Certain Jeopardy

by Jeff Struecker

  She studied the sink. Plastic pipes ran below it. The connection was made with hand-tightened rings, but hollow plastic pipes would be useless. Even if she could weight them with water or something else, she wouldn’t be able to wield it effectively enough to down one man, let alone three.

  The toilet was all that remained. Julia lifted the tank lid and looked in: stopper, overflow tube, a small chain that linked the stopper to a metal arm connected to handle. The metal arm was a rod about three millimeters thick, with a flat end with holes to which the stopper chain was attached.

  An idea formed.

  * * *

  ANDRIANO SANTI WALKED THROUGH the hallway of the capitol buildingwhen his cell phone rang.

  “Yes.”

  “Package one has arrived. Package two is airborne.”

  “Thank you.”

  Santi hung up.

  * * *

  ONE HOUR AND TEN minutes into the flight, after the passengers had settled into their seats, reading newspapers and paperback books or watching the in-flight movie, the stranger next to Hector removed the computer bag from beneath the seat, turned in on, then nudged Hector.

  “Dr. Cenobio, I have something to show you.” He whispered the words.

  Hector turned his head slowly and looked the man in the eyes. “You know my name.”

  “Yes. I’m afraid I was playing a little game with you.”

  “Why—”

  “Please keep your voice down. The others do not need to hear our conversation.”

  “Your accent has changed.”

  “I have never been a good actor. I have something to show you. Please keep control of yourself.”

  The man clicked on an icon and the computer displayed a photo—a photo of people whom Hector recognized before the man had finished turning the screen toward him. There were his wife and children standing against a wall and wearing expressions of terror.

  Hector tried to speak but only managed a croak.

  The man turned off the computer and closed it. He leaned toward Hector and whispered, “They are fine. No harm has come to them, and none will if you cooperate. Do you understand?”

  Hector nodded.

  “I received that photo shortly before we left London. It is my job to show it to you and to insist that you follow my directions without question. If you try to be a hero, if you alert anyone, then I will not be able to make my scheduled reports. And if that happens—well, I will no longer be able to vouch for the safety of your family. Is that clear?”

  “Yes. What do you want?”

  “For the moment, just your cooperation. The rest you will learn in time.”

  CHAPTER 27

  STACY MOYER MOVED THROUGH her day in a daze. She had spent part of yesterday searching the Internet for information on colon cancer. The doctor’s words had been calm and reassuring. He had told her not to worry, that cancer was only one possibility, that a number of other conditions could explain her husband’s passing of blood. She knew that to be true, but knowing something with the mind was not the same as knowing it in the heart.

  So far she had said nothing to the kids. Eric would be upset if she spoke to them without first consulting him. After all, he had gone to great lengths to keep the news from the Army and from her. At least last night had been uneventful as far as Rob had been concerned. He came home after school and even went so far as to tell her when he was leaving to go practice with his new rock band. As he started for the door, she stopped him to say thanks. Anything more and he would have considered it an overreaction—too much of a “mom thing.”

  Last night she had caught Gina staring at her. A girl insightful beyond her years, she often sensed the emotions of others. She said nothing, asked nothing, perhaps intuiting that her mother wouldn’t or couldn’t talk about the new burden.

  Alone again, Stacy fought off the inclination to sink into fear and despair. The nightmares continued, though none were as frightening as the first. Those she kept secret too.

  Special Forces soldiers, her husband had told her, know when it’s time to step back. Sometimes the body just couldn’t keep up anymore. Sometimes the nature of the work became so burdensome that they couldn’t take on any new assignments. Sometimes they would say, “I’m getting too old for this.” It was different with every man. She doubted Eric would ever step away. He’d give up his position when they dragged him from the base and changed the locks.

  What Stacy wondered was what happened when the wife “got too old to do this.” She felt she had aged over the last forty-eight hours.

  The phone rang.

  “Stacy? This is Lucy Medina.”

  Odd. Lucy had never called the house before. “Hello, Lucy. How are you?”

  “Not good. I think there’s something wrong.”

  “Wrong?” The word made Stacy’s heart beat faster.

  “With me. With the baby. I can’t reach my sister. I don’t know who else to call. I think I’m going to lose my baby.”

  * * *

  A WET SENSATION BENEATH her had awakened Lucy Medina. Her afternoon nap had become a ritual with her. Each school day she would lay five-year-old Maria down for her nap then take one herself. Matteo and Jose Jr. were still at school. It was one of the few times the house was quiet enough to hear the birds outside in the oak tree sing.

  She pushed herself up and looked down at the sheets and her legs. Water and blood. Her uterus contracted sharply, and Lucy released a squeal of pain. Something was very wrong. She reached for the phone by her bed and called her sister. No answer. She tried her sister’s cell phone. Nothing. Another contraction. The baby wasn’t due for two months.

  Panic set in. She moved to the bathroom and wiped her legs with a towel. She wanted to change clothes but feared she wouldn’t be able to. She needed help. It took more effort than she thought it should, but she walked into the living room, one hand holding her stomach. She and Jose kept a personal phone directory on the coffee table. She retrieved it. The first listing she saw was that of Eric and Stacy Moyer. She had met Stacy at a barbecue held at the Moyers’ house. She seemed smart and caring.

