NO SAFE PLACE

by Steven M. Roth

  “You lost my ex-SEAL, you sonofabitch.” Vista leaned in closer.

  “I want him, Major. Do you hear me? I want him now. Today. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Today.”

  He paused to wipe away spittle leaking from one corner of his mouth. “I order you to find the ex-SEAL and bring him to me. Do you understand me, Major? Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The major ignored the spray that pelted his face and looked over the general’s shoulder at the wall. His lower back throbbed.

  “What are you going to bring me, Major?

  “I am going to bring you the ex-SEAL, Sir.”

  “When are you going to bring him to me?”

  “With all deliberate speed, Sir.”

  “No, damn you. You’re going to bring him to me today, Major, or, by God, I will bust you down to sergeant before this night’s over. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Sir. I understand you, Sir.”

  “Get out of here, Major, out of my sight. The next time I see you, you better be dragging the ex-SEAL to me, chained. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Yes, Sir, what, Major?”

  “Yes, Sir, you’ve made yourself clear. The next time you see me, Sir, I will deliver the ex-SEAL to you. That will be today, Sir. In chains.”

  CHAPTER 74

  Quarantine

  Day 27

  Trace and Isabella left the Palm Court Hotel first. Twenty minutes later Ibrahim and Jenna left. Fifteen minutes after Ibrahim and Jenna, Alex left. One by one they infiltrated themselves into the nearby Hotel Carlota’s crowded lobby.

  Trace, Isabella, Ibrahim and Jenna, but not Alex, set themselves up as squatters in a small meeting room. Alex did not move in although he spent the morning with them. When asked why by Trace, Alex remained vague about where he planned to spend the night. This aroused Trace’s curiosity, but he decided not to press the issue. For now.

  They were hungry. None had eaten a full meal in days. The common sound heard among them when they weren’t talking was the growling of their complaining stomachs.

  “We need to eat,” Alex said. “I have my ration coupons. Does everyone else?” he asked, looking at the others.

  “Mine are at the condo,” Trace said. “I can’t risk getting them now.”

  “I don’t have mine either,” Isabella said. “I never got out to get them. I can still go do it though.” She looked at Trace.

  Trace raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

  “Trace is right,” Alex said. “I’ll share my coupons with you both.”

  “I’ll pool mine, too,” Jenna said.

  “And me,” Ibrahim said.

  That evening after curfew, Alex and Trace sat in the back of the main lobby talking. They decided to avoid the room where Trace and the others would sleep in an attempt to be less familiar to anyone already in that room. Ibrahim, Jenna and Isabella were off exploring the hotel.

  “Something’s bothering me,” Trace said.

  “What’s that?”

  “When I was looking for medicine for my mother-in-law, a pharmacist told me the authorities had blocked shipments into the Quarantine Zone. She said the posted notices from the CDC were lies. That’s about the same thing you told me. Do you really believe it?”

  “Afraid I do.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. Maybe it was unintentional, another FEMA screw-up,” Trace said, “like during Katrina.”

  “I don’t know why,” Alex said. “Anyway, this problem’s with the CDC, not FEMA.”

  “Whatever. I don’t get it,” Trace said. “It goes against common sense and everything I believe. We’re missing something here, something key.”

  Two hours later, Trace and Ibrahim left the hotel. They were looking for other individuals out on the street, with a view to possibly forming a team with them.

  “Tell me again,” Ibrahim said, “why you want to meet people?”

  “To see if we can put together a small team of people having different, useful skills we can share to help us all survive the quarantine. I’ll train us all in the SEALs’ methods of teamwork.”

  After an hour, Trace and Ibrahim headed back to the hotel. They hadn’t come across anyone Trace wanted to recruit for the ad hoc team.

  CHAPTER 75

  Quarantine

  Day 28

  “We’ve searched everywhere, Sir, but we can’t find Austin or his wife.”

  Vista stared into the major’s eyes.

  A charged silence hovered over the junior officer.

  The major desperately wanted to look away from the general and loosen his shirt collar, but he remained at attention, his back rigid, his neck and shoulders sore, resolutely staring back into the general’s slitted eyes. He willed himself not to be the first to blink.

  He lost.

  “What are you doing to find them, Major?” the general said in a voice so soft, so non-threatening that it inherently carried an implied threat with it.

  “We have a fugitive warrant out, Sir. If they show anywhere our facial recognition software will tag them. Or, in the unlikely event they use their cell phones or credit cards, we’ll have them then.”

  “You better hope so, Major. You just better hope so. I haven’t forgotten you failed me the other day.”

  Twenty minutes later a knock on General Vista’s office door interrupted him. He unlocked the door, left it closed, and returned to his desk.

  Seated again behind his desk, he said, “Come in.”

  The major walked in, snapped to attention, and saluted.

  “We’ve spotted him, Sir. The male subject, but not the wife. He’s with another male subject, identity unknown, an Arab-type from his looks. They are walking along Royal Palm Drive.”

  General Vista nodded and smiled. Then his smile twisted.

