by Sean Black
A woman wedged between two guys in the front of a pickup may or may not look suspicious to some average Joe. But put a blindfold on her? That was guaranteed to prompt a call to someone.
In any case, what did it matter what she saw?
He handed the binoculars back and turned to the others.
“It’s a half-klick to the RV on foot. That’s how we’ll do it. Slow and quiet. Drivers, you meet us back down there, but stay clear of the road until it’s all done.”
64
Lock watched from his position within the fringe of trees as a pickup truck that had been fitted with a cap, a large fiberglass box that enclosed the truck’s flat bed, came to a stop. His eyes darted back to Chance. She had stayed put. Good news for everyone.
Chance had already been informed that if she made a break for it before the time came, or in any way tried to reveal their position, he would shoot her. He had meant it. Because of that, she had believed him. If it came to it, he was prepared to kill her and rush the truck to get Carmen.
He caught a glimpse of a blindfolded Carmen inside the cab, a woman still trapped in an unfolding nightmare. Lock closed his eyes for a second. He thanked God that she was alive.
He opened his eyes again, packing away his relief and the mixture of lingering fear and naked rage that had come with seeing the woman he loved. There would be time enough for relief and thanks when the exchange was concluded. Right now he had a task to complete. The dangerous part had arrived, the minutes and seconds closest to the finish line.
Point got out of the truck. Lock watched him scanning the trees. He stayed close to the vehicle. Rance lowered his window and the two men exchanged a few words.
Edging away from Chance, Lock took up a position behind another broad pine tree he had already scoped out. Point walked away from the truck, toward the tree line.
When he was in position, Lock cupped his hands, and placed them like a megaphone around his mouth. “Send Carmen out of the truck and into the woods. As soon as she’s clear you can have Vaden.”
Both Point and Rance whiplashed round, their heads on a swivel as they tried to place Lock in the dense green and brown canopy. He stayed where he was, his back to the tree, just enough of an angle to watch them.
Point drew a handgun from his holster. He kept it angled down and away from him, aiming the barrel into the blacktop. From inside the truck cap came a deep, baritone barking.
Point screamed at the dog inside, “Shut the hell up!” then asked Lock, “How can we know to trust you?”
Lock faded back behind the tree a fraction as the dog’s barking fell away to a low, throaty growl. “Because I could have shot you by now. Listen, let’s not drag this out. I’m a hell of a lot more trustworthy than you assholes. Even with your limited intellectual capacity, you must realize that.”
He waited a beat before taking a fresh peek. Point was walking to the truck.
He holstered his weapon while he grabbed the handle, opened the door, and helped Carmen out of the cab. She was a little shaky on her feet. Not uncommon in kidnap victims.
Rance stayed where he was, the truck’s engine idling. He peered into the woods. He seemed on edge. Lock didn’t blame him.
Point pulled a hunting knife from a sheath on his belt. He used it to sever the plastic cuffs that were secured around Carmen’s wrists. She stood in front of him and blinked as sunlight broke through the trees.
“Okay, go,” Point told her.
She seemed uncertain. Behavior that Lock had also seen before. Even after a short time, people began to cling to captivity. They adjusted. It became the known. Being set free was the unknown. Anyone who had watched an animal hesitate when a cage door was opened had seen the same thing.
Lock held his breath. He couldn’t afford to break cover to go help her. This was one part of the exchange that Carmen had to do on her own. He willed her to move.
Another few seconds ticked past. Finally, Carmen took a single step away from the truck.
Attagirl, Lock said to himself. Keep moving. Come on. Fifty more steps and this will all be over.
She hesitated. His heart sank. She looked like she was about to keel over any second.
Then she took another step. The second was followed quickly by a third, and a fourth. Eventually she stepped off the road and onto the verge.
Point watched her go. Whatever was inside of the truck stirred again and began its ferocious barking. It shifted its weight against the side of the truck cap. It was a large dog, and it was restless. Lock double-checked that his SIG was ready to fire.
Carmen cleared the tree line. But she was headed in the opposite direction, away from him.
“Carmen!”
He watched her stop and look over in his general direction.
“Turn left and keep walking back.”
She changed direction.
“Okay, good. Keep walking.”
“Now, you send me Chance,” Point shouted over to him.
“Okay, give me a second, I’ll send her out,” Lock said, stalling for time. He didn’t want Point to get antsy but he wanted Carmen with him before he gave the two men what they had come for and lost his bargaining chip.
“Send her out now, or I’m coming in.”
“Okay, okay. You got it.”
Staying low to the ground, Lock ran back in a low crouch toward Chance. Her hands were cuffed and the gag was in her mouth. Her buddies could deal with both of those.
He held her where she was as Carmen got closer. When Carmen was within ten yards, Lock removed the blindfold from Chance’s eyes. She squinted and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light.