  Lucy made the call.

  * * *

  STACY PUNCHED LUCY’S ADDRESS into the GPS unit in her Chevy Trailblazer and rolled out of the driveway. She didn’t know why Lucy had chosen to call her, but it didn’t matter. The woman needed help, and Stacy wasn’t going to turn her down.

  Her stomach churned at each stoplight. She did her best not to speed, but she did press the word limit in “speed limit.” Before leaving she had taken just enough time to text-message the children that she would be gone when they got home. She’d call them later.

  It took fifteen interminable minutes to cross town on the surface streets. She parked in the driveway and raced to the front door and knocked. A little girl answered. “Hi,” Stacy said. “I’m here to see your mommy.”

  “My mommy is sick. She’s lying down.”

  “Your mommy asked me to come over. Will you tell her I’m here?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not.”

  “She’s sleeping.”

  “I’m sure she wants to see … me …” Through the open door Stacy saw Lucy lying on the floor. She pushed past the child.

  Lucy was unresponsive. Stacy tried to rouse her but failed. “Where is your phone, sweetheart?”

  The little girl started to speak when the phone rang as if on cue.

  “I got it!”

  Stacy watched her retrieve a handheld phone from its cradle on the kitchen counter.

  “Hi, Aunt Charlene. Mommy’s sick.”

  “Let me speak to your aunt.” Stacy took the phone. “My name is Stacy Moyer. Who is this, please?”

  “Charlene Pena. I got a message from Lucy saying she was in trouble.”

  “She is. She called me too. I just found her on the floor. She’s hemorrhaging. I was just getting ready to call the ambulance. Where are you?”

  “I’m in my car, five minutes away
. I was in a meeting and turned my phone off.”

  “Get here as soon as you can. I’m calling the ambulance.”

  Stacy didn’t wait for a good-bye. She hung up and dialed 911.

  * * *

  MOYER WATCHED THE VIDEO several times before speaking. “And there’sbeen no further action since they closed the door?”

  “Nothing,” Caraway said.

  “Their expressions and body language say they were brought here against their will,” J.J. said. He stood out of the way, giving Moyer and Caraway all the space they needed—at least as much as the back of the panel truck would allow.

  “I’ve downloaded the video to the laptop, converted some of it to stills, and tried to get the best face shots I can.” He worked the keyboard. “First, the woman.” A headshot of a woman filled the screen. Her face was turned in profile. “It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do here.”

  “Doesn’t look familiar,” Moyer said.

  “Now the bad guys.” Another profile shot filled the screen. “I make him out to be in his mid-thirties, Hispanic. The others stood to the side when he exited, probably to cut off any attempt by the woman and children to run, but it also looks like they’re showing deference to him. They allow him to follow the woman in.”

  Another keystroke and the image of another man appeared. His head was turned more to the camera, revealing more of his face. Moyer leaned a couple inches closer. “I have serious doubts about this guy being Hispanic.”

  “That’s my take, Boss. It’s just a guess, but he strikes me as Middle Eastern. So does his buddy.” A new picture flashed on the screen.

  “I agree with Caraway,” J.J. said. “I know we’re making a judgment at a distance, but it fits with previous intel about the building.”

  Moyer nodded. “The question is, Who is the woman and what do they want with her?” He straightened. They had come to recon a possible al-Qaeda training site and had stumbled upon a kidnapping. Possibilities chugged in his mind. Drug-related kidnapping? Then why the Middle Easterners? Why intel about an al-Qaeda presence? If it was an AQ operation, then why abduct a family? Business execs and journalists had been abducted for terrorist purposes, but Venezuela was a long way from Iraq, Afghanistan, or other AQ playgrounds. To abduct and hold someone in another country was risky. It would be easier to have killed the woman and kids and achieved a greater shock value. No, something else was afoot.

  “Let’s assume this is an abduction. Kidnappers do what they do because they want something. The question is, What do they want?”

  “Don’t have a clue, Boss, but I’m worried about those kids.” J.J. ran a hand through his hair.

  Moyer was worried two. Of the three men present, he was the only one with children. The look on the little girl’s face broke his heart. His first impulse was to assign weapons to J.J. and Caraway, sneak onto the site, make entry, and put a bullet or two in the brains of each man in that building. But such an impetuous act would not only destroy the mission but could lead to the deaths of the very people he wanted to save.

  “What now, Boss?” Caraway asked.

  “Send what you have to Ops Command. Maybe they can identify the players.”

  “And after that?”

  “We wait for now.”

  “But, Boss—”

  “I said, we wait for now. If they wanted them dead, they’d be dead by now.”

  J.J. wasn’t satisfied. “There are other bad things besides death.”

  “I know that, but we have our orders for now.” He turned to

  Caraway. “Get that info to Ops.”

  “Will do.”

