~ Ben ~
While Ben was chewing Eric's ass, he installed a tiny listening device in his office and had hacked the security camera so there would be an empty fifteen minutes on it. A month ago he had installed a tracking device on Eric's black Infiniti. Smiling as he drove away on the Indian motorcycle, Ben knew the sniveling twit was having an involuntary bowel movement right about now and this brought him some level of satisfaction. He felt he now had the money trail nailed down. The listening device would hold Eric's confession the next time he spoke with Ali Farouz.
Now Ben focused solely on getting inserted into the Islamic terrorist community outside of Springfield. A few more details needed to be worked out, but he had the plan formulated and felt certain he could pull it off. He parked the Indian motorcycle in the parking lot of a scientific building on the outskirts of Portland Maine. The building was one level and covered an enormous amount of real estate, maybe four acres, with a sign in the front that said Primary Biological Services. After going through an elaborate security system, Ben waited in a reception area for twenty minutes. Doctor John Ibsen arrived to usher him into an area to suit up. "Hi Chief, good to meet you…I'm ready to give you the Cliff's Notes version of weapons grade anthrax."
Ben climbed into the impenetrable suit in the clean room and listened carefully to everything Doctor Ibsen told him about anthrax. He was memorizing every detail as the doctor spoke. After going through an air-lock, they entered the inner sanctum that contained the deadly bacterium. Using radio communication inside a sealed suit, Doctor Ibsen showed Ben the various types of anthrax and the various vials they usually came in. He even had the cheap Chinese version in which the vials were stored in a yellow canister. Ibsen explained the handling protocol. "The finer the powder the higher grade anthrax and the more ingestible it is. There are some lower grades that look like granules of brown sugar. But remember, it's all lethal. But the most dangerous is the stuff you can barely see with the naked eye. This electronic scanning microscope will magnify the anthrax by 100,000; then we will look at it at 300,000."
Doctor Ibsen showed Ben the various containers the anthrax came in and there was a wide variety, especially those from China. The canisters that held the vials were yellow, pink and blue, with yellow being the highest grade. The prepared specimens lived in sealed glass chambers. They looked like normal microscope glass slides but rectangular and vacuum sealed. Viewing the three-dimensional image Ben got his first close-up look at the deadly bacterium that, upon first glance, appeared to be the finest talcum powder with a slightly translucent quality. It was at that moment Ben realized how terribly dangerous this stuff was. It would not be detected if it was airborne. No one would ever see it or notice inhaling it.
After the scientific lesson the two men passed through the decontamination chamber, then through the air-lock and ended up in a wash room where they cleaned and dried their bodies. Dr. Ibsen was a small man, maybe seventy years of age, and hunched over. The hair he had left was thin, gray and tousled. He peered at Ben over his spectacles and asked if there were any questions. "Just one," Ben looked him in the eye. "What would the time frame be for death if anthrax was ingested rather than inhaled?" Doctor Ibsen was deep in thought. "Actually, humans would die sooner if they ingested the bacterium. They would die within 48 hours without a strong antibiotic to kill the anthrax. Cipro is the most effective." Ben asked if he could contact him if any other questions came up and the good doctor gave him his personal cell number. "I always have this phone on me. If you run into a problem, call me. Don't do anything stupid. There's no going back. So, don't be afraid to ask." Ben thanked him and left with the cell number added to his secure phone. He hoped to God he would not have to use it. He now knew exactly what he would do. The moment he viewed the anthrax in the sealed slide a light bulb went off in his head.
Rushing home on the motorcycle, he couldn't wait to see Lara. Tonight they would be going to dinner with Monique and Bettencourt. This would be good for comic relief, if nothing else. He knew Bettencourt was longing for the company of a woman and the date with Monique would be good for him. He looked forward to a diversion from his mission, if only for a few hours. More than anything, he anticipated undressing with Lara after dinner and going to a place with her that was heavenly for him, the bedroom. She was relaxing more with him physically and he didn't want to interrupt the progression of their lovemaking. It was a major expression of his love and he always wanted it to be that way.
