by Debbie Burke
Tawny grasped at desperate straws. “I’ve already told my lawyer about you. He’ll know I was forced. My best friend knows, too.”
“The only information your friend Dr. Belmonte can contribute is that you have a new boyfriend who looks like Omar Sharif.” His green eyes crinkled. “You flatter me.”
Tawny burned but no longer with embarrassment.
He cocked his head to the side. “I am disappointed. I cannot cause you to blush anymore.” He shrugged. “As for your lawyer, he has a reputation for flamboyance and exaggeration. He will say anything, no matter how outrageous, to defend his client. Judges frequently find him in contempt of court. He might wind up in jail beside you.”
Kahlil reached between the seats and laid his palm on her leg.
She jerked away. Only yesterday she’d hungered for his touch. Now it disgusted her.
“Poor Tawny,” he continued. “The bereaved widow cracking under the pressure. You were desperate for money to ransom your son. Driven to the edge of madness, doing something you would never do ordinarily.”
“The kidnapping is a hoax.”
“It does not matter. By the time investigators confirm that, my colleagues and I will be gone. Your function is to be the distraction meanwhile.”
The distraction.
Tawny did not allow herself the luxury of rage over being reduced to a distraction. To him, she was of so little consequence that he’d ruined her life, tortured her with fear for her son, and would soon cast her away as a scapegoat, with no more thought than ending the life of an ant he stepped on.
If she survived, then would be time for cursing him, for damning him to hell. Now she must focus, concentrate.
“You said there are others. Other patsies like me?”
He gazed at her with a look she had once mistaken as love. “Not like you. No one was like you.” He sighed then went on, “But, yes, there are other decoys. People deep in debt, alcoholics, compulsive gamblers, all willing to do anything for another stake. For two years, I have deposited cash in their accounts, which are also at your bank. Amounts under ten thousand so as not to raise scrutiny. When money magically appears, they do not question their good fortune. They wish to believe they have won the lottery of life. Greed is a powerful tool. Coupled with desperation, it becomes irresistible. You were the only one who tried to give the money back. Everyone else succumbed. Except you. Quite extraordinary.”
Tawny frowned, puzzled. “But you put bigger amounts in my account. Why the difference?”
“Ah.” Kahlil smiled warmly. “A sign of high intellect is the ability to recognize subtleties. Did I not tell you that you are extraordinarily intelligent? You have perceived an essential aspect of my plan. Not everyone does.” He cast an accusatory look at the imposter.
The woman’s shoulders flinched but she didn’t speak. Tawny wondered about her expression. Anger? Defiance?
Kahlil shifted to face Tawny. “You see, employees of electrical generation companies are carefully monitored by their employers. If I had put too much money in, that would have raised the alert to a possible security compromise. One does not warn a target before one attacks. But you.” His smile broadened. “Not being a current employee and only seasonal, you did not fall under such stringent monitoring. Large deposits drew the attention of bank authorities but they will not connect you to the dam until after the attack occurs. In retrospect, they will realize you, plus many others, have been receiving money to facilitate the breach. They will focus on employees, the distractions, until we are gone.”
The distractions. Again, that cold insult. Tawny asked, “How many others?”
Before Kahlil could answer, the woman made a sharp guttural sound. Was she warning him about saying too much? Tawny needed to keep pumping him for information. If she escaped, she needed all the evidence she could muster to defend herself.
Kahlil looked sideways at the imposter but said nothing.
“What about her?” Tawny nodded toward the woman.
“She will disappear as soon as she takes off the wig and makeup and removes the contact lenses that change her eye color.” He flicked his hand, tossing aside an imaginary disguise. “Without them, she does not look much like you at all, except for height and figure. She is a skilled and convincing actress, is she not?”
The imposter pointed at a sign for the Dupuyer rest area. Kahlil nodded and the woman pulled off the road.
As Tawny feared, the parking area was deserted, not even a big rig driver stopping for a nap. Quickly she moved the wire clippers and screwdriver from her jacket pocket to the waistband of her jeans.
