Jim took in a deep breath. “I’m just covering my butt, Karen. There are legal issues involved.”
“I don’t care about legal issues! Brad’s life is in danger, I’m not going to leave it up to them to decide if he lives or dies!”
Jim held his hands up in defense. “All you had to do was ask me to keep quiet. There’s no need to keep things from me, Karen.”
She sat down and put her head in her hand. “I just need to find him, Jim. I don’t care about the cost.”
“I want to find him too, Karen. –Nerd, what did you uncover?”
Nerd shot Karen a hesitant glance. She looked up and nodded for him to continue. “The numbers are for something called a Geo Cache. It’s a game people play using hand held GPS devices. They bury a box, or a can or something, and post its location on the Internet so others can find it. The numbers Karen gave me are a GPS location. When I referenced it on the Internet, I came across a password protected website. It took me a little bit to break in, but it was worth it. The site was basically a shout out to all the terrorists working on something called, The Divine Gift. The GPS location is their Geo Cache. Based on what I read, there is a high likelihood it contains information as a back up plan. Like alternate sites for...”
“A hostage house?” Karen looked hopeful.
“Precisely.”
“How far away is it?” Karen was on her feet.
“‘Bout fifteen minutes.”
“We have a GPS in the news car.”
Jim studied her standing there with one arm in a sling. “Karen, what are you going to do if this thing does contain information about a hostage house? Storm the house yourself?”
“I don’t know. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.” She headed for the door.
“Look,” said Jim, “If you do find something at the site, call me. I’ll send our security team over. We have some ex-navy seals and a couple of Marines who work for us. Maybe we can make something happen.”
She twisted around. “What about the FBI?”
“You’re right, Karen. Brad is one of ours, and we can’t let him down. No matter what the cost.”
Her heart lifted. “Thank you, Jim. I won’t forget this.”
Chapter 39
Karen compared the numbers on the GPS to the numbers on the picture in her cellphone. She was close. The location was just off the right side of the road, somewhere in the woods. The tires buzzed as the car passed over the rumble strip. Wherever it was, she was going to have to drive to it; she didn’t have the luxury of a hand held device.
The car bounced over a root between two trees, and Karen struggled to keep the wheel straight with her one good hand. It vibrated and threatened to pull itself out of her grasp. A large rock scraped along the bottom of the car and spit out the back. She twisted the wheel again and zeroed in on the number, it looked like a few more yards straight ahead––but a stand of pines prevented her from going any further.
She pushed the door open and climbed out. The trip had taken fourteen minutes. That meant she had twenty-six more before time ran out. She ran straight ahead scanning the brush and rocks. Whatever it was, it was probably buried. Her heel caught a root and she stumbled and landed hard on her arm. Pain rippled through every nerve ending, her teeth ground together in response. With urgency, she dug her polished fingernails into the soil and scrambled to her knees. Pain stabbed up through her shoulder and into her neck––but she would not give in to it. She wiped the tears from her eyes and scanned the brush in front of her. At the base of a stump, not six feet away, was a moss covered opening between the roots.
She clawed toward it, ripping big holes in her nylons and scraping her knees, but all that mattered was getting to that box. The branches scraped her face and dug into her sides, but she pressed forward. With a swipe, the moss clump dropped away. Wedged inside the opening was a metal box! She pulled it free and opened the lid. This was it, what Nerd said would be here! There were maps with alternate routes, material resource sites, bank numbers, alternate bomb sites––and an alternate hostage house. She wiped tears of relief with her arm. She had the location, now she would have someone go to the site and mount a rescue, that is, if the terrorists were operating from the alternate site. She had to believe they were. She pulled her phone from her pocket, flipped it open, and called the station. The screen read, “Call failed. No signal”.
You’ve GOT to be kidding me! She shoved the phone back into her pocket, slammed the box shut, picked it up with her good arm, and struggled to her feet.
Awkwardly she hurried back to the car, stumbling over rocks and roots as she went. At the car she tossed the box onto the driver’s seat then dug her phone back out. Still no bars! Anywhere! A thousand cell towers in Boston, and she couldn’t get a signal! She held the phone out at arms length and walked toward the road. One bar appeared. Quickly she dialed the news director.
“Hello. Jim Coldfield.” The signal was very weak.
“Can you hear me?”
“Barely.”
“I found the box. It was just what Nerd said!”
“That’s wonderful!”
She hurried back to the car and rifled through the papers in the box, fearing she would lose the connection any second. “Take this address down!”
“Okay!” His voice crackled
She read the address several times to make sure he got it. If there was anyone who could put together a team to get Brad out, Jim was the one.
Oh, God, please let there be enough time! She moved the box to the passenger seat, climbed into the car, and punched the address into the navigator. According to the readout, she was forty-five minutes from the location. There was no way she could get there in time. But a team from the television station could. It was less than fifteen minutes from there. If Jim hurried, they would make it, just in time.
She leaned back against the seat. It was in Jim’s hands now, she had to trust that he would take care of it. She took in a deep breath, then started the car. If she hurried, maybe she could get there in time to see Brad being brought out.