~ Lara ~
After stopping by the landscaping project at Noon to see Hawk, Lara planned an afternoon of organization and moving. She met Monique to undertake the task of moving her Dark Horse Renovation business materials into the Craftsmen bungalow that would now house her business. This was a delightful experience for both women. Most of the files were electronic, thus they moved computer equipment and met with service people to install the wireless router for the internet connection. Everything was up and running smoothly by the end of the day. "We need to go shopping tomorrow for furnishings." Lara smiled at Monique. "That part will be fun. Maybe Bettencourt can help us." As she glanced at her phone Lara realized it was 5:30 and they had a date arranged for 7:00 at the Seafood Palace. Monique nervously gushed, "Oh, I need to take a shower and get ready. I'll meet you guys there at 7:00." Lara locked up the bungalow, making a mental note to get a sign constructed for the front, and drove a short distance to the pink Victorian to meet Ben.
He greeted her in the driveway with Einstein panting heavily. "We just got back from our run. I see there's a lot of activity going on at Eric's place – the landscaping, I mean." Lara got out of the car and kissed him. "Yes, I'm taking great care to make sure the project will be elaborate and expensive!" Ben questioned her about Grant Hawkins again. "Do you know anything about this guy?" Lara said innocently, "No, just what I've read about him on his website and what Eliot told me - why?" Ben gave her a serious glance then looked away. "I ran a background on him and some things came up." Lara's curiosity was piqued. "What came up?" Ben continued, "He was married for several years but his wife passed away two years ago. His wife had money and left him a small fortune when she died. He started the landscaping business when he married her; she bankrolled him. Before he met his wife he mowed lawns for someone else, worked as a roofing installer and did a stint in prison, then a drug rehab facility." Lara pursed her lips as Ben encapsulated Grant Hawkins into a couple of sentences. "Oh Ben, he’s a former drug addict? He's been the perfect gentleman with me. Now I will be nervous around him. I’m glad you told me this." Ben was somber. "Just be careful, Lara. I don't want you with him alone. Make sure there are people around and keep your Glock on you."
She was now concentrating on getting ready for dinner at the Seafood Palace, although the lingering thought of Grant Hawkins as a drug addict cycled through her mind in an obsessive-compulsive way. After a quick shower she was dressed in soft linen pants and a matching tank top with a seashell pendant. Lara observed Ben without his noticing. She loved watching him get dressed to go out. He was low maintenance yet so handsome. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him pull on a worn pair of freshly pressed chinos and a faded denim shirt that matched the blue of his eyes. She caught a glimpse of the rare Irish coin pendant against his chest and for a split-second recalled the delight on his face the exact moment she put the gift in his lap. She applied lipstick but watched Ben as he ran his hands through his dark hair and then brushed his teeth. "Ready?" he looked at her and smiled with dimples. Behind her Lara could see his reflection as she sat at her vanity. He bent down and kissed her neck. She felt his powerful arms as they lightly encircled her body and she inhaled the mixture of sandalwood that was Ben. "Let's go!" She giggled escaping from his arms before things got too heated. They put on their helmets and goggles and enjoyed the motorcycle ride to the Seafood Palace. Lara slipped her hand beneath Ben's leather jacket and touched the pendant on his muscled chest. She caught his reflection in the rearview mirror and noticed he was
smiling.
~ Ben ~
Ben loved the Seafood Palace because it was the place that he officially had his first date with Lara. He remembered the first motorcycle ride and the interrogation by her good friend, Don Henderson, and smiled to himself. More than anything, he loved the way Lara touched the pendant on his chest tonight as she embraced him on the motorcycle. Her caress sent an undercurrent of electricity through his body.
Once they met Monique inside, they got a table for four. About thirty minutes of casual conversation ensued, but Bettencourt didn't show up. Ben excused himself to make a phone call. It wasn't like Bettencourt to be late for anything. The phone rang and went directly to voicemail. That wasn't like him either. He always answered his phone even if he was driving or taking a shower. Ben went back inside and asked the two women to go ahead and order dinner. He was going to take a ride to see what was going on with Bettencourt. There was a slight chance the police department called him in to work a shift. But he knew his friend would have called if that was the case. Ben did not like the feeling he was getting in his gut.
