by Dave Buschi
Sue’s body tightened.
“Don’t be shy. I want to know. On top? Or do you like it from behind?”
“You disgust me.”
“Do I? Don’t tell me after fifteen years you’re not bored out of your mind. Probably haven’t done it for weeks, have you?” He touched her hair. “How about we rectify that and go in the back room? I’ll do you in the ass first. I always like that way best.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry, I understand. I know your head’s probably not into it right now. This will be for me this time.”
He leaned back and put his hand on her thigh and began to move it down.
She elbowed him right in the face, catching him full on the mouth.
It took him a moment to recover. “Nice. Not quite the reaction I was looking for.” He touched his lip and his tongue went over his teeth, checking them. “If you wanted rough, you should have said so.”
She clenched her teeth. “Get away from me.”
He stood up. “This could have been so much easier for you.”
He looked at the two men nearest him. “Take her to one of the bedrooms. You hold her for me. Then she’s all yours.”
The men, heavy-browed and sullen, flashed thin smiles.
Sue closed her eyes.
111
AS the two men grabbed her arms and pulled her off the couch, a phone rang. The noise split the air. All eyes went to the coffee table.
The man she’d just hit picked up her cell phone. His lip had blood on it. He looked at the touch screen.
“Honey? I presume this is James? Or is this your fuck buddy?” He pointed his finger at her. “Careful how you answer—don’t make me jealous.” He handed her the phone. “Keep it simple. Say anything you shouldn’t and you’ll regret it. I have your girls.”
Sue took the phone, but he held on to it. “By the way, how old is she? Your oldest? She reminds me of you.”
The phone continued to ring.
“Understand?”
Sue nodded and he let go of the phone.
“Put him on speaker. Get him here.”
Sue clicked the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“James?”
“Yeah, who else? You expecting another call?”
Sue heard him chuckle. Across the coffee table, the man glared at her. He pointed towards her girls.
“Sorry, I nodded off honey.” Sue wanted to warn to him, but couldn’t think how. She looked across the table at the man watching her. “How far away are you?”
“Almost there, but you won’t believe it, I just got a flat tire. Listen, I know your phone is about to die. I’m just down the road. I think I can see your driveway up ahead. I’m going to walk the rest of the way. I’ll see you in a bit. Okay? Love you.”
Click.
The man across from her smiled. “Scintillating.” He took the phone from her and looked at the two men. “Tie her up for now. Put her in the bedroom, and don’t start without me. I’ve got dibs.”
He snickered and walked towards the kitchen. “Savic! How about we go get our boy?”
The two men grabbed Sue’s arms again and hoisted her up. As they walked by the fireplace mantle, one of them picked up some rope.
“You have knife?”
“Da,” said the other.
“Should we wait?”
The man said something back in Russian and they both laughed.
112
PAULSON took in the night air. It tasted sweet—wet and fresh. The dew had made everything glisten.
His anger was about to have an outlet. He decided when they nabbed Kolinsky he was going make him watch. Then, after he was done with his wife, he’d threaten to do the same to his girls. That should make the guy cooperate.
Right now he was on that razor edge, where only violence could appease him. They might salvage some of this fiasco. All that money couldn’t be gone. Kolinsky had gotten in and done his tricks, but whatever he’d done he was going to fix.
One way or the other.
Even with The Vault still up, they’d have a few hours till time worked against them. In all likelihood the money was just hidden in plain view, or diverted. With what Portino had told him, their Swiss and London partners had said the money was there. They just couldn’t access or move it. To Paulson it sounded pretty simple—an administrator glitch or shade operation. But Portino said they’d tried everything so far. It was something else.
Well… they’d soon find out what that little something was.
He’d sacrificed two years of his life for this and there was no way he was coming up empty. No way. He was due.
“We’ll take him here.”
Portino’s head of security nodded.
Savic grunted. “Looks good.”
They had a view of the dirt road. They were behind a large clumping of rocks that hid them perfectly. Paulson didn’t want to risk that Kolinsky might see the extra cars. They’d tucked them out sight, parking near the barn. Still… he didn’t want to take any chances. They’d grab him here, where Kolinsky would have his guard down.
Paulson looked at his watch. 1:56 AM.
James Kolinsky was expecting his wife’s open arms.
The man was in for a disappointment.
113
Forty minutes earlier
1:16 AM
THAT was the time on his digital watch. James looked at the flat tire. Everything happens for a reason.
An odd time for that trite phrase to pop in his head, considering his last sixteen hours of hell. He reflected on it—there was the gas station—back at the beginning—before everything bad started to happen. If he’d had money in his wallet he would have been able to fill his tank, or at least he would have been filling his tank right about the same time there had been that shooting. If that had been the case, he might have been shot.
Then later, when he’d run out of gas in that bad neighborhood? As bad luck as that was, it had led to him saving Taneesha from being raped and maybe killed. Perhaps he was meant to be there to do that exact thing? Maybe she was meant to do great things with her life, or her child was meant to have a mother and grow up being loved?
