The Ticking Clock

by Daniel Roland Banks

  “No. I’ve sent her like twenty texts and she never got back to me.”

  “Again, that’s no reason to jump to conclusions. Give her some time. She’ll probably contact you in a day or two.”

  “Mr. Tucker, the truck is still there.”

  “Still where, are you saying you’ve seen it? You know where they are?”

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you…You’ve got to promise not to tell anyone, if I tell you.”

  “OK. Let’s take a moment to think about this. I need to ask you some questions. Can I do that?”

  “I guess. It depends on what you want to know.”

  “How long have you known where they are?”

  “…Pretty much since they ran off together.”

  “Why did they run off?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  I took a deep breath and let it slowly, gathering my thoughts.

  “Have you seen them since they disappeared?”

  Priscilla hesitated before she answered.

  “Yes.”

  “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know, that’s why I called you.”

  “You said you know where the truck is. You said, ‘It’s still there.’ Where is it, Priscilla?”

  “Do you know where the old abandoned warehouse is on County Road 383, just off of 247, a couple of miles north of the loop?”

  “Maybe, it’s been awhile since I was out that way. Wait, are you talking about the old oil company storage building, is it on the left?”

  “I don’t know. Yeah, it’s on the left, old rusty metal, one of those huge Quonset huts or whatever. All the windows are broken out.”

  “I think I know where you mean. Is that where they are?”

  “I don’t know where they are. That’s where they were camping. Promise you won’t tell anybody. I mean anybody. Promise me.” She spoke with urgency and fear.

  “Priscilla, this may be too important for me to make a promise like that. I’ll promise you this. I won’t tell Rosie’s family anything until I check it out, maybe talk to Rosie and Jimmy. OK?”

  “Yeah, I guess. It’s not like I didn’t already tell you. I promised Rosie I wouldn’t tell anyone, but I did.” She sounded bitterly disappointed in herself.

  “Hey, you just want them to be safe. That’s more important than a promise not to tell.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Priscilla, you did the right thing. How did you know where they were?”

  “Rosie told me the plan. I brought them some food and stuff. When I didn’t hear from Rosie at all today, I decided to go check on them after school. The Tahoe is still there, but no sign of them.”

  “Did you search the area?”

  “No. The place is creepy. I called out, but there was no answer.”

  “Were their things still there?”

  “I don’t know. They were camped in a back room. There’re no lights or anything. I was afraid to look.”

  I sighed, and said, “OK. I’ll check it out. There’s probably nothing to worry about. If you hear from Rosie, give me a call.”

  After Priscilla hung up, I called Tony.

  “Hey, ‘copper,’ are you up for an adventure?”

  Once I’d talked him into it, I gave him directions to the warehouse.

  9

  “Jeepers, J.W., I nearly shot you.” Tony’s startled voice hissed out of the darkness in the abandoned warehouse.

  “Shot me? You can’t even see me. It’s so dark I can’t see my hand in front of my face.”

  “Not the point. Why didn’t you stay with your truck?”

  “There’s something odd here. I couldn’t see any light coming from inside the building. It’s early enough you’d expect a lantern, candles or something. Also, its dead quiet in here.”

  “Did you have to phrase it like that?”

  “I’m going to light up the night. Are you ready?”

  “Wait. There’s no power to this building. I checked. Have you got a flashlight?”

  “No, I’ve got a one million candle power spotlight. Watch…”

  I was holding the spotlight straight away from my body. When I pressed the switch the brilliant beam illuminated a vehicle parked a little more than twenty feet in front of us.

  The reflected light from the green Chevy pickup was just enough for me to see the look on Tony’s face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and clenched his teeth for a moment.

  “Stay here, I’ll check it out.”

  “Hang on a minute, Tony. Let me shine the light around in here a little.”

  I maneuvered the beam around the inside of the building, spotting an open door at the far end. It looked like it went into what might once have been some sort of office. I swept the rest of the space and shone the light directly back onto the green pickup where it sat parked in the middle of the deserted warehouse.

  “Watch my back.” Tony said, as he walked toward the vehicle.

  I held the spotlight steady as Tony circled the truck. He was careful to avoid looking in my direction. He waived me closer so he could see more clearly into the bed and the interior. I shone the beam through a side window as Tony peered carefully inside.

  “Empty. They must have abandoned it here.” He said.

  “I need to save the battery. I’m going to turn off the light.” I warned him.

  The light faded, plunging us back into darkness. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. It was now easy to see the night time landscape outside, beyond the open bay through which we’d both entered the building. Inside, we could see nothing.

  “Let’s go back to my car and call it in.” Tony suggested.

  “I think we should go have a look in that room at the end of the building.”

  “Why? If they were here, I’m pretty sure they’d have noticed that spot light. It’s as quiet as a tomb in here.”

  “We have to check it out.” I said.

  “No, we don’t. I can have a couple of uniforms here in about ten minutes.”

  “OK, you do that, while I go search the room.”

  I didn’t have to see Tony’s face to know what his expression would be.

  “Hang on a minute.” He said.

