NO SAFE PLACE

by Steven M. Roth

  Trace watched and waited. He could tell from the cautious way Viktor moved across the street that he’d had special military training.

  The street and sidewalks remained empty.

  Trace took off, crouching low, running.

  They waited behind the bushes, watching the patio and the hotel’s entrance.

  “We should to go in,” Trace said.”

  Viktor started to straighten up. “Okay. There’s no time like—”

  Trace put up his palm to stop Viktor, and sniffed. He thought he smelled something, but he could not locate. His senses were smothered by the fragrance of the bushes he and Viktor hid behind. But he knew someone was there, unseen.

  Then the air current delivered the scent directly to Trace and he knew what it was he’d smelled. It was the faintest whiff of cigarette smoke.

  Trace grabbed Viktor’s shoulder, making the shhhh sign with his finger raised to his lips as he guided Viktor back down behind the shrubbery. He pointed toward the steps just as a soldier walked from around the corner of the building, heading toward the patio, his head bowed. The soldier stopped near the bottom of the steps, took a final pull on his cigarette, then flicked it onto the lawn. He turned and walked away into the dark.

  Viktor looked at Trace, raised his eyebrows, then nodded.

  They waited five more minutes, then stepped from behind the shrub, crouched, and scampered up onto the patio heading for the Hotel Carlota’s entrance.

  They knew this was the time they were most vulnerable to discovery and arrest. If they were noticed at this late hour they would not be able to explain why they were coming back into the hotel during curfew.

  But they had no choice. They had to enter the hotel, take their chances, and hope for the best. Going in amounted to a crapshoot with the dice loaded in favor of the house. Trace knew this and Viktor knew this, but they prudently let it sit unstated between them.

  They paused just inside the entryway and listened to the sounds coming from the hotel. When they’d satisfied themselves they had not been seen, Trace stepped in and sauntered through the hotel’s entrance, followed by Viktor.

  Trace winced at the malodorous, uncirculated air, the groans of too many uprooted people crammed into too small a space, and the chaotic movements of the swarming resident-squatters who seemed to him to be in constant, random motion notwithstanding the early-morning hour.

  He hesitated, but knew he should not remain standing in the framed doorway where he would attract attention. He took a slow, deep breath through his mouth, controlled but did not conquer his offended olfactory senses, and walked into the hallway.

  Viktor had already moved across the hall to the entrance to the main lobby. Trace walked over and joined him.

  “Let’s look in here first,” Trace said, pointing to the expansive lobby.

  Viktor nodded.

  They stood just inside the lobby entrance and looked around, Trace’s eyes examining the crowd, looking for the familiar face of Isabella or Jenna. He didn’t see either woman.

  Trace slowly walked from the front of the room to the back. Viktor trailed close behind him.

  No one seemed to pay attention to them. It was as if the hotel’s squatter population was used to people roaming the public areas at all hours of the night.

  Trace’s eyes scanned the human muddle, his head sweeping like a radar antennae as he and Viktor headed toward the far side of the lobby.

  When they reached the wall, Trace said, “I want to check the meeting rooms.”

  They started to walk back to the lobby entrance when Trace grabbed Viktor’s arm.

  “Hold on,” he said.

  “What’s the matter?” Viktor asked. He stiffened and quickly looked around trying to spot the problem that had grabbed Trace’s attention.

  Trace remained silent.

  “What’s wrong?” Viktor again said. “Tell me.”

  Trace still said nothing. He walked over to a woman who sat on the floor, about fifteen feet away. He stopped in front of her, menacingly close, but outside the boundary of her instinctual, personal space, her bodily territory. Trace intended to rattle her, but not terrify her.

  She looked up at him and quickly crab-crawled backward across the floor, keeping her eyes on Trace as she moved away, stopping about ten feet from him.

  “What do you want, Mister?” she said to Trace. “I’m trying to get some rest.”

  “That blouse. Where’d you get it?”

  She pulled in her legs, raising her knees to her chin. She wrapped her arms around her legs and leaned into them, hiding much of the blouse.

  “It’s mine,” she said. She squinted and wrinkled her forehead, glanced around as if looking for a friendly, familiar face, then looked back at Trace. “I didn’t steal it or nothin’. You can’t have it.”

  “I don’t want it. Just tell me where you got it,” Trace said. He gentled his voice and face, using body language signals he had learned in SEALs’ training intended to relax and draw in a person being interrogated.

  “I found it,” the woman said. “It’s mine.” She relaxed her arms around her body, but did not let go of her legs.

  Trace took a long step backward away from the woman, then kneeled on one knee. Now at her face level, he spoke softly, nodding his head repeatedly as he talked, trying to establish some measure of rapport with the woman.

  “I know the blouse is yours, and I don’t want it. But it reminds me of one I bought my wife. It even has her initials.” He paused to let this sink in.

  “Please tell me. Did you see my wife here? A tall woman with dark hair, thin body? Her name’s Isabella. All I want is to know. Nothing else. The blouse is yours to keep in any event.” He nodded and smiled as warmly as he could under the circumstances.

