Go! - Hold On! Season 2

by Peter Darley

  A wire shot out from behind the seat and cut into his Adam’s apple. Gasping for breath, he tried to pull the wire away from him, but to no avail.

  As the veil of darkness overcame him, he caught a glimpse of his assailant in the rear view mirror and immediately realized who had organized his murder.

  Elias Wolfe’s final thought was the knowledge that one of the most significant cells in American intelligence was about to fall under the control of a traitor.

  Nineteen

  A Cruel and Unjust Road

  The motel door slammed shut behind Tyler. The outrage in his eyes was unmistakable. “What the hell do you guys think you’re playing at?”

  Brandon and Belinda looked at him from the edge of the bed. Brandon was still intoxicated, but had returned to a state of moderate, conscious awareness. Tyler’s rebuking tone wasn’t helping his pounding head.

  “Well?”

  Belinda stood and approached Tyler. “I’m sorry for what happened, Tyler. I truly am. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Yes, you damn well do. You’ve both been keeping this from me for weeks. You were given every chance to keep out of it, but you were having none of it. We’re on the run, lady. Brandon’s wanted! Now, I don’t care how personal the problem is, I want some answers outta you. Why’d you attack that priest?”

  She looked away. “You mean you haven’t figured it out yet?”

  Tyler took a deep breath and lowered his volume. “I know it was none of my business before. But that’s changed now. This problem you have has jeopardized us all.”

  “I know.”

  “We parked the van behind the church, so I don’t think anybody saw what we were driving. But I’d be amazed if the police haven’t been contacted.”

  She turned back to him. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “You two stay put. We may be hidden away in a desert motel, but we’re still in the next town, only five miles along. I’ll try doing some investigating on my own tonight. They’re only a handful of stores and businesses in Wolverheath. I’ll see if anybody knows anything about Emily. Tomorrow morning we’ll head on to Crispin Rock.”

  Belinda nodded sorrowfully. Brandon’s head remained shamefully bowed.

  Tyler walked over and knelt in front of him. “What’s going on, bro? I mean, look at you. You were a hero. A legend. Why are you wasting yourself like this?”

  Brandon’s weary eyes rose slowly. “I . . . don’t know. I just don’t know, Ty.”

  They remained staring at one another for a painful moment.

  Finally, Tyler stood and made his way to the door. “You two had better get your shit together, and I mean pronto. I can’t do this on my own.” Stepping outside, he banged the door shut behind him.

  ***

  Bishop Neville Jessop responded to a knock at the church door at 7:00 a.m. Four men in pin-sharp, dark suits stood in the doorway.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Jessop said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Agent Wilmot. These are Agents Crane, Kerwin, and Rhodes. We’re with SDT. Homeland Security. May we come in?” Without waiting for permission, he walked past the bishop.

  His three associates followed. Crane visibly cringed. Kerwin, a particularly obtuse character, used his shaved head, broad frame, and nightclub-bouncer looks to maximum, intimidating effect.

  Rhodes was more conservative in appearance, with a generous amount of dark hair, although his arrogance was apparent, nonetheless.

  Wilmot noticed Crane’s uncomfortable body language, which indicated a lack of solidarity with his companions. He knew Crane viewed them as embarrassments.

  Wilmot turned to Jessop. “We’ve just spoken to one of your parishioners, Rosetta Mendez.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  “She tells us she saw Brandon Drake in here yesterday afternoon, and that his girlfriend beat the crap out of one of your . . . what do you call your kinda guys?” Wilmot rejoiced in doing his utmost to intimidate the bishop by displaying absolute disrespect. Having always harbored contempt for the religious, he considered them deluded dreamers who had no concept of reality.

  “There was an incident with Father Henry,” Jessop said, apparently unfazed.

  “Is he here? Because we’d sure as hell like to talk to the guy.”

  Father Henry appeared through the kitchen door at the far end of the aisle. Even from a distance, his misshapen nose and twin black eyes left no requirement for an introduction.

  Wilmot smiled sarcastically. “Whoa. Looks like the little minx really can pack a punch, doesn’t it?”

  The bishop finally retaliated. “Agent Wilmot, I would very much appreciate it if you would state your business.”

  Wilmot circled around him in a manner befitting the high school bully. “Yeah, I bet you would.”

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” Father Henry said.

  “Definitely,” Wilmot said. “Would you mind telling me why Belinda Reese used your face as a stress reliever?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You press charges?”

  “No.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She was clearly troubled. She needs care and love, not punishment.”

  Wilmot turned back to the bishop. “Where did they go afterwards?”

  “We have no idea. Nobody even saw what they were driving.”

  Wilmot’s brow furrowed in suspicion. “Why the hell not?”

  “We were all rather shaken at the time, and we were concerned about Father Henry.”

  “And that’s all? What were they doing here?”

  Jessop didn’t answer immediately. It was clear from the look in his eyes that he harbored a degree of sympathy with the Drake brothers.

  Wilmot rolled his eyes and exhaled. “I’m waiting.”

  “They were here looking for their sister, Emily Drake. She was a nun with our Carmelite order, but she decided to leave.”

  “Sister? Where did she go?”