Chapter 40
The second hand made its way around with no regard for the violence it would bring. Steady and with purpose the hand rounded the three, then the six... Five more passes and Brad would be dead––and the clock would continue on, oblivious to what it had done.
David had taken every opportunity to grope for words in the room and on the TV screen, but no message had come. Maybe Alex was right, maybe he shouldn’t trust the messages. They had lured him into the worst possible horror, and now when he needed them the most, there was nothing but silence. Why? Why did I trust you! You ALWAYS let me down! You say you want faith! But you make it impossible to trust you! Why have you left me? Didn’t I do everything you asked?
The anguish tasted bitter in his mouth. He’d always wanted to know God; it was the deepest longing of his heart. Yet here he was, being let down––again! He wanted to have the unshakable faith of Frank Johnston, but even with God speaking directly to him, he felt more distant than ever. What was the deal with God? Why all the parables? Why all the mysteries? Why hide up in the clouds and leave humanity on this miserable rock to figure everything out for themselves? It was a cruel and terrible joke!
David stopped himself. Had he lost his mind? Again, he was assuming there was a God, when all the evidence pointed to the opposite conclusion. There was no master plan. There was no perfect will of God. It was just him, David, following some weird extrasensory perception into a highly lethal and volatile situation. And now, because of his stupid wishful thinking, he was trapped in the worst of all possible nightmares.
Hamid entered with a roll of duct tape and crossed the room to Brad. The reporter offered no resistance as his arms were wrenched behind him and bound together. His eyes were empty, vacant and lifeless––as though he were already dead.
David looked at Hamid’s jet black hair. He was so close, even the pores in his skin were visible. This was it. T
his was David’s only opportunity to save Brad, and possibly himself. His hands were still free. He had to do something before the Arab tied them. The clock is ticking! I could grab him! But what about the man with the gun?
His eyes fell on the fork sitting on the card table. Can I use that? His mind sped. What could he possibly do with a fork that would cause the other man to drop his gun? He began to tremble as he worked through the scenarios. Hamid was almost finished with Brad. I need to act NOW, or the window will pass. He brought a shaking hand up onto the table, and began inching it toward the fork.
“We interrupt this program to bring you a special report,” said the television. The newsroom of Channel Seven appeared on the screen, then a close up of a nervous Cindy Coulter. “This morning a second tape from the terrorists arrived here at the offices of Channel Seven News. It contains a message the terrorists wish us to air, and if we do not, they say they will kill our field reporter, Brad Knight.” Her voice cracked, she paused. “The general manager has asked me to make this appeal to the terrorists. Please know that we are battling with the authorities to air your tape, but we cannot do it by your deadline.”
David’s chest constricted. What! Why would the authorities do this?
Hamid began to pace, his dark features tight and fierce.
“We beg you, please wait while we plead our case to Homeland Security. It is our intention to air your tape. Please give us one more hour. And, Brad, if you’re watching this, we are so sorry. We are doing everything...”
“Turn it off!” Hamid screamed. The man with the loafers reached up and pushed the button. “They play games! How stupid do they think we are? They are tracking our location! They think they can find us and stop us. But they are WRONG!” Hammid slammed his fist down on the card table. The dishes bounced. “Get the camera!” The man with the loafers ran down the hall. “They want a show of wills? We will give them a show of wills! Allah is our strength. We will not be moved from our goals!” He grabbed a red and white speckled cowl and began wrapping it on his head.
David felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of his neck. The man behind him spoke slow and clear. “Put- the fork- down.”
David’s hand opened and the fork fell to the table. Hamid turned and looked at him. A cynical smirk formed on his face. “Were you going to take on all three of us with a fork?”
He had considered it. It wasn’t a good plan, but it was all he had. He held his chin up in defiance as the Arab probed him slowly. What dark intentions lay behind those evil eyes, David could only imagine. The thought produced an uncontrollable rattling of fear in his chest.
“Set the camera here,” said Hamid, his eyes still on David.
The man with the loafers, who was much younger than Hamid, could not hide his nervousness. With trembling hands he set up the tripod and plugged it in. He wiped the sweat from his brow.
“Bind him!” Hamid pointed at David. David’s arms were gripped from behind, twisted around his back, and bound together. Immediately his shoulders began to ache. The man with the gun joined the man behind the camera. Hamid said something in Arabic and flicked his fingers at the younger man, who responded by hitting the record button.
“You consider us weak.” Hamid looked deep into the eye of the camera. “You think we will not do what we say?” David fought back the emotion. Each horrible word from the terrorist sent waves of hopelessness rippling through his body. “For your arrogance, the reporter, will die. His blood is on your hands. You have brought this on yourselves. You will see we do what we say.” He walked to the camera and switched it off. “Put the camera in the room with the plastic.”
The young Arab picked up the camera and tripod and carried it to a door off the living room. When he opened the door, David could see in. It was a dining room. Thick blankets were hung over the windows but yellow light from a chandelier lit up a large table. It was covered in heavy opaque plastic. Hamid ripped off a piece of tape and covered Brad’s mouth, then David’s. David’s breath came fast through his nose. The man with the gun came around and grabbed the front legs of Brad’s chair, Hamid grabbed the back. Together they hefted him up and carried him through the dining room door and out of sight.