Kahlil pulled the passenger seat forward to release her from the prison of the rear seat. In the awkward twisting movement of getting out, the jacket around her shoulders started to slip off. No! He’d spot her weapons. She threw herself against the front seat. The screwdriver blade dug into her hip. She clamped her mouth tight to stifle a cry of pain. But she kept the screwdriver and wire cutters out of his line of sight.
He caught the slipping jacket and draped it back in place over her shoulders. His palms rested there for an extra few seconds, the heat of his hands penetrating the fabric.
Warm hands, cold heart, she thought.
He helped her to the ground then leaned in the Jeep to speak to the woman. She made an annoyed noise but got out of the car. “She will accompany you,” he said to Tawny. He handed the woman a small revolver, which Tawny thought might be hers, the one he must have eased from under her pillow at the motel while she slept. The woman pointed the gun at Tawny and followed as she walked to the restroom.
Strategies whirled in Tawny’s mind. The area was too desolate to make a run for it but maybe she could disable the woman and even the odds. She pushed through the swinging door and saw two sinks and two stalls. Inside one stall, a mop sat propped in the back corner. She headed for it and started to close the door. Her evil twin banged the door open with an outstretched palm, gun in the other hand. “No!” she ordered.
Tawny gave her an imploring look. “Please? Some privacy?”
Her twin squinted a warning then stepped back, allowing her to close and latch the door. Immediately, Tawny pulled the clippers out of her waistband. She faked a cough to cover the faint noise of her snipping of the nylon tie. Her hands sprang free. She flexed feeling into her fingers then touched the rag mop in the corner. A metal handle, good. She threaded her arms through the jacket sleeves and placed the screwdriver and clippers in her front pocket, accessible. She peeked through the crack in the stall partition. The woman leaned against the sink counter, arms folded with the gun resting in the crook of one elbow, looking bored.
Tawny flushed the toilet and grasped the mop handle.
Was she ready?
As ready as she’d ever be.
She inhaled deeply then whipped the door open and charged, jabbing the end of the handle into the woman’s stomach. Her twin woofed as she doubled over. Immediately Tawny changed her grip to that of a baseball bat and swung hard, coming down on the back of her skull with a sharp crack. The woman dropped to her knees, hands outstretched, struggling to aim the gun at Tawny.
Again and again, Tawny hit her, on the skull, on the back, and the arm holding the gun. Another being inside her body took control and guided her attack, generating strength far beyond her capacity, raining blows with cold, accurate aim. One hit knocked the braided wig from the woman’s head, exposing short matted platinum hair, turning red with blood. Her body jack-knifed on the cement floor under the attack. The revolver fell with a clatter, landing near Tawny’s feet.
She dropped the mop and scooped the gun up, relieved to recognize her own weapon.
She backed away from the woman, whose blood spread in a pool under her head. Had she killed her twin? Half of her mind felt cold pride at her handiwork. The other half wondered what depths this unexpected blood lust had come from.
“Tawny.”
Kahlil stood at the door, pointing a semi-automatic pisto
l at her.
She aimed for his heart and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Click.
Only hollow clicks, all the way through the five shots that should have been in the cylinder.
Chapter 15 – Don’t Waste Your Death
Tawny’s legs tried to buckle. She fought to stand.
Kahlil shook his head slowly, regretfully. “I removed the bullets.” He glanced at the crumpled unconscious figure. “You are not to be trusted, my treasure.”
She lunged for the mop lying on the floor but stopped when she heard the snap of his pistol cocking. Part of her urged, Take the chance, go after him. But the icy part of her mind cautioned, Wait, don’t die unless you take him with you. Don’t waste your death.
She straightened and stared into his eyes.
He took the useless revolver from her hand, pocketed it, and tipped his head toward the door. “Now you have made more work for yourself. You must get her back to the car.”
Tawny’s mouth gaped. But, of course, he wouldn’t leave his accomplice behind. If she lived, she’d be questioned.
“Do it.” He aimed the pistol at her. “Please.”