  The woman relaxed her arms, dropping them to her sides. She folded one leg under the other.

  “I keep the blouse?”

  Trace nodded. “Yes, keep it,” he said, “it’s yours now. Just tell me what you know about the woman who had the blouse before you.”

  “I found it in another room in a shopping bag. After the soldiers came. I didn’t steal it.”

  “What soldiers?” Trace said. He felt his stomach roil. “Did they take the lady with them?”

  “You know . . . army men. Soldier men. Five, six, with guns. They was wearing those white space suits like the men who walked on the Moon.” She stared at Trace.

  “They put the two womens’ arms behind them,” she said, “and tied them with plastic bracelets like on the cop shows on TV. The soldiers took the womens away. I don’t know where.” She shrugged.

  “Did the soldiers say anything? Try to remember,” Trace said. “It could be important. Anything at all?”

  The woman shook her head. “I went with other people after they left. We looked at the womens stuff in the other room. That’s when I found the blouse there. They couldn’t use it no more so you can’t say I stole it.”

  “Did the soldiers say anything?” Trace asked again.

  The woman shook her head.

  Trace looked at Viktor.

  Viktor motioned with his head toward the entrance and started walking.

  Trace thanked the woman and left the Hotel Carlota with Viktor. They retraced their steps back to Port Everglades.

  Back at Port Everglades, Trace and Viktor sat side-by-side under a tree, both silent, both smoking cigarettes, each in his own world contemplating the events at the hotel.

  “You handled woman well,” Viktor said. “In my country, we would have pressured her to tell us what she knew without dancing around as you did.”

  Trace nodded. “I need to find my wife and break her loose from the military.”

  “You come up with plan, then I help you,” Viktor said.”

  Trace looked hard at Viktor. “Why?” he asked. “You barely know me.”

  “I’m bored. And because we both were military men. Different sides, but same code. We are brothers that way. I can be usef
ul to you.”

  Trace paused to think about what Viktor offered. “I’ll consider it. If I need my back protected, I’ll find you.”

  Viktor nodded.

  Trace stood up and turned to leave.

  “Hey, Mr. ex-Military Man,” Viktor called to Trace, “Good luck. Don’t take any shit from the occupiers.

  Trace turned back to face Viktor. “Right you are, Brother.”

  CHAPTER 91

  Quarantine

  Day 31

  4:12 a.m.

  Trace and Viktor made it back from the Hotel Carlota without incident.

  As they entered the Port Everglades encampment, Ibrahim rushed over. He ignored Viktor.

  “Where’s Jenna?”

  “Arrested. Taken away with my wife by soldiers.”

  “What?” Ibrahim looked back and forth between Viktor and Trace. He did not ask Trace who Viktor was.

  “Soldiers showed up at the hotel and arrested them,” Trace said. “We don’t know where they are.”

  “What’re we going to do?” Ibrahim said. “We can’t just leave them.”

  “We’re going to get them back,” Trace said quietly.

  Ibrahim said, “Okay. How? When?”

  Trace left Viktor and Ibrahim, and searched the encampment for Alex. When he found him, he said, “I need a wireless device of some kind. My son’s laptop is in a safe deposit box back at the Palm Court Hotel. Is there something here I can use?”

  “I’ll see what I can find,” Alex said.

  Ten minutes later Trace leaned back against a palm tree and booted up the iPad Alex had borrowed for him. He clicked the wireless network icon to connect to some nearby public hotspot. It took him a few minutes to find a connection with a strong signal. He settled on an unsecured site called Rainbow. He had no idea who operated the hotspot, and under the circumstances he didn’t care. Right now he would gladly make do with an unsecured wireless network just to have online access.

  Trace decided to send two e-mail messages. He would use an anonymous router just as he and Pete had used to update Trace’s stale hacking skills when they were away on their fishing trip.

  As for the first message, the world could see it for all Trace cared. Its text would be designed to fire-up Admiral Max Tyler’s juices. No one else would understand its significance.

  As for the second message, the follow-up e-mail to Max, Trace also did not care who might read it. The message would be encrypted using a protocol known only to Trace and the men in his and Max’s SEAL team. Trace would further protect himself by using a coded ID for both messages.

  Trace located an e-mail service that allowed users to send anonymous e-mails. He took a few minutes to set up his free anonymous account. Then he typed the first message to Max.

  To: mtyler@navy.pentagon.mil

  From: mailer@anonymous.sum.to

  Time: 3:20 a.m. EST

  Your friendship desperately needed.

  OPERATION JUST CAUSE protocol only.

  Highly vulnerable.

  Will await confirmation.

  Regards from your Pappy.

  Trace had no idea if Max still maintained this e-mail account. He waited a few minutes, then checked his own account to see if the message had bounced back as undeliverable. It had not. With luck, then, Max would see the message first thing in the morning and get right back to him.