  I could hear him fumbling around inside his jacket. I figured he was putting his gun away. In the sudden blue glow of his cell phone screen, Tony’s face was as hard as stone.

  “What are you gonna do, call dispatch and tell them you found an abandoned vehicle? I don’t think that will get any priority attention.”

  “No, ‘Sherlock’. I’m going to activate the flashlight app on my phone.” Even as he uttered the words, the bright light stabbed me in the eyes. “That way we can walk over there and see what we’re doing. You can shine your spotlight when we get there.”

  I’d to admit it was a good idea. If I’dn’t been burdened holding the big spotlight, I would’ve followed his example.

  As we approached the room, each step was accompanied by the crunching of small bits of broken glass, and the sensation of walking on difficult to identify refuse. Tony mumbled, almost under his breath. “Oh man, this doesn’t feel right.”

  I felt it too, an old familiar feeling, like a little cold worm shimmying up my spine. Maybe it was something about the air or maybe the hint of being in the presence of something foul.

  Over the years, since this place shut down, kids had been coming here to party and homeless people occasionally camped out. There was no running water or any sanitation. The floor was littered with broken bottles and twenty years of filth. Nothing healthy had happened here in a very long time.

  At the doorway I pointed the spot light into the room and switched it on. The reflected light from the spotlight filled the room with a dull glow like a theater stage with the lights lowered, the intense beam brought into sharp focus each place where it came to rest. First an old metal shelf with some canned goods, bottled water and an ice chest. Next, a folding card table litter
ed with fast food debris, and a battery powered lantern. Then, an ancient mattress on the floor, and on the mattress, something covered with a blanket.

  “Over there, to the left.” Tony directed.

  I swung the beam to rest on a crumpled form in the corner. A dead man lay leaned against the wall, a shiny chrome revolver on the floor beside him.

  Tony swore and started dialing his phone. His face looked drawn and waxy as he turned to me.

  “I need you to clear out of here J.W. This is a crime scene.”

  “I won’t come into the room, but you’d better have a look under the blanket on the mattress.”

  Tony spoke to me, “Stay right there,” then into the phone, “This is Lieutenant Anthony Escalante, Robbery/Homicide. Put me through to Sergeant Ed Corcoran.”

  While he waited for the phone to be answered he walked over to the mattress and pulled a corner of the blanket back. “Ed, Tony, I’m on a crime scene. One white male approximately 20 years of age and a white female approximately 18 years of age, both deceased. It appears to be a homicide. Send everybody…”

  I listened as he gave the address and location. When he’d finished the phone call he walked back out of the room and turned to me. I pointed the spot light down at the concrete floor, leaving us with enough reflected light to see each other.

  “You should go now, J.W. We’ll take it from here.”

  “Was it them?”

  “I suspect so. It looks like they both died of gunshot wounds. We won’t know anything for certain until we get some lights and forensics people in here to process the scene.”

  “Was it a murder-suicide?”

  “Leave, J.W. Go out to your truck and drive away.”

  Tony’s like that. Once he’s on the job, he’s all about police procedure. I knew he didn’t have enough evidence or information to form an opinion and even if he did, he wouldn’t tell me. Well, at least not right away.

  “Do you want me to contact her parents?”

  “No. We don’t have a positive ID and it’s my responsibility. Now, get out of here.”

  “OK. I’m gone. Thanks, Tony. I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

  “Yeah? Well, me too. I’ll walk outside with you and wait for the troops to arrive.”

  When we were outside, I turned off the spotlight. As we stood there waiting for our eyes to adjust to the reduced light, Tony spoke up.

  “Tell me, J.W. Had you already found the bodies?”

  “What? No, of course not, I only got here about a minute before you did.”

  “But you knew what we’d find. It’s why you called me.”

  Tony wasn’t asking a question. He was stating a conclusion.

  He deserved an honest response.

  “I didn’t know for sure, OK? I was just afraid it might be something like this. Rosie Furgeson’s mother told me she’d been in contact with a girl named Priscilla Davidson…”

  “Rosie’s best friend? Yeah, we interviewed her.” Tony said.

  “She failed to mention to the police that she’s been in nearly constant contact with Rosie, texting back and forth, since she and Jimmy Duncan went missing. Priscilla even brought them food and money. When I talked to her about an hour ago, Priscilla told me they’d been hiding here. She was really worried because Rosie hadn’t been returning her texts since last night. She stopped by here this afternoon after school, saw the truck but no sign of Rosie or Jimmy. She said she was too scared to look in the back room.”

  “That makes her a suspect, J.W. At the very least she’s an accessory after the fact.”

  “An accessory to what? She didn’t have anything to do with what happened in that room, or even have any knowledge of it.”

  “She’d knowledge of where the girl was being held and she withheld it from the police.”

  “Rosie wasn’t being held. She was here with Jimmy because she wanted to be with him. Priscilla knew where Jimmy and Rosie were hiding. The important question, the question you should be asking is; who or what were they hiding from?”

  10

  I called Hafsah Bashir at her hotel and arranged to meet her for breakfast at eight o’clock the next morning.