He raced to the police station to make sure Bettencourt wasn't on duty. He had to drive by the station on the way to Bettencourt's apartment anyhow. The dispatcher at the front desk said Bettencourt was off tonight. With a heightened sense of urgency, Ben now raced to his friend's apartment. When he approached he immediately knew violence had occurred, and at first glance, he had just missed the action by a matter of minutes. The blood on the door casing and walls of the hallway, which he hoped was not Bettencourt's, wasn't even dry yet. He quietly called the police station for back-up and removed his shoes before entering Bettencourt's apartment. He had his weapon at the ready and moved with stealth toward the battered apartment door. It had been violently breached. Ben noticed the door was blown off the hinges. Not good. The person or group that did this knew how to blast a door off its hinges. His mind was wild with possibilities: professional killers or military guys. There was blood everywhere, on the floors and on the walls. When he saw a big handprint in blood on the door frame, Ben's heart sank. It appeared that Bettencourt had put up a good fight but someone had him.
Within minutes two officers arrived and went over the scene with Ben. "Bettencourt was taken out of here violently, there's no doubt. But who the hell would do this?" Ben was furious. An adjacent apartment door cracked open and a small gray-haired elderly woman peeked into the hallway. Her raspy voice called out to them, "Hey…there were men here and they wore black clothing and their faces were wrapped with black scarves. They had guns and I heard Randall Bettencourt fighting with them. They beat him badly. I don't know if he's alive."
Immediately, the officers and Ben coaxed the woman into the hallway. "Were there gunshots?" Ben asked nervously. The elderly woman answered quickly, "One gunshot…it was deafening, like a shotgun blast. That's all the gunfire I heard…but there was a lot of punching and kicking going on. I didn't dare to come into the hallway when it happened, but I saw them leave. My window faces the alley." Ben rushed to see if there were any security cameras and found one in the hallway. He instructed the police to get the footage from the camera as soon as possible. "Who did Bettencourt arrest in the last few weeks?" Ben asked. Then with a sense of urgency said, “We’ve got to go to the station and run through his arrest records.” Ben followed the officers back to the station as more blue suits arrived to comb through the crime scene. The name of Ali Farouz was in Bettencourt's police file; but he never arrested the man. However, he had obtained a warrant to search his home; and, more importantly had obtained a court order of protection for his daughter, Nadia. Ben's pulse raced.
~ Bettencourt ~
His nose was broken, that much he knew. And, he couldn't see out of one eye. Randall Bettencourt had taken the beating of his life and was still alive, although he felt like he was going to die. He pretended he was unconscious because of the voices in the room. He was desperately trying to figure out how many men there were and had only a vague memory of how violently they attacked him. He knew they wanted Nadia, but that’s all he could remember before blacking out.
Bettencourt lay motionless on the floor, taking long shallow breaths to feign unconsciousness. They were speaking Pashto, the language of the Taliban, and they obviously thought he didn't know what they were saying -- but he did. He spoke and understood the language fluently. These guys wanted Nadia. Her father sent them with orders to beat him until he handed her over. He would die before he'd do that. As he lay in a bloody mess blindfolded with his hands and feet bound, he used his SEAL training to formulate a plan and quick.
He somehow had to contact Ben, but how? Bettencourt didn't even know where he was right now except it felt like a warehouse. He heard the echoes when the men talked and sensed the hard surfaces of his surroundings. He was lying on a cement floor that smelled of motor oil. Sounds bounced off what he figured were corrugated metal walls. He heard a garage door open and close. A cell phone rang. The man was talking in Pasto saying he did not have Nadia yet, but he would soon get her. The voice on the other end sounded angry and said, "Kill him if he doesn't give her to you!" Bettencourt could smell gasoline and garbage. Footsteps approached and he did not dare to move making his breath as shallow as possible. Suddenly, he was kicked in the head by a boot and the man called him an infidel and a pig. A gob of spit landed on his face. But Bettencourt did not respond to the kick or the disgusting act, as difficult as it was. He remained as lifeless as a rag doll. He knew eventually one of them would check his wounds to see if he was unconscious.
