Hostage

by Don Brown

  Zack sat, the thought crossing his mind for a fleeting millisecond that rank has its privileges, that a lieutenant commander enjoys a few more such perks than a lieutenant. That thought was just as instantly overwhelmed by the thought that had driven him to seek this meeting with the captain to begin with.

  "Coffee, Commander?" The skipper seemed to relish using the word commander, Zack noticed, when addressing him. As if Zack's new rank was Captain Rudy's baby.

  "No thank you, sir. I'm fine."

  "Well then," Rudy said. "I'm concerned about Lieutenant Colcernian too, Zack. But she is on leave."

  "Sir, she hasn't returned any of my calls, and her voice mail has been full for two days. It's just not like her, Captain."

  Rudy scratched his chin. "Well, she's not under any orders to call in. Now, granted, I'm not comfortable with her being unaccounted for under these circumstances either. But it isn't the first time an officer has decided to slip away for some privacy. After all she's been through, she needs it."

  "Yes, I know. I've considered that, Skipper. But I've called her dozens of times, and still no answer. Sir, we've got to do something. We need to get NCIS on this. Maybe the FBI." Zack felt his voice cracking, then took a deep breath. "Sir, with all due respect, in my opinion this is an urgent situation involving the safety and welfare of a fellow naval officer."

  Rudy leaned back in his chair, touching his fingers together like a tepee across his chest. "You know, Zack, I have no influence over the FBI." Rudy's gaze focused outside his office window, toward San Diego Bay. "And darn little influence over NCIS, for that matter."

  "I understand, Captain. But I could never forgive myself if I didn't ask you to try."

  "Hmm." Rudy sat quietly for a few moments, then pressed a button on his telephone.

  "Yes, Skipper?"

  "Master Chief, I want you to check Lieutenant Colcernian's leave address, let me know what she left, then put in a call and see if anyone's seen her."

  "Aye, sir."

  A moment later, the speakerphone on Captain Rudy's desk buzzed again. "Captain Rudy."

  "Skipper, I've got that info you requested," the master chief said as Zack felt his heart skip a beat.

  "What did you find out?" Rudy leaned back in his chair and interlocked his hands over his stomach.

  "Sir, Lieutenant Colcernian left an address in Charlottesville, Virginia, the home of a law school classmate, a Jane Morgan Swain. We checked with Miss Swain, and she says she hasn't heard from the lieutenant."

  Captain Rudy's gaze met Zack's. "Look, Zack, I know you're concerned. But remember, she maybe just needed some time to herself. Give her one week. If she doesn't show up, that's when we should start getting worried."

  "Skipper," Zack said, "I feel like I need to go back east to look for her."

  Rudy folded his arms. "Talk about looking for a needle in a haystack . . ."

  "I understand, sir. But I did cut my leave short. I don't have any contested cases coming up, and . . . I guess you're right, sir." Zack let his gaze drift to the sparkling blue waters of San Diego Bay outside Captain Rudy's office window. "I wouldn't know where to start looking."

  Rudy stood, which prompted Zack to do the same. He walked around his desk and put his hand on Zack's shoulder. "Zack, she's courageous, bright, and savvy. If anyone can take care of herself in any circumstance, it's Diane Colcernian."

  There was the sound of humming tires against asphalt. And then the excruciating sensation of something that felt like a dagger wedged through her brain. The throbbing forced Diane's eyes open. Stars twinkled against a black night canopy, and in an instant, she realized these were not stars associated with pain.

  She was being transported somewhere in an ambulance at night. Perhaps she had been in a serious car wreck. Was Zack all right?

  "Zack?"

  No answer.

  "Nurse?"

  "Shut up!"

  "What?"

  "Shut up!" Dome lights came on in the ambulance. Diane squinted, adjusting her eyes. This was no ambulance. A hand lifted a gun from the front seat. "You are now Allah's prisoner." The light went off. The stars reappeared. "We have your lover in captivity. Try anything and he dies."

  Council of Ishmael headquarters

  Rub al-Khali Desert

  How are things progressing, Abdur?" The leader of the Council of Ishmael stood as Abdur Rahman walked into his office for the latest intelligence update.

