by Jack Adler
Rona stuck a plate filled with tuna salad in front of Holly and glanced at her as if she expected to see an expression of distaste. She wasn't disappointed. Holly had discovered that she evidently was expected to eat with her captors. What an honor! Bender had said she could eat in her room if she wanted, but she thought she might learn more about the group and their plans for her if she dined with them. Enjoying the food was another matter. She had to control herself. Don't panic; think clearly, she thought.
"What's the matter?" Rona said. "Our simple meal not up to your standards?"
Bender and Luke just stared at her. Luke looked a little embarrassed.
"Holly, we have relatively simple meals," Bender said, "but we make up for it with scintillating conversation."
Bender grinned at his own witticism, but when he saw Holly’s grim face, he added, "We hope you’ll get to know us better. Did you read the manifesto again? We really want you to be familiar with our goals."
"Why did you forge my signature?"
"Ah, it was necessary,” Bender said. “You might call it insurance."
How could anyone believe she subscribed to such dangerous bombast? Yet she was evidently wanted by the police under suspicion of being a murderer!
"And the photos?"
"Also insurance," Bender said. "But the most important thing is your understanding our cause and voluntarily becoming a HAP," Bender said as if he were instructing a student. "You have to believe."
"I believe you're holding me prisoner, and I don't believe. So let me go."
"Are you so eager to leave us?" Bender seemed disappointed. His brown eyes twinkled as if he were enjoying his own wit.
"Are you going to hold me against my will until you're caught?"
"That, my dear, is presupposing we will be caught, which I very much doubt. But anything's possible. However, our plans are to accord you our ongoing hospitality."
"Let me go," Holly heard herself plead. She was losing it, she feared, as she tried to regain control of her emotions.
Bender smiled. "Holly, please understand that you're wanted by the police. If you think you could just go to the nearest police station to tell them what you think happened and that everything will be OK, you're badly mistaken. You'd be charged with murder, probably first- or second-degree murder, and then convicted and sent to prison. Not all your father's dollars, influence or highly paid lawyers could save you."
"Look," Holly argued, "you've already branded me a murderer. If you let me go, how could I go to the police? As you say, what could I possibly tell them if they caught me?"
Bender shook his head as if his student had missed a salient point. "Are you going to live in a nunnery the rest of your life?" he asked. He continued before she could react, "You would be asked what we look like, how many of us there are—there are more of us in the organization, of course—a description of where you were and whatever else very professional and clever minds might cadge out of you. All in all, not a very good argument for our separating just yet."
"Then when?"
"Holly, I could say when we achieve our objectives, but that would probably sound very distant to you. Believe me, it isn't as distant as you might think. Meanwhile, please keep thinking of our principles, not our tactics, and make the best of your short stay with us."
"So you're not holding me for ransom?"
"No, of course not," Bender said, surprised. "Not at all. We don't want your father's ill-begotten money."
"Then what? What?"
"I told you," Bender said, maintaining his patient manner. "Your cooperation in helping the HAP cause."
"But your manifesto . . . the city will never agree. You’d cripple the city in every conceivable way. It's all so simplistic"
Bender looked hurt. His face fell for an instant; then it rose as if he had already recovered from a wound. “Simplistic?”
Unamused by his antics, Holly leveled a more serious accusation. “Regardless of your so-called principles, you murdered Ashley!"
"No, you did," Rona broke in. “Look at the photos again.”
"Ashley, I’m sorry to say, succumbed to a bribe, and we couldn’t very well rely on a weak character like that who might be a witness against us should, God forbid, we meet adversity,” Bender said. With a shrug, he added, “And as you might know best, he was prone to engage in pillow talk, which made him dangerous."
Bender looked more forbearing now as he spoke, Holly thought. What had Ashley told them about their pillow talk, brief as it had been?
"Holly, like I said, look at the principles and not the tactics. We're not a bunch of crazies, as you might suspect. We think the country is heading toward a neo-fascist style of government, and we want to prevent that from happening. Do you want Big Brother telling you who you can marry, when and how many children you can have? Whether you can have a needed abortion or not?"
Holly just stared at Bender. His eyes were luminous, and his face had tightened as if he were held fixed by his own message. Conviction shone in his bright eyes. He frightened her with his clear resolve. Rona, whose cheap perfume she could smell from across the round Formica table, sat there nodding. Luke looked like he was afraid he might be called upon in class.
"Look at the positive side, Holly. We’re after a better and fairer government. Is that wrong? We're not against blacks, Jews, Hispanics or any ethnic or religious group. We’re for the people."
Bender paused.
Holly was silent. He had no right to test her. She was concerned that she might be encouraging them somehow by engaging in such a discussion. Was this foolish on her part? They were trying to brainwash her. That's why she was being allowed this great honor of eating with them. The whole horrible charade went on as if she weren't being held against her will by terrorists, whose leader thought he could confuse her with his sophistry. Clearly they were true believers, fanatics who could kill people just as those who set off the bomb at the federal building in Oklahoma City had. Homegrown terrorists instead of Muslim suicide bombers. Bender was just a smiling Theodore Kascynski sending letter bombs, or worse, a Timothy McVeigh.