Hamid spoke in Arabic again, and the man returned to the living room. The young Arab stepped onto the threshold between the two rooms, his countenance revealed his uneasiness. “I- I thought, we weren’t going to kill anyone,” he said in a low voice.
Hamid came to the doorway, his lip curled as he spoke. David did not know the language, but he could guess what was going on. Hamid was furious that the young man had revealed that piece of information. That one sentence opened up volumes to David. Hamid put his finger in the other man’s face and shouted one last rebuke before stepping back into the dining room and closing the door. The young man walked back toward the hallway, his face wracked with emotion.
David pleaded with his eyes, but the man looked away. Come on! Look at me! You can stop this! It doesn’t have to be this way! David struggled against his restraints, his fury fanned by something primal. He wished desperately to save his friend, but now an overwhelming and uncontrollable urge to flee drove him to a state of savagery. He could not face what was coming, and his body reacted with anger. Anger at the terrorists, anger at God, anger at his own helplessness. It infused him entirely.
Through the door, through the shrieking in his head, through the tape on Brad’s mouth, David heard a muffled scream of terror and the chopping of a dagger. The sound burrowed deep into David’s mind like a worm, firmly planting itself. It was a sound that cannot be removed, the kind that returns in nightmares, and in waking waves of unrequited dread.
The young Arab was taking it even worse than David. Crouching in the corner, with his hands pressed against his ears, he wept like a child as he rocked back and forth with mumbled Arabic falling from his lips.
Gradually it became quiet, and the door to the dining room opened. I won’t look! I don’t want to know! But he had to know. He lifted his head and braced himself for the possibility of the horror he would see. Hamid stood in the doorway, the bloody knife gripped in his hand. Behind the table, in the thick opaque plastic, lay the body of Brad Knight, neatly wrapped for disposal.
The man with the gun looked into the room and spoke in a low voice. What he said made Hamid reach out and grip the man’s shoulder. From their body language, it was clear, neither one had wanted this to happen.
Hamid pointed at David. “Take him back to the room.”
The man cut the tape from David’s ankles. “Go,” he said, waving the gun toward the hallway. David, trembling violently, stood mechanically and walked down the hall and into the room. The door slammed and locked, he pressed his ear against it. The men were talking in the living room, but the voices were muffled and they were speaking in Arabic. He pushed away from the door and began pacing. There was no escaping. The door was locked, and there were no windows. And, like the living room, this room had been stripped of all its furnishings. Footsteps approached. David considered hiding to the side of the door and leaping on the owner of the footsteps, but quickly assessed the idea as partially futile, and fully insane.
“Step away from the door, Mr. Chance.” It was Hamid. The knob rotated, the door opened a slit, then further as Hamid saw that David was backed against the far wall.
“Sit down.”
David complied.
He shut the door and came over and crouched before him. It was not close enough for David to make any kind of usable attack, so he sat and waited.
Hamid’s face became intense. “I must be brief,” he whispered. “Listen closely. I am working undercover. Your friend is not dead. You are going to feel the urge to escape. Do not. I could have drugged you, but I may need you as a distraction. Kalid, the man with the gun, has been sent on an errand. When he comes back, he may attempt to check the body. If you hear me raise my voice loud, cause as much commotion as you can. This is almost over. When my people find the bomb
, they will storm the house. I need you to stay calm.”
David tried to wrap his mind around the words. An undercover agent? –Is he just messing with me? He stared at the man crouching before him. Was he really acting? Why would he lie? David was at his mercy. If it was an attempt to calm him down, drugs would have done a more effective job. Could it be true?
Hamid ripped the tape from David’s mouth, David bore the pain silently.
“I am working closely with Agent Cooper. You met him did you not?”
David nodded slowly.
“I need you to cooperate. Are you with me?”
Again David nodded.
“Good. Stay calm, my friend. This is almost over.” He turned and exited.
David leaned back against the wall in astonishment. Hamid, an undercover agent? He never would have guessed in a million years! But he was still in danger––and according to Hamid, things were about to boil.
He wiggled and squirmed until his bound hands slid under him and out around his legs. Slowly he rose to his feet and looked around at the empty room.
–The words were never there when he needed them most.
Chapter 41
The address from the papers in the terrorist’s box led Karen to a secluded Westwood neighborhood, right up to a reinforced steel barricade on a dead end street. On the right, a dirt driveway trailed off through a thick grove of pines to a yellow townhouse with black shutters. An enormous oak tree, stately and proud, stood guard on the front lawn. From a massive branch, a heavy twisted rope dangled. At its end, a tire swing swayed slightly in the breeze.
According to the Navigator, she had arrived at her destination. She parked the car and looked around. There was no activity on the street, nothing going on around the house. Karen looked at her watch. Why is everything so quiet? They should have stormed the residence by now, it was past the deadline. Maybe I missed it, maybe they’ve come and gone? But still, wouldn’t there be people around?
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