by Jack July
“So your first thought was to find us a secure place?”
“Yeah, that’s what you wanted right? It’s the cornerstone of what you do? Secrecy? Security?”
Tatiana nodded her head and thought, She doesn’t even think about it, she just does it. Once we remove Amy and I teach her to lie… Then she said, “Okay. Let’s get started…”
CHAPTER 16
November 19th 1:00 P.M. Hampstead, NC
In an uncompleted sub-division just north of Wilmington, North Carolina lived Mark Scott, his wife Kim and two children. They were recent transplants from Pittsburg who grew tired of the cold weather, high taxes and what they considered to be intrusive government. He spent twenty years in a factory as a maintenance man. His wife worked for a mega corporation, had become very successful and very well paid. She was transferred to a subsidiary in the area. There were no good jobs in what was a vacation destination that paid well enough to make it worth his time, so he gladly stepped into the role of stay-at-home dad.
Mark’s family was from Georgia, so he figured he could blend right in to the southern lifestyle. It didn’t really work out that way. The locals were friendly enough, but over the years they had become weary of the loud, obnoxious Northeasterners who moved down to enjoy the simpler way of life and bitched about every second of it. You could not pry your way into a good circle of friends. It didn’t help that Mark was opinionated and a little rough around the edges. Two years into it, he found himself alone and isolated.
Even in his loneliness he found joy in his wife and kids. He located a shooting range that he enjoyed and wasted hundreds of rounds of 9 mm ammunition a couple times a month. It got him out of the house. He had a nice computer to play with, but still, it was at the point where he could no longer remember what day it was, and more often than not of late, his lunch would be a few mixed drinks.
His neighbors didn’t care for him. They thought he was kind of a hard-ass even though the neighborhood kids liked him. He fed ’em, fixed their bikes and whatever else they needed. Out of all of the houses in the neighborhood, his was where they gathered. The neighbors were grateful for one thing: he watched over the neighborhood. He also had no problem confronting the neighbors from the local apartments down the road who would walk their dogs in his neighborhood then allow them to shit in the yards. He would confront speeders and reckless drivers who endangered their neighborhood. They didn’t mind what most thought was false bravado, as long as it was to their benefit.
In what was more or less a long cul-de-sac, there were 10 school-aged children anywhere from four to twelve years of age. They needed yelling at almost daily and Mark didn’t mind doing it. The kids were all home from school on a weekday; it was called a “Teachers Work Day” which meant the teachers would all be drunk at Applebee’s by one o’clock. Mark walked around the yard, picking up dog poop, a chore that his girls promised to do if they could get a dog. Fortunately it was a little dog.
His girls were sitting along the side of the road in front of a vacant lot with their friend Baylee. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the brown van drive up the street. It began to slow.
The man in the driver’s seat looked like a tattooed Hispanic and he looked kind of rough. Having grown up in a rough neighborhood and having good instincts when something wasn’t right, Mark went to the back of the house, walked in, reached into the roll-top desk, and grabbed his 9mm. As soon as he cleared the front door, the piercing screams of children rattled the whole neighborhood. Three mothers made 911 calls simultaneously. The van squealed it’s tires and Mark looked to see his two daughters standing there screaming, “THEY TOOK HER. THEY TOOK BAYLEE,” from the top of their lungs. The driver of the van discovered quickly that the escape route shown on his GPS had yet to be built, and slammed on the brakes and turned around.
Mark saw everything in slow motion: it was surreal. He yelled at his children to run and stood in the middle of the road. The van was coming at him. Right then he made the decision to fight. He raised the 9mm and fired three shots through the windshield, then more into the radiator. He tried to keep his shots high or low because he knew Baylee was inside. A terrified Mark got lucky and hit the driver in the throat. The van turned slightly and hit a drainage ditch then stopped at the culvert. He was at the sliding door when it flew open revealing a man with a sawed-off shot gun. Mark raised the gun, fired and the shot went over the man’s shoulder to the right of his head. He pulled the trigger again but heard the click, telling him he was out of ammo. The shotgun blast blew his chest through his back. He landed in the drainage ditch where he died instantly. It turned out his bravado wasn’t false after all, however, his aim was.