As for the boys jacking his car that were shot, it was hard to see any value in that outcome. It only seemed bleak and meaningless. But maybe their path was leading them to choices of destruction that would have meant death and harm for others?
Reading too much into things like this always made James feel out of his element—as if his thoughts were going on hopeless tangents. He wasn’t what he’d consider a religious person. He went to church, but it wasn’t often. He looked at scripture with a skeptical eye and thought much of it dated and no longer relevant. But there was a side of him that did pause when strange events happened. On those rare occasions his mind tended to delve into things he could and would never understand.
When he considered the ramifications of his car running out of gas, he couldn’t help but think of what didn’t happen. He didn’t go home. He didn’t join his family. The men waiting for him? The men that had tied up Sue and his girls? Their plans went awry. Things might have gone much differently—not in a good way—had he come home like he was supposed to.
And to add something else…
Perhaps those men that had killed those boys jacking his car had really meant to kill him? His car running out of gas may have saved his life… twice?
So many loose ends. If, perhaps, when, maybe.
A part of him wanted to shake this off. Ignore this clutter in his head. But today, with what had happened, he felt strongly was not a day to ignore. There were too many signs and coincidences to chalk them up as happenstance, or random chance.
His car being stolen, which had led to him pulling a woman from a burning car? He couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that somehow, someway, he was placed in that situation on purpose. As horrible as it had been, particularly for the woman who’d almost died, he’d come away from that stronger. He’d
faced a fear and tackled it head on. He’d gone in a burning car. The James of last week would never have done that.
As for the woman—there was no telling how that event might impact her life. Hopefully she’d move on to have a greater appreciation for life. To live a richer, fuller life.
Yes, the optimist in him hadn’t died. Strangely, that part of him felt revived. Stronger.
James had gone through so many tests today. For a while there, he felt like Job in the Old Testament. Losing everything: his identity, money, car, house, facing the loss of his job, and then the prospect of going to prison when he discovered he’d been set up to be the fall guy for a cybercrime of gargantuan proportions.
And how had he faced those tests? Only he knew the answer to that. But hopefully when he looked back on this day, he’d have no regrets. He’d stood up for himself. Stopped those men from doing what they were trying to do. Even—to add another coincidence—when he stole the van with the explosives. That random event had prevented them from destroying The Vault.
Another coincidence?
He didn’t know why, but he always felt there was no such thing. That everything did indeed happen for a reason. He’d heard the flip-side arguments, ones which said coincidences were inevitable. Mathematically it was nothing unusual. In fact, it was mathematically improbable—no, make that impossible—for coincidences not to happen. Mathematically coincidences were going to happen every day to someone out there.
Somewhere right now, somewhere in the world, a sixteen-year old was finding sixteen cents, euro cents, or pence, on the ground at exactly sixteen after the hour. A person in a casino was doing the same thing, except instead of being a sixteen-year old they were an elderly person that was married on January 16th, and instead of finding sixteen cents they were winning sixteen tokens in a casino slot machine at this exact time.
1:16 AM
It wasn’t fate, grand design, or a divine sign. It was just random coincidence.
James was still looking at his flat tire. Of all the times to get a flat. He couldn’t be less than a mile from where Sue said the house was. It might be further, but if he’d followed the directions right they were just ahead, up over that knoll.
He’d already gone in the van and found where the spare was, except it wasn’t there. The spare tire was gone. Just one more crappy thing to add on top of everything else that had happened today.
James took out his phone—or rather it was Mac’s phone, which he’d never returned. He was going to call Sue to tell her he’d had a flat and would soon be there, but he paused. He looked at the phone. He looked at the flat tire. He looked at the empty wheel well inside the van.
Everything happens for a reason.
What was that on the floor, under the seat? He bent down and picked it up. It was a bible and Old Testament.
A chill came over him.
In the Book of Job, Job lost everything, including his wife and sons.
1:16
Please don’t be…
He started flipping pages.
114
HIS heart was up in his throat, almost choking him. He rifled through the bible, looking for the scripture. There were several with those numbers.
In the poor light from the van, he read each one, his eyes scanning over the text. He looked at each passage, each reference…
None were the Book of Job. He double checked, just to make sure. The last one he read one more time.
Romans 1:16.
For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek.
He immediately felt relieved. His mind had been going so fast, already going there to that awful place he never ever wanted to find himself. His family…
He could lose everything, but not them. Not his wife and girls. They were what made him get up every morning. Look at each day with shining eyes.
With a heavy sigh, he put the bible down.
Thank you.
He could feel his blood pressure, the beating in his temples, the drumming incessant, thrum thrum… feel it subsiding. Everything inside him had spiked, like a car’s engine redlining. The red haze receded from his eyes.
“Thank you.” He said it out loud. He didn’t want the big guy up there to have any doubt of what he was thinking.
