Amid the Shadows

by Michael C. Grumley

  “I know,” Christine said anxiously. She tried to slow her breathing. “I’m just scared and I don’t know what’s happening.”

  “Christine, take a deep breath and tell me exactly what happened.” Liz spoke slowly into the phone as her husband approached and stood behind her.

  “Okay, okay.” Christine took a deep breath, and then another. “They came to the house. Someone knocked on the door and said they were the FBI. I didn’t want to let them in but more of them broke in through the back door, with rifles! And then the FBI person on the porch smashed through the front window. But then they started shooting at each other, so I don’t…I just grabbed Sarah and ran out.” She took another breath. “But when we got to the car, the two policemen inside, they were supposed to be guarding the house, but they were dead. They were dead in the car.”

  Dear god. “Okay, take it easy.” Liz said. “The first thing we need to do is call the police.”

  “No!” yelled Christine, suddenly excited again. “I mean, I just…I just don’t know who to trust. They killed the police before they could even get out of the car. The ones that broke in, they all looked like professionals, like killers or something. I mean what if someone in the police is in on this?”

  Christine was scared, but she had a good point. Liz’s husband whispered something in her ear. “Is Sarah okay?”

  Christine looked at Sarah who was standing inside a McDonald’s restaurant, just inside the glass doors, to keep warm. “Yes.”

  “Good. Listen carefully Christine, my husband is a retired police officer, remember? Let us come get you. Until we know what’s going on here, let us come and get you and bring you someplace safe. He has friends that he can trust, they will all help keep you safe.”

  Christine thought it over briefly before replying. “Yeah, okay, but hurry!”

  “Okay,” Liz said. She grabbed a pen and paper. “Now where are you?”

  Christine looked around. “We’re in Quakertown,” she said. “At a McDonald’s. I see a road called West Broad Street.”

  “Okay,” Liz said, writing it down. “We’ll find it.” She quickly turned off the stove and followed her husband down the hallway toward their garage. He grabbed coats for both of them. “Christine, stay right where you are. You’ll be safe in a public place.”

  Christine hung up and walked toward the entrance. People walked in and out of the restaurant, barely noticing either one of them. Was anyone looking at them strangely? As she opened the door, Christine looked back at the unmarked police car with a damaged right fender. At the very least, she thought, someone would be looking for that car.

  Christine sat in a brightly-colored, plastic chair while Sarah quietly sat next to her, eating French fries. The restaurant was filled with loud and obnoxious children running up and down the aisles while their parents appeared oblivious and went on with their conversations.

  Christine tried not to jump every time the door opened, slumping with disappointment when she saw it was not Liz. She tried to distract herself by watching the customers, marveling at how many did not even have to look at the menu, but instead had their order memorized in what she considered a sad display of social repression.

  She watched an unusually large woman order several items of food and a diet soda. She looked down at Sarah who was watching the other children. Sarah looked up and smiled.

  Christine smiled back. “You doing okay, honey?”

  Sarah nodded. “Are you scared?”

  Christine frowned. “Yes.”

  “Me too,” said Sarah. She turned and looked at the front door. “Is your friend going to be here soon?”

  “Yes.” Christine forced a smile and patted her leg. “She should be here any minute.”

  Sarah nodded again and looked over to a child screaming at another table.

  They both turned when they heard the sound of screeching tires. Outside, Liz and her husband jumped out of their Jeep Grand Cherokee and ran for the door.

  Christine grabbed Sarah’s hand and turned anxiously to face the door as Liz stepped inside and scanned the large dining room. She spotted Christine and immediately crossed the room, barely avoiding a customer with a large tray of food.

  “There you are!” she said, approaching. She looked from Christine to Sarah and then back again. “Are you two okay?”

  Christine took a deep breath and nodded. She smiled quickly at Liz’s husband who walked up behind her.