She bent down and grasped the woman under the armpits. When Tawny lifted, the twin let out a ragged breath. While Kahlil held the restroom door open, Tawny dragged dead weight, equal to her own, outside. She struggled backwards across sparse grass, tugging the unconscious burden, trying not to look at the bleeding head that lolled back and forth on her thighs. The woman’s heels left snaky lines in the dirt. By the time Tawny reached the Jeep, sweat poured from her despite the cold night.
At the rear of the vehicle, Kahlil opened the hatch and tailgate. “Move away,” he ordered, aiming the pistol.
Panting, Tawny lowered the woman to the ground and stepped aside.
Kahlil squatted next to his comrade, never taking his eyes from Tawny.
Opportunity! She waited until he gathered the woman in his arms then sprinted as fast as she could. Look for someplace dark where he can’t see. She spotted a line of trees and headed for them, zig-zagging away from the lights of the parking lot.
A shot rang out. Kahlil shouted, “Stop!”
Ahead, a broad cottonwood offered cover. She ran toward it but another bullet zinged past her ear. She heard a thud as it imbedded itself in the tree, still twenty yards away.
“I will not miss again.”
She couldn’t outrun another bullet.
Heart pounding, lungs burning, muscles rigid, she skidded to a halt.
“Stay where you are. Do not move.”
Facing away from him, she couldn’t see what he planned next. She imagined him taking careful aim and waited for the next bullet, perhaps this time in her spine. Seconds passed. Then she heard the slam of the Jeep’s rear hatch.
Kahlil called, “Now turn around and come back quickly.”
Tawny pivoted and realized the woman no longer lay on the ground. He’d loaded her into the rear seat while Tawny’s back was turned, as she waited for a bullet that didn’t come. She should have tried another sprint. Too late now. She trudged back to the Jeep.
He moved to the driver’s side and motioned to her. She felt herself obey, as if a puppet master manipulated her limbs with long strings.
Holding the pistol with one hand, he ran the other over her body and quickly found the wire clippers and screwdriver, which he dropped on the ground. His palm paused on the hidden pouches where she’d sewn the cash. He pulled the jacket off her and ripped the lining open. When he saw the cash, he nodded.
She had nothing left. He’d stripped her of her puny weapons and the only security she’d been able to protect.
He opened the driver’s door and threw the jacket in the back seat where the crumpled woman lay, covered with the emergency blankets. “Now you will drive,” he said.
They climbed into the Jeep. Tawny started the engine, put it in gear, and entered the highway. Her breathing slowed and she felt weak from the letdown following the adrenaline rush. Lingering echoes of the shots rang in her ears.
Beside her, Kahlil reloaded his pistol and replaced the bullets in her revolver. She caught a possible tremor in his hands in her peripheral vision but couldn’t be sure.
Would she have done anything differently in the restroom if she’d known the gun her twin held was useless? No point in going there. Every gun was loaded, even when it wasn’t.
But why had Kahlil given an empty weapon to his accomplice?
Tawny gripped the wheel and noticed stickiness. Spots of the woman’s blood speckled her hands. She tried to wipe them on the legs of her jeans but found more blood there. Guilty sorrow welled in her throat. She fought it down. She had to stay strong, not let regret cloud her mind.
If she couldn’t escape, she again vowed to take Kahlil with her when she died.
They drove in silence through rolling dark prairie for the next half hour. Tawny tried to block the image of the bloody platinum hair from her mind but felt compelled to keep checking the woman in the rearview mirror. She groaned from time to time but never moved from her crooked slump on the cramped back seat.
“My sweet Tawny.” Kahlil’s velvet voice interrupted her thoughts. “You are not a timid little mouse after all.”
She glanced sideways at him, stunned to notice his admiring gaze. Was he pleased that she had beaten his cohort to a bloody pulp? Or that she’d tried to escape?
He had put on such a convincing act of empathy, gentleness, and compassion. Thinking back on the weeks that she’d known him, she didn’t recognize any occasion when he’d slipped and allowed his true self to show. His gentlemanly façade had been unerring and perfect. His appearance of grieving, the sorrow they shared for losing their mates, his kindness, his immediate generosity in offering to pay Neal’s ransom.
But, of course, he’d set up the phony kidnapping. He could have offered her a billion dollars with equal ease, knowing the hollow promise never needed to be kept.