"BB, forget it," Rona said. "She's too hung up on being an heiress."
Stung, despite herself, Holly quickly said, "Killing people is wrong. Making it look like I killed Ashley is wrong. Forging my signature on your outrageous manifesto is wrong. And holding me against my will is wrong."
"Holly, you're a very intelligent and well-educated person," Bender said, again adopting a pedagogical stance. "I'm sure you've learned enough about history to realize that it often takes a small but well-disciplined group to steer society in the right direction. Lenin did that in Russia in 1917, though his direction was distorted by Stalin, and the same has been true in other countries throughout history."
"And look what a monster Lenin created!" Holly couldn't resist saying. "He established communism in Russia, not Stalin."
Holly took silent delight in the surprised expression on Rona's face, obviously distressed to see an intelligent response. Luke seemed impressed, too. But smart answers weren't going to free her. In a sense she was playing ball with them by having this pseudo intellectual discussion, but she just had to hope useful information would be revealed.
"Excellent!" Bender said, complimenting her. "Right on target. But we're not communists, either. We believe in capitalism. On that score your father might be proud of us."
When pigs fly, Holly thought. Instead she said, "All this philosophy aside, why don't you let me take my chances with the police?"
"Maybe we will later . . . if you cooperate now," Bender said, but this time his smile again seemed deceitful.
"What do you want from me? Really want from me?"
Just tell me, plain and simple, Holly thought. Let me know the worst. But Bender wasn't ready yet to share more information. "Holly, all in due course, and nothing very dire.
What I want now is for you to think a little more about what we talked about and the manifesto. We'll discuss mat
ters again at dinner. We're having steak, isn’t that right, Luke?"
"Yes, BB." Luke said, smiling as if he had already eaten his meal and complimented the chef.
"Luke does all of our shopping, and he helps Rona with the cooking,” Bender explained. “Feel free to prepare meals, too. You have the range of the house, but please don't try to leave or do anything else foolish. We’ll find out, and it would make us very unhappy."
And me too, Holly thought, understanding the less than subtle threat.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"In what is euphemistically called a ‘safe house,’" Bender said.
Safe for whom? Holly thought. Surely they were still in Los Angeles. "In Los Angeles?" she asked, seeking confirmation.
"If you want, why not take a nap now?" Bender said, encouraging her while ignoring her question. "Take a bath. Wash your hair. Sunday is a day of rest, isn't it? If there are any supplies you need, just tell Luke."
Luke bobbed his large head up and down with alacrity. Holly made a mental note that he hadn't said a word so far. Perhaps Luke would be the weakest link among her new "companions."
"And let us know when you want us to draw your bath," Rona said, making no attempt to mask her sarcasm.
"Do you have experience as a maid?" Holly threw back with a sneer.
For a moment it seemed like Rona would throw her plate at her, Holly thought as she got ready to duck, but Bender stared at Rona with an admonishing look, and she controlled her anger.
"Holly," Bender said, struck and impressed by her verve, "are you always this feisty?"
At JFK Airport, Wolcott, who decided to drive me there to save the company a cab fare, gave me last-minute instructions before I went through the security checkpoint.
"So far we haven't heard anything more about this organization, this so-called Help America Patriots," Wolcott said. "Our Los Angeles office is trying to get more information."
Tramerica's two-person office in Los Angeles was just a sales outlet, so I didn't expect much help from them other than faxing local media material, which would probably come over the wire and be on national television anyhow.
"Still no demand for money?" I asked, holding my two carry-on bags. I traveled light because I hated waiting for my luggage, especially since the time my bags were sent to London while I flew to Sydney. By the time I got my suitcase back, it had been x-rayed so much I thought I was wearing radioactive underwear.
"No," Wolcott said. His face was drawn and his tone was somber. We were both puzzled as to what this group wanted. Why was Holly Baxter involved if money wasn't their objective? Had she left of her own free will, or had she been kidnapped? Had she really had an affair with Ashley Wells as it certainly appeared, or was her father right in that it had been a setup?
And if so, why? Most important, had she really killed Ashley Wells?
"And the LAPD?"
"We're trying to get an update on the organization from our sources, which we'll fax you in L.A. I don't know how much information we’ll be able to get."
“And still no sign of Holly Baxter?"
"Still missing and still suspected of murder." Wolcott shook his head as if the reality were still numbing.
It seemed all too clear that I’d be entering a situation too difficult to do anything worthwhile, but I had to try.
"Send us a report as soon as possible," Wolcott said in his usual thorough and methodical approach even though this reminder wasn’t necessary. Still, I appreciated his giving me a lift to the airport, though we could have had the same conversation over the phone.
My flight was being announced again, and I had to hurry to the boarding gate or risk losing my seat. I shook hands with Wolcott. He wished me luck, which I was sure I’d need.