  Liz sat down across from Christine. She reached out and held her hand. “Okay, we’re just going to wait here for a few minutes until Tim’s old partner shows up. And then we’ll get you someplace safe.”

  Christine nodded.

  Liz then looked at Sarah. “How are you, dear?”

  “I’m okay,” Sarah said. She finished the rest of her orange juice through the straw and sat back in her chair. With a timid look, she peered up at Liz’s husband standing behind her. She noted his large belly sticking out beyond his jacket and the slight bulge of his gun underneath, on his hip.

  “Have you eaten anything?” Liz asked Christine.

  Christine shook her head. “Not really hungry.”

  “When is the last time you ate?”

  “A while,” she said with a shrug.

  “Okay well-” Liz was interrupted when her husband Tim looked outside at a pair of headlights screeching into a parking space on the other side of the large dining room.

  “Steve’s here,” he said, patting Liz’s shoulder lightly. He watched the large man pass along the windows outside and enter through the far doors. He waved Steve over.

  “Christine,” he said. “This is my old partner, Steve McCaullah. We’ve been friends for more than twenty years.”

  McCaullah nodded and looked at them. He then looked carefully around the dining room. “We’d better get you girls out of here.”

  Liz smiled and stood up next to her husband. “You two ready?” As Christine began to stand, Liz turned to lead them out.

  Christine was suddenly stopped by Sarah’s hand on her arm. She glanced at Liz who was already starting to walk away and then looked back down at Sarah.

  Sarah was leaning in close to her with a scared look on her face. “He’s a bad man,” she whispered.

  Christine froze halfway off the chair. “Who?”

  Sarah whispered again, quieter. “Him.” She motioned to McCaullah who was watching the Iversons walk away from him. He turned his attention to the glass doors as three darkly dressed men walked in.

  Sarah gasped. Peering back at Liz and her husband, she watched both of their shadows change from orange to black.

  “What is it?” Christine said, and then followed Sarah’s fearful gaze to Liz. “LIZ WAIT!”

  It was too late. When Liz and her husband turned back around, they found McCaullah pointing his gun at them. A confused look on their faces were just forming when McCaullah pulled the trigger repeatedly, firing two bullets into each of them.

  Dozens of customers screamed and ran for the doors in a panic. Some made it out while others tried to hide behind something or searched for their children, screaming at them to get down or out of the way. Liz was killed instantly, but her husband desperately ran his hand underneath his coat as he fell. He barely managed to withdraw his weapon but fumbled it onto the floor. The gun was quickly kicked out of the way by one of the three men approaching behind him.

  Tim Iverson struggled on the floor and turned onto his back. A thin line of blood began seeping through his lips. As he was trying to speak, McCaullah leaned down over him and pushed his gun into his chest. “Sorry Timmy,” he whispered with a disappointed look. “This is bigger than both of us.”

  Iverson was still trying to move as McCaullah fired two more bullets into his heart.

  Everyone was still screaming. Some parents had managed to get to their children and were now trying to force one of the emergency doors open to get out. Christine grabbed Sarah and looked around the restaurant, but there was no way to get pa
st them, much less to an exit. She squeezed Sarah tighter and tried to think of something to do, anything, but she was stopped when McCaullah stepped in front of her and reloaded his gun.

  “A lot of people have been looking for you two,” he said, putting the used magazine into his jacket pocket. “We couldn’t find you, and then, imagine that, Tim calls me from out of the blue.” He smiled at the other three standing to the side. “With that kind of luck, I should be playing the lottery.”

  He looked curiously at Christine. She didn’t seem as frightened as he would have expected. She was obviously afraid, but there was also a hint of determination as she kept Sarah behind her. Pity. He pulled the slide back on his gun to verify the chamber was loaded. He then released it and held the gun in his right hand with a relaxed grip. “So the question for you is…do you want to come with us, or not? I have to warn you,” he said with a smile, “the second option may have some bad results.”