  I found her waiting for me in the lobby.

  Today, she wore blue jeans, tennis shoes and a burnt orange tee-shirt with a white longhorn symbol on it. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail under a white UT ball-cap. She would easily pass for a Texas girl.

  “Gig um Aggies.” I said with a wink.

  She looked confused for a moment. Her eyebrows lifted in question as she said, “Hook um horns?”

  I grinned in response.

  “Very impressive, you blend right in.”

  “Should we take our breakfast here in the hotel dining room?’ She asked.

  “That’s fine with me. I don’t like waiting in line to get into IHOP anyway.”

  She looked confused again.

  “I hop? Is that hip hop? What does it mean to get into I hop?”

  “Just kidding,” I said, taking her elbow and guiding her toward the dining room.

  As we lingered over our coffee, I observed there were only a few other people having breakfast in the dining room. With the clink of glassware, the canned music playing softly in the background and other ambient noise, I could hear other conversations, but I couldn’t tell what people were saying. There was no one seated close to us, so I decided to get down to it.

  “Do you keep your sidearm in your purse?” I asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  Where is your gun? You must have one on you somewhere. I couldn’t spot it under your clothes.”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  “Get over it. That offended attitude won’t work on me, Hafsah.

  “I do not know what you are talking about. Where would I acquire a firearm, and why would I want one?”

  “…Any number of places between here and California. I expect your contacts in L.A. provided you with whatever you wanted. I know you are Mossad.”

  She locked eyes with me again. The depth in them was beckoning. I nearly fell in.

  “You work rather fast. I am impressed.” She said.

  “You gave me all the right clues.”

  “Do you understand why I am here?”

  “You’re in pursuit of your cousin, Hakim Muktallah, right?”

  “Yes, yes I am. How do you know this name?”

  “It’s one of the many names he’s used. He did that murder in Barcelona about six weeks ago, didn’t he?”

  She looked away and nodded sadly. “He has killed many innocent people, in a number of places.”

  When she looked away, I was able to regain my wits. The thing is—I didn’t want her to look away. I didn’t want to talk business either. I wanted to get to know her, and I wanted her to see me, not as an ally or enemy, but as a man. Taking a deep breath, I re-focused.

  “Why did you come to me?” I asked.

  She returned her eyes to mine.

  “I was told you are a skilled investigator and you had done work with your Department of Homeland Security. Before that you were a navy commando. What you call a SEAL, yes?”

  “Mossad has a file on me?”

  “So it would seem. Does it matter?”

  “What else did they tell you?”

  “Not so many things, some things which are difficult for me to understand.”

  “You do know I’m no longer working for our government?”

  “Yes, that was another reason for choosing you. We do not have time to deal with the legal and bureaucratic restrictions your government would impose.”

  “…Why not? Israel and the U.S. are friends and allies.”

  She pursed her lips.

  “Allies usually, yes that is so, but friends? I do not know. Not so much, not these days. Involving your government would cause delays and conflicts. We must find Hakim quickly. I failed in Barcelona. I will not fail again.”

  “This is how Mossad operates, I understand that,
but Hakim is your cousin. Why did they task you with this assignment?”

  “I requested the assignment. Everyone in Mossad knows he is my cousin. Hakim is dangerous and diabolical. It is a shameful thing for me to have a member of my own family, a terrorist, running around killing innocent people all over the world in the name of Allah.”

  “Tell me about your family, Hafsah.”

  “My father was Egyptian, my mother Lebanese, just as you surmised. I am an only child. Hakim is the son of my father’s sister. She married a Saudi.”

  “How did you get recruited by Mossad?”

  “My mother’s family fled Beirut in the seventies when the civil war was becoming very bloody. They met and married in Egypt. My father’s family was wealthy. After the death of my grandfather, my father came to manage the family’s wealth. My parents were both well-educated and well-traveled. They were not fundamentalist Muslims. They tried to observe the five pillars of Islam, but not much more.

  We lived a western lifestyle. I was young and impressionable. I’d rejected Islam and was interested in philosophy and other religions. The late nineties were troubled times in Egypt, as they are now. My father sent me to attend university in Paris.” She paused for a moment.

  “It was there in Paris, both of my parents were killed in a café bombing while they were visiting me. I’d gone to the lavatory. One moment in time saved my life. Had I not left the table when I did, I would have died with them.

  That bombing was an act of Islamic terrorism. It was for me, the straw that broke the camel’s back, as they say. I was approached by Mossad and I have been with them ever since.”

  “What is your religion, now?” I asked.

  “My mother’s family in Lebanon was Christian. My friends and associates in Mossad are mostly secular, very few are observant Jews. Our enemies are primarily Islamic. I fall on the secular side. I suppose I am agnostic.”

  “No, that isn’t true. You know there is a God in heaven and He is the all in all.”

  She was silent for a moment. Her eyes got wide.

  “Yes, I suppose I do. How do you know this about me?”

  “I am His servant…and so are you.”

  “No, John. Please don’t say that. Have we not heard enough from people who think they are servants of one god or another? The world does not need any more of that.”