Holly stared at herself in the mirror. She was naked, and the bathroom door couldn't be locked. There was a small gaping hole where the lock had been. What difference did it make? Bender and Luke had already seen her in the buff, and she had to take a bath and wash her hair. She had stayed in the bathtub a long time, knowing that the house had a second bathroom, as if the water could wash away her misery. She had decided to eat by herself, and Luke had brought her a platter with a small overdone steak. He was so solicitous as he asked if her steak was done the way she wanted it and said, “Bon appétit.” A kind kidnapper, a touch of grace -- be it ever so banal -- amidst all the horror.
Her body was slim; she had firm breasts and long shapely legs. Her light brown hair, now clean, was combed back off of her pale forehead. Her blue eyes were still tired because she was unable to fall asleep while trying to take a nap. She could spot a pimple emerging over her upper lip. How would she survive this ordeal? She had to be strong. They had control of her body, but they could never win over her mind.
Holly saw that they had gone through her purse. Gone were her nail file, pen, small flashlight and address book; they had even taken her lipstick. Gone, too, were her small bottle of aspirin and her birth control pills; she could use aspirins now, and she wondered if she would ever be with a man again. Trust a man again, after Ashley? Rubbing her fingers at the bottom of each compartment of her purse, she found a few hairpins. The wooden cabinet above the sink, plastered with fading green wallpaper, was empty. Using her fingernails, she stripped back a narrow piece of the wallpaper and scratched "Holly-Help" with the tip of one of the hairpins on the woodwork. The writing was barely legible; someone would have to be looking for it to see her name. But at least she had made the attempt, and her effort might help prove her innocence if anyone ever found this house.
She wet her fingertips with saliva, ran them over the reverse side of the wallpaper and then pressed the wallpaper back. She kept pressure on the wallpaper until her hand tired. It seemed to be sticking. Perhaps it wouldn't be noticed. She just had to hope and keep looking for opportunities.
"Are you finished yet?" she suddenly heard Rona ask from the other side of the door. Her voice was always harsh and disdainful. Self-styled BB at least spoke to her with a measured tone of civility, which was doubtless deceitful but still welcome in a way. Luke, the heavy-footed giant, just looked at her with sympathy while obeying orders.
"Just about," Holly said.
****
My flight to Los Angeles was uneventful if you call traveling in coach uneventful.
Unfortunately, that was Tramerica's policy for domestic flights, though the company was generally kind enough to permit business class for international travel. I was able to nibble on what little food items were served to avoid serious hunger pangs and to doze off.
I had made a list of calls to make, starting with the police. The tour members had gone home, but I planned to interview all of them over the phone; however, I thought I might visit one woman in Long Beach in person. I almost always learned more interviewing someone in person than on the phone. What I had hastily gleaned so far was that Holly and Ashley had displayed an unmistakable romantic interest in each other. While no one could swear they were sleeping together, nobody doubted it much, either. I also wanted to speak to the hotel personnel, especially the maid who had found
Ashley as well as whoever was at the front desk that evening. They might have seen who was accompanying Holly out of the hotel. There must have been two people. Ashley's suitcase had been left behind, and it was doubtless being held as evidence by the police. Their rooms, of course, were prepaid by Tramerica. I wondered what else the police had found in Holly or Ashley's room. What about her purse and toilet articles? Had all of her items been taken with her? What about fingerprints?
There was one other call I wanted to make, to Valerie Hudson, a girl I had worked with years before at the Daily Travel News, but it could wait. We had never had a date or even been together socially, but our glances showed interest as if it would have been worthwhile getting to know each other outside the job. But we never did. She was involved at the time; I probably was, too. Then she took a public relations job in New York; sometime later, I heard thr
ough the grapevine she had migrated west to the City of Angels. I told myself I wanted to find her because knowing the local scene, she might be of help, but I knew I also had ulterior motives. . . .
Three
MONDAY
“I’ve been working on the freeway all the live-long night,” Bender sang softly as he drove to the Ventura Boulevard Exit on the San Diego Freeway. Darkness was just beginning to surrender to the first light of day. Luke grinned in the seat next to him. They looked back at three large pressurized chemical containers about ten yards apart on the freeway near the two frequently used Wilshire Boulevard exits.
“I told you we’d have fun,” Bender said with a grin. “And this is just the beginning.”
Later that morning, refreshed after his toil in the wee hours of the morning, Bender turned on the television as Luke and Rona watched. After her initial meal with her captors, Holly preferred her own company.
“The San Diego freeway has been closed in both directions due to the presence of three mysterious canisters,” the newsman said as a picture of cars backed up in both directions emerged on the screen. “Police say the freeway will be closed for at least another hour during the busy morning rush hour. A hazmat team is investigating on site.
“Bingo!” Bender cried exultingly.
“It worked,” Rona acknowledged, smiling. Bender was great at these urban hazards.
He could have written a textbook on the subject.
“Now the police are using robots to pull the canisters to a safe area to see what’s in them and if they’re dangerous,” the newsman went on.
“Look at that,” Luke said, fascinated by the sight of men covered head to toe with protective clothing as they used a robot to lower a metal lasso around one of the canisters.