  McCaullah gripped the gun and began to raise it when the wall of glass suddenly exploded and a large car drove through it. One of the few areas of empty seats ripped from the floor and tumbled forward in front of the car’s bumper, and a giant wave of glass slid down, and then off of the hood. Just before it stopped, the front of the car struck McCaullah hard, and his body disappeared from where he was standing.

  The man that Christine saw at the safe house, who identified himself as Glen Smith, stepped quickly and calmly out of the driver’s side as McCaullah’s three friends took a few steps back and pulled out their own guns.

  Behind them, the screaming got even louder with people pushing through any possible exit, even the open wall of glass. Behind the car, Smith’s movements were fluid and fast. He shot two of the three before any of them got a single shot off. The third opened fire forcing Smith to duck down. In a panic, the man unloaded his entire magazine, with most of the bullets missing completely and shattering another set of windows at the far end of the room. Smith waited for him to run out of bullets and then dropped him with a single shot.

  He scanned the restaurant and then looked outside. Satisfied, he swiftly stepped over the debris between himself and the girls. He looked down at Sarah and then to Christine. “We need to leave, get in the car.”

  Christine was shaking, looking as though she might be in shock. Slowly she blinked and looked up at Smith. “Why…what…” she shook her head and grabbed Sarah’s hand again. “What in the hell is this?” she cried. “Who are they…who are you?”

  “Glen Smith,” he answered calmly. “I was the one standing outside your front door.”

  “What…happened?” She looked around the dining room. Several innocent people were lying motionless on the floor. “Why are they doing this?” She looked back toward the front, and her eyes fell on Liz’s body. “My god! They killed Liz!” Her eyes began to well up. “Why? Tell me why!”

  Smith watched her and holstered his gun beneath his jacket. “I’m sorry, this is not the time for questions. We need to leave.”

  In stunned silence, Christine did a full scan of the restaurant and thought she could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance.

  Smith heard them too, glancing in the direction from which they were coming and then back to Christine. He looked at Sarah again, then took a few steps over some twisted bench seats and opened the passenger’s door. “Getting arrested by the police will not help. It will make things far worse.” The sirens grew louder over the sobbing of people outside.

  Christine turned to Sarah and whispered, “Is he red?”

  Sarah shook her head no.

  What was she supposed to do? Christine thought. No one in the police department had been able to protect them. They still didn’t have any answers. And Smith was the only one offering protection now. It had to be protection, didn’t it? If he wanted to kill them, he would have already.

  The sirens were getting closer.

  “Okay,” Christine said meekly. She rose slowly and pulled Sarah with her to the car. She scanned the inside, both front and back, and pushed the seat forward, letting Sarah into the back. “Put your seat belt on,” she said with a trembling voice.

  Christine watched Smith circle back around to the other side of the car and slide in. He closed his door and looked at her. With reluctance, she closed the passenger door and continued to watch him.

  Smith quickly started the car and dropped it into reverse, then drove backward until he could turn around. He turned off his headlights and headed east on the main street, away from the approaching lights and sirens.

  “Are either of you hurt?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. They both shook their heads. “Good.” He continued to drive, watching the rearview mirror. After several minutes of silence, Smith turned to Christine. “Can you drive?” he asked.

  “Yes,” was all that came out.

  “Can you drive now?” Smith asked again. “Are you hurt, are you tired?”

  “No.” Christine frowned. “Why?”

  Smith leaned forward and looked carefully out the window for a place to pull over. “Because I’m about to lose consciousness.”

  “What?”

  Smith pulled into a dark parking lot behind a convenience store. He put the car in park and turned off the engine, then reached down gently and pulled open his blue jacket. The left side of his torso was covered in blood.

  Christine’s eyes widened. “Oh my god!”

  Smith grimaced slightly when he pulled his shirt up; some of the blood was already dried. The bullet had gone straight through. He blinked twice and turned to her. “Listen carefully. I don’t have much time.” He pulled his jacket off and reached across Christine, opening the glove compartment. He pulled out a roll of duct tape from the inside.