  “I have no idea, and neither does anybody else. We are extremely concerned about her.”

  “I’m sure. Where could she have gone?”

  Hesitantly, Jessop replied, “There’s our town, Woodville, and then Wolverheath and Crispin Rock farther along. But I find it unlikely you’ll find her in either. All it would have taken is for someone to have given her a ride somewhere.”

  “Their sister may not be in either of those towns,” Wilmot said. “But I’m willing to bet my bottom dollar our three stooges are.” He tapped Jessop on the shoulder with contemptuous disregard. “Thanks, Padre.”

  Wilmot made his way out the church, stopped in his tracks, and turned to his three associates. “Drake’s in one of these towns. I can feel it. When we find him, I want him taken alive. Are we clear? And you never know, if Faraday and Reese were to attack us, or try to stop us from taking Drake in . . . anything could happen.”

  Kerwin and Rhodes grinned with pack-animal sadism.

  “But take it from me, Crane, Drake’s not someone you want to get physical with. If you can persuade him peacefully, you’ll be making our job one hell of a lot easier. The other two are expendable.”

  “I can handle Drake. Nobody has to be harmed,” Crane said.

  “OK, just don’t underestimate the son of a bitch.”

  Bishop Neville Jessop sat in a pew, deep in thought. His reluctance to guide Wilmot to Brandon Drake’s possible location had been excruciating—the dilemma of obeying a legal responsibility with the Judas kiss. He wasn’t under the seal of the confessional this time, but he had no desire to lead an arrogant, despicable miscreant like Agent Wilmot to his quarry.

  Despite the havoc the presence of Belinda Reese and the Drake boys had caused, he suspected they were traveling along a cruel and unjust road.

  Twenty

  Highway to Hell

  Emily awoke in a room at the Days Inn South Lenwood Hotel in Barstow, California, feeling particularly refreshed. Fabian had insisted on buying h
er dinner at the hotel the night before, and paid for her room. She couldn’t deny her pangs of guilt at having accepted his generosity with no means by which she might reciprocate.

  Having showered and redressed herself, she made her way downstairs to the restaurant for breakfast.

  According to Fabian, it wasn’t a prestige hotel, but to Emily, it was a paradise compared to the stifling environment from which she’d escaped. Her sense of enjoyment exacerbated her guilty conscience. Her life had been one of self-denial, with the indoctrination of the message that suffering was a virtue. Any form of pleasure or enjoyment for ‘the self’, she’d been taught, was, indeed, a step on the road to damnation. Despite her waning faith, the thought briefly crossed her mind that her feelings of humble self-abasement and guilt would remain with her for life.

  The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out into the crowded foyer, across to the restaurant. She immediately noticed Fabian sitting at a table in the far corner reading a newspaper, and quickened her pace toward him.

  He looked up and smiled. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

  “Oh, just fine, thank you. You are very kind,” she said with gentle graciousness. “This hotel is just wonderful. I’ve never stayed in a place like this before.”

  “Oh, this is nothing. Please, take a seat and have some breakfast.”

  “Thank you.”

  He placed the newspaper on the table. “You were very quiet over dinner last night. I’m not trying to pry, but are you sure there’s not something you want to talk about?”

  She looked away, desperately wanting to avoid the subject of her past, if for no other reason than to not make him feel uncomfortable. Finally, she realized there was no way around it. “All right, I’ll tell you, but I really don’t want to.”

  “What?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m a nun.”

  Fabian grinned. “A nun? Come on. You’re putting me on.”

  “Well, at least I was until a couple of days ago. I escaped from the convent. I just . . . never mind.”

  “You escaped?”

  “I couldn’t take it anymore. They wouldn’t release me from my vows, so technically, I’m still a nun. I just don’t feel like one.”

  “Well, after breakfast, we’ll hit the road, and then we’ll stop off and get you a new set of clothes.”

  She looked away, somewhat saddened. “You don’t have to do that. Please—”

  “I want to spoil you.” He stroked her cheek, but she recoiled. “What’s wrong? You are so beautiful.”

  “P-please don’t.”

  He took his hand away. “I’m sorry, I just thought—”

  “What do you do, Fabian?” she said, intentionally changing the subject. “What’s this job you have for me?”

  “Well, you said you liked helping people. I know of people who need help. I think a kind, thoughtful person like you could really help them get to where they want to be.”

  She tilted her head pensively, unable to deny her curiosity about what the job entailed. “Are they poor?”

  Fabian paused in a contemplating manner for a moment. “In a way.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can,” she said. “It will be so good to be able to serve people, and have my freedom too.”

  Fabian stood and stepped around to the side of the table. “I need to use the restroom. Get yourself some breakfast. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Emily watched him walk across the restaurant, wondering where her life was taking her. Fabian seemed so wonderful. She couldn’t help but trust him.

  She noticed the newspaper on the table and picked it up, excited that she could sit at a hotel breakfast table and freely read the paper.

  Her eyes shot to the left as her own name caught her attention. It was a page three article on the case of the escaped military prisoner, Brandon Drake. She became intrigued as she read the story and studied the face of the man in the photograph. There was something about his features that seemed so familiar, especially his eyes.

