And the girl? That part was rich. They had really played that one well. Overdose girl. Party monster. Hilarious touch. Hell, they even managed to get Dino and Doctor Ivy in on it.
Anthony Peterson chuckled out loud in the dark.
Susan was fine!
Of course she was! Susan had probably put Tom up to the whole thing, hadn’t she? They wanted to teach him a lesson, and it worked.
Things were going to be different now.
Who played the kidnapper? A friend of Tom’s? Maybe another employee? Or just some actor they had hired?
Oh, sure it went too far. They should never have brought up South America on a cell phone. That was dangerous. And, yes, he would need some bridges for his teeth, and he was pissed off about that. Nobody wanted dentures.
But the game had served its purpose, hadn’t it? They had made him rethink his life and that must have been their goal.
It was like Ebenezer Scrooge finally learning the error of his ways and running out in the street to give long overdue gifts. That was Anthony Peterson today.
He just needed that metal cargo door to open so he could do that. Be a better man. He had so much to do. So why wasn’t the door opening so he could?
He laughed again in the dark.
He bet Evan was in on it too. Even Elena might have been.
If they had presented it to them as a way to pay Dad back and make Dad learn a lesson, they’d bite, right? We’ll play a game with your dad, scare him, but he’ll come out all the better for it. He’ll be apologizing soon as hell.
What a gift that would be!
Then, he would be able to make things better, and he’d never take Susan for granted or let his kids feel unloved or…
And, of course, that is exactly what happened.
Anthony Peterson was soon freed, and he was a better man for it. The first thing he did when he walked out from the container into the cheering throngs of his family and friends and newcomers was to hug Evan. He held him there, eyes closed, forehead to forehead as they had done when Evan was young. Then, he held Elena. He asked, laughingly, if he could pick her up as he hugged her, and she said it would be okay, so he swung her around just as he had when she was a little girl.
And Marie was there. He hugged Marie, his ex-wife, and apologized for all of the many things he had done wrong and told her he didn’t even blame her for Sully. He would pay all her medical bills from then on and would do his best to be a better friend than he had been a husband. Marie laughed and said that sounded like a plan, and they chuckled together the way they had when they first met, all those years ago. Friends now. Not just for the kids, but for themselves. He hugged her again, and they smiled and winked at each other. They knew each other so well. They should never have parted. Even though the relationship had failed, the friendship should have stayed. That big hug proved that.
But the biggest hug he reserved for Susan. Susan was there, waiting just outside with the crowd, ever so patiently, but when it was time for her to come forward the crowd parted, just like in the movies, and Susan danced out toward him, and he hugged her tightly. It was a hug that they never wanted to disengage from. He swore he’d never take her for granted again, and she responded that she knew he wouldn’t. They laughed and hugged some more, then kissed without modesty in front of the clapping crowd.
Tom made a quick speech, and everyone toasted to the new Anthony Peterson. They all laughed and joked together, especially when Peterson mock-angrily asked whose idea the tooth extraction was. Luckily, Doctor Ivy just happened to be on hand and had both painkillers and ready-made prostheses (courtesy of the craftsmanship of Dino Dennison) that Peterson was able to pop in and he felt like a new man.
Tom introduced Anthony to the guy who played kidnapper and they embraced too. He told the actor that he owed him one for helping him meet himself again for the first time. And the pair remained friends for life after that.
And that very night, he vowed to donate money to South American causes, especially to the orphans of La Aldea. It was the least he could do. He had learned his lesson after all. It was more than a pledge, it was a vow. And they did not fuck with Anthony Peterson because nobody even wanted to anymore. He was the most popular guy in town since he changed. Anthony Peterson was a new man.
Evan and Elena were even reluctantly nice to Susan, and by the end of the night, Susan and Marie had actually met and had become fast friends.
Christmases to come would have the whole family together with Evan making the occasional joke about Anthony being in one of the Christmas packages. He was, after all, cargo, wasn’t he? That guy who had played the kidnapper, now one of Anthony’s dearest friends, would laugh and laugh, and then offer him a toothpick while Marie and Elena would tell them how bad they were for making those jokes, and Susan just sat there laughing uncontrollably. Just like Anthony did. He was so happy he couldn’t stop laughing that big, wide-eyed grin-laugh.
Why shouldn’t everything work out? He had certainly had a time of it, hadn’t he?
And come September, he and Susan renewed their vows in front of everyone with Tom as his best man. And this time, Evan and Elena attended, as did even Marie. At long last, everyone was on good terms. Sully even came back from the dead to officiate the ceremony. Oh, he dodged questions about whether he had actually died or not, but wherever Sully had come from, Anthony was grateful that he had made the trip. He even took Sully aside and promised that if he ever wanted to pop the question to Marie, Anthony would be glad to give his blessing and even officiate, if they’d have him.
Evan gave the speech offering his own blessing to Anthony and Susan, and Anthony just stood there on the edge of the stage that September and laughed in happiness. A drunken, sporting, full, rich laugh in front of all his friends and family. And he just laughed and laughed in happiness.
