t understand.” She gestured to the food on her plate. “You’re a really good cook. You should be able to work at any of the restaurants in Vegas. Why live down here?”
“I don’t usually talk about it missy.”
“Elizabeth, Cecil, my name is Elizabeth. You can call me Beth. But I want to know. Why would a man with your talent hide down here?”
Cecil hesitated for a long time, studying her. “It happened a long time ago, missy – uh, Beth. Back when I was in ‘Nam’.”
“You mean Vietnam? That ‘Nam’?”
“Yeah. I was a little black kid back then, eighteen years old and drafted off the farm. Wasn’t even fully growed up. I was a tunnel rat. You know what that is?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I saw something about it on television. Were you one of the men that u
sed to go into the tunnels and blow them up?”
“Had to chase all the ‘Congs out first. Could get pretty scary.” He paused again as though reluctant to continue.
Elizabeth encouraged him. “That sounds interesting, Cecil. I take it you’re a veteran?”
“Yep, even got medals and all.”
“So, what happened? Did you leave the service after you returned home?”
“No, made the Army a career.”
Elizabeth felt she wasn’t getting closer to why he wanted to live in the tunnels under Las Vegas, so she didn’t reply. She just looked at him.
The silence deepened. Finally his bass voice resumed. “It happened one time when we was told to clean out a very large tunnel system. They was three of us. I’d gotten bigger, couldn’t crawl through the tunnels any more, so I stayed back to cover the entrance.”
A look of pain and something else Elizabeth couldn’t define clouded his features. “I heard a couple of screams and then nothin’. I had this big flashlight, don’t you know, so I turned it on and scanned the dirt walls with it.
“In those days, my hair was cut mighty short, but I still felt it start to rise off my head, because the flashlight cast a shadow of a man on the back wall of the dugout. But there weren’t no one there. Just a shadow. No man. I panicked. I carried a colt 45 auto, and I emptied the colt at the shadow. When the smoke cleared, they was a Viet Cong just splayed out. He had on them black pajamas they wore, don’t you know, and he was a-bleedin’ from about five holes. But I swear. He weren’t there before I shot him, just a shadow on the wall.
“Anyway, after that, I wouldn’t go back down in the tunnels no more. The Army just said it was combat fatigue, don’t you know, and they re-assigned me to be a cook. Turned out I was a pretty good cook, so I stayed in the Army. Cooked for some generals, I did.” The last was said with a hint of pride.
Elizabeth had a suspicion she knew where he was going with his story, but she decided to let it play out. “I understand Cecil, but I still don’t know why you decided to live in the tunnels here in Las Vegas.”