  Or was it just her imagination? Could her mind have been playing tricks on her simply because this particular fugitive had the same name as her?

  Fascinated, she continued to read.

  Fabian turned a corner in the reception area and took out his cell phone. He shook his head in astonishment at his stroke of good fortune. On reflection, he realized how being a nun fit Emily so well. She had such a shy, extremely polite, and modest manner. The way in which she wore no makeup, and bore a face of such profound innocence, made her claim highly convincing.

  Regardless, he could see her bone structure was strong. Her green eyes left no doubt in his mind that with minimum cosmetics, she would be one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

  He searched through his list of contacts, found the number, and made the call. “Hey, it’s me. What would you say if I told you I’ve got your most profitable squeeze, ever . . . ? Yeah, we’ll be hitting the highway soon, so I’ll be back with her by the afternoon. She doesn’t suspect anything. She’s a runaway nun, ridiculously naïve, and as dumb as they come . . . OK, but don’t forget, I want a serious cut for this.” He ended the call and returned to the restaurant.

  After breakfast, Fabian settled up the tab at the reception desk. With Emily by his side, he departed the hotel and walked across the parking lot to his silver Chevrolet Corvette. “You ready?”

  “I-I guess so,” she said.

  “OK, jump in and let’s hit the road.”

  Once Emily had closed her door, he started up the engine. The car shot forward, screeching the tires slightly. With unnecessary acceleration, he sped onto the road in the direction of the highway.

  Twenty-One

  Nowhere to Run

  Belinda awoke beside Brandon to find him shivering and perspiring heavily. “Brandon? What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I feel hot. Feverish.”

  Abruptly, she sat up and noticed his skin was white and damp. “Oh, my God. You’ve got withdrawal.”

  “G-guess so. I’ll be all right.”

  “Not for another few days. Why, Brandon? Why didn’t you tell me you’d got a problem?”

  “Didn’t t-think I had.”

  “How long have you been drinking?”

  “How long?”

  She grasped his shoulders tightly. “I need you to listen to me. When was the last time you can remember going a day without touching any alcohol?”

  “I don’t know. Three, maybe four weeks.”

  “Three, maybe four weeks? And you didn’t think there might be a problem?”

  He clasped his clammy, quivering hands over his ears. “Please, don’t shout.”

  She exhaled, exasperated, and climbed out of bed. “Get up and take a shower. What you really need is medical attention.”

  With a look of profound loathing, he lifted his head off the pillow.

  ***

  The night before, Tyler had found that most of the people in Wolverheath knew Sister Veronica. However, nobody had seen her during the time since she’d fled the convent.

  He parked the van in a lot outside a small shopping mall in Crispin Rock. From there, Tyler, Brandon, and Belinda proceeded to inquire at every store they came to with their only photograph of Emily.

  With each passing moment their anxiety escalated, and Brandon’s condition was worsening. He tried valiantly to hide his shaking hands and perspiring brow by looking downward, his long hair and baseball cap acting as a makeshift mask. The perspiration made it impossible for him to use his usual prosthetic disguise methods. They all knew what they were doing was hazardous, but they had no choice. Emily was missing, and they had to find her, no matter the risk. It was an impossible situation. They’d found themselves putting their own liberty, perhaps even their very lives in danger, but were compelled to act in the absence of an alternative.

  They spent almost four hours asking if anybody had seen the woman in the photograph, but it proved fruitless.

  A
fter stepping out of a small bookstore they noticed Rockers Tavern directly opposite. Tyler and Belinda had been avoiding it since they arrived in town, fearful of how the sight of alcohol might affect Brandon. Standing on the opposite side of the street, they stared at the place with unease.

  “I’ll be OK,” Brandon said weakly.

  Tyler took out the keys to the van and handed them to him. “Brandon, go sit in the van. You don’t need to go in there.”

  A pleading look crossed Brandon’s face. “Please, Ty. I know I’m a wreck. I know I’ve screwed up. But I can handle it. I’m not gonna be able to live with knowing I couldn’t even help trying to find her.”

  Tyler glanced at Belinda, their fears in sync. What would be the worst? Risking Brandon looking at bottles of alcohol for a few minutes? Or risk the problem getting worse by having him live the rest of his life with an enhanced feeling of failure and shame?

  “All right,” Tyler said. “But we’re gonna be watching you like goddamn hawks. The first sign of needing a drink, you get the hell outta there.”

  “You have my word.”

  Tyler held his gaze for a moment. “Jesus, man. You look terrible.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  They crossed the road and entered Rockers. Brandon immediately averted his eyes from the bottles behind the bar. It had been an arduous morning for him. After a shower and an attempt at breakfast, he was still perspiring and shaking. His performance capacity was practically zero. Against Belinda and Tyler’s advice, he fought through his incapacity to aid in the search for his sister, the ravenous urge for a drink ever present.

  It was surprisingly busy inside with the manager actively serving drinkers. They waited a few minutes for him to finish before seizing a moment to catch his attention.

  “What can I get for you guys?” the manager said.

  Belinda took Brandon’s hand and squeezed it. “Take a deep breath,” she whispered.