As he predicted, one of the men gingerly removed the blindfold and examined his face. Through swollen closed eyelids he sensed fluorescent lighting. The man lifted Bettencourt's eyelid with one finger. "He's still alive…his pupil dilated." he reported to the group. There were five of them. "Where's Nadia?" the man loudly yelled into Bettencourt's swollen face. Bettencourt did not respond, hoping they'd leave him alone for a while. "He's out." One of the other men said. "We need to eat. We'll take a break and come back in a little while. Then we can really work him over. We can water board this son-of-a-bitch." Bettencourt heard the garage door open and a vehicle drove out of the building.
There were now only two men in the room. He listened as one man spoke to the other in Pasto dialect saying he had to take a piss. The man’s footsteps receded as he made his way to the bathroom. Now there was only one man and Bettencourt sensed this was his only moment of opportunity. Lying on the concrete he moved and groaned loudly. The man approached him. Just as he bent down, within a split second Bettencourt used all of his bodyweight and sat up, smashing his forehead into the man's skull with great force knocking him over. Hobbled, Bettencourt hurled his body to his knees and jumped to a standing position as adrenaline coursed through him. Battle-mode took over. He jumped with both feet on the man's head rendering him unconscious. Then he furiously searched the room to find something to cut the plastic ties that were binding him. He was in a commercial garage and found a tool drawer. Hobbling to the drawer he reached a snipping tool and broke free. Now he searched for weapons. There were tools, lots of them.
Bettencourt flattened himself against the wall as he heard the other man returning from the bathroom. With all his strength, he cracked the man's skull with an oversized wrench. The man fell to the cement floor unconscious and bleeding profusely. The other man that he kicked in the head was now regaining consciousness and Bettencourt took the heavy wrench to him, beating him until he stopped moving. He grabbed the man's cell phone and called Ben.
~ Ben ~
While at the police station Ben noticed his cell phone vibrating; it was an unfamiliar number but he answered it. When he heard Bettencourt's voice he was relieved to know he was still alive. "The GPS on this phone puts me at a garage on the West end of Commercial Street. I'm outside of the garage now, Ben. There are five guys and I beat two of them bloody unconscious, but the other three are returning any moment. They came for Nadia, that's Ali Farouz's daug
hter. I wouldn't tell them where she was. They beat me pretty bad." Ben took the coordinates and told Bettencourt to lay low. "Jesus, Bett, hide. I'm coming, and there will be a shitload of police coming, too. Lay low, Bett. Don't let them find you. You don't have a gun. You're hurt. There are three of them and one of you." Ben was already at the police station and several officers heeded his call for back-up. Following Ben, the officers sped to the location Bettencourt gave him.
As Ben arrived he ducked out of sight in a growth of weeds and brush. Three men dressed in black entered the warehouse carrying what looked like food. Ben waited and hoped that Bettencourt had found a good hiding spot. Fingering his weapon he drew it up, then inhaled and exhaled to steady himself as the adrenaline coursed through him. The voice in his head said, control your heart rate. A rustling sound came from his right side and he turned with lightning speed training his weapon directly on the figure -- then quickly disengaged. Bettencourt was lying in the tall weeds not twenty feet away with blood covering his face. He had fallen there and was trying to communicate with Ben.
Ben had advised the police to arrive without sirens and lights but with weapons drawn. He advised, "These guys are armed. They kidnapped and tried to kill Officer Bettencourt." The police department was akin to the brotherhood of SEALs. When Ben told them their fellow officer was down and he had been kidnapped and beaten, it was game on. An incredible force of men dressed in blue and some in plain clothes arrived and surrounded the warehouse in silence within minutes. No lights, no sirens, in fact the doors on the police cruisers were not even closed. The engines were killed and the officers moved without words. The three terrorists fired their weapons at the officers first and in a hail of bullets, the kidnappers were instantly killed.
Encountering Evil: Dark Horse Guardians Book Two Page 12