  “Keep Austin in sight, Major. Block-off all escape routes. When the area is secure, take him.”

  He thought for a few seconds, then added, “Bring him directly to me. Process him later. I want him with me as soon as he’s here.”

  CHAPTER 76

  Quarantine

  Day 28

  Trace stopped abruptly as he and Ibrahim walked back to the hotel. He put up his palm to signal Ibrahim to wait. He looked around.

  “Something’s odd,” he said. “I can feel it.”

  Ibrahim looked at him, frowned, then looked around.

  “I don’t see anything. What’s the problem?”

  Trace looked up and down the street. He, too, saw nothing. Then it came to him.

  He saw nothing.

  That’s strange, he thought. No pedestrians. Not in any direction. Not even a few scattered along the sidewalks. No vehicular traffic either.

  “We have to get out of here,” Trace said. “It’s too quiet. Come on, Ibrahim.” He started running.

  Trace, with Ibrahim tagging close behind, ran across Royal Palm Drive directly into an alley located between George’s Greek Restaurant and Kingston Hardware. As they entered the alley two HUMVEEs rumbled around the corner and headed toward the last place Trace and Ibrahim had been standing. At the same time, another HUMVEE approached from the opposite end of Royal Palm Drive.

  A KIOWA WARRIOR helicopter suddenly swooped into view, the whump, whump, whump of its rotor blades drowning out all sounds below. The KIOWA swung low over the neighborhood, back and forth like a pendulum.

  Trace and Ibrahim stopped running once they were in the alley out of sight. Their lungs strained for air, sucking in breath in short, desperate pulls. Ibrahim bent over from his waist, his hands on his knees, gulping air.

  Trace watched both ends of the alley, swiveling his head back and forth. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped there.

  Trace’s breathing gradually returned to normal. Ibrahim now stood erect, still breathing hard, but more slowly and evenly than before.

  “We can’t stay here,” Trace said. “E
ventually they’ll find us.”

  “What’ll we do?”

  “We need to get inside, out of sight, somewhere we can stay until dark. Then we’ll see. Right now we have to get away from here.”

  Trace walked to the far end of the alley and peeked out, looking up and down the street. He didn’t see anyone out there.

  “Get ready to run,” he said, turning toward Ibrahim. “When I give the signal, bend low and go as fast as you can into that alley over there,” he said, pointing across the street.

  “Right,” Ibrahim said. He took a deep breath and bent slightly forward at the waist, his hands on his hips as if he was a long distance runner at the starting line of a 10K race.

  “Keep running no matter what happens. When you get into the alley, stop,” Trace said, “Don’t go out the other end.”

  Ibrahim nodded.

  “Wait for my signal. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Trace walked to the edge of the alley where it intersected with a small patch of grass. He looked out, surveilling the area again in both directions. He didn’t see any soldiers or, when he looked up, any helicopters or drones. He knew, however, that many drones flew too high to be seen from the ground, so he also knew that he and Ibrahim were at risk of being spotted from above even when he thought no one was watching.

  Trace held up his hand, signaling Ibrahim with his palm to wait. Then he put up three fingers. He closed one finger and looked back to see if Ibrahim was following his signals.

  Ibrahim crouched now as if ready to sprint, on signal, and nodded.

  Trace looked back at the street. He held up one finger. Then he gave his signal, using a throwing motion with his arm.

  “Go! Go!,” he said. “Go!”

  Ibrahim dashed from the alley, followed by Trace just behind him. They crossed the sidewalk, the street, and another sidewalk on the other side of the street, and ran into the alley. There were no shouts or shots. As far as Trace knew, they remained undetected.

  They skidded to a stop in the alley, making Trace think of Wile E. Coyote in the Roadrunner cartoons.

  Trace turned around and hurried back to the alley’s entrance. He looked up and down the street. He didn’t see any soldiers, but now he saw a small drone hovering above.

  He walked to the other end of the alley and performed the same surveillance with the same result, except he didn’t see any drones.

  Trace and Ibrahim repeated their escape ritual seven more times over the next hour until they were almost three miles from the original alley. They huddled in their most recent refuge as Trace considered their next move.

  His protocol in a situation like this — the protocol that had been drilled into him when he trained as a SEAL — was clear. The first thing he and Ibrahim had to do was find someplace safe in which to take refuge. Then he could plan their next move.

  “We have to get inside,” Trace said. “We’re vulnerable as long as we’re outside. Drones will eventually tag us.”

  “Where to? The hotel?”

  Trace shook his head. “No, not yet. Not until we have a better understanding of our situation. We need to find a place, some empty house or building, where we can spend a few hours until after curfew.”

  CHAPTER 77

  Quarantine

  Day 28

  The major raised his fist to knock on the door, then hesitated. Instead, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. He jiggled his necktie knot to loosen it, inhaled deeply, and tentatively let out his breath. He sucked in his stomach. Then he rapped his knuckles against the wood in two quick bursts, just the way the general liked.

  He waited at attention.

  After almost one minute, he heard the door lock disengage, but the general did not open the door.