  CHAPTER 28

  STACY COULDN’T SIT STILL. She had done all that anyone could expect of her. She had called an ambulance and stayed with Lucy and her five-year-old until Lucy’s sister arrived. Stacy followed the ambulance to the hospital while Lucy’s sister stayed with the children. Stacy promised to keep her informed of every development. The paramedics followed protocol and took Lucy to the nearest ER. Now she waited. No one would blame her if she went home. It wasn’t like Lucy was a family member, not as most defined family. She was, however, family in a different sense—they were both Army wives. More than that, they were married to Special Ops soldiers, both of whom were in some foreign land doing things neither wanted to know anything about.

  So she stayed. The ER was like the others she had been in. Being the mother of two children had meant several trips to the emergency room over the years. This one offered the same highly polished floor, pale walls, a television five years beyond its life expectancy, and well-worn chairs occupied by people in various states of pain and illness. Waiting rooms had to be among the most depressing places people ever visit, and this one depressed Stacy.

  Every time a nurse poked his or her head out the door leading to the ER, Stacy’s spine stiffened. She had been waiting for over two hours but refused to feel sorry for herself; Lucy was the one with the problem. At most, Stacy had been inconvenienced.

  As the time passed, she tried to replace the vicarious fear and empathy she felt with planning. Most likely she would be home before dinner. Gina and Rob could get along without her until then. Rob would likely shut himself away in his room with his iPod ear buds jammed deep in his auditory canals, while Gina would sit at the dining room table doing her homework. If Stacy couldn’t leave on time to make dinner, she would order pizza and have it delivered. The kids would like that.

  The next hour crawled by and Stacy passed the time looking at an entertainment magazine just a few months old. The television blared a courtroom reality show. Stacy did her best to put as much distance between her and the TV. She had very little tolerance for daytime television.

  She had just started an article about the misbehavior of another under-twenty-five star who didn’t have the maturity to handle success when a thirty-something male nurse called her name.

  “Here.” She tossed the magazine on one of the few empty chairs.

  “Come with me, please,” the man said.

  The ER bustled with activity. Doctors and nurses ministered to patients or sat in the nurses’ station filling out paperwork.

  “Ms. Medina is in bed three.” He pointed to one corner of the room. The ER held twelve beds, all but three of which were occupied. Lucy’s was in the corner with the drapes that separated the stations drawn nearly shut. “The doctor stepped away for a moment, but he’ll be back in a minute.”

  Before Stacy could thank him, the nurse was gone, off to attend some other patient. She took a deep breath and pulled back the thin drape enough to enter. She found Lucy lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. Tracks of tears marked each side of her face. Without words being spoken, Stacy knew she gazed upon a broken woman.

  Stacy started to speak, but the words wouldn’t line up in any way that would be meaningful. Instead, she moved to the edge of the bed, took Lucy by the hand, and gave it a squeeze. More tears ran from Lucy’s eyes. Matching tears started down Stacy’s cheeks.

  “They say … they want to take …” Lucy couldn’t finish the words.

  “Take? No. You don’t mean they want to take the baby?” Stacy had worked hard to keep her thoughts orderly and her emotions in check. Lucy’s words struck her, scattering her thoughts like books flying from the shelves of a library in an earthquake.

  Lucy nodded and wiped at her eyes with her free hand. “They say the baby is a danger to my life. I don’t remember what they called it, but it’s bad.”

  “The ER doctor told you this?”

  “Yes. They had an obstetrician examine me. He said my life was in danger and that I shouldn’t continue the pregnancy. I don’t want to lose this baby.” Lucy dissolved into sobs. She managed to utter one more thing: “I need my husband.”

  “I need to make a phone call.” Stacy released Lucy’s hand. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  Stacy walked from the ER.

  * * *

  STACY’S PALMS WERE WET and she wiped t
hem on the jeans she wore. She hadn’t bothered to change from her sitting-around-the-house clothing. She had barely taken time to grab her purse. Matters of appearance seemed insignificant at the moment.

  She stood by the waiting room window, watching each car pull into the parking lot and gazing at each driver. It had been thirty minutes since she placed the call. Half that time she spent at Lucy’s bedside, watching the woman cry and trying not to join in the weeping. Wanting to appear strong for the woman, she had tried to sound confident, offering words of hope and failing miserably. Several times she caught a female nurse glancing her way, her face a poster of despair.

  Eventually a pair of nurses came to move Lucy to a hospital room. Stacy used it as an excuse to step away and took up her post by the window. Her focus centered on a particular parking space across the lot, one with a white sign: CLERGY. She had called the office of the base chaplain. She made the call not because she was religious by nature. Truth was, she’d be hard-pressed to say how long it had been since she and the family had been in church. She called because of a different kind of connection: one of Eric’s team had a brother on base, a chaplain. Certainly calling for a chaplain made sense, but it was even a better idea in this situation.

  A dark-green sedan pulled into the designated space. Stacy didn’t wait for the man to find her. She exited through the sliding glass doors and approached the car. A tall, well-built man dressed in an Army combat uniform emerged, turned, and gave her a brief smile. The smile was a courtesy; his eyes showed a deep concern. He wore a silver cross on his chest.

  “Mrs. Moyer?”

  “Yes. Call me Stacy. You must be Captain Paul Bartley.”

  “I am. I got here as quickly as I could. The name Moyer got my attention. My brother J.J. serves with your husband.”