That night, he carried his wife over the threshold of their second honeymoon suite, and he made love to her like an animal on a steroids and Viagra cocktail. Afterward, he left her sleeping and satisfied with maybe a new little brother or sister for Evan and Elena to coo over growing inside of her. And instead of sleeping himself, Anthony Peterson just laid there awake and staring into the darkness laughing that satisfied, happy, goofy, glorious laugh, knowing that everything had worked out and everything was going to work out from then on out.
Anthony Peterson had won. Anthony Peterson laughed.
But the phone kept ringing in total darkness.
Of course it did.
Of course he wasn’t in his honeymoon suite.
Of course he was still in the box.
Of course nothing had actually worked out.
Of course nothing would.
Of course Susan was dead.
Of course he had to answer that phone. He’d better do it soon before they hung up.
“Hello?” he muttered and noted the phone was broken again. Black screen. Dead.
“Anthony?”
Peterson slumped. It was Sully’s voice. Sully’s dead voice.
He had let himself hope this was some joke. He had allowed himself the fantasy of victory and now he was let down again.
What was real? What was real?
Was this real?
Was he in his second honeymoon suite, staring into the darkness with his perfect bride beside him, carrying his new heir?
Or was she dead, and he was now sparring with a dead man?
What was real? What was real?
“Sully,” he moaned. “Let me talk to Susan.”
Sully sounded patient as he said, “But Anthony, Susan is dead. I don’t have her. I wasn’t there. I’m dead too. We both died because of you. You don’t still think I was working with the kidnappers, do you?”
“No,” Anthony said flatly. “No, you couldn’t be. You’re dead. You weren’t in on this big joke, were you? You’re dead, and she’s dead, so she’s with you, so let me talk to her!”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” Sully said politely.
“I knew it,” Peterson mumbled. “You’re not real. You never were real, were you?”
“I’m as real as you make me,” Sully said without argument. “I just wanted to call and say goodbye.” Sully’s voice chuckled a little. “And to tell you not to worry about Evan and Elena. I’ll take good care of them. Them and their mother both. If you remember, I don’t make promises idly.”
Peterson grunted. His subconscious was telling him exactly what he wanted to hear in that moment, all in the guise of Sully. It was nothing more than a hallucination. So, he reminded Sully again, “You’re dead.”
“You know?” Sully started again, completely disregarding Peterson’s words. “You’re right where I thought you always belonged. Oh, I don’t mean in some forty-foot metal coffin, exactly. I mean that you’re…alone in the dark. Dying all by your lonesome. Just like you always deserved.”
“We’ll see,” Peterson muttered defiantly but still pained.
Sully chuckled again. “Anthony, there is no one coming to save you. You’re sealed in your own perfect little tomb…forever. Peaceful, isn’t it? You’re halfway there, Anthony.”
Softly, barely getting the words out Peterson managed to pronounce “Halfway…where?”
“You’re already lying down,” Sully said. “Now…just die.”
Sully hung up, and Peterson rolled over to his back, causing the phone to fall off of the side of his face to the floor.
Peterson just lay there, looking up. No light to see the ceiling. No pregnant, perfect wife sleeping happily by his side. No honeymoon suite. Just his coffin.
Sully. Susan.
What he wouldn’t give to wrap his arms around Susan’s neck again.
What he wouldn’t give to wrap his fingers around Sully’s throat.
But no…Sully wasn’t real. It was all in his own head.
Sully was dead. So was Susan. He had made sure that Sully was dead. Sully had been right about that one thing.
It was pointless to imagine revenge against Sully…the dead man talking.
Revenge.
And that was it. Sully was gone. Peterson had gotten all the revenge he would ever manage to take on Sully.
But they weren’t gone. The kidnappers weren’t gone. And he did, ultimately, have one last thing to live for.
It wasn’t love.
It wasn’t forgiveness.
It wasn’t soul-searching and the betterment of mankind, and it sure as hell wasn’t atonement.
It was vengeance!
29
Commando: 7:13 PM
Anthony Peterson sat up and narrowed his eyes in angst and fury. He could see nothing, but he felt his face turning red. He hardened his heart and steeled his muscles and ground what was left of his teeth.
They had made two big mistakes, the kidnappers.
Two huge mistakes they would regret.
They had not killed him. And they had left him that phone.
Oh, sure, they knew the phone was going to lose power eventually, but they had also given him the best, shockproof battery case money could buy and it had one hell of an auxiliary battery life. Oh, sure, if he called the cops he wouldn’t have a damned thing to tell them that would help. Oh, sure, calling the cops would not get him any revenge. Oh, sure.
But he did still have the phone. And Anthony Peterson did remember one other number he could call.
It was a number he did not expect to ever use again, but it was high time he used it.
He had one plan.
One last thing to live for. One more reason to keep going.
All fantasies aside, all glamors removed, all reality exposed. He had one plan and one plan only left.
He was going to pull the strings again, one last time, and he was going to love every last fucking second of it.
Anthony Peterson remembered that phone number like his own birthdate, though he never expected to use it again.
He brought the phone to his ear and waited, listening to every last ring.
“Speak,” the voice said. It was the voice of the man Peterson called Merc. A deep, mature, masculine, military voice.
That was Merc.