Grabbing Chance by the shoulder, he guided her out from behind the tree. Carmen could see them now. The two women’s eyes met briefly before Carmen started to run toward Lock. He pointed out the road to Chance.
“It’s been real,” he said, giving her a gentle push in the direction of the road.
She said something but the words were muffled by the gag. She started walking. Lock turned back to Carmen. He holstered his weapon, put his arms out and took her hands in his. They stayed like that for a few seconds, looking at each other.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She managed a half-smile. “Can we just get out of here?”
She was right. Apologies, along with everything else, could wait.
“This way,” said Lock, guiding her by the hand back into the woods.
He would stay within the forest, but close to the road, until they had gone. Then he would use the burner phone they had given him to call in the cavalry. With any luck the Feds, and whoever else was out there, could scoop up Chance and her two buddies before they even made it to the freeway.
Carmen squeezed his hand as he led her between trees and across the forest floor. On the road behind them he could hear Chance talking to the two men in the truck.
Lock froze as he heard a baying sound. A dog. But not the one locked inside the back of the truck. This sound was coming from somewhere else.
“Wait here,” he told Carmen.
Releasing her hand, he jogged a few yards back toward the road. He stopped and listened. The baying came again. A tracking dog. A bloodhound or some variant thereof.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to make the call after all. By the sound of it, the cavalry was headed straight for them.
65
Point also heard the baying. Like Lock, he knew what it meant. The posse was here, and they had a four-legged location device heading in their direction.
After the briefest of hugs with Chance, he helped her climb up into the cab next to Rance. No mean feat given that her hands were still cuffed.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” she urged.
“We will. Just gimme a second.”
He walked to the back of the truck, dropped the tail gate, and quickly stepped to one side. Before he could lift up the top of the cap, the Ridgeback had squeezed through the gap.
Point reached into h
is pocket. He dug out a dried liver treat, the beast’s favorite. It jammed its muzzle into his hand. He reached down and unclipped the muzzle, freeing the dog’s jaws and open palming it the treat.
The tracking dog bayed. The Ridgeback’s ears twitched.
“You hear that?” Point said to the dog.
The question was redundant. All that was needed was the command.
“Go get it.”
For most dogs ‘get’ signified a fetch or a retrieval. Not for the Ridgeback. For the Ridgeback it meant seek and destroy.
The Ridgeback took off, disappearing into the woods, heading straight for the sound of the baying.
Point opened the cab door, and climbed in next to Chance. He slammed a hand onto the dash. Rance put the truck into Drive and stomped on the gas pedal. They took off down the road.
Jammed in between them, Chance smiled quietly to herself. She already knew what was coming next for the men sitting either side of her.
* * *
Lock tensed as he heard the dog crashing through the brush. Without hesitating, he grabbed Carmen around the waist, and pushed her behind a Douglas Fir. There was a branch about six feet from the base of the tree.
“I’m going to give you a boost,” he said, kneeling down, and entwining his fingers to form a makeshift stirrup.
She placed her foot in his hands and grabbed his broad shoulders for support.
“Okay, on three. One. Two. Three.”
He lifted her toward the branch. She grabbed it and hauled herself up.
“What about you?” she asked him.
Lock drew his SIG. He had decided that shooting the dog would be a last resort. He didn’t believe in harming animals. He wasn’t about to start now. Unless there was absolutely no alternative.
He saw the dog break cover a hundred yards behind him. It was a Rhodesian Ridgeback. Too big to be anything other than a male.
It was heading straight for them. Lock took up a shooting stance and raised his gun. He tracked the dog as it bounded toward him.
He took a deep breath in though his nose and exhaled slowly through his mouth. He would rather shoot a human being who was threatening him than a dog.
His finger moved to the trigger as the dog closed in.
Behind him came the baying sound. The Ridgeback slowed, and switched direction, moving away from them. Lock tracked it through the iron sights of his SIG.
It disappeared through the trees. He lowered the gun and let out a deep sigh of relief.
He looked up to Carmen, still folded over the tree branch, arms and legs dangling.
“It’s safe,” he told her.
From behind him, a man’s voice. Deep and filled with menace.
“You sure about that?”
Lock spun round to find himself facing a bear of a man with a huge beard. He was dressed in camo and sporting a rifle. Raising his SIG to the man’s chest, Lock placed himself in front of Carmen as she eased herself to the ground.
One by one, more men emerged from the trees. All dressed in camouflage gear and heavily armed.
Without being asked, Lock lowered the barrel of the SIG. “I’m guessing you boys aren’t with the government,” he said.
The man with the beard smiled. “Good guess.”
Lock counted off the men that he could see. Eleven in total. The two kidnappers weren’t among them.
The man with the beard glanced back over his shoulder in the direction that the Ridgeback had gone. “We should probably get out of here.”
“What about the dog?” one of the men with him asked.
“He’s working. Best leave him.” The man turned toward Lock and Carmen. “But you two lovebirds, you’re coming with us.”