  "Very well, Leader. The Truman will be in striking distance within a few hours."

  "Excellent." The leader gleefully scratched his semblance of a black goatee. "Listen, Abdur. I want you to pass the word to all our operatives: From noon tomorrow until further notice, no Stinger attacks on Israeli or American aircraft."

  "Understand?"

  "Yes, Leader," Abdur Rahman said. "It is as you say."

  301 North Water Street

  Hilton Wilmington Riverside

  Wilmington, North Carolina

  Sergeant Larry Lineburger had been with the Wilmington Police Department for the better part of thirty years. And for the last ten, he had patrolled the same beat, the historic downtown district along the Cape Fear River and the surrounding area. Wilmington had become a chic tourist destination in the last few years, driven primarily by the bourgeoning motion picture studios that had relocated in the port city from Hollywood because of lower wages, lower taxes, and natural beauty. The downtown area around Water Street had also become quite posh. All of these factors tended to drive down the crime rate, which was fine with Larry.

  He'd put in his dues and been shot at more times than he cared to remember. Leave the blood and guts to the younger guys, he decided long ago. Besides, Larry had always had a nose for the investigative side of law enforcement.

  So when Sergeant Lineburger drove past the gold LeBaron Avis rental car with District of Columbia license plates for the twentieth time, his investigative nose told him something wasn't right.

  Same car?

  With D.C. plates?

  Not been moved for three days?

  Probably drug-related, Lineburger decided. There's a bunch of drug dealers in D.C. Probably brought some of that stuff down here to sell to the Hollywood types and them young hooligans out at UNCW.

  Lineburger pulled his squad car ahead of the rental car, stopped, and got out. Cupping his hand over his eyebrows to block out the reflection of the afternoon sun, Lineburger peered through the driver's window.Nothing but a legal pad with "Room 442" written on the front. Looks like a woman's writing.

  He gently pulled up on the door latch. Open. Do I need a warrant?Hmm. Looks like abandoned property to me. Just trying to determine ownership.

  He sat in the front seat, behind the wheel, and reached for the glove compartment. There was a receipt from Avis.

  Received of: LT Diane Colcernian,

  $320.00 for Rental of Chrysler LeBaron.

  To Be Returned in Five Days.

  Larry double-checked the name. How many LT Diane Colcernians could there be in the country? He checked the calendar on his watch. The car was due back yesterday. Larry scratched his chin. Maybe there was a reason, after all, that he had not taken that SBI job.

  CHAPTER 24

  Aeroflot Flight 305

  Descending from 5,000 feet

  50 nautical miles east of Tel Aviv

  In the back of the plane, Alexander squeezed Yael's hand as the pilot announced in Russian that they had descended to five thousand feet and would be on the ground in fifteen minutes. She smiled at him with the same dazzling sparkle that had danced in her eyes on their wedding day. For other than their wedding day, and aside from the births of their four children, no day had been as exciting as this one.

  Three of their children, Anna, Rachel, and Adam, sat in front of them, almost piling on top of each other for a glimpse of the sparkling Mediterranean below. Three-year-old Sol, their youngest, snoozed in the aisle seat beside his mother. Yael leaned over her husband's shoulder, peering down
at the great sea, then planted a kiss on his cheek.

  "Alexander, I still cannot believe this is happening."

  "Believe it, my love," he said. "We are going to Israel." They embraced for a few seconds until Anna and Rachel saw them and giggled.

  Alexander blew nine-year-old Anna a kiss, causing his curly-haired doll to giggle even more; then he leaned back and closed his eyes. The pitching whine of the jet increased. His ears popped a few times during descent. A few minutes later, the bump of the wheels on the runway brought his eyes wide open.

  "Da bropazhalowitz versus Israel," the Aeroflot flight attendant said. Welcome to Israel. Alexander's eyes widened as David Ben Gurion Airport rushed by his window.

  "Praise God from whom all blessings flow! Praise him all creatures here below!"