“Merc,” Peterson said, firmly.
The other man paused then said, “Anthony? Anthony Peterson? Sweet baby Jesus, it’s been years!”
“Years,” Peterson confirmed flatly, then said, “I need your help.” Direct and to the point, just the way the man called Merc would appreciate.
Merc still sounded happy as he said, “Well, sure, man! Anything for my old amigo!”
Peterson coldly and deliberately recited the situation once again. “I have been kidnapped. Held for ransom. Threatened with death. They snatched my wife and threatened to kill her too.”
“Wait. Are you okay?”
“No, Merc. And neither is Susan. I paid them the ten million they demanded, and they killed her anyway. Now, I’ve been left to die. I’m trapped inside a metal shipping cargo container. I don’t know where I am, but I know the oxygen is running out, quickly.”
Merc was momentarily silent, stunned at this development. “Wha–? Anthony, this is insane! Why the hell didn’t you call me first?”
“Because they were fucking listening, Merc,” Anthony said flatly, in spite of his emotion. “They told me that if I called the cops, or anyone not related to the ransom, Susan and I were dead.” He coughed. “Looks like we are anyway.”
Merc was the toughest man Anthony had ever met. Powerful and gritty. But at the moment he sounded like a concerned friend.
“Are they listening right now?”
Peterson paused. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t think so. They shut down the power. Said they were pulling the plug.”
Merc said seriously “My guess is their capability to listen went with the power. That would follow, but I can’t be sure. There’s always that one guy who can bug anything. They had the place wired up for lights?” Merc said, clearly searching his brains for clues.
“Not just lights,” Peterson said, then went on, slightly more emotionally. “Man, they tortured me in here. It’s rigged up like one big electric torture chamber. They electrified the place over and over again. Shocked the hell out of me. I’ve never felt pain like that in my entire life. And they…hell, Merc, they made me pull my own teeth out, Merc.”
“Jesus,” Merc whispered. “And you have no idea where you are?”
Peterson shook his head in the dark. “No, none. Indoors, I’m guessing, I haven’t heard any weather.”
“Are they nearby? The people who put you in there?”
“I’ve got no fucking idea where they are, Merc. They said they could be controlling this place remotely, or that they could even be right outside,” he stammered. “They threw out every possibility at me to keep me confused.”
Merc persisted for clues. “Is there anything on the inside of the container you might have missed? A serial number? A shipping line? Anything?”
“Nada. I’ve been all over every inch of this fucker.”
“Anything the kidnappers might have said to tip you off?”
“Nothing.”
“Background noise. Anything?”
“I only spoke to one man. He sounded…serious. No real accent. Didn’t sound foreign, so probably American. Nothing else.”
“They locked you in a…a cargo container with just the cell phone? Any clues on the cell phone?”
“Not a thing. I’ve been through it all. It’s generic. Cheap, but functional except most of the apps are blocked. It has a battery case, or else I’d have run out of power hours ago. Running low now, though.”
Merc summed it up. “So, kidnapper, American or Canadian, indoors, possibly in a place that’s soundproof or just deserted, and, wild guess, most likely somewhere in North America.”
Peterson nodded. “Yeah, according to the people I spoke to…I wasn’t missing long enough to have gone farther.”
Merc tapped his finger, thinking. “So, that narrows it down
to pretty much anywhere on this continent.”
Peterson just sighed.
“But logically, you’re probably still in the state. It only makes sense. Are you sure you didn’t hear anything else at all? Think hard. It doesn’t matter how trivial.”
Peterson thought dutifully, then snapped his fingers. “I did hear something. Just before they killed Susan, they let me talk to her, and just for a second, way in the background, it sounded like some kind of broadcast. TV maybe. Maybe radio, but I heard talking. Maybe they had it on and forgot about it.”
“What did you hear?”
“Announcer, I think saying… wait, I think he said the station identification.”
“What was it?” Merc said, impatiently.
Peterson thought. This was his last chance. He tapped his free thumb against each of the four fingertips on that hand, then went back and forth across as he thought. At last, his head popped up and his eyes shot open.
“K-O-M-E!” Peterson said, almost gleefully.
“That’s not a national station,” Merc said, writing it down, then typing. “It must be local.”
Peterson understood where this was going. “That’s got to be right. Local.”
Merc typed furiously. “Got it. Limited signal. The valley. Hollywood Hills, Santa Monica Mountains, maybe.”
“Yes. I thought I’d seen a billboard for it around–”
“Hold on,” Merc said and typed quickly again. “Checking satellite feed now.” Peterson heard the sounds of an office chair rushing along a hard floor as if Merc had just kicked himself over to another workstation. More fast typing followed. “Okay, I just put out feelers to a few hundred contacts to check the word on the street for suspicious activities.” Tap, tap. “And…done. Lots of cell phones going off in your area right now.”
“You can text to that many phones at once?”
“Modern tech, Anthony. Gotta love it.” Merc continued to type and click and then said. “Now this is interesting.”
“What?”
“Hang on, let me get a satellite view. Yeah. More chatter coming in saying the same. I think I…huh…”
Cargo: an edge of your seat thriller Page 20