He looked at the bible. His eyes lingered, not looking away. That last passage, one word in particular, stayed with him.
Greek.
That was a peculiar word. He shook his head. Again, his mind was going off on another tangent.
Greek.
Another damn coincidence. Would they never stop? They seemed to be everywhere. He thought back to his bout of delirium when he was carrying Mac earlier. When he’d thought of an oar and felt a kinship for the tribulations of the Greek hero, Odysseus. James knew this was borderline crazy.
No. It couldn’t be.
Salvation for everyone who believes.
He had a flat tire. Here was a bible spelling it out for him.
Greek.
That word was intentional. He was meant to make some sort of connection. To revisit his thoughts.
The Odyssey, written by Homer. One of his favorite books. Like the sightless seer who penned it, he knew the storyline blind. Odysseus, upon returning to his homeland Ithaca after being gone for twenty years, had found his home beset with rogues. His wife and son were their prisoners. Odysseus, with Athena’s help, had disguised himself as a beggar and dressed himself in rags.
This was crazy. He knew it as he was thinking it, but then he glanced down at himself and saw the remnants of his paper clothes. Dressed in rags…
Maybe this was all nonsense. His head finding parallels in anything and everything, going off on crazy tangents. But James suddenly felt a higher power speaking to him. It was almost like he could actually hear words being whispered.
Don’t call Sue.
He gripped the cell phone. His knuckles turned white.
He closed the door to the van and began to hike up the road.
115
IT was more than a mile. It might have been two, but it felt like forever. He wanted to run, but couldn’t with his ankle. When he saw the address that Sue had given him, his spirits lifted. He realized that his crazy imagination was just that. Crazy. Delirium caused from exhaustion.
But as he walked up the winding road, a tightness lodged in his chest. There was the lit house, as Sue had described. But it wasn’t the house that drew his attention.
The road dipped and peaked. In one spot, as the road turned, he was given a glimpse of one of the outbuildings. Near it were parked several cars. There was barely any moonlight to see by. But there it was, glinting faintly from the house’s floodlights.
James stopped and looked hard. The vehicle catching the light was a white SUV. It was a Cadillac Escalade. That was the same vehicle that Nick Paulson owned.
James drew in a breath and it hit him, like a thunderbolt, the epiphany of all epiphanies. He believed, and the feeling washing over him wasn’t fear and it wasn’t panic. He knew what this was.
He believed.
He was going to get through this. Somehow, someway, he was going to save his family. Just him. Odysseus, his childhood hero, had done it. Though he was helped by Athena, it was by his own power that he survived and saved his wife and family. One man, using his wits.
I hear you.
James left the road. He hunkered down to lower his profile. He went down a gully and then climbed a small bluff. Using his hands and stepping carefully, he navigated the rocky terrain. There was a fence. It had those old-style wooden posts. He got down on his belly and slipped under it.
His nostrils, even with his nose broken, flared from the scent of manure. It was pungent; just inches away was a patty. He rose to a crouch. His hands were wet from the dew; dirt and wetness clung to him. Off a ways he saw shapes in the darkness.
He froze and lay still. The shapes were silhouet
ted. Those were cows. They weren’t moving; just sleeping.
His eyes scanned the entire horizon. He took in everything. The lone tree on the gently rolling hills. The dark shapes of clouds in the starry sky.
His ears…
The thrumming.
The crickets reminded him of servers humming. Constant. White noise that receded to the background, till he didn’t even hear it. He looked towards the house. It was large and had several levels. There didn’t appear to be anyone on the decks.
He looked hard. There may be men outside. Perhaps someone smoking; a guard? But he didn’t see anyone.
He moved, keeping low. The house was lit up and gave him a clear view of its entire perimeter. At its rear, it had expansive windows. As he got closer, he saw people inside. Too many people.
Yes, they were here.
He found a spot on a knoll that was slightly elevated. There were some rocks. He got down on his belly and moved forward, crawling. He was soaked and his face was buried in the grass. The blades of the grass seemed like razors. He could feel them slicing and cutting his face.
He paid no attention to it. His eyes were laser focused on what was inside. He could see faces and people moving. Then he saw her. Sue. His heart skipped a beat.
He looked into the other rooms. There… that was Katie. Just the top of her head, but it was her. He didn’t see Hannah, but she was probably next to her.
His eyes went back to Sue. She was with someone. He sucked in a breath, tasting bitterness on his tongue. It was Paulson.
His emotions flared. Not now, he couldn’t get distracted. He looked around. There were the cars; a barn, another outbuilding.
All he had was his phone. Mac’s phone. He’d left the gun with Mac. Dammit.
He took out the phone and dialed 911. His eyes were glued on Sue. He got a busy signal, gnashed his teeth and tried again.
Busy.
Okay. Stay calm.
He looked around. His eyes went back to the barn. There would be something there he could use. Slowly he made his way towards it. He didn’t risk getting up. Even though his progress was immeasurably slow, he didn’t want to take the chance that someone inside might see him.