  More silence.

  I wonder what he does behind the locked door? he thought. Actually, I probably don’t want to know. He squirmed at the range of possibilities.

  He lost his smile and his stomach knotted at the sound of the general’s voice coming from the far side of his office.

  “Enter.”

  “Austin got away again, Sir. And still no leads on his wife.

  “That won’t do,” General Vista said, sotto voce, more to himself than to the major.

  Vista turned away and faced the window. When he turned back, he narrowed his eyes, looked at the wall beyond the major, and smiled.

  The major had never before seen the general smile. It didn’t look natural. That’s really creepy, he thought. Seeing the general’s smile made him even more uneasy than he already was.

  Vista looked back at the major, still smiling.

  “Put out an order against the ex-SEAL. Arrest him. This is not to be a stop and question intervention. He’s to be stopped and taken into custody. If he resists, act accordingly.” He rubbed his palms together and nodded several times.

  CHAPTER 78

  Quarantine

  Day 28

  Trace and Ibrahim made their way along more streets and alleys until they came to Fort Lauderdale’s only historic residential district, Sailboat Bend, an eclectic, mixed-use neighborhood with narrow streets that follow the course of the New River. The district is known for having million dollar riverfront mansions sitting across the street from, or next door to, run-down apartment buildings, seedy tourists’ homes and squalid guest houses.

  Trace looked for a house that was closed-up for the off-season. He scouted several homes, but rejected them all because they were too close to their occupied neighbors. Then he found one that seemed right.

  He and Ibrahim hid behind a crop of bushes and watched the house for almost one hour, looking for any sign of life inside. They didn’t see any.

  “Follow me,” Trace said. “Stay low, move fast.”

  They crept along the perimeter hedge, keeping their profiles low, staying close to the hedgerow until they came to the backyard.

  “Wait here,” Trace said. “I’m going to test the door’s lock. Watch for my signal to come over, then come in low and fast. Get right inside. Don’t stop until you’re inside.”

  Trace straightened up and, for the edification of any passerby who might see him, sauntered over to the back door as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He carried, tucked under his arm, a yellowed, folded newspaper he’d taken from a partially full recycle basket near the garage.

  When he arrived at the back door, Trace gently rattled the handle to see if he could determine how many locks bolted it.

  Good, he thought. Just one latch lock. No deadbolt.

  He knocked loudly, waited a beat, then knocked twice more. He put his ear to the door and waited. There was no sound inside. He knocked again, listened and waited. Still nothing. No person and, even better, no dog.

  So far.

  He looked around. Satisfied that he and Ibrahim were alone, at least as far as he could tell, he slipped a credit card into the crack between the door lock and the door jam, and jiggled the card up and down as he simultaneously turned the knob. The stock lock popped open.

  He looked back at Ibrahim, and held up his palm, signaling him to wait. He knocked again and listened. Still just silence from within. He slowly turned the knob and opened the door just wide enough to put his head inside. He leaned into the kitchen.

  “Hello. Is anyone here?” he called loudly for the benefit of anyone who might be inside.

  No response. No sound at all. Especially no sound of paws and paw nails running across the floor somewhere in the house. He listened and absorbed the house’s emptiness, not quite convinced yet.

  Trace turned back toward Ibrahim and held up his palm again. Then he stepped into the kitchen. He yelled again, louder this time.

  “Hello. Anyone home? Gas company here to check for a reported gas leak.” He paused, listened a second, then said, “We need your permission to enter to check for the leak.”

  Again no response.

  Trace looked around the kitchen, ready to bolt if necessary.

 
He was cautious as he walked across the kitchen to the archway leading to the dining room. He knew that even though he had not evoked a response by knocking on the door and calling out, someone still might be there, deliberately refusing to answer him, also waiting and listening, either angry or frightened, or both, hiding and armed with a weapon. All he was reasonably sure about was that there was no dog in the house. He was not at all certain there was no armed man or woman waiting for him to appear before them, ready to invoke Florida’s Stand Your Ground law.

  He stood at the entryway between the kitchen and dining room, and listened.

  He wiped the perspiration from his forehead using his shirt sleeve.

  And waited.

  He returned to the kitchen and walked over to the sink, opened the two doors below the basin, and looked into the storage area. He found what he was looking for in a box under the sink.

  Now, as satisfied as he could be that no one was home, without making a visual inspection of the entire house, Trace stepped back to the door and waved his arm, signaling Ibrahim to come in.

  Ibrahim dashed over the threshold into the kitchen, and stopped short. Trace put his hand on Ibrahim’s shoulder and held a finger of his other hand to his lips to indicate he wanted Ibrahim to be quiet.

  Ibrahim nodded.

  Trace put his lips close to Ibrahim’s ear. “I think we’re okay, we’re alone, but I need to make sure.”

  Ibrahim nodded again.

  Trace whispered, “We’ll check every room. I’ll inspect while you keep watch.” He reached over to Ibrahim. “Take these and put them on,” he said, handing Ibrahim a pair of latex gloves he’d taken from under the sink.