  Trace broke-off the wireless connection and tucked the borrowed iPad under his arm. He would check his e-mail account every fifteen minutes for a response, although he didn’t expect an answer before late morning.

  Max’s confirmation e-mail message came in at 5:10 a.m. Trace was surprised Max was up and checking his mail at that hour. He’d have to ask him about this the next time they saw one another. In the meantime, he was glad Max had responded to him so quickly.

  Trace returned to the base of the palm tree and typed his reply to Max. Then he applied the OPERATION JUST CAUSE protocol to encrypt his message.

  To: mtyler@navy.pentagon.mil

  From: mailer@anonymous.sum.to

  Protocol: OPERATION JUST CAUSE

  Time: 5:20 a.m. EST

  Family and I caught in the Quarantine Zone while on vacation in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Pete dead from terrorists’ disease. Isabella’s mother, too.

  Isabella taken prisoner by District Military Commander’s troops. Do not know why. I am in hiding after a physical confrontation with a soldier during a non-routine stop. Am on the run from authorities.

  Need to know our official status, mine and Bella’s. Need to know, too, location of Isabella.

  Also find out status/whereabouts, etc., of young woman named Jenna Burke. She has ROTC background. She was taken prisoner with Isabella. She might be an Unfriendly.

  Pappy.

  Two hours later Max’s reply e-mail arrived.

  CHAPTER 92

  Quarantine

  Day 31

  Morning

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please listen to this important announcement from the Office of the District Military Commander.” Derek paused.

  “You are warned to be on the lookout for a very dangerous man wanted by the authorities. The fugitive’s name is Trace Austin. He is 6’1” tall, approximately 180 to 190 lbs. He has brown hair and green eyes. He is forty-nine years old.

  “If you see him, or someone you think might be him, do not approach him or try to apprehend him. He is considered dangerous, and might be armed. Report him immediately to the authorities.

  “I repeat. Do not approach him. Call the telephone number now showing at the bottom of your television screen. You will be well rewarded if your information leads to his capture.”

  On another important matter, the Fort Lauderdale sniper has been shooting again since my broadcast yesterday, and has taken the lives of three more innocent people. You are urged to stay at home unless you must go out, and, if you do go out, you are asked to report anyone or anything suspicious.

  “General Vista has advised this reporter that anyone who makes a report of a suspicious person or circumstance concerning the sniper or the fugitive Austin will not be entered into the ODMC database for that reason alone.

  “General Vista has also instructed me to tell you that Field Order No. 2 has been amended to temporarily deal with the sniper situation. It will no longer be acceptable for two people over the age of thirteen to be in public areas together.

  “Until the sniper has been apprehended or neutralized, everyone will be required to venture about the Quarantine Zone alone. Until further notice, any two or more people over the age of thirteen out together will be in violation of the Field Order and will be dealt with accordingly.

  “It is the intent of this new, temporary requirement to reduce the number of targets available to the sniper until he is caught or killed. When that occurs, General Vista has advised this reporter, the Field Order will be amended to again permit up to two people to congregate together in public.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this reporter must close with this obvious question: Is the fugitive Trace Austin, the man we asked you to be on the lookout for, the Quarantine Zone sniper?

  Derek nodded at his cameraman.

  “Now, back to today’s other news programming . . . .”

  CHAPTER 93

  Quarantine

  Day 31

  Early afternoon

  “So, Mrs. Austin,” Vista said, “we finally meet. I apologize for the wrist restraints. It’s standard procedure. I’ll have them removed immediately.”

  Isabella nodded and remained silent.

  A few minutes later Vista said, “Have a seat.” He pointed to the chair in front of his desk.

  Isabella lowered herself into the chair, her back rigid, her hands together on her lap as if they were still shackled. Once seated, she turned her head from side-to-side, looking around the office. Pictures of Vista in civilian clothes, standing with other people, covered much of one wall. Framed certificates and plaques dominated another.


  A trophy collector, she thought.

  Isabella turned back to face the officer. He had settled into his chair behind his desk and was staring at her.

  Isabella looked at the name plate on his desk. It read, General Anthony Vista.

  “How did you find me?” Isabella said.

  “Someone at the hotel reported you. Your photo was on the news. No one can hide from us.”

  “Why’d you bring me here?” Isabella looked directly into the general’s eyes as she questioned him.

  “We want to give you the opportunity to save your husband’s life.”

  Isabella’s jaw clenched. Her spine tightened. She drew in a short gulp of air. Her eyes and her posture, both carefully watched by the general, appeared to be impervious to his implied threat.

  “You could have asked me to come in voluntarily,” she said, trying to control her voice to mask her apprehension. “I would have cooperated.”

  “That’s all we want, Mrs. Austin. Your cooperation. And your husband’s, too, of course.”

  “My husband wouldn’t appreciate knowing you brought me here in restraints like a common criminal.”

  “Your husband is a criminal,” the general said. “He assaulted one of my men. That’s a felony. To add to his problems, now your husband also is a fugitive.” He paused to let this sink in. “Where is he?”