  The plane rolled to a stop, and because they were sitting in the back, the Kweskin family had to wait until the other passengers deplaned. Finally, the Kweskins stood and retrieved their bags from the overhead. Alexander led the way, the children sandwiched between their parents. He stepped through the door of the plane into the bright, sunny morning.

  He paused at the top of the stairway leading down to the tarmac. He closed his eyes, deeply inhaling the pure oxygen of the Promised Land, which already seemed therapeutic to his soul, far more pristine than the smog of Mogilev.

  "Come on, Papa, let's go!" The sweet voice of his daughter Anna caused him to open his eyes again to the sight of the Promised Land, the most beautiful landscape he had ever seen.

  "Okay, my sweetie," he said. Anna took his hand and walked down the steps, closer and closer to the concrete. He felt the Promised Land under the soles of his shoes. He fell on his knees, kissed the ground, prayed, and wept.

  Office of the Chief

  Wilmington Police Department

  115 Red Cross Street

  Wilmington, North Carolina

  I'm telling you, Agent MacGregor, something ain't right about this." Police Sergeant Larry Lineburger spoke through the telephone handset to the young whippersnapper duty agent of the FBI's local office in Raleigh. "All right."

  Lineburger looked over at his boss, Police Chief Perry Laymon, and rolled his eyes. "The kid's put me on hold."

  Laymon shook his head. "Feds."

  "Say again?" Lineburger took a draw from his cigarette. He flicked ashes in the tray. "You want me to repeat again what I already told you twice already?"

  Chief Laymon smirked.

  "Oh, I see," Lineburger continued, "you've got your supervisor on the other end and he wants to hear this too?" He looked at the chief, who again shook his head and chuckled under his breath.

  "Okay, here goes. I was on routine patrol of my regular beat in the riverfront area here in Wilmington, when I noticed what appeared to be an abandoned car. I proceeded to investigate, and I opened the glove compartment for clues . . . What? Did I have probable cause? . . . Look, sir, I already explained that this ain't no drug case, so it really don't matter. Anyway, I found two things. I found a receipt from Avis Rental Car that the car was rented to Lieutenant Diane Colcernian, United States Navy . . . That's enough probable cause, ain't it? I mean, how many people do you know with that name?

  "How do I know it was really her?" Another drag on the half-burnt cigarette. "'Cause I found a motel receipt for the Hilton Riverside.

  "So I got 'em to let me in her room, and I found her official United States Navy uniform hanging in the closet, that's how . . . What? . . . No I didn't find no military ID card." He let out an irritated sigh. "No offense taken, Mack. What I did next was I tried to figure out why she might be in Wilmington. And I figured it might have something to do with the funeral for that Jefferies girl, being that some folks think that bullet was intended for Colcernian. So I called the dead girl's daddy. And get this . . ." He took a final drag on the half-lit stub of a cigarette. "Colcernian showed up at the grave. Stood out there in a driving rainstorm, then walked off all by herself. Said she was upset, blaming herself for his daughter's death . . . What's that? . . . No I didn't take no affidavit from him . . . Because the man's still mourning his daughter's death, that's why. And his story ain't gonna change. I figured it could wait . . . Uh-huh. . . . Uh-huh . . . I appreciate that, Mack." Lineburger hung up the phone.

  "What'd they say, Larry?"

  "They said they believed us, Chief. They said they was gonna send a task force down here from Raleigh in a helicopter to check it out."

  "When are they coming?"

  "Now," Lineburger said. "They're gonna comb that cemetery for clues. Said we should rope it off till they get here."

  "Good work, Sergeant."

  CHAPTER 25

  Westbound US 90

  78 miles west of San Antonio, Texas Midmorning

  One hand on the steering wheel, Ahmed Sadat glanced over his shoulder. His prized hostage was still sleeping, thanks to the drugs supplied to him by an Islamic pharmacist in Richmond, Virginia.

  Cruising along westbound US 90 for the last leg of the trip, at a conservative fifty-five miles per hour, with the Aerostar's air conditioner on full blast to combat the South Texas heat, Ahmed spotted the first mileage sign since bypassing the town of Hondo.

  Uvalde -- 5

  Del Rio -- 75

  By the grace of Allah, he should be at the border in a couple of hours. After that, he would feel safer.