She damned herself for falling for him, welcoming his tender touch. His warmth had filled the vacuum her life had become since Dwight’s death. Loneliness was a powerful force that propelled her into his arms.
The gas gauge needle hovered near empty. She guessed the Jeep might last another thirty or forty miles before it sputtered to a halt. How much farther to a station with people and help? What if they ran out before they reached a gas pump? Would Kahlil kill her then? She fought down panic.
No. He needed her alive for some purpose. Otherwise, he would have shot her at the rest stop.
As they crested a long rolling hill, a glow shone below in the black desolate night. Tawny’s heart leapt. Browning.
Kahlil noticed it too. “We will stop there,” he said.
Ten miles farther, she veered into the merger between 89 and Highway 2. The truck stop was small, not crowded. A couple of tractor-trailers sat parked in a side lot, engines still running, dark, the drivers curled in their sleepers. The convenience store was brightly lit. The only person inside appeared to be a drowsy clerk, nodding off behind a glass partition.
Two islands jutted from the c-store. On the right, a lone man fueled a diesel pickup. The left island was empty.
Kahlil pointed to the left. “Go there.”
She drove next to the pumps and shut off the engine, wondering if she dared honk the horn and scream to the man at the other island. But the pistol lay in Kahlil’s lap, a half-second away.
He took two more zip ties and secured her wrists at the ten and two o’clock position on the steering wheel. This time, he pulled them tight, cutting deep into her skin. “If you defy me again, I will shoot between your eyes. Do you understand?”
His words chilled her. Now his tone sounded flat, without emotion, without mercy. She nodded.
He got out of the Jeep and inserted a credit card. While he pumped gas, she peered through the windshield, hoping to spot a security camera but couldn’t find one. If only another vehicle would drive in. But none d
id.
After a few minutes, Kahlil had filled the tank and returned to the passenger seat. He opened a pocket knife and cut her shackles. Raw grooves remained in her flesh. She rubbed her wrists for a few seconds until he said, “We must go.”
She drove out of Browning on Highway 2, watching the rearview mirror as the bright little oasis, an empty promise of help, faded from view.
“I am glad you cooperated this time.” He took her right hand in his and gently rubbed the indentations on her wrist. “I truly dread hurting you.”
She wanted to pull away but something told her to let him keep holding her hand.
How strange he sounded. One minute threatening a bullet between her eyes, the next, full of regret and sorrow.
“Where are we going?”
“To my work.”
“At the dam?”
“Near there. That is where your phone will activate the worm.”
“Worm?”
“That’s what the malware is called. Perhaps you heard on the news last year about Stuxnet? Your NSA and the Israelis disrupted the Iranian nuclear program with cyber-sabotage. My work is similar, boring into unsecured areas to access PLCs, programmable logic controllers. Once the machinery fails, the overload will cause a switch to the next generation station down the line, which will then overload, causing another switch, another overload, leading to an unstoppable chain reaction. Each failure builds momentum until the entire northwest grid goes dark.”
Oh, God. Tawny bit down hard on her lip and tried to visualize life without electricity—no heat, light, refrigeration, TV. The oxygen generator Dwight had depended on would fail. Traffic signals, air travel, gas pumps, computers, smartphones, supermarkets, banks, all these and more, paralyzed. She couldn’t think of any aspect of life that didn’t depend on electricity.
Millions of people helpless. The destruction staggered her. History would change because of this monster sitting beside her, caressing her hand.
She tasted blood from her lip. Somehow, she had to suppress her rage and keep him talking. “How long have you been working on this plan?”
“More than three years. My jobs take me to electric generation plants in different locations. No one pays attention to a psychologist, unlike an engineer or programmer. But that gives me unlimited access to personnel files, where I discover security weaknesses. While I am in each location for a few months, I cultivate what you called a ‘patsy,’ a scapegoat who will be blamed for the sabotage. After the attack, these scapegoats will become the first suspects because they cannot explain cash payments to their bank accounts, nor the apps on their smartphones giving them unauthorized access. This plan required years of painstaking work to prepare.”