66
Their hands and feet cuffed, Lock sat facing Carmen. “Sorry,” he said. “This wasn’t the reunion I had in mind.”
She forced a smile that collapsed at the edges. “Me either.” She swallowed hard. “So what do you think happens now?”
He had a good idea of what was going to happen but he wasn’t about to share it. The power of terrorism, and he had no doubt that the description fit Chance and her motley crew, lay in its ability to capture the darkest recesses of a person’s imagination. Terrorists conjured nightmares. They brought them to life. Even though being knocked down and killed by a careless driver had the same result as being beheaded by a jihadi, the latter scared people a hell of a lot more, even though it was thousands of times less likely.
“I think,” Lock said finally, “that we take the first chance that presents itself to get the hell away from them. Maybe I can distract one long enough for you to make a break for it.”
The look on Carmen’s face told him she wasn’t buying it. Neither did he. But it beat the hell out of admitting that what probably lay ahead of them was a bloody, painful and slow death, filled with who knew what kind of degradation and torment.
“I don’t know if I could run, even if I had the chance.”
“Well, I’ll think of something. But you have to promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That you don’t lose hope.”
“Easier said than done, Ryan.”
“I know. But you have to try.”
Carmen forced another frayed smile. “I’ll do my best.”
“Half the cops in California are going to be out looking for these guys,” Lock added. “Plus the Feds, and the United States marshals. All we need to do is hang in there long enough.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?”
There was no point in lying. “You want the truth?” he asked her.
She nodded. She did. At least that part of her hadn’t changed, Lock thought.
“Both of us.”
Lock tried to pull his hands apart. The edge of the plastic cuffs dug into his wrists. Then he remembered something obvious that did make him feel better. There weren’t just several thousand law-enforcement officers looking for them. There was also Ty.
67
Ty paced toward the edge of the holding pen. He pressed his forehead against the bars. A wave of muscle rolled all the way down to the cuffs cinched around his wrists as he flexed his arms.
“Hey, can someone take these cuffs off?” He paused, waiting for the duty officer to look up from his desk. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
The officer slowly pushed his chair back, got to his feet, and wandered over to him. Ty thrust his hands through the bars. Taking his time, the officer slowly removed the cuffs.
Ty pulled his hands back through the bars, and rubbed his wrists. “Any chance I can speak with someone about getting out of here?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the officer said, walking slowly back to his desk. He lifted the phone, and had a brief conversation that Ty didn’t catch. He put the phone down and came back. “You’re going to have to wait, Mr. Johnson. We’re stretched pretty thin right now.”
Ty stared up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to stay calm. “Because of this manhunt?”
“That’s correct.”
“And that’s why I need to get out of here. To help find these assholes.”
The duty officer offered an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry, but I can’t release you until someone’s spoken to you.”
“And they don’t have time to speak to me because they’re looking for these guys?”
“That’s pretty much it.”
Ty took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and stalked back to the bench he’d been sitting on. He took a seat, a couple of other prisoners shuffling down to make room for him.
68
If Lock had learned anything over the years, it was that, more often than not, life served up setbacks. What mattered wasn’t so much how they happened (that could be saved for later) but how you dealt with them. He had promised Carmen he would get her home safe, and he still would. Or he’d die trying. And, right now, it was looking like he’d be able to make good on his promise sooner than anticipa
ted.
The pickup truck was slowing down. He could hear chatter from the double cab. Finally, it stopped.
Carmen looked at him. Before she could say anything, the back opened, and the guy with the beard, the leader, poked his head inside. “We got ourselves a roadblock up ahead. I hear anything from either of you, and I’ll put a bullet in you both. Understood?”
Lock nodded. Carmen followed his lead.
“Good.”
The back of the pickup shut again, plunging them into gloom again. The cab door slammed as the guy with the beard got back in. The vehicle started to move.
“What do you think we should do?” Carmen whispered.
Lock had already thought it over. The cops manning the roadblock would be armed. So were their captors. Carmen and he were unarmed, trussed like a couple of turkeys. The plastic ankle restraints meant they couldn’t even make a run for it, assuming they could get out.
“We do what we just told him we’d do.”
“But this might be our last chance to get away from these lunatics.”
It was possible, thought Lock. But unlikely. “If they’d wanted to they could have killed us back there,” he told her. “I would have, if I was them.”
Carmen shot him a wry look. “That’s comforting.”
“I’m just saying. Hostages are an added complication. If we’re alive, they have a reason to keep us that way. At least for now.”
She didn’t look reassured. But there wasn’t any time to add anything to what he’d already said. The truck was rolling to a stop again. Lock could hear a voice through a PA system ordering the driver and passengers to keep their hands where they could be seen.
69
Along with the other four men in the double-cab pickup truck, Padre placed his hands on the dashboard, and waited for further instruction from one of the four California Highway Patrol cops manning the roadblock.