  So far, his only concern had been stopping for gas. He paid cash to avoid an electronic paper trail. That meant leaving her in the car, alone. But the interior shades he had rigged across the back windows had kept her well hidden.

  When they had arrived at San Antonio, he briefly considered taking Interstate 35 South directly to Laredo. The interstate posed less of a risk of being stopped. But he headed instead to Del Rio, where he had heard the border crossing was easier.

  Two more hours to safety.

  Feeling a bit bored now, he turned on the van's radio.

  "We interrupt our regular programming to bring you this special report from Washington."

  Ahmed reached down to turn up the volume.

  "This is Tom Miller in Washington. Navy Lieutenant Diane Colcernian, one of the two Navy JAG officers responsible for the prosecution of three Islamic navy chaplains convicted by a navy court-martial and sentenced to death, is missing.

  "According to the F.B.I., Lieutenant Colcernian's car was found, apparently abandoned, earlier today in Wilmington, North Carolina, where she is reported to have attended the funeral of the late Maggie Jefferies. Miss Jefferies, a University of North Carolina coed, was shot last week emerging from the Dean Dome following North Carolina's win over Duke. Law enforcement experts believe that the gunman, who remains at large, may have mistaken Miss Jefferies for Lieutenant Colcernian.

  "Lieutenant Colcernian was last seen in Wilmington's Oakdale Cemetery, ironically, by Miss Jefferies' father. According to Mr. Jefferies, Lieutenant Colcernian had apparently been at the graveside service for his daughter and was spotted lingering near the grave when a driving rainstorm began. Mr. Jefferies indicated that Lieutenant Colcernian was visibly upset about his daughter's death and seemed to be blaming herself.

  "This disappearance comes just three days after the execution of the three Islamic chaplains whom Lieutenant Colcernian, along with lead prosecutor Lieutenant Zack Brewer, prosecuted last year.

  "At this point in the investigation, officials are not ready to declare foul play was involved in the lieutenant's disappearance, and there is no known link, at least as of yet, to terrorism.

  "The FBI's local office in Raleigh, North Carolina, has been mum on the details of the investigation. That, of course, is expected to change as the investigation unfolds.

  "An all-points bulletin has been issued, and law enforcement officials across the nation are instructed to be on the lookout."

  Ahmed turned off the radio.

  A sheriff's car zoomed by in the opposite direction on US 90. Ahmed instinctively laid his hand on the Uzi lying on the passenger's s
eat and looked in the rearview, half-expecting to see the squad car tap its brake lights and commence a U-turn. Instead, the car became a speck, disappearing into the distance.

  Praise be to Allah!

  Now it was becoming clear to him. All of this was unfolding according to Allah's plan. The bullet had been destined not for Diane Colcernian, but rather for Maggie Jefferies, so that at the appointed moment in time, during the heavy thunderstorm that Allah had sent at Maggie Jefferies's funeral, he would be able to personally capture, alive, the most celebrated American prisoner ever to fall into the hands of an Islamic organization!

  Goose bumps crawled all over his arms and up his spine as several cars zipped by in the opposite direction.

  In less than two hours, he would disappear across the border, away from the American manhunt, into oblivion.

  He pressed the accelerator, thinking about al-Akhma's reaction upon learning that he, Ahmed Sadat, had personally brought this prisoner into the fold.

  Perhaps he would become a member of the coveted Council of Twenty.

  Perhaps he would become a hero of Islam.

  Office of Lieutenant Commander Zack Brewer, JAGC, USN

  Navy Trial Service Office

  Building 73

  32nd Street Naval Station

  San Diego, California

  Sitting alone in his office, Zack watched the CNN broadcast, live from Wilmington.

  A reporter stood in front of Diane's abandoned car, babbling on about Officer Lineburger's brilliant police work. The screen cut to a picture of the lush green cemetery. A female reporter was carrying on about Diane's disappearance. A shot of Maggie Jefferies's tombstone filled the screen. The text superimposed across the bottom declared, "JAG Officer Diane Colcernian last spotted at Oakdale Cemetery, Wilmington, N.C."