Deputy Sheriff and County Commissioner Chester Ward slid his car to a stop at the end of the T intersection. Ward jumped out and saw the man behind the wheel of the van struggling to get it back on the road: he ran toward the van when a shot gun blast caught him in the bullet proof vest and the hip. He spun around then fell to the road and lay still.
Coming from the other direction was Deputy Sheriff and Gulf War Veteran, former Army MP Cristina Adams, or as the boys in her unit called her, OSB, one shot bitch. She saw Chester lying in the road and the man in the van trying to escape; she didn’t take the time to do the math. She slid the car sideways to give her cover, jumped out with her M4 and rested herself behind the front fender. The safety came off and the laser site on while she acquired the target. Three seconds later the inside of the van’s windshield was turned into a red Jackson Pollock painting done by the driver’s head.
Baylee’s mom was sprinting down the street screaming for Baylee when Deputy Ward yelled at her from the ground to get back. That wasn’t going to happen. Deputy Adams eased around the back of the van and with her weapon up, went in through the side door and cleared it. In the corner was a crying little blonde haired blue-eyed seven-year-old, scared half to death but uninjured. Deputy Adams picked her up, stepped out of the van and handed her to her mother.
Amy sat down in the booth at the end of the café and said, “Okay, whatcha got?” Tatiana put two 8x10 pieces of paper in front of her. They looked like school pictures of little blonde haired girls. Amy looked at them then Tatiana spoke, “Over the past three years, twenty-two children have disappeared from all over the United States without a trace, all girls between the ages of five and ten, all blonde or light colored hair. The FBI got involved two years ago with no luck.”
Amy studied them and said, “Okay.”
Tatiana slid an 8x10 in front of Amy and said, “This man, Otto Von Bruno, a member of the German Federal Council, and multi-millionaire, was found dead, naked, sitting in a chair in front of his TV. His wife found this in the DVD player.”
Tatiana turned the lap top computer around in front of Amy. She watched as what looked to be a half-drugged, glassy-eyed little girl in a pink dress walked into an idyllic little girl’s room and sat on the side of the bed. A man walked in wearing a leather bondage mask and sat down beside her. He slowly disrobed her, and what Amy saw next hammered at the core of her being. The rape was vicious, and Amy stopped watching and pulled the screen down, looked at Tatiana in horror and said, “What is this? Is this real?”
Tatiana had a stone look on her face when she turned the computer back to herself, “Okay, I’ll skip the rest of that part, we’ll go straight to the end.”
She turned the screen back, and Amy saw the little girl nude on her back lying across the bed. As the man in the mask readjusted the camera for the full effect, she saw him take the knife and in a ripping motion, plunge it into the little girl. Amy took a breath that could be heard across the room then slammed the screen down almost breaking it. She stood up and yelled , “WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? THAT’S NOT REAL, IT CAN’T BE REAL.”
JP hollered across the diner, “Everything okay down there?”
Tatiana calmly looked her in the eye and in a low commanding voice said, “
Sit down. Now!”
Amy looked across at JP and said, “Yes sir, we’re okay.”
Slowly Amy sat. She looked at Tatiana and said, “You need to tell me that’s not real.”
Tatiana shook her head and said, “You’ve looked evil in the eye and you know what it looks like. Yes, it is very real.” Tatiana took her finger and tapped it on a face in the pictures and said, “That’s her. They found ten more of these DVDs in his house.” She slid the paper with the ten little girls on it in front of Amy and said, “These ten right here.”