  “What’s that for?” she asked, watching him rip off a large piece.

  “It’s for repairing ventilation ducts,” he answered dryly.

  She frowned sarcastically. “I know that. I mean what-” she stopped when he stuck the tape to the steering wheel and then pulled his shirt off and ripped it lengthwise. He folded one half of the shirt a few times and pressed it against the wound while securing it with the tape. He ripped off more tape from the roll and did the same to the wound on his back.

  When he was done, Smith turned and looked at Sarah who stared nervously back at him from the rear seat. He turned back to Christine. “Where is your phone?”

  “It’s right here.” She looked in her purse and pulled it out. “Why?”

  “Turn off your cellular signal,” Smith said. His breathing was beginning to sound labored. “They can find you that way. Do you know how to turn it off?”

  “Yes.” Christine nodded and fumbled with her phone, finally turning off the signal.

  “Just…use the GPS.” Smith said. He reached back into the glove compartment in front of Christine and pulled out a piece of paper and pencil. He wrote something on it and handed the paper to her. “Use your phone’s navigation to get to this place…as quickly as you can.”

  Christine took the paper apprehensively and looked at it. On it was scribbled a set of numbers. “Is this an address?” she asked.

  He took a deep breath and shook his head. “They’re GPS coordinates. Just type them into your phone.” He blinked again, longer, then turned and focused intently on Sarah. “Get to that location. Your lives depend on it.”

  He managed to get the last words out before losing consciousness and sliding with a thud against the driver side door.

  22

  Zahn exited the jet and stepped out into the arid Dubai morning air which was already approaching ninety degrees. A large delegation waited for him at the bottom of the stairs. Several photographers stood in front, while the black limousines could be seen behind the crowd. He descended the stairs and waved with a perfect smile. When he reached the black tarmac, he bowed to the Arab diplomats before him, continuing down onto his knees and kissing the ground, symbolizing his respect for their sovereign land.

  It took over an
hour for the photographs and respectful exchanges with nearly a dozen sheikhs. Zahn finally continued with his small entourage to the limousines and climbed into the back of the middle car. A few minutes later, the three cars rolled forward, away from the crowd, circled the west end of the terminal and headed for the large metropolitan skyline in the distance.

  Dubai was originally established in 1833 by Sheikh Maktoum bin Butti Al-Maktoum when he persuaded 800 members of his clan to follow him from present day Saudi Arabia to the Dubai Creek. Since then, and due to the advantage of its strategic, geographic location, the city had grown from an important trading hub into a major international and cosmopolitan center for the Middle East.

  Zahn peered out of his tinted window at the hundreds of skyscrapers that had come to symbolize the wealth of Dubai. All funded by the United Arab Emirates’ untold billions in oil money, it was a city that was now one of the most expensive in the world.

  He looked at his watch. He was ahead of schedule. His next meeting with Mohammed bin Manal Al Maktoum was not due to begin for another hour. But it was the very last meeting that he was thinking about.

  The man that sat across from Zahn lowered his cigarette and exhaled the last of the cigarette smoke. Being Iranian, he was not a sheikh, but closer to an ayatollah with one important difference: Ra’ad was a warrior. He had long since rejected the path of a religious scholar and instead maintained a humble existence, fighting for his people and more importantly for his God.

  Zahn sat two hundred miles north of Dubai and across the Strait of Hormuz in a dark underground complex inside the Iranian border. His entourage patiently waited for him in a downtown Dubai skyscraper, maintaining the illusion that Zahn was still there, deep in discussions with various heads of state in the Middle East, all of whom had secretly left hours earlier.

  Ra’ad put his cigarette out in the ashtray and looked to his men, one on his left and one on the right. Unlike most of the “scholars”, Ra’ad’s English was perfect. He took Sun Tzu’s code of know thy enemy very seriously. “So we have come to it at last,” he said.