Tatiana gave her a minute to compose herself then slid another 8x10 in front of Amy and said, “This is Kristy Ann Wilson, eight years old from Cape Girardeau, Missouri. She went missing a little over two weeks ago. She fits the profile. We really don’t know if she is dead or alive. It depends on how they transport the children to Europe. We’re not even sure if they are in Europe. It’s our job to find her, before, well, you know.”
Betty sat a double cheeseburger and fries down next to Amy. Amy looked at her and said, “Can I have this to go?”
Betty said with a smile, “Sure, honey.”
Tatiana picked up her stuff, filed it neatly in the proper folders and put everything in the satchel. Amy tried to pay for her food but JP took care of it. Amy gave him a hug one more time on the way out the door and they walked out to the car. Amy was visibly shaken. They got into the car, backed out and drove down the road. Just then Tatiana’s phone rang,
“T, it’s Adele.”
“Yes?”
“They just tried to get another girl in North Carolina. A neighborhood dad slowed them up enough for the police to catch ’em. It cost him his life.
“Shit,” Tatiana said under her breath. “Are we interrogating the perps?”
“No, they’re both dead, the dad got one and an LEO the other. We have a M.E. examining them. By the time you get back here we should know something.”
“What about the black cat?”
“He’s on a plane headed this way.”
“Okay, thanks.” T hung up and looked out the window. Then she looked at Amy and said, “They tried to get another one. They didn’t get her but it cost some other child’s dad his life.”
Amy didn’t know what to think.
CHAPTER 17
November 7th 4:30 P.M.
Children have an instinct that allows them to understand when they have leverage over an adult. When they feel it, they are never shy in using it. Kristy Ann Wilson was no different. She was well aware that the beating Aida received was because of her poor treatment.
Aida walked out of the kitchen, smiled a fake smile at her and sat a plate of cheese quesadillas and a fresh Gatorade down in front of her. Kristy looked at her, looked at the plate, then looked back at her. Kristy held up her arm and pointed her finger at the door where the other girls were kept. Aida pretended she didn’t understand. Kristy picked up the plate with one hand and pointed to the door with the other.
“No, no, no. For you,” Aida said with a smile.
Kristy sat the plate down, pushed it to the center of the table, then leaned back and folded her arms.
Aida picked up the plate, held it out to her and said, “No, you, for you”.
Kristy shook her head, pointed at the door and said, “No, for them, them.”
Aida was visibly angry. She had never wanted to punch a child in the face so badly in her life. Geraldo made it clear, however: healthy and happy. Aida knew if she failed again, her death would not be a quick and easy one. “Si, Si, Okay” Aida said with a painted-on smile.
The sound of the pans being slammed together in the kitchen signaled her mood. Kristy left her food on the table until Aida walked through with a large heaping plate. Kristy watched her unlock the door, take the food in, and set it down. As she walked back into the room, Kristy smiled at her, picked up the plate, grabbed a quesadilla, and took a bite. They were good. She thought about picking up the Gatorade and pointing at the door, however she knew how mean this woman was and decided not to push it. She didn’t know she would be leaving Aida’s house tomorrow morning.
November 20th 4:30 A.M.
The light roar of the wind blowing over the open roof, and the country music station US 99 was all that was heard in the car for the 15 minutes since they had left Booger’s. An old pick-up truck filled with what looked like scrap steel was going 20 MPH under the speed limit on the two-lane portion of HWY 78. Amy downshifted, and motivated by her current attitude stomped the gas. Their heads were pushed back against the seats as the Vette shot around the truck. Amy didn’t let off the gas right away, and the landscape became a blur. She had up-shifted and let off the gas, letting the car slowly return to a sane speed, when the flash of a blue light in the mirror caught her attention. She sighed and thought, Uncle Jack tried to warn me.
She found a place to pull over, rolled down the window, turned the car off and waited. The state trooper approached the car, yelling as he walked, “Just WHAT, in the HELL, do YOU think…” “122 in a 55!” He stopped at Amy’s door, just as Tatiana interrupted, “HEY.” Her hand shot by Amy’s face as she held up her open ID and said, “We’re busy.”
The trooper looked at the ID, looked at her, then at Amy, then back to the ID, then back to Tatiana. The trooper straightened up and said, “Yes, ma’am, you all have yourselves a good day.”
Amy let loose a nervous laugh, looked at Tatiana and said, “Okay then, you have a license to speed?”
Tatiana shook her head and with a straight face said, “I have a license for more than that.”
They got back on the road and after a few minutes Tatiana said, “Look, ah, I am sorry. I know what you have been through over the past month. I would like to tell you I can’t imagine how you feel but to be honest, I can. I know that I would need a distraction, a purpose, something that would encompass all my feelings and actions. Sometimes I forget that not everyone thinks like I do. Just know I only meant to help you. You are my friend, my only friend and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
Amy nodded, thought for a moment and said, “The DVD, it WAS real, wasn’t it?”
Tatiana said, “Yes.”
“What do you want from me? I mean, I have nothing to offer. This is serious stuff. I don’t know what you think I can do to help,” Amy said in earnest.
Tatiana nodded and said, “Simple, really. You do what I tell you to do and use your own instincts. You learn, you are a trainee, so you learn. The President has made it clear, we are to find those involved and stop them. Somewhere in the process, we will locate Kristy Ann Wilson and send her home to her parents.”
“So we find a needle in a haystack, then burn the haystack.”
“See, already a professional,” Tatiana squeezed her hand and gave her a smile.
CHAPTER 18
November 20th 8:00 P.M. The White House
“Dammit, dammit, dammit, I want that son of a bitch dead!” muttered an extremely upset President under her breath.
Tim Dotson, director of the CIA stood on the other side of the desk with his hands in his pockets. He shook his head and said softly, “Ma’am, I can’t kill your daughter’s boyfriend.”
“And why the hell not? He put Cali in danger, he put us at risk of blackmail, and dammit, I’m pissed! Where the hell is Spock?” asked the President.
Tim allowed a half-smile on his face and said, “I think he ran away.”
President North buried her head in her hands with her elbows on her desk and said, “Tim, I love Spock, but this can’t happen, ever, for any reason.”
Spock walked into the Oval Office and stood next to the director. The President looked up and said, “Ya know, Spock, I love my daughter, but she is not the sharpest tool in the shed. Do you want to tell me how she evaded her detail?”
Mr. Mason stood up straight at attention and said, “Ma’am
, your daughter was at a club with her boyfriend. They were up by the DJ, then they disappeared through a trap door on the stage. We had no idea it was there.”
The President nodded her head and asked, “So, what are we going do about this?”
“Ma’am, I tendered my resignation to the Secretary of the Treasury, and it is his choice to either fire or reprimand the agents on Miss North’s detail. Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”
“Go,” replied the President.
“Miss North shows disdain and outright hostility towards her detail. She is constantly looking to evade. She will be difficult, and pose a risk to any protection detail. She doesn’t have to like it, but she does have to accept it.”
The President leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. She looked at Spock and thought, “Well, that’s a tactful way to tell me my daughter is being a little b-word. I’ll be darned if he isn’t right.” She nodded her head and said, “Thank you gentlemen, that will be all.” She hit a button on the phone and said, “Get Kenny on the phone, and would you ask Mike to come up here and give me five minutes?”
Kenny Michaels, the Secretary of the Treasury, was politely asked by President North to tear up Mr. Mason’s resignation. Her family would take the hit for this one. Mike walked in and the President met him at a little couch. Mike sat down and pulled his wife onto his lap hugging her. She sighed and said, “I have never been that terrified in my life. She was gone for almost twenty-four hours. What are we gonna do?”
“I’ve given it some thought, and for the past year and a half we have been slowly clamping down on her. Maybe we take the clamps off.”
Liz shook her head and said, “